A kiss, cold as a November rain, kiss of a traitor, cold as a snake-skin
Date: Friday, 7 July 2000
Time: Late afternoon
Location: Cobalt Viriconium antique records shoppe, Muggle London
Characters Involved: Montague Morsus and OPEN (Please, ask before joining)
Status: Incomplete
Rating: PG-13 at the very least
It was almost crispy, the way his semi-brocade suit sounded, with every decisive step that he took - past the lewd Muggles, past the idle Wizards, past the beasts and trees, past the death and life cycles. His lips were broken into a careless sneer and hands hidden in the silken pockets of his black trousers, his torso covered in the dark green velvet coat, so soft it hurt to touch. The breeze was still cold and puddles of water still rippled - his reflection like black shadows gliding over the baby surface, something raptorous, something deadly, the smell of wet asphalt like an invitation.
Her eyes were like gems, shining brightly, as he smiled and offered his help. Two days ago, in Venetia, it was raining too. Hair sticking to hair, transparent dress undressed, slick bodies, slender waists and hips - angular and rounded, all moving to the rhythm, syncopated, like the heavy drops of water outside the lancet windows. Her full lips blossomed, thousands of breathy "O"s escaping her perfect teeth, until that one last thrust - and all was dead and silent. It was raining just like today.
Sometime in another dimension, it was raining just like always. And there were buildings of mud and glass - and sugar, melting into a sticky mass underneath the fire of desire. Just like today. In another dimension, where no rules existed, and planets exploded at his merest touch. Like that building.
Cobalt Viriconium.
The rows of records were countless. Montague moved toward the first isle, dismissing the helpful assistant with a wave of his hand, and peering into the whimsical letters and flags. It felt strange, after so many years, it only felt strange. Where was the rage, the anger, the death and fear? Lost forever. Hidden beneath the piles and piles of blood and sex and heavy lust. Sometime in another dimension he bought the exact copy of his old Pathe „Modele B“ with an intention of destroying it.
What records did it play?
Time: Late afternoon
Location: Cobalt Viriconium antique records shoppe, Muggle London
Characters Involved: Montague Morsus and OPEN (Please, ask before joining)
Status: Incomplete
Rating: PG-13 at the very least
It was almost crispy, the way his semi-brocade suit sounded, with every decisive step that he took - past the lewd Muggles, past the idle Wizards, past the beasts and trees, past the death and life cycles. His lips were broken into a careless sneer and hands hidden in the silken pockets of his black trousers, his torso covered in the dark green velvet coat, so soft it hurt to touch. The breeze was still cold and puddles of water still rippled - his reflection like black shadows gliding over the baby surface, something raptorous, something deadly, the smell of wet asphalt like an invitation.
Her eyes were like gems, shining brightly, as he smiled and offered his help. Two days ago, in Venetia, it was raining too. Hair sticking to hair, transparent dress undressed, slick bodies, slender waists and hips - angular and rounded, all moving to the rhythm, syncopated, like the heavy drops of water outside the lancet windows. Her full lips blossomed, thousands of breathy "O"s escaping her perfect teeth, until that one last thrust - and all was dead and silent. It was raining just like today.
Sometime in another dimension, it was raining just like always. And there were buildings of mud and glass - and sugar, melting into a sticky mass underneath the fire of desire. Just like today. In another dimension, where no rules existed, and planets exploded at his merest touch. Like that building.
Cobalt Viriconium.
The rows of records were countless. Montague moved toward the first isle, dismissing the helpful assistant with a wave of his hand, and peering into the whimsical letters and flags. It felt strange, after so many years, it only felt strange. Where was the rage, the anger, the death and fear? Lost forever. Hidden beneath the piles and piles of blood and sex and heavy lust. Sometime in another dimension he bought the exact copy of his old Pathe „Modele B“ with an intention of destroying it.
What records did it play?