Ivy hadn't really known what she was thinking when she'd participated in the Secrets Board; maybe it had been a little to do with the novelty of such a strange practice at a magic school, or maybe it had been the promised anonymity. It was hard to get issues off your chest when you had no friends other than a pixie - who would shoot his mouth off and gossip - and the very person who was the cause of said 'issues'.
After trading a few notes with Rachel - it had to have been Rachel - on the Secrets Board, Ivy had retreated to her room. She'd tried playing piano to get her mind off things, but that hadn't worked. What was working, thankfully, was Oscar Wilde's essay The Truth of Masks - A Note on Illusion. She had curled up on her couch, feet tucked under her, with some soft jazz playing and ratty old 'comfort clothes' - jeans and a plain black shirt, something she'd probably never go into public wearing
( ... )
Talk. Right. I didn't really do...talk. I was more of a 'point me in the right direction and let me kick the hell out of it' person. Emotions? Heart-to-hearts? Not so much. But this...was something I couldn't just ignore.
...Okay, that was a lie. It totally was. In fact, I probably would. But hey, effort counts, right?
Walking in, holding the bottle loosely by the neck, I gestured to her with it, almost as if offering a white flag. "Hey."
She looked so comfortable and at ease, graceful and gorgeous in clothes that would just have made me look sloppy. I had just come back from a run - a horrifically short one, just picking up a living vamp who had been trying to skip out on his rent, but at least it had gotten me out of the castle - and I was still dressed thepart. Hair all frizzy and falling out of the ponytail, hoop earrings for a pixie who I wasn't currently speaking to - in short, I looked dumpy and pale and slightly like a hooker next to Ivy, even when she was bumming around
( ... )
Briefly eyeing the bottle of tequila, Ivy frowned slightly and ducked her head, letting her hair fall to cover her face and hide the expression. She wasn't a big spirits drinker, wasn't much of a drinker at all these days. But the real problem was that little leather halter that Rachel was wearing. Ivy honestly couldn't think of anybody else that could wear that and still look amazing, never mind the very distracting thoughts that came with the zipper.
"No, thanks," she replied quietly. Ivy toyed with the corner of the page, folding it back and forth. Even when Rachel would describe herself as sloppy looking, she was still beautiful. And Ivy hadn't even brushed her hair. Suddenly she felt self-conscious.
Forcing herself to look at Rachel and not at the halter top, Ivy furrowed her eyebrows slightly, confused. Why was Rachel here with tequila? Was there a celebration she'd missed? Ivy smoothed her expression over into blankness, and looked back down at her book. "But if you want to stay, then do. Glasses are over in the cabinet by
( ... )
Oh. Well, crap. "Guess I should have brought orange juice, huh?" I worried my lower lip slightly, at a loss. I...didn't think I remembered anything in the 'how to be vampire chow' dating guide that would suggest borrowing a glass would trigger anything. Or a mention of refusing a drink. So I was probably safe. I hoped.
Mentally shrugging, I grabbed myself a glass before flopping gracelessly onto the couch, folding my legs under myself and pouring a healthy portion of the tequila. "So." I fiddled with the glass for a moment, fingers tapping out an aimless rhythm, before tossing back most of the drink. "Good book?"
...Someone please just end my misery. Good black spell to the chest ought to do it.
Again, Ivy almost lost herself. This was good - too good - and once more the mere thought of pulling away was possibly the last thing that she wanted to do. She'd never imagined that Rachel might actually agree to this, let alone start it, and Rachel's rather forthright touches were pushing reality just that little bit further away.
Ivy ran a tongue over a sharp canine, feeling it itch in reaction to willingness. She had an excellent vantage point of Rachel's neck right now; the pale skin slightly flushed from a raised heart beat (and alcohol, no doubt). Ivy could practically feel the blood rushing in Rachel's veins, and she sucked in a breath.
It would be so easy. Rachel was too drunk, too lost in this, to react quickly enough. Ivy's fangs could be in her neck and tasting her before Rachel would be able to pull away - and she wouldn't want to, afterwards. So easy. Rachel wanted this, what they were doing, she must want to share blood as well, they were connected, permanently entwined
( ... )
My reaction times were for shit, apparently - Jenks would never have let me live it down - because Ivy was up and talking before I even realized that her skin wasn't underneath my fingers. I let out a soft growl of petulant frustration and looked up at her. My skin was flushed, hair in disarray, lips slightly swollen from the kisses. "You don't want me?" I asked, head tipping to one side, completely unaware of how drunken little-girl-lost my voice sounded. I thought... Ivy was supposed to want this. I'd been sure of it. She was supposed to want me. This was not how this was supposed to go.
Moving forward on the couch, so I was leaning towards her, on my knees, I frowned at her. "Why not?"
That blood and sex were so completely bound together in Ivy's mind had not occurred to me. I was lost in the moment, in the now, and right then I just wanted to keep kissing Ivy. I wasn't processing anything further or more complicated than that.
Possible answers whirled around in Ivy's thoughts - Yes, you know I want you was the strongest, the most truthful, but where would it lead them? If Rachel tried kissing her again, Ivy didn't know if she'd be able to stop. No, I don't was probably the smartest option, and it might even be beneficial for their friendship if Rachel thought so.
But Ivy had never been great at lying about things that important.
"I think you need to sober up," she said softly, trying not to look at Rachel. Running a hand through her hair, Ivy let go of her death-grip on the table and moved the tequila bottle, storing it - hopefully safely - on the other side of the room. "I can get you some coffee, some water. You're going to have a headache the size of Texas in the morning."
All the righteous indignation of the well and truly smashed washed over me. Glaring, standing shakily, I blew a strand of hair out of my face. "For the love of the Turn, Ivy," I glowered. "Don't tell me what to do. You're not my mother."
I took several wavering steps towards her, swaying slightly under the mellow glow of way too much tequila. I got within a couple of inches, tipping my chin up to look at her. "Look, what's the problem? I thought you wanted this! God, Ivy." The anger and hurt in my voice was apparent, and I studied her under half-lidded eyes. "Just take me. Come on. Do it." A taunt, a challenge. Drink had made me bold, had erased my misgivings. "I don't want coffee. Or water." I moved forward, my hand going to rest lightly on her hip. "I'm drunk, Ivy. Take advantage of it." Because I knew it probably wouldn't happen again.
Comments 48
After trading a few notes with Rachel - it had to have been Rachel - on the Secrets Board, Ivy had retreated to her room. She'd tried playing piano to get her mind off things, but that hadn't worked. What was working, thankfully, was Oscar Wilde's essay The Truth of Masks - A Note on Illusion. She had curled up on her couch, feet tucked under her, with some soft jazz playing and ratty old 'comfort clothes' - jeans and a plain black shirt, something she'd probably never go into public wearing ( ... )
Reply
...Okay, that was a lie. It totally was. In fact, I probably would. But hey, effort counts, right?
Walking in, holding the bottle loosely by the neck, I gestured to her with it, almost as if offering a white flag. "Hey."
She looked so comfortable and at ease, graceful and gorgeous in clothes that would just have made me look sloppy. I had just come back from a run - a horrifically short one, just picking up a living vamp who had been trying to skip out on his rent, but at least it had gotten me out of the castle - and I was still dressed the part. Hair all frizzy and falling out of the ponytail, hoop earrings for a pixie who I wasn't currently speaking to - in short, I looked dumpy and pale and slightly like a hooker next to Ivy, even when she was bumming around ( ... )
Reply
"No, thanks," she replied quietly. Ivy toyed with the corner of the page, folding it back and forth. Even when Rachel would describe herself as sloppy looking, she was still beautiful. And Ivy hadn't even brushed her hair. Suddenly she felt self-conscious.
Forcing herself to look at Rachel and not at the halter top, Ivy furrowed her eyebrows slightly, confused. Why was Rachel here with tequila? Was there a celebration she'd missed? Ivy smoothed her expression over into blankness, and looked back down at her book. "But if you want to stay, then do. Glasses are over in the cabinet by ( ... )
Reply
Mentally shrugging, I grabbed myself a glass before flopping gracelessly onto the couch, folding my legs under myself and pouring a healthy portion of the tequila. "So." I fiddled with the glass for a moment, fingers tapping out an aimless rhythm, before tossing back most of the drink. "Good book?"
...Someone please just end my misery. Good black spell to the chest ought to do it.
Reply
Again, Ivy almost lost herself. This was good - too good - and once more the mere thought of pulling away was possibly the last thing that she wanted to do. She'd never imagined that Rachel might actually agree to this, let alone start it, and Rachel's rather forthright touches were pushing reality just that little bit further away.
Ivy ran a tongue over a sharp canine, feeling it itch in reaction to willingness. She had an excellent vantage point of Rachel's neck right now; the pale skin slightly flushed from a raised heart beat (and alcohol, no doubt). Ivy could practically feel the blood rushing in Rachel's veins, and she sucked in a breath.
It would be so easy. Rachel was too drunk, too lost in this, to react quickly enough. Ivy's fangs could be in her neck and tasting her before Rachel would be able to pull away - and she wouldn't want to, afterwards. So easy. Rachel wanted this, what they were doing, she must want to share blood as well, they were connected, permanently entwined ( ... )
Reply
Moving forward on the couch, so I was leaning towards her, on my knees, I frowned at her. "Why not?"
That blood and sex were so completely bound together in Ivy's mind had not occurred to me. I was lost in the moment, in the now, and right then I just wanted to keep kissing Ivy. I wasn't processing anything further or more complicated than that.
Reply
But Ivy had never been great at lying about things that important.
"I think you need to sober up," she said softly, trying not to look at Rachel. Running a hand through her hair, Ivy let go of her death-grip on the table and moved the tequila bottle, storing it - hopefully safely - on the other side of the room. "I can get you some coffee, some water. You're going to have a headache the size of Texas in the morning."
Reply
I took several wavering steps towards her, swaying slightly under the mellow glow of way too much tequila. I got within a couple of inches, tipping my chin up to look at her. "Look, what's the problem? I thought you wanted this! God, Ivy." The anger and hurt in my voice was apparent, and I studied her under half-lidded eyes. "Just take me. Come on. Do it." A taunt, a challenge. Drink had made me bold, had erased my misgivings. "I don't want coffee. Or water." I moved forward, my hand going to rest lightly on her hip. "I'm drunk, Ivy. Take advantage of it." Because I knew it probably wouldn't happen again.
Reply
Leave a comment