Can't read my.
Who: Grell Sutcliff [ rossociliegia ] + OPEN
Where: Apt. № 907
What: This party ♥
When: The evening of May 9th
Warnings: Well the breadsticks are a little phallic ...
There was a soft sigh waiting on lush, ever so slightly damp lips as Grell purposefully dusted his hands off on one another, and took a step back to admire his clever (even if he did say so himself) handwork. Passing on the outside one would have scarcely noticed any difference; the brass '907' adorning the door winked with it's usual inviting gleam, although the door itself had remained pressed closed -- locked for good measure -- since his return from his appointments the previous evening. You see, much as he appreciated each and every offer of help he'd received from a handful of his colleagues, Grell was a devil when it came to exacting the show-stopping element of surprise. Of course, his reasoning behind this was entirely selfish; he was an attention seeking thing, and had absolutely no desire to share the well-deserved the credit of his beautifully decorated apartment with anyone else.
--And beautifully decorated it was. In a likeness and, similarly, an unlikeness to his darling Sebastian, Grell was a strong believer in the importance of aesthetics, though his striving towards perfection was of a far less questionable intent than the Demon's ... in certain respects, at least. He was vain -- a house proud Narcissist -- and he was determined to have his carefully planned out evening reflect his own preoccupation with beauty. On the coffee table sat an elegant vase filled with fresh, blood-red roses, for which Grell had gone to considerable lengths to acquire, and even then was slightly disappointed when their shade didn't quite match the red of the candles sitting at the opposite end. Lovingly prepared dips and crudités peppered available surfaces here and there (some were keeping chilled in the fridge) and in the kitchen, a two bottles of red wine had been opened and left to breathe. He did, of course, have plenty of wine stocked in all three equally pleasing hues, although most (save the rest of the reds) were taking up the last of the room in the fridge. After all, nobody wanted a warm glass of white in the same way that nobody wanted a cold glass of red. The lighting was dim, the place itself was immaculate -- almost doll like -- and, somewhere, there was a soft, classical CD playing.
Tasteful. Very tasteful.
He lit a delicately fragranced incense cone before padding through to the bedroom, making sure to check the time as he did so. Apparently, it had just turned seven fifteen; he had little over a quarter of an hour to put the final touches to his outfit.
Oh, and what an outfit.
Grell had decided to surprise them all by turning his back on his predictable effeminate attire for the night -- good gracious, he was hosting the party, which meant that for the evening the reins were his.
Reins.
The slightly mad inspiration behind his ensemble.
Turning to the mirror, Grell narrowed golden eyes ever so slightly as he scrutinized his appearance for what had to be, at the very least, the fourth time that evening. He was outfitted in attractive, figure-hugging equestrian dressage get-up -- it had been murder to find, but he had his ways -- though in place of unremarkable black wellingtons he wore a knee high version of a pair of usual Victorian boots. Scarlet hair was piled up into an attractive updo on the back of his head, and the slightly shorter bangs around the front fell to frame his frace and accentuate his aristocratic cheekbones very nicely indeed. Perched at a just-so angle towards the front of his head was a little top hat with a crimson sash and feather, complete with an accompanying net fascinator, beneath which lips were painted a luscious red. An unusual ensemble indeed! A white-gloved hand absently reached up to adjust the net covering the upper half of his face, and Grell leaned over to his vanity table where a long, thin riding crop was patiently waiting for him to take up and finish the look.
Yes! Yes, it would do just fine. Now all that was left to do was hope he wouldn't have to use it on any of his guests. And speaking of ...
Knock knock.
Such timing! Crop in one hand and his oozing confidence in the other, the redhead stalked through the apartment to greet the first of what he hoped would be plenty of charming visitors.
"Good evening!"
Where: Apt. № 907
What: This party ♥
When: The evening of May 9th
Warnings: Well the breadsticks are a little phallic ...
There was a soft sigh waiting on lush, ever so slightly damp lips as Grell purposefully dusted his hands off on one another, and took a step back to admire his clever (even if he did say so himself) handwork. Passing on the outside one would have scarcely noticed any difference; the brass '907' adorning the door winked with it's usual inviting gleam, although the door itself had remained pressed closed -- locked for good measure -- since his return from his appointments the previous evening. You see, much as he appreciated each and every offer of help he'd received from a handful of his colleagues, Grell was a devil when it came to exacting the show-stopping element of surprise. Of course, his reasoning behind this was entirely selfish; he was an attention seeking thing, and had absolutely no desire to share the well-deserved the credit of his beautifully decorated apartment with anyone else.
--And beautifully decorated it was. In a likeness and, similarly, an unlikeness to his darling Sebastian, Grell was a strong believer in the importance of aesthetics, though his striving towards perfection was of a far less questionable intent than the Demon's ... in certain respects, at least. He was vain -- a house proud Narcissist -- and he was determined to have his carefully planned out evening reflect his own preoccupation with beauty. On the coffee table sat an elegant vase filled with fresh, blood-red roses, for which Grell had gone to considerable lengths to acquire, and even then was slightly disappointed when their shade didn't quite match the red of the candles sitting at the opposite end. Lovingly prepared dips and crudités peppered available surfaces here and there (some were keeping chilled in the fridge) and in the kitchen, a two bottles of red wine had been opened and left to breathe. He did, of course, have plenty of wine stocked in all three equally pleasing hues, although most (save the rest of the reds) were taking up the last of the room in the fridge. After all, nobody wanted a warm glass of white in the same way that nobody wanted a cold glass of red. The lighting was dim, the place itself was immaculate -- almost doll like -- and, somewhere, there was a soft, classical CD playing.
Tasteful. Very tasteful.
He lit a delicately fragranced incense cone before padding through to the bedroom, making sure to check the time as he did so. Apparently, it had just turned seven fifteen; he had little over a quarter of an hour to put the final touches to his outfit.
Oh, and what an outfit.
Grell had decided to surprise them all by turning his back on his predictable effeminate attire for the night -- good gracious, he was hosting the party, which meant that for the evening the reins were his.
Reins.
The slightly mad inspiration behind his ensemble.
Turning to the mirror, Grell narrowed golden eyes ever so slightly as he scrutinized his appearance for what had to be, at the very least, the fourth time that evening. He was outfitted in attractive, figure-hugging equestrian dressage get-up -- it had been murder to find, but he had his ways -- though in place of unremarkable black wellingtons he wore a knee high version of a pair of usual Victorian boots. Scarlet hair was piled up into an attractive updo on the back of his head, and the slightly shorter bangs around the front fell to frame his frace and accentuate his aristocratic cheekbones very nicely indeed. Perched at a just-so angle towards the front of his head was a little top hat with a crimson sash and feather, complete with an accompanying net fascinator, beneath which lips were painted a luscious red. An unusual ensemble indeed! A white-gloved hand absently reached up to adjust the net covering the upper half of his face, and Grell leaned over to his vanity table where a long, thin riding crop was patiently waiting for him to take up and finish the look.
Yes! Yes, it would do just fine. Now all that was left to do was hope he wouldn't have to use it on any of his guests. And speaking of ...
Knock knock.
Such timing! Crop in one hand and his oozing confidence in the other, the redhead stalked through the apartment to greet the first of what he hoped would be plenty of charming visitors.
"Good evening!"