Tag Archives: pxraclox

pxraclox:

iamthefirechild:

Attempting to lighten the mood, she remarks, “So shall I inspect the rest of you for that deformity? There’s clearly nothing wrong with your face.” She glances toward the door, toward the music and lights and bodies and madness. “Nobody’s going to come out here and bother us.”

“Shame on you for thinking there was,” Ace quipped playfully. As her own gaze drifted beyond the glass doors leading back inside, so did his. “They’re all too preoccupied to even think about it.” He found himself turning his head to face her once more.

“Faces can be deceptive,” she shoots back. “What about the rest of you? Covered in twisted scars, maybe, or zits, or ingrown hairs?” She can’t believe it’s her, saying these things, with even the faintest expectation of an answer. She’s high on the people, even not being in there with them; high on the carelessness and wildness. She might say anything, do anything, and it won’t matter.

But she still doesn’t step into his space.

pxraclox:

iamthefirechild:

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Her gaze changed at the tone of his voice, arrogance falling away like the mask it was. Leaning forward, she scrutinised his face, noting how he fidgeted with the cheap mask.

Gently, Summer asks, “If you don’t want to be here, why did you come? For that matter, why did you stay?” She wanted to step closer again, offer an ease for that edge. It’s an instinct that’s hard to repress, but she does.

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Ace’s gaze shifted as she did, noticing how she did so to get a better look at his face. He turned the mask over in his hands slower, and slower, before coming to a full stop all at once, jaw set.

“You can’t do everything for yourself, apparently.” The comment is meant to be dry, passing, but there is something of a truth behind it. “I wouldn’t’ve heard the end of it either way, if m’being honest.”

Attempting to lighten the mood, she remarks, “So shall I inspect the rest of you for that deformity? There’s clearly nothing wrong with your face.” She glances toward the door, toward the music and lights and bodies and madness. “Nobody’s going to come out here and bother us.”

pxraclox:

iamthefirechild:

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She fiddled with the delicate edges of her mask as he ripped his off, choosing to ignore his comment about her luck. He was clearly way out of her league. She made sure no hint of that showed on her face, and lounged a little more obviously. “Honestly,” she mused, “I shouldn’t think any of them, unless you try to start something. I don’t think it’s that kind of party.”

Dear gods, his cheekbones are unfair. Of all the places to meet someone, it had to be here, where it would never mean anything and never go anywhere. Summer arches one eyebrow, superior and amused. “Did you gatecrash? Are you expecting to be thrown out?”

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“It’s always that kind of party with this lot.” There’s a hint of an edge, bitterness in his tone as he spoke, peering down at the dollar mask he turned in his hands idly. He hates everything about it; he feels almost as if he’s hiding again.

“I’m more of a plus-one to a plus-one. I guess that falls somewhere in-between being invited and ‘gatecrashing,’ as you so-graciously put it.”

Her gaze changed at the tone of his voice, arrogance falling away like the mask it was. Leaning forward, she scrutinised his face, noting how he fidgeted with the cheap mask.

Gently, Summer asks, “If you don’t want to be here, why did you come? For that matter, why did you stay?” She wanted to step closer again, offer an ease for that edge. It’s an instinct that’s hard to repress, but she does.

pxraclox:

iamthefirechild:

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Ah. It’s going to be one of those types — the kind that say ‘no’ with their bodies, but not with their words, and it’s left to her to decide which answer is correct. (It’s always what the body says. Bodies are subconscious.) Summer shifted back a little, just enough to concede the silent argument.

“If there were, I guess you would just have to wait for that inspection,” she says back, over her shoulder, making sure to give him his arm’s length of space as she slips outside.

There’s no one out there, of course — nobody here smokes, they all vape because that’s more trendy and can be done inside out of rain or cold or heat. She’s seen them, comparing their e-cigs and insert-flavour-here in dark corners lit by the LEDs in their tools. So she drapes herself backwards over the railing, hair tumbling over the edge in a cascade weirdly coloured by the neon and streetlights, and waits to see how the game will play out.

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Ace overlooked her with narrowed eyes as she analyzed his rigid movements. People didn’t usually do this for him; but, then again, he isn’t very open when it comes to his discomfort. When she took a step back, he let out a breath, and turned around sharply to look towards the balcony.

“You should be so lucky.” He gave a dry snort, following her suit to the balcony once he caught her movement through the corner of his eye.

As she drapes herself backwards over the railing, he sucks in a deep breath, and yanks off his mask, not being one for anticipation anyhow. “Guess how many security guards they would sic on me if I walked back in there like this.”

She fiddled with the delicate edges of her mask as he ripped his off, choosing to ignore his comment about her luck. He was clearly way out of her league. She made sure no hint of that showed on her face, and lounged a little more obviously. “Honestly,” she mused, “I shouldn’t think any of them, unless you try to start something. I don’t think it’s that kind of party.”

Dear gods, his cheekbones are unfair. Of all the places to meet someone, it had to be here, where it would never mean anything and never go anywhere. Summer arches one eyebrow, superior and amused. “Did you gatecrash? Are you expecting to be thrown out?”

pxraclox:

iamthefirechild:

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She splutters a laugh; the entire idea embodied in his words is hilarious. “Sure, okay.” She steps a little closer to him, looks up to see that his eyes are intensely blue. “I don’t think anyone’s on the balcony right now … “

This is the point where he’ll laugh at her, mock her for even pretending to take him seriously — basically backpedal furiously. She’s prepared to be amused as hell at whatever excuse he comes up with.

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The corners of his lips twitch upwards when her laugh rang through the air, though they dropped as she moved closer, his whole body growing stiff. His personal bubble just about trumped the size of his ego. “And if they were…?” He managed to muster, turning towards her in the means of gauging her reaction.

“Ladies first,” he said, after awkward silence settled over them for a few beats, gesturing towards said balcony.

Ah. It’s going to be one of those types — the kind that say ‘no’ with their bodies, but not with their words, and it’s left to her to decide which answer is correct. (It’s always what the body says. Bodies are subconscious.) Summer shifted back a little, just enough to concede the silent argument.

“If there were, I guess you would just have to wait for that inspection,” she says back, over her shoulder, making sure to give him his arm’s length of space as she slips outside.

There’s no one out there, of course — nobody here smokes, they all vape because that’s more trendy and can be done inside out of rain or cold or heat. She’s seen them, comparing their e-cigs and insert-flavour-here in dark corners lit by the LEDs in their tools. So she drapes herself backwards over the railing, hair tumbling over the edge in a cascade weirdly coloured by the neon and streetlights, and waits to see how the game will play out.

pxraclox:

iamthefirechild:

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“They’re never that interesting,” she shot back, and if there’s an edge of resentment or resignation to her voice nobody has to know but her.

Though it’s true; these are parties for people who drink to get drunk, fuck to keep score, and gossip like cruel vampires. She just goes to be reminded why she doesn’t go. Maybe here, with the mask on, she’ll do something shocking to even these jaded socialites.

She tossed her head at his riposte. “Now I’m certain you’re hiding some deformity under all that black. You’d better get one of the girls here to check, just in case.” She keeps staring anyway — it’s a cutting comment, not meant to carry truth.

And how else is she going to get to look at beautiful bodies anyway?

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The lad’s gaze shifts towards her general direction for a moment or so as he mulls over her rather terse reply. “You must frequent these types of parties often, then.” 

Ace knows little about the gatherings themselves, but more than enough about the people that attend them. Needless to say, he isn’t all that impressed.

“I think you’d make a satisfactory tribute. Unless, of course, you’re afraid said deformity will jump out at you.” This time, he turns to her, smug grin tugging at either corner of his lips.

She splutters a laugh; the entire idea embodied in his words is hilarious. “Sure, okay.” She steps a little closer to him, looks up to see that his eyes are intensely blue. “I don’t think anyone’s on the balcony right now … “

This is the point where he’ll laugh at her, mock her for even pretending to take him seriously — basically backpedal furiously. She’s prepared to be amused as hell at whatever excuse he comes up with.

pxraclox:

iamthefirechild:

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She’s not even sure how she got invited to this party, except being plus-one to someone who doesn’t date has unexpected benefits sometimes. It’s nice enough, though she doesn’t know anyone except the friend she came with, and her loose hair keeps catching on the butterfly filigree mask she’s wearing. She’d decided to wear her favourite green corset with a black handkerchief skirt and tell anyone who asked that she was Madame Butterfly.

So far no one had asked.

Her gaze keeps catching on the tall, elegant lad, hovering like herself near the snacks, until he finally speaks.

“I thought staring was the point of wearing masks? Anyway you’re worth staring at,” she replies boldly. There is something liberating, after all, about being unidentifiable.

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Ace’s gaze wandered from the girl before him, to the partygoers, all gathered on the dance-floor, swaying in-sync to ‘Earned It’ off of the Fifty Shades soundtrack. It’s a great record for a shitty movie, and he remained unabashed by having listened to it on repeat the whole week.

There’s a sharp, yet simple contrast between what the men and women wore; the women put in so much effort, whereas the majority of men, Ace included, simply threw on a suit, and bought a cheap dollar mask on their way to the function.

“I thought the point of masks was to make regular dances like these far more interesting than they actually are,” the curly-haired boy said, reaching for the punchbowl’s ladle and raising his glass as he did so. At the next part of the statement, the lad actually shot her a wink through his mask.

“And don’t you forget it.”

“They’re never that interesting,” she shot back, and if there’s an edge of resentment or resignation to her voice nobody has to know but her.

Though it’s true; these are parties for people who drink to get drunk, fuck to keep score, and gossip like cruel vampires. She just goes to be reminded why she doesn’t go. Maybe here, with the mask on, she’ll do something shocking to even these jaded socialites.

She tossed her head at his riposte. “Now I’m certain you’re hiding some deformity under all that black. You’d better get one of the girls here to check, just in case.” She keeps staring anyway — it’s a cutting comment, not meant to carry truth.

And how else is she going to get to look at beautiful bodies anyway?

pxraclox:

@iamthefirechild

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Echo and Bear thought it was time for Ace to ‘get back out there’ after months of ‘moping around his apartment’. He’d like to add, that:

  • He was never ‘in there,’ at least, not exclusively.
  • He doesn’t mope. Not for anyone, or anything, and especially not over what he’s learned to regard as a prolonged one-night stand.

So, here he is, lingering by the snack table, clad in a silver masquerade mask with a black suit to match. Their gazes meet once, twice, three times over a punchbowl, and he’s not nearly as annoyed as he should be.

“S’impolite to stare, y’know.”

She’s not even sure how she got invited to this party, except being plus-one to someone who doesn’t date has unexpected benefits sometimes. It’s nice enough, though she doesn’t know anyone except the friend she came with, and her loose hair keeps catching on the butterfly filigree mask she’s wearing. She’d decided to wear her favourite green corset with a black handkerchief skirt and tell anyone who asked that she was Madame Butterfly.

So far no one had asked.

Her gaze keeps catching on the tall, elegant lad, hovering like herself near the snacks, until he finally speaks.

“I thought staring was the point of wearing masks? Anyway you’re worth staring at,” she replies boldly. There is something liberating, after all, about being unidentifiable.