forum A Game of Cards.... ((One on One// PRIVATE//CLOSED))

Started October 28, 2018 by Deleted user

tune

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Ha, as if. "Well yes, I am not, in fact, as stupid as you might think." Marcus met her eyes briefly, then let his gaze fall back to his papers. "You have your work, I have mine."

"Yes, I can agreed to that." She took another bite of her, gesturing to his scone. "That's getting lonely." She chided. If only he would eat faster, she'd certainly stop bothering him. At least for a time.

Marcus raised his eyes towards the ceiling as if begging for the Lord to give him patience. “Fine.” It only took a few bites to finish the scone off, and he had to admit he felt much better afterwards. “Happy?”

"Very. It's not much, but it's a start." she shrugged. She stepped closer and raised her hand to his forehead. She frowned and shook her head. "It wasn't enough to shake that fever though. Soup for tonight would be best." She decided.

Marcus jerked his head away from her hand, angling his papers away from her even though he knew she wouldn’t be able to read them. “I’ll just throw it up again, I can’t stomach a lot of food at a time.”

"The a small bowl. You brought this upon yourself." she reminded him. "Now you have to do something to combat this illness, and we've already established that you don't like medicine." She put her hands on her hips.

March’s raised his gaze to the heavens again. “Fine. But no medication.” His tone was firm, it was clear that she would have to physically pin him down if he was going to take anything. “And, I serve myself. I don’t want you slipping any sleeping draught into my meal.

Winnie laughed. "I'd need to do nothing of the sort…" she said with a wink. What she really meant was: Oh, sweetheart, I'll just find another way. Tucking strand of hair behind her ear, she viewed his bookshelf. "Am I allowed to touch these?" she asked, mocking in her tone.

Marcus restrained from growling in response to her mockery. “Yes.”, he said simply, keeping his eyes focused on his papers. “I don’t see why not.”

((I love how infuriating she's being))
"Hm. Okay…" she took a random book from the shelf. From Red, to Rose it was titled. She skimmed a few pages and found it to be a romance. Written in the masculine of course. She smirked and sent a glance towards Marcus. She couldn't blame him, he was a lonely man.

(Lmao)

Marcus looked up just in time to catch her smirk. “What—“ then he glimpsed the title of the book. Oh. Face and infuriation burning, he pushed himself out of bed and strode over. He found that if he limped slightly to one side, the wound in his chest didn’t hurt so much. “If you want a good book, I recommend this one.” Marcus pulled a green-bound volume from the shelf and handed it to her. “Lying Is Easier in the Dark. A bit of a heavy read, not recommended for the faint of heart.”

(( I made new rp, wanna join? https://www.notebook.ai/forum/roleplaying/a-world-all-our-own-open-1-6))

"But I want to read this on-" He handed her the book. She took it and stifled a giggle. "Fine, it doesn't seem so bad." She brushed past him and settled in a comfy recliner. It smelled of him, a scent she had come to associate him with in only two days. She opened the book and began reading.

OH MY GOD I SPENT ALMOST AN HOUR TYPING UP LIKE TEN PARAGRAPHS
AND THEN NOTEBOOK
DID FREAKING APPLICATION ERROR
AND IT'S ALL GONE

I’ll type it up again as soon as I get home I am so sorry

Don't worry, take your time

(I'm so sorry it took me this long to get back to you, my wifi kept cutting out at the worst times)
(the result is much shorter and not as good as the original, what I first typed up was all poetic, this is just… bland. Sorry ):

Marcus returned to his bed with a volume of his own, this time electing to sit on the edge of his mattress. As he read, his dark eyes flickered to Winnifred's, trying to judge her thoughts on the literature he had just handed her. Illegal literature, yes, he had snatched it from a book burning, but still quality and enticing. He felt a strange sort of anxiety, handing it over to her like it was a mere possession, when it was so much more than that.

Some people think of Death as a collector of souls, a reaper, someone to guide you on your journey to the afterlife. To others, Death is merely the transition from this world to another. It can be seen as an ill omen, a plague, a humbling blow, a great danger to outrun.
To me, it would be a God-sent escape.

My colleagues, my companions, constantly marvel at the 'miracle of life', and about how lucky they are to be alive in this beautiful world that God created. They do whatever they can to keep themselves away from the path to Hell, but don't realize that the precious life they are experiencing is, in fact, Hell, and the world beyond is what they call 'Heaven'.

Most fear Death. I crave it.

But I crave the slow process of Death, stretching it out as much as I can so that I can experience it to it's fullest. The very same blood that turns the stomach of grown men is spilling across the floor of my chambers as I write this, grounding me, focusing my intentions onto the page. The acute pain, the crimson against dark panelled flooring, all of it calms me, puts me at peace while providing what most would call a twisted enjoyment. But who are they to judge my philosophies? They could never understand, for Life is a beautiful, golden lie, and Death is an ugly black truth.

How ironic that lies are better told in the dark.

((Wait..wait…wait… You said THAT was bland? Wow, your definition and my are on two really seperate sides of the spectrum. That was great!! I can only imagine what the first one was like. A+))

Winifred raised a dainty hand to her lips, biting a nail as she read. You, fellow, would have gotten along nicely with my aunt. she thought of the author. She thought Death to be a god, in more ways than one. He thought Death to be a release. She began to wonder which on was write. She wondered if she would be greeted with great release, a great satisfaction after years of lies and misery. Or….

Her eyes trailed up to Marcus.

Would Death meet her where she was? Would he play with her mind, her heart, and trap her within his provocative will. Would he morph her into something hideous, and love her into death of the mind, of the soul, of the body…

(Aw thank you so much!)

For the briefest of secjnds, Marcus’s eyes met hers. He couldn’t quite gauge her expression, which worried him slightly. “Enjoying the book?” Looking back down at his page, he waited for her answer. He found himself much more dependant on a positive one than he would’ve liked.

"Yes…I am. Quite interesting." She nodded her head at Marcus. "Quite illegal as well." She smirked. She flipped through the pages. "Well used as well. Is this one of your favorites?" she asked.

Marcus managed a chuckle, even as heavy fatigue weighed him down. “Mm, I snatched it up from a book burning. The only existing copy. My hand was red and swollen for weeks, but it was worth it.” He glanced up at her, this time holding eye contact. “It is one of my favourites, I enjoy it’s somewhat… philosophical style.”

"I can see why." she laughed softly. This book screamed Lord Marcus Crenshaw. "It speaks of your character, no matter how unhealthy, it is true." She set the book to the side and folded her hands over her knee. She knew what she looked like without a mirror. Her mother sat like that all the time. But she'd eyed Winifred with condescending eyes and loathing. Winifred watched Marcus with wonder and fascination.

Marcus blinked, perplexed by the way she was looking at him, without a trace of loathing or frustration. “….. Yes, I suppose.” He tilted his head slightly, dark eyes searching her face for any trace of hate. He found none. What?

Winifred blinked and looked away. "You should eat another scone. Dinner won't be for hours." she stood and passed him another scone. Why had she looked at him like that? She tried to deny the answer but she couldn't come up with another. He is a fascinating creature…

Marcus shook his head. “It’ll just come back up again.” Returning his gaze to his book, he shook off any notion that she harboured anything but loathing for him.

"Very well…" She took a bite of the scone herself, they were still warm. She smiled and turned back to her chair to continue readying. After several moments of silence she looked up. "How is your chest feeling?"

Marcus shrugged. “Itchy. But it doesn’t hurt as much.” He didn’t know why every moment that passes with his book in her hands made him so nervous, it wasn’t as if she would be able to read between the lines on the pages and find his own ideals echoed back at her.

"Yeah… that'll occur until its time to remove those stitches…." she fell silent. An interesting portion came up in the story. She bit her bottom lip as she read, her eyebrows knitting together.