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Post by Lovely Masochist on Jun 15, 2011 15:09:07 GMT -5
Decked in jewels. Candle lit. With thick curtains, lush pillows, and finery of all sorts, this room is about as exotic as they come. As inviting as the soft mattress and seating areas may be, he still makes his bed in a curious pink coffin tucked away in the closet.
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Post by Nyxlock on Jun 15, 2011 15:54:38 GMT -5
Silvester mumbled something incoherently and cuddled into a source of warmth - whatever that was. He could feel the headache building up in his temples - he was going to pay dearly for last night, whatever had happened, but right now, he was comfortable. The headache could be dealt with later, if it was determined enough to bug him.
When he risked opening his eyes, everything was fuzzy and he immediately closed his eyes. From the colours and shapes of the furniture in the room, it wasn't his hotel room. Nor was it familiar in anyway, what-so-ever. But, instead of panicking, he just (again) decided to deal with it later - back to sleep now, panic attack in a few minutes. He wasn't going anywhere any time soon from the thing latched onto his back. (whatwasit? He doesn't remember a person but, then again, either did he remember the room but that's besides the point here)
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Post by Lovely Masochist on Jun 15, 2011 16:45:01 GMT -5
Ira hummed a quiet reply to Silvester's mumbling, his internal clock telling him there was only a few more minutes before it was safe to wake up. Deciding not to worry about it, he pressed his face against the warmth of someone's chest. He liked the gentle beating of a heart when at peace. It lulled him into a deeper sleep most times. This would've bothered him centuries ago, but now he was used to sharing a confined space with another person. Within the sanctity of his coffin, all he wanted was closeness, and he was definitely getting plenty of that now. Letting out a soft sigh, he greatly tightened his hold, but luckily for Silvester, he didn't have the physical strength enough to make it hindering.
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Post by Nyxlock on Jun 15, 2011 17:27:16 GMT -5
Squirming a little when Ira tightened his hold, Silvester nuzzled the pillow and threw an arm around Ira, pulling him a little bit closer. Attempting to open his eyes a second time, he had to blink a few times to find some sort of resemblance of focus. The first thing he saw was a head of hair using his chest as a pillow. He closed his eyes, before belatedly realising that the head of hair belonged to a person; a person that just happened to be his personal blanket. It took him a second glance and some rather painful thinking to realise that his blanket was also a guy. "AHH!" He spazzed, pushing Ira off himself and in the same moment, managing to fall out of the embedded coffin and onto the floor. What the hell happened last night!?
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Post by Lovely Masochist on Jun 15, 2011 17:50:51 GMT -5
Ira grinned at being hugged tighter, letting a tiny coo escape his lips in happiness. He was much more awake now, having sensed that the moment of sunset was about a minute passed. His smile widened at that thought, then pressed a kiss against Silvester's chest before turning said smile up at his guest. "How're you fee- ah!" His question was interrupted at having seen the shock flash across Silvester's face and then being forcibly pushed against the side of his coffin. Containing his own shock, he carefully sat up, hoping he didn't bruise, and timidly peeked over the coffin's edge, sweeping his hair out of his eyes in the process. "Oi. All right?" he asked, suppressing the urge to giggle by pressing the back of his hand against his mouth. He was certain it was obvious, though, in his eyes.
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Post by Nyxlock on Jun 15, 2011 18:14:05 GMT -5
"No." Silvester answered, pressing the heel of his palms to his temples as he squeezed. His panic attack served only to make his headache worse. He struggled to remember what had happened last night - only able to recall blurrs of sound and colour. Dammit, idiot. He opened one of his eyes to look at Ira sheepishly. Feeling only more embarrassed by the amusment in the other's eyes, he closed his own. Swallowing his panic - shirtless! What the hell happened to my shirt? WHAT DON'T I REMEMBER? - he found his voice again. "I'm sorry..." He apologised, trying hard not to ask about what had occured. He wasn't certain he actually wanted to remember, considering his current state.
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Post by Lovely Masochist on Jun 15, 2011 22:14:24 GMT -5
Ira drooped an arm over the edge of said coffin and perched his chin atop it. He seemed quite interested in how freaked out Silvester was and wondered whether he even remembered his name. He sighed. He had hoped that he was going to have a lovely new friend, even if he had strange tastes in clothing. "Sorry for what? I bruise easily, so you've no need to worry. I quite enjoy rough handling at times," he played off jokingly, not wanting to add even more anxiety to Silvester's spazz attack. Curious, that's what Silvester was, and Ira found it fascinating to the extreme. He reached down to comfortingly pet his hair, seeing as he hadn't tried getting up from the floor yet. Attention caught, he wondered whether the guy would be sorely cross with him if he made up a story that he might dread, or... if he gave him the truth. "I hope I look half as good as you do with crazy bedhead," he offered, not sure how else to get the guy talking.
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Post by Nyxlock on Jun 16, 2011 7:24:45 GMT -5
Silvester groaned a little bit in response. He really should watch what he drunk from now on to avoid encounters like this in the future - and the headaches. Talking was right now, the very last thing he wanted to do but he supposed he should remember his manners - it was the guy's place in the first place. Plus, he would really like some answers himself. "Careful, it bites," He warned Ira when he patted his head, certain his hair was just as disarrayed as Ira's was, though, probably more so if this damned headache was any diction of what he had gotten up to that night. He sat up, scooting back a little away from the bed so he could look at Ira without craning his neck back. Despite his spazz attack, he wasn't as uncomfortable now that they were talking; the only problem remaining was where the hell is my shirt? "Oh you look gorgeous,"
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Post by Lovely Masochist on Jun 17, 2011 1:55:14 GMT -5
Ira pulled his hand back to him from musing Silvester's hair, still grinning. "I think its a little hungover," he commented. He was trying not to say quite too much at the moment because he usually seemed to confuse even the sober people; the inebriated could have possible aneurysms, and he wasn't sure he wanted to risk it. Instead, he hopped out of the coffin with quite a bit of energy compared to how he normally was, and he carefully lowered it to the floor from the bed before proceeding to replace it in the wardrobe. Pulling on his housecoat afterwards, he tucked his hands into his pockets, frowning when he felt something in one of them. Pulling it out, he furrowed his brow, then pouted. "Lost Gin update. Blacked out me found and re-hid the bottle and left a note saying, ,GOOD LUCK, SUCKER!!'," he shared, then turned the paper around for proof. "Drunk me doesn't sound very nice. Anyway, breakfast? Mind you, it's just after sunset."
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Post by Nyxlock on Jun 17, 2011 9:41:51 GMT -5
"Hmm," Silvester hummed agreement. He stretched, pulling his arms back behind his head, and watched as Ira hoped around the room. Taking the opporuanity, he also looked around the room in an attempt to locate his shirt and any other thing he might have had once possibly on his person. As far as he was aware, his cell phone could have been in a fish bowl and one of his shoes on a ceiling fan; it had happened before. "Or, drunk you is just smarter tha sober you," He commented, chuckling at the note when it was presented to him. It looked awful, like a little child had attempted to scribble something. "At least you can write while drunk, I hear that's a useful talent." He added. He looked around the room for a second time before nodding. Might as well, seeing as going hungr wouldn't help his hangover. "Alright, but before that, where's my shirt?" He asked, standing. He didn't want to wander around this guy's house half naked.
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Post by Lovely Masochist on Jun 24, 2011 2:18:56 GMT -5
"I don't think that's the case. I get more friendly when I'm under, and usually that means you either give in to peer pressure more easily or you're the one trying to convince others to give in, neither of which are very smart, which throws that theory out of the window," Ira shook his head with a small laugh, then held up one finger and disappeared into his wardrobe. Emerging, he wore a flowy pink, polka dotted blouse that cinched at the waist with a lovely bow. His trousers were wide-legged and made of a soft fabric, and he hopped around on one foot as he pulled on a pair of socks. "Its hardly legible, and I've had years of practise, so don't start praising me yet," he waved off, skipping over to his door and unhooking a hanger of a pressed suit cover from over his bedroom door. "Here it is. You decided midway through the night that you wanted it dry-cleaned. You wanted to get your trousers done, too, but I convinced you that was a bad idea after I pointed out that you would look very odd in just a pair of shoes. It did take a bit of convincing, though," he informed, swinging said garment on his finger until Silvester took a hold of it.
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Post by Nyxlock on Jun 24, 2011 3:23:32 GMT -5
Silvester leaned back on the bed, using the post to support himself when Ira disappeared into his wardrobe. When he returned, his eyebrows shot up but it was only a passing consideration - after all, who was he to comment? What he wore didn't even match sometimes. "In another hundred years given, it'll be legible. Just keep up the practice, I'm sure," He advised him. "Certain would have been a bad idea? I could have gave them my shoes, too. Then, perhaps, I wouldn't have looked that odd; all I would have needed was the clichéd brown trench coat, I would have matched for once." He pushed off of the bed and accepted the hanger, twisting it onto his wrist. He opened the bag and tossed the thing on the bed for the moment so he could throw on his shirt. He felt much more comfortable and less exposed now he had his striped, black-and-white jumper (OF SAFTEY!) back on. It was at least clean - his drunk self must be a genius! Holding the hook-bit, he bent his arm over his shoulder and, with his other hand, he gestured for Ira to lead the way. "I'm sure it did, after you?"
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Post by Lovely Masochist on Jul 7, 2011 16:55:02 GMT -5
"Great, that's all I need, to be convinced to leave drunken notes about the castle," Ira shook his head. "No, I'm afraid I annoy the lot of them as it is," he admitted with a shrug. He grinned at Silvester's question and shrugged again. "I'd just met you last night. How was I supposed to know you wouldn't care about running about in your knickers? It was your dignity that I was attempting to preserve," he told him with a grin. He waited patiently while Silvester made himself decent, then motioned for him to leave the hanger on the bed. "Oh, right. Its odd for me when there's someone dependent on me for directions around this place. I'm still quite new," he told him sheepishly, then led the way out of the room.
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