w a t e r y graves (lance)

[alice]

x x

The air around me still feels like a cage
And love is just a camouflage for what resembles rage again

It was one of those days when the sky was sheer white, an unbroken blanket of cold ebony. There weren't even patches of grey, nor any threat of bad weather. Nor were there any signs of a break in the clouds, no blue, no sun rays, just white. Lots of white. Alice always thought of these days as a strange type of limbo that wrapped itself around the Earth. She liked to think the whiteness continued on forever, that it never broke, and that the clouds threatened to devour the planet. It was an odd thought, one that would make a lot of people easily depressed, but to Alice it was happy.

She liked these particular days, when the weather wasn't bad enough that she couldn't go outside, but it wasn't bright and chirpy that it attracted all the people. It also reminded her of Ireland in a way. Most people thought of her home as a place full of green and sunshine, but this was the more common weather. This and rain. Lots of rain that kept that green alive. But that didn't matter to people; they had their impression and they didn't care if it didn't make any sense. They wanted beautiful green Ireland, and when it rained they got grumpy and complained.

That was one of the reasons Alice avoided tourists when she lived back there. But that's another story. Today while the weather was like this, she decided she'd take a walk outside. Not many people were outside in these conditions, meaning the dorms and the hallways would be extra crowded while the fresh air was oh so much more fresh without the needless groups. In fact Alice had taken her easel along with her, because the campus was quite picturesque and without the threat of rain she could feel safe about bringing canvas outside. If it was going to rain she would've merely settled for her sketch pad.

She had the easel set up on the shore and a palette on her arm, smothered in various colors of paint. The lake was quite beautiful in this weather. It wasn't an ungodly shade of blue, nor was it grey. It was a blanket of white, like snow or ice, with little protrusions of darkness where there were rocks. There was a certain magic about the lake. She had heard the rumors but she had disregarded them, however standing there on the shore with her paints she could actually see the magic. Not physically, but spiritually, and that was what she aimed to capture with the blues and greens on her palette.

[/justify]

[camena]

``everything may return to water

There was no weather under water; that’s what he had been told by the land dwellers -- no weather under water. His body cut through the murky depths of the lake, a sapphire scaled chest grazed the sandy bottom, kelp, waterlogged driftwood dive out of the way in his wake. Those land-lovers knew nothing. The weather of water was more alive, more powerful than anything upon land -- the rushing undercurrents bury and uncover at will, gripping things of weakness and passing judgement, and when it is calm it caresses the body and gives. Rage. They knew nothing. Bits ribbons of kelp and confettied debris fluttered and parted from his torpedoed form.

More speed. The underwater world was more dangerous; it was harder to see, it was faster, it was harder, it was hidden from the eyes of others -- only he knew the secrets of the lake like no other, this was his world, his world of confiscation. This world where his rage could turn to dust and return to water. Faster. This body was much superior than the one he had been given as a disguise -- a disguise! Why would he need such a thing? They call him a monster, the school called him a monster.

Pure speed. But this body desired like no other; this body desired to taste the wriggling flesh of the dying, the feel of contracting muscles out of control, the delicious vibrations of a ceasing heart. The sandy bottom was in turmoil, mimicking his own racing thoughts unmirroring the unbroken surface of the lake -- and who was that? Azure caught sight of powdered red.

He was a monster, they were all monsters. The hunger for life, the hunger for ending it with a body that desired, but not today -- said something else. It was improper and tasteless. But who was to say he wouldn’t have some fun from a fit of rage. He liked beauty, and it was only proper to introduce beauty to true beauty. Lance’s powerful tail propelled him towards the surface towards the female so sadly unaware, and he broke surface with a scaled talon to grip a dry ankle, pulling her into the water.

Ah, and there was the splash. Without another hesitation he looked into her face with a smirk, toothed, just for her and spoke as pressed into her shoulders and brought her deeper. “I hope you’re enjoying the view. You’re just so beautiful, I thought I should bring you somewhere you belong.” Struggle. He wanted to feel her muscles give, he wanted to feel her heart pound against the undercurrents. Oh, he wouldn’t kill her -- he pressed her into the lake’s bed -- it was just an act of kindness. “Open your eyes...” Another smile, just for her. Struggle.

[/size][/justify]

[alice]

x x

The air around me still feels like a cage
And love is just a camouflage for what resembles rage again

So peaceful and unawares, Alice didn't have any idea what was coming for her. The school was supposed to be a zone of relative safety. People weren't allowed to fight, weren't even allowed to wander around in their true form. Her guard was down and that was exactly when something bad would happen. There was a splash of water and something grabbed her foot, yanking her off her feet. She landed hard on her back, the air knocked out of her lungs, but whatever had grabbed her was not done. It pulled her toward the water's edge. Perhaps the magic in the lake was dangerous.

Her senses came about her just soon enough to grab at something. Unfortunately that something was the leg of the easel. It toppled over uselessly, the canvas she'd been painting on skittering across the ground and landing in the lake just before she was pulled into the chilly water. She took a long gasp of air out of reflex just before she was submerged and the icy water stung at her eyes until she shut them. Her long pink hair cascaded around her in a tangle like the legs of an octopus as she was dragged through the water at uncomfortable speeds.

Her ears popped under the pressure and then everything settled, the ground at her back. There was a voice, then, under the water. It was not muffled, but was clear as crystal and ordered her to open her eyes. She complied, opening them to look at the murky figure that was holding her there, at the way the white clouds rippled at the surface far above them. But despite herself Alice wasn't ready to just drown. She stared up at the figure who was holding her and reached out to hold the sides of his face. He called her beautiful, so she hoped that meant he would comply with her next course of action.

Cerulean eyes became half-lidded as she pulled her head up toward him, closing the gap between them suddenly, pressing her lips against his as her hair floated tranquilly around them in the murky depths. Just long enough for his guard to drop, and then she bit into his lip with her fangs, injecting him with her venom in hopes that it would weaken his grasp with enough breath left to reach the surface. It would be close, but the Irish nagaini was not ready to die. Not yet, anyway.

[/justify]

[camena]

``everything may return to water

Oh, how the feeble little thing struggled, how she kicked, how she flailed; it was amusing how the land-dwellers were so ungraceful in water -- no movement save for the forever-clawing at what would slip between their unwebbed fingers and toes. This was what thrilled him, the causation of fear and pain, but why? She was too beautiful to hurt and so he thought to himself as the female struggled for breath, why did he enjoy such endeavors. Life. That was most beautiful, when something desired it so badly that they would grasp for it with colder fingers.

He enjoyed life. He loved the way she struggled as clouds of water-dust billowed about, and he just watched almost in awe, knowing what was so wrong but felt so good. As for what drove him to take her, he couldn’t figure; perhaps it was just how she was too content to look and not see the magic of the pond -- this was the magic of the pond, the good, the evil, the truth of the pond. I’ll show you.

[/color] And he could’t just pass up the chance at some sadistic play.

But, oh? What was this? A pair of soft hands -- they were warm, he noticed, in comparison to the water -- against his scaled cheeks, and then a kiss? Her lips warmer. What in the world? Azure widened with disgruntled pleasure at the kiss too long. His grip tightened upon her shoulders as indecision gripped him: to stay or to shove her away, he certainly didn’t mind a woman’s lips. Until she bit him. Fire shot through his veins and he recognized the snake within the bite as he tore her from his own bloodied lips and gripped tighter still, glaring into eyes so similar to his own but fearful.

Two minutes. Too long. Lance cursed to himself -- forgetting himself -- and what was this weakness?! He didn’t mean to kill anyone. Thud, thud, thud...the faster pounding of his heart and hers and the weakness spread -- not yet. He shot her another glare and propelled his powerful tail to fly through water with the woman in tow to break surface again, and to drag her upon ground. He fell upon his back, his merman form dissipating, revealing a very undressed Lancelot. ”Breathe, fool.” His own breathing sped up he gripped the ground and laughed to himself. It was funny how this one thirsted for life.
[/blockquote][/blockquote][/size][/justify]

[alice]

x x

The air around me still feels like a cage
And love is just a camouflage for what resembles rage again

A peaceful tranquility began to settle in around her as her lungs burned. Inwardly she was on fire, every part of her screaming for air, while outwardly she felt her own strength disappearing slowly, watching as her limbs went limp. There wasn't enough time, even when he was poisoned she wouldn't be able to escape his grasp soon enough to reach the surface. Well she might, if her lifeless body floated, but she really wasn't sure what determined that factor. If her lungs were full of water surely that would mean she would sink. Oddly that was her line of thought as her vision began to blacken around the edges.

Then there was movement and she felt the force of water rushing past her. Her hair trailed out behind them like the tentacles of a jellyfish, the water unraveling the braids that framed her face and taking away any control she had over the length. She could see her own hands flapping about uselessly, carried by the currents, her fingers losing themselves in the wet hair. It was normally a strawberry blonde, but in the water it looked almost full on pink. She admired the color, and she was glad it would be the last one she ever saw in this world. The darkness closed in around her as her body burned for that gasp of air it would not get.

Except that it did. The cool air hit her like a wall as she broke through the surface and felt herself on the ground again. Her hair blanketed her as she coughed and hacked, gasping for the air instinctively. Just seconds before there had been none, and now there was all the air she could breath. Her chest heaved up and down as she caught her breath and she swept the damp hair away from her face as it matted her head. She glanced over at the guy who had moments before been drowning her and a new fire started to burn inside of her. Alice was not one to make a scene, but then there were no witnesses to see anyway.

"What the fuck?" she practically shouted, then coughed again, her lungs now burning because of the sensation of being full, and her Irish accent was back in stride since she frankly didn't care about hiding it. "What was that?!" she demanded when she managed to climb to her feet and walk to his side. She could see the swollen veins in his neck where the poison rushed from, the vessels turned green and quite visible. She only lamented the fact that her venom didn't cause pain as she watched him, no doubt getting weaker.

[/justify]

[camena]

``everything may return to water

That’s it, that’s it, get mad. There was something about the rage of other people that satisfied him as well, something that made him wanted to take a thing apart to figure out what made it tick, what did he have to pull to make something go off. The poison was spreading and he could feel its impure viscosity through his veins. Unlike the female who breathed air, he drowned in it -- not in his current form, but even so, the air was putrid; it smelled of smoke, dung, mildew, slime, and people, but he took a long breath anyway. This form would only allow him such a pleasure from something so disgusting.

He looked upon the girl with iridescent eyes that faded from periwinkle to sapphire, tinges of arrogance, rage, interest, and pleasure swimming at their edges. This one would be fun. He had yanked many-a-student into the depths before claiming him to be the source of magic behind the lake -- he didn’t believe in magic -- but too many of them had been so quick to give up before he tossed them back onto shore. But this one! He laughed at her statement, a loud boisterous thing. This one kissed him then bit him!

Her accent was also quite endearing, and he wondered what else he’d get from this one, what he’d get from a dissection of this one. A pale, veined hand wiped the blood from his lips; it was difficult to do even that, so he just let the arm drop. “Yeah, what the fuck.” His lips, a bit swollen from the bite curved into a smirk, “All you had to do was ask if you wanted some tongue.”

Lance dragged himself onto shore, ass naked, his clothes somewhere behind a long forgotten brush -- those things hindered movement anyway. But it was truly a conflict; he didn’t mind being clothesless, but he didn’t want the indecency to frighten anyway, and it wasn’t like him to expose himself in such a way. “Now, unless you would like to stare some more -- which I don’t mind obliging -- would you be so kind as to bring my clothes?” He gestured to the poison riding up his veins, “As you can see, my dear, I’m a little handicapped.”

[/size][/justify]

[alice]

x x

The air around me still feels like a cage
And love is just a camouflage for what resembles rage again

The heaving of her chest started to regulate. At least, it was normalizing in that she was recovering from nearly drowning. She was still breathing heavy in the anger she was feeling for this guy. She had been content, she had been happy, painting. Now the piece she'd been working on was floating in the lake, the paint running off into the water in vibrant swirls since it hadn't had a chance to dry or be finished. It was ruined, and a perfectly good piece of canvas was wasted. She only had a limited supply of that stuff before having to find a way to get more delivered.

And now, even when the boy was lying there with her poison all but incapacitating him, he still had the gall to make wise-cracks and act like this situation was so normal. While he lay naked on the muddy shore. She grunted and held back the urge to give him a sharp kick in the side where he was lying. "If I wanted tongue?" she repeated with a hiss. Literally, a hiss, her nagaini heritage shining through as her forked tongue drew out her breath. She coughed and caught herself. She didn't need to give him more fuel.

He then asked her to fetch his clothing for him. It was the first time she noticed he was stark naked and for a brief second her cheeks became much warmer than the rest of her dripping wet form. For that brief second she turned her head away to hide it. That was stupid, getting so flabbergasted because he was lying there naked. Then again this was the first time she'd ever seen a guy naked, so maybe that was why. But she was angry, she shouldn't be bashful at a time like this. So she grunted and willed her cheeks to normal.

"I can see you're handicapped," she scowled, and this time she did kick him in the shoulder. "So you swim around in the lake naked and drag girls in with you? Are you some kind of pervert?" she murmured, before looking around the lake. "Where are your clothes? I don't want anyone to come along and see you lying there dead and naked. Most could handle the first, but I think the second might traumatize someone."

[/justify]

[camena]

``everything may return to water

The poison was something unexpected, but not entirely new to the merman -- there were far more poisonous creatures out in the water than this serpent hatchling. One could tell a lot from the type of poison an animal uses. The poisons which kill were the just ones, the utilitarian ones, and the poisons which incapacitate were the weak ones, the ones that needed to run, that needed to bluff. He shot her a wink as the forked tongue darted out -- oh the buttons begin.

His body was accustomed to this kind of poison, or at least, his mind was, after all, he was one of the sea and sea snakes weren’t all that uncommon along with their bites; Lance had pushed a number of buttons that didn’t have to belong to humanoid things be they snakes, lizards, or fish. And it seemed that he had pushed enough to earn a kick to the shoulder a light little tap. He shrugged it off and chuckled. Weak. “Only the pretty ones.” He merely lay there with not a care folding his arms behind his head and gestured to a bush close by where his clothes sat in a neatly folded pile.

“Clothes are too much of an inconvenience. And I don’t know why I would be the pervert; you’re the one staring, and I also do recall you stealing a kiss.” The smirk returned to his features, but he wasn’t looking at her -- there wasn’t too much that was particularly interesting -- the curves of a woman weren’t exactly new as mermaids were topless for the most part. His eyes narrowed at her final comment as the gleam in his eyes grew dangerous. “Yes, they would be traumatized. Just the same as if anyone saw you.”

Monsters, they were all monsters. The truth of the statement was not so uncanny, but it was true. To die one would revert to his natural state; what would people think when they saw a half-man, half-fish? But it didn’t matter as the original gleam of mischief re-entered his hues of blue. “I was only trying to show you true beauty. Magic. Something you want, no?” All it took was one look at the fallen easel and canvas to know -- this woman was an artist, those idealists that seek to capture what wasn’t there. Or perhaps it was something merely lost to him. He stretched out, feeling the strength returned to his muscles, the stiffness receding. But he stayed there, watching the white of the sky and wondered what it was like to touch it. Break it.

[/size][/justify]

[alice]

x x

The air around me still feels like a cage
And love is just a camouflage for what resembles rage again

This guy was a creep. And for someone who grew up in human society and was suddenly in school full of monsters, to earn the label of being the creep was pretty impressive. Or not, all things considered. But he was definitely different than most other students and she found him just as repulsive as she did any other fish. Except this one could talk, and smirk, and nag, and lay there naked. Okay, sure, normal fish were naked too but that's not the point.

"Just close your mouth for like five minutes. Please?" she insisted as she walked over to the bushes and began to dig through them for some sign of his clothing. It wasn't that hard and she found it folded up there. There was something strange, annoying and creepy about the fact that his clothing was folded up in a bush by the pond while he swam around it naked. She couldn't quite describe it, but it was there, very clearly there. She found the clothing and returned to his prone form.

And promptly dropped the clothes in the shallow water of the shore. "Oops," she said with that devilish angel tone, implying that she had tried it. If she was going to be stuck with wet clothing because of this guy, he was going to have to wear wet clothing as well. And if he got spiteful and continued around naked he could just walk back to his dorm that way. It didn't make any difference to her, she would pack up her easel and move on. Which is exactly what she went to do then.

"By the way, since you're not human the poison will wear off soon, but you're going to feel like you have the worst hangover you've ever felt afterward. Have fun with that, creep," she muttered as she passed him, leaving his clothing in the water and going to her easel. The canvas was lost, but she had more. The easel was something else entirely, and she'd be damned if she left that behind. She began to unclasp the hooks that held it together when it was standing and folding it up.

[/justify]

[camena]

``everything may return to water

It amused him. The way she dropped his clothes into the muddy shallows was something new, and he found himself enjoying the way her veins ticked and kicked against her throat. This was a better reaction than anything else -- and certainly some said he had problems, but in the end, Lance was merely bored and so very in hate. He sat up and grabbed his clothes without bothering to wring them out; he was particularly fond of water anyhow, but he rather not have the clumsy wet cloth matted to him and so decided to drain the water from his garments without even offering to dry the girl’s. “My, my, a woman with a temper.”

The poison was certainly going to be a bugger, not that it would be too much of a problem, it would merely be a hinderance to him the next morning -- which was perfect since he wasn’t planning on going to class anyway. Turning to grin at her with smugness, he licked his lips deliberately and with mild distaste, “Well, that’s just unfortunate, I’ve had better.” The still naked merman stood to beat the dried dust from his clothes and watched the wet female begin undoing the easel. Artists.

It was truly convenient to control water he thought to himself, getting dressed with more slowness than necessary, but if he could harness the power of the entire ocean and not just mere droplets in comparison to the world’s pool...that would be power -- something caught the corner of his azure gaze, a canvas floating within the shallows. There was no respect for others’ belongings in his book -- everything returned to the same place, so he picked it up, careless, and with the gruffness of ... a man and stared at it, the bleeding blues and greens. He squinted, “What the hell is it?” The statement was under the breath and more to the wind than anything.

“Abstract...art?” In most kindness, it was ugly. He brushed a hand over the canvas, flicking the wetness from the clothed skin, drying it. To be fair, the colors stayed bloody much to the fault of the water or possibly his own, but they were all so artificial. Certainly it was vibrant in the least, but it looked fake; was it supposed to be the pond? The colors were beautiful in and of themselves and she had taste, he had to admit, but where was the truth that only he knew -- was this what water was to the land dwellers? Anything with some beauty or with the nature of beauty was worth looking at, but there was none here. The canvas flipped and turned within his careless hands as sapphire sought what wasn’t there, and so he tossed the thing back to her with a disdainful grunt. “Ugly.”

[/size][/justify]

[alice]

x x

The air around me still feels like a cage
And love is just a camouflage for what resembles rage again

Alice closed up the easel with care and tucked it away in the bag that she carried it in. It was a little awkward to carry on its own, so she had a bag that carried all of her supplies. She tucked the rest of her art supplies into the various pockets with an organized and routine manner. Each tube of paint had a special pouch, her palette had a slot, her brushes tucked away in little loops within another pouch. It was probably a bit more tedious than it needed to be, but it was Alice's way.

During the time she spent doing this Lance had enough time to dry off his clothing and fish out her canvas from the pond. When her little task was finished she stood up and slipped the strap over her shoulder. She turned around as Lance looked at the canvas and gave his opinion on the piece. This, above all else he did, crossed her. She was very self-conscious about herself, and her art was the one thing she actually took pride in.

And then he went and called it ugly. She felt her temper flare and she stormed over to where he threw the canvas and picked it up, looking at the piece herself. "Well it was coming along just fine until you decided to attack me. It fell in the lake and the colors ran," she grumbled, running her hand across the streaks of color and looking at the wet pain on her fingertips, lamenting the wastage.

"And it wasn't abstract," she added, feeling warm tears brim at the edge of her eyes. She was already wet, though, so it was hard to notice. She walked over to where he stood. "You're a creep and a jerk," she said, holding back all the feelings that were brimming up deep inside of her and using them to strengthen her arm as she swung for a slap, then turned around to hide the oncoming tears. Wet or not, he would notice them when they fell. She really shouldn't get emotional about this creep's opinion.

[/justify]

[camena]

``everything may return to water

The female was beginning to bore him; she seemed to be no more than just another weakling without her mother, another fleeting moment of interest, another disappointment. It seemed that she would be just like the rest, storming off and holding some grudge for some period of time -- not that he expected anyone to like him, in fact he expected people to hate him. He proceeded to dust himself off, the dried mud was getting to be quite unsightly as well and looked into the sky turned gray; it would rain.

At the woman’s next sentence, he tilted his head an grinned something of the twisted sort, but not quite certain that he really wanted to be twisted -- the perfect disguise for the perfect asshole, so his smile was well-placed and practiced just like his stare. It appeared he struck a nerve, and he would strike it again to sate his own throbbing veins. Her rage was a pleasure to hear, quite beautiful really since nothing else had nearly enough life as this one, so he watched her eyes fill with fire and raw emotion as words struck against her irises -- what.

Lance’s smirk wavered. Was she crying? It was all fun and games until someone cried. Not. But it seemed that he touched more than a nerve with this one -- was it painful, he wondered. Did it hurt? How much? He was more curious than anything, but he didn’t enjoy the water works from girls. He liked it when he made men cry, but when it came to females, he preferred their rage in fits of uncouth language -- something that breaks their image. But this one was crying.

Whatever, what was one girl? He picked a particularly interesting bush to glare at or maybe a rock -- it bothered him to have a female crying so...female-like, so he didn’t notice the light tapping of her feet against the shore moving towards him until he was in his personal bubble. Azures narrowed with faux disgust, eying the mass of pink below him, “Yeah, that’s a nice excuse --” His face tipped to the side at the slap cut across his cheek with some force. It wasn’t enough to rattle him, but it was surprising.

He brushed a thumb against reddened spot from where her hand had struck as she turned to cry. Lips curled into a grimace as droplets fell form the female’s own cheeks, and he felt somewhat sorry. Somewhat. It was just a stupid painting. Thunder rolled against the blackening clouds as the rain joined her tears, and he looked up at the sky, at the falling pieces of water struck the pond and the earth again and again, faster with each passing second as if harkening the thunder that followed. So it was pointless after all, to dry his clothes. Lance growled and addressed the female again, “You -- you can get better. Got a lifetime anyway.”

[/size][/justify]

[alice]

x x

The air around me still feels like a cage
And love is just a camouflage for what resembles rage again

Alice felt like hitting herself, like slapping herself across the cheek, like doing anything to get herself to stop crying. Where had these tears come from? She had taken criticism before, so why was this one so biting? He was just a creep. A jerk. A creepy jerk. She kept her back to him, nothing more than a mass of pink since her hair pretty much hid her entire form, as she swallowed down her sobs in an attempt to control the overwhelming rush of emotion.

Then the black clouds that had rolled in overhead opened up and the sky started crying with her. She turned her red eyes upward to watch as the rain began to fall, the fresh water hitting her moist cheeks and stinging in her salty eyes. Magical, they had said the lake was. She had found herself crying by its shore and suddenly the heavens began to cry as well. That could only be described as magic. Of course Alice wasn't an idealist, she knew very well that it was merely coincidence, but in her emotionally broken state she was grasping onto everything.

What did stop to tears, however, was the reminder that her easel was there with her as it began to rain. She quickly wiped away the tears in the sleeves of her sweater and looked about, spying an old oak tree that would provide a little cover. She scurried over to it and swung the easel off of her back. The water wouldn't damage it, but at the same time Alice's own attachment and paranoia for the tool kept her from wanting to get it wet. Moisture would rot the wood or rust the hinges, make it anything less than perfect. Maybe she did have a bit of OCD tucked away when it came to her painting.

Then she was trapped there by the rain. She wouldn't dare take the easel back to campus while it was raining, that it would get wet. And she was still feeling emotionally vulnerable for whatever reason, so she settled down at the base of the tree, leaning her back against it, and hugged her knees to her chest. Tears were still stinging at her eyes, but she fought them back. She was done crying, there was no need for it. Those wet drops on her knees were merely the rain, that's all. She wouldn't cry, she wasn't crying.

[/justify]

[camena]

``everything may return to water

The clouds were crying just as the girl -- or moreso the clouds were being kind to hide her tears, and some would say it was magic. But Lance didn’t believe in magic, and refused to go near the crazy-talk without reason -- and what was he thinking about? She was sobbing now?! He could almost slap his palms upon his head and grip his hair for he enjoyed toying with people and he enjoyed angering them, but he absolutely did not enjoy this one and her tears that seemed louder than the thunder itself. “Quit crying, it’s just a stupid painting.”

His voice came out gruff, irritated -- hell, it was getting annoying, those little droplets of graceful tears. And why did he care anyway? It would be all too easy just to walk off and let her soak in rain and tears, but that would be tasteless. His work of rage was always an art and he would get the reaction he wanted which was rage in purity -- the beautiful ugly. But this was never the reaction he anchored for in a lady, after all, a woman’s tears were too beautiful to be made ugly even when she had snot all over her face, a woman’s tears would be beautiful to him -- and painful.

Was she still crying? The tapping of wetness upon her knees didn’t help her case and he grew even more irritated, frustrated, why did she have to cry? “Will you please quit crying? I told you; you can get better at painting or whatever the hell it is you call it.” The last part came out faster than he expected, making him want to slap his mouth with his own hands this time. And what was she still doing there, under the tree -- was she protecting the easel?

To hell with it. He would go back to the dorm and forget about the incident -- that would teach him to drag silly women into the pond. It would be perfect; they wouldn’t meet ever again and if they did, there would be no acknowledgement. Great. Lance turned to leave, his feet bare, sinking a little in the mud -- the coolness was familiar. Yes, that’s what he would do, go back. That’s it. Keep walking. Shit.

[/color]

There was no reason this time, but he told himself it was tasteless, tasteless, tasteless to leave her there like that -- crying! “Crying isn’t going to help, you know.” He sat down, away from the tree and in the rain, back turned to her. Where was this going? He would simply wait until she shut up and stopped crying. That’s it.

[/blockquote][/blockquote][/size][/justify]

[alice]

x x

The air around me still feels like a cage
And love is just a camouflage for what resembles rage again

It was just a stupid painting. Maybe that was why Alice was crying? No, that didn't make any sense. Why would she cry over a stupid painting? She wasn't perfect, and her paintings were far from it. While she boasted far more skill than a typical seventeen year old, what with her sheer determination to overcome her dyslexia, she was easily capable of terrible paintings and she knew it. A week hadn't gone by when they had moved to America where at least two pieces of canvas sat next to the garbage waiting for pick-up.

The first money she had ever made from her painting had actually been from a garbage man, knocking on their door early one morning asking why they were throwing out one of her paintings. She had pointed out its numerous flaws to him with a cynical tone, but he refused to see them. Maybe it was because she was so young, but he offered her twenty dollars for the painting. She had just been throwing it out anyway, so she accepted the deal. What had she bought out of that money? She couldn't even remember.

It had taught her a lesson that she did remember, however. There was value in all paintings, even if they were only crap. Maybe that was why when the boy had tossed her painting aside with a flippant dismissal it had struck a nerve. The way he had just thrown it, the tone he used as he proclaimed it ugly, it had struck her as worthless, had contradicted that valuable lesson she had learned. Maybe that was what had triggered this onslaught of tears. She couldn't be sure, but the choking sobs seemed a bit much for such a useless gesture.

"It's not a stupid painting, it just wasn't finished. And now it won't ever be finished," she whimpered into the material of her skirt, her cerulean eyes brimmed with red and swirling with violet as she stared hard at the ground in front of her. Just a creepy jerk, and now he was clinging to her. Wouldn't he just leave her alone? She tried to vocalize the thought, but no words came. Despite all her want she couldn't object to his presence. God damn emotional vulnerability, she didn't want to be alone, not right now, even if that meant the company of this guy. "My name's Alice," she said simply, flatly.

[/justify]