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evolutionary2013-09-10 04:16 am
psyches) wrote in evolutionary2013-09-10 04:16 am
Entry tags:
Token.
Title: Token
Warnings: Breaking hearts everywhere.
Word Count: 736
Characters: Nigel, Sarah, seven girls, and seven red roses
Notes:aison requested a bit of Nigel and Sarah pre-enlightenment fun.
Summary: The story of how Mr. Kane acquired his infamous reputation among Sarah's party guests.
It was Valentine's Day at Sarah Gear's residence. At the home of a woman both familiar and foreign.
Nigel liked the paradox and refrained from complaints in the beginning.
Of course, before the party's carefree spirit spiraled into drunken debauchery, the children started a game, a poor attempt at matchmaking. A stupid mating ritual for a super-special batch of imbeciles, or so Nigel's internal narrator went, but it quickly gained momentum. Tokens were soon passed among the crowd, from prospect to prospect, and by the time the man recognized the color and the bloom, by the time his heart burst at the knowledge, it was too late.
It was a red rose the girl held out, her cheeks as flushed as the token she carried. It was the first red rose in a long line to come.
"Will you be mine?" she asked and then watched as Nigel, the once unobtrusive yet highly attractive party guest, tore the rose apart with his bare hands, petal by ruddy petal.
The second girl with her red rose thought highly of her chances when she witnessed the first's rejection. She changed her mind when Nigel tossed a roseless stem at her feet, the skin around his blue-green eyes as dark as pitch.
The third was caught unaware. The fourth and the fifth had the nerve to strike him, one with the open palm and one with two closed fists. The sixth burst into tears, an inconsolable mess of brown hair and fluids. She would recover in three days time, he was sure.
The seventh Nigel felt for, in all his selfish cruelty. The girl stood silent in the foyer, eyes locked on the torn petals in his fist as he walked away. His steps came as harsh and harried, and she loved a possibility that could never be, an illusion in the guise of perfection, and Nigel--
Nigel spent two hours locked away in the bathroom, stretched out in the tub. There had been traces of stomach acid at the edge of the toilet's rim, but he had wiped them clean an hour before. Red rose petals spilled out of his pockets while an odd sort of sleep held him still, and it was in this condition that Sarah, the paradox, found the man.
"Do you make it a habit to reject girls so poignantly, Mr. Kane?" She leaned over from her spot on the toilet, a hand tucked beneath her chin, close enough for Nigel to catch the sweet smile on her lips.
He yawned with his fist politely against his mouth, for a hidden need to conceal. "Is the sky blue? Is pi the ratio of a circle's circumference to its diameter as well as a satisfactory dessert when you add an additional vowel?" questioned Nigel. What do you think, Miss Gear, was the unsaid.
"So what you're pretty much saying is that rejection to a love confession is approximately equal to 3.14159," she replied, ignoring the unsaid. "Those roses were expensive, you know. Four dollars a pop."
"Paid for by wastes of space. They should have gone for carnations."
"No. They should have grown a pair and felt up their crush."
Nigel scowled and decided he could learn to appreciate this girl. This reflection of sorts. The paradox who invited him to this hellish party and now provided a decent distraction. "No, thank you. I'm inclined to stay virtuous for the rest of my unsoiled life," he said.
The smile eased into a grin before Sarah cooed. "Adorable, you have standards~ What a loss for the town." She rolled her eyes and tapped the rim of the tub with a forefinger. "You heading out?"
Laughter threatened to bubble at the thought of loss, but Nigel straightened to a languid stand instead and stretched an arm. "I've wounded enough, I suppose." And left blood in the process.
Both pairs of eyes fell to the floor, to the petals scattered about.
"I've got people to clean it."
Nigel stepped out of the tub as Sarah curled her legs to make room for him to pass. "My thanks," he said.
"Any time." A pause. "If you think pies are satisfactory, swing by whenever."
The offer proved obvious enough for a distrustful man to frown, but he liked the paradox enough to act otherwise. Nigel smiled and brushed off the remains of a red rose at his sleeve.
"Whenever, then."
Warnings: Breaking hearts everywhere.
Word Count: 736
Characters: Nigel, Sarah, seven girls, and seven red roses
Notes:
aison requested a bit of Nigel and Sarah pre-enlightenment fun.Summary: The story of how Mr. Kane acquired his infamous reputation among Sarah's party guests.
It was Valentine's Day at Sarah Gear's residence. At the home of a woman both familiar and foreign.
Nigel liked the paradox and refrained from complaints in the beginning.
Of course, before the party's carefree spirit spiraled into drunken debauchery, the children started a game, a poor attempt at matchmaking. A stupid mating ritual for a super-special batch of imbeciles, or so Nigel's internal narrator went, but it quickly gained momentum. Tokens were soon passed among the crowd, from prospect to prospect, and by the time the man recognized the color and the bloom, by the time his heart burst at the knowledge, it was too late.
It was a red rose the girl held out, her cheeks as flushed as the token she carried. It was the first red rose in a long line to come.
"Will you be mine?" she asked and then watched as Nigel, the once unobtrusive yet highly attractive party guest, tore the rose apart with his bare hands, petal by ruddy petal.
The second girl with her red rose thought highly of her chances when she witnessed the first's rejection. She changed her mind when Nigel tossed a roseless stem at her feet, the skin around his blue-green eyes as dark as pitch.
The third was caught unaware. The fourth and the fifth had the nerve to strike him, one with the open palm and one with two closed fists. The sixth burst into tears, an inconsolable mess of brown hair and fluids. She would recover in three days time, he was sure.
The seventh Nigel felt for, in all his selfish cruelty. The girl stood silent in the foyer, eyes locked on the torn petals in his fist as he walked away. His steps came as harsh and harried, and she loved a possibility that could never be, an illusion in the guise of perfection, and Nigel--
Nigel spent two hours locked away in the bathroom, stretched out in the tub. There had been traces of stomach acid at the edge of the toilet's rim, but he had wiped them clean an hour before. Red rose petals spilled out of his pockets while an odd sort of sleep held him still, and it was in this condition that Sarah, the paradox, found the man.
"Do you make it a habit to reject girls so poignantly, Mr. Kane?" She leaned over from her spot on the toilet, a hand tucked beneath her chin, close enough for Nigel to catch the sweet smile on her lips.
He yawned with his fist politely against his mouth, for a hidden need to conceal. "Is the sky blue? Is pi the ratio of a circle's circumference to its diameter as well as a satisfactory dessert when you add an additional vowel?" questioned Nigel. What do you think, Miss Gear, was the unsaid.
"So what you're pretty much saying is that rejection to a love confession is approximately equal to 3.14159," she replied, ignoring the unsaid. "Those roses were expensive, you know. Four dollars a pop."
"Paid for by wastes of space. They should have gone for carnations."
"No. They should have grown a pair and felt up their crush."
Nigel scowled and decided he could learn to appreciate this girl. This reflection of sorts. The paradox who invited him to this hellish party and now provided a decent distraction. "No, thank you. I'm inclined to stay virtuous for the rest of my unsoiled life," he said.
The smile eased into a grin before Sarah cooed. "Adorable, you have standards~ What a loss for the town." She rolled her eyes and tapped the rim of the tub with a forefinger. "You heading out?"
Laughter threatened to bubble at the thought of loss, but Nigel straightened to a languid stand instead and stretched an arm. "I've wounded enough, I suppose." And left blood in the process.
Both pairs of eyes fell to the floor, to the petals scattered about.
"I've got people to clean it."
Nigel stepped out of the tub as Sarah curled her legs to make room for him to pass. "My thanks," he said.
"Any time." A pause. "If you think pies are satisfactory, swing by whenever."
The offer proved obvious enough for a distrustful man to frown, but he liked the paradox enough to act otherwise. Nigel smiled and brushed off the remains of a red rose at his sleeve.
"Whenever, then."