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My Own Form of CHAOS


Posted on August 02, 2016 by Damon Marcello
Residences


I can smell the Were blood in her veins as I get closer. I can also smell the alcohol in pretty high quantities. I've heard rumors that Weres can't really get drunk because of their fast metabolism or something but I think I'm going to have to disagree after what I'm seeing. I can't help but admire her sleek outfit. She certainly dressed to impress but those heels are not for the intoxicated. Maybe it's a good thing she decided to take them off and carry them but I don't know that I'd trust whatever's on the ground in the cemetary either. Probably about the same as walking on most cheap hotel beds.

I lean against a tombstone to watch her twirl and dance amongst the gravestones. My head tilts, piercing gray eyes watching her in amusement as I cross my arms loosely, a lazy lopsided smirk tugging at the corner of my lips. She laughs and it's a happy sound, definitely not the sound for a cemetary but then I've never bee orthodox about what I do in cemetaries either so no judgement here. She turns to face me when I speak, grinning at me as she says that she's dancing, not walking. A single brow arches up. "Well then my apologies." I say with a dramatic bow. "I should have known that, clearly." I add on a playful wink.

She twirls again, only to lose her balance and fall to the ground. I winse sympathetically before straightening to go to her. By the time I reach her, she's in a fit of giggles sitting on her ass. As she starts to rise, she finds it fit to admonish me for asking her to dance and so I do a graceful bow before her, extending my palm to her as my lips tug into a grin. "Why of course. I wouldn't dream of leaving tonight without a dance with you." What's to hurt, right? I'm just entertaining a drunk Were girl in a graveyard. Not like I had anything else planned. I wait for her to take my hand before I'll pull her to her feet effortlessly, my other hand cupping her waist like a natural as I start to twirl and glide around the tombstones with her.

I've had centuries to perfect my dance form,. After all, I was raised in a time when dance was another language that had to be learned, especially to those of my family's standards. I pause to spin her then pull her back to me, the fog seeming to dance around us as I offer her another lazy smirk. "May I ask the fair lady's name?"


Damon Marcello
My Own Form of Chaos

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