Post by Cyan on Jan 26, 2011 18:21:41 GMT -5
Cyan stroked a hand through his beautiful chestnut locks, the curls springing back in place after escaping his clutches. He turned his adorable face at the damaged statue of a serpent and winked, kissing his lovely little lashes together as though he were some important muggle movie star or maybe a model. Never mind that his skin was a smidge too pale or that he wasn't quite athletic today.
Cyan exhaled, not sighing in the least, and waltzed across the grounds.
Such good fortune smiled upon him today! The sun was out, the snow was melted from all but a few piles, and it was no longer zero Celsius.
He awoke this morning on the cusp of manhood, and he felt so confident in his every action. And who was that grotesque skeletal woman he dreamed about? Penderdagger something--she was no longer worth his time. Furthermore, if Lorraine dared to sick that vile beast upon him, he'd slay it as skillfully as any gladiator!
Reaching the Dueling Field, he sat his rump upon a bench, stretching out his legs. Instead of wearing robes today, he rather wore slacks and a button-up shirt. As for the shirt, the topmost and bottommost buttons remained unbuttoned. He flicked his hair, leaning on one hand. One's eyes could roam across his boyish lips, down his pasty throat, and on over his thin pair of collar bones.
Cyan O. Reed had also come to a conclusion today: Women were old-fashioned.
What he wanted to draw was no longer the supple flesh of dainty ladies, but... the hardened and rippled muscles of men.
He closed his eyes and faced upward, letting the warm sunlight drip across his mouth and nose and eyelids like a weed basking for photosynthesis.
OOC: Opposite day for Cyan only.
Cyan exhaled, not sighing in the least, and waltzed across the grounds.
Such good fortune smiled upon him today! The sun was out, the snow was melted from all but a few piles, and it was no longer zero Celsius.
He awoke this morning on the cusp of manhood, and he felt so confident in his every action. And who was that grotesque skeletal woman he dreamed about? Penderdagger something--she was no longer worth his time. Furthermore, if Lorraine dared to sick that vile beast upon him, he'd slay it as skillfully as any gladiator!
Reaching the Dueling Field, he sat his rump upon a bench, stretching out his legs. Instead of wearing robes today, he rather wore slacks and a button-up shirt. As for the shirt, the topmost and bottommost buttons remained unbuttoned. He flicked his hair, leaning on one hand. One's eyes could roam across his boyish lips, down his pasty throat, and on over his thin pair of collar bones.
Cyan O. Reed had also come to a conclusion today: Women were old-fashioned.
What he wanted to draw was no longer the supple flesh of dainty ladies, but... the hardened and rippled muscles of men.
He closed his eyes and faced upward, letting the warm sunlight drip across his mouth and nose and eyelids like a weed basking for photosynthesis.
OOC: Opposite day for Cyan only.