Ardency From Afar

[etchnyx]

He admired from afar...

... as her delicate fingers flipped through another page.

| A role play between Ellayiss and Fantasycatss |

[etchnyx]

╒═══════════════════════════════╕
XXXxxXXXX ɴᴀᴍᴇ • Vincent Quinn Mansell
XXXXxxXXXXXXXX ɴɪᴄᴋɴᴀᴍᴇ • Vinny
XxXxXX ᴀɢᴇ • 21 years young X ɢᴇɴᴅᴇʀ • Male
xxxxxx ᴛʀᴀɪᴛꜱ • Intelligent, very precise, selfish,
xxxxxxX thinks before does, quiet, introverted,
xbxxbb he can get mad easily but knows when to
x.xxm contain it. Cares a lot when given a chance
╘═══════════════════════════════╛
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ʜɪꜱᴛᴏʀʏ • Vincent had a rough childhood. He tries not to let it get to him but because he has night terrors, it tends to get the best of him. He manages to not let it affect his daily routines and life. When he was 3, his mother was shot while shopping at a grocery store. He lived in a poor neighborhood. His mothers death drove his father to the state of an unhealthy alcoholic. Which caused him to be abusive towards Vincent. At the age of 5, his teachers had reported the marks on him when he showed up to school. Police investigated and Vincent was taken to a foster home. His foster parents were strict but they still managed to take good care of him. Vincent has trust issues as well as horrible self-esteem. He feels as if everyone just uses him and then throws him away after they are done.
He was bullied throughout middle and high school. He moved to a small city and is taking a few classes on English literature and business. He has no goal or plan in life as he is just doing whatever feels right.

[moonlitutopia]

Name
Anastasia Lee
Nickname
Ann
Gender
female
Age
25 years
Orientation
bisexual
Relationship
Status
xx
Height
5'9''
Weight
142 lbs
Birthday
August 14th
Zodiac
Leo

Personality Type
ENFJ-T
Ann grew up as an only child with her mother and father who spoiled her.
Surprisingly, she kept her kindness as she attempts to befriend those around
her and loves to make small talk. Many see librarians as quiet and reserved,
but in her case, it is quite the opposite. She loves to attend social gatherings,
and you'll often see her at the theatre watching a show as she is passionate about
it. Ann is extremely organized and rarely loses anything, except her thoughts.
Her mind is constantly buzzing with ideas which causes her to change the
topic of conversation or to stop talking altogether while she thinks.

[etchnyx]

Row after row of neatly lined up books with their spines facing outward, color-coded with dots and their order determined by the Dewey decimal system. Fiction section arranged in alphabetical order, young adults section, children's section with low shelves and floor cushions, comfortable leather armchairs, tables for quiet study, muffled stillness and a hushed atmosphere that was punctured by the occasional child's laugh. Tutors sat with students, businesswomen and men sat with laptops, and parents read to their children. Vincent looked around, observing the movements of everyone and the quiet conversations being exchanged. His eyes continued to scan around until he saw her.

Her emotions were not easily hidden on her innocent face. Her pain was evident in the crease of her lovely brow and the down-curve of her full lips. But her eyes, her eyes showed her soul. They were a deep pool of restless gold, an ocean of hopeless grief. As he looked into her eyes he knew, all the beauty of the universe could not even hope to compete with this simple thing: passion. Passion turned her eyes into orbs of the brightest fire, and in them, he read clearly that she would fight to the very last year for her life. She would not let the world break her. Sure she could cry, but she would never let them take her true self from her. She clung to it with passion. A passion that made her beautiful. Most did not pay attention to her beauty, but rather her color. Burnt Sienna never looked so beautiful on a woman. She waltzed on with an effortless saunter. The clicking of her heels added rhythm to the soft classical music that played onward without pause.

She was painted in the most fluorescent colors. The pallet God used to create her could easily make Picasso shed a tear. When she smiled, rays of colors from every end of the spectrum go running in all directions, looking for an untouched canvas on which to leave a mark. With a simple brush of the arm, one could be left with an unmistakable smear of chartreuse. Instead of being the subject of his art, she became it. She doesn’t need a paintbrush, for she uses her own fingertips to draw the colors of life. He wanted to hold those fragile, lithe fingers in his and admire them with his lips. But he could see the purity in her and he knew that one light thump from him would break her into tiny fragments. Ever since then, he watched her from afar. Taking mental notes and preparing himself to one day say more than a small hello.

________________________________________________

In good moods a writer may paint words that are fine wine and soft music; words that contain more healing medicine than all the drugs created by man. They are clear water over rocks, a shelter in any storm. They are food for the soul of every flower of the light. A writer is a weaver of words. They take the threads of words and weaves them into a pattern that could fill another person’s mind with beauty, or the choice of words may be patterned to create a wide array of responses and emotions. The consciousness of the reader might be awakened - by the weaver’s mere words.
Vincent shuffled as he awoke slowly. He grunted not-so-pleasant words as he moved from laying on his back to laying on his stomach. He hugged the white, plush pillow as his eyes squinted open. 7:30. Perfect. He stretched and rose, yawning and stretching more. He wore nothing but boxers as he struggled to sleep with clothes on which usually limited his movements to get comfy. His feet hit the cold wood of his studio apartment and he rubbed his eyes with his knuckles. He got the courage to stand and make his way slowly to the bathroom. He didn't care to see the mess he had become overnight as he turned the faucet to warm and slid off his boxers before stepping into the warm water. His body felt heavy and he solved it by leaning against the cold tile. The tile of the shower needed to be repaired as some tiles were cracked and others stuck out more than normal. He sighed as he quickly washed himself and his hair. He needed a haircut but then again he also needed a better job. He turned off the water, stepping on the fuzzy bath mat and drying himself off before tying the towel below his belly button. He brushed his teeth and shuffled back to his apartment, grabbing a pair of grey briefs from his dark-wood dresser. He grabbed a pair of black dress pants and a white shirt, laying them on the bed as he went back to the bathroom and spat out the tooth-pasted saliva that collected in his mouth. He rinsed and gargled before splashing his face with cold water. Drying off his face, he let the towel on his hips drop as he slid into his briefs, dress pants, and white shirt. He sighed once again. The sigh of being tired of life but not in a suicidal manner. He rung out his hair before sliding on socks and slipping his feet into dress shoes. The shoes were worn out but not in a major way. He grabbed his bag and keys, unplugging his phone from the wall before leaving his apartment.

In the city, life dwells where it may. The trees are in pots and the humans in concrete towers. There are laws and rules, a community of just one species, a hive of sorts. They move, eat and sleep to the ticking clock. But here in the rainforest, the days flow seamlessly into one another, life and death, light and dark, new and decay. The food web is a living breathing beast; all of these plants and animals are connected by its silky thread. The leaves were so thick, fleshy and large. With no winter to limit them, they can become quite monstrous compared to deciduous woodland... The cities passed in a blur of concrete and steel, everywhere the mantra was the same, everywhere the depression was as thick. The same music played from the stores, the same food was served in mean portions, the only smiles worn by the corporate drones who put them like identity badges.
Today the light is oddly bright, casting the pigeons into dark shadows against a sky of palest blue. Their wings beat, hugging the air as they drift on unseen thermals. For a few moments, they had Vincent's eyes, keeping him spun into some sort of daydream. But his mind was still focused on her. Like always. He looked at the time from a clock that hung on a wall in a small coffee shop. He turned and entered the shop, ordering a black coffee and a Bruttiboni before leaving. He held the pastry in one hand, taking small bites of it, and his coffee in the other. Many would conclude that he looked like a businessman who was walking to meet his client about a case. However, he preferred to dress nice. For her and to present himself when attending classes. But he had no classes today and all he wanted to do was stay in the back of the library and watch her between the bookshelves. He could easily take mental notes and learn more about her. He didn't stalk her though. He respected her privacy. He watched and admired her from afar but never took videos or pictures of her. He never followed her around. He never lurked her social media. And he never monitored her movements and found out her address. If it weren't for the name tag, he wouldn't even know her name.

He entered the library, the pleasant aroma filling his nose as his eyes didn't move away from her. He moved to the back, sitting down and finishing his pastry. He set his coffee on the table beside the lounge chair he sat on and he opened his laptop; going to his blog and beginning to type.

Day 91
I was attracted to you with the kind of heady trance that brings a butterfly to nectar. You, with just the right blend of shy and sweet. I was right too. You, quite simply, are the kindest and most reliable person I ever met. I don't want to you think that "reliable" means I don't love you with a fiery passion, because I do. "Reliable" is everything, for without it how can love flourish and grow? Reliability is the cornerstone of trust and I trust you with my life. But you don't know me and I've never gotten the chance to ask how you are. No matter the distance my attraction to you remains constant. You could be at the ends of the earth and still, I would feel pulled toward you. There is something about you and me that matches, each half loving the other so fully that a life alone would be meaningless. When times are dark you are the one that lifts me back into the light, when times are bright you are the one who rejoices with me. So though it is your eyes, your skin, your face that I look upon, know that the attraction runs deep to my core. I don't do superficial, I never did.

He stopped typing, trying to think of more words to express his mind. Better words. Were there even words that were possible to come close to accurately describe her?

((Sorry. I just wanted to get something started before school. ))

[moonlitutopia]

ic; It was a restless night for her, although most nights were. Ann stayed up late again, reading a new action book that she ordered online. She had read most, if not all the books in the library that peaked her interest, so she took to the internet to find new books to enrapture her. An alarm clock rang out, shrieking until she moved from her soft bed to stop it. Tapping gently on the surface, she ran a hand through her massive, bedraggled hair. Tangles upon tangles of red hair covered her face as she struggled to move it away. Taking a look in the mirror, a hand removed drool that had dried at the corners of her mouth. Scolding herself for something she could not help, her feet carried her towards the restroom, where she took a comb to her hair in order to free the tangles. Dark circles hung around her eyes from the previous day's makeup, of course she didn't remove it, she was too busy with ideas that raced through her mind. Turning the faucet, she splashed her face with cool water before starting the shower.

After a brief shower, she dried her hair, not caring that it was damp as she pulled it into a tight bun on top of her head. Because she was tired, she was running more behind. You're supposed to be organized, she thought, cursing herself for taking so long. Pulling a fifties-style, dark blue dress over her head, she wiggled a fashionable belt around her waist. She quickly applied mascara and eyeliner, not bothering with the black smudge it left on her eyelid. There was no time for her to worry, she had places to be. Putting on her faux-leather boots to match, she grabbed her keys and set off, pushing through the metal door that separated her from the rest of the world. Her small apartment was no match compared to the dream home, she one day hoped to own. To tell the truth, she disliked the city. There was too much pollution in the air and there were very few kind souls that she met. Not that she was what one would call a 'country girl,' she didn't mind the sites and museums within the city. Not to mention that there wasn't a gorgeous theatre that she could visit when she had the money. Her job, however, is what kept her where she was. Ann adored meeting the smiling kids who ran in, taking in the sight of shelves upon shelves of books. It was a bookworm's heaven. Her Heaven. Though, some who passed through the doors weren't that great. Sleep deprived mothers coming along on school field trips or conservatively dressed business men would strut through the doors, their rigid posture threatening anyone who dared breathe in their direction. She waved to everyone and anyone, regardless if their stare could kill you in an instant. Her job was to sit at the main desk, checking in and out library books from people of all ages, and books of all genres.

Passing through the busy sidewalk, she dodged confused tourists and powerful corporate-type looking men. She rounded several corners before she was able to reach her destination. She didn't bother grabbing breakfast, she had some pretzels stored in her mini backpack, which she carried everywhere with her. It doubled as a bag that could go over your shoulder, with a night sky design across the front. It was one of the few things she wouldn't buy from a thrift store, for the reason that she needed something durable enough to carry everywhere. Pushing open the front door of the library, she rejoiced in the smell of books which always invited her to come in. When everything else failed, she would turn to books for comfort. It was one of the many reasons why she ordered physical book from online, instead of reading digital books. Ann believed no one could connect with it as well as you could with a real copy in your hands. Adjusting her hair, her eye scanned the library, looking for people to greet or a book out of place. As the public entered and exited the building, she found herself smiling and waving, not having the chance to pull out her book. Relaxing her cheeks, she dug through her backpack for a moment before realizing she left her book at home. No matter, there were plenty there, and it wasn't like she hadn't read multiple books at the same time in the past. Standing and brushing herself off, she made her way across the library, unsure what genre she would pick from. Her eyes twinkled as she wandered around the library, a warm feeling filling her chest. This was what home felt like to her; to be surrounded in books and the hope to never escape.

ooc; its alright ;0

[etchnyx]

Vincent took a sip of coffee, setting it aside and deciding on how to continue his description of his love for her. He took in a sharp breath as he noticed her moving closer to him by inches. Though she was still quite a few feet away from him, he still was startled to be so close to her. Though he had managed to almost touch her previously when checking out a book, he still felt his heart throb. The throbbing would cause his ears to ring and his body unable to stand still. He looked away, his focus still on her in the corners of his eyes. He did not want to be caught watching her with such admiration. She would find it creepy and frankly if he were her, he would too.

I love you like you're the last of my kind. Though you do not deserve to even be compared to come close to determining you as "my kind". It is as if you speak the same language as I, yet no other is able. To be around you is like finally not being alone - as if all my life I've been isolated, in a windowless room, in a doorless room... and then suddenly you walk in as if strolling over a summer meadow. How is that you are so much more than sunshine? How is it you breathe life when no other can? Why is it you are my medicine? Who could love me more than you? So, my love, know this - while I breathe I am yours in mind, body, and soul. But I can not lie or doubt that I am isolated. I have no one to blame but myself for being so lonely. I chose to be a bitter boy. I chose to isolate myself to even come close to being happy with another person. I chose to keep my trust locked up for others to come near it. I chose to hate myself for hating others. But I want to trust you. I want to love you. I want you to look at me with your brown eyes of light to help guide me in the dark. I want to hold your delicate fingers to lead me away from the state I am in. You are better than that, though. You do not deserve bitterness and hatred. you do not deserve isolation. You do not deserve to have to pity such a worthless being.

He grabbed his coffee and clenched it as he gulped down the warm liquid till the very last drop dripped down his throat. He continued to look down at the screen of his laptop, but he brought his attention back to her. Her eyes fascinated by pages of books and her blue dress swirled as she happily walked--almost skipped--around. Look at me, Ann.

Love, I'm not perfect, but I'd follow you into hell if that's what it took to keep you safe. I am your protector as you are mine, one to shield the other. After keeping children safe, as all adults must, not a single soul comes before you. So I'll stay with you as you stay with me, trust in you as you trust in me, and together we'll ride through every storm, waiting to see what the new dawn may bring. But is it possible for such purity to love bitterness? Will I ever be worthy of even a glance from you? I shall not mention your name as it is not my right to expose you to anyone. You deserve privacy. I also am doing it for the sake of me. I do not want anyone to fall in love with you. I want to be the only one who loves you up close and from afar. Even though we may never come close to exchanging more than hellos, I still want to be the one who loves you. The one who desires for a conversation. The one who desires to hear your laugh whether it be at me or from me. I shall desire you more than ever and no one shall ever come close to such admiration and love as I have for you. Is it selfish for me to do so? Perhaps it is. But we as humans do selfish and foolish things for love. Count this as one of them.