<div class="floatleft">(https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/62/96/c4/6296c4dfd5c598c721c549317a517fd1.jpg)</div><br/><strong>NAME:</strong>Naomi Redmond (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=268436.msg13236519#msg13236519)<br/><strong>WEARING:</strong>Fishnet & Fool's Gold (https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/05/d3/cb/05d3cb176febd743270a8404bca567bb.jpg)<br/><strong>DAY:</strong>Friday | June 9th, 2017<br/><strong>TIME:</strong>Night<br/><strong>LOCATION:</strong>Old Lady Margaery's House | Backyard<br/><strong>CONTENT:</strong>Implied abuse and murder, or hardcore D/s and breathplay; graphic sexual imagery<br/><br/><strong>TAGGING:</strong>NPC Bandmates(Ernie (https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/3c/13/1c/3c131c2574fc3d742e18b3b71d49005b.jpg) ; Greg (https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/14/7d/db/147ddba132ad6d7ac1ae4aab4eab875b.jpg) ; Lee (https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/80/23/cb/8023cb8199921c444358b137e9ac10c3.jpg)) | Everyone(Sorta); | Closed<br/><br/><br/><hr/><br/>As the previous song came to its dreamy end and she was afforded a brief break by the guitar solo that preceded the next, she drifted over to one of the kids sitting on the edge of the pool and made a grabby hand motion at their bottle of beer.  When the girl handed the bottle over, she took a long swig and handed it back, leaning up to steal a long, lingering kiss before drifting away again with a musical laugh.  The mike rose to her mouth once more, and she sighed the words as if in the throes of languid, Sunday afternoon sex.<br/><br/>"The smell of the rain<br/>through the open window<br/>The touch of your thigh<br/>next to my hip<br/>I'm drowsy in sheets<br/>still warm from the dryer<br/>I'm dripping with seed<br/>kept warm by my body<br/><br/>The air is smoky in here<br/>your fingers feel wrong in my hair<br/>I'm held aloft on the shoulders<br/>of my lover, Thackery the Third<br/>All these boundaries get<br/>All these lines get<br/>All these borders get blurred<br/>And you always smear my lipstick"<br/><br/>She dropped into a crouch that ended with her sprawled on the cracked bottom of the pool at her bandmates' feet, her free arm folded behind her head and her legs extended as if she were about to make a snow angel.  As she murmured the lyrics in a smokey, sleepy tone, she stared up at the sky, sounding as if she were singing the song to herself or as a lullaby to someone special.  It was easy to envision her lying on that bed she mentioned, with someone's head on her stomach and the window nearby open on a warm, spring storm.<br/><br/>"Slick as a slut's slit<br/>Cracked as a crow's caw<br/>You told your mother<br/>that I was your baby<br/>I told my daddy<br/>to make me his lady<br/>Now you're crying to me<br/>and it's making me bored<br/><br/>The air is stifling in here<br/>your fingers feel right 'round my neck<br/>I'm drifting through the cosmos<br/>lost in the ether<br/>All these bruises get<br/>All these wounds get<br/>All these welts get spurned<br/>And you always blacken my eye<br/><br/>You told your daddy<br/>to make me his baby<br/><br/>Make me his baby"<br/><br/>Her tone never changed, even as the tone of the song shifted drastically and the music took on a darker, harsher cadence.  Through it all she remained sweet, hazy and tender.