Waxing Rhapsodic - Morgan Delany's Studio
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		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Extreme =&gt; Extreme Small Groups =&gt; Topic started by: echoes on 12-10-2010, 14:25:59</h2>
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				Title: <strong>Waxing Rhapsodic - Morgan Delany's Studio</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>echoes</strong> on <strong>12-10-2010, 14:25:59</strong>
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				-Morg making it to his studio-<br><br><em>6th floor, hardware, bondage wear, ladies lingerie.... Oh.... Hello Mr. Delany... Going, Down?</em><br><br>Morgan could not help but giggle a little bit at the thought of the old Aerosmith video being corrupted for his own little world. It was not a very manly sound to be honest, then again, he had shopped manliness for a full on night of Dionysian level revelry. He was giving himself a moment to be a little mortal, for last night he was a god.<br><br>That train of thought had to stop, and stop quick. Gods do not have a 3 Advil headache that was emanating from behind their left eye. Yes, Morg was sure of it, Gods were Bastards, all play and no work, and no bloody hangovers. He fumbled with the keys to the doorway from the stairwell, a few minutes more and he would be inside, safe, well... safer than letting his drunk ass teeter in a stairwell 6 floors up, why the hell did he pick the sixth floor again?<br><br>Morgan forced his way through the door from the stairwell, just avoiding breaking the key off in the lock again. He had done it twice before, damn weak keys those. He knew Myobi would have been annoyed if she had to call a locksmith out again. But, he did tend to turn in some interesting and fetching work, quirky artist and all. Maybe he should do a series of shots all involving locks, some type of lock fetish. Hell, he was willing to bet that with enough time and a strong stomach he could fine lock porn on the internet, rule 34... and subsequently 35 as well and all. The good news, he was lacking the strong stomach.<br><br>He moved across the floor in a zombiesque walk that was meant to convey man's inhumanity to man. Or the liver's inability to process all the poisons of hard alcohol and excessive amounts of tobacco. Morgan was fairly sure that without the mixer of the cheap perfume, his liver would have been able to cope. This of course was a lie. <br><br>He stared at a wall in front of him as he tried to undress himself. The wall had been converted into a giant calendar with movable dates. The calendar was easily 7 feet tall, and just as wide, with collections of post it notes and various pictures tacked to the wall in a hodge podge of activity. The good news, nothing was schedule today, an empty spot. The bad news, that much concentration, after the 6 flights of stairs, was to much of a strain.<br><br>Morgan passed out there, on the floor in the foyer of his studio. pants half on, half off. Jacket somewhere collecting a veritable army of dust bunnies, button down shirt askew and completely rocker-esque. He passed out beneath the giant paint of a bottle of Clorax that read " Brain Bleach, yes, have some." He was home.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Waxing Rhapsodic - Morgan Delany's Studio</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>echoes</strong> on <strong>13-10-2010, 07:38:58</strong>
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				-Morgan, passed out, half naked, living the dream-<br><br>He stood in sun god flowing robes atop a ziggurat in an ancient land. He was adorned in heavy hand beaten plates of gold atop the finest cotton hauberk. Atop his head was a crown bearing the sign of the sun go himself. Around him were hundreds, nay, thousands of people knelt in obeisance as his hand picked coterie of virgins through smallish pickles at him....<br><br>Morgan woke with a start, spitting and looking wildly about. He hated pickles with a passion. He rolled to a sitting position under the force of his own will alone, his stomach having been left several floors down in the stairwell. He cradled his head and stared out through slightly spread fingers, well, at least he was still mostly dressed. <br><br>The hallway he sat in connected the stairwell to the elevators, pronounced his life on display with the wall sized calender, and gave all those who trespassed a warning. Brain bleach may be needed, and was in fact, Doctor approved. <br><br>-More adding soon -
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				Title: <strong>Re: Waxing Rhapsodic - Morgan Delany's Studio</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>echoes</strong> on <strong>15-11-2010, 08:12:25</strong>
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				-Big time jump... night of the auction, Morgan's studio-<br><br>The door was locked and the music boarder on deafening. Morgan was inside. His latest appearance at one of Aline's functions not quite reaching fiasco level before he left. He was still wearing pants, a miracle, but was now shirtless and with cigarette successfully lit, hanging from his mouth. The camera's were all put away and stored, tonight he was totally going to do something different, and several cans of paint had been placed about a large peace of stretched canvas on the floor. <br><br>he was about to make a mess.<br><br>The inner child, the disturbed and mental thing that, cackled with glee. The entire event in the basement had already been forgotten and he had been given another get out of boredom card. Which was immediately used.<br><br>A fifth of beam sat on a desk nearby, cap still on and mostly forgotten as his happily dazed ass began to envision the piece before him. Nothing could stop him now
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				Title: <strong>Re: Waxing Rhapsodic - Morgan Delany's Studio</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Secretwriter</strong> on <strong>15-11-2010, 08:15:58</strong>
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				<em>Ingrid, drunk, crawling and bawling.</em><br><br>Elevator. It swam before her eyes and she lifted one heavy arm to paw at the button.&nbsp; Finally she smacked it and the light engaged.&nbsp; Waiting took forever.&nbsp; Sixth floor, Morgan Delany. Irish name, Irish bastard. Fucking drunk!&nbsp; Pfft.&nbsp; She scoffed and dragged her hand through her tangled hair.&nbsp; The room spun and she wished to fuck that it would just hold still so she could catch the elevator when the doors opened.&nbsp; She heard the ding and crawled in.&nbsp; She didn't trust her legs, they wouldn't hold her.&nbsp; <br><br>Oh hell.&nbsp; The elevator was spinning too.&nbsp; It wouldn't hold still.&nbsp; Maybe she should take the stairs?&nbsp; No. Her logical mind reasoned that she'd break her neck and she sucked her bottom lip into her mouth as she fought to pick out which of the buttons was truly the six that she needed to hit.&nbsp; <br><br>Sixth Floor. Drunkards and Divas.&nbsp; Going up?&nbsp; She mashed the button and the elevator doors closed.&nbsp; Resting her head on the cold metal panel, she thanked Otis for making the contraptions called elevators.&nbsp; He truly had her utmost respect.&nbsp; <br><br>Jarring to a halt, she looked around in a panic and realized that the journey had ended.&nbsp; Sixth floor!&nbsp; She grinned and crawled toward the door, bumping into the side with her right hip as she made her way out, her stocking feet sliding across the floor.&nbsp; She had a piece of her mind and then some to give him.&nbsp; Stupid fucking cock sucker!&nbsp; <br><br>She banged on the door with the flat of her hand.&nbsp; It was the right door, wasn't it? There were so many and they wouldn't hold still, so she couldn't be sure.&nbsp; "Morgan!&nbsp; Morg<em>AN!</em>" she called, the roar of his music making her head hurt.&nbsp; She leaned against the wall and curled up, deciding to wait.&nbsp; Maybe she should go back to her room?&nbsp; No… she would just go to sleep right there. Felt so nice. So warm.&nbsp; Mmm.&nbsp; She pulled her knees up and snuggled happily with the wall, her black eyes closing and the dark streaks drying on her cheeks, the centers of those tracks clear with the tears that had shed like waterfalls.&nbsp; <br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Waxing Rhapsodic - Morgan Delany's Studio</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>echoes</strong> on <strong>15-11-2010, 08:28:53</strong>
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				-Ding, Dong...Avon calling?-<br><br>Morgan heard the last thump during a lull in the music. at first he wondered if the speakers had knocked something off of a shelf again. he has lost a nice little crystal piece once from that. Then he remembered that he didn't have anything like that anymore. He looked about the room, everything seemed in place, so he pondered for a moment.<br><br>Something about Pinky and the Brain came to mind, but that didn't help anything. He wandered to an ash tray, Aline would beat him for smoking in the studio, a threat that carried more weight after Miss grip-of-steel had left bruises on his upper arm. He didnt remember her installing a gym, best to avoid places like that and all. <br><br>he looked around the studio before eying the door to the elevator. Every nerve screamed that he was alone, separated from the group. And that if this were a horror movie, he was the first to die. This is mind, he stubbed the cigarette out and proceeded to the door, opening it with a grand flourish. when no axe came whistling through he was somewhat disappointed. Well, maybe next time.<br><br>he waiting a moment and then poked his head outside, looking around to see if there was a ...SHIT THERE WAS A BODY OUT HERE! it took him only a moment to recognize Ingrid's prone form. The aroma Tennessee's finest came a wafting from the body on the ground. Morgan paused for a moment, not realizing Ingrid had such similar taste in drinks of choice. he quickly moved inside, turned the music off and returned to the woman who was rapidly becoming best friends with his wall.<br><br>Morgan was a drunk, he knew the many stages of getting blotto with a certain intimacy reserved for dear friends and the occasional escort. Seeing Ingrid like this did not sit well. She never drank, and had never been drunk to Morgan's knowledge. He contemplated his words earlier in the evening, like a half hour ago really, and decided that this was not normal. He carefully gathered up the woman and brought her inside. <br><br>He laid her out on the futon couch, knowing that her morning was going to be worse than his. After she was safe, he went to see her studio , realizing what had happened there, the absence of art and a quick look out the window and down, morgan spent the rest of the night saving her work inbetween checking in on the petite woman on his couch.<br><br>She would wake with the smell of strong coffee, a chilled washcloth upon her brow, and all of her art saved and placed back in her studio. 
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				Title: <strong>Re: Waxing Rhapsodic - Morgan Delany's Studio</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Secretwriter</strong> on <strong>15-11-2010, 08:39:34</strong>
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				<em>Ingrid, snoozing and loving the wall</em><br><br>She began to snore softly, lost to an alcohol addled sleep, her dreams weird and unfocused.&nbsp; She stirred but only moved a few fingers aside from cuddling closer to the wall.&nbsp; It felt as if it had its arms around her. Soft and warm, yet strong and vibrant.&nbsp; She liked the wall.&nbsp; It was safe.&nbsp; <br><br>Better than the rest of her life. She could depend on the wall. Barring tragedy it would stand there, sturdy and reliable.&nbsp; <br><br>With no clue that time was passing or where she was, Ingrid slept soundly, in a drunken stupor for hours.&nbsp; She snored loudly and then rolled over, cuddling up to the wall, as close as she could get to it.&nbsp; Where was the wall?&nbsp; She found it, something hard jabbing into her side but she didn't care less.&nbsp; <br><br>Sometime later, she awoke to the strong smell of coffee, her forehead with something cold and heavy on it.&nbsp; Her head was busting open and it hurt to open her eyes.&nbsp; She wasn't sure that she was completely sober, either.&nbsp; Fuuuuuu.&nbsp; "Fuck," she groaned, pushing at the heavy slug on her head.&nbsp; Wash cloth.&nbsp; Where was she?&nbsp; She sat up and then groaned, flopping right back down and curling up into a ball on her side.&nbsp; Must. Not. Stir.&nbsp; Nope. It was better to hold really still and wait for the train in her head to pull into the stockyard.<br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Waxing Rhapsodic - Morgan Delany's Studio</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>echoes</strong> on <strong>15-11-2010, 08:47:08</strong>
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				-Morgan, with Ingrid, the star of "this is your hangover" -<br><br>"There is gatorade beside you already broke the seal, but it still capped. Do you still take OTC's for pain, I dont have anything stronger and I doubt you would want it. " Morgan's voice was surprisingly soft, very quiet and delicate as he moved over, replaced a new washcloth, fresh and chilled atop what should have been a burning forhead. He did not add ice directly, he didnt want her head to explode contrary to the venom in the words the night before.<br><br>"You are in my studio, on the futon . I figured you didn't wake to wake up in my bed and I wanted to live long enough to say I didn't do anything." He spoke as he drew the shaded for the bay windows. The last thing Ingrid needed was a shaft of light hitting her eyes and blowing the back of her head open. Morg was pretty sure that had happened to him once or a dozen times. brain damage resulted because of callous preparations like that.<br><br>"if you sound this bad you must feel like warmed over hell. Why did I find you holding my wall up last night?"
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				Title: <strong>Re: Waxing Rhapsodic - Morgan Delany's Studio</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Secretwriter</strong> on <strong>15-11-2010, 20:26:02</strong>
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				<em>Ingrid, wanting the license plate of that Mack Truck</em><br><br>Her stomach rolled at the thought of the Gatorade but she nodded, reaching for it slowly and pulling it into her tight little huddle.&nbsp; Thank god that he spoke so softly, her head was splitting open and moving hurt. Her arm hairs hurt as did her eyelashes and brows.&nbsp; Fuck, her teeth hurt. <br><br>When the cold wash rag settled onto her head, she whimpered and curled up more tightly. <br><br>Muh. Even pretend action was something," she said softly.&nbsp; She couldn't even remember the last time that she'd gotten laid.&nbsp; Her last time with Daniel had been interrupted by her shoot, that potential threesome had been cock blocked by the letter from the investigator.&nbsp; She couldn't win lately.&nbsp; &nbsp;The room darkened and she was thankful for that.&nbsp; "Thank you, Morgan," she said softly, her lips barely moving and her eyes still tightly shut.&nbsp; <br><br>Her brow furrowed when he spoke again, and she tried to remember how she'd gotten there. "Mmm," she grunted and rolled over onto her other side, fingering the cool bottle of Gatorade as she tried to recall the events from the night before.&nbsp; "I suppose I wanted to cuss you out, or tell you that you're a cut rate jack off, and an even shittier photographer. Even if the latter isn't true. You insulted my work. It pissed me off. I wanted your flesh under my nails."&nbsp; That made sense to her. <br><br>"I remember getting off of the elevator, crawling, I think, but I couldn't get your door open and couldn't remember how to get back up stairs or couldn't make it. I'm not a big drinker, I don't do it often.&nbsp; Half a pint of Jack... bah." <br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Waxing Rhapsodic - Morgan Delany's Studio</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>echoes</strong> on <strong>15-11-2010, 22:36:47</strong>
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				-Morgan is human, tell a soul and he will cut you, With Ingrid-<br><br>"Ingrid I am an asshole, and I really don't give a shit about a lot of things," he began quietly, surprisingly, he was not smoking and the room was at a steady temperature, not like sweltering hotbox it was the night before. It was dark, no bright lights of any kind to be found, the shades drawn tight and the overheads dimmed to a warm glow. "I drink a lot because I get bored easily and I am fairly decent at making a fool of my<br>self."<br><br>He sat down on the floor not far from her so she didn't have to strain to hear. He balanced his words between quiet and firm as he spoke. "How much do your remember about while you got drunk. You didn't drink a half pint Ingrid ... you punished a lot of Daniel's like you were on a mission. I wanted you off my back, not under your skin."<br><br>He looked over to the woman on the couch. He was glad he had not insulted her body, that would have been an outright lie. As it was he had insulted her work, which was also a lie, she was good, but last night was not one of his best performances. Maybe he should have opted to go without pants, at least the pencil dick comment would have been disavowed on the spot.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Waxing Rhapsodic - Morgan Delany's Studio</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Secretwriter</strong> on <strong>16-11-2010, 00:30:21</strong>
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				<em>Ingrid with Morgan, who is human. Gotta tell everyone.</em> <br><br>She snickered once and a soft smile curled her lips at his explanation of why he drank and that he was an asshole.&nbsp; "Drinking to cure boredom gets old after a while, doesn't it?" she asked softly.&nbsp; She wasn't an alcoholic, that hadn't ever been her vice.&nbsp; <br><br>"If I hadn't gotten drunk so fast, I think I'd remember more.&nbsp; I think I threw my work out.&nbsp; God I hope it hasn't rained, I need to go get it out of the alley, unless bums have it decorating their tent cities.&nbsp; I drank fast. I was livid." She laughed. "There's only one Daniel that I want to punish.&nbsp; Rat bastard.&nbsp; New job came with a new girlfriend, one built right in.&nbsp; You got under my skin… I was only bitchy to you because you were convenient and acting like a fool.&nbsp; It wasn't the nicest thing that I've ever done, or the smartest…"&nbsp; <br><br>She took a slow sip of the Gatorade, finding that it soothed her parched tongue. <br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Waxing Rhapsodic - Morgan Delany's Studio</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>echoes</strong> on <strong>16-11-2010, 01:04:26</strong>
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				-morgan prolly should kill ingrid and hide the body, but even the grinch grew a heart...stupid grinch-<br><br>"You Art is safe in your studio, I think only one piece was not salvageable, and it was not your best work. I made sure that the best was safe and I returned what I remembered to your walls and displays. You have to much talent to throw it...." He looked like he wanted to say more, but no, she through the first insult, she got the first apology.However, he did not like her reasons for the start to a bad night.<br><br>&nbsp;"I'm sorry about Daniel leaving, I thought you two..." he didn't finish the sentence instead taking a drink of coffee. "Had they just let me stay passed out I imagine I could have slept through the entire auction, instead Aline decided to use be a bean bag toss. I was a little dazed when you came in, and you starting in on me was just the right catalyst. I wish it would have gone different."<br><br>He shrugged once as he spoke. He did seem to be sincere in his comments however. If Ingrid cracks her eyes and focuses for just a moment there is something new under the spots behind . a sheet of Canvas 4' wide and 6' tall is suspended from the ceiling. with a stylized picture roughly painted on it. <br><br><div align="center">(http://2008.ifistanbul.com/assets/films/full/bakushi.jpg)</div><div align="center"><span style="font-size: 8pt;" class="bbc_size"><em>Still taken from cinematographer Kazuhiro Suzuki</em></span></div><br>((there is no person, no panels&nbsp; in the picture,just a stark white background.&nbsp; only the rope and the tattoos have been painted. The rope has been done in black with white and gray highlights to add dept, demension and texture to the work. The rope has been painted taut, there is no question that the wrists are bound and how they rest, the knots are done with intricate detail, the tension in the rope is apparent. The calligraphy is done in Red and is just intentionally blurry enough that it may be real, it may be false. The entire picture possessed an aged quality to it as Morgan had processed and added texture to the canvass by over wetting it, letting it dry wrinkled and then pulling it out to create distinct lines and valleys. The peace is intense with the bold strokes, thought the minute details bring the work alive. Morgan is not a master painter, and his method is simple, bold and effective.))<br><br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Waxing Rhapsodic - Morgan Delany's Studio</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Secretwriter</strong> on <strong>16-11-2010, 01:32:28</strong>
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				<em>Ingrid, Cindy Lou Who. You're a mean one, Mr. Grinch.</em><br><br>"Really?" she asked, touched that he'd do that for her.&nbsp; "You didn't have to, I mean, it wasn't your place… but thank you. Truly. Thank you."&nbsp; She could have reprinted them but there was something about the ones that she had that she loved, and finding the exact pictures again would have taken a long time.&nbsp; Her eyes widened at his words of too much talent.&nbsp; But he'd said… things out of anger and spite in order to get to her so that she'd leave him alone.&nbsp; Damn. <br><br>There was much more to it than Daniel leaving but she didn't feel quite like sharing.&nbsp; She was on Morgan's futon, not Dr. Phil's couch.&nbsp; "I wish it had too," she admitted.&nbsp; "I was just pissed and dealing with shit." She'd just gotten back from seeing her parents for the first time in almost fifteen years.&nbsp; She knew that she should have changed her name when she started getting attention for her works. <br><br>"I'm sorry that I used you as a kicking post, Morgan.&nbsp; You do make it rather easy sometimes, though.&nbsp; Like by showing up to things without wearing pants…" She giggled. "Though you do have some hella nice legs."&nbsp; Ow. It hurt to laugh.&nbsp; She cradled her head in her hands and whimpered.&nbsp; "Do you have any Tylenol? Please? I'm begging."&nbsp; She knew that he'd offered but somehow she'd forgotten to answer his question.&nbsp; <br><br>Lifting up and stretching her neck, which was stiff and saw a canvas.&nbsp; She couldn't make out the texture but she could see the red calligraphy and the tattoos, painted rope.&nbsp; There was no human figure but the ropes left little to the imagination.&nbsp; "Did you paint that?" she asked softly. <br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Waxing Rhapsodic - Morgan Delany's Studio</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>echoes</strong> on <strong>16-11-2010, 03:00:17</strong>
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				-Morgan and Ingrid. hangover baaaad, tylenol gooood-<br><br>"I was wearing boxers, luckily, when I pulled that stunt, though I have heard some people tell the story that I was buck ass naked. I was not, I rarely get that drunk around here. Just moderately blotto. And I understand about being in the mood to vent. I'm sorry I took the shot when you were not in the mood to take it." <br><br>He moved as she got up, brave woman that. He had a momentary fear that she would keel over and Aline would accuse him of hitting her, that really wasn't his style. bending her over his knee and paddling her ass till it was Rudolph red, maybe, but not real violence. He heard her request and reached for the bottle of Advil on the floor.<br><br>"If you keep the Advil down you can also have some Aleve, the Naproxin will reduce the pressure and it is all OTC. " he paused to her last question. "While you were sleeping, yes, I have been busy. And no, there are no sharpie tattoos on you, I was good, I promise." He passed her two Advil from the bottle. "Go slow, you drank a lot Ingrid." There was actual concern in his voice.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Waxing Rhapsodic - Morgan Delany's Studio</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Secretwriter</strong> on <strong>16-11-2010, 03:10:24</strong>
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				<em>Ingrid, giggling at Morgan</em><br><br>"Well it'd be a better story if you were butt ass naked. Probably a better view too. Men just don't look right naked from only the hips down." Gotta have the total package for it to be interesting.&nbsp; She took a long and slow sip of the Gatorade and sighed. It tasted wonderful.&nbsp; She wanted to chug it but she knew that it would be folly and that she'd be on her knees… not in a happy way either.&nbsp; "I forgive you.&nbsp; Don't worry about it."&nbsp; It was now water under the bridge as far as she was concerned.&nbsp; She couldn't remember the last time that she had felt so emotionally dead and destroyed. So empty.&nbsp; <br><br>"Alright. Thank you."&nbsp; She watched as he got out two Advil.&nbsp; It sounded like boulders rolling around in the plastic instead of small round pills. "Aww, come on! No sharpie tattoos?" She snickered. "Like you could find a spot. Maybe on my hoohah but well… like you said, you'd be dead before you could explain the joke."&nbsp; She swallowed the pills with a little burst of the sports drink.&nbsp; Good ol' electrolytes.&nbsp; Num.&nbsp; "Shit, I'm still drunk. I don't know what you're talking about.&nbsp; It's just the ass end of it where motor functions are impaired but you're mostly sober.&nbsp; Can think clearly but watch out for walking into walls." <br><br>&nbsp;<br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Waxing Rhapsodic - Morgan Delany's Studio</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>echoes</strong> on <strong>16-11-2010, 03:23:25</strong>
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				-Morgan and Ingrid, may be civil, may be hiding knives-<br>&nbsp;<br>He watched Ingrid for a moment, not asking about the lack of available flesh for now. He watched her power the Advil down, glad that she had not thrown up yet. They were not out of the woods, but maybe the trees where a little thin here. He watched her for a moment longer and then moved off, giving her some space. He moved across the studio, surprisingly Spartan and on the verge of OCD clean, not at all like its owner. It even smelled clean, and somehow Morgan did not smell like a distillery. <br><br>He moved and worked in silence, picking up a bar stool and carrying it to the small kitchenette the studio had. he set it front of the sink. Then entire time he worked quietly, quickly, a simple professionalism that no one here had even seen. He was still shirtless from the night before, working in just simple black slacks with an absences of socks or shoes. Plain pale skin stretched over a very gaunt body. There were light bruises on his back, marks that didn't seem to match anything in the room.<br><br>When he was done moving objects about, a second and small chair in front of the bar stool, he walked back to ingrid. He stood beside her on the futon and offered his hand. " Come on, lets get some of that motor control back and see about getting you to a bed you would rather sleep in." No innuendo, and a note of surety that he knew exactly what he was doing, in his voice. He waited beside Ingrid, his palm outstretched for her to take.<br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Waxing Rhapsodic - Morgan Delany's Studio</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Secretwriter</strong> on <strong>16-11-2010, 04:10:48</strong>
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				<em>Ingrid [3am-ish] with Morgan.&nbsp; Getting… in the bed?&nbsp; For SHAME! </em> :P<br><br>She wasn't quite sure what he was doing when he went away, seeing his shirtless back and the way that his muscles moved under his skin.&nbsp; She wasn't one for ralphing and she hadn't drank enough to really make her vomit.&nbsp; Unless she got heartburn, she'd be okay. So far there was no sign of the worrisome acid.&nbsp; When he started moving again, she noticed some bruises on his back and she worried for him.&nbsp; Had someone hurt him? <br><br>What in the bloody, all fire hell was he doing?&nbsp; She didn't get it.&nbsp; When he returned to her and held his hand out to her, his words sweet and kind, she nodded.&nbsp; She was a bit embarrassed to go to his bed… she could go to her own but that one still smelled like Daniel's cologne and she'd rather not burst into tears again.&nbsp; <br><br>A slender hand took his and she stood, wobbling a bit on her legs and her steps unsure.&nbsp; <br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Waxing Rhapsodic - Morgan Delany's Studio</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>echoes</strong> on <strong>16-11-2010, 04:28:23</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				-Morgan, Ingid, no good deed...yadda,yadda,yadda.-<br><br>Morgan moved slowly, keeping in mind that the woman beside him just drank a high school basketball team under the table before drawing on their collective faces with multi-coloured sharpies. Ok, maybe she didn't o that, but she would if she had the choice. Morgan just knew she would, he then promised himself never to pass out around Ingrid again.<br><br>These thoughts and a few others passed through his mind as he slowly walked her over to the bar stool, helping her to sit on it without doing her impression of humpty dumpty. He turned the faucet on and let the water heat, not making it scalding, but making it hot. he took a towel and set it on the lip of the sink's basin.<br><br>"Lean back slowly, I will help, and I will rinse the smell of Daniels out of your hair Ingrid. it always lingers around the head. The sooner you get rid of the scent, the sooner you will be able to not worry about your stomach wanting a cartwheel when you sweat. The chair in front is for your feet so you are not stretched out like on a Saltire or anything."<br><br>Ayep, his voice was serious, strong but soft as he spoke, he seriously was going to do this if she let him. He was an experienced drunk, and knew the secrets, having written a few of them himself, of the rapid sobering skills. Not a chance in hell than she would pass a breathalyzer right now, but she would be able to function without wanting to hurl. If she felt better he would let her use his shower, if she didnt, well, she would start sweating the bourbon out soon enough and then that shower would appear to be sent by the gods themselves.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Waxing Rhapsodic - Morgan Delany's Studio</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Secretwriter</strong> on <strong>16-11-2010, 06:05:07</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<em>Ingrid… getting her hair washed? Kinky! </em><br><br>She wasn't altogether sure what he was doing but she let him lead her to the stool and sat as he helped her to.&nbsp; Slowly, as he asked, she leaned back.&nbsp; "Ah. This makes more sense now.&nbsp; Oh. Saltire. Don't tease."&nbsp; She reached up to poke him in the ribs. "Thank you."&nbsp; She didn't understand why he was being so nice to her. <br><br>Settling back against the sink, she lifted her hair off of the back of her neck and pushed it into the sink, her top showing him the tattoos on her chest, neck, and the stars on her face.&nbsp; "Take care of down and out drunks often?" she teased, looking up at the man.&nbsp; He was handsome, he just had a way about him of making people want to beat his ass instead of shake his hand. <br><br><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Waxing Rhapsodic - Morgan Delany's Studio</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>echoes</strong> on <strong>16-11-2010, 06:26:37</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				-Morgan and Ingrid... maybe drown her,... maybe wash her hair-<br><br>Morgan pulled the sprayer from the sink and began to soak Ingrid's hair. He worked slowly, careful not to jar the woman's head as he slowly soaked the raven tresses. he was working, focused, and his hands displayed a steady and sureness that was not like his drunk happy go fuckem nature. He didn't oogle over the skin art, didn't sneak a peak at Ingrid's chest, ok maybe a small peak at the cleavage but he totally didn't perv her out.<br><br>"Only every time I drink. Ingrid, if you put your ass in a hot shower right now you have a better chance of taking a header than you do standing. Once you get your legs under you I will walk you down to your studio and you can do what ever you want, but Aline will kill me if I just let you go wandering off."<br><br>Aline was a fortunate scapegoat for Morgan's acts. Fact is he had woken up in one too many gutters and didn't like other people hounding hi turf. Ok, that sounded good, but he just didn't want Ingrid to get hurt, not while he was around. <br><br>he slowly worked the water through her hair, a soft touch on the strand and steady on the scalp. He massaged the water through and kept the temperature from getting to hot, watching her face occasionally to make sure she didn't turn green or decide the sensations were to much.&nbsp; However, he did not rush. Instead taking care to work her hair as well as any salon.<br><br>"I have dyed more than one person's hair for a shoot," he said by way of explanation.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Waxing Rhapsodic - Morgan Delany's Studio</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Secretwriter</strong> on <strong>20-11-2010, 02:27:08</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<em>Ingrid, relaxing and trusting Morgan</em><br><br>She was amazed at the gentleness with which his hands moved, the ease and the sweet touch.&nbsp; Her head hurt, very true, but he had a way with his hands.&nbsp; &nbsp;It felt good and it was soothing, her eyes fluttered closed as the spray and his fingers massaged her scalp.&nbsp; <br><br>His voice was soft and soothing, she wasn't completely sure if this was the same man from the night before or if she was just too drained to care.&nbsp; He seemed so different, not the Morgan that most people saw, that was for sure.&nbsp; Her lips curled into a smile when he spoke of Aline. She likely would but Ingrid was a big girl; she could take care of herself. <br><br>"I'm sorry for being such a bitch last night," she said again, her tone sleepy and groggy from the man's touch.&nbsp; <br><br>As she lay there with her eyes closed, her thoughts wandered and floated, her body feeling light and relaxed.&nbsp; From seemingly far away, she heard him talking, the soft rumble of his voice soothing her further as she drifted off. <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Waxing Rhapsodic - Morgan Delany's Studio</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>echoes</strong> on <strong>20-11-2010, 22:53:32</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				-Morgan, trying not to fuck this up, which goes against his basic nature, supposedly-<br><br>"it was not our best performance to say the least. I'm sorry I struck some low blows, I should not have." He answered, his voice still quiet as he worked his way through her hair, across her brow and scalp, gently touching her to ease out some tension. he was not trying to put her to sleep, just help manage the Gremlin inside her who head who was trying to play Led Zeppelin using her frontal lobe as a drum kit.<br><br>"You will be good to walk here in a bit, you can either use my shower or I can walk you down to your studio and you can use yours. But you ought to be able to function better. Either that, or just go right back to sleep and I will get you to the futon and you can try to sleep it off there." He never raised his voice, letting the tone stay even, honest. He had experience far too many hangovers to punish someone like Ingrid. Not that she was a Noob, but she drank for the wrong reason the other night, and he understood making mistakes.<br><br>He shut the water off and wrung her hair gently, letting his hang into the basin as he squeezed the excess from her locks. 'Felling better?"<br><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Waxing Rhapsodic - Morgan Delany's Studio</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Secretwriter</strong> on <strong>21-11-2010, 00:58:27</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<em>Ingrid with Morgan</em><br><br>"Water under the bridge," she mumbled sleepily, her tongue thick and heavy.&nbsp; She knew that it was time to get up but the urge didn't really get far with her relaxed body.&nbsp; "Fuck you're good at knocking a woman out."&nbsp; She smirked at that, chuckling, and then winced.&nbsp; "Laughter is not always the best medicine! <em>Reader's Digest</em> lies! <br><br>"I think that I'd be better in mine, but if I go there, will you stay with me till I'm out of the shower?" she asked quietly, hoping that he would.&nbsp; She had tumbled in the shower before and it wasn't a fun memory.&nbsp; <br><br>Nodding, she looked at him, reaching back to help him squeeze out her hair.&nbsp; "Much, thank you." <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Waxing Rhapsodic - Morgan Delany's Studio</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>echoes</strong> on <strong>21-11-2010, 01:35:03</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"its no great talent, usually it is my cologne."Aud de distillery," very chic I assure you. yeah, I will walk you down stairs and make sure there is no after action report to be filed under slip and fall," he said finishing with her hair and then offering her a hand to sit up slowly. " Go slow, vertigo can be a bitch, no reason to pre-dispose yourself to a fall later. Just take your time."<br><br>With his other hand he placed a fresh towel on her stomach. It was a supposed record. Morgan had been in the presence of another human being for longer than two minutes and had not insulted, belittled, or otherwise set that person's teeth on edge. It is no wonder that Aline had to up the insurance policy of studio when he moved in. Though he had assured her that the baby upright piano that was pushed though an unnamed Chicago studio's eighth floor window, Man you would be impressed at the crater that bastard made, was,&nbsp; not his fault. In fact, he was supposedly passed out in a bathroom somewhere around the fourth floor, which oddly, was very plausible.<br><br>Morgan looked over to Ingrid, seeing no reason to get dressed to wander aimlessly about the building, he had pants after all. He waited for Ingrid to move before he did anything else.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Waxing Rhapsodic - Morgan Delany's Studio</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Secretwriter</strong> on <strong>21-11-2010, 02:33:15</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				&nbsp;She sat up with his help, trying not to laugh at his jokes.&nbsp; The smile on her face was the only thing that gave away her mirth.&nbsp; "I'll go slow," Ingrid promised, easing out of the seat and getting to her feet.&nbsp; <br><br>Holding onto his arm for good measure, she headed gently toward the door.&nbsp; It was the most pleasant time that she'd ever spent in the man's company.&nbsp; One step at a time, she looked at the stairs and grinned.&nbsp; "Just kidding."&nbsp; The elevator button glowed orange at the touch of her finger and the resulting ding made her wince. "Oh. Shit!"&nbsp; <br><br>Pressing her palm against her head, she stepped into the elevator and pressed her forehead against the wall before pushing the five and holding the door open for him. <br><br>After he joined her, the elevator descended and they made their way into her studio apartment.&nbsp; "There's things in the fridge if you're thirsty."&nbsp; She forced a smile and headed toward the small bathroom, leaving the door open while she undressed.&nbsp; He couldn't see anything unless he turned to look in the mirror, for she hid against the shower as she turned the water on.&nbsp; <br><br>While she took a shower, she began to feel better, though she wasn't feeling up to one hundred percent. Emerging with a bathrobe around her, she stepped behind the folding divider and changed into something more suite; jeans and a t-shirt.&nbsp; <br><br>[pushed it ahead a little so we could stay on track with the others]
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Waxing Rhapsodic - Morgan Delany's Studio</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>echoes</strong> on <strong>22-11-2010, 19:51:47</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				-Technically in Ingrid's Studio.... just not her pants, you pervs....-<br><br>Morgan totally did not Perv Ingrid, nor did he rifle through her stuff. He had seen enough when he had been rescuing her art from the alleyway it has landed in. In fact, there was still a pile, albeit, a delicately placed pile, but a pile none the less, sitting stacked on a table. He had held back on his natural inclination to rifle through her clothes and 'borrow' something for one of his shoots. it was not so much a fetish as it was a kleptomaniacal imperative that made him dance on the edge of several stiletto shod ass kickings. Then again, as long as he could pick the lock to Aline's studio, he would never run out of material. if she caught him however, either borrowing, or occasionally putting things back, he was a dead man. In a way it was like the setting of 'The most Dangerous Game,' but in a library where you had to keep coming back to return stuff.<br><br>He pushed the thought from his mind, instead focusing on looking out the window. No, it would not help to totally Perv ingrid, get a little happy, and Pinocchio his pants. She would make a comment and then *boom* pants would be down for the jury to decide. Not that this had ever happened.... much.... sometimes. Oh God damnit, alright, he knew it happened rather regularly. That is what the impulse control of a mongoose on crack will get you.<br><br>He listened, making sure the shower was not accompanied by the solid thump of a body hitting the floor. Course, if it did he would help Ingrid, that much was certain, hell he would not even take photos. For some reason he felt bad for her, a strange feeling, her was sure he was catching a cold or something. The shower stopped, operation clean body a success as he heard her get out and getting dressed. As he stood there he saw the lights flicker and appear odd for a moment."<br><br>"Hey Ingrid.... is there something wrong with the lighting in your studio, I could have sworn they flickered for a moment." 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Waxing Rhapsodic - Morgan Delany's Studio</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Secretwriter</strong> on <strong>24-11-2010, 06:04:48</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<em>Ingrid with Morgan, Ingrid's Studio, though we technically didn't leave Morgan's thread. &gt;.&gt; Whoops.</em><br><br>&nbsp;Though she didn't know what he did and didn't do while she was in the shower, she really wouldn’t have cared much if he'd stolen a pair of undies, so long as he wore them and thought of her.&nbsp; Stealing drawers just to jerk off in, well that was kind of hot, too.&nbsp; She doubted that he would but she'd always found it a bit flattering though a little creepy that someone might want a woman's thong because they found her attractive.&nbsp; Er… the more that she thought about that as she got dressed, she realized it depended on how hot the guy was and how much she liked him.&nbsp; Bah. <br><br>Lifting a manicured brow when the lights flickered, she pursed her lips and stepped out from behind the screen.&nbsp; "Yeah, I'm not sure what that was, maybe a fuse?"&nbsp; <br><br>She walked over to her purse and pulled out her birth control pills, washing one down with a sip of OJ from the jug.&nbsp; "Are you smoking?" she asked, turning around, seeing that he wasn't.&nbsp; "I smell smoke," she said worriedly. "It's getting stronger."&nbsp; <br><br>As soon as she'd spoken, a wailing siren pierced the air, the sound that of the fire alarm.&nbsp; She nodded and grabbed her purse, reaching her hand out to Morgan. "C'mon, let's get out of here."&nbsp; <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Waxing Rhapsodic - Morgan Delany's Studio</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>echoes</strong> on <strong>24-11-2010, 22:01:46</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				-Motherfucker... Aline is gonna blame Morgan for this !!!!!-<br><br>Morg was about to say something when the keening wail of the fire alarm went off. All other thoughts flew from his head. Which really was not all that much, he had been wondering what Ingrid would look like in Liquid Latex and 60 feet of 6mm hemp ... and that was the chaste thought of all things. No, Morgan went to autopilot moving away from Ingrid, gathering a selection of her art and turning to her.<br><br>" We go up, use the fire escape from my studio window, trust me, it is secure, its how I leave the building when Aline goes on a rampage. Did you know she once knocked on my studio door for an hour before finding out I wasn't there." His voice seemed calm, it was a defense mechanism, humor to allay fear as he headed for her studio door. " We should use the stairs."<br><br>He pushed the door open and held it for her, there was a faint haze of smoke on the floor and it was slowly rising. "Fire is below us, lets get the flock out of here... oh, an when we get to my place you have to carry your art, I am going to need my hands for my Porn."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Waxing Rhapsodic - Morgan Delany's Studio</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Secretwriter</strong> on <strong>25-11-2010, 03:27:00</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<em>Ingrid, unsure, wanting out of the building.</em><br><br>Why he grabbed her art when she wanted nothing more than for them to get out safely, she didn't know.&nbsp; She took the time to slide into some tennis shoes, minus the socks, and ran after him, grabbing her camera bag on the way.&nbsp; She threw the back pack over her shoulder and followed the crazed lunatic.<br><br>"You don't have to save that," she said, hurrying toward the stairs.&nbsp; "I can reprint…"&nbsp; It didn't matter at the moment.&nbsp; Their safety did!&nbsp; She stayed on his heels as they went up the stairs to his studio, her heart pounding in her chest. <br><br>"Porn? Seriously? Can't we just buy more?"&nbsp; The man was insane… As they entered his studio, she took her art, unable to piss him off after he'd been so nice to her and had gone to such lengths to save it.&nbsp; She waited on him by the fire escape, watching as he moved around to gather the things he needed.&nbsp; Ingrid wasn't about to push the window open, knowing that it would only let more oxygen in. That would wait till the last minute and they were climbing out. <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Waxing Rhapsodic - Morgan Delany's Studio</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>echoes</strong> on <strong>25-11-2010, 03:41:36</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				-She is going to kill him, or kill him, Morgan being charming to Ingrid before fleeing-<br><br>" The window the escape up here doesn't stick, I know this for a fact." he said as he barreled through the doors and to his studio In mid stride he grabbed the painting off the stand that he had just completed before turning and heading towards the window. He swept a line of CD's/DVD's into his camera bag and slung it over his shoulder. Memory cards and two camera's, one an old school style Cannon waited in the bag. He didn't even stop for shoes as he neared Ingrid.<br><br>"Artist Rush, Keekeekee," he said as he nodded for her to pop the window. He waited for her to do so, let her step out to the fire escape and the followed her. The iron of the escape was cold on his feet, he took that much better than roasting toasty in a fire. "Ladies first Ingrid," and he nodded to the switchback ladders heading to the ground. He slung the bag, and in a moment of epic pimpness, pulled a pack of cigarettes out , lighting one as he headed down the metal stairs. Hey, with Ingrid first she could accuse him of trying to check out her ass.<br><br>He had already done that inside anyways.<br><br>He followed Ingrid to the street below, it had been a record for him. He had survived, Aline's wrath, Ingrid's anger, and a studio fire all in one night with no loss of limb or body part. Yes, for some reason, he had an odd grin on his face.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Waxing Rhapsodic - Morgan Delany's Studio</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>echoes</strong> on <strong>17-01-2011, 20:41:54</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				-Morgan, in his studio, dodging the artful Aline ( who might want to kill him ...again)-<br><br>Morgan moved into the studio and locked the door behind him, sweeping away from the door and looking about the working area. It was not the largest place he had to work, nor was it the smallest. It was better than the roach motel firetrap that had been the first place he had worked out, this was certain. it was a simple place, but he found that to be the draw, the motivation for his work at the time. There was an attraction, a simplicity and return to the basics that he felt drawn to, and with that in mind, he began to work.<br><br>He moved to the center of the room, drawing a chair he had found from against the wall. Even though he had some decent funds available he never lost the skill of being frugal. Dumpster diving and consignment store shopping was an art, and he did so enjoy his art. He had found a chair in one of his many sojourns into the trash and refuse of various construction projects about the city. The chair had to be older than he was, still functional, but with no trappings of finery left about it. it was cold, sterile, lifeless, and that meant it was perfect.<br><br><div align="center">(http://z.about.com/w/experts/Collectibles-General-Antiques-682/2009/12/Antique-Carved-Chair_1.jpg)</div><br>He set the chair in the middle of the room, making it the focal point of his soon to be display. He had spent time cleaning it, sanitizing it, he would not work in unsafe conditions. He removed any sheen and lacquer from the chair, leaving it dull and drab, it was part of the piece, but would not be the beauty. Below the chair he arranged a black mat and then set about assembling the frames to attach scrims behind the chair, the goal being to disguise the depth of the supposed room the chair was occupying.<br><br>He worked quickly, arranging and situating the chair until he felt it fit his mood. Once done he knew he would need to head to the storage room and pull lights to highlight the object, the cast shadow and glow the way he envisioned in his mind. He would start with the chair itself, something as a base line of photos before he went to the lobby and attempted to shang-hi one of the people gathered down there. He was on a roll, and right now he did not want to stop.<br><br>-------------Copying this to the correct thread... something about the rent not being paid and that Aline got drunk and, in a fit of rage, set her previous building on fire while wearing A competition orange coloured&nbsp; latex set of overalls, Minnie mouse pumps, and a tyler durden mask. Admit it Aline... you are just jealous of me, Come on ... SAY IT... I digress. -----------
			</dd>
		</dl>
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