Reality isn't Real enough  [Brandon & Pearlruby]
<h1 id="title">Elliquiy Role Playing Forums</h1>
		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Bondage, D/s, S&amp;M =&gt; Bondage: Human Solos =&gt; Topic started by: PearlRuby on 20-03-2011, 18:30:10</h2>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Reality isn't Real enough  [Brandon &amp; Pearlruby]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>PearlRuby</strong> on <strong>20-03-2011, 18:30:10</strong>
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				<div align="center"><strong><span style="font-family: georgia;" class="bbc_font"><span style="font-size: 16pt;" class="bbc_size"><em>'Reality isn't real enough'</em></span></span></strong></div><br><div align="center">(http://i332.photobucket.com/albums/m357/yuniebee/thedreamer3.jpg)</div><br><br>Situated on the bend of the Garonne River, the picturesque port city of Bordeaux in south western France, had been the home of Félicie Morgan-Lemelle for the past three weeks. The twenty-three year old, history major graduate had piled her savings into a plane ticket, pocketed the keys to her grandmother's little cottage, and made the spontaneous journey overseas. It helped to own an American-French passport and speak the native language quite fluently, so she had comfortably settled into an extended vacation. The city burst at the seams with delights in art and history that enticed tourists from the World over. Luck and the fates seemed to continually favour Félicie. Just three days after landing, she had noticed an advert for assistance within the main, city library. Being a young applicant with a specialisation in history and research, had worked highly in her favour. The job was hers, granting the financial security to stay much longer than originally intended. Better yet, resources at her fingertips to delve into the history of her own family tree.<br><br>It was a warm, August day, and the library café was buzzing with the afternoon queues of business meetings, students and general visitors. Félicie, better known as 'Flick', had found a secluded table on the outside terrace to pass her lunch hour with a newspaper, bottle of water, and standard baguette. Smoothly crossing one leg clad in white, tailored linen trousers over the other, she relaxed back in the iron chair painted in white, patent gloss, and unfolded the paper. A sea of chatter surrounded her, but she found it easy to zone out in her own company. Unlike many other tourists, she fit in quite well and was often mistaken for one the natives. Naturally light, olive skin, had caught the sun a little more lately while her tailored clothing possessed a quintessential style that was more stereotypically common to the French. Three-quarter length, fitted shirt was no exception to that rule, alongside the smart, navy blue silk scarf secured under the collar and tied over unfastened buttons down to a modest, concealed cleavage. An oceanic breeze drifted by, catching the loose bangs of dark, auburn-brown strands of waving, shoulder-length hair. Absent-mindedly, she lifts her palm to graze against the back of her neck, lifting her hair a moment in a cooling gesture. Her eyes clothes as she sits forwards slightly, her back gently arching. It's only one o'clock, but the day is dragging while the heat serves as a minor irritation. At least the archives department is well ventilated and cooled.<br><br>A chair scrapes across tiled floor several tables opposite her; the sharp sound briefly lifting her attention from news articles.&nbsp; Light, slate-grey eyes lazily glance from one stranger to the next; two business-suit clad men arguing in thick, Parisian accents over falls in the stock market with various intricate charts laid out in front of them. Then, a lone student with head ducked down, typing vigorously on her laptop. Finally, Flick's shoulders stiffen in unspoken apology as her gaze meets directly with another. For a brief moment, she accepts the challenge of eye contact, trying to assess which of them had been the first to catch the glance. Was he simply pausing a moment to take in his surroundings, just as she had? Three seconds later, and she nonchalantly diverts her attention back to the ignorance of her newspaper. Casually, she licks a finger, and turns the page.<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Reality isn't Real enough  [Brandon &amp; Pearlruby]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Brandon</strong> on <strong>22-03-2011, 20:53:16</strong>
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				He stood among them and looked around with an appraising glance, watching every person for just a moment as they basked in the light. Once again the warm sun had shined over the world of humankind and banished the darkness. It was as if it was blessing their world and saying humanity was here and it was strong.<br><br><em>That was a lie...</em><br><br>Humanity was blind to the reality around it they were oblivious to the truth that they could be so much more because they wanted to have the veil pulled over their eyes. Many of them like children, thinking that if they closed their eyes that they could not be seen. In this case they lived with monsters all around them, familiar and unfamiliar, but they willingly closed their eyes to shut out that reality. Humanity's reality was safe and lonesome where they were the top of the food chain and the masters of the world. <br><br><em>That was a lie...</em><br><br>He looked as normal as he could, standing just under six feet tall with an athletic yet effeminate build. Dressed in a black short sleeved tee shirt, tight dark blue jeans, and black tennis shoes with red laces. Yet under his right arm was a large book as thick as war and peace yet ancient as well, bound in leather and hand written in a dead language. <br><br><em>That was a lie...</em><br><br>Some might have called him a god, others a demon, but he was a mage. A human being who had awakened to true and lasting power, his will and desire being the instrument to reshape reality to his will. Around him he saw people that were, metaphorically speaking, asleep. Oblivious to their birthright and the fact that they only needed to shatter the chains that bound their souls to a normal existence. In a way he pitied them, hoping beyond hope that one day their souls would make the journey, crossing the abyss that separated the fallen world from the Supernal realms, and like him would ascend the watchtowers, write their names on the wall, and become a mage with the power to do anything. <br><br>Under his arm was one of the most dangerous books ever written, a journal written by one of first Atlantean's after the ancient city was lost. Its pages were written in Atlantean and detailed his first experiments with the creatures of the abyss and how to summon and manipulate them. He could not destroy such a&nbsp; thing, but it had to be sealed away. Where no mage or man could touch it<br><br><em>That was the truth...</em><br><br>As brilliant green eyes scanned the last few people and soon he met her gaze. His eyes were suddenly locked with her own, unable to look away. His eyes as well as hers not only looked into each others eyes but they looked into each others souls. Then the contact was broken, leaving her another moment to see his full face buried beneath dark brown hair, clean shaven, and more cute then handsome. <br><br>For a moment he wondered had she looked at him or had he looked at her? Yet he also remembered something deeper in those beautiful eyes. He had to stop himself from staring at her face, she was so cute that it felt like an instant attraction. A puppy crush? Likely. It would pass when he moved on with things, or so he thought as he left. <br><br>Later that night he found himself at the Anthereaum, a storehouse of lore run by one of the orders of Atlantis: The mysterium. The book was locked away and he sat calmly next to a computer, typing out his report for what happened in his search for the book. After a moment he took in a deep breath as well as took a drink from a cup of coffee, making a disgusted look a moment later. He never did like the stuff but at one in the morning it was keeping him going. When the last sentence was done he leaned back and thought about things, soon his mind wandering to those eyes he had looked into earlier today. Driven by an infatuation he decided to look her up, using the Anthereaum's internet to find out her name.<br><br>Félicie Morgan-Lemelle. It was familiar, but why? Curiosity peaked he opened access to the Anthereaum's inventory and began looking. An hour later he found what was so familiar, she was a descendant of the Lemmelle sisterhood. A group of mages that had done great things, some benevolent and others horrific but all great things. Oh that sealed it, he had to get to know the her now and not purely for the sake of a crush... 
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Reality isn't Real enough  [Brandon &amp; Pearlruby]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>PearlRuby</strong> on <strong>25-03-2011, 22:36:17</strong>
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				A bronze key slotted into the square lock and subsequently struggled to turn the device. It was always the same with the cheap town house flat, which was very much in need of a lick of paint on the outer, concrete walls. Flick's mother had purchased it as a business venture to rent out in the popular tourist seasons, but now it served as the daughter's lodgings. It was a three-storey building with quaint balconies and window shutters. The street below cobbled, and the main shopping centre about ten minutes walk away. At last, the lock gave in, and with one hip she shoved the stubborn, wooden door open. A brown, paper bag filled to the jagged brim with groceries occupied one arm, leaving her to nudge the door shut with one heel. Flick had decided on the tram ride home from work, that she would attempt to make what the cookbook had called 'Provencal Zucchini Tart' …. aka courgette quiche. Granted she only had to heat the pre-made meal up, but the salad at least she would make 'a la' fresh. So her evening would consist of said meal, with a large glass (or two) of red, French wine out on the iron balcony. It usually granted her a picturesque view of the sunset, which was always nice while curling up with a book. The perfect way to unwind; which was exactly what she needed lately. Especially since a tight knot had found its way to the back of her neck and proceeded to irritate her since lunch hour. It didn't help that she had to stare at a computer screen for the majority of the afternoon.<br><br>The clock hand hit ten o'clock exactly, and though Flick was feeling tired and exhausted, she knew that it would take much more than her head hitting the pillow to fall asleep. She had a routine that was meant to help her relax; a warm shower with essential, aroma-oils followed by exfoliating skin care and the moisturising of her entire body using shea butter creams. The sweet smells were meant to aid in natural relaxation, but the clock hand had reached the half hour mark and yet her eyes were still not falling heavy. Slipping on her deep purple, silky night chemise, Flick finally sat on her double bed and fluffed the pillows. It was a luke warm night, but with the windows and shutters wide open, she felt the need to pull a single, soft lilac sheet up to her waist. Sighing a moment, light blue eyes stare up at the slightly cracked ceiling. The man above her has just got home; his front door slamming while he loudly talks in thick French on the phone to his angry lover. It's hard not to eavesdrop, and though her neighbours strictly mind their own business, she knows the ins and outs of their private lives. The man upstairs for example, brings three different women consistently home to his flat. Whereas, the older woman downstairs, is rarely ever in. <br><br>Looking over to her bedside clock, Flick groans at the hand stretching further to the eleven mark. Enough was enough; she needed to be at work in nine hours! With a defeated sigh, she opens the top drawer of the bedside table, and retrieves the pills she swore to wean herself from. Alas, one smoothly curved nail pops the foil, and she swallows it back with a gulp of water. Resting her head back on the pillow again, she closes her eyes, and tosses and turns. Yet as the clock strikes eleven exactly, she starts to leave the realm of the conscious to slowly drift into the realm of sleep...<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Reality isn't Real enough  [Brandon &amp; Pearlruby]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Brandon</strong> on <strong>28-03-2011, 10:08:41</strong>
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				It had been four days since he looked into her eyes, four days since his eyes looked past those beautiful grey-blue eyes and into her very soul. It had taken him this long to gather the materials he needed to perform his magic and now he stood in a large room overlooking the city. Thousands of small lights dotted the buildings, banishing the darkness as if to say that humanity was here and it was strong. He stood at the window, just behind him a hard wood floor with markings carved into the floor and filled with salt. Seven candles were set around the circle, each one lit and burning brightly. <br><br>He took a few more moments to prepare himself, making sure there would be no distractions and then he took a seat in the center of hte circle. As he sat there he took in a deep breath, concentrating as he let his will shape a new world that would be controlled by their minds. Miles away he could already sense her drifting off into a deep slumber and it seemed the perfect moment. Minds connected through his force of will and the stood in a land of mist. He stood there as a tall man with handsome features, short slightly curled brown hair, a clean shaven face, and the physique of a model all of it sealed within a black button up shirt and tight jeans. <br><br>In this world they both had control of it and as he stood there, watching her as her conciousness began its first steps to control, he wondered how it was best to approach her. The answer seemed simple, let her set the scene and manipulate the dream to discover her true self.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Reality isn't Real enough  [Brandon &amp; Pearlruby]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>PearlRuby</strong> on <strong>01-04-2011, 21:12:36</strong>
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				The white mist of Flick's subconsciousness slowly dispersed to clear the way for the backdrop of the dreamy setting. She often dreamt of work, and tonight was no exception. Mahogany bookshelves stacked fully with books of varying shapes and sizes, fell into place in the library archives room, elongated to higher extremities as they stretched upwards to reach an inaccurate, fifty foot high ceiling. Church-like, narrow windows arched towards the ceiling, let dimmed light seep through the stained glass that formed an abstract mosaic. The rest of the décor seemed to match the reality of the building; the polished wooden floors that creaked in certain places when walked over. The muted walls embossed by diamond shapes, and the circular, central desk where two, old-fashioned box-computers rested. It was here that Flick found herself standing, responsible for the only sound in the room as her nimble digits furiously typed away at the flattened keyboard. Quite mundane, as far as dreams go. The only fascinating feature, was the fact that she'd apparently turned up for work dressed in her deep purple, silk chemise, and yet seemed oblivious to any&nbsp; embarrassment. <br><br>It was hard to tell what time of day it was, though the temperate seemed placidly mild. Still, the air conditioning made its usual droning buzz sound, like the amplified wings of an insect fly wings beating constantly against a microphone. Adding to the bland atmosphere, shadowed visitors began to flock in sparse quantities. Some moving past the aisles, others loitering at bookcases where they read extracts to themselves from the pages in murmured voices. Some leaning against the main desk, others sitting at the study areas. Yet the faces were no more than clouded smudges, just as their bodies were grey, insignificant blurs. All except for one figure; the tall man with handsome features clad in shirt and jeans. An alien presence amongst the 'others' and therefore drawing her attention away from her work to inquisitively enquire with frowning eyes. It were as though she was partially aware of the subtle invasion, and yet unsure as to whether it was just a construct of her imagination. <br><br>In reality, Flick's calmly breathing body turned over to her side, drawing the bedsheets with her from the waist down in a gently twisting motion. The open windows allowing a gentle breeze to caress her bare shoulders. But also, unwelcome sounds, such as the chatter of passing tourists, or the more poignant buzz of a motorbike zooming passing outside, threatening to rouse her. The sound pierced through the barrier of the dream world, to suddenly echo through the library accompanied by a colder zephyr. None of the 'others' reacted, but Flick did. With a gasped shiver, she hugs at her chilled shoulders, while tearing her attention away from the stoically attractive figure. Wide slate-grey eyes tinted by periwinkle, seek the direction of the sound alone. It came from a darker isle, as if a beast had roared from his cave. The ceiling now parting to allow torn pages to rain sporadically down through a ray of dim light, highlighting the entrance to the narrow pathway. Clicking with the mouse a moment, she finally step away from the desk, smoothing her hips past the entrance to the circular reception booth, and slowly stepped towards the forbidden aisle with bare beet. 
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Reality isn't Real enough  [Brandon &amp; Pearlruby]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Brandon</strong> on <strong>03-04-2011, 13:47:18</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				Deep emerald green eyes watched the dream carefully, watching what formed from her deepest subconcious and paying special attention to <em>how </em> the dream formed from the deep mists. Everything was a vital clue to the inner workings of her psyche as well as a potential answer to one of many questions he would have as he got to know her. When the last bits of the entities were formed he stood there, paying her a knowing look and again he couldnt stop himself from thinking that she looked so damn cute he could barely stand it. Even though he wasnt here for pleasure, or rather not here <em>just </em> for pleasure, he could not stop himself from thinking a few romantic thoughts before he got to business. <br><br>He began by tearing his gaze away from her eyes, as anyone would she knew of the intrusion out of instinct though she did not know why and more importantly how it had happened. For awhile he stood as a silent observer, his eyes spying her from the corner of the room as a hand abesntly turned the page of a book. It was clear to anyone that looked at his face that he wasnt reading the book. The gaze could have been interpreted as just people watching but in truth he was doing more then watching, he was studying and interpreting everything as he tried to find the keys to her mind. <br><br>Everything seemed fine for that first night until the roaring sound of the motorcycle tore through, stirring her. He knew that that was a bad sign, he needed her to stay asleep to continue his observation. He needed her to <em>want </em> to stay in this dream. There was no choice, he had to act. <br><br>The sound of soft footsteps on the wooden floor seemed to echo through the room, carrying with it a kind of powerful presence&nbsp; that only added to his own. For now he could only do one thing and hope it would be enough to stir both her curiousity and longing desires. He walked in front of her, puffing himself up to look at large as he realisticly could and he paid her a new smile. This time one that told her there was so much more to him then a simple pretty face. He wanted to confess, to tell her of the longing crush he had on her but he knew better, there would be time enough for confessions of love or lust in the future. 
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Reality isn't Real enough  [Brandon &amp; Pearlruby]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>PearlRuby</strong> on <strong>05-04-2011, 22:36:52</strong>
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				The echo of footsteps almost immediately deters Flick from her original path towards the eerie aisle. First, a brief hesitation as she pauses mid-step, until at last her half-lifted foot rests flat. Silk whispering against her derrière from the simple, twist of her hips, as she turns to enquire after this new disruptive sound. Lower lip parts from the upper as her intrigued eyes follow that same, tall and handsome stranger approaching her. A light gasp caught as a fluttering bird in her ribcage, as he stops in front of her. The taller stance and expanding chest, rendering him a force to be reckoned with. Slowly, she lifts her gaze up the length of his body, until her chin tilts to accomodate eye contact.<br><br>For a moment, she simply stares back with steely hues. Her focus drawn to the twisting of his lips into a smile that frees her caged breath in a serenity that soothes her tensed shoulders into oddly relaxing. Then, her gaze narrows as she more thoroughly studies his facial features; from the cheekbone structure, to the thickness of his brows and the shape of his chin. As though she must memorise each detail in order to ascertain his role in the dream.<br><br>“Are you lost?” At last, she speaks, her gentle and lightly accented voice casting slight echoes around her. Something tells her that she knows him and yet, she can't figure out if he's meant to be there, or out of place. Does he serve a purpose?<br><br>“Or... are you found?” She tilts her head to the side slightly, unaffected by her poetic stance. Then, the more accurately spoken quote, used on a daily basis to greet various lost visitors in the Library, and therefore imprinted in her mind. Her posture straightens while a false, incredibly formal smile lifts her pout. Hands shift to rest infront of her pelvis, clasping together in an offering of gladly given service.<br><br>“Puis-je vous aider?” Long lashes blink with the pregnant pause as she asks in gently accented French; <em>can I help you</em>?<br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Reality isn't Real enough  [Brandon &amp; Pearlruby]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Brandon</strong> on <strong>07-04-2011, 14:40:29</strong>
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				As he gained her attention he relaxed a bit, letting his body show the smooth transition from an overpowering presence to a relaxed yet still controlling demenor. As emerald eyes scanned over her and took in every inch and curve of her face his mind raced along. He had her attention now, but what should he do with it? What was the best way to unlock her family secrets? and how could he win her heart? <br><br>He stood there, still staring and smiling for a few more moments before his right hand left the pocket of his jeans and reached forward setting on her left cheek, the thumb taking a moment to stroke her cheekbone. "Yes, you can help me. I came here to see you. I want to know many things, the most important among them is you." There was a brief pause as he took in a deep breath and his tone changed a bit, hinting at the crush he had on her as well as taking on the commanding tone. "Come with me, spend time with me, so I can know you."
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Reality isn't Real enough  [Brandon &amp; Pearlruby]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>PearlRuby</strong> on <strong>10-04-2011, 17:23:49</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				All it took was that unplanned and unexpected caress against her cheek, and Flick was smitten to her own curiosity. Who was this charming man, and why had she piqued his interest? She was losing control and so, her surreal dream begun a series of gradual, self-destructive procedures. The defences of her mind seeking to force her back to consciousness, away from the danger of this obtrusive presence. While her sub-conscious self reacted to this alien presence with recognition. Had she not seen him before? Steel hues back as she parts her gaping lips, to lose herself in his bewitching, emerald gaze.<br><br>“Yes,” she answers with abstract incoherence. With the refusal to break eye contact, her pupils dilate as she slowly lifts her hand facing palm upwards, to await his grasp. “Call me Flick.”<br><br>The sound of glass books falling from shelves began to shatter in echoes around them; as though a stone had been hurtled at a mirror or window. Yet she fails to react, or even flinch to the danger around her. The ghostly figures of visitors look towards the intruder of the dream, opening their mouths to release the chatter of passing tourists in the real world. In reality, Flick inhales a deep breath as she turns once more, a breath that reflects back to her dream self as she releases a heavy sigh. Transfixed, she attempts to retain her formal façade in robotic, unblinking stance. To regain her control over this world that should be her own making.<br><br>“We have archives and collections from A to Z dating back centuries. History is relative. <em>Now</em>, is history. Where would you like to start, Monsieur?”<br><br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Reality isn't Real enough  [Brandon &amp; Pearlruby]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Brandon</strong> on <strong>12-04-2011, 10:45:11</strong>
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				As his thumb slowly carressed her cheekbone he took a step closer, ignoring the world around them so that she herself would not look away. He wanted so badly to keep her attention focused on himself, though it was no easy task to ignore the dream. Another step closer and his other hand reached out, reaching down to take her hand as deep emerald eyes stared into her eyes. Again he couldnt stop himself from thinking about how utterly cute she was, there was just something about her that made that deep and hidden passion rise. "Flick. I am..." he paused, thinking for a moment. Would it be so bad to give her his shadow name? No, it had no meaning except as a Demon king in long forgotten religions there was no threat to the mysteries even if she learned of its significane. "I am Koroboros"<br><br>His lips curled more as he moved even closer, till there was barely any space between them. Something was propelling him closer to her, to act the opposite of who he was in life. In this dream he was controlling and dominating. "I want to start at F. Tell me about Flick. Tell me everything from her beginning to the present. It is the most important subject, the only subject I desire right now."
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Reality isn't Real enough  [Brandon &amp; Pearlruby]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>PearlRuby</strong> on <strong>16-04-2011, 15:36:26</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				The unusual name fit the phantasmagoria of dream enough for the falling books to freeze entirely. The misty figures of onlookers had all but faded from existence within her misty chimera. Bookcases groaned; the wood stretching in moaning creaks and snaps as the structures climbed higher. Chasing after the silently raising ceiling. To ask about her history, since her beginning to the present, was going to require a much larger room. <br><br>The caress of his thumb against her cheekbone was soothing enough to have her fixated upon the spot. Her face tilting lightly against the touch; the chin lifting to display the shifting muscles of her neck as she swallowed back the initial jolts across her skin. Even upon her soft pillow, she nudged her cheek across the fibres. In the dream, his touch reflected the smoother texture of satin.<br><br>Then, as her eyelids lifted the fanning of dark lashes, she came to witness the curl upon his lips as the space between them lessened. The subtle arch of her back accompanying a light intake of new breath as she tried to match his height over her. At her height of only 5'4” though, it was impossible to achieve without appearing to be aching for his touch upon an subserviently offered poise. The pointed tips of material that housed her humble breasts, almost brushing against his closer chest as her own was filled at the lungs. <br><br>“F,” she repeated with only a hint of autonomy. “Félicie Morgan-Lemelle. Born at 7am on August 28th, 1988. Raised solely in Maine, New England. No siblings to date. Suffers a history of anxiety and insomnia. Parents since divorced, four years ago.” Her eyes danced from left to right, as though she were reading her text from Koroboros' face. Her tone verging on monotonously disinterested in her own history.<br><br>“Most notable facts to date: Studied at the University of Massachusetts Lowell. Graduated last year with History Major - Bachelor of Arts Degree. Flew here, to Bordeaux, only two weeks ago with only two hundred and fifty dollars in savings, and the borrowed key to her grandmother's abandoned cottage. Currently working at le Bibliothèque municipale de Bordeaux, archives devision.”<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Reality isn't Real enough  [Brandon &amp; Pearlruby]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Brandon</strong> on <strong>18-04-2011, 10:56:48</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				He drank in the informatoin like a man dying of thirst drank the water of an oasis. Simultaneously in the real world his fingers moved, writing on a small flat piece of paper in black ink stained on his fingers. He had to keep notes no matter what so he could later review everything that she said. As his fingers moved his head tilted to the side as if puzzled and within the dream he took a half step forward till their chests touched. <br><br>Looking down into her eyes he found himself wanting more then just to hear her words. It caused him to lean just slightly closer as he thought of kissing her. How badly he wanted to feel her warm lips locked against his even if it were only for a moment. <em>"If a stole a kiss...just one. Would you hate me for that Flick. Would you even know?"</em> he thought as brilliant emerald green eyes seemed to stare into her own. Lips curled slightly as he finally began to excersise some of his own power on the dream, adding in just a low sounded bit of classical music. The quiet notes seemed to come from everywhere and no where all at the same time adding a beautiful element of culture to the setting. <br><br>As the music played he drew closer as if to kiss her yet he paused when his lips were just milimeters away from her own. He was still smiling but now she could feel the warm breath from his mouth and nose brush against her face. His scent, a mix of intoxicating saffron and brimestone that screamed sexual desire but whos desire was anyone's guess. He knew there were more things he could learn from her, the most important yet to come. "What are the personal interests of Flick? the desires of her? the tastes of the people she prefers? what does Flick most want right now?"
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