Comments | fi_lurkers: ...::: Character Visit: Ciarán Malone

silhouetteatrox in fi_lurkers

...::: Character Visit: Ciarán Malone

May 11, 2007 18:14

Unsurprisingly, Ciarán was always dressed perfectly for whatever occasion at which he happened to be making an appearance. Furthermore, he never agonized over his decision. He always knew, instinctively, the perfect cut, style, and degree of formality appropriate for the event. He didn't take too much pride in the talent, oddly enough, as he ( Read more... )

character visits

Comments 13

morsus_et_mors May 12 2007, 08:13:11 UTC

"Mr Trickster was wagging his tail grandly. He was dressed in a velvet suit of a richly plum colouring, which complimented his complexion very well. A silver pince-nez peeped out from his breast pocket, as he paced back and forth patiently. Mr Trickster was a very imp--" Montague tore his gaze away from a soft-cover booklet of an aspiring writer, as the stage lit up with life. The book thrown away (or, more softly speaking, thrown down carelessly), he smiled and re-settled in the seat ( ... )

silhouetteatrox May 14 2007, 03:08:52 UTC

Ciarán propped his elbow on the arm of the chair and rested his head on his palm, zeroing in on the source of the silky voice. As much as he like to think himself like the eye of a storm (empty, quiet, indifferently observing the chaos around him as inside a glass lighthouse), he could not ignore Montague. The Morsus scion niggled at the back of his mind, clicking the gears of his precise intellectual clockwork like a wrench ( ... )

bluemoon_loon May 15 2007, 11:22:37 UTC

Luna stared at the stage with the wide-eyed mix of vacancy and focus that only a Lovegood could master. One hand tapped the feathery end of her quill rhythmically against a cheek, and a pad of parchment balanced on one knee. It was certainly interesting to finally meet Ciáran Malone face-to-face; well, as face-to-face as two people could get in this setting. His attire was as casual and inviting as his words had been in journal, and yet there was a strangely predatory sense about him. Or perhaps that was the lighting.

Thinking of an appropriate question would be difficult, but Luna was a (semi-)journalist. Asking questions was her job. Waiting for a break in the conversation, she raised a hand. "If you could, Mr. Malone, please describe your idea of Utopia. What sort of society would make you happiest?

silhouetteatrox May 23 2007, 06:45:50 UTC

He could see the curve of the world in her magnifying glass eyes, and he felt like he might like to linger there for a while. That inscrutable gaze was so intriguing--what might it be like to crack the glass? Would anything spill out? And what a question, too, from behind the mist. She was an azure loon, with, he suspected, little-to-no regard for the accepted tenets of mundane social etiquette (all the better).

Out of respect for her original inquiry, Ciarán sat thinking in complete silence for a moment, mouth resting on his steepled fingers. The warm quiet in the room was delicious, and he let it sink into the air, into him.

"I think that my idea of a perfect society would be one in which everyone had a better sense of humor."

Yes, he thought. Enough of that might solve everything. Ciarán sat back in the armchair (strange, he was so strange, it didn't make a sound ( ... )

morsus_et_mors May 23 2007, 14:15:23 UTC

Little smiles, nuances, subtexts thrown around here and there- Ciarán truly was a magnanimous person to allow so much access into his very insides. Montague sat in his chair, lounging against an armrest, as he watched the play unfold itself before him. It had been far too long since they have participated in such a blatant act of defiance. Where everything could be said, spitted out in the faces of the hoi polloi, and not even a smile would be required ( ... )

silhouetteatrox May 27 2007, 04:42:53 UTC

"I think you did, once." His voice rang out in coppery tones, deep and reverberating against the back walls (but really, intended only for one).

"But my mother was so shining, and kissed you so gently, that I believe you were convinced into tolerance of their existence."

Mother dearest; her hair was like an obsidian curtain. No--a river, shimmering over her curves. She was the most beautiful woman in the world. And his father? The man had taught his son everything he needed to know about learning for himself (and what better gift was there, really?).

Ciarán possessed his Only, took him inside his eyes and barred his soul's escape. Don't begrudge me my own two roots, my love (but do--and you will see how much we belong to one another).

"Dystopia it is, then."

freakedwithjet May 15 2007, 22:15:56 UTC

So this was the man behind the label? Uh huuuuuh... Pansy watched as he reclined in his seat, and thought about all of the things she'd like to do to that jumper, given the chance.

Burn it - too quick. Singe it bit by bit with cigarette ash and then give it to Aubrey as a plaything - closer, but then it would have to be in her house! Steal a time-turner and Crucio whoever it was who first conceived its hideousness... hmmm...

Pansy leant forwards so that her face was spotlit by a beam from above and lifted her voice. "Mr. Malone, how much do you resent my friend, Hortensis, for doing what you do- only better?"

silhouetteatrox May 23 2007, 07:42:19 UTC

If Ciarán had any lingering hopes of a continued increase in quality regarding the questions in this peculiar little forum, then he was to be sorely disappointed with the voice that pulled him from the serene, haunting little sphere of personal bearing belonging to Miss Lovegood. He directed a sigh and a smile in-ah, Miss Parkinson’s, of course-direction, and returned his hands to the arms of his chair.

“‘Your friend, Hortensis.’ How incessantly we’ve heard that phrase issuing from your lips, Miss Parkinson. I’d even call your protracted self-promotion tiresome were it not so transparent ( ... )

silhouetteatrox May 23 2007, 07:59:36 UTC

“As to your question (and please do forgive my long-windedness), I must admit some interest in your definition of the word ‘better.’ You can’t mean in sales, surely, as mine is a label rather firmly established worldwide, with many licensed outlets, and our collective quarterly return far exceeds Hortensis’ England sales, as adorably dazzling as they are. Besides, if you are so brilliantly well-off, why send those letters of supplication for funding?" One store in England could only put out so many ensembles, after all.

“In the same sense, I am rather certain you aren’t referring to public relations. Granted, my recent extended sabbatical was not the friendliest of moves in that arena, but we have yet to even hear from this Hortensis save through you. Where are your ad campaigns? Your interviews? Do you not have enough respect for your clientele that you maintain this ridiculous shroud of secrecy ( ... )

silhouetteatrox May 23 2007, 08:35:16 UTC

“Now mind you, I have nothing against naked women. Some might even suggest I enjoy them more than is admirable. But it is not solely skin that creates attractiveness.

“I would, at least, congratulate you on accomplishing the Lowest Neckline Ever, if the public (as seems the case) still wishes to deem that something to celebrate. However, I don’t believe you can claim even the newness which you seem to seek so ardently.”

Mr. Malone settled back into his armchair, almost tentative to relate the next tidbit to the sheltered wizarding population present. Ah well-none of them would remember a thing.

“After all, when you created such a stir at your birthday celebration with that ‘pioneering’ dress of yours, you weren’t pioneering anything at all. The Muggles had been doing it for an entire season before yours debuted--which, of course, is a virtual eon in the fashion world.

"With all fairness, the Muggle pop singer that wore the design achieved the same effect as you: sudden, overwhelming attention."

To keep speaking? Never. ( ... )

thelastgranger May 27 2007, 16:01:40 UTC

Somewhere in the back, sat a girl, with an empty chair to both her left and her right. Her hair was long and curly and her make-up was subtle, she would have blended in rather well if it hadn't been the black dress she'd chosen for the event. The neck dipped low and the slit was cut high, another exquisite Malone piece. This one had been made specially for her, even if she hardly resembled Hermione Granger in her current state ( ... )

silhouetteatrox June 9 2007, 17:58:33 UTC

Hermione looked stunning.

Of course, he was not surprised. He had personally designed her gown--if she did not look better than anyone in the room whilst wearing it, he would never have relinquished the piece to her ownership.

"Most days, my favorite place is the Italian shore, in the most secluded places. But darling, my favorite place most often shifts in relation to my favorite people."

He looked at her pointedly: it was the end, the end: and he felt strangely nostalgic for things that had never happened in the first place. Farewell, beautiful, intelligent, tortured little toy.

thelastgranger June 10 2007, 01:41:53 UTC

Their eyes met across the room and suddenly it was is if everyone around them slumped down and embraced a deep slumber, he and her the only ones still breathing. Oh my darling. Hermione's eyes started at his feet, slowly working her way up in an attempt to hold the vision of him in her mind for years to come.

Oh how desperately she wished she could break free from this, be the girl in the black dress, not just playing pretend. But that was a life that could never be.

Maybe one day they'd find themselves face to face, with the shore decorating the scenery. But for now Hermione simply sipped her wine and pushed her chair back from the light.

She shivered as she was once more lost in shadows.