(no subject)
Mmm. Finally updating my story.
Ship: Still Tocuna/Flo, I guess.
Disclaimer: *generic disclaimer*
Rating: I'll say R to be on the safe side.
A/N: Eh...I disliked this chapter even more, actually. But oh well.
Stop sending letters
Letters always get burnt…
On a good day, letters were ended with a flourish and then delicately inserted into a perfumed envelope. Sometimes a wax seal with an elaborate letter “T” was included.
Tocuna’s hand didn’t flourish, or delicately push, or even seal. After the last letter, it paused, as if wondering to itself what was missing, and then tenderly placed the pen in its box. Tocuna bit down on the side of her lip and scanned the page for typos or any hint of emotion at all. Seemingly satisfied, she pulled out a complimentary hotel envelope and started to fold the letter perfectly into thirds. After gently coaxing it into the envelope, Tocuna walked to the bathroom and wetted her hand to seal it, her mouth being too dry to stick it herself. At a loss for anything else to do, she grabbed her overcoat and walked outside.
It was late, and the only people out on the street were the unsavory types that seemed to think Tocuna was one of them. A drunken sailor lurched out of a doorway and offered her a fifty, which she politely declined before walking on.
“What, I’m nsot cood enough for yous?” a voice loudly slurred from behind her. Ignoring it, she rapidly walked five steps before feeling a hand on her shoulder. It was heavy, not unlike having a small fuzzy animal perched on her, and he was holding on so tight she could feel the calluses on his hand through her jacket. Flinching, she stood still and looked around at the people walking by with their heads down, ignoring the two as his free hand snaked up past her hips and up to her chest. He reached through the gap between buttons on her coat and started to roughly stroke her breast.
Down the street was a woman staring right at them, angry as hell and dressed in a revealing red and black dress. Her heels clicked on the sidewalk and Tocuna gave her a pleading look. The woman seemed to ignore Tocuna, but as she got closer on the sidewalk, it was apparent that she was coming towards them. The sailor didn’t seem to notice, or more likely didn’t care, and as he whispered wicked things in her ear, the woman bent down to take off her stiletto.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” she yelled while hitting him with her heel. He looked up, his hands clutching Tocuna even more tightly. Tocuna didn’t dare look, but listened to the soft thumping of shoe hitting shoulder. The man didn’t say anything; it didn’t even seem like he was breathing anymore. Then, just as suddenly as he appeared, his hand slipped out of her jacket and away from her hip and she could hear him swagger off to find another girl. She was still standing there, shocked, when she felt another arm slithering past the back of her neck.
“Hey,” the woman leaned in to whisper, “are you okay?”
Tocuna let out a sob, causing a few people passing on the street to look at her briefly before walking on.
The woman’s apartment was nice. It was done up in all red velvet with black finishes, and if Tocuna were to snoop in her dresser drawers and under furniture, she’d probably see more red and black dresses and black stockings and red shoes with black ribbons. She was the kind of woman who felt she was making a statement about her emotional state by wearing only black and red, but it was hard to tell what it was. She would whisper about it afterwards, but Tocuna wasn’t paying attention anyway.
At the present time, they sat on the edge of the bed, talking. Tocuna stared off to the side and traced the looping pattern on the red bedspread with her index finger. She talked about her sister, and then the Baudelaires until she was telling the woman about a bug she squashed in third grade and the pair of nice shoes she lost in seventh. The woman mumbled soft condolences and soon was holding Tocuna in a one-armed embrace. Soon, Tocuna felt the other hand, softly stroking her thigh. Her breathing stopped, and soon her lungs started to ache with suppressed air. The fingers started moving more, petting larger amounts of skin, delving under the hem of her skirt and then retreating quickly, shyly.
The woman seemed to get bolder, and after a few seconds of silence, leaned over to lightly brush Tocuna’s hair with her lips. The lipstick was wet and left little pieces of red hanging on her follicles.
She felt a light tugging on her shoulder and understood as the woman slowly reclined beside her. As she lay with her eyes fixed on the bed covering, she could feel the woman on her side next to Tocuna. Fingers gently ran through her hair and she could feel the other hand, now traveling up her belly and approaching her breasts. When they were reached, the woman stopped, as if wondering if she were doing the right thing. Her hand quickly jumped over them and landed softly on Tocuna’s face. Tilting it toward her, she stared for a while before hurrying over to mash fire engine red with pale pink. With a moan, she pulled away and looked in Tocuna’s eyes for a moment in search of confirmation. She found it somewhere in Tocuna’s large, frightened eyes, and with a smile crawled out of view. The bed shook as the woman dropped off it, and before she could figure out quite why, she felt something under her dress, and as the edge of the material lifted, she gasped.
In the morning, she woke up on top of the blankets. The first thing she saw was red, and in the bleary confusion of just waking, she thought she had somehow fallen asleep inside the belly of a beast. Wind was blowing through an empty window to make the velvet curtains tremble, and there was a slight rumbling noise that could be confused for growling to her side. As her eyes adjusted, however, she noted the woman at her left, nude and curled in the fetal position, and a pile of clothes to the side of the bed. Slowly she inched off the bed and shifted through the dresses and hose until she reached her garments. Lightly, she shook the woman awake.
“Here,” she whispered, “I’m leaving.”
The woman sighed and closed her eyes, too sleepy to care. In large letters, Tocuna wrote down the hotel and room number on a napkin by the bed and crept out to the street.
Ship: Still Tocuna/Flo, I guess.
Disclaimer: *generic disclaimer*
Rating: I'll say R to be on the safe side.
A/N: Eh...I disliked this chapter even more, actually. But oh well.
Stop sending letters
Letters always get burnt…
On a good day, letters were ended with a flourish and then delicately inserted into a perfumed envelope. Sometimes a wax seal with an elaborate letter “T” was included.
Tocuna’s hand didn’t flourish, or delicately push, or even seal. After the last letter, it paused, as if wondering to itself what was missing, and then tenderly placed the pen in its box. Tocuna bit down on the side of her lip and scanned the page for typos or any hint of emotion at all. Seemingly satisfied, she pulled out a complimentary hotel envelope and started to fold the letter perfectly into thirds. After gently coaxing it into the envelope, Tocuna walked to the bathroom and wetted her hand to seal it, her mouth being too dry to stick it herself. At a loss for anything else to do, she grabbed her overcoat and walked outside.
It was late, and the only people out on the street were the unsavory types that seemed to think Tocuna was one of them. A drunken sailor lurched out of a doorway and offered her a fifty, which she politely declined before walking on.
“What, I’m nsot cood enough for yous?” a voice loudly slurred from behind her. Ignoring it, she rapidly walked five steps before feeling a hand on her shoulder. It was heavy, not unlike having a small fuzzy animal perched on her, and he was holding on so tight she could feel the calluses on his hand through her jacket. Flinching, she stood still and looked around at the people walking by with their heads down, ignoring the two as his free hand snaked up past her hips and up to her chest. He reached through the gap between buttons on her coat and started to roughly stroke her breast.
Down the street was a woman staring right at them, angry as hell and dressed in a revealing red and black dress. Her heels clicked on the sidewalk and Tocuna gave her a pleading look. The woman seemed to ignore Tocuna, but as she got closer on the sidewalk, it was apparent that she was coming towards them. The sailor didn’t seem to notice, or more likely didn’t care, and as he whispered wicked things in her ear, the woman bent down to take off her stiletto.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” she yelled while hitting him with her heel. He looked up, his hands clutching Tocuna even more tightly. Tocuna didn’t dare look, but listened to the soft thumping of shoe hitting shoulder. The man didn’t say anything; it didn’t even seem like he was breathing anymore. Then, just as suddenly as he appeared, his hand slipped out of her jacket and away from her hip and she could hear him swagger off to find another girl. She was still standing there, shocked, when she felt another arm slithering past the back of her neck.
“Hey,” the woman leaned in to whisper, “are you okay?”
Tocuna let out a sob, causing a few people passing on the street to look at her briefly before walking on.
The woman’s apartment was nice. It was done up in all red velvet with black finishes, and if Tocuna were to snoop in her dresser drawers and under furniture, she’d probably see more red and black dresses and black stockings and red shoes with black ribbons. She was the kind of woman who felt she was making a statement about her emotional state by wearing only black and red, but it was hard to tell what it was. She would whisper about it afterwards, but Tocuna wasn’t paying attention anyway.
At the present time, they sat on the edge of the bed, talking. Tocuna stared off to the side and traced the looping pattern on the red bedspread with her index finger. She talked about her sister, and then the Baudelaires until she was telling the woman about a bug she squashed in third grade and the pair of nice shoes she lost in seventh. The woman mumbled soft condolences and soon was holding Tocuna in a one-armed embrace. Soon, Tocuna felt the other hand, softly stroking her thigh. Her breathing stopped, and soon her lungs started to ache with suppressed air. The fingers started moving more, petting larger amounts of skin, delving under the hem of her skirt and then retreating quickly, shyly.
The woman seemed to get bolder, and after a few seconds of silence, leaned over to lightly brush Tocuna’s hair with her lips. The lipstick was wet and left little pieces of red hanging on her follicles.
She felt a light tugging on her shoulder and understood as the woman slowly reclined beside her. As she lay with her eyes fixed on the bed covering, she could feel the woman on her side next to Tocuna. Fingers gently ran through her hair and she could feel the other hand, now traveling up her belly and approaching her breasts. When they were reached, the woman stopped, as if wondering if she were doing the right thing. Her hand quickly jumped over them and landed softly on Tocuna’s face. Tilting it toward her, she stared for a while before hurrying over to mash fire engine red with pale pink. With a moan, she pulled away and looked in Tocuna’s eyes for a moment in search of confirmation. She found it somewhere in Tocuna’s large, frightened eyes, and with a smile crawled out of view. The bed shook as the woman dropped off it, and before she could figure out quite why, she felt something under her dress, and as the edge of the material lifted, she gasped.
In the morning, she woke up on top of the blankets. The first thing she saw was red, and in the bleary confusion of just waking, she thought she had somehow fallen asleep inside the belly of a beast. Wind was blowing through an empty window to make the velvet curtains tremble, and there was a slight rumbling noise that could be confused for growling to her side. As her eyes adjusted, however, she noted the woman at her left, nude and curled in the fetal position, and a pile of clothes to the side of the bed. Slowly she inched off the bed and shifted through the dresses and hose until she reached her garments. Lightly, she shook the woman awake.
“Here,” she whispered, “I’m leaving.”
The woman sighed and closed her eyes, too sleepy to care. In large letters, Tocuna wrote down the hotel and room number on a napkin by the bed and crept out to the street.