. murder on the dancefloor

[dominic vinten cuvo]

Long ago, this became a game of Dominic waking up and being told what he had done the night before. With shock and horror he would learn about his acts, his outbursts, his tastes; different with different substances, too. Things only a possessed person would do, much time lost to the abyss of a blackout. At first he would apologize and atone for his acts under the influence, then it evolved to denying it all, paying off afflicted parties, or his favorite: simply ignoring reality. His memory was malleable and no longer burdened by the confines of shame or guilt. Was it possible that he was a werewolf who had lost consciousness upon seeing the moon? It’s not likely but not a non-possibility either as Dom’s brain struggled to dredge up the night. The party, the fight, the bet; the kitchen, the carousel, an amazing sandwich. Kitty, new faces, Mirren. His bed guest bolts upright in surprise of him, clicking his tongue at her as if trying to draw a stray cat nearer. With his limited vision he looks over the room, trying to piece it all together where his memory failed, thinking only of the bet. Dominic stretched and groaned from the pooling sheets, leaning on an elbow to look at her. “No ‘good morning’, ‘nice to see you’?” he feigned offense, turning and patting the still-warm bed next to him and his morning wood. “Come back here, we can cuddle and have mimosas.”

[mirren hewitt]

& Do I Dare Disturb The Universe?

Mirren Outfit

In total panic, Mirren’s only way of coping was a total assessment of tiny things. Her eyes focused low on the shining paint of her toe nails, some chipped from the salt but still gleaming. The stiffness of her calves from her heels, the churn of her stomach, the heaviness on her shoulders and in her heart. The knots of her hair and the soft bruise of her mouth, though she’s quite sure it’s from the bottle being tipped against her teeth and not harsh kisses. All in all she seemed haphazard but ok, if not suddenly embarrassed, flush rushing to her skin at the state of them. And then her eyes immediately rolled at his audacity, glad her senses were in tact enough to gather her clothes. She felt foolish, and rash, using it to propel her dress and shoes quickly into a tote she also found strewn across the ground. “I have to go,” Mirren finally mutters, a flurry of messages greeting her when she finds her phone. It seems impossible to deal with now, hoping no glass was strewn across the lawn as she planned to walk the beach back to Dunmere. Face the sun and all her problems, head turned in the doorway as she regarded the curious boy once more. “Thanks for…well, I don’t know really. But thanks.”