.boredom post, but long and mayhaps interesting--give it a click. -- Death Valley

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Date Posted: 00:30:46 06/01/03 Sun
Author: Roxy
Subject: .boredom post, but long and mayhaps interesting--give it a click.

And again in a timely fashion the night dissipated beyond, allowing the heavens to penetrate in regulated subterfuge. In this shattering penetration, the dawning effulgence seemed to penetrate even Roxy�s mind. A deluge of blinding spotlight had seeped across the desolate foundation and taken the plantation in a blinding, congenial embrace to the satisfaction of the growing waif. She much preferred the illumination and its embrace; compared to the clouds blanketing the heavens in its sultry embrace and smashing forth torrentials of hell, tearing trees from nimble roots and wafting them across the air with a deadly force. Leaving the lands strewn and disowned barbarically riveted and gnashed by the mighty teeth from the scornful squall, changing in one fold of ruby eyelids.

Though that can be entertaining too.

Just in the preceding days the labyrinth had been malleable due to the dispelling rime, leaving the heavens caliginous and drawing the landscape into a protean, grayscale lull. Yet the female had still enjoyed the tap floor beneath her, leaving a nocturne and unnaturally hollow beats as her tiny, poised frame clicked nonchalantly across the melancholia surroundings. The celestial orb of light had prevented anymore lackluster continuance, however, and slowly thawed the hummocks into the summer months, allowing the verdancy to spread as wildfire. And as the lands had once been, damp, quaffed with a minimal drag of water to rejuvenate the parched domain, the sun and removed this bountiful presence of elixir and became unyielding. The sky turned a blinding azure, cumulous drug across the zephyr with lazy splotches. The female pulled a sardonic frame into a more articulate rhythm, internal beat working her muscles with feverish precision. Perspiration began to form in nagging rivulets across the ruby hide, quartering the deeper muscles with a lather that gave the melodic stray a scintillating appearance in the arid afternoon. Perhaps one of her age would be subdued to the stereotype of a more fatigued frame after her time of travel, but the months of antagonization from passing hours had pushed her to forming a more taut demeanor. The prodigious thespian tossed a gaudy orifice, positioned atop a prodigious truss, exhaling with a snort in some hopes to bring a belligerent mood or placate; consequently, it merely antagonized the willowy form and sought vexation. Stygian orbs were shattered feebly by the onsite of incoming tresses; nevertheless, they were able to deliver a brilliantly effective glare to memorize and antagonize the entourage. With a curt tuck of wafting appendages the female quaintly popped over the fallen arbor, which lay as a tombstone without an etching, throwing a wink and a bow to the crowd in the dark. The incessant circulation kept her feeble physique sward with flare, adroit mind feeding off of the stage and crowd as writhing power.

She retired to a comatose gait, regarding now the audience, her audience as a morbidly involved part of her choler. It was part of her, as a dramatician, if she could even be called such. Metaphorically she fingered the pearls about her neck, blinking long eyelashes and puckering ruby lips, gallivanting around seductively in little slips of sequined fringe; but behind an equine cover there was only so much the female could do. Her eyes shown for Broadway, and her body shone for the street corners; not in the sense of unfortunate ness, but in the sense of voluptuousness. A stage whore, perhaps, if that word can be used; when she wasn�t on it, she longed for it. Not necessarily the attention, but the atmosphere. There she was, in her own utopian atmosphere, flouncing about backstage and throwing dashing smiles to the bystanders, getting the nods, silently mouthing the routine which she had so intricately practiced over the preceding nights solo. Buckling those character shoes, adorning those ears with earrings, draping those copious pearls around her eloquent neck. Microphone cracking, piano player glistening with beads of persperation as a cigarette hung partly out of a furrowed lip, the lights would rise and there�d Roxy be, standing in all of her petty glory out into the dark spectators with illuminated eyes. It was a burning hunger, which writhed inside of every breath she took; the passion came without rhyme or reason, but it existed reguardless.

Nevertheless, there were sparse moments where the jazz-attic needed to ebb away from humanity and spend a moment as cellophane; her soliloquy to the people, perhaps. So she could perch in the rafters, behind the lush velvet curtains and watch the members flee in exodus, a mollified cacophony as the proceedings were discussed. She watched them with a gaze of alloy�diligent, and intently espying the assembled miscellany of cohorts. She drew a feminine frame from the burlaps of obscurity, oozing from beneath the recesses of night and into the blanched light, beneath the wavering heat with the rest of the sinners. What anathema! In a pure of ire set alight inside the charred, lurid eyes, again her hooves flew with a thundering rhythm across the topography, removing her from the murky depths of the brackish solitude. She cavorted with a delinquent performance, throwing off the professional air and choosing to remove a chagrined overbearing through her dinning limbs, inciting self-veneration for the ideal execution of a nimble frame.

Her body was physically feebled by the reflection of intricate of physiques back into erratic orbs. The forms lingered about the royalty and its subjects, watching the esurience of their adrenaline as the hierarchy nonchalantly tossed portentous sentence. She ostracized the though of the grubby, haughty formed in one feeble inhalation. She worked as a egotistical sedative�enduing herself with a phlegmatic calm when she felt the need necessary. From the crux of her blackened soul there was something internal, able to be triggered as a time bomb, surging from the depths of the sinewy entity and calming the senses and appeasing the rigid thought.

Perhaps though, when the ambiguity of the psuedo-valium subsides it would be time for her to actually�gasp�integrate. Poor Roxy. Not that she couldn�t do with more than a seductive stage appeal; something had to mean more to her than a hot piano and cold gin. Whatever had estranged her at birth had contradictingly birthed her for the stage; so despite her yearn for solemnity she possessed enough charisma to continue a gambit with ease. Eyes a conflagration of mahogany and charcoal, and a smile toying with an electrically stained orifice she looked about to those perhaps looking for a neutral ploy. Her acidic tongue perhaps would be a downfall; a sardonic humor left her to draw others down without a moments hesitation, using it as a prized tool; a scythe, if you will.

She was a character, Roxy�endowed with crude charisma, disregarded verbal etiquette but praised the physical with overriding adulation. Oppositely uncouth, but bluntly honest, she was ready to converse with someone who could match wits.

C�mon, someone, anyone. Give her a run for her money.

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Replies:

[> *sighs* Why, oh why, do I bother with this RPG anymore....why oh why. -- Hannah, 00:45:25 06/05/03 Thu [1]

>And again
>in a timely fashion the night dissipated beyond,
>allowing the heavens to penetrate in regulated
>subterfuge. In this shattering penetration, the
>dawning effulgence seemed to penetrate even Roxy�s
>mind. A deluge of blinding spotlight had seeped
>across the desolate foundation and taken the
>plantation in a blinding, congenial embrace to the
>satisfaction of the growing waif. She much preferred
>the illumination and its embrace; compared to the
>clouds blanketing the heavens in its sultry embrace
>and smashing forth torrentials of hell, tearing trees
>from nimble roots and wafting them across the air with
>a deadly force. Leaving the lands strewn and disowned
>barbarically riveted and gnashed by the mighty teeth
>from the scornful squall, changing in one fold of ruby
>eyelids.
>

>Though that can be entertaining too.
>

>Just in the preceding days the labyrinth had been
>malleable due to the dispelling rime, leaving the
>heavens caliginous and drawing the landscape into a
>protean, grayscale lull. Yet the female had still
>enjoyed the tap floor beneath her, leaving a nocturne
>and unnaturally hollow beats as her tiny, poised frame
>clicked nonchalantly across the melancholia
>surroundings. The celestial orb of light had
>prevented anymore lackluster continuance, however, and
>slowly thawed the hummocks into the summer months,
>allowing the verdancy to spread as wildfire. And as
>the lands had once been, damp, quaffed with a minimal
>drag of water to rejuvenate the parched domain, the
>sun and removed this bountiful presence of elixir and
>became unyielding. The sky turned a blinding azure,
>cumulous drug across the zephyr with lazy splotches.
>The female pulled a sardonic frame into a more
>articulate rhythm, internal beat working her muscles
>with feverish precision. Perspiration began to form
>in nagging rivulets across the ruby hide, quartering
>the deeper muscles with a lather that gave the melodic
>stray a scintillating appearance in the arid
>afternoon. Perhaps one of her age would be subdued
>to the stereotype of a more fatigued frame after her
>time of travel, but the months of antagonization from
>passing hours had pushed her to forming a more taut
>demeanor. The prodigious thespian tossed a gaudy
>orifice, positioned atop a prodigious truss, exhaling
>with a snort in some hopes to bring a belligerent mood
>or placate; consequently, it merely antagonized the
>willowy form and sought vexation. Stygian orbs were
>shattered feebly by the onsite of incoming tresses;
>nevertheless, they were able to deliver a brilliantly
>effective glare to memorize and antagonize the
>entourage. With a curt tuck of wafting appendages
>the female quaintly popped over the fallen arbor,
>which lay as a tombstone without an etching, throwing
>a wink and a bow to the crowd in the dark. The
>incessant circulation kept her feeble physique sward
>with flare, adroit mind feeding off of the stage and
>crowd as writhing power.
>

>She retired to a comatose gait, regarding now the
>audience, her audience as a morbidly involved part of
>her choler. It was part of her, as a dramatician, if
>she could even be called such. Metaphorically she
>fingered the pearls about her neck, blinking long
>eyelashes and puckering ruby lips, gallivanting around
>seductively in little slips of sequined fringe; but
>behind an equine cover there was only so much the
>female could do. Her eyes shown for Broadway, and
>her body shone for the street corners; not in the
>sense of unfortunate ness, but in the sense of
>voluptuousness. A stage whore, perhaps, if that word
>can be used; when she wasn�t on it, she longed for it.
> Not necessarily the attention, but the atmosphere.
>There she was, in her own utopian atmosphere,
>flouncing about backstage and throwing dashing smiles
>to the bystanders, getting the nods, silently mouthing
>the routine which she had so intricately practiced
>over the preceding nights solo. Buckling those
>character shoes, adorning those ears with earrings,
>draping those copious pearls around her eloquent neck.
> Microphone cracking, piano player glistening with
>beads of persperation as a cigarette hung partly out
>of a furrowed lip, the lights would rise and there�d
>Roxy be, standing in all of her petty glory out into
>the dark spectators with illuminated eyes. It was a
>burning hunger, which writhed inside of every breath
>she took; the passion came without rhyme or reason,
>but it existed reguardless.
>

>Nevertheless, there were sparse moments where the
>jazz-attic needed to ebb away from humanity and spend
>a moment as cellophane; her soliloquy to the people,
>perhaps. So she could perch in the rafters, behind
>the lush velvet curtains and watch the members flee in
>exodus, a mollified cacophony as the proceedings were
>discussed. She watched them with a gaze of
>alloy�diligent, and intently espying the assembled
>miscellany of cohorts. She drew a feminine frame from
>the burlaps of obscurity, oozing from beneath the
>recesses of night and into the blanched light, beneath
>the wavering heat with the rest of the sinners. What
>anathema! In a pure of ire set alight inside the
>charred, lurid eyes, again her hooves flew with a
>thundering rhythm across the topography, removing her
>from the murky depths of the brackish solitude. She
>cavorted with a delinquent performance, throwing off
>the professional air and choosing to remove a
>chagrined overbearing through her dinning limbs,
>inciting self-veneration for the ideal execution of a
>nimble frame.
>

>Her body was physically feebled by the reflection of
>intricate of physiques back into erratic orbs. The
>forms lingered about the royalty and its subjects,
>watching the esurience of their adrenaline as the
>hierarchy nonchalantly tossed portentous sentence.
>She ostracized the though of the grubby, haughty
>formed in one feeble inhalation. She worked as a
>egotistical sedative�enduing herself with a phlegmatic
>calm when she felt the need necessary. From the crux
>of her blackened soul there was something internal,
>able to be triggered as a time bomb, surging from the
>depths of the sinewy entity and calming the senses and
>appeasing the rigid thought.
>

>Perhaps though, when the ambiguity of the
>psuedo-valium subsides it would be time for her to
>actually�gasp�integrate. Poor Roxy. Not that she
>couldn�t do with more than a seductive stage appeal;
>something had to mean more to her than a hot piano and
>cold gin. Whatever had estranged her at birth had
>contradictingly birthed her for the stage; so despite
>her yearn for solemnity she possessed enough charisma
>to continue a gambit with ease. Eyes a conflagration
>of mahogany and charcoal, and a smile toying with an
>electrically stained orifice she looked about to those
>perhaps looking for a neutral ploy. Her acidic tongue
>perhaps would be a downfall; a sardonic humor left her
>to draw others down without a moments hesitation,
>using it as a prized tool; a scythe, if you will.
>

>She was a character, Roxy�endowed with crude charisma,
>disregarded verbal etiquette but praised the physical
>with overriding adulation. Oppositely uncouth, but
>bluntly honest, she was ready to converse with someone
>who could match wits.
>

>C�mon, someone, anyone. Give her a run for her money.
>
>

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[> big brother is watching YOU -- Big Brother, 00:35:47 06/07/03 Sat [1]

The lean, dark stallion appears once more at the verge of the territory. The ominous stallion True Evil had passed from this alter real world, and now Big Brother had returned to torment the inhabitants. His dark contemplative eyes stared out cooly beneath a dark shock of ebon forelock that fell haphazardly over one eye. A tremor ran through his chest as he emitted a low whicker, one that dictated 'halt'.

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[> moi? Im flattered. -- Roxy, 14:02:20 06/07/03 Sat [1]

The brazen waif, perching precariously beneath interwoven columns of perpetual sunlight and various verdancies that formed something of frond baldachin watched the stallion with livid eyes. Her form, ruby coating gleaming in scintillation danced uneasily in a surreptitious fashion. The silence between them stretched perennially, like innumerous hummocks. Roxy flicked neurotic lobes hazardously; the silence was audible, but it needed to be punctured by some perturbation. Her self-appointed duty though, being brought up with such theme, was to abruptly picture this metaphorical balloon with her needle, sending a stream fingering through stygian tresses of delicious, delectable, facetious air, awaiting a verbal brawl to take place beneath the brackish grounds. She eyed him defiantly, coming down to a halt, readable in the more solitary verboseness of the equine lexicon. She longed for his dexterity, his animosity; his ability to keep that red light on, eye watchful over the droning cadre. She felt downcast, as she loathed the puppet strings manipulated her; as the blades of grass, attached to the ground by the very roots that give them sustenance. She longed for that overbearing power�the perception of immaculate clarity, the ability to scrutinize every thought and noise above the murmur of a heartbeat; unbiased and humble. Although his desire was not neutral; it was to know their attributes, and their flaws�and that is for what she longed. Crossing one nimble willow across the other, the female performed a soft falap; barely audible bolero on the hollow tap stage. She cocked an articulate head, orbs piercing with intricate scrutiny. If she had felt words were needed; they would have been uttered with a sardonic charisma.

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[> big brother is watching YOU -- Big Brother, 14:46:44 06/07/03 Sat [1]

The cynnical stallion stood, watching from his velvet-seated standpoint in the crowds. With an innately suave style, he smiles loftily. Despite the fact that he had no social status in the entire world as of yet, he still believed himself far superior to most others. Most. He cocked a hind foot, analogous to a tall, dark, handsome stranger leaning against the stage wall. A producer-type. With a malevolent snort, the stallion emerges from the shades. "Hello."

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[> Alleged. -- Roxy, 15:36:16 06/07/03 Sat [1]

Upon the wiry frame, a lanky shoulder pulsed to the internal beat, simper indisputably cast upon angled features. And in her own rendition, the actress began to execute her tango. Her nimble legs intertwined flawlessly underneath the watching eye of the hierarchy.

Spotlight�s on you, babe. Shine.

Ruby pelt danced beneath the celestial orb of light, flames rippling upon her silken attire. Her willowy appendages were not skittering beneath her in nervousness; just skittering. An unwound nature, she could face eyes to any, but not with any solemn demeanor.

Brilliantly glowing eyes raised with a gambling caution to the producer before her. Her form tensed, a casual front splayed across her conduct. They performed a silent duet, upstaging any others that could surround them. Dainty hooves clopped eloquently upon the sturdy labyrinth beneath her, and she stood brazenly, a non-threatening emposure, but nevertheless unafraid.

Ladies and Gentlemen, Roxy and Big Brother performing the Showtime Rag.

It seemed however that he had no want to execute or put forth some remote form of energy, and although he loved the limelite he'd rather sing in the shadows. Which was perfectly fine with her, she was capable of enchanting on her own terms. She eyed him seriously, with warped strains of annoyance at her general lack of respect, and in his lethargic behavior.

Not that she didnt appreciate stealth.

Deep in her belly there was a burning flame--a spark--the same spark which drew her as a moth to the flame of the theatre, which made evil all consuming. She was well aware the stallion would not be keen to take orders, something in which she loathed from others but loved as much as she loved the jazz to emit with a bellowing solo. She liked it, het abhorred it, yet drank from it like wine to an alcoholic. Big Brother was Roxy in the epitome, the undiluted, proper form of her--stripped from the pearls and the glamor, and the feministic volomptuousness of course. She was a kindered spirit, born of a twisted virtue, and perhaps thats why she enjoyed the stifling control of this Big Brother--for a short time, anyway.

"Hey. What brings ya?"

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[> big brother is watching you -- Big Brother, 15:46:12 06/07/03 Sat [1]

The dictator narrows a practiced eye along the ruby fleshed native that pranced in front of him. He couldn't help but feel she was the slightest bit frivolous. From her long eyelashes to her dark cloak of a tail, she was the showgirl, the flapper. His dark muzzle is held close to his chest as he watches her parade around. He supposed it was his turn to step up to the plate and perform right alongside with her. He himself preferred the more emotion gamut of typical classical movements. Puffing 'pon a metaphorical cigar he draws a bit closer. Take a bow, hotshot. His ears were set on her, his noble Roman nosed head was escalated over hers, making his tall stature all the more obvious. "Your flamboyance is like a solar flair, I had to come investigate." [ Post a Reply to This Message ] [ Edit | View ] [> Affirmed. -- Roxy, 16:56:44 06/07/03 Sat [1]The cortezan snagged those fishnets on her spiked heels for that one brief moment as her internal record hit the same snag--he responded? Well watch yer seat, Billy Flynn. She took a quick drawl from her long cigarette, blowing it out in an evanesce cloud in the direction of the dancing maven. She downed her gin as a man, taking her swig with practiced antiquity. She had done her deal of sleezebag bars, nightly brawls and drunken plunders of grubby hands. No, Im no one's wife, but oh, I love my life. She built him up, relieving the smoke with the seductivity of any feminist--well, whore. But her upfront naivety prevented any lackluster steeds from slipping beneath a sequened corset. She prepared to carry on a legacy that her martini-drinking, mink draped ancestors had not--not so much celebacy, but a sexual prescence without sexual preference. And trust me, this was a hard promise to upkeep; this one has some guts. Her wiry frame dripped with a coat of electric red, adorned with pearls on anything that would hold still. And that wasnt much. She graced his chest with a brush of taught hindquarters as her crimson silk slid across his. Moments into its future, the elusive bodice rejoins the line of sight, galavanting about with an intriguingly accentric collection. From there, it takes to the grounded wing in a left-led waltz, blood-bay limbs dancing with a click of the taps across the ashen plantation. As the dim trickle of sun that penetrates a wooly cloud alights upon the forequarters, a hollow chest carves attention to detail, each sensual curve sparkling beneath the persperation-egging stage lights. C'mon babe, why don't we paint the town. And all that jazz. The hollow body is no longer empty to its spectator. It now contains the soul of a cortezan, a tempest, a mare. She was no longer the nimble filly, flouncing in her tutu and gaudy makeup, egged not by the mother but by the ire formed without one. She lowers her elegantly chisled facade as she approaches again, the winds interwoven with every pitch tress and leaving it snaking about a flexibly arched neck, drawing the forelock nearer its brothers of the right dexterity and revealing a sharply cornered stygian orbs. They shone like the dice, always gambling and daring for more. They were tossed and rolled, dancing as vigorously as the physique which contained them. Rolled a crazy 8, baby. The lead changes quickly in a seamless leap, a single stride and sensual landing in a brief poss� as the left flint rises to greet the right knee, which had chafed the sleazy fishnets, revealing an erotically enticing quadroset of poised limbs. Balance having been gained and maintained with a flawless and wanton percision, Roxy lifts her skimpily draped monument to leap profoundly off the ground, legs tucked neatly. But enough for some uncouth eye candy. Landing with a skid, her tail stood poised, flagging her ruby banner of tentalizing jazz as the tawny dust dissipated about her in hallucinating puffs. She turned her articulate head, batting eyelashes thick with mascara and flashing a set of teeth to the nines. She wasnt flirting, she was just being lascivious, lewd, unchaste. Hell, she was being Roxy. "If your tongue is as quick as your feet I've found myself a dance partner." Dont take it the wrong way, and dont read into her sentancing. She might as well be a french whore for her straight-foreward, blantant promiscuity. However, in this situation her words were true--true as the four words of the 30's, the 4 to swear on above all overs in the revolutions of sex and nimble forms. Truth, beauty, freedom, love. She loved them all, swore by them at any sip of gin--but love? Hell no. She didn't want him as a lover, she wanted him as a leader--if he accepted. As was prestated, she didnt want anything out of him but a dance. Takes two to tango, after all. [ Post a Reply to This Message ] [ Edit | View ] [> Affirmed. -- Roxy, 17:16:33 06/07/03 Sat [1]The cortezan snagged those fishnets on her spiked heels for that one brief moment--he responded? Well watch yer seat, Billy Flynn. She took a quick drawl from her long cigarette, blowing it out in a dissipating cloud in the direction of the dancing maven. She downed her gin as a man, taking her swig with practiced antiquity. She had done her deal of sleezebag bars, nightly brawls and drunken plunders of grubby hands. No, Im no one's wife, but oh, I love my life. She built him up, relieving the smoke with the seductivity of any feminist--well, whore. But her upfront naivety prevented any lackluster steeds from slipping beneath a sequened corset. She prepared to carry on a legacy that her martini-drinking, mink draped ancestors had not--not so much celebacy, but a sexual prescence without sexual preference. And trust me, this was a hard promise to upkeep; this one has some guts. Her wiry frame dripped with a coat of electric red, adorned with pearls on anything that would hold still. And that wasnt much. Moments into its future, the buxom thespian rejoins the form of the sentalating sinner, brushing across his hidquarters, flaring her nostrils with a smirk. From there, she takes to the grounded wing in a left-led waltz, blood bay limbs tapping lightly on the ashen plantation. As the dim trickle of sun that penetrates a wooly cloud alights upon the forequarters, a salacious chest carves attention to detail into the memory of anyone that dares to gaze upon its roll and consistancy with the sequins glaring into their erotically enticed orbs. The hollow body is no longer empty to its few spectators, as it appeared those years ago in her youth. It now contains the soul of a cortezan, a tempest, a mare. She worked off the couple of bucks tucked in unseen places and the ire formed of a phantom mother, not from the encoragement of the one around. Thats a laugh. She lowers her sensually arched frame as she repproaches, the winds interwoven with every pitch tress, seductively fingering a blood red neck, scintilating with beats of persperation, and drawing the forelock nearer its brothers of the right dexterity and revealing a soflty ebbed stygian pair. The lead changes quickly in a seamless leap, a single stride landing in a brief poss� as the left flint rises to greet and scrape the fishnet adorning the right knee, which had been ripped to the point of visibility of the four robust quadropeds. Balance having been gained and maintained with a flawless and erotic percision, Roxy lifts her head with a sneer to jump lightly to the side, prepping herself before galavanting in a brilliant leap into the air--legs tucked under neatly but still enough sensuality to keep em watching. Just a bit of uncouth eye candy. This was her job, and she was damn good at it. Skidding to a stop, the cloud of tawny dust slid evanesce about her waif form as she smirked to him, sides rising and falling rapidly beneath a tightly strung corset. "If you've got as much fire in your feet as in your tongue, I believe I've just found myself a new dance partner." She meant nothing by it; nothing sexual, anyway. Now, at least. The very least. She was all for truth, freedom, beauty, and lycra. But love was something which she avoided at all possible costs; it was nowever, what she attempted to entice in all of her more testosterone-riddled audiences. She awaited his answer blantantly as she turned with a flash to face him; lobes flicking provocatively; imagine it, she can even make her very ears enticing. Something about her was charismatically consuming, overpowering which numbed all mind and senses except those working off the more personal leagues of energy. Ahem, if you catch her drift. But she wasnt flirting; she was just being lascivious, lecherous, lewd, lustful, or any other enticing word which would describe her zaftig persona. Hell, she was being Roxy. Waiting quaintly--quaintly, believe it or not.....-- for his reply, she eyed him steadily with beatifully charred orbs. They showed her true honesty, or perhaps her false honesty; they showed the emotion she wished for him to read, at least. There's no sexual connotation in my language, Flynn. Takes two to tango, after all. [ Post a Reply to This Message ] [ Edit | View ] [> big brother is watching YOU - and let me tell you, he likes what he sees ;) -- Big Brother, 23:18:03 06/07/03 Sat [1]The stallion watched her parade around, she was slowly dismantling the wall he had carefully constructed between him and his hormones. He shakes his head to clear it, no no no, he berates himself. Another puff on the cigar awakes him to his true senses. She was barely more than a filly, a long-legged ruby ball of fluff. A sensual long-legged ruby ball of fluff. Frustrated with himself, his legs carry him unknowningly out onto the dance floor, his strides became noticably lighter as he piaffed like a born dressage horse. The secret life of Big Brother.

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[> Right back atcha. -- Roxy, 00:13:57 06/08/03 Sun [1]

The fierce eyes of the crimson cortezan carefully capture and trap the gaze of the steed, and for one moment - one glorious moment - the storm that rages within her mind pours itself and all its concentrated fury into the stallion's innocent retinas, driving much farther than the optic nerve. The intensity remains, but again, Roxy has cast her spell; left her mark; entrapped her victim.

Fluted lobs against her skull, the young thespian closes in on the all-knowing in a similar fashion to that of predator and prey. When the mieve can clearly recognize the soft but distinctive pinpricks of erotic whiskers - BIG BROTHER's whiskers - against her sensitive muzzle, she flares her papery nares further and huffs softly, conveying her pleasure of the sensitivity through a unchaste snort against the very maw of the opposition.

Pota bor�. Chats�. Pirouette. Now facing him, Roxy matches the grace of the ballet dancer to the nines with him. She lowers that sequined crown, containing those stygian, mesmorizing orbs, this time pressing her broad ruby forehead against that of the steed. As soon as it happened she reversed quickly, a buck turning into a reversed leap and with a toss of whipped tresses she wheels, batting those eyes yet again.

If I were a bell I'd be ringing.
If I were a bridge I'd be burning.
If I were a goose I'd be....

cooked.

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[> big brother is watching you -- rather hungrily -- Big Brother, 00:17:57 06/08/03 Sun [1]

The dark bay boar shudders delightedly. What the hell, what was one fling, just one night? It wouldn't damage his perfect reputation. That much. His eyes slide closed, he could feel where she was, the bouncing red ball of sensual energy that was enticing him to do things that he wouldn't've thought of before. He anticipated her movements, strong elms keeping her not too far from him at all times. "You're quite businesslike about this. It means nothing?" He asks in a deep, slightly hoarse voice.

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[> Sweet as candy. -- Roxy, 00:25:16 06/08/03 Sun [1]

And again
She gave him a prompt answer with an unexpected nudge beneath his tail, spinning about him and flagging her ruby tail across his garguantuine *dont ahve time to look how to spell lol* physique in the epitome of lascviciousness. She slid a sleek muscle up the crest of his neck, heels clicking lightly upon the stage as she gave a winking cue to dim those spotlights. Time to strip the pearls, through off the heels, and enjoy the murmur--and the solidarity--of backstage.

"Answer your question?"

She laughed seductively, crossing beneath his chin.

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[> big brother.. yah -- Big Brother, 00:27:47 06/08/03 Sun [1]

Her answer was blunt and to the point. He liked it. A delighted shiver raced through him, his own muzzle reaching her neck with a light nip. Taking what little initative he has in likewise situations, his dark frame brushes against the ruby pelt he found himself innately attracted to. Perhaps not brush now, he thought, and moved a little closer. Mwa hahaha.

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[> mmhmm -- Roxy, 15:55:02 06/08/03 Sun [1]

With sultry flare she slid about him.

Side, side, spin, dip.

She tangoed about his struck form with feline grace and agility, coming from those whom have indeed had the opportunity to stretch those more akward muscles. Tail completely erect she marched before him with a seductress glare, snatching the string from her constricting corset. Remnants of the sequined garters tumbling to the plantation, ivory teeth snatched the golden ropes and watched the velvet drapings engulf them both.

The curtains are closed, cameras are off.
Care for a little after-the-show practice?

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[> big brother is a bad boy -- Big Brother, 16:02:20 06/08/03 Sun [1]

A soft nicker escapes his lips just barely, his muzzle providing fleeting touches down her spine, Returning to her head, he hesitates, and asks a question that had been just at the tip of his tongue. "How old are you, Roxy?" He whispered, masculine vocal heated now. She had dug herself in this far, wasn't much of a chance of turning back now.

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[> Im gonna punish ya. -- Roxy, 16:18:43 06/08/03 Sun [1]

It was all metaphorical now, as clear as day. A ruby red garter clung to a gleaming thigh, in one hand wrapped around the empowering man's neck lay a glass of chin as hse hiked a fishnet adorned leg upon his hip. With her other hands, adorned with excentrically malicious nail polish she sucked the last smoke out of her cigarette, letting it curl out of the edge of her ruby lips with a grin.

"Old enough."

Throwing the cigarette and downing the gin she exhailed with a seductive laugh, returning from the flash of the two legged cortezan to now, the equine of feminique perfection sliding beneath his masculine neck with a thump of her nose upon his broad sides, carved with muscles thickly.

Im your shining star, kid.
Your little shining star.

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[> Big Brother abandoning his own strict ideas -- Big Brother, 16:24:52 06/08/03 Sun [1]

Old enough. Well, that was definitly good enough for him. Metaphorical, you ask? A hand slips down the fishnet-clad leg of the ruby sequined beauty in front of him, dispatching the garter to a far off corner. He comes in for the kill...

[La la la.. they do their thing... *doesn't watch*]

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[> ideas can be challenged... -- Roxy, 16:42:17 06/08/03 Sun [1]

With that quick and overpoweringly seductive *AAAAAH!* glance, the female turned, slipping behind the curtains which were posed as a near by arbor, and slipped off the shoes, rubbing a sweating brow as the determination seeped through enticed skin. Feet bleeding, soaked and stained; the audience hadnt left yet. No yelling or rejoicing to do, even though its all over. You have to wait for them all to clear; wait for the cast to rejoice at the hectic party, and leave you alone in the dressing room with that special duet stars to get in one last practice.

Heh.

So thats what she'll do.

Out of the limelight, hidden safely behind the curtains and doors of the labyrinth which is backstage, muzzle drawn before the other to signify silence with stygian orbs.

You dont want them to see our shadows, do ya?

The last admirer finally filing out, her charred eyes took a fleeting moment to peer at the deserted room which once was her stage. For all the time, all the heartache and the hours and the pain, it was all over; and she'd only wished she could do it again.

But there were more important matters at hand; and somehow she had a feeling THOSE moments in the limelight would be just as exciting.

The last ride sputtered out of the parking lot, the lights clicked off.

In the requiem of shade, sequined clothes flew ferociously as his tie was loosened with a jolt. Razzle Dazzle em', she'd done her task, fluttered about the male and blinding with the sequins.

And, exeunt.

And I DONT think you'd want a curtain call.

(Turns around and taps foot, looking at watch.)

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[> big brother, who is very set in his ways, is now flouncing around... -- Big Brother, 16:49:36 06/08/03 Sun [1]

His own boldness surprised him, as his plush muzzle nibbles softly at her crest. Suit-jacket abandoned, the ivory buttons of his startched shirt were magically undone. An ambrosial sigh escaped his lips. Queer feelings danced their own forte now, right in the basking stage of his mind. Though the piano was silent, the racing tempo brought him to an inexorable climax. And then... it was done. [Finally jeez...]

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[> Recovery. -- Roxy, 17:10:14 06/08/03 Sun [1]

The female parted the curtains slowly, bare, scintillating, and for once in her life, almost humbled. Again the metaphorical invisionment appeared in a dissipating haze, a curvacious and pale female darting about the now-lit stage to gather hastily rid attire. It was the pitch of the night, and the house lights had risen for her beneft as the voloumptuous *GOD I use that word alot* form gathered frays of a skimpy costume. All articles in hand, she lowered herself onto the stage, utopian form gleaming beneath the bright lights as she first reached for the skimpy fishnets. Her form was tantalizing, to physically yearn for as she stretched down to her toes, lavish, long tresses of brilliantly ruby red draping over her shoulders and covering her more prized posessions. She slid them on, as next with the heels, stepping into a blindingly glistening corset and tightening the strings blankly. These situations often left her blank and emotionless; she had not lost her spark; just her spunk for the day. With a prod and a push she adjusted herself as she jerked the strings, returning her form to its provocative beauty. As jeweled clips began to pin damp hair back to splay down pale, smooth shoulders, the clouds reappeared, and the equine stood solo upon the ashen stage, brackish form gleaming now as it evaporated under the moon's milky rays. She tossled her mane lightly back into place, stomping lightly at the random miniscule pests and perhaps; the onlooking larger ones.

All in a days work.

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[> [> Maybe for you; Im an ol' pro -- Roxy, 17:27:07 06/08/03 Sun [1]

She continued to lace her stays lightly; or perhaps it was toss that regal neck of hers as the land beneath her kept her eyes occupied.

She looked down at herself, gave a brush off and a quick check, looking over her shoulder for any signs of....scandalous activity about her. With a curt smile she cleared her throat, giving a final check-over and straighen with a sigh.

"Thats all you wanted, right?"

She eyed his damp form curiously, arching a metaphorical eyebrow with a twinge of suspicion.

"I wasnt that good, was I?"

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[> it'll take years to recover... haha -- Big Brother, 17:15:45 06/08/03 Sun [1]

Big Brother, unfortunatly, was a lot less prone to such quick recovery. His dampened dark bay coat glistened in the undimmed house lights. He too gathered his clothes, now wrinkled and sweaty too from a provacative night of song and dance. He was much more lethargic than his female counterpart. "That's it?" He asked suddenly, the question rising before he could say anything more. And then another silly question arose, was he supposed to pay her?

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[> tut tut -- Big Brother, 17:30:16 06/08/03 Sun [1]

He didn't say anything. An invisible brow furrowed. Suddenly extremely embarresed, darkened pate was tucked to his chest, his eyes darting at the floor. It was freaky to see the noble, arrogant stallion suddenly... bashful. The truth was, he didn't know if she was that good or not. He had nothing to compare it too. He was far too strict with himself.

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[> Heeheehee -- Roxy, 17:34:00 06/08/03 Sun [1]

And again
With seductive lips she raised a holographic hand and blew a kiss, winking at him with the respect that an attractive older sister pays to a younger siblings friend--it was a toying, never-gonna-happen-but-lets-keep-them-happy, and she was known for it and the anger it brought.

"See ya around, kid. Call me if you need me."

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[> big brother is... a virgin?? *shudder* -- Big Brother, 17:39:22 06/08/03 Sun [1]

He smiled a little unsuredly to himself. If she meant that, he'd be calling in an hour. He was just newly introduced to the 'way of the prostitute'. Still sitting with his metaphorical clothes in a pile on his lap, he rises somewhat shakily, and looks to exit. Stage left. Later days babe.

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