Restless|Tag: Open INACTIVE

[HEATHCLIFF SILIVASI]

((OCC: I know Heath's attic is in Soho but the closest I could find for it was the Village xD thats why I've posted it here okay ^^))

Dark hair, as wild and as tangled as the brambles in the distance, fluttered around his pale face like strands of seaweed caught in the riptide.The frock coat he wore was dark, and beneath it he wore naught but a thin linen shirt through which the freezing winds cut like knives. He was cold but he refused to shiver. The clouds above were a stormy Grey, the prelude to a gigantic storm and the winds curled around him, caressing and yet chafing his rough, sullied skin with their bitter edge.

A faint, yet somehow dense fog hung in the air around him, thick enough to shroud the wild beauty of the moors before him with it’s pallor yet not opaque so as to blind him to them. He could see the stretching hills beyond, the wispy fog simply distorting them slightly in his vision. He wasn’t looking at the countryside however, no his eyes were focused intensely on the fleeing figure of a dark haired siren, her simple, wasted form cloaked in a dress of pure white, the darkness of her hair intensified by the light the garment seemed to emit.

She was running, running further and further away from him however it was a sluggish one, neither fast nor slow but somewhere in between, like a film playing in slow-motion. He remained rooted to the spot, his gaze fixed. He knew her figure well, he knew how she felt against him, how her breath felt on his neck and how her slight frame fitted so perfectly to his own, and as quickly as the thoughts crossed his mind, she turned to look back at him, still running, her features obscured by a dark shadow, the only thing illuminated both by the glow of her dress and a radiance even he could not explain the source of, was her wicked, teasing smile.

Seeming to unfreeze, he yelled out to her, his voice a rough, Yorkshire tenor even he couldn’t recall ever having.
“Cathy!” He shouted it as she retreated, her mocking smile taunting him.
“CATHY!” He cried again, his eyes narrowing now as a slight anger rose inside him, how dare she mock him like this, tease him so. The wail of the wind grew in volume as the fog began to thicken swallow her, only then did he give chase. Beneath him, brittle grass and twigs fractured, loose stones scattered in all directions by means of his heavy foot falls and the wind now tore at his wild hair, longer then he remembered it yet just as tangled as always. Only then did he realize that he wore a dark, dirty pair of Knickerbockers and on his feet were a pair of worn riding boots, the kind seen only on portraits completed nearly 200 years ago.

The cold wind cut through him again but he focused only on Catherine as an icy rain began to fall form the stormy sky.
“CATHY!” Again he shouted and again she mocked him, still smiling, still running until the fog swallowed her whole and a dangerous panic erupted in Heathcliff's chest.
“Come back ‘ere Cathy! What righ’ ave yeh to run from ME!?” That strange twang again yet he knew it to be his voice. However she had long since disappeared and he found himself surrounded in the thick, freezing fog, the bare boughs of trees poking through the shroud like skeletal limbs.

“CATHY!” He screamed, turning on the spot.
“CATHY!” Her tinkling laughter erupted around him and he shot up, soaked in a cool sweat, the last remnants of her name fading form his lips as he stared wildly around the dark room. It was a few moments before his senses awoke and shuddering slightly, he ran a pale hand though his dark hair, matted with sweat. Breathing heavily, he threw the bed covers off and swung his long, somewhat hairy legs over the lip of the bed and onto the cold wooden floor. She would drive him mad.

His face in his hands, as he tried to wipe the lingering fog from his eyes, Heath got to his feet and crossed the room, hitting the light switch hard as he exited through the open door into the now dimly illuminated living room. A strange anxiety burned in his chest and he strode over to the television, reaching for the open packet of cigarettes on the coffee table, only to find it empty. Crushing the packet angrily in one hand he pitched it over to the wastepaper basket, full to the brim with unfinished, screwed up lyrics and stormed to the kitchenette, ripping open cupboards in his hurry to find a fresh packet. His hunt was to be unsuccessful though as he remembered with a great agitation, that the packet on the coffee table had been the last of his current stock.

Slamming the cupboard shut, he crossed the room once more and pulled on the jeans and t-shirt he’d been wearing earlier, jamming his feet into a pair of soiled trainers. Checking the alarm clock on his bedside table, he swiped his keys from its polished surface, headed back out into the living room and over to the apartment door. Patting at his pockets for his wallet, he flicked off the lock and pulled the door open, stepping out into the cool, dark and yet noisy hallway. Someone downstairs was having a party and the pulsating beats were already drilling relentlessly into his skull. In a towering temper due to his rude awakening, Heath stomped down the stairs, pausing briefly to kick loudly at the party door, leaving a dark, somewhat scuffed footprint behind on its white visage before continuing down into the lobby and out into the lamp lit streets.

The orange tinged glow stung at his eyes for a moment after the darkness of the hallway but he merely blinked it away and started down the block towards the nearest Duane Reade. It didn’t take long, the joys of living so close to everything meant that it took very little time to reach places, and with the NY rule of never sleeping, even 1am wasn’t too late for the shopkeepers.

The drugstore was empty when he got there, its surgical light glaring uncomfortably out of the wide windows as one miserable, harassed looking guy sat glaring at Heath from behind the counter, as if daring him to buy anything. Strolling in like he owned the place, he walked straight over to meet the man’s gaze and in a measured, yet commanding voice, purchased a new packet of cigarettes before returning to the street.

The strange anxiety inside him seemed t have intensified during the past few minutes and no sooner had he reached the corner, did he pull out a lighter from the pocket of his jeans and tearing open the packet, pulled out a cigarette and lit it up, taking a deep pull as the anxiety knot loosened slightly. Standing under a streetlight, he lent cockily against the cold metal casing and stared at the passing Cars, so many for such a late hour. As far as he was aware he was alone on the street, perhaps a good thing given his rather angry mood, however you were rarely alone on the streets in this City and it was a theory backed up by the sound approaching footsteps as he took another deep pull on the cigarette.

[queenmab]

((Hey Shock, I know you're probably not used to this rule but at Rewritten City we designate the pace of our threads. So I'll ask you to please edit and add either Casual or Fast to the pace. For details on what that means, check the rules under Keeping In Character. Btw, it's okay to post here, if we don't have a location you want you can just designate that in your post too. Thanks!))

While the morning hour had exchanged with night, the city still breathed as if the time hadn't passed. She was wide awake and home to crowds of people who were just as restless as her by nature. Sleep was for the weak, and belonged only where there were rolling hills of pastured grass and sleepy hollows to be found. As per usual, gangs of males and packs of females lined street corners, the groups inevitably becoming intermixed as they began to mingle and exchange flirtatious giggles and enticing smiles. Yes, the SoHo was a lovely neighbourhood to explore. While it was not as fancy or as pretty as Greenwich, it was arty and charming in its own way.

Mercutio swaggered down the street followed by two fellow shindig warriors, Thomas and Bernardo. Benvolio was acting rather like a senior and had insisted on huddling in his bed sheets at an unbecoming hour, and Romeo might as well be dead, for he was virtually unreachable. But Mercutio knew better - he was probably encompassed by his own sea of sheets, but rather than calm and alone he would be accompanied by his young love through a great storm of euphoria. Oh, such pleasures would make him iffeminate, and a stranger to his friends. Mercutio could already feel him slipping away.

But he threw his head back and laughed in mirth with his friends as they talked together, making crude jokes and sizing up the wonderous array of fresh meat before them.

"Good Mercutio, where is Romeo? We miss that crazy firecracker!" asked Bernardo, and Thomas whistled in response. The three of them laughed.

"He is about, my dear friends, probably joined by his Lady Luck! We couldn't disturb our pretty boy's precious sleep, could we now?" Mercutio grinned devilishly.

The boys caught on to the dirty tone of his voice immediately and smirked, but just then Thomas's eye caught a figure under a lamplight just up ahead. "Ah, Mercutio, a pretty piece of flesh is in our sights" he mumbled, nudging his friend's side enthusiastically.

"Oh oh oh...I do see..." the young man replied as the stranger in the near distance entered into his own radar. Mercutio did not even need to tell them that he would attempt a pass at the man. Thomas and Bernardo uttered their last perverted remarks under their breaths before shuffling off into the closest drug store.

Mercutio ambled towards the smoking hottie, a small smile twitching his lips. "You stand alone, yet tall and proudly, like a panther" he began. "Tell me, sir, is there prey you wish to catch?"

His bright blue eyes twinkled enigmatically.

[HEATHCLIFF SILIVASI]

(( Sorry xD thanks for the reminder hun! Modified as asked m'dear ))

Exhaling slowly, with the grace of one well practiced at such a feat, the uprising of voices slipped Heathcliff's notice at first until the lighter of the three turned it’s focus to him and addressing him personally, struck up an uninvited conversation. Turning his head slowly as he exhaled a great plume of rancid smoke into the air, it’s ghostly body drifting on the cool breeze like the fog in his dream, or perhaps nightmare more suited, Heathcliff turned his piercing gaze onto the smaller man, whose own twinkling stare seemed to equal his.

The dissipating smoke clearing, Heathcliff remained silent for a moment, taking another pull on the cigarette, before fluidly lowing it from his lips and carelessly stubbing it out on the streetlights casing. He dropped the burnt out stub onto the concrete beneath him, and swallowed slowly the pull he chose to savor, never once removing his eyes from the figure before him.

Assessing the boy for a few moments, Heath seemed to decide there was no harm in replying, yet inside he growled at the unwanted and unprovoked interruption.
“Per’raps my prey is the most fleetin’ an’ rare”. He replied nonchalantly, his mind flickering back to Cathy for the faintest second, once again detecting that Yorkshire twang in his own speech. Could It be, that he had merely cased over it during his years back home and only now that he was in foreign country was he really hearing himself speak? It seemed a likely explanation and lingering no more on such an obscure mystery, he continued.
“An’ what abou’ you? Dunt’ look like your two mates care fer your own ‘unt?” He stated plainly.

His features complacent, Heathcliff tilted his head briefly toward the disappearing backs of the young man’s friends and continued to x-ray his companion though the Tungsten glow. He was a good couple of inches shorter then Heath and somewhat plain in appearance where Heathcliff was exotic aside from the strangely dancing eyes. Neither remarkable nor repulsive, the young man before him seemed to hold a strange, somewhat mischievous air to him and Heath for one detected a certain teasing vibe simply from the speech he’d made moments ago.

It wouldn’t be the first time someone had associated Heathcliff with a wild animal, though granted unlike the admiring way in which the young man had referred to him, his predecessors meant for him to be caged up, a slight upon his wild nature and Heathcliff would gladly have proven to them just how untameable a tiger could be when threatened, however he had chosen not to. He would show them soon enough.

Their conversation interrupted briefly by a racing police car, it’s siren blaring wildly as it took a turn down Washington Square south, Heathcliff fell silent, awaiting the man’s reply, shifting slightly in his posture. The night pierced by the fading siren, a cool breeze whipped up the around the two men, tugging playfully at Heathcliff's dark hair and carrying with it the heavy scent of coffee as the diner a little further down the block expelled it’s final customers out into the city night.