creepy circus and kleptomania - [O]

[WYNNE CHEVALIER]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=padding,0,true][bg=000000][atrb=background,http://i54.tinypic.com/21lsi2t.jpg] ALL I AM IS A BLONDE REBELLION wont hurt you but i might hurt someone ! On one of her rare and welcomed breaks, Wynne could typically be found at one of two places- Little Lottie's, or the Circus. Today, it was the latter. The circus was her favorite place for a number of reasons, the first and foremost being that it was a truly strange place. There was a morbidness to it that traversed the line from creepily fascinating to eerie, unsettling, and vaguely terrifying. She loved it, she thrived on it. There was something about a creepy fair at nightfall that made even the bravest stick to their groups- but not Wynne. She was wandering about alone, perhaps like an idiot, or perhaps like the semi-corrupt little tease that she was. And thus she was drawn, like a moth to the flame, attracted to the weirdness, the oddness, the ever present creepily sexual undertones that make every true fairground a weird-ass place. And thus she wandered, traversing the fair ground with little hint of trepidation as she quietly slipped in and out of crowds, always emerging with a few more coins, one more bracelet, yet another something. it was second nature at this point, and something she honestly did not even truly notice she was doing. It had emerged from who-knows-where, a compulsion of some kind, one that took over her hands and used them for its own purposes, dancing in and out of pockets swiftly and stealthily. Half the time she didn't even notice what she had taken until she made it home, or to somewhere quiet enough she could here the telltale clink and clatter of so many little baubles. And then, up onto the mantle they would go, a testament to her disease, cluttering and glittering bemusedly on her shelves, whimsical in all of their pilfered glory. An aged gyptian shot out a hand, faster than a woman so old should be able too, and grabbed her wrist in a vicelike grip. Wynne tried to pull away, protesting loudly. "What the hell is your problem lady, let go of me!" the woman stared at her with pale eyes, piercing into her unsettlingly. Wynne tugged at her arm further, but the woman said nothing. "Would you just let go of me already, damnnit!" She cast her eyes around for help, but none seemed forthcoming. Finally she caught eyes with a stranger, and shot them a pleading look. WORDS;; uhm TAGS;; tags here NOTES;; someone play with wynne! LYRICS;; the pretty reckless CREDIT;; to i k k i from OTE

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[CYRIL BÉRENGER]

[atrb=cellSpacing,20,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 500px; background: url(http://i55.tinypic.com/1z52er9.jpg); border: 8px solid #616b91, bTable] like waking up from a deep sleep CRACKED AND BROKEN; STILL HEART FROZEN IMAGINE TO THE SUNLIGHT

Given his nature, it wasn’t exactly surprising that Cyril enjoyed the circus. Not only was the circus a place created to entertain, but the entertainment tended to be out of the ordinary, to the point of being downright peculiar. Plus, there were large crowds, interestingly shiny objects, and large crowds. And circus food…! Over priced as it was, there truly is no better feeling than drowning oneself in grease and things perhaps better left unfried. The stomachache would bite, later. Anyways, all of this aside, Cyril Bérenger was spending a pleasant afternoon at the circus. Alone. Apparently it wasn’t a favored locale for much of the Airforce; clowns were particularly sexy, most things were not metallic, and there was a distinct lack of oranges. He figured that he probably lived or worked at a circus in a past life. Or maybe he invented the circus. Whatever the case, he and circus, it was like love at first sight. Smiling, he strolled cheerfully through the crowds, pretending to randomly grope women while mocking Rys’ long, flowy strides. For whatever odd reason, he didn’t have the intended affect on the women; they seemed rather perturbed by him, if nothing else. This may or may not have been due to the fact that his smile stretched so wide and hard that it was an odd cross between a grimace and a smirk. Or perhaps his madly twitching hands that suggested a poorly treated case of ADD. Having conveniently “forgotten” to bring any coins for a snack, Cyril first tried to beg a random stallkeeper for one of his burnt cakes. Succeeding, he stared at his prize for a moment before realizing that it was inedible. How awful. Pocking the carbon lump anyways, he continued on his way, until his stomach informed him rather rudely that it was time to eat. Before he was conscious of his own actions, he found a pilfered giant pretzel in his hands. Quickly pacing off, he hoped whoever he’d subconsciously nicked the snack from hadn’t seen his face. Ooops. But really, this one excellent pretzel. Cyril rapidly polished it off, flicking excess salt off of his fingertips. With nothing left to eat, he scanned the throngs of people in search of further entertainment. And made eye contact with an unknown blonde girl. Who was being harassed by some freaky old woman. Not exactly what he was looking for, but it’d do for now. He walked over leisurely, with just a bit of swagger, and promptly decided that he’d pretend to be Rys, all gallant and flirty. “Is there a problem here~?” He inquired lowly, with a slow, private smile for the girl, “I cannot image what it is that has this lovely young lady so worked up. Can you?” This is directed towards the old lady, stern and disagreeable. Without waiting for a response from either, he offered an arm, “Shall we go for a wake, Mademoiselle?”

TAGGED : I don't knowww. Rys cameo? "what why is Cy trying to be me?" WORD COUNT : 489 blergh NOTES : asdf is it night time right now or what. >_>;