Post by Mila on Apr 23, 2013 1:37:48 GMT -5
[Beau] The weekend was almost over and Beau still hadn’t quite managed to catch up on sleep. His plant project for Herbology was handed in post fight with Lara but no longer could he focus. He’d gone about the rest of that day trying to busy himself with work that really needed to get done, and practicing abilities that he still didn’t have reign over yet it all seemed for naught. His head wasn’t in it, and thus Beau found himself gravitating towards what he knew best; the water. A perpetual comfort and means of clearing his head, the majority of his hours Saturday into Sunday were lost at the Loch. Ironically, or perhaps even subconsciously, as the fifth year meandered down the pier with a bag of fresh and dry clothes hanging from his shoulder a glance at his watch would tell him it was nearly time for the tutoring sessions he no longer had with the sultry sixth year. It brought a crease to his features as the bag fell with a thud, and began shedding his tennis shoes and running shorts. Moments later, Beau was seeking refuge and clarity in the depths of the chilly waters as he let himself sink, both hands running vigorously up and down his face and back through his hair. Holding his breath, he’d remain that way until his lungs burned, experiencing a bit oddly but any non Mer might feel were they stuck down here with him. But only then, when a need for water or oxygen to fill his lungs or newly formed gils had spots dancing in front of his eyes would he indulge in the sensation and give a kick of a scaly appendage propelling him towards the surface. ||
[Lara] Her weekend had been spent between sour moods and all the more tousles with those she considered friends. This self assigned project of hers hadn't brightened her mood, nor had the minuscule moments of rest she'd been able to thieve in the nights, between risky treks to the library after lights out and the devouring of tome after ancient tome beneath the risen coverlet of her bed. In fact, tonight she was all the more angsty. She would be taking a necessary trip into the Forest after dark, and far after the hour in which ever good student at Hecate would be tucked within their dormitories. Their lights, firmly out. Lara was pacing, her mind lost and suffering. The stress was getting to her, as was her poor sleeping pattern and soon enough, without quite realising it, her graceful steps had taken her straight for the pier. Where, ordinarily, she should have been meeting Beau. But she wasn't. It was habit that took her there, and with a slump to her mournful shoulders, the fretful belle sat herself at it's edge. Quite like he'd seen her, their first tutoring session. Lara appeared.. almost afraid. The high and mighty temptress with more pride and confidence than any minor minx ought to have was scared. At last. Teeth sunk into the lower of two plush, ruby lips while her manicured nails dug their tension into the wooden slats of the pier. Honestly, she'd not even noticed Beau was there. Yet.
[Beau] The vigorous hair tousling movements had conveyed an attempt at stress relief. This, mixed with a few moments of oxygen deprivation spent beneath the water’s surface was almost doing its job. Thought of work or troubles was seemingly overwhelmed by the all-encompassing liquid of the Loch, even if just for the moment. He’d surface, albeit briefly, in the seconds before Lara’s timely arrival, before once again submerging himself and weightlessly floating there. Only a lazy kick of a fin was needed to keep him from sinking further, but even if that was so, Beau hadn’t an issue with the depths of the waters. However, instead of descending towards the muck at the bottom, the fifth year would opt for fresh air. The exercise, with all its best intentions, was lacking tonight and thus he kicked towards the pier, surfacing with a small enough leap to give him leverage to pull himself up. Fleshy hands braced themselves on the pier, elbows bent and most of his form ready to be hauled up when quite suddenly, he realised the presence of someone else. A who wasn’t deciphered in the time that he gasped in panic, went wide eyed and awkwardly shoved backwards away from the would be stranger resulting in a crude splash as flesh and fin collided with the water very ungracefully. Who the hell would be sitting there at this hour? And why? The likely scream might judge his head, but eventually, he’d surface subtly, head and shoulders a few feet from the pier to notice just who had scared him and vice versa in equal measure. Now that he was looking, it’d click instantly and Beau would blink, the visage of hesitant confusion. “..Lara?” The unspoken question – what are you doing here? ||
[Lara] Her mind had been wandering, obsessing over her latest revelations in the ancient tomes, that dealt with the dark, old casting far beyond the depth of an average student. What had her worried so? She certainly didn't doubt her own prowess when it came to the conjuring of elixirs and binding of hexes. Thy Hex can be bound, only whence thou passes into thy Nocte Anima. Or, in the language of a mortal teen', she need only enter the realm of the dead, to speak to those entrapped spirits who could not see, nor communicate with the living. Those almost entirely transparent ghosts that roamed Hecate mournfully? Lara meant to speak to them. And she needed someone to help her do it. And so, it wasn't only the fact that to collect some necessary ingredients she need enter the forest in the darkness of night (when, the last time she'd done so, in September of last' she'd nearly been murdered), but also the fact that she might accidentally imprison herself with the dead. So of course, with her thoughts on such happy subjects, when Beau appeared out of nowhere with a great splash, the belle jumped out of her skin. A startled yelp escaped her, eyes widening and then – just as she realised her error, he was gone. Into the water, and back. By now, she'd regained her composure.. Albeit, as best she could when so exhausted. Forgetful and absent of mind enough to have donned the navy tartan of their uniform on a Sunday. “Beau?” The reply was spoken in a monotone voice, no brightening in her lustre lacking eyes this day. She remembered, belatedly, that she wasn't talking to him. A half-arsed frown found her lips. “Don't you have some girl to..” Lara couldn't recall the name. Her hand gave a tired wave. “Something or other.”
[Beau] So much for relaxing and drowning out thoughts of just this very sixth year, among other things, that now encroached on his afternoon swim. Whatever peace and tranquility he’d found like some sort of lost treasure in the waters, were now sinking quickly, and long gone. His expression soured some, not into anger or bitterness, but mostly pent up frustration and confusion. Her tone of voice and distant indifference painted the image that, yeah, she was definitely still mad. And the worst part, he didn’t understand why. Something about a Johanna, a name he couldn’t even put to a face if he wanted to. It left an annoying sensation itching at him, as if he should be mad, but just wasn’t. Eyes followed her dismissive wave with a distinct frown and furrowed brows. He shook his head because he wasn’t sure what else to do in response. But he previous attempts at leaving the water were half way repeated, as Beau eased forward, stretched and rested his arms up on the pier, and his chin atop them. “I told you I don’t know what you’re talking about…Not a clue.” He breathed, exasperated. “If you hadn’t noticed..” Ie. How he reacted during their Bewitchment dance class. “..I’m not exactly..a smooth talker..or whatever you seem to think I am.” Okay, maybe he was just a little bitter? Or perhaps, just as tired as she was. A teal colored fin split, subtly beneath the waters surface into two legs, scales ceremoniously covering them all the way up to his hips as if he were wearing some new aged fashion inspired pair of pants. Still, he desire to linger was both there and not there. As much as he wanted to settle and resolve whatever issue Lara had, she clearly didn’t seem interested. In fact, she seemed somehow…off. Whatever that meant. Giving her a brief look, Beau would properly hoist his ass up and onto the dock, landing in a sitting position beside her. Fingers found their way into his hair as a brief, but internal debate waged war in his head. “..I’m..I’m sorry I scared you.” He shrugged halfheartedly, giving her a soft sidelong glance before pressing his palms to the pier and making the motions to stand. |
[Lara] Her shoulders rolled in a shrug, striking orbs of emerald averting their capturing gaze as if seeking any excuse not to look at him, perched handsomely at the pier's edge. She wanted to believe him, she did. If there was anyone who hadn't seemed quite like the type to be easy with their attentions, it was Beau. But this was a girl who had long since trusted no one further than she could throw them – which wasn't at all, for their was little weight-lifting strength in those leanly muscled arms of hers. Lara couldn't trust. His next words brought a quiver to her lips, fighting the urge to smile. “I noticed..” Smooth-talking was overrated. It was his awkward attributes that had endeared her to him initially, and then she'd grown to know him, if only a little, before their argument. Then he was moving to sit beside her, fin and all. The Charmeur Academy had accepted the presence of Mer's thus, she was well accustomed to the sight of such extremities, and offered no awed, or gawking expression at his apparent tail. It was just Beau. Regular old Bobo. Mr Beaujangles, in the flesh. “It's...” It may be rare for Lara to trust, but it was even more miraculous an occasion that the femme apologised. “It's okay. I'm sorry too. It's not my business who you date, and. I mean. I was just mad because,” insert her lame excuse here, “Because I wanted the Herbology class to myself and you were in the way. Because, I have this huge assignment. And you were there. So I couldn't work on it, which was.” Of course, her rambling was bound to drift into her French tongue, “Vous étiez là. J'avais besoin d'étudier et collecter des ingrédients et je ne voulais pas la clé, parce que je ne veux pas que vous à blâmer. Donc, il sorte de ta faute. Mais je suis désolé de toute façon. Et je suis sûr que Johanna est agréable” A pink stain had risen to her cheeks, and the belle was inwardly throttling herself. Get it together, Locke. No one made the vixen lose her cool like this. He was just an awkward Fifth year, right? Well, she didn't want to be on this pier anymore. Needing anything to cool the flames on her cheeks and stop him from looking at her, she did as she'd done multiple times at this pier before. Jumped. This was no swan dive, but a simple drop, shoes and all.
[Beau] She noticed. Lovely. A brief ‘Heh’ was voiced, very non humorous as he had situated himself on the pier. But then came his off the cuff apology, after which he was ready to depart and leave the still angered sixth year to do whatever it was she had come to the pier to do. But her words reeled Beau back into the interaction. Vaguely surprised that she was holding a conversation and not storming off again was a good sign, right? If not, it was more than he had anticipated, considering her dismissive demeanor just a few seconds ago. Still, she spoke, and he listened, panning his cerulean gaze towards her respectfully. Out came her apology, and he blinked in a wave of relief and closure that this misunderstanding was so easily settled. However, that relief quickly reverted back to confusion as more and more clips and phrases bubbled past her lips so much so that he found himself raising a brow as English transitioned into French. “Dating?” Caught off guard by the sudden swell of confessions and explanations, Beau simply stared trying to piece together the meaning. She’d apologized, he’d got that. But – what she was apologizing for..didn’t quite make sense…because then..it was still his fault? For simply being in the room? “You..could have just asked?..” He murmured, still half deciphering her rant with furrowed brows. Then there was the whole – it wasn’t her business who he – what? Again with this Johanna? Still flabbergasted, the Mer’s mouth would sit slightly agape, words seemingly battling to make themselves heard while his voicebox disagreed initially. “Lara…Sérieusement .. qui est Johanna? ” Splash The flush of her cheeks didn’t quite seem to register. Oddly enough he was typically too worried about his own embarrassment manifesting that it didn’t seem possible for it to happen to her. More importantly, she was gone. Very suddenly just dropping herself into the Loch with another word. Were all women this confusing? Was she done talking? Was – why – so many questions. Logic aside, it was on instinct that Beau pushed himself off the pier after her, comfortably disappearing beneath its surface in a clear eyed search of the Siren. It wouldn’t be difficult for him to kick on over to her, observing her silently with a surprisingly unreadable facial expression to boot. A moment or two of watching the way the water obscured her hair and uniform in a slow sway of motion, Beau would cant his head and offer a hand should Lara linger underwater. If not, the French Belle might notice that she now had a scaly shadow as made her way to the surface, or otherwise. He wanted to know what in the hell this girl was thinking, because thus far - barely any of it made sense. ||
[Lara] She couldn't have just asked – truly, he'd had have done for her whatever she asked, and in doing so would be accepting full blame for every minuscule ingredient thieved from the Hecate stores. If Sage didn't notice, Dryke certainly would have, making use of such an enclave with almost every lesson of Elixirs. Guilt may have plagued at her, but there were many a boy she could have bestowed this fate. But not Beau. His questions went unanswered for the moment, the confusion in his words beyond her comprehension whilst so embarrassed, and muddled of mind, leaving her to an impromptu fall into the water. With the lapse in her clear thinking came the spoiling of her Glamour. What had once appeared like the uniform, suddenly seemed a lot like a crème sun dress the belle favored, with speckled polka dots. Hair and fabric did as they would do beneath the water, cascading about in an ethereal billow as long as she remained immersed. Under the surface, Lara was brooding. Eyes that had first been closed dared to open, and though her sight wasn't as clear as his she could make out his shape. She sank lower. There was no kick of her slim limbs until the desperation and desire for air had the last of bubbles escaping her firmly closed lips. But, before she went for air, delicate hands reached for Beau. Her arms hooked loosely about his neck, lips pressed chastely to his only briefly. Those emerald eyes drifted shut. It was only for that wretched need for air, that she broke away and kicked for the surface, gasping a mouthful of precious oxygen.
[Beau] She could have asked. Asked for the room, for him to leave, or something of the sort. As far as he was concerned, she could have taken things, and with his permission from Dr. Sage, all would have been fine. But Beau was ignorant to the situation, as was he to whatever was going on in the Siren’s head at the moment. Perpetually confused, even as he entered the Loch, he found her vaguely sinking, eyes shut ever so tight, and her navy uniform was gone, turned into something else entirely. It would be a lie, even for the bashful Mer, to say that the gal didn’t get an inconspicuous look over in that moment of oblivious vulnerability. However, when her eyes did open up, she would be met with his curious blue optics that were trying oh-so-hard to understand her actions. Aware of her need for air, that hand would be extended, an offer for a prompt ride to the surface should she want the assistance. However, much to the unaware fifth year, Lara had other plans. Beau soon found himself with lithe limps clinging to him, draped about his neck and shoulders. Even in the cool water, the closeness had his flesh tingling with the beginnings of the telltale heat while the foggy memory of their dance in Bewitchment cued his hands to move towards her hips to complete the proper ‘stance’. Further surprised, and questions still unanswered he was relatively blindsided by the lips that found his own their own accord, even if he could see them coming. With the action registering with a bit of a shocked delay, whatever reign he had over his expression, lure, and to an extent his emotions was out the window as his breath hitched in his throat. Then she was kicking, and without much premeditated thought, the hands that held her waist and kept her from sinking further were used now to do the opposite, as they quickened her ascent for air. By the time they broke the surface, Lara would gasp and Beau’s ears would be painted red and he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Somehow more confused than before, he’d blink a few times, hands still in place should she have allowed such, before something bubbling in his gut had him leaning forward. Ever timid, the sultry sixth year would find herself receiving a similar gesture, as Beau bashfully brushed his lips against her cheek. It was safe to say, he could only hope that this wasn’t some tricky exercise, and he was making a fool of himself while amidst one of her well trained lure and glamour effects. “C'était pour quoi?.. ” He managed to ask. ||
[Lara] There was only Lara in his arms – no Glamour, nor Lure to manipulate him on a whim. She couldn't have, even if she tried. It wasn't only his tidal wave of emotions that made the most simple of lures impossible to complete, it was the fact that she couldn't concentrate when he was near. Her walls had been built so high, that none could climb them. Beau had left them broken. It was infuriating and exhilarating, and though every recess of her mind warned her against this vulnerability she had braved a kiss. Even, if she couldn't quite brave a glance his way as they met the surface. She was soft and pliant in his arms, melted and melded to him in a single, scorched velvet kiss that didn't linger as long as she wished it to. The chill of the loch had her plush lips quivering, her body only rising enough that her mouth could just thieve breaths from the air. Lara didn't look his way. Not, until his arms drew her closer and a kiss was pressed to the soft flesh of her wet cheek. She hadn't let him go. Delicate hands skimmed their fingertip touch down his shoulders and chest, snaking along until they met his hands in an innocent clasp. “Cela a été pour moi.' The Siren's voice had only just breached a whisper, the confidence lost in her as she admitted, “I want to trust you.“ And she did. She knew now, why she had been so angry at the Fifth year. Her hands still in his, Lara pressed her body closer, lips meeting his again in a kiss far more fevered than the last that had the softest mewl of a whimper muffled against his mouth. “Tell me,“ she begged him. Breathless, “Tell me I can trust you.“ Because she wanted him. Because she needed his help. It was numbingly cold, she was wet, and her dress was soaked and weighted to her flesh while her hair was sopping and undone. He would taste the loch amongst the cherry sweetness of her mouth. It should have been awful. Lara thought it was perfect.
[Beau] She was nervous? She was flustered, frazzled, and unsure of herself and her actions? Welcome to the world of Monsieur Mercier, or was it Boo Mercy? Regardless, the pair of Siren were in a similar boat of uncertainties, whereas at least Lara knew what was going on, her motivations, and her frustrations had a concrete reasoning. Beau – well, as much as he was confused about it all, there came a point where he didn’t care, or it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter enough what had prompted her anger, or the fight, or whatnot, that was to say – unanchored jealousy that he didn’t understand was brushed aside when those manicured fingers brushed along exposed and goosebumped flesh. There was a distinct fear that she’d be able to feel his heart thudding against her fingertips, but soon enough his hands were being claimed beneath the water and curious French words touched his ears, just barely. Then a few more followed, and still he held tight, brows lightly crinkled in an attempt to understand where this all was coming from. Before he could respond, or say anything of the sort, his words and breath were stolen from him in a zealous liplocke. Blue optics flickered to a close, as one hand strayed while the other gave a squeeze. The former appendage found itself brushing wet brown curls from the femme’s face, giving him better access to water he already had, before cradling it with an gentle but fervent grasp. Pulled close in the heat of the moment, and perhaps also for warmth, Lara would feel legs not fin intermingled with her limbs as they both either attempted to tread water or let themselves sink. She tasted like watered-down chapstick, and crisp cold air but it wasn’t awful, not in the least. Sooner than he might have liked, the broke for air, flushed now with passion, not embarrassment. In response to the French Bells’ very heartfelt and vulnerable requests, Beau finally gave an answer as the hand that caressed her delicate features slid down thusly into her vision, where she might a lone pinky finger standing stalwart amongst the rest of his shivering form. Juvenile, but all the more sincere. A genuine, if not slightly lopsided smile ghosted about his features as he gave a firm, meaningful nod of his head. “Bien sûr.” Of course. ||
[Lara] With every step she made, these days, she was breaking a rule. She should never have delved into the Ancient Casting sector of the Library with such nefarious intentions. She most certainly should never, ever, have stolen away from her shared boudoir far past the midnight hour, only to pick and unbind the locks on the most sacred, storage hideaway of tomes far too dangerous for the use of mere students. She shouldn't have stolen from this room, or allowed James to become an accomplice in this endeavour. And above all, she should not be plotting to steal into the forest this night, after indulging in a forbidden kiss with a most unclothed</i> Fifth year Mer. Definitely not. Quite the rebel, <u>Lara's emerald effervesence fluttered to a close, abandoning herself to one reckless act after the other. I can worry later. Wasn't that always the way? Her head came to a cant with a delicate cascade of sleek, wet chocolate while slim legs intermingled with... his legs. The smudge With every step she made, these days, she was breaking a rule. She should never have delved into the Ancient Casting sector of the Library with such nefarious intentions. She most certainly should never, ever, have stolen away from her shared boudoir far past the midnight hour, only to pick and unbind the locks on the most sacred, storage hideaway of tomes far too dangerous for the use of mere students. She shouldn't have stolen from this room, or allowed James to become an accomplice in this endeavour. And above all, she should not be plotting to steal into the forest this night, after indulging in a forbidden kiss with a most unclothed Fifth year Mer. Definitely not. Quite the rebel, Lara's emerald effervesence fluttered to a close, abandoning herself to one reckless act after the other. I can worry later. Wasn't that always the way? Her head came to a cant with a delicate cascade of sleek, wet chocolate while slim legs intermingled with... his legs. The smudge dark lashes on her cheeks sprung, vaguely becoming aware of his.. Lara glanced downward, unable to make out the entirety of his transformation, despite the clarity of the lake that had inspired the name. A blush rose to her own cheeks, teeth sinking into the lower of her kiss-swollen cherry lips. She daren't say a thing. Beau would likely combust with embarrassment. Instead, she lifted her pinky to meet his and locked their most dainty of appendages in promise. I trust you. And then, sly thing, she was ducking down beneath the water. Procrastinating the sharing of her secret, and the plead for aid when the time came..
[Beau] This French Belle had Beau all out of whack, and despite the physicality of the situation, he was also metaphorically out of his element. Control of his lure never quite existed in the proper sense, so when they couldn’t be kept at bay, it was nothing new. However, when he had become so utterly distracted, and lost in the moment he didn’t understand to be forbidden, well even the very well trained Mer had his hubris. And characteristic of most males, Beau’s apparent character flaw and vice was a woman, in particular, the sultry sixth year Siren that currently had her pinky wrapped ‘round his in a sincere promise. Unaware that his promise however included some confession of a super top secret secret, Beau was under the impression that she simply needed some sort of genuine confirmation of his trust. As if the fight on Friday, and among other things had shaken it and left her doubting. Once again, Lara was gone, sly as a siren when she ducked out of his hold and under the water. It was at this point, when Beau submerged himself that he became very much aware of his lack of scales, and in a panicked instant they were back. Not even the ice cold waters of the Loch could cool the fire burning his skin as he gazed through the crystal liquid at the billowing form of Lara. The expression of embarrassment quickly faded into a muffled laugh as he realized the ridiculousness of the situation and thought to enjoy it as much as he could. Liplocked with Lara Locke in the Loch. Sporting a toothy grin, Beau would cant his head, lift a finger, and twirl it akin to a dance command. Whether or not she actually twirled on cue wouldn’t matter much as an array of aquatic life would spiral around her like a whirlpool before scattering off with the flick of a wrist. Doing a quick flip himself, Beau’s cheeks were a normal color as he kicked effortlessly towards the French Belle, extending a hand and potentially pulling her along in a blur of motion. Held firm against his chest and aware of her need for oxygen as always, the Mer would arc upwards into a very dolphin like leap, out then back into the water, an almost uncharacteristic amount of confidence was present as he let her loose yet again, this time a bit playfully rather than perplexed. ||
[Lara] Her weekend had been spent between sour moods and all the more tousles with those she considered friends. This self assigned project of hers hadn't brightened her mood, nor had the minuscule moments of rest she'd been able to thieve in the nights, between risky treks to the library after lights out and the devouring of tome after ancient tome beneath the risen coverlet of her bed. In fact, tonight she was all the more angsty. She would be taking a necessary trip into the Forest after dark, and far after the hour in which ever good student at Hecate would be tucked within their dormitories. Their lights, firmly out. Lara was pacing, her mind lost and suffering. The stress was getting to her, as was her poor sleeping pattern and soon enough, without quite realising it, her graceful steps had taken her straight for the pier. Where, ordinarily, she should have been meeting Beau. But she wasn't. It was habit that took her there, and with a slump to her mournful shoulders, the fretful belle sat herself at it's edge. Quite like he'd seen her, their first tutoring session. Lara appeared.. almost afraid. The high and mighty temptress with more pride and confidence than any minor minx ought to have was scared. At last. Teeth sunk into the lower of two plush, ruby lips while her manicured nails dug their tension into the wooden slats of the pier. Honestly, she'd not even noticed Beau was there. Yet.
[Beau] The vigorous hair tousling movements had conveyed an attempt at stress relief. This, mixed with a few moments of oxygen deprivation spent beneath the water’s surface was almost doing its job. Thought of work or troubles was seemingly overwhelmed by the all-encompassing liquid of the Loch, even if just for the moment. He’d surface, albeit briefly, in the seconds before Lara’s timely arrival, before once again submerging himself and weightlessly floating there. Only a lazy kick of a fin was needed to keep him from sinking further, but even if that was so, Beau hadn’t an issue with the depths of the waters. However, instead of descending towards the muck at the bottom, the fifth year would opt for fresh air. The exercise, with all its best intentions, was lacking tonight and thus he kicked towards the pier, surfacing with a small enough leap to give him leverage to pull himself up. Fleshy hands braced themselves on the pier, elbows bent and most of his form ready to be hauled up when quite suddenly, he realised the presence of someone else. A who wasn’t deciphered in the time that he gasped in panic, went wide eyed and awkwardly shoved backwards away from the would be stranger resulting in a crude splash as flesh and fin collided with the water very ungracefully. Who the hell would be sitting there at this hour? And why? The likely scream might judge his head, but eventually, he’d surface subtly, head and shoulders a few feet from the pier to notice just who had scared him and vice versa in equal measure. Now that he was looking, it’d click instantly and Beau would blink, the visage of hesitant confusion. “..Lara?” The unspoken question – what are you doing here? ||
[Lara] Her mind had been wandering, obsessing over her latest revelations in the ancient tomes, that dealt with the dark, old casting far beyond the depth of an average student. What had her worried so? She certainly didn't doubt her own prowess when it came to the conjuring of elixirs and binding of hexes. Thy Hex can be bound, only whence thou passes into thy Nocte Anima. Or, in the language of a mortal teen', she need only enter the realm of the dead, to speak to those entrapped spirits who could not see, nor communicate with the living. Those almost entirely transparent ghosts that roamed Hecate mournfully? Lara meant to speak to them. And she needed someone to help her do it. And so, it wasn't only the fact that to collect some necessary ingredients she need enter the forest in the darkness of night (when, the last time she'd done so, in September of last' she'd nearly been murdered), but also the fact that she might accidentally imprison herself with the dead. So of course, with her thoughts on such happy subjects, when Beau appeared out of nowhere with a great splash, the belle jumped out of her skin. A startled yelp escaped her, eyes widening and then – just as she realised her error, he was gone. Into the water, and back. By now, she'd regained her composure.. Albeit, as best she could when so exhausted. Forgetful and absent of mind enough to have donned the navy tartan of their uniform on a Sunday. “Beau?” The reply was spoken in a monotone voice, no brightening in her lustre lacking eyes this day. She remembered, belatedly, that she wasn't talking to him. A half-arsed frown found her lips. “Don't you have some girl to..” Lara couldn't recall the name. Her hand gave a tired wave. “Something or other.”
[Beau] So much for relaxing and drowning out thoughts of just this very sixth year, among other things, that now encroached on his afternoon swim. Whatever peace and tranquility he’d found like some sort of lost treasure in the waters, were now sinking quickly, and long gone. His expression soured some, not into anger or bitterness, but mostly pent up frustration and confusion. Her tone of voice and distant indifference painted the image that, yeah, she was definitely still mad. And the worst part, he didn’t understand why. Something about a Johanna, a name he couldn’t even put to a face if he wanted to. It left an annoying sensation itching at him, as if he should be mad, but just wasn’t. Eyes followed her dismissive wave with a distinct frown and furrowed brows. He shook his head because he wasn’t sure what else to do in response. But he previous attempts at leaving the water were half way repeated, as Beau eased forward, stretched and rested his arms up on the pier, and his chin atop them. “I told you I don’t know what you’re talking about…Not a clue.” He breathed, exasperated. “If you hadn’t noticed..” Ie. How he reacted during their Bewitchment dance class. “..I’m not exactly..a smooth talker..or whatever you seem to think I am.” Okay, maybe he was just a little bitter? Or perhaps, just as tired as she was. A teal colored fin split, subtly beneath the waters surface into two legs, scales ceremoniously covering them all the way up to his hips as if he were wearing some new aged fashion inspired pair of pants. Still, he desire to linger was both there and not there. As much as he wanted to settle and resolve whatever issue Lara had, she clearly didn’t seem interested. In fact, she seemed somehow…off. Whatever that meant. Giving her a brief look, Beau would properly hoist his ass up and onto the dock, landing in a sitting position beside her. Fingers found their way into his hair as a brief, but internal debate waged war in his head. “..I’m..I’m sorry I scared you.” He shrugged halfheartedly, giving her a soft sidelong glance before pressing his palms to the pier and making the motions to stand. |
[Lara] Her shoulders rolled in a shrug, striking orbs of emerald averting their capturing gaze as if seeking any excuse not to look at him, perched handsomely at the pier's edge. She wanted to believe him, she did. If there was anyone who hadn't seemed quite like the type to be easy with their attentions, it was Beau. But this was a girl who had long since trusted no one further than she could throw them – which wasn't at all, for their was little weight-lifting strength in those leanly muscled arms of hers. Lara couldn't trust. His next words brought a quiver to her lips, fighting the urge to smile. “I noticed..” Smooth-talking was overrated. It was his awkward attributes that had endeared her to him initially, and then she'd grown to know him, if only a little, before their argument. Then he was moving to sit beside her, fin and all. The Charmeur Academy had accepted the presence of Mer's thus, she was well accustomed to the sight of such extremities, and offered no awed, or gawking expression at his apparent tail. It was just Beau. Regular old Bobo. Mr Beaujangles, in the flesh. “It's...” It may be rare for Lara to trust, but it was even more miraculous an occasion that the femme apologised. “It's okay. I'm sorry too. It's not my business who you date, and. I mean. I was just mad because,” insert her lame excuse here, “Because I wanted the Herbology class to myself and you were in the way. Because, I have this huge assignment. And you were there. So I couldn't work on it, which was.” Of course, her rambling was bound to drift into her French tongue, “Vous étiez là. J'avais besoin d'étudier et collecter des ingrédients et je ne voulais pas la clé, parce que je ne veux pas que vous à blâmer. Donc, il sorte de ta faute. Mais je suis désolé de toute façon. Et je suis sûr que Johanna est agréable” A pink stain had risen to her cheeks, and the belle was inwardly throttling herself. Get it together, Locke. No one made the vixen lose her cool like this. He was just an awkward Fifth year, right? Well, she didn't want to be on this pier anymore. Needing anything to cool the flames on her cheeks and stop him from looking at her, she did as she'd done multiple times at this pier before. Jumped. This was no swan dive, but a simple drop, shoes and all.
[Beau] She noticed. Lovely. A brief ‘Heh’ was voiced, very non humorous as he had situated himself on the pier. But then came his off the cuff apology, after which he was ready to depart and leave the still angered sixth year to do whatever it was she had come to the pier to do. But her words reeled Beau back into the interaction. Vaguely surprised that she was holding a conversation and not storming off again was a good sign, right? If not, it was more than he had anticipated, considering her dismissive demeanor just a few seconds ago. Still, she spoke, and he listened, panning his cerulean gaze towards her respectfully. Out came her apology, and he blinked in a wave of relief and closure that this misunderstanding was so easily settled. However, that relief quickly reverted back to confusion as more and more clips and phrases bubbled past her lips so much so that he found himself raising a brow as English transitioned into French. “Dating?” Caught off guard by the sudden swell of confessions and explanations, Beau simply stared trying to piece together the meaning. She’d apologized, he’d got that. But – what she was apologizing for..didn’t quite make sense…because then..it was still his fault? For simply being in the room? “You..could have just asked?..” He murmured, still half deciphering her rant with furrowed brows. Then there was the whole – it wasn’t her business who he – what? Again with this Johanna? Still flabbergasted, the Mer’s mouth would sit slightly agape, words seemingly battling to make themselves heard while his voicebox disagreed initially. “Lara…Sérieusement .. qui est Johanna? ” Splash The flush of her cheeks didn’t quite seem to register. Oddly enough he was typically too worried about his own embarrassment manifesting that it didn’t seem possible for it to happen to her. More importantly, she was gone. Very suddenly just dropping herself into the Loch with another word. Were all women this confusing? Was she done talking? Was – why – so many questions. Logic aside, it was on instinct that Beau pushed himself off the pier after her, comfortably disappearing beneath its surface in a clear eyed search of the Siren. It wouldn’t be difficult for him to kick on over to her, observing her silently with a surprisingly unreadable facial expression to boot. A moment or two of watching the way the water obscured her hair and uniform in a slow sway of motion, Beau would cant his head and offer a hand should Lara linger underwater. If not, the French Belle might notice that she now had a scaly shadow as made her way to the surface, or otherwise. He wanted to know what in the hell this girl was thinking, because thus far - barely any of it made sense. ||
[Lara] She couldn't have just asked – truly, he'd had have done for her whatever she asked, and in doing so would be accepting full blame for every minuscule ingredient thieved from the Hecate stores. If Sage didn't notice, Dryke certainly would have, making use of such an enclave with almost every lesson of Elixirs. Guilt may have plagued at her, but there were many a boy she could have bestowed this fate. But not Beau. His questions went unanswered for the moment, the confusion in his words beyond her comprehension whilst so embarrassed, and muddled of mind, leaving her to an impromptu fall into the water. With the lapse in her clear thinking came the spoiling of her Glamour. What had once appeared like the uniform, suddenly seemed a lot like a crème sun dress the belle favored, with speckled polka dots. Hair and fabric did as they would do beneath the water, cascading about in an ethereal billow as long as she remained immersed. Under the surface, Lara was brooding. Eyes that had first been closed dared to open, and though her sight wasn't as clear as his she could make out his shape. She sank lower. There was no kick of her slim limbs until the desperation and desire for air had the last of bubbles escaping her firmly closed lips. But, before she went for air, delicate hands reached for Beau. Her arms hooked loosely about his neck, lips pressed chastely to his only briefly. Those emerald eyes drifted shut. It was only for that wretched need for air, that she broke away and kicked for the surface, gasping a mouthful of precious oxygen.
[Beau] She could have asked. Asked for the room, for him to leave, or something of the sort. As far as he was concerned, she could have taken things, and with his permission from Dr. Sage, all would have been fine. But Beau was ignorant to the situation, as was he to whatever was going on in the Siren’s head at the moment. Perpetually confused, even as he entered the Loch, he found her vaguely sinking, eyes shut ever so tight, and her navy uniform was gone, turned into something else entirely. It would be a lie, even for the bashful Mer, to say that the gal didn’t get an inconspicuous look over in that moment of oblivious vulnerability. However, when her eyes did open up, she would be met with his curious blue optics that were trying oh-so-hard to understand her actions. Aware of her need for air, that hand would be extended, an offer for a prompt ride to the surface should she want the assistance. However, much to the unaware fifth year, Lara had other plans. Beau soon found himself with lithe limps clinging to him, draped about his neck and shoulders. Even in the cool water, the closeness had his flesh tingling with the beginnings of the telltale heat while the foggy memory of their dance in Bewitchment cued his hands to move towards her hips to complete the proper ‘stance’. Further surprised, and questions still unanswered he was relatively blindsided by the lips that found his own their own accord, even if he could see them coming. With the action registering with a bit of a shocked delay, whatever reign he had over his expression, lure, and to an extent his emotions was out the window as his breath hitched in his throat. Then she was kicking, and without much premeditated thought, the hands that held her waist and kept her from sinking further were used now to do the opposite, as they quickened her ascent for air. By the time they broke the surface, Lara would gasp and Beau’s ears would be painted red and he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Somehow more confused than before, he’d blink a few times, hands still in place should she have allowed such, before something bubbling in his gut had him leaning forward. Ever timid, the sultry sixth year would find herself receiving a similar gesture, as Beau bashfully brushed his lips against her cheek. It was safe to say, he could only hope that this wasn’t some tricky exercise, and he was making a fool of himself while amidst one of her well trained lure and glamour effects. “C'était pour quoi?.. ” He managed to ask. ||
[Lara] There was only Lara in his arms – no Glamour, nor Lure to manipulate him on a whim. She couldn't have, even if she tried. It wasn't only his tidal wave of emotions that made the most simple of lures impossible to complete, it was the fact that she couldn't concentrate when he was near. Her walls had been built so high, that none could climb them. Beau had left them broken. It was infuriating and exhilarating, and though every recess of her mind warned her against this vulnerability she had braved a kiss. Even, if she couldn't quite brave a glance his way as they met the surface. She was soft and pliant in his arms, melted and melded to him in a single, scorched velvet kiss that didn't linger as long as she wished it to. The chill of the loch had her plush lips quivering, her body only rising enough that her mouth could just thieve breaths from the air. Lara didn't look his way. Not, until his arms drew her closer and a kiss was pressed to the soft flesh of her wet cheek. She hadn't let him go. Delicate hands skimmed their fingertip touch down his shoulders and chest, snaking along until they met his hands in an innocent clasp. “Cela a été pour moi.' The Siren's voice had only just breached a whisper, the confidence lost in her as she admitted, “I want to trust you.“ And she did. She knew now, why she had been so angry at the Fifth year. Her hands still in his, Lara pressed her body closer, lips meeting his again in a kiss far more fevered than the last that had the softest mewl of a whimper muffled against his mouth. “Tell me,“ she begged him. Breathless, “Tell me I can trust you.“ Because she wanted him. Because she needed his help. It was numbingly cold, she was wet, and her dress was soaked and weighted to her flesh while her hair was sopping and undone. He would taste the loch amongst the cherry sweetness of her mouth. It should have been awful. Lara thought it was perfect.
[Beau] She was nervous? She was flustered, frazzled, and unsure of herself and her actions? Welcome to the world of Monsieur Mercier, or was it Boo Mercy? Regardless, the pair of Siren were in a similar boat of uncertainties, whereas at least Lara knew what was going on, her motivations, and her frustrations had a concrete reasoning. Beau – well, as much as he was confused about it all, there came a point where he didn’t care, or it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter enough what had prompted her anger, or the fight, or whatnot, that was to say – unanchored jealousy that he didn’t understand was brushed aside when those manicured fingers brushed along exposed and goosebumped flesh. There was a distinct fear that she’d be able to feel his heart thudding against her fingertips, but soon enough his hands were being claimed beneath the water and curious French words touched his ears, just barely. Then a few more followed, and still he held tight, brows lightly crinkled in an attempt to understand where this all was coming from. Before he could respond, or say anything of the sort, his words and breath were stolen from him in a zealous liplocke. Blue optics flickered to a close, as one hand strayed while the other gave a squeeze. The former appendage found itself brushing wet brown curls from the femme’s face, giving him better access to water he already had, before cradling it with an gentle but fervent grasp. Pulled close in the heat of the moment, and perhaps also for warmth, Lara would feel legs not fin intermingled with her limbs as they both either attempted to tread water or let themselves sink. She tasted like watered-down chapstick, and crisp cold air but it wasn’t awful, not in the least. Sooner than he might have liked, the broke for air, flushed now with passion, not embarrassment. In response to the French Bells’ very heartfelt and vulnerable requests, Beau finally gave an answer as the hand that caressed her delicate features slid down thusly into her vision, where she might a lone pinky finger standing stalwart amongst the rest of his shivering form. Juvenile, but all the more sincere. A genuine, if not slightly lopsided smile ghosted about his features as he gave a firm, meaningful nod of his head. “Bien sûr.” Of course. ||
[Lara] With every step she made, these days, she was breaking a rule. She should never have delved into the Ancient Casting sector of the Library with such nefarious intentions. She most certainly should never, ever, have stolen away from her shared boudoir far past the midnight hour, only to pick and unbind the locks on the most sacred, storage hideaway of tomes far too dangerous for the use of mere students. She shouldn't have stolen from this room, or allowed James to become an accomplice in this endeavour. And above all, she should not be plotting to steal into the forest this night, after indulging in a forbidden kiss with a most unclothed</i> Fifth year Mer. Definitely not. Quite the rebel, <u>Lara's emerald effervesence fluttered to a close, abandoning herself to one reckless act after the other. I can worry later. Wasn't that always the way? Her head came to a cant with a delicate cascade of sleek, wet chocolate while slim legs intermingled with... his legs. The smudge With every step she made, these days, she was breaking a rule. She should never have delved into the Ancient Casting sector of the Library with such nefarious intentions. She most certainly should never, ever, have stolen away from her shared boudoir far past the midnight hour, only to pick and unbind the locks on the most sacred, storage hideaway of tomes far too dangerous for the use of mere students. She shouldn't have stolen from this room, or allowed James to become an accomplice in this endeavour. And above all, she should not be plotting to steal into the forest this night, after indulging in a forbidden kiss with a most unclothed Fifth year Mer. Definitely not. Quite the rebel, Lara's emerald effervesence fluttered to a close, abandoning herself to one reckless act after the other. I can worry later. Wasn't that always the way? Her head came to a cant with a delicate cascade of sleek, wet chocolate while slim legs intermingled with... his legs. The smudge dark lashes on her cheeks sprung, vaguely becoming aware of his.. Lara glanced downward, unable to make out the entirety of his transformation, despite the clarity of the lake that had inspired the name. A blush rose to her own cheeks, teeth sinking into the lower of her kiss-swollen cherry lips. She daren't say a thing. Beau would likely combust with embarrassment. Instead, she lifted her pinky to meet his and locked their most dainty of appendages in promise. I trust you. And then, sly thing, she was ducking down beneath the water. Procrastinating the sharing of her secret, and the plead for aid when the time came..
[Beau] This French Belle had Beau all out of whack, and despite the physicality of the situation, he was also metaphorically out of his element. Control of his lure never quite existed in the proper sense, so when they couldn’t be kept at bay, it was nothing new. However, when he had become so utterly distracted, and lost in the moment he didn’t understand to be forbidden, well even the very well trained Mer had his hubris. And characteristic of most males, Beau’s apparent character flaw and vice was a woman, in particular, the sultry sixth year Siren that currently had her pinky wrapped ‘round his in a sincere promise. Unaware that his promise however included some confession of a super top secret secret, Beau was under the impression that she simply needed some sort of genuine confirmation of his trust. As if the fight on Friday, and among other things had shaken it and left her doubting. Once again, Lara was gone, sly as a siren when she ducked out of his hold and under the water. It was at this point, when Beau submerged himself that he became very much aware of his lack of scales, and in a panicked instant they were back. Not even the ice cold waters of the Loch could cool the fire burning his skin as he gazed through the crystal liquid at the billowing form of Lara. The expression of embarrassment quickly faded into a muffled laugh as he realized the ridiculousness of the situation and thought to enjoy it as much as he could. Liplocked with Lara Locke in the Loch. Sporting a toothy grin, Beau would cant his head, lift a finger, and twirl it akin to a dance command. Whether or not she actually twirled on cue wouldn’t matter much as an array of aquatic life would spiral around her like a whirlpool before scattering off with the flick of a wrist. Doing a quick flip himself, Beau’s cheeks were a normal color as he kicked effortlessly towards the French Belle, extending a hand and potentially pulling her along in a blur of motion. Held firm against his chest and aware of her need for oxygen as always, the Mer would arc upwards into a very dolphin like leap, out then back into the water, an almost uncharacteristic amount of confidence was present as he let her loose yet again, this time a bit playfully rather than perplexed. ||