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Post by blythie on Jan 20, 2011 19:20:50 GMT -5
The pale blond smirked as he casually strolled throughout the shopping district of the country. He walked with a confident swagger and feigned innocence when a few nearby eyes lowered to lusting slits and glanced at him up and down with a petrifying envy. With ease, cerise hues rose to the surface of his skin, dotting his cheeks with a naive innocence. Pink tongue darted out timidly, licking at his lips. Inwardly, he smirked - people were far too easy to mess with. A chuckle escaped those soft lips and Decimus easily ignored the onlookers, as he had arrived at his destination. Golden tresses crept down his back and landed low at his waist. Typical behavior, a slim digit found itself woven midst the mass of hair. Eyebrows raised, it was obvious he was in thought. "I suppose I am craving something sweet.." mumbled Deci, to no one in particular. Without another thought, he turned on his heel in direction for the area with the ripest of fruit throughout Rome.
The sunshine was abnormally radiant today, but Decimus didn't seem to mind. Coy smile plastered on a porcelain face, he was in a positively fantastic mood; and nothing would dare bring him down from his roller coaster-esque high. Sanguine eyes perked up at the sight of a few figs, and old woman loitering over the stall. "Two of them, if you'd please~" spoke Decimus, tone pleasant. The elderly woman gave a small smile, wrinkles becoming more present as she did, and handed him two figs. Shuffling through his pockets briefly, he handed the woman her money, and left without another word. Stuffing the other fig into a pocket, sparkling teeth bit deep inside the fig. The violet/red hued liquid from the fruit seeped out, trickling down his lips and hanging closely at his chin. Feverishly, a hand wiped away the dribbles, and Decimus smiled at the ambrosial taste that had crept into his mouth. He divulged himself in the fruit he was eating, still walking down the few shops in the area. He had a lot of time to spare anyway - nighttime was his playtime.
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Post by TIBERIUS CATO on Jan 21, 2011 8:30:07 GMT -5
Cato wished he had money. It was all well and good to act like he was King Shit, but when it got down to it, that's all it was; an act. This was never thrown in to more clarity then when he was anywhere near shops. So many things to buy, to see, to want! He never should have come here. Should've stuck to other public places, like... like outside the bath-houses, or one of the arenas, or something. Just not here. Anywhere but here.
Everywhere he looked, he saw people with money. Holding it, coveting it, spending it. A jeweller, with a watchful eye on his goods; a fruit vendor, doing a roaring trade. The produce looked so luscious, delicious, juicy... it reminded the boy that it had been a while since he'd last eaten anything. But the fruit didn't hold his eye for long - no, it was distracted by a glint of gold. It was more than that... a shimmer, a sheen, light catching on a veil.
And Cato had thought he looked good. But he was nothing compared to the (man? He hardly looked older than a boy) at the fruit stall, purchasing what appeared to be figs. The teen tugged at his own blonde hair, twining the unruly curls around his fingers, thinking; maybe I should grow my hair. Cato thought he'd look good with long hair... perhaps golden ringlets, accentuating his already effeminate features. He was all too aware that he was getting too old to pull the 'lost little boy' act; but if he had longer hair then maybe, just maybe, he could mix things up a bit, play the distraught heiress or something.
He'd have to think about it. But later - his stomach was complaining, and the fruit the man was devouring suddenly looked far more attractive than his hair. Food... food sounded good about now. But he was down to his last few coins, coins he was meant to be saving. Well! That stranger may look good, but did he have brains under that pretty head?
But first, some preparations; ruffling his hair so as to look dishevelled, then rubbing his eyes until they stung; blinking, again and again and again, until his vision was blurred with 'tears'. And then a run; rather, a haphazard jog, his breath catching in his throat. While it looked like it was an accident (that is, that he crashed rather forcefully past the golden-haired stranger), it was anything but. This was it; things could go two ways from here. Win or lose. Sympathy or outrage - which would he get?
"I-I'm so sorry! Sorry!" Stammered words came out breathless, as if he'd been running for ages. "I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry..." words that trailed off as his eyes found the ground, lashes lowered, head inclined just enough to tip his fringe so that it sat just right, obscuring without hiding anything at all. He blinked rapidly, as if to hold back tears; and indeed, there were some collecting in the corners of his eyes, sticking to his thick lashes. He considered saying more, but thought that was enough for now. Any extra and it'd be over doing it, and he'd be making himself obvious. All that he could do now was wait for the other's reaction - what would it be?
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