Cheriour Leclair (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
chroniker) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
trollxzibit2012-10-17 08:15 pm
chroniker) wrote in trollxzibit2012-10-17 08:15 pm
LADIES AND GENTLEMEN AND COCKROACHES MAY I PRESENT TO YOU THE INFAMOUS
2. Others will comment on your characters, anonymously or logged in, suggesting ships and prompts they want you to write about.
3. Anything goes, from fluffy to smut to everything in between! Also, there is no word limit, so it can be as short or as long as you want.
4. ????????
5. ALL THE SHIPPING EVER AND ALSO FEELINGS
GO GO GO AND SHIP FOR GREAT JUSTICE
also just a note BUT THIS ISN'T LIMITED TO JUST SCRIB PEOPLE you could put your character's ancestors/guardians and whatnot for the shipping too if you want to, whatever floats your boat
CHERIOUR LECLAIR
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"Hmmmm?" Cheriour looks up from the show program he was perusing through to glance over at the young actor with a quizzical look.
"Can you even read through those things?" Sparks says, gesturing over to his clock glasses with an odd look. Cheriour frowns slightly, adjusting them with his hand. He had made them a long time ago in order to hide those bright orange eyes of his better- Dad had said that orange wasn't exactly the most common of eye colors, and that had prompted Cheriour to make them so that he could show the world ticking hands instead of irises the color of fire.
"Oh, yes, I can! They are a bit hard to look through, but I've gotten rather used to them. Don't worry...I can still see through them and see your name on them, hehe." He lets out a slight laugh, unsure why his cheeks are suddenly flushing- maybe it's because of how Sparks is staring at him intently, or the sudden attention put on those glasses of his, as if a spotlight has been shone from the stage and he's been caught in its crosshairs.
And when Sparks walks up closer, Cheriour starts to edge the glasses off his nose, as if to put them away so they can forget about this whole "can he read through these things" deal, but he's stopped by the gentle brush of Sparks' hand on his.
"No. Leave them on," says Sparks with a smile, and before Cheriour realizes it, that hand is moving to his neck slowly and deliberately, and all he can do is take the kiss Sparks is offering him next without hesitation, though his cheeks are as red as a beet.
And although Sparks can't see them, the eyes behind those glasses of his burn with a spark of passion Cheriour never knew he had, and he's afraid to find out what would happen if Sparks ever discovered it...
I CAN'T EVEN CONTINUE THIS sob this is horrible i'm sorry
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the best part is Cheriour is not even considering Sparks has fucking pink hair and eyes like a goddamn rose petal child. he is just Cheriour and thus himself and aaah. 8> /so happy
Thank you!
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And yet, he's out here in a yellow raincoat that is obviously way too big for him, smiling at the puddles forming around his booted feet.
What could have happened to change his opinion like that?
Maybe it has to do with the boy rushing to tackle him from behind. For as they tumble in the mud, and Cheriour shouts with surprise, there's something tender in the way he pretends to be mad that there is mud all over him. He retaliates with handfuls of mud of his own, and after a few minutes both boys are nothing but brown-stained messes, their hair damp as can be.
And as there is a moment of reprieve for the two, Cheriour reaches over to dislodge a twig from Chi-Rho's hair, laughing heartily, and before he knows it, Chi-Rho is wiping the mud away from his lips with a finger so that he can dirty them with his own.
It takes only a few seconds of kissing for Cheriour to realize that he no longer hates the rain anymore.
Re: CHERIOUR LECLAIR
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And the sounds that pour from his mouth are kind of a music too, the way that he switches to another language and the syllables that are so soft clash against each other in a symphony that he has woven from the feelings raging inside that lithe body.
She's viewing and hearing a masterpiece, she thinks. And even though the pain in his face is plain to see, all she wants to do is push him again and again so she can listen to that epic of fury and memorize it for the rest of her life.
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Well alrighty then.
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She's prepared everything for him. He sits on the edge of the bed, white gaze burning into her bright pink eyes, and she smiles ever so sweetly as she approaches. Her little clockman, made of darkness and hate and everything that is horrible in between.
Anyone else would shudder away from the touch of that chilly dark skin but she delights in it, brushing over it with delicate little fingers and enjoying the confusion twitch in his features. Is he enjoying it too? That is soon answered by the tightening of his hand painfully around her forearm with a garble of angry-sounding words that she doesn't have the ability to understand, but all she does is put a finger on his lips to quiet him, letting him taste the sickeningly sweet taste that is undoubtedly seeping from her skin.
"Now, now, Cheriour. Be a good boy for me? I know you can." She says with a chuckle, and drapes her arms around him. Together they smell like ash and sugar, and she can't help but drink it all in- it smells like sweet, sweet destruction. Of course, that move by him before will not go unpunished- she digs her nails into his back and he reacts by growling into her neck, and the two start moving back and forth in a sort of dance that anyone would call the dance between lovers.
But, of course, it's not. It's a fight to overpower the other, a fight where white scars crisscross his body from where she attacked him with her teeth and nails, and where candy-red blood stains the front of her pretty little dress, and in the end, she knows that the victor is going to be the one who's made the other scream the loudest.
wow i'm sorry
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They're standing in the middle of his room in the corner of the little town of Giverny (god knows how she managed to persuade Mom to allow her to fly over all this way), and she can't help but notice how every inch of his wall is covered with the things, big and small, intricate and simple, all ticking and tocking in their own unique way. It's like he had a really creepy obsession with them. But hey, he could've been obsessed with collecting human hair or spiders or something, collecting clocks isn't that half bad.
He blushes (he blushes far too easily, she notes, it makes him look like an overly eager beet at times), and gives a shrug. "Oh, that's a long story, but erm...basically, I've always been fascinated with the inner workings of them. Imagine, gear after gear, winding and turning, yet in perfect harmony with one another...I'd think I'd be here for days if I said why I love them so much."
Yes, thinks Shea, yes you would. But that's alright- it's rather nice, listening to the cadence of his voice flow over the sound of the ticking. Hypnotizing, really. Which is why she's surprised when she suddenly notices he's holding a box and is handing it to her.
What is this? As if to answer her question, he smiles. "It's for you! You know, for exchange of the bracelet. Don't think I've forgotten that!" He waggles the friendship bracelet on his right wrist, as if to remind her, even though she knows he's had it on even since she saw him. Shea takes the box gingerly, and then slowly opens it, all too aware of Cheriour watching her reaction with an eager expression.
Inside is a clock. But not just any clock- this one is beautifully hand-crafted, with thin arrows for hands and painted with a dark forest green that dips and weaves around the face in the guise of carved vines and leaves. She really is struck speechless for a moment, and it almost makes her feel ashamed- how could he make such a work of art that obviously took hours to make in exchange for a simple friendship bracelet?
"Oh. Thank you..." She says, quietly, but even as she says it, she's conscious of someone kissing her gently on the cheek.
Cheriour flushes again, but as he draws back he smiles with a sort of inner pride. "Not a problem, Shea," he says, and just like that, Shea can feel her heart start beating furiously against her chest.
Just like the rapid ticking of a clock...
asdfghgfdsdf i'm sorry if i butchered her in any way AHHHHH
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wow this is horrible i'm sorry
"W-what?!"
"I said, drop them."
Cheriour gazes at Eighis like he had gone out of his mind and had said to jump off a skyscraper wearing polka-dotted overalls made of feathers. Eighis merely stares back at him, mouth a line, tapping his pen against his journal impatiently.
"Look, when I said that I would help you with understanding the human body a little better, I didn't mean this! I'll tell you about the organs, I'll tell you about how we digest our food, I'll even tell you about mucus and saliva, but the last thing I'm doing is this!" Cheriour frowns, folding his arms.
"But you do understand, we need to know how the other species works. And you did say you would do anything to help me so that there would be no misunderstanding. I don't see what's the problem here."
"The problem is is that it's kind of a private thing that's only shared between people who are really into each other, and..." He pauses, feeling himself flushing and really understanding why he's getting really worked up about this. "That's enough! Yes! Can we...can we just move on, now?"
Eighis grumbles and turns the page, and Cheriour stands there, face as red as a tomato. He feels foolish. He feels weird, and strange, and much later, when their relationship takes a turn that he didn't expect, he'll remember that feeling again, and realize that there was so much more in that than the embarrassment over showing his anatomy.
I DON'T THINK I CAN WRITE ANY MORE WOW THIS IS JUST THE WORST i'm sorry OTL
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Avispa/Cheriour - "This is how it works on the inside."
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She looks down, noticing it's Cheriour, and he looks awfully weary. But he suddenly digs into his pocket and pulls out what looks to be a fancy pocket watch and smiles, voice gentle.
"Hey, Avispa...I know you're into puzzles and all. Check this out." And she watches as his long fingers twist the back of the watch off, and she can't help but give a little gasp when he turns it around to show her its interior.
Because there, it's like another world, where gears and parts she didn't even know the name of twisted against each other in perfect unison and yet somehow never skipped a beat or never made a mistake. It all moves so fast that she can't keep up, and she can feel her heart start to beat as her mind rushes to figure out just how everything in there is even existing like that. What a puzzle. What a marvelous puzzle he's found.
But that's not all. Because he smiles over at her, and starts pointing at the different swirling gold pieces of metal, naming them one by one in words that sound foreign and strange to her ears. And then he moves onto how they function, and then how they are twisting each other like that and even though she is upset at having such an opportunity for solving that puzzle taken away, she can't help but be lulled in by the level tone of his voice.
And then he stops, and she blinks at him, eyes wide with all this new information. "This is how it works on the inside," he says with finality, and after a long pause, he leans over and kisses her tenderly.
Before she can even react to what he is doing, he's detached himself from her. He stands up and pockets the watch, and his face is filled with an emotion she doesn't recognize as he goes back to the spot at the mouth of the cave which he had before.
No, she thinks. No, he did give her a puzzle and took it away from her by explaining what it was, but he had revealed a whole other puzzle instead.
I want to know how he works on the inside, she thinks.
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Zurahe/Cheriour
Zurahe has all the table manners one would expect from a girl raised by birds- which is to say, none at all. As much as she makes it a point not to waste anything by licking her fingers clean every few bites though, he can't really bring himself to complain
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He's kind of horrified, really. The way his Dad brought him up, he had always been taught to eat properly with a fork and knife, and had been berated every time he had started playing with his food. Table manners were the mark of a gentleman, his Dad had said, and Cheriour had taken it to heart.
For some odd reason, he believed that the others he would meet would be the same way. He certainly wasn't expecting this.
She was eating her food exactly like a vulture would tear at a bloody carcass it had found, hands tearing into the innards and gulping them down before helping itself to more. Cheriour almost wanted to make a comment about whether or not she had had food before they came to this place, but decided not to. That would be rude.
She looks over at him with distinct unhappiness when he speaks, not at all pleased that her gorging of her food has been interrupted. "What?"
"Oh, um..." And for some reason, he can't bring himself to correct her. If this is the way she eats, that's the way she eats. It's primitive, really, but she came from a different world. He can't blame her for that, can he? So he merely smiles, reaching over with a napkin to wipe a dab of sauce off her grey cheek.
"You just missed a spot, " he says, grinning. "That's all."
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/0 shame
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Re: CHERIOUR LECLAIR
pointing out constellations
8D
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She can feel her voice crack when she asks that. Because what is standing in front of her...it's shaped like Cheriour. It has the same clothes as him, and the same stature, but it's not him.
No. What's standing in front of her is like somebody took him and plopped him in Bizarro world and then dragged him back. Or, what's standing in front is simply a living photograph of him that didn't quite develop the way it should.
He snarls something in a language that burns her ears, and his eyes are nothing but white pools that smoke and sputter against his ash grey skin. The sword in his hand, held taut at his side, trails black in the air. And she stands, not believing her eyes. No, this isn't Cheriour. Not at all. It's just an imp playing tricks, or a fellow kid dressing up to scare her, this couldn't be Cheriour, who replied to her every urge for adventure with a smile and played along with her little games, and always tried to cheer her up whenever she was down.
And then she recalls that little conversation they had when she had just entered the game, when she found out he was a hero of rage and asked him what sort of issues was hiding behind that cheerfulness...
I don't have any issues at all!
I mean, I guess sometimes I am a bit too needy and a bit too emotional, but honestly!
I am nothing like the hulk. I couldn't even turn green from anger if I tried. 8(
That's what he had said. But people lied, Eric knew. And finally, she understood- back then, he had hidden the truth away from her, putting on a smile, leaving broken thoughts inside his heart to rot and fester until they finally broke free and became what she was seeing now. So much anger...it's not even directed at her, but at everything. The world, the sky, the ground- he seems ready to pull the moon down if he wanted to.
"This...this is your Hulk, isn't it, Cheriour?" She says, softly. He isn't large at all, still the same lanky size he always was, and he wasn't green, but grey, but that's what this was. The Hulk. Inside her friend was something monstrous.
But, in the end...her friend was still her friend.
Which is why she finds herself tackling him, surrounding him with the tightest hug she can give, as if she can push that monster back inside where it belongs. After all, the Hulk wasn't to be get rid of completely. He was just the result of an experiment on a poor little bespectacled scientist who didn't want to admit the strength he had when the anger took over him. Cheriour was still in there somewhere. She knew it.
The sword in his hand clatters to the ground as a questioning sound breaks free of his throat. And all she does is just grip him tighter.
"You said...back then, that you were the one who needed to calm people down," she says, hoping that somewhere in the hulk she's holding onto, he's hearing every word.
"Well, this time? It's my turn."