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Post by RIPLEY "TRAMP" GWYNN on Aug 9, 2011 15:06:29 GMT -5
The thing with spring time, was that there was sunshine. And as dark as her heart was, or the lack of soul she seemed to have--Iceland quite loved the sunlight. It was the closest thing she would get to warmth--somethign superficial, and only touched her skin, and nothing inside.
A few people glanced over at the strange girl--some wondering if a movie was being filmed, or if there was a photographer nearby. This would possibly be because of Icelands lack of casual wear. Today, she had a simple dress that was a cleverly cut drape. The main hold of the dress wrapped around her delicate throat, and a tiny zipper on the low back--but the dress dropped down in a straight line, and bunched on the grass. The front was lifted in her left hand, to prevent her from tripping over the material while she gracefully moved on her heels.
Today was a day to admire the flowers, and she had decided to match them. With her white hair flipped to one side, and curled loosely, a beige flower clipped into her hair and kept it in place. On her shoulder rested a lace parasol, filtering the sunlight so it wouldn't be quite so harsh on her porcelain skin.
Iceland had her head dipped down, walking along the edge of the flowers, with a childlike curiousity in her eyes. She had been pacing up and down the side of the flowers for quite some time, walking at a slow, casual pace, like she had nowhere to be. She could feel the eyes pounding into her exposed back, and it made her somewhat frustrated. Couldn't they mind their own business? Just because the girls of today's world like to look as much like a sex symbol as possible--Iceland had more important things on her mind.
Murder, world domination, and killing Dorothy--to name a few.
She drew in a breath, and expelled in a sigh that caused her shoulders to rise and fall. She turned her face to the sun for a moment, while still walking--paying no mind to anyone around her...yet.
Tags: Mason / Scout / Iceland / Olley
Notes: Oh Icey...you scary bitch. Let me know if I need to adjust anything, Scouty!
Outfit:Lalala.
Hair:And yes, Icey does have that tattoo.
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Post by MASON HOWARD on Aug 10, 2011 12:21:34 GMT -5
Mason Howard was not the sort of person to simply "go for a walk in a the park." He was not the type to stop and smell flowers or admire the way the birds seemed to sing a different tune each day, nor was he one for finding an abandoned bench to sit on whilst pondering life's greatest questions. No, he was the sort of person who had a purpose, a reason for being where he was so solid it was practically rock. And when he went to the park, well, it was best assumed said purpose had something to do with the sports-bra-and-short-shorts combo many of the great outdoors more attractive exercise enthusiasts had taken to donning.
Today, however, the trail was uneventful. Sunny as it was, the park was practically empty. Depressingly so, actually. Mason had already walked about a mile and a half and passed by only three runners worth the fake double take, where ordinarily he encountered at least seven or eight. Obviously God was frowning at him today.
It was just as Mason was beginning to seriously consider turning around and calling this particular venture over that he saw her. Really, it wasn't anything special; it was just impossible not to notice her, was all. Hell, she was wearing white everywhere. Literally every.where. Well, except for that open space down her back, which Mason wasn't objecting to one bit...And...what the hell was she doing? He actually stopped in his tracks for a good minute or two, simply staring at that portion of exposed skin as sha paced back and forth, back and forth, just staring at the blooming plants. If she hadn't been so goddamn attractive, he might have actually laughed.
Mason Howard was not one to admire flowers. He was, however, one to take the occasional glance their way if a rather attractive female seemed to find them engrossing enough to be worthy of her time. Mason approached the girl with the sort of steps that balanced perfectly on the tightrope of too-quiet-and-therefore-creepy and too-loud-and-therefore-obnoxious, rendering his presence known but not frightening. After all, he hardly wanted to frighten someone who looked like that away. Stopping once he'd reached the girl's side, Mason made sure to face somewhere between her and the flowers--they never liked it when you looked them dead in the eye first thing. "You know, daffodils are great and all, but I always thought roses were the sort of flowers you girls liked to stare at all day long..." He offered her a charming, questioning sort of look and a smile, turning to face her completely now as he held out his hand. "I'm Mason, by the way,"
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Post by RIPLEY "TRAMP" GWYNN on Aug 10, 2011 13:28:32 GMT -5
Footsteps. Iceland's body went very still when she heard the footsteps in the grass. Who was this idiot, trying to talk to her? Iceland lifted her head and turned her round eyes up to Mason. Her tiny lips twisted slightly, like she was unsure.
He was handsome, or...would be if he did something with that hair of his. Iceland had almost a childlike face, and had it not been for the way she carried herself and her obvious chest pushing against her dress--she may have been mistaken for one. Her body was soft, and not bony at all. She ate well enough to not be skinny, but ate healthy enough not to be fat. And her face looked like a delicate doll's, her lips slightly parted--as though she were asking why this strange man was speaking to her.
She stared at him for a moment longer, before looking down at the yellow daffodills standing out of the grass. "I like them, and they smell nice." She smiled again, and looked down at the hand he was holding out to her. "Roses are slightly overrated, aren't they?" Her voice was tiny, and soft, and almost as sickly sweet as she looked. Iceland let go of her dress, letting it cover her legs and fall to the ground. She then placed her hand in his, just her little fingers, a very demure, and lady-like handshake. Dispite the warmth outside, and the sun shining, her hand was cool.
"Iceland, it's a pleasure to meet you Mason." She smiled up at him, turning to face him as well. "What brings you to Central Park, Mister Mason?" She withdrew her hand, and tilted her head curiously. "Surely you should have business to attend to, no?" Iceland chirped, getting a very strong mental eyeroll from Wicked. Her own eyes however, didn't move while she stared up at Mason. Something about this man...she could use him, for something. Or he was going to lead her to something important. The thought of this brought a tiny smile to her lips.
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Post by MASON HOWARD on Aug 11, 2011 12:56:54 GMT -5
There was something about this girl, about the way her face seemed to be made of porcelain and the way her lips parted that strange way, that simultaneously intrigued and alarmed Mason. He felt almost as if there should have been warning bells sounding, but instead his mind was blank. It was certainly a curious sensation, and not one a woman--well, she looked more like a girl, save for those more than obvious tits--had ever brought upon him before. Or...well, that anyone had, for that matter.
Mason shrugged, brushing off the curious sensation with it. "Well I've always thought so, if you want to know the truth," he spoke a bit cautiously, as if he were slightest bit nervous about revealing such personal information. Which was not the case at all, of course, because he was definitely pulling this out of thin air. "But that's what everyone seems to want," he gave a small sigh of disappointment at the female world just before she placed her hand in his.
Somebody seriously needed to put a jacket on this girl. She was freezing. Mason met her eyes with an unintentional question in his; How could anyone possibly be that cool on a day like this? Nevermind that, though--it was sort of refreshing, truth be told. "Pleasure's all mine, Iceland," he liked her name. It was different, the way it rolled off his tongue, and with the way her skin felt it apparently suited her. Had it not been for the fact that he was so intrigued, he probably would've made a small jab at it.
Mason cleared his throat as he drew his hand away, glancing back at the flowers once before responding. "I don't know. Should I?" he looked her in the eyes again and a small smile fluttered at the corners of his lips. "Same thing that brings everyone else here, really," He paused for a moment, creating the appearance that he was collecting his words, that perhaps this wasn't a speech he'd used about fifty different times. And even if it was, however, it still did feel a bit different saying it to this girl. More honest, maybe. "It's never the same here, is it? There's always something a bit...mysterious, no matter when you come. Although you know, I might ask you the same thing," he added, looking her up and down once. "As you look a bit...out of place. What brings you here, Miss Iceland?"
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Post by RIPLEY "TRAMP" GWYNN on Aug 14, 2011 23:29:27 GMT -5
“Girls only say they want roses, because roses are the symbol of romance. And they like the idea of romance, even if it is just a lovely lie.” She said sweetly. His hand was warm against hers, and she caught the slight twinge in his eye once their hands met. She was well aware of how cool her skin felt. One poor fool had likened her touch to the touch of death—but that was simply far too rude for Iceland, and she put an end quickly to the fool’s cruel words that night.
“Not everyone is here for the same reason, sir. Some come to exercise, some come for a picnic. Some come to relax, and others come to escape the reality of their loneliness. It makes me feel a bit bad for them.” She sighed, and moved both hands back to the parasol resting upon her shoulder. Her head tilted slightly from his question. Why was she here anyway? She pressed her lips in a thin line. The honest truth would be that she was looking for other reincarnations, namely ones from her story. They all had to come to her end, and some divine force was giving Wicked a second chance to get back at that Dorothy brat, and that irritating Glinda.
But she liked this boy, and frightening him off with what he could assume was crazy talk would not do. There was something about him that she felt attracted to—and not in that butterfly-in-the-tummy feel. No, he was going to lead her to something important. There was a pleased roll of pleasure from Wicked, as though the spirit sharing her body knew something, that she wasn’t telling her host.
Iceland’s lips relaxed, and she smiled again, and shrugged her delicate shoulders elegantly. The way she moved her hands, shifted on her feet, and turned her head was slow. Calculated, and precise. Like she was aware of everything that was happening around her, and happening to her. “The sunlight, I suppose. It’s a lovely day out,” She moved one hand from her parasol, and reached out to catch sunlight just outside of her lacy shade, “It seems like it would be a waste of a day.” Her fingers went to her lips, as though she were telling Mason to keep a secret. “But I do like dress up, and it’d be a waste of an outfit to wander around like this all day about my home, woudn’t you say?”
She had to keep him talking, at least until he offered the hand of friendship. He was important, somehow. And Wicked was leaving the mystery to Iceland. “You look well adjusted; do you go to school? Or have you graduated already?”
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