Snippet #1467415

Memphis

Memphis was only half-listening to the conversation at the table. Instead, he was busying himself with his bountiful plate, cluttered together in a heaping mess. He'd always been a fast eater, so his plate of bacon, eggs and pancakes was nearly empty. From his peripherals, he spotted the small creature nibbling on its' piece of toast—and he smiled, he couldn't help it. The tall man had a soft spot for cute things; people included. Finally, with a soft sigh of content, he pushed his plate forward and hooked his arm around the back of his chair. Everyone else seemed to be finishing off their meal—except for Vincent, who seemed lost in space—so, he tried to contain the excitement fluttering in his stomach. Even if he didn't admit it, he couldn't wait to feel the cool water against his skin. He was sure that everyone else felt the same, except for Gossamer. Could she even touch the water? He wasn't entirely sure. He made a note to bring his small acoustic guitar, to serenade her with a song.

He bowed his head slightly when Raven commented about Ultear visiting the Ringmaster again, and shrugged his shoulders. He'd be lying if he said he didn't worry about her. The Ringmaster was the type of cold, indifferent guy that would squeeze the hearts out of women and men alike, leave them without anything left. As long as they were presentable, their petty feelings didn't matter. The only thing that mattered to the Ringmaster was drowning in his scotch, that much he understood. He shivered at the mention of leeches, and pulled a wry expression. “H-Hey, cheater!” Memphis called after her, rather jovially. He made no move to leave, not just yet.

“Deal,” Memphis rumbled, nodding his head in agreement. He toyed with his fork, flipping it between his knuckles and balancing it on his index fingers. Just to distract his wandering eyes from everyone's' faces, from their bodies; it was enough to drive him mad. And now, they were heading to a beautiful river where they'd be half-naked, or half-dressed, however you want to look at it. Suddenly, Memphis locked eyes with Scarlett and he found himself leaning precariously forward, nearly falling off his chair. Something roused in the pit of his stomach, and made his skin crawl. Not the kind of feeling that was entirely unwelcome, but definitely inappropriate. He coughed, clearing his throat behind his shaky fist, as Scarlett plopped down next to him. “G'morning, Scarls,” He managed to greet, desperately trying to keep his deep voice level. Her ability was unlike anyone elses, able to bend and break the strongest men with the littlest of pushes. Sometimes, he wondered why she hadn't attempted it on the Ringmaster. Would he bend and break, beg for release? The mental image left him dazzled, he had to shake his head to clear his obtrusive thoughts.

With one glance at Scarlett's unhealthy place, Memphis grinned and leaned forward, brushing his thumb across Abra's soft head. For some reason, animals were more dept to accept his haunting presence. It might have been his soft touches and soothing whispers, he wasn't completely sure. A small laugh jangled from his throat as Abra hopped from Scarlett's shoulder onto the plate, pulling a piece of egg in its' small pink hands. “Adorable, aren't cha'?” He cooed quietly, craning his head until Scarlett twisted, and he was facing her buxom... well, you know. If it were noticeable, Memphis flushed darkly and recoiled from her, a sheepish smile playing on his features. He excused himself from the table, placing a hand on Scarlett's shoulder before whispering something in her ear. Show me a garden that's burstin' into life. Memphis was a musical man, always whispering or humming or singing different tunes—and he related lyrics to his life, whispered them seductively. Most of the time it worked. Most of the time.

And then Andrei snatched up Vincent's hand, following Raven out of the tent. Memphis opened his mouth to protest, before cupping a hand to the side of his mouth. “Jokes' on you, I swim in the nude!” He called after them, throwing Scarlett a sly wink before hurrying away. He certainly wouldn't be test-swimming the mysterious river, leeches terrified him. Because he couldn't create wings from his back like his companion—unless they were made from bones, which would have been extremely painful and useless—, he ran all the way to the twisting gates. He arrived shortly after, spying Raven leaning against the rusty rails as if she'd been there the entire time. He was trying to catch his breath, leaning heavily against the spirals and heaving large gulps of air into his burning lungs. Some said he didn't have much time to live, that his life span was shorter than the others. Some said that he was weak, growing more and more fabled each time he performed. Wise words from the damned Ringmaster. Stupid.