Thread: It's All Relative (Monster Teeth and Verse)

He quite loved the scent of his room in the morning. The floorboards would bake in rays of sun and remind him that whatever weather was playing outside, his home was warm and impregnable. A small comfort, and such security did make for a duller existence, but he enjoyed things that were faithful. There was no such warmth on the air when he woke up, and no light toppled to spill anywhere it pleased. So it must be night, his instantly clear mind deduced, as he looked up in the ceiling, a faint emerald hue there accompanying the sound of the flat device shaking on his nightstand. Ingram Westfield knew who's id he'd see when he stole the obnoxious piece of plastic from its own sleeping place, beside the glasses, the standing charger - whimsically having the appearance of a fat, black chicken - and his latest anatomy book. Smiling down on her name, he held the piece of tech for comfort, green light blaring onto his face, making soft shadows and dispelling the magic of his bleached, almost white irises. The dark lashes remained, though, even in this blare of sullen magic, which always gave Ingram dark wings at the farthest corners of his eyes, as if nature had known the wrung out beauty of this black haired creature wouldn't be used for good, after all. Of course it would be her at this hour, who else needed a friend that was so easily mistakable for astute, when if fact he had a collection of otherworldly smarts. Standing out of bed, his svelte gait outlined by street lamps somewhere in the distance from his window, his thumb accepted the call with a swipe. Alexandria? he started, voice deep, raspy and confused as if he'd been yanked back from a far dreaming slumber. Pale eyes even squinted for the act. Lexi, is that you? he continued, walking with his private confidence toward the light switch. When he called upon the illumination in the room with clean floor and cluttered supporting surfaces, the white from the awakened bulbs seemed to neglect most of everything else, rushing instead to inhabit his skin and light him from within. It was an optical lie, of course. In the wake of it, his complexion still held an alabaster quality, though not so severe, cut through as it was with shades between long muscles. He'd endeavored to keep his physique subtle, without traces of bulk, so he could still pass for frail with clothes on. It hadn't been that long since their last meeting. Someone like Alexandria interviewed well and would always have an easy time connecting to people. After their university time she'd been hired right off the bat, just like she wanted. His own scores had been astronomical, but without ambition to put the knowledge his scholarships had payed for in to use, he had simply started taking stray courses, doing lab work and the occasional essay for under-the-table money. The educational organs had their own economy, and he lived well as ever within it. When he wanted extravagance he simply changed his clientle from ramen eaters to silver spoons. Strangely, those with trust funds found themselves with his lower quality work while poor students who simply could not work two jobs and make academical deadlines received stellar papers on their chosen subjects. Her calling had him reminisce for the reason she'd thought of him. Liza Cutberth. A blond with a twig figure. Normally he didn't care much for the Nordic ideal, her with her noticeable jaw and blue eyes. But Liza had wanted to dance. That's how she and Lexi had met, and thats why she kept herself so thin. Ingram could appreciate such dedication, so in her case the bones underneath mere skin was a sign of success and not primarily because of vanity. Her favorite thing in the world had been ballet. To dance on the scene in the city's famed Ivory Theater and have recognition from those who knew and loved the art. What poor Liza and her cutthroat attitude lacked in skill what she had in gusto, nonetheless the obsession became a dream and the dream became something she did on the side of her job. But because of her dream, Alexandria had been allowed to find her in the Ivory Theater, strung up and posed. He'd propped her on a costume rack, those made out of a standing steel frames. She was doing the splits. Technically, he supposed, she had been naked, with the skin of her stomach wrapped around her waist as a skirt, expertly cut out course, with her hands gathering and holding in her organs as she leaped. Suspended like this, all but giving birth to her insides, Caesarean birth, she had looked alive even run through by wire to support the lifelike configuration. The press had a field day and even leaked an uncensored picture for the enthusiasts, all of it probably resulting in even more agony for Lexi and her sister, not to mention Liza's family and boyfriend, who would inevitably have to take the blunt of the suspicions in the wake of another scape goat. But Morrer would know better, wouldn't she? And Ingram, well, he knew the most. Walking around in his room, stark naked with a dear friend on the other line, he couldn't help but feeling rather accomplished. Passing by the mirror he noticed his hairless organ had awakened with the rest of him. Tilting his head with the phone following, he smirked slightly. Perhaps the thoughts of Liza's confused gargles on her own bile while trying to roll her intestine small enough to fit back in had been too much to ignore. She'd pissed herself as much as she could, diluting the puddle of filth and blood she was already laying in. At the beginning of it, for reasons he hadn't known himself, he'd promised in a whisper that he wouldn't rape her. Her eyes hadn't hosted more happiness for it, but he'd liked to think that her spirit might be lighter once it left the body, knowing he'd extended that courtesy, at least. Ingram wrapped his fingers around his fully flushed member, stroking as if to sooth it, while it is widely known that's not what touches do. How can I help you? again a slightly sleepy, worried voice. This is about Liza, isn't it?