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Post by steph5 on Dec 7, 2011 21:29:17 GMT -5
click for outfit
Almost two weeks had gone by since the initial meeting with Hugo and with ease she had settled into her role as the perfect, cute, and sweet, mild mannered secretary. Alaric Senior seemed to instantly take a liking to her and had often requested for her to come on into his office and pretend he had forgotten what he was going to ask her. It was all just so he could look at her in her conservative yet tight fitting business attire that was provided thanks to Hugo himself who she was about to meet with. She looked up at the tall building in the heights, the part of town she normally went to to meet with clients and she sighed deeply while checking her cellphone. She was twenty minutes early this time and though most would say she might be a bit too dressed up for the affair, it was a dinner. Obviously, she had to look presentable to her employer. So she was clad in a figure hugging soft coral sleeveless dress that reached just above her knees, some nude colored pumps, matching accessories and then a white little coat that reached her hips and helped outline her figure even more. Her hair was up in a polished yet posh messy up do bun that she taught herself to do and then she had on some natural makeup. She didn't want to overdo anything and she was hoping she was dressed conservative enough yet attention grabbing enough as if she were going on a date with his father.
The concept still bothered her that she had to basically manipulate his father into trusting her. By the looks of it, he already did and by the way his eyes traveled up and down her frame, he wanted more than just to trust her. His mind was always elsewhere but thankfully, she was accustomed to such stares. She had been a stripper after all. Her heels clicked as she walked and she let the doorman lead her into the massive home she couldn't fathom why he would own. Shouldn't he live somewhere more..well, that filled the basic necessities? Her mind set was so hell bent on only spending what was needed, not because of being cheap because she wasn't, but because she was brought up ridiculously dirt poor. He had a private section on the beach, though, where she had a tiny front lawn with a white picket fence and flower gardens she tended every summer and spring. Where he had probably more than enough room and then some to fit the people of Sapphire Bay, she had a two bedroom bungalow with two bedrooms and a bathroom on the second floor, her room in the basement, a cozy kitchen that overlooked the coast, and an adorable little living room. The enclosed porch in the back had been converted into the dining room and overall, she thought her home was like a hershey kiss while his was the factory it was made in.
The doorman left her with yet another butler who took her coat yet again before leading her to wherever it was in this gigantic maze that Mr. Charles was located. She didn't make a fuss over anything. She didn't show how awestruck she was or let it get to her head. Truly, she found it all to be a waste. He lived alone. Unless he wanted to have tons of children, she didn't understand the grandness of the place. Why not get a place where he could walk between the front door and the backdoor in three minutes instead of three hours?
With her coat off, she suddenly felt self conscious about the tattoos she had. Normally, she covered them up thoroughly which wasn't that difficult. The one on her wrist she normally covered with a bracelet, which she did tonight. The one on her ribs, spelling out Freedom (in homage to what America had provided her and her family), was normally covered with clothing as well as the one on her hip and the ones on her arms, the dream catcher (which was something her mother and father strongly believed in and instilled into her) and the diamond (in reference to the nickname of the Ivory Coast being the diamond of Africa) were out in plain sight tonight. Last time, she wore a blazer to cover it up but she had just gotten off of work and had only had time to switch into a dress that didn't look so...well...work related.
Standing in the doorway of the gigantic kitchen, she noted it had taken her a full five minutes of walking with the butler in order to reach him and each room was as extravagant as the next. Still, she saw everything as a museum. It looked so unused and...she didn't even know how to describe it. Vacant? It didn't feel warm and inviting like her own home. It almost felt hollow and hostile. Looking at him in the kitchen, she saw him serving the food and she tried not to look confused at the fact he was cooking his own food. Most would have a chef. Personally, she loved cooking. She could cook anything but her favorite was French food and then food from her country. Again she waited to be addressed before moving from where she stood in the doorway with the butler next to her-as if he were holding his own breathe and waiting for something amazing to happen as well. She didn't have much to report other than Alaric Sr. somewhat acted like a smitten teenager around her and would send her on personal errands all the time. She had even gotten the number to his safe and his bank account and address all just because he liked her so much. He apparently found nothing in her background check and he called her Dollie all the time. Apparently it was his nickname toward her. He had a different one, according to the other women who worked there in her position who were attractive. Surprisingly-not many were. She was the first they'd seen in a good year. The last one tried to file him for sexual harassment and in order to keep it out of the press (it turned out it was a lie), he had given her a settlement. She wasn't sure what he wanted to know from her but she couldn't find much out just yet...What else did he expect?
And once he finally addressed her, she seemed to perk up a bit but it was subtle, "Good evening, sir," she replied in that usual French and African accented voice of her the was like liquid gold.
1113 words
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Post by verdoux on Dec 8, 2011 23:01:46 GMT -5
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 words // 900 // outfit // click // tagged // isla boy with a coin,
T H E N M A K I N G A W I S H , A N D T O S S E D I N T H E S E A Hugo lived alone in a massive two story house that was entirely too long and spacious. Kate had eyed the house shortly after their second year of living in their apartment. She told him it was perfect and it was everything she ever wanted. Hugo wanted nothing but his beloved wife to be happy so he spent all of his savings and took out an entirely massive loan to buy it for her. Now that it was just him in the house, he contemplated moving, but the lingering presence of his wife kept him within the house. He returned to the house with expectations it would still smell like the crisp apple and cinnamon candies Kate burned. His advisors told him and recommended him to therapists, they were afraid that Hugo was mentally unstable because of how often his deceased wife occupied his thoughts. Truthfully, Hugo was worried that he wasn’t right in the head since his wife passed either. He wanted to find help, but in the same since he didn’t want help either. He didn’t want to forget his wife and he was afraid that going to see a therapist would do just that. Therefore, he agreed to go on depression medication to keep him from ending his life prematurely, but it made him focus on how much he wanted to destroy his father.
Since he hired her to be the personal assistant to his father and his own extortionist, Hugo didn’t think of Isla Tazi all that often. He only thought of her and her flaming red hair when he glanced at all the bills she had caused him thus far. She was not, however, as expensive as his late wife. Since Kate’s passing, Hugo had what seemed to be an excess of money that appeared out of nowhere a month after Kate was cremated and spread across the sea like she had wished for in the will she had written. His financial advisors had always stressed that a lot of the time that they were diving towards the negative was because of Kate’s spending, but Hugo always denied it. Truthfully, he thought that it may have been that but he didn’t know how to deny his wife the material objects she desired in life. He had given her everything she dared to even point at. Now that she was gone, there was a lot of money to spread. So much money that he even started a saving’s fun in case he went Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie and adopted a child in need. He was getting desperate to fill the space, but he wasn’t able to bring himself to move.
Hugo was getting impatient, so he decided to invite the call girl he hired to play personal assistant over for dinner. He was making something simple, but he knew it would be edible and that was more of a concern than making something difficult and risking it. The truth was that even though he clearly had this dinner planned in his phone, he was late on starting the meal. He knew that when she finally arrived he would be partially finished if not just barely starting. Cooking was one of the few chores Hugo actually did for himself. Cleaning the house they had always had a maid do, not that Hugo couldn’t do it himself, but because he simply didn’t have time or making time to clean the house. That and his house was simply too large for him to try to accomplish cleaning it. He only occupied four of the rooms at most when he was home and the rest collected dust. That’s why he had the made clean each of the four rooms he occupied daily and her on an alternating day schedule for the other. It was too much for her, even.
Turning to face his guest and his butler, he nodded for the butler to be off on his way as he no longer needed the man in his presence. There was a time where his butler tended to his every whim when Kate had first passed away, but now Hugo forced himself to run on his own without anyone’s help past his professional aspects. There was no more personal care besides his butler and maid, the rest Hugo simply did on his own. That included cooking this woman food, even if he was sure she would turn her little nose up at it as if it was the foulest thing there was.
“Good evening, Isla. Please sit, I haven’t finished cooking. Is there anything you would like to drink? Water, soda, juice, wine?” He tossed out the options, rotating his hand as he did so. Despite their first meeting, Hugo relied heavily on body language when talking. He was entirely more comfortable now that he was in his home even if his home was not a very warm and welcoming place to be. Little did he know, but the thoughts Isla was having when walking through his home, were thoughts similar to his own when he was touring the house and for a few months after he bought it. After it grew on him or he just loved his wife more than enough to look past its excessively grand size. He would end up moving out of here – sooner or later Kate’s presence would leave and he would regrettably move on.
notes // my migraine hurts |
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Post by steph5 on Dec 9, 2011 22:35:25 GMT -5
click for outfit
Her bright blue orbs watched Mr. Charles as he moved around the kitchen once she sat down, her back straight and her thin shoulders back. Her long legs were off to the side, crossed at the ankles which was better etiquette compared to crossing them at the knees which was considered to be an act of seduction. She only crossed her legs for Mr. Charles Sr. She blew a few stray hairs out of her freckled face before answering, "Water is fine, thank you," she wasn't on a diet or trying to seem skinny or weight conscious. She just didn't drink alcohol unless necessary. Plus, wine sounded expensive, juice sounded childish, and soda sounded much too unhealthy and burp inducing. The last thing she needed was to start burping by mistake around him. That would be just strange.
She continued watching him, trying not to compare how similar his movements were to his own father's. She didn't really know their history all that well but what she did know was that the way he spoke with his hands? It was ridiculously similar. She wondered if she had any tendencies from her own parents she inherited in her genes without ever seeing them actually do it? She wasn't sure but it was strange to see how similar the two of them were. They had the same dark hair and everything only his father looked a bit more like Alaric Jr. in the facial construction department. Looking away from him, she wasn't entirely sure what to say and since she decided this was obviously a business related dinner, she figured she would go with something neutral, "Have you always cooked for yourself?" she used a very neutral tone and didn't inquire as to it being something he should be commended for or if he was just showing off for her because she didn't see it either way. It was just surprising, with all the money he had, that he would cook for himself. To her, it seemed obvious he liked living in excess or he wouldn't have such a large house, right? Sure she heard his late wife had picked it out, but he was still the one who bought it.
Despite not wanting to say it out loud or ever really admitting it even to herself, it seemed more and more like his wife was just a gold digger or was trying to relive her youth. It sounded strange to think of such a thing from a person, but if she really did love him then why did she absolutely need to have everything? Yes she'd been sick but if you knew you were dying why buy so many things that you couldn't even take with you? They were materials, inanimate. They couldn't tell you they loved you back. They couldn't wipe your tears when you cried. They couldn't hold your hand while you gave your last breathe. If she'd been Hugo's wife, she knew, for a fact, that she wouldn't have spent money the way she did. Money would be the furthest thing from her mind. She would have spent every waking moment with him that she possibly could and yes, she'd heard about the baby...
And she wouldn't have had the baby either. There are options nowadays. Surrogates, adoption, tons. She didn't have to put herself through all of that. She was such a martyr and it annoyed Isla when she'd looked her up...in Hugo's father's own files. He had a file on his sons and who they married and dated. A whole filing cabinet full and she had made copies and had them stashed in her room in the basement in the locked safe. She wouldn't tell him she made copies, though. She'd keep that to herself until she found something useful in them. He probably already knew his father had files on everyone but Isla was surprised he hadn't had a file on any of the women he had been with. No evidence, maybe?
"It smells delicious," she added after a moment and actually took in the smell though the compliment had been a bit more monotonous than anything. She wasn't used to office work and it was incredibly boring and time consuming. It drained her energy more than spinning on a pole and dancing on a stage for the world to see her fanny.
726 words
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Post by verdoux on Dec 15, 2011 1:52:00 GMT -5
NOT FINISHED. DIDN'T WANT TO LOSE IT ON MY COMPUTER:
He didn’t have many irrational fears, but he knew everyone had them. His irrational fear was one that stemmed from paranoia of being a man of a power. He didn’t let anyone cook for him if he couldn’t see it made. He didn’t eat out often and if he did, he usually didn’t eat the food he ordered. He would order it, rearrange on his plate, and inspect it until his business partner was done eating. He couldn’t do it – he couldn’t trust other people when it came to his food. He had allergies, peanuts being his biggest obstacle when it comes to food. He couldn’t eat pineapples or bananas – and he had drug allergies and also an allergy to latex. They could all kill him if he wasn’t careful so he made sure to be careful at all times. He valued his life highly, because he didn’t feel he accomplished anything worth dying for yet.
When there was enough of a moment to pause, he left his stove to getting her a glass for water. It was something really delicate and expensive-looking, but Hugo tossed it from hand to hand while going to his fridge for ice-cubes and water. He didn’t notice what she was wearing when she first walked in, but when he set down her glass of water he realized that she was dressed nicely, in his opinion. Professionally, he knew she was dressed because this was a business meeting, but Hugo couldn’t stay in his stiff suits in his own home. Even if the home itself was a very stiff place to be for any period of time, he would always dress casually inside it. His castle, his rules – so to speak.
When she inquired that if he always cooked for herself, truthfully he smiled. His self-proficiency was something his mother forced him to learn rather abruptly when his father left them. Despite poisoned food being his irrational fear, he did many of his personal chores for himself. He did his own laundry and dry cleaning, made his own bed, washed his own dishes, and cooked his own food. The other kind of cleaning, such as keeping up with the house to make it presentable for occasions such as this, a maid did. So he nodded before turning to explain. “I wasn’t raised wealthy and spoiled, as it may appear. My mother held a middle-level management position in a business and my father made his own wealthy standing without supporting us. When he left us, my mother made me learn how to take care of myself. I always cook my own food, rarely do I dine out and if I do dine out, I never eat what I order.”
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