and from here they can't see me stare [rhett]

[mozart julius adams]

'TIL OUR SHELLS SIMPLY CANNOT HOLD ALL OF OUR INSIDES AND THAT’S WHEN
we’ll explode & it won’t be a pretty sight

[/b][/i]
AND WE’LL BECOME SILHOUETTES WHEN OUR BODIES FINALLY GO. [/font][/size][/size][/size]
.....[/center][/b]

It was times like these, when he was hunched over his physics textbook trying to ignore the sharp bass beats reverberating just under his rib cage- somewhere in front of his kidneys, he thought, though anatomy had never been his strong suit- that made Moz regret his decision to pick up bartending as a second source of income. He stood behind the bar at Hot Wings, blocking out as many stimuli as he could without losing his job. And boy, was there a lot to block out. Girls in skimpy dresses with iridescent faerie wings strapped to their back, boys in wizarding robes toting wands, people in obnoxiously neon wigs, the scent of perfume and sweat, strobe lights, loud pop music with way too much synthesizer.

He’d certainly made a mistake when he decided that it would be a wise idea to bring his homework along, hoping to squeeze it in between pouring drinks and keeping drunken advances on him at bay, the latter of which seemed to happen more often. Apparently, being an older, relatively attractive male with access to large quantities of alcohol was very desirable to all of the teenage girls who passed through Hot Wings. Should’ve considered that when I applied,

[/color] he thought absently.

Balancing the majority of his weight on a sole elbow, Moz peered down through his glasses at the textbook. Brown eyes scanned over the problem again, a confused crinkle forming in between his eyebrows as the slanted towards each other in concentration. Fingering one of the fake vampire fangs poking at his bottom lip with his free hand, the male started scribbling down what he thought was the formula that could help him solve the velocity of a poor, helpless turtle tumbling down a three hundred meter hill with an incline of thirty-eight degrees.

His sixth “someone needs alcohol in their system, pronto!” sense alerted him to a new patron before his ears heard the soft scrape of the barstool on the tile wooden floorboards. Writing down the last bit of an equation, the brunette looked up, dropping the finger from his tooth and resting his chin in the cup of his palm. “What’ll it be?” he drawled, inspecting the male sitting across the counter from him. He looked far too young to be having anything to drink, except maybe a coke and rum, sans rum. Of course, all of Moz’s clientele looked too young to be legal; they weren’t. Hot Wings didn’t give a shit about legalities, so long as no one sued them for giving alcohol to minors.
[/justify][/size]

.....

tagged : rhettie.
words : four two eight.
lyrics : “we will become silhouettes” by the postal service.
graphics : by Caridee @ caution 2.0, cuz i’m lazy.
outfit : see graphics.

[/blockquote][/blockquote][/size]

[rhett damon halewile]

Many a times, Rhett just wished that his dearest parabatai would conk out and stay in bed. Or, more correctly, Rhett wished he had the guts to knock him out and let him lie there in lazy aggression. He’d woken the dark haired boy up at God knew what hour of the morning (time zones took some getting used to) and dragged him out on some adventure, a.k.a., look for demons scouring the city and beat the bloody hazes out of them. Rhett normally didn’t mind going on said adventures, but every once in awhile, mainly, when they’d literally just gotten off the plane from Tokyo merely hours ago, Rhett liked to take it easy and go with the flow. However, the New York City flow was no joy ride. Even at this hour, people were bustling with activity and car horns were beeping with piercing persistency. There was no way Rhett was going to fall back to sleep now, so he figured he’d might as well tour the city on his own for a little while, since Zell wasn’t exactly the best tour guide.

After long minutes of walking aimlessly, Rhett caught sight of something he was not expecting: a couple of mundane girls walking around with faerie wings strung to their back in broad daylight. The fake wings were sparkling with a lot of glitter and Rhett had to promptly remind himself that it was nowhere close to October. He’d heard of the American version of Halloween and he was kind of looking forward to witnessing it. He followed after the girls and saw them make their way into a mundane diner titled “Hot Wings.” “Well that’s original,” Rhett thought tiredly and at that moment, his stomach growled, cueing him to follow them inside and sit down for awhile.

When he walked in, he was thrown for a loop: the two girls he saw weren’t the only ones in costume, apparently. In one corner, there was a tall fellow dressed as a wizard in a long purple robe while in the other corner was a girl dressed like some sort of cat-demon-thing. Rhett shook his head; he should be used to the sight of costumes, coming from the cosplay capital of Japan and all. Everyone was costume, everyone except for him.

Or so he thought. A group of younger kids made their way over to him and complimented him on a job well done on his “vampire hunter” costume. Quirking an eyebrow, Rhett found he couldn’t argue. He did sort of look like a fictional vampire hunter; though his job was very real. One of the kid’s fathers critiqued him on his weapon of choice and asked to examine it. “Um, it’s made of plastic,” he said awkwardly, for his weapon was made of anything but plastic. The father nodded, while his boy and the other boys groaned disapprovingly and stalked off.

Shaking his head of the scenario, Rhett found an open seat near the bar, which was where he placed himself. The man behind the counter had his head dug into a book of some sort and as Rhett looked at the writing more closely, he saw it was a physics textbook. A college student, he presumed. Poor bastard; Rhett remembered his lessons with physics, however much he actually studied after the whole “how to kill demons 101” classes. The man suddenly looked up and Rhett blinked. He was…pretty cute in that nerdy, artist sort of way. Before he spurted out something unnecessary, Rhett set his jaw into a stubborn line.

“What do you suggest?” he asked him, not at all knowing what was actually sold here. Glancing to a drunken couple in a booth, however, he had a pretty good idea. Hopefully, he wasn’t making it painfully obvious that he wasn’t from around here…

[/blockquote][/blockquote]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Word Count: six four one
Tags: Moz =]
Notes:Sorry for the length haha.
Lyrics:Here in Your Arms by Hellogoodbye
Outfit:Just made of plastic and leather

[/justify][/size][/right]

[mozart julius adams]

'TIL OUR SHELLS SIMPLY CANNOT HOLD ALL OF OUR INSIDES AND THAT’S WHEN
we’ll explode & it won’t be a pretty sight

[/b][/i]
AND WE’LL BECOME SILHOUETTES WHEN OUR BODIES FINALLY GO. [/font][/size][/size][/size]


.....[/center][/b]

Moz smirked, the action showing off the stupid yet realistic fake fangs held against his actual teeth with dental glue. Some poor sap at the dentists’ office must have spent forever fitting the damn things so that they’d mold into his canines just so, almost making it hard to tell that these weren’t his actual teeth. He ran his tongue over the one self-consciously, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the countertop. “What do I suggest?” he asked, rather stupidly. It was a question he faced so infrequently, what with all of the teenagers who floated up to his bar and requested some fancy drink that they’d seen on tv, like a sex on the beach, that he actually had to stop and think about what it was that he’d actually recommend.

“Honestly,”

[/b] he started, unfolding himself to his full height of six foot three aka. too damn tall to be stuffed behind tables and countertops for the majority of his day. “I would suggest that you turn tail and scurry back home. You look like you’re exhausted and in shock at the same time.”[/b] He didn’t say it unkindly, though the brunette had a feeling deep in his gut that his words had just cost him a tip. But the kid did look exhausted, with dark circles stretching below his wide eyes, like he couldn’t help but gander admiringly at everything around him, like this was all so new to him that he hadn’t been able to close his eyes and fall asleep. The dark circles actually made his eyes look lighter, less of a contrast to his fair skin. Moz’s fingers itched for Kennedy, his camera, but his boss had made it very clear that Hot Wings was off limits. No photo-shoots of all the crazy costumes and quirky personalities. At least not while he was on the clock. The male turned, running his fingers through his dark hair as he plucked a glass from under the counter, followed by a couple of bottles.

Twirling the bourbon bottle absently between his fingers like a miniature baton, he scooped up a cocktail shaker and poured in sweet vermouth and angostura before unscrewing the bourbon with his teeth. His bar, his alcohol, his rules. His boss only cared that he kept everyone who passed his way happy, not about sanitation or cleanliness; that was Moz’s thing. He’d sterilize the cap later, he decided, mixing the ingredients into the shaker and setting all of the bottles on the back countertop.

He shook the cocktail, turning back to face the boy on the barstool. He hadn’t had an accent that Mozzie recognized, and with that realization the lightbulb finally went off inside his head. The kid wasn’t from around here; he’d probably just staggered off of the plane within the past couple of days, and hadn’t gotten used to the change in time zones or the monstrosity that was New York. Poor bastard. Snatching the glass from the back counter, he set it in front of the kid, straining the contents of the shaker into the glass. “But since you’re already here, how ‘bout a Manhattan to welcome you to the craziest island in the world?”[/b] he asked, grinning, as he reached under the counter and plucked a couple of Maraschinos from the bowl they hid in. He plopped one into the glass of amber liquid, sliding it across the counter to the boy before popping the other one into his own mouth.
[/justify][/size]

.....

tagged : rhettie.
words : five eight two.
lyrics : “we will become silhouettes” by the postal service.
graphics : by Caridee @ caution 2.0, cuz i’m lazy.
outfit : see graphics.
notes : remember my nine hundred some odd word ashlyn post? your post length is not offensive, so don't apologize.

[/blockquote][/blockquote][/size]

[rhett damon halewile]

Rhett stared absent mindedly at the man’s smirk for no other reason than he happened to see the fake fangs. His expression portrayed one of puzzlement, with his nose crinkling slightly and his eyebrows furrowed. He couldn’t understand why a mundane would wear fake fangs. It was news to him. Then again, looking around, anything was fair play in this joint. Shaking off his momentary surprise, Rhett looked at the man again when he spoke. His question was rather clear, so Rhett didn’t quite know how to respond to the stranger’s remark. He nodded simply.

The bartender was two for two as far as a surprised Rhettie was concerned. Most businesses tried to promote themselves, not send their customers away. Did it matter how Rhett looked? Truth be told, Rhett probably would have returned to the Institute…if he actually knew where it was. With the blazing July heat, he wasn’t quite ready to go out and wander the city, which is why he was stuck here…in the semi-air conditioned freak house. Rhett suddenly wished he had a mirror on him, thinking his exhaustion to cause concern that he did not want. He wondered how bad he looked; he could feel the slight dark circles underneath his eyes, thanks to a noisy, upbeat friend he had. He hadn’t meant to distract the man from his job, which in all honesty, looked like it didn’t pay enough to have him sitting there uncomfortably. “I couldn’t sleep,” Rhett said simply.

The man in front of him looked like he had his fair share of restless nights, too. There weren’t dark circles under his eyes, but he did seem tired, like his mind was everywhere and nowhere at once. He wondered how long the man had been trying to multi-task. Rhett remembered the physics textbook he’d seen the man with earlier and gestured towards it. “You don’t seem too awake, either.” He looked back down at the textbook, thinking his statement to be too blunt. Rhett didn’t have a way with words; he sort of just told it how it was. It was the same reason girls didn’t ask him “does this dress make me look fat?” because if it did, Rhett would be the first to tell them. Not that he was offensive…most of the time; he just thought it impolite to lie to people. As he continued reading the textbook—as his thoughts began to wander—Rhett couldn’t help but stifle a chuckle. What did a falling turtle have to do with anything?

He watched as the other boy prepared a drink. Every movement was flawless, had his own style. It reminded Rhett a lot of fighting, in an odd sort of way. Both needed practice and some discipline. He didn’t know if the bartender took his job that seriously, but it sure seemed like it. Though bartending didn’t take—he assumed—many years to master, it was an art form in itself, which is why easily distracted Rhett found himself watching in a sort of childish wonder. He was interrupted from his watching when the man finished, stating how obvious it had been that Rhett was not from around here. “That obvious, huh?” he mused aloud. And then he saw the man grin again. It reminded him a lot of Zell’s. Not that the two boys looked anything alike, but both seemed pretty confident about themselves, something Rhett had always lacked. “Thank you…?” he said after he’d received his drink. He left his sentence hanging, as the realization hit him that he indeed did not know this man’s name.

He took a small sip of the amber liquid and at first crinkled his nose from the bitterness. He was much more used to salty drinks, like sake. After the third or so sip, his taste buds became accustomed to the Manhattan and he sipped it gingerly. Rhett has never been drunk before and he planned to keep it that way.

[/blockquote][/blockquote]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Word Count: six six three
Tags: Moz =]
Notes:Mm, touche. =] Things are slow at first, huh?
I'm tired of calling Moz "the man", so yeah,
I made Rhett imply for his name haha.
Lyrics:Here in Your Arms by Hellogoodbye
Outfit:Just made of plastic and leather

[/justify][/size][/right]

[mozart julius adams]

'TIL OUR SHELLS SIMPLY CANNOT HOLD ALL OF OUR INSIDES AND THAT’S WHEN
we’ll explode & it won’t be a pretty sight

[/b][/i]
AND WE’LL BECOME SILHOUETTES WHEN OUR BODIES FINALLY GO. [/font][/size][/size][/size]


.....[/center][/b]

“Moz,”

[/b] the brunette replied when prompted for his name. “Thank you, Moz. Or Mozzie. Or anything thereby related.”[/b] He shrugged, suddenly unsure what to say. He hadn’t said this much to any one person at any one setting in… well, let’s just say it had been a while. And because of that he’d started to ramble. Great. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, where they’d been slipping. Probably gravity punishing him for not understanding how it worked, though not being able to do his homework had certainly been punishment enough. “I’d probably respond to ‘hey, you, with the face!’ if the voice sounded familiar enough.”[/b] After all, only a familiar voice would have the strength needed to pull him out of all of the photo shoots he conducted in his head.

And boy oh boy, the bulbs were going off tonight. Lights flashed in his mind as he looked at the boy on the barstool. Moz didn't mean to, really he didn't, but he couldn’t help but gawk. Appreciatively, not in an “is that a second head protruding from your cheek?” type of way. He hoped politely, and not like some sort of creeper who was attempting to get the kid drunk and then steal him away into a dark corner and do dirty things to him. Not that Moz didn’t want to do dirty thing to him; the kid was attractive and- Gah! Stop that train of thought right there, mister! You’re starting to freak yourself out.[/i] Moz shook his head slightly, turning his back so that he could blush in private. He picked up the bottles he’d only just abandoned and started putting them back where they belonged, taking his time and wiping off specks of dust, turning all of the labels to face the same way as he lined them up. Anything to take up time while he forced his traitorous blood to quit boiling the skin on his cheeks and the tips of his ears to an even more traitorous violent red color.

He couldn’t help himself. The kid just had these angles. The way the flashing lights from the dance floor hit his jaw, casting blue and green shadows on his neck, or the way he sat, shoulder blades protruding from his back like broken wings… God, it was driving Moz mad that he didn't have his camera; this kid- wait. Name. He didn't know the kid's name. Switching two green bottles of alcohol so that the lineup flowed from smaller vessles to large, heavy jugs, the male glanced over his shoulder. "Okay, you know my name, but i don't know yours. That seems just a tad unfair, doesn't it?"[/b] Moz hoped he sounded bored; he was aiming for bored. No, actually, no! Not bored. Curious. But not in an “I’m dying to know” way. He leaned back against the bar, shifting to fully face barstool boy. He worried his bottom lip with a fang, praying that he wasn’t coming off as a complete psycho.

Sexy people just had this effect on him, apparently.
[/justify][/size]

.....

tagged : rhettie.
words : five one three.
lyrics : “we will become silhouettes” by the postal service.
graphics : by Caridee @ caution 2.0, cuz i’m lazy.
outfit : see graphics.
notes : yay, creeper moz -fails-

[/blockquote][/blockquote][/size]

[rhett damon halewile]

A light show was prompted by the kids apparently and as Rhett went to see what was happening, as fate would have it, he looked at the wrong time; a single, white strobe light hit his eyes directly and he had to blink a few times before he stopped seeing little red speckles behind his lids. The kids on the dance floor, if it could even be considered a dance floor; it was more like drunken bodies swaying together in between the alleyways of the booths; were clustering now, cheering incoherently. It reminded Rhett that getting wasted was not something on his agenda. If he ever came home like that, Zell would never let him live it down. He’d still be snickering into their thirties.

As his amusement for the mundanes wore off, the bartender—Moz—was introducing himself, rambling, but introducing himself. Rhett smiled slightly; he was pretty cute when he rambled—what was that? Well, thought inner Rhett, he couldn’t exactly deny it. Moz had a pretty face, for a mundie. That was the only problem, the only reason why something wasn’t clicking right. As he continued rambling and as a means to steer away from how cute that rambling was, Rhett did some of his own meaningless rambling inside of his head. Moz? What kind of name was that? He thought hard on it, but could not identify an origin. He concluded that it must be short for something, but found it rude to ask. Sometimes, he did this; thought too hard to end up with nothing. Maybe that was why Zell came up with all the snarky comments, because he didn’t need to think of them. “Thank you, Moz,” he said. At his next statement, Rhett was baffled. Everyone had faces…? “Sounds more offensive than it does a greeting,” he muttered slightly.

The music started getting louder and Rhett’s normally sensitive ears didn’t appreciate the raise in volume from both the DJ and the screaming kids. He turned back to see what was happening and sure enough, two poor wasted fellows were trying to have a dance off, but miserably failing. One of them even tried to spin on his back like a break dancer and Rhett thought idly that he was going to break somethingbecause he crashed into a nearby booth. He turned back to Moz, his intentions being to raise the question on whether or not he, as an employee, should do something about it, but instead he found himself being stared at. Not, that Rhett minded. In fact, he was rather happy Moz was looking at him because it gave him an excuse to stare back. He took in everything: the slightly tousled hair that he probably woke up with, how his glasses fit so perfectly on the bridge of his nose. He started to wonder what he looked like without his glasses on. “Probably much better…,”

[/color] he heard himself think, but realized that he couldn’t actually form an image in his head. Rhett was a bit of an artist, in that he appreciated it and he would take part in it, but as for the whole mind-to-paper thing…well, he needed more practice. His sketches haven’t been too awe-inspiring lately, or ever for that matter. Now, give Rhett a piano and he could really make some magic happen.

Moz must have saw him staring back because a second later he turned around looking a little bit sickly, or so an oblivious Rhett thought; he looked rather red. Well, he was the bartender, had he been drinking? No, Rhett thought, he didn’t look the type, but before he could place a type on him, he asked for his name. Oh, Rhett realized, he hadn’t introduced himself, had he? That was odd, considering Rhett was usually the one who was mannerly. With a slight shake of his head, so he could speak clearly, he said, “Yes, very. I apologize. My name is Rhett and I’m sorry to say that hardly any nicknames come with that.” Moz had given him options to name himself, Rhett could not do the same. He offered a small smile.

[/size][/blockquote][/blockquote]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Word Count: six nine three
Tags: Moz =]
Notes:Not a fail. Oddly, Moz is cute as a creeper.
Lyrics:Here in Your Arms by Hellogoodbye
Outfit:Just made of plastic and leather

[/justify][/size][/right]

[mozart julius adams]

'TIL OUR SHELLS SIMPLY CANNOT HOLD ALL OF OUR INSIDES AND THAT’S WHEN
we’ll explode & it won’t be a pretty sight

[/b][/i]
AND WE’LL BECOME SILHOUETTES WHEN OUR BODIES FINALLY GO. [/font][/size][/size][/size]


.....[/center][/b]

Rhett, hmm? Now that he knew the kid’s name, Moz concluded that Rhett actually did look sort-of like a Rhett. Not that Moz knew many Rhetts, or even what a Rhett was supposed to look like. But, he decided, if all Rhetts had those angles and those big, soft-looking lips and those dark eyes and that model-esque potential, than he needed to find himself some Rhetts just so he could build a portfolio around them. Stop thinking about half naked male models. It’s not good for you.

[/color] he scolded himself, tsking his mind for going straight into the artistic gutter, diving into poses and lighting and body paint and glitter and wardrobe, or lack thereof.

To drag his mind away from that dangerous, twisting turning path of full thought consumption, the brunette mulled over Rhett’s name. He wondered what it meant, because names had meanings and everything. Did his parents think about the meaning of their son’s name, hoping it would define who he became, or did they just plaster it on their small, presumably pudgy and adorable baby because he looked like a Rhett to them? Or maybe because they liked the name? Did he have siblings? If so, what were their names? Did they share his dark features and enchanting angles? If not, did he want any siblings?

What was that about avoiding full thought consumption? He sighed mentally, frowning at himself for being so easily distracted. “Rhett,”[/b] he said slowly, testing the way it felt in his mouth. The single syllable tasted sweet on his tongue as it clicked against his front teeth, like a yummy dessert at a fancy restaurant that had left him with sugar on his tongue and yearning for more in his belly. God, he was so weird. He’d known the other boy for all of three minutes and was already thinking about saying his name again and again and again just because his name flowed over his tongue and past his lips like it was made of only the good letters in the alphabet. “Please tell me that your last name isn’t Butler,”[/b] Moz said at last. “Your parents frankly didn’t give a damn about you if they named you Rhett Butler.”[/b]

Moz turned his gaze back to Rhett, having let it wander off to stare absently at a girl with a halo of silver blonde hair- a wig, he assumed- and iridescent green faerie wings that looked like they were actually fluttering if he stopped concentrating too hard. His thoughts were instantly sent flying, like billiards balls after they’ve been broken from their cluster, scattering every which way, colliding and bouncing off of each other and never quite rearranging themselves, because Rhett was smiling. It wasn’t a big, toothy grin like he was used to, but a shy sort of thing, like he was embarrassed or something. Dammit, it was cute. Fucking adorable. Actually, everything about the kid was fucking adorable, and at the same time unbelievably sexy. Or it had the potential to be unbelievably sexy, if Rhett would just own what he had. Mozzie finally let his chocolate eyes drift and notice what Rhett was wearing- head to toe black, leather and denim, very model-y. Also very vampire hunter-y. “What a coincidence,”[/b] he noted, peeling his lips back in a full on smile of his own. “We’ve got a slayer and a vampire. It’s precious, isn’t it?”[/b]

God dammit, now he wanted to glue the fangs onto Rhett’s teeth and smother him in eyeliner and dark makeup for a vampire themed shoot.
[/justify][/size]

.....

tagged : rhettie.
words : five nine six, with sixteen ‘rhett’s.
lyrics : “we will become silhouettes” by the postal service.
graphics : by Caridee @ caution 2.0, cuz i’m lazy.
outfit : see graphics.
notes : this post brought to you by my awesome playlist.

[/blockquote][/blockquote][/size]

[rhett damon halewile]

“Rhett.” He froze, the very phonetics his name bringing him back from his thoughts. No, that wasn’t right; it was the way he said his name, the way Moz did. The way it rolled off his tongue, the way he said it so slowly and surely. Of course, his fighting partner had said his name plenty of times—more times than Rhett could ever remember—but never the way Moz just said it. Though, wasn’t that to be expected? And if it was to be expected, why did Rhett suddenly feel a chill run down his spine? He looked at his hands, which were on the counter. He watched as they became slightly tremulous. Was he nervous? About what? Quick, something to distract him. Rhett placed his hands in his lap, out of sight, and looked around for what must have been the fifth time in about three minutes. He couldn’t help it. He’d never been here before, everything changed every five seconds, and it was sure way of avoiding Moz’s stares. Avoiding those chocolate eyes. He felt himself relax and turned his gaze back to Moz in time to hear him say something about a certain fellow.

“Who the hell is Rhett Butler?”

[/color] was his first immediate thought. No, his surname was not “Butler”, because one, if it was, Zell would be all over it and two, because…well, because it wasn’t. He wasn’t sure any Shadowhunter had the last name of “Butler”; Rhett thought it was implied that they were a breed of servants. For all that they were the Nephilim would die servants. Mortal servants, as if being a servant wasn’t enough. Rhett never minded, in fact he hardly thought about it. He was faithful boy and he was perfectly happy with the idea of one day finally resting and taking a break from nearly dying every day. But, he shouldn’t be thinking about death now, not in the presence of Moz. Not only was it rude, but Rhett didn’t feel like falling into a state of quietude right now. Which was odd, considering that Rhett was always the quiet one. “I’m sorry, who?” he decided to ask, quite bluntly. It wasn’t like everyone knew who this Rhett Butler was, right?

Rhett stiffened at the mention of his parents not giving a damn about him. Normally, he’d let it go, but the hard truth was they hadn’t at all cared about him. They’d left him for dead, for all he knew. Rhett casted his gaze downwards, his eyes examining the hands in his lap that he was fiddling together like there was some string in between them. He didn’t look up, he couldn’t look up. He always did feel on edge whenever his parents were mentioned and as the strobe lights passed over them, he was only thankful for the long shadows his eyelashes provided over his cheeks. He took a deep breath and clasped his hands together to stop them from fidgeting. “Actually,” he said slowly, his voice very forcefully even, “I didn’t know my parents, so I guess they really didn’t give a damn about me. My name was given to me by someone else.”[/b] He didn’t know why he added that bit in, but Rhett thought it needed to be established. He looked up briefly to notice Moz’s stare and suddenly felt like hiding in his dark room and slamming the door shut. He didn’t like it when people looked at him piteously, especially Moz. It didn’t suit him. Rhett shook his head, shook off his previous emotions as if he hadn’t said a word. “Never mind, my last name isn't 'Butler',”[/b] he said and took another sip of his Manhattan. Why did he clarify that?

To his remark about a vampire slayer and a fake vampire being together, Rhett chuckled and let his finger trace along the edges of the glass. “You’ve no idea…,”[/b] he said reminiscently. It’s been awhile since he hunted a vampire. The ones back in Tokyo were actually on good terms with Nephilim. It was the wolves they had to worry about.


[/size][/blockquote][/blockquote]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Word Count: six eight two
Tags: Moz =]
Notes:Yeah, I took your style of bold dialogue.
It's so much neater. Haha. ;P
Lyrics:Here in Your Arms by Hellogoodbye
Outfit:Just made of plastic and leather

[/justify][/size][/right]

[mozart julius adams]

'TIL OUR SHELLS SIMPLY CANNOT HOLD ALL OF OUR INSIDES AND THAT’S WHEN
we’ll explode & it won’t be a pretty sight

[/b][/i]
AND WE’LL BECOME SILHOUETTES WHEN OUR BODIES FINALLY GO. [/font][/size][/size][/size]


.....[/center][/b]

“Rhett Butler. He’s a fictional character, the bad boy if you will, of Gone With the Wind. He spends his entire life pining after this girl, Scarlet, and she never really loves him back the way he wants her to. Sure, she marries him, but she never really loves him. So he dumps her, and only after she doesn’t have him anymore does she realize that she loved him all along.”

[/b] Mozzie answered when the real life, completely nonfictional Rhett sitting before him asked, rather bluntly, who he was. Moz seemed a little surprised that he didn’t know, but then again, Rhett wasn’t from around here. Maybe he hadn’t been forced to read it for summer reading in high school. Lucky duck. What was even more surprising was the fact that Rhett was fidgeting. As a professional sufferer of fidgets, the brunette noticed when the younger boy shifted his shaky- yes, he’d seen the shivers quaking through his palms- hands into his lap, and that he kept glancing around the interior of Hot Wings.

Since he was perceptive enough to notice the squirming, of course Moz noticed when Rhett stiffened. He leaned closer across the counter, opening his mouth to ask if everything was okay, but Rhett beat him to the punch. Oh. Oh. “Oh God,”[/b] Moz sighed. He wished a) that he had Kennedy, because the strobe lights were casting such gorgeous shadows of Rhett’s long eyelashes across the boy’s angular cheeks, and b) that Rhett had left his hands on the counter, so that he could, well, he wasn’t quite sure. He had the urge to take the other boy’s hand in his own and squeeze it, because he didn’t trust his words to convey how sorry he felt. Besides, saying sorry usually didn’t help in these types of situations. So Moz bit the inside of his cheek to keep the words from sputtering out, gushing over the boy like acid and making everything worse. He’d already fucked up by bringing up a sore subject.

Gulping down apologies and soothing words, the brunette ran his fingers through his hair, tugging at his scalp just because it was something to do. It kept his hands busy, and away from Rhett. He shouldn’t feel the need to hold someone he’d met ten minutes ago. It was too spontaneous for thoughtful, gentlemanly him. “Well,”[/b] he started slowly, testing the waters. He watched Rhett through his eyelashes, biting at his bottom lip as he measured Rhett’s reaction. “What is your last name, then, Mr. Rhett Not-Butler?”[/b] It seemed like a safe enough subject, right?
[/justify][/size]

.....

tagged : rhettie.
words : four three three.
lyrics : “we will become silhouettes” by the postal service.
graphics : by Caridee @ caution 2.0, cuz i’m lazy.
outfit : see graphics.

[/blockquote][/blockquote][/size]

[rhett damon halewile]

As Moz tried to explain who Rhett Butler was, Rhett Halewile just shook his head, signaling that no matter how well he explained the plot or the characters, he still had no idea who he was talking about. He did, however, take a mental note of the title of the work. He’d have to see if it was a movie and if it was, maybe he’d rent it; you know, when he has time away from slitting demonic throats. Speaking of which, his urumi’s hilt was starting to poke into his rib cage, so he took it off altogether and placed it near his barstool, right in reach. He doubted he’d need it at this sort of place, but a mundane shouldn’t be getting their hands on his blade because first off, no one and absolutely no one touches Rhett’s blade, not even Zell, and two, they’ve probably drunk so much that they’ll cut their hands off, or worse, each other’s hands off. Rhett didn’t need that responsibility on his shoulders; he already had enough responsibility to take with his parabatai running around without him. God knows what sort of mischief he’s gotten himself into since this morning. “Sounds like the plot of just about every other love story,”

[/b] he said absent mindedly.

It stung to see Moz’s reaction to Rhett’s response, it honestly did. He didn’t mean to make him feel bad and he didn’t like to see his perplexed face. It took away from its normal glow. The strobe lights were fading by the time Rhett noticed this and the darkness only added to his perplexity. As he leaned in closer, Rhett just watched him. What was he supposed to do? He had to admit, he rather liked Moz’s closeness. It made him feel comfortable talking about the subject, made him feel like nothing he was saying was wrong. He finished his Manhattan, realizing this worried him, for he didn’t actually plan to finish it, and set his hands back on the counter. They’d stopped their shaking, since he was no longer feeling nervous, and he let them sit there. He shrugged slightly, let his fingers raise and fall on the counter in one, thoughtful tap. “It’s nothing. Forget I said anything. So how about you? Moz, is it short for anything?” he asked, his curiosity flooding out at the right moment.

Moz tugged at his hair and Rhett was pleasantly reminded of all the times he felt like ripping his hair out thanks to his hectic life. He tried to imagine Moz with no hair and then furrowed his brow. He didn’t like the image he saw. “Well,” Moz said slowly, which made Rhett think he was testing his mood. He wouldn’t disappoint him, he didn’t want to disappoint him, so he looked up with a look of pure curiosity, urging him to continue. Thankfully, he did, and Rhett was a little surprised at what he asked. He wanted to know his surname now? After only ten minutes, if that? What, was he going to take down his number at the half hour mark? Rhett paused his train of thought, because it wasn’t like he’d mind that. “Stop it. You can’t think that way, he’s—” A mundane[/i] He knew it, but why was he still thinking things like this? Well, okay, Rhett wasn’t an idiot. He knew why he was thinking about giving Moz his number, but what was the point when mundanes and Nephilim weren’t even allowed to…He officially stopped that thought right then and there.

“Halewile. My name is Rhett Halewile,”[/b] Boy, was he dense. Either that, or he was way too honest. What kind of last name was Halewile anyway? The next question would be “oh, where do you come from?” “I was probably born in a place called Idris, it’s a land between Germany and France, but you wouldn’t be able to see it because there are demon towers that hide it and I say probably because I was left in France, but all demon hunters—that’s what I am, this isn’t a costume—come from there.” Yeah, that sounded real believable. Rhett also pushed that stream of conscious aside. If he asked, the answer was England, which was partially true, since Justinian was British…
[/size][/blockquote][/blockquote]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Word Count: seven seventeen
Tags: Moz =]
Notes:Again and again, I say sorry for the length haha.
I just kept writing and it was all good, so I didn't
want to take any of it out!
Lyrics:Here in Your Arms by Hellogoodbye
Outfit:Just made of plastic and leather

[/justify][/size][/right]

[mozart julius adams]

'TIL OUR SHELLS SIMPLY CANNOT HOLD ALL OF OUR INSIDES AND THAT’S WHEN
we’ll explode & it won’t be a pretty sight

[/b][/i]
AND WE’LL BECOME SILHOUETTES WHEN OUR BODIES FINALLY GO. [/font][/size][/size][/size]


.....[/center][/b]

He laughed, honest to goodness laughed, when dear little Rhett announced that Gone With the Wind sounded like the plot of every other love story. “I think,”

[/b] he said, stifling a chuckle and shaking his head. “That you forget that in Romeo and Juliet, the world’s most acclaimed love story ever, everyone dies. Divorce and death are not quite the same thing, honey. And they certainly aren’t the happily-ever-afters that everyone always imagines when they think of a love story.”[/b]

Moz was caught off guard when Rhett leaned in closer; his heart actually forgot to beat for a second there, and the male fought the instinctive urge to pull away slightly and maintain his personal space. If that surprised him, he was downright dumbfounded when the other boy let the subject drop like a feather rather than the bowling ball it should have been. Huh. He wasn’t expecting that, not after the way Rhett had tensed up at the mention of his orphaned past in the first place. “So how about you? Moz, is it short for anything?” The bartender visibly grimaced, his previous smile drooping slightly at the corners as he reached across the counter to dip his finger into the shot glass that Rhett had drained of its contents. “Mozart,”[/b] he finally sighed, scowling at the name as it left his mouth. He’d Googled his name once, curious as to what it meant, but it was so damn old that no one even remembered. His father the historian probably liked the idea of having a son with a prehistoric name with a forgotten meaning, even though it was his mother who’d picked the name out. His middle name, Julius, had been his father’s contribution. “My name is Mozart, but I’m sure you can understand why I prefer Moz.”[/b]

He pulled the shot glass towards himself, tracing the rim with the pad of his index finger. He watched his own actions as Rhett spoke, informing Moz that his name was Rhett Halewile after a brief second of hesitation. God, he was being ridiculous. Last names was not an appropriate topic of discussion with someone you’d met ten minutes ago in a bar. Weather. Sports. Girls. Those were appropriate conversation points for this stage in a blossoming relationship. Ah, fuck. This wasn’t a blossoming relationship. This was an encounter, one that probably wouldn’t amount to anything. And even if it did, why was Mozzie assuming- anticipating, expecting, hoping- that it would turn into something romantic? Last time he checked, the majority of males preferred to get romantic with soft, subtle, curvy females. Even the majority of males in New York, where a lot of people didn’t really seem to have a gender. The brunette narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, glancing up from the shot glass to inspect Rhett. What he was expecting to see, he wasn’t quite sure. Maybe writing would have magically scrawled itself out across the pale skin of the boy’s forehead, announcing his sexual preference to anyone who happened to look long enough to notice it.

“Rhett Halewile.”[/b] Mozzie said finally, again testing the way the syllables mashed in his mouth. He liked the way it felt to say the boy’s name; he liked the lingering taste it left on his tongue. “It suits you,”[/b] he admitted finally. He didn’t pry farther, feeling he’d already inquired a bit too much about the practical stranger. He picked the shot glass up and stood up, evacuating the cozy little nest of privacy he and Rhett had formed in the middle of all the hubbub roaring around them. Moz took his curiosity with him, his sudden urge to ask Rhett every single question he could possibly think of, both to hear him speak and to get to know everything about him. Setting the glass lightly in the sink, the brunette pulled his glasses off to rub at his eyelids with his knuckles. It was taking a lot of effort to keep his tongue in check around Rhett, because not only did it want to keep talk talk talking, it also wanted to pry the other boy’s lips open and press against his tongue, and run over his teeth, and… Moz frowned, squinting opened his eyes to look at Rhett from the safe distance that the void behind the counter provided. What are you doing to me?[/i] he wondered.
[/justify][/size]

.....

tagged : rhettie.
words : seven two seven.
lyrics : “we will become silhouettes” by the postal service.
graphics : by Caridee @ caution 2.0, cuz i’m lazy.
outfit : see graphics.
notes : i do believe that this test thread is green for go. ;)

[/blockquote][/blockquote][/size]

[rhett damon halewile]

Rhett was taken aback when Moz began to laugh; taken aback in that good way, in the way where he had to stop and listen to every little breath he took because every little thing about his laugh was wonderful to hear. He wondered how much Moz actually laughed. He seemed more down to earth like Rhett was, but he also seemed uncomfortable in his own skin. Rhett didn’t like that and he knew why, he wasn’t about to deny it this late in the game. He knew he wanted to tell him that he was beautiful in every way. His smile, his laugh, his eyes, his everything, and if he could magically conjure up the skill to sketch him, he would. After he’d finished chuckling, Rhett was even left smiling. God, he was contagious. “Let me rephrase that. Most modern love stories have the same plot,” he said, “and ‘honey’? I didn’t realize we were coming up with pet names yet, dear.” he said jokingly. But then he realized what he’d said exactly. Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit. Quick, fix it, fix it! “Sorry, bad joke. I tend to do that a lot.”

[/b] He did do that a lot didn’t he? Admittedly, Rhett could not argue with what he’d just said. In fact, he was rather terrible at joke telling. Sarcasm and bluntness were his forte.

Moz seemed just as surprised about the closeness then Rhett did and in order to make the man feel more comfortable at his own bar, Rhett leaned away slightly. He didn’t like that he leaned away, but he did. The warmness disappeared as did Rhett’s confidence. When he looked back at Moz, his lips were changing from smile to slight frown and Rhett regretted ever asking. Did he not like his name? Though he should feel like crap for asking, Rhett couldn’t take his eyes off of his lips. That’s right, his lips. Pathetic? Probably, but they seemed so soft and kissable and—he shook his head slightly. This man was driving him insane, so much so that he wished his glass wasn’t empty so that he could be distracted with something. Realizing that his glass was empty only made Rhett remember how much he’d drank in one sitting and, well, Rhett didn’t hold liquor very well. He blinked a couple of times, which seemed to take care of the fuzziness, but was it just him, or was it cold suddenly? He didn’t think he was drunk yet—he’d only had one glass—but the Manhattan definitely wasn’t sitting with his stomach. “Mozart,” said Moz. Mozart? His name was…well that was just fine and dandy with Rhett. “Mozart…that’s a good name. You’re named after a very wonderful man—I mean pianist. His music is fun to play.”[/b] Oh shit, now he was talking like he knew the man, which he did in that freaky way that musicians knew the composers they played, but still…he didn’t expect Moz to understand that and frankly, at this moment in time, he didn’t want him to.

“Thanks, was all he could think to say when Mozart—he meant Moz—commented on his full name. If he thought that was odd, wait until he heard his middle name of Damon. Rhett Damon Halewile. Very odd. It didn’t even spell anything as an acronym. RDH. Nothing. Well, that wasn’t true, it was the name of a magazine and holy crap he must at least be having a buzz to be thinking of shit like this. At least he didn’t imply for where he came from. Good, Idris could remain off topic. Rhett looked up and took a good look at Moz. He started to wonder if he was a sighted mundane. Some mundanes were born lucky that way, but there was no indication physically if he was or not and it wasn’t like Rhett was going to ask “see any fey recently? You know tall, usually pretty things that if you look too closely are actually quite ugly?”

His staring must have made Moz feel uncomfortable (damn it!) because he ducked behind the counter to a place where Rhett couldn’t see him. Before he did so, he took off his glasses and Rhett caught a glimpse of what he looked like without the frames on. The sight caused to feel the warmness creep up into his cheeks and Rhett was thanking the good one above that the man wasn’t around to see it. He pushed it back by staring at his hands, which he’d laced together in front of him. Strange, he didn’t remember doing so.

[/size][/blockquote][/blockquote]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Word Count: seven seventy
Tags: Moz =]
Notes:Oh most definitely xD
Poor Rhett. He really is terrible at holding liquor.
I almost feel bad for making him feel ill hahaa.
Lyrics:Here in Your Arms by Hellogoodbye
Outfit:Just made of plastic and leather

[/justify][/size][/right]

[mozart julius adams]

'TIL OUR SHELLS SIMPLY CANNOT HOLD ALL OF OUR INSIDES AND THAT’S WHEN
we’ll explode & it won’t be a pretty sight

[/b][/i]
AND WE’LL BECOME SILHOUETTES WHEN OUR BODIES FINALLY GO. [/font][/size][/size][/size]


.....[/center][/b]

Rhett was smiling again, unintentionally and unknowingly lighting up the entire room. When he smiled, he put the strobe lights to shame. Hell, he made the sun feel a little bit self-conscious. Moz felt deliriously and ridiculously proud for bringing out the boy’s smile out of hiding, like he’d just freed a wrongly jailed prisoner of something else equally monumental and heroic. “‘Honey’? I didn’t realize we were coming up with pet names yet, dear.” Now the brunette smiled, though in all honesty his was leaning more towards the smirk side of the spectrum, crooked and lopsided and not as innocent as Rhett’s. He chuckled at Rhett’s suddenly panicked expression when it dawned on the boy exactly what he’d just said, and he apologized for his words with the excuse that he tended to make bad jokes a lot. The bartender waved him off, still grinning. “Pet names are big around here, handsome. You get used to it. And yet?”

[/b] he asked, latching onto the small, three lettered catch in Rhett’s tease. “Are you implying that someday you’d like to give me a pet name, Rhett? Hmm?”[/b] He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, trying to disguise just how interested he was to hear the younger brunette’s response.

Being the perceptive guy that he was, Moz caught Rhett staring at his lips. Whether unintentionally or unashamedly, he couldn’t tell. But the fact that he was staring made Moz’s heart flutter around in his chest, bumping against his lungs and causing his breath to catch in his throat. Maybe… maybe he’d stumbled upon one of the handful of males in Manhattan who wouldn’t mind getting hot and heavy with another guy. Not that Moz… no, wait. He would be lying to himself if he tried to believe that he didn’t want to get close and extremely personal with Rhett. He just didn’t want to get there yet; they didn’t know each other well enough and or weren’t drunk enough to consider anything even remotely intimate happening tonight. Or tomorrow. Or anytime in the foreseeable future. New York was a big place, and for all Moz knew, this could be the one and only time he ever saw sexy, shy Rhett. But for some reason that thought saddened him, so he forcibly pushed it out of his mind.

“He’s fun to listen to, too. My mom used to play one Mozart symphony or another after she’d tuck me into bed.”[/b] The brunette admitted, a little sheepishly. He’d never bothered to tell anyone that he’d fallen asleep to his mom playing piano concertos written by his namesake until he was ten, because he’d never really considered that anyone would care. But he felt like maybe Rhett would. Someone cleared their throat at the other end of the bar, and Moz suddenly remembered that he actually had a job to do. He shot Rhett and apologetic smile, holding up a finger in the universal sign for ‘be back in a minute.’ He sauntered over to the customers impatiently waiting for their alcohol, apologizing for the delay, taking orders and mixing the drinks in record time. He had other things that he wanted to be doing that socializing with a couple of college aged girls with their boobs practically hanging out of their mini dresses, which actually looked more like long shirts with the way they barely skimmed the sluts’ thighs.

He returned to find Rhett with his fingers laced together, staring down at his fingers and looking a little pale. Even when he looked a little green around the gills, Rhett was still gorgeous. “God, I wish I had my camera.”[/b] Wait, hold up. Did he just say that outloud? Fuck fuck fuck fuck. Moz felt the blood drain from his face, only to slowly circulate into the tips of his ears in the form of a quick spreading wildfire of a blush. Where was the universal rewind button when he needed it? The male swallowed down all of the words that bubbled up to the tip of his tongue, having enough sense to realize that babbling and trying to explain away his slip up would probably only put him in an even more precarious predicament. So he changed the topic. “Do you feel okay? You don’t look so hot.”[/b] That was a lie; Rhett looked very, very hot. He just didn’t look like he was feeling well.
[/justify][/size]

.....

tagged : rhettie.
words : seven three two.
lyrics : “we will become silhouettes” by the postal service.
graphics : by Caridee @ caution 2.0, cuz i’m lazy.
outfit : see graphics.

[/blockquote][/blockquote][/size]

[rhett damon halewile]

“Well, fuck,”

[/color] Rhett thought when Moz asked. In all honesty, yes, yes he did indeed want to bestow upon the man a pet name that he, and only he would call him by. He wanted to claim it and him as his own. Selfish? Eh, maybe, but Rhett was Rhett and he knew what he wanted when he wanted it. A small blush made its way onto Rhett’s cheeks and his pale coloration was probably not helping him at the moment. Stupid DJ, dim the lights already. Anything to get his flushing out of sight, but for all he tried, it was too late. He blinked, honestly not at all knowing what to say in a situation like this. Whereas he was normally very blunt and truthful, Rhett didn’t want to scare the poor fellow away. The best course of action? WWZD: What would Zell do? He’d saunter and be all confident and arrogant. Rhett couldn’t pull off being arrogant, but he could sure as hell muster up some confidence. “I guess,”[/b] he answered, watching for Moz’s expression, “and if they’re so popular, then why not?”[/b] Pat yourself on the back, Rhett, you did well.

Rhett listened as he told how his mother used to play for the piano for him. It was the same for Rhett, minus one mother and add in one big-brother figure. Justinian used to play the piano all the time, which now that he thought about it, was why Rhett wanted to pick up the piano. They’d have all these lessons together, learning and expression, messing up and goofing off, succeeding and boasting. They were wonderful memories. Memories he’d keep forever. “That must have been nice,”[/b] he said compassionately. “I used to play lullabies for a younger friend, but I don’t think she ever stayed up long enough to hear the song through.” [/b] No, she didn’t, but Rhett used to see the little smile on her sleeping face and that was enough for him. Then he’d call Amelia and she would tuck the two of them into bed. Since his mother played the piano, Rhett wondered if Moz did, but before he could ask, a couple of slutty looking girls cleared their throats and demanded drinks. Rhett turned back to Moz, who’d given the “one minute” finger and left. He watched as he served the girls with a sauntering disposition and expert movements. His smile began to fade; oh, so he socialized with all his customers like this? Well that wasn’t very good on Rhett’s self consciousness.

“God, I wish I had my camera.” Rhett’s head snapped up. When did he…? And why did he want his camera? And more importantly, why was he blushing? This certainly threw Rhett for a loop. Was he missing something? Had he been giving signs? “…So he’s gay? Or at least bi?” asked that hopeful little voice inside Rhett’s subconscious. He tried to read Moz’s expression, but found that he couldn’t; damn he was good. Not knowing what quite to say, Rhett obliviously asked, “Oh…why?”[/b] He couldn’t possibly mean to take pictures of this club, did he? Sure, the strobe lights were kind of cool, but nothing completely fascinating.

Neither was he, really, so there wasn’t much to take pictures of. Sure, he had long lashes and dark eyes, but that’s about all Rhett saw going for him. He didn’t find himself unattractive but—why was he thinking about this again? Oh, right, because Moz stated he wanted his camera. Well, all Rhett had on him was twenty bucks and his sword. No cameras for this tourist. He’d left that in his bags back at the Institute and it was probably low on battery power. Speaking of low on energy…oh, so he was that noticeable. That wasn’t good. Zell would be all over him if he went home looking “not so hot.” “I’m fine,”[/b] he said –subconsciously just being stubborn—and offered a small smile. He held out his empty glass to Moz. “Refill?”

[/size][/blockquote][/blockquote]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Word Count: six seven three
Tags: Moz =]
Notes:Lovin' where drunk Rhett is going ;]
Lyrics:Here in Your Arms by Hellogoodbye
Outfit:Just made of plastic and leather

[/justify][/size][/right]

[mozart julius adams]

'TIL OUR SHELLS SIMPLY CANNOT HOLD ALL OF OUR INSIDES AND THAT’S WHEN
we’ll explode & it won’t be a pretty sight

[/b][/i]
AND WE’LL BECOME SILHOUETTES WHEN OUR BODIES FINALLY GO. [/font][/size][/size][/size]


.....[/center][/b]

Aw, Rhett was blushing. Moz pretended not to notice, because he had a feeling that if Rhett knew that he noticed, the poor little guy would have been so embarrassed that his head would redden so thoroughly that it would just turn into a cherry attached to the rest of his body. But honestly, aw! It was so adorable, he just wanted to… Well, he didn’t know what he wanted to do, exactly. Pinch his cheeks? Take picture upon picture upon picture? Cuddle and reassure Rhett that there was absolutely nothing to be embarrassed by? The bartender wasn’t sure, exactly, but the flush spreading across Rhett’s pale cheeks was undeniably adorable none the less. “Yes, why not?”

[/b] Moz agreed, his lips twitching up into a grin. He hoped that he was giving off the right type of vibe, one that was both encouraging but not too strong, just in case Rhett wasn’t interested in him the way Moz thought that he might be. They were flirting, weren’t they? Rhett surely wouldn’t flirt back if he had no interest in him?

After serving his other customers, the brunette found Rhett looking somewhat displeased. Why did he looked displeased, Moz wanted to know. Was it something he’d done? If it was, then he wanted to kick himself, because he didn’t want to be the reason Rhett looked unhappy. If he was being perfectly honest with himself, he didn’t want to see Rhett looking unhappy, period. Not because of him, not because of anything.

“Oh… why?” The male blinked, nestling his chin in his palm as he leaned forward across the countertop, closer to Rhett. He tried not to gawk at the boy. How could he not understand why Moz wanted his camera? Couldn’t he see the light bulbs flashing behind Moz’s eyes every time their gazes happened to meet? “You really have no idea how gorgeous you are, do you?”[/b] he mused aloud, speaking softly under the din of the surrounding club. Because that’s how it felt; it felt like they weren’t in the club, thrown together by chance. It felt like it was them, together, with the club bubbling on around them while they stayed rooted in their own little world. No one else could possibly disturb them. No one, that is, except Olivia. The sudden tap on his shoulder ripped Moz away from Rhett, only briefly, as he turned his head. Not because he was entirely furious about being torn away from Rhett, but more because it occurred to him that he was behind the bar, and no one else was supposed to be there, and he was curious as to who was standing behind him and why.

Olivia pointed at him and then jutted her thumb over her shoulder. “You. Outta here.” Moz blinked at her, absently taking Rhett’s glass when the boy asked for a refill. He checked his watch, surprised to find that his shift was over. It was that late already? He waved Olivia off when she tried to forcibly shoo him from behind the bar, and he took his time to make Rhett’s Manhattan simply because he knew it pissed her off. Scooping up his abandoned physics book and the backpack that he’d stowed in the abyss underneath the countertop when he was good and ready to, he pressed the glass into Rhett’s hand before jumping up onto the bar- again, to piss Olivia off- and then hopping off onto the ground. He grinned at Rhett, suddenly finding himself standing beside the boy, and grabbed his wrist to pull him off of his barstool and into one of the booths off to the side, set up for the few souls who actually ordered food from Hot Wings. “She eavesdrops,”[/b] Mozzie explained simply, shrugging as he slid into the booth, letting go of Rhett’s wrist before he could dwell too long on the fact that the boy was scrawny. And warm. And soft.

Instead, he tugged at the fake fangs that management required him to wear- well, they required him to wear a costume, but Mozzie didn’t do costumes, so they settled halfway with the fangs. He was trying to yank them off, but the glue did not want to give today. With a sigh, he ran his tongue over his teeth, poking at his currently too long, too pointy, too sharp canines. He looked at Rhett, smiling apologetically, though what he was apologizing for, he couldn’t say. For Olivia’s interruption, he decided. She was his co-worker, so if anyone was going to apologize for her, it may as well be him. “Where were we?”[/b] he asked. “Oh, right, you don’t realize how ridiculously stunning you are.”[/b]
[/justify][/size]

.....

tagged : rhettie.
words : seven eight one.
lyrics : “we will become silhouettes” by the postal service.
graphics : by Caridee @ caution 2.0, cuz i’m lazy.
outfit : see graphics.
notes : kinda left rhett standing by the booth. please, feel free to either have him sit across from moz or squeeze in beside him. just throwing the option out there.

[/blockquote][/blockquote][/size]