|Martin Freeman sketch|
Well That HappenedCambria sat in her bed, typing away on her computer. Her stomach rumbled again, and she sighed. She checked her clock, it was a little past two. She had been writing for 4 hours now, and she suddenly felt a strong need to get up and move around. She stood and stretched, and rubbed her belly. She hadn’t eaten since around 7, so she shuffled into the kitchen in her quaint one-bedroom apartment. When she opened the refrigerator, all she could find was beer and a few apples.Well That Happened by OminousDemure
“Dammit, I need to go grocery shopping tomorrow.. today? Whatever,” she mumbled. The apples didn’t look too appealing and her stomach growled again. She grumbled and grabbed her jacket and keys from their hooks. She figured she would go to the convenience store across the street and grab some munchies. She slipped some shoes on and trumped out the door, fumbling with the keys to lock it. She dropped her keys with a loud clang on the floor, and she tossed her head back with a disgruntled curse. A
SarieSarie Sarcathong always tied a silver ribbon in her brassy, orange-blonde hair. She always wore her dad's old chocolate-brown corduroy jacket. She was very fond of her grandfather's pipe and hand-painted silk ties. She wore high, empire-waist trousers with a wide leg that rested right beneath her bust. Her button down, Cambridge collar shirts were a different bright color every day. She always wore chocolate-brown, suede chunk heel platform ankle boots to match her father's jacket. She had large, black rimmed Ray Ban eye glasses. Her lips were always painted with Besamé Red Velvet lipstick. Her cheeks were dusted with her mother's light pink blush, the brand name long worn off the compact. Her winged eye liner always came to a sharp point, even and symmetrical. She wore a large, matte black Michael Khors watch on her left wrist. She wore the same, medium sized white pearl earrings every day. Her nails were always kept long, and always painted, usually a neutral grey color. She alwSarie by OminousDemure
A Study in LuceLuce lives in a decent sized one-bedroom apartment. The bedroom is smallish, the walls are painted marine blue, the floor covered in a dingy, once-white carpet. There’s a rug on the floor patterned like the Fourth Doctor’s scarf, hand made for her 18th birthday. The walls are covered in posters and pictures that she’s collected over the years, and a small marker board calendar. There’s a crack in the wall left by the previous tenant. Luce’s full sized bed is pushed up in the corner under the rooms’ only window. Across from the bed is a large walk-in closet that houses the washer and the dryer; the door to said closet leans against the wall over the doorway, the hinges gone. A large trunk sits on the floor at the end of the bed; a 1920’s era Louis Vuitton trunk that belonged to her great-grandmother. The quilt on the bed was a graduation present from Luce’s grandmother, an old quilt her grandmother made for Luce’s mother as a weddingA Study in Luce by OminousDemure
AffairShe was still a lounge singer when she met her lover. He was tall, dark, lean, tough; everything her husband wasn't. He approached her with a mischievous smile when the band took a break. She looked coyly up at him through her long lashes and gave him a sweet smile in return.Affair by OminousDemure
“You have such a beautiful voice,” he murmured in her ear, his voice a suave, smooth baritone rumbling through his chest. It sent shivers down her spine and made her grip the back of a nearby chair. She regained her composure and flipped her hair over her shoulder.
“It’s a gift. What brings you here stranger?” she replied coolly. He tucked a few strands of her hair behind her ear and let his fingertips graze down her jaw line.
The night drifted on and they ended up going to his flat together. She had no reservations in sleeping with him that first night. Nor the second, or the third. She had no problem lying to her husband about her trip down to Mexico with the other man. She told him
|I never said I was good.|
I'm an amateur artist and a hobbyist writer, actress, and singer. I hope to be a professional in one or two of these some day, but if that day never comes- my fall back is psychology and psychotherapy, or being a history professor. Whichever one becomes more pertinent in the near future.|
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