lies.are._.treats; with/desolate/filling

[lys]

Reserved for Ranka Molohov

We write our prayers on a little bomb,
Kiss it on the face and send it to God.

Legs swung freely back and forth, not quite touching the water. The chilled wind caused ripples to echo throughout the liquid and freeze the bodies of any human being outside. The temperature was unknown to Lysander; the most he knew was that it was cold, nothing more. A black hoodie with white decor was on the upper part of his body, falling down to mid-thigh where his pants were seen. Just black jeans, slightly baggy. The beige-tan bag he always carried around sat by his side, a sketch pad in his hands, gray mechanical pencil hovering above a blank page.

Still bloodshot eyes stared, blank. He was waiting. Just... waiting, for that one girl from the Library. Ranka. That sketch he had drawn was finished though he touched it up some, just to be a bit more presentable. Would she like it? And would she pose for him again? He shifted, eyes drifting upward and across the lake, half-lidded. For a few minutes, that was all he did. His own mind was a blank, useless sheet. Nothing would come of it.

His fingers twitched and he re-directed his gaze at the sketch pad. He moved the pencil out of the way and left his hand to hover above the page. A breath was taken and he flipped the pages, ending on the very last one. On it was a detailed sketch of a woman laying in a hospital bed, a smile spread on her lips, head cocked to the side. The tips of his fingers traced the lines, memorizing every detail. Gone. The hand holding the pencil curled into a fist and he bowed his head.

After a long silent moment he snapped the pad close, not wanting to stare at that sketch any longer. It did nothing but turn his insides anymore. But it was a memento and he would never get rid of it. However, right before that picture was a missing page, one of which he had ripped out and stuffed in a box somewhere. It was an older one of mother, father and himself- a family that was barely ever around. One was deceased and the other might as well be dead. Father...

Lysander's eyes darkened, his grip on the pencil tightening. A moment later he forced himself to relax, closing his eyes, and falling back into his waiting mode. After all, what else could he do but wait? Ranka. That's what he had to think about. Nothing else. Nothing sad. He was going to see someone today and he couldn't be depressed. You're not allowed to break. Not yet. No. Tighter his brows pulled together, lids pressed hard to one another. I hate you almost as much as I hate myself, father.

You're not allowed to break.

[batgirl]

Halos never hang
from the heads of these Sinners

The desolate grounds of Trios hogwarts was nothing less then what Ranka had come to expect. She had just recently returned from personal business, and it seemed that the school was just as she had left it. People wondering around the halls aimlessly, traveling in clicks or with that same group of people you've known since you had first started to attend the school. Ranka watched them with her bright brown eyes, orbs never failing to see. because Ranka's eyes had seen everything and everyone. They had yet to let her down.

Today, however Ranka had a rendezvous. The boy she had met in the Library had summoned her to the Pier, a place where she had yet to visit on her own. eyes following along the path that led her through the lake, Ranka had to admit she was excited and nervous. She had never felt such a strange combination of emotions. The fact that he had summoned her only meant that he had finished her sketch - and was was excited to see how it came out. Her teeth finding their way to her bottom lip, the bit the lip rings that where now resting there. Ranka's snake bite had in actual rings last time the two met, but now she had replaced them with studs. A change is sometimes needed.

The weather outside was nothing less then perfect for this Russian. Cold? Nothing of the sort. For Ranka, it was just chilly. Compared to the types of weather she has faced up in Russia, this was a nice treat. A change in pace, if you will. So naturally, she dressed accordingly. A black hoodie covered her upper half and the black t - shirt she word underneath. her jeans where a dark blue color, holes in the knees and in other places as well, the tights she wore underneath them showing through the tears - Black with crossbones they where. Her wore her purple converse, naturally, and her hair was down and straight, parted to the side. Nothing much had changed about her appearance.

Reaching the Pier, Ranka looked around for a familiar face, or a familiar body that was lingering around. It took her a few minutes, her eyes growing increasingly worse as time went on. At lest, so she hoped. Just meant it was time for new contacts. But eventually she spotted a black body sitting at the end of the pier. Smiling a bit to herself, Ranka was happy she had finally found him. She had to admit, she missed Lysander a bit. She enjoyed the time they spent at the Library. Her feet making little noise as she walked to the edge of the pier, Ranka took a seat beside him, giving a small smile. It was all she had offered for the moment, remembering that not a word was spoken at the Library. She had to give him some kind of greeting though.

"Hey there"