Post by Namine Joy LeBeau on Apr 10, 2012 5:50:00 GMT -5
My name is Leo LeBeau, I don't have a middle name and not just because I'm too lazy to write it here. My parents really don't believe in that sort of thing, my parents don't believe in many things. I'm included on that list. My older sister almost makes the cut, but she toes the line while I'm so far away I'm not even sure a line exists to toe! My parents call me an introvert at best and practically humanphobic at worse. They say my blocking out the word is unhealthy, my mother just complains that she hasn't been able to hug me since I was the ripe age of six. I could feed myself by then, bath myself, dress myself, etc. The only reason why I'm dependent on them at fifteen now is that, well, I'm to introverted to ever get a proper job.
And its not that I don't mind people, well nice people at least. Such as the "Guppy Twins" as I affectionately call them. Two adorably annoying girls whom found each other in their first year of class here at my family's lovely academy for the exceptionally gifted. Or in some cases [more often than not] the exceptionally insane.
Such as Mitchel Milluk, I hate that Senior. Him and his posse often times try to make me their punching bag. "Who can punch Leo hard enough to brake his pretty little face?" Or "Kick him till he cries mercy!" are some of their favorite games. Although sometimes they get really creative and I've found myself hanging from a gargoyle on the side of the mansion by my half ripped belt buckle loop. Often times my sister finds me after the more interesting ones and rescues more before going to promptly be the crap outta Milluk. That's the only time I feel sorry for Mitchel.
And then there are the people you admire from a far. My sister has her eye on this guy who looks strangely a lot like Father, but with a more gentle feel to him. If I were three again I wouldn't mind her pick to be my father and be tucking me in at all. Plus he shaves so there is none of that itchy stuff that Father has on his face that Mother likes.
But I'm not looking at the men, not even to long to be like them, even if I should seeing how weak I am in reality. No, I'm not looking at them at all. I'm not really looking at women either. I'm only looking at HER. Starting from her swift feet delicate, yet power ankles. Moving up her perfect, long legs to that long, white dress she always wears. With a dark brown, THICK belt at her hips. Up past her round and at least double D sized chest (her curves of her body only sort of obscured by her flowing and sort of shapeless dress). Along her sort of exposed collar bones at moment, drinking in her milky skin. Even her neck is beautiful and flawless. Now up to her face.
A thin line always is represented by her mouth when she's not smirking or chuckling over a swift defeat of an opponent. Her nose is a little big for a person of her race, but that's better than small, right? Then her eyes, piercing green eyes that sing of stories on domination and submission of her opponent. Zooming out from her face you can see the waves of perfect pale gold framing a heart shaped face. Most of the time I'm caught ever staring into her eyes or watching her hair reflect light like a golden waterfall.
But its when she speaks that I really get goosebumps on my skin. Her voice is cold, cutting in tone, but smooth as ice. When she talks she commands attentions and its not just because she has a fast and fiery temper. No, its the way she holds herself, perfectly in control, perfectly posed. Even if usually found on her toes right after a battle, further towering over short people such as myself.
I am in love with her.
And have been since she promptly whooped be in a fight back when she was a weak little fourteen year old and I was devastatingly twelve. Yeah, she's seventeen this year, and yes, she's one of those Seniors. One of the jerk offs. But I can't help but be in love with her. Wouldn't you be too?
Wouldn't she make your heart race when she walks by? Wouldn't your breath stop when her eyes land soully on you? Wouldn't you be tongue tied if she came up to talk with you?
Wouldn't you be scared shitless if she just knocked the book you were using to hide the fact your were spying on her again from your hands? Well I really am! Her glare, even if its sending a pleasing shudder down my spine, is not meant in the same it is when we're alone.
"Were you watching me, Runt?" Her voice is colder than normal, like Hell just froze over cold. My head shakes and suddenly I'm on the floor, her weight pinning me down. "Now you better put down that pretty little shield so I can put you back in your place, Brat." What she means by "pretty little shield" is that I can create a shield just about a few centimeters from my skin with my mind. I used to do it subconsciously, but now she's been helping me learn how to control it.
"I'm sorry, Denise," My body zings with electricity when we actually touch. Her fingers coming around my neck, cutting off my remaining apology.
"How many times do I have to tell you! You're no better than the scum I wipe off my feet after battle?" She growls in my face and my eyes dart around. Hadn't people just been here? The reason I dare spy on my love?
I don't fight, I just take her slap a crossed the face and the few more growls I recieve. Before she whispers something I absolutely hate, "Until you learn to control yourself you won't be getting any more lessons from me." She released my neck before giving me a rough kiss. She then leaves me pouting with out a word.
And its not that I don't mind people, well nice people at least. Such as the "Guppy Twins" as I affectionately call them. Two adorably annoying girls whom found each other in their first year of class here at my family's lovely academy for the exceptionally gifted. Or in some cases [more often than not] the exceptionally insane.
Such as Mitchel Milluk, I hate that Senior. Him and his posse often times try to make me their punching bag. "Who can punch Leo hard enough to brake his pretty little face?" Or "Kick him till he cries mercy!" are some of their favorite games. Although sometimes they get really creative and I've found myself hanging from a gargoyle on the side of the mansion by my half ripped belt buckle loop. Often times my sister finds me after the more interesting ones and rescues more before going to promptly be the crap outta Milluk. That's the only time I feel sorry for Mitchel.
And then there are the people you admire from a far. My sister has her eye on this guy who looks strangely a lot like Father, but with a more gentle feel to him. If I were three again I wouldn't mind her pick to be my father and be tucking me in at all. Plus he shaves so there is none of that itchy stuff that Father has on his face that Mother likes.
But I'm not looking at the men, not even to long to be like them, even if I should seeing how weak I am in reality. No, I'm not looking at them at all. I'm not really looking at women either. I'm only looking at HER. Starting from her swift feet delicate, yet power ankles. Moving up her perfect, long legs to that long, white dress she always wears. With a dark brown, THICK belt at her hips. Up past her round and at least double D sized chest (her curves of her body only sort of obscured by her flowing and sort of shapeless dress). Along her sort of exposed collar bones at moment, drinking in her milky skin. Even her neck is beautiful and flawless. Now up to her face.
A thin line always is represented by her mouth when she's not smirking or chuckling over a swift defeat of an opponent. Her nose is a little big for a person of her race, but that's better than small, right? Then her eyes, piercing green eyes that sing of stories on domination and submission of her opponent. Zooming out from her face you can see the waves of perfect pale gold framing a heart shaped face. Most of the time I'm caught ever staring into her eyes or watching her hair reflect light like a golden waterfall.
But its when she speaks that I really get goosebumps on my skin. Her voice is cold, cutting in tone, but smooth as ice. When she talks she commands attentions and its not just because she has a fast and fiery temper. No, its the way she holds herself, perfectly in control, perfectly posed. Even if usually found on her toes right after a battle, further towering over short people such as myself.
I am in love with her.
And have been since she promptly whooped be in a fight back when she was a weak little fourteen year old and I was devastatingly twelve. Yeah, she's seventeen this year, and yes, she's one of those Seniors. One of the jerk offs. But I can't help but be in love with her. Wouldn't you be too?
Wouldn't she make your heart race when she walks by? Wouldn't your breath stop when her eyes land soully on you? Wouldn't you be tongue tied if she came up to talk with you?
Wouldn't you be scared shitless if she just knocked the book you were using to hide the fact your were spying on her again from your hands? Well I really am! Her glare, even if its sending a pleasing shudder down my spine, is not meant in the same it is when we're alone.
"Were you watching me, Runt?" Her voice is colder than normal, like Hell just froze over cold. My head shakes and suddenly I'm on the floor, her weight pinning me down. "Now you better put down that pretty little shield so I can put you back in your place, Brat." What she means by "pretty little shield" is that I can create a shield just about a few centimeters from my skin with my mind. I used to do it subconsciously, but now she's been helping me learn how to control it.
"I'm sorry, Denise," My body zings with electricity when we actually touch. Her fingers coming around my neck, cutting off my remaining apology.
"How many times do I have to tell you! You're no better than the scum I wipe off my feet after battle?" She growls in my face and my eyes dart around. Hadn't people just been here? The reason I dare spy on my love?
I don't fight, I just take her slap a crossed the face and the few more growls I recieve. Before she whispers something I absolutely hate, "Until you learn to control yourself you won't be getting any more lessons from me." She released my neck before giving me a rough kiss. She then leaves me pouting with out a word.
