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Okay so um...some mens get to cry in fiction. Le Villon, for example, weeps all the time even if he would deny it to the death. Napolean Solo, on the other hand, is not allowed to weep copious tears and curl up on the floor at the thought of Illya-betrayal. If Emma Peel wouldn't do it, then Napolean doesn't get to either. So there.
Also, since Kittie and I had to debate bloodstains in flooring--for serious literary purposes (loveblood!!!)--I give a bit of random that has nothing to do with anything.
::taken from emails::
He had been finally forced to lay a rug over the spot. A rug that their boy Ben managed to kick out of place on each rare occasion he had been permitted to come into this house, his graceful steps suddenly growing slow and dragging until the golden threads were pushed aside to reveal an ugly brown mess. Almost as if Ben wanted the world...wanted him to see the blood. Perhaps it amused him, though he never said, or even acknowledged what he had done. And Etienne would never ask. If that was all Ben hoped to gain with the move, it had not yet worked.
It was easy enough to have a servant to lay the rug flat once more, an older one, who knew enough not to ask why the blood had never been scrubbed from the stone when it had first been spilled, or why the white blocks had never been replaced.
Whose blood??? *gasp*
Also, since Kittie and I had to debate bloodstains in flooring--for serious literary purposes (loveblood!!!)--I give a bit of random that has nothing to do with anything.
::taken from emails::
He had been finally forced to lay a rug over the spot. A rug that their boy Ben managed to kick out of place on each rare occasion he had been permitted to come into this house, his graceful steps suddenly growing slow and dragging until the golden threads were pushed aside to reveal an ugly brown mess. Almost as if Ben wanted the world...wanted him to see the blood. Perhaps it amused him, though he never said, or even acknowledged what he had done. And Etienne would never ask. If that was all Ben hoped to gain with the move, it had not yet worked.
It was easy enough to have a servant to lay the rug flat once more, an older one, who knew enough not to ask why the blood had never been scrubbed from the stone when it had first been spilled, or why the white blocks had never been replaced.
Whose blood??? *gasp*
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i despair of my sparrington ever getting hot. so i look forward to more of Your Move. *licks it*.
wanna see something embarrassing (to me)? aaaaahhh
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Dude! Your icon. It so rocks.
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OK I posted embarrassing-ness as a new post, since it required a little explanation.