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[fancypost bgcolor=; borderwidth=0px; width: 380px; letter-spacing:5px][align=center][size=5]NICÉPHORE ATLAS.[/size]
★★★★[/fancypost][align=center][fancypost bgcolor=; border:0px; font-size:10pt; opacity:0.9; color:black; text-align:center;]junkie & [font=bookman oldstyle]music & reticent.[/fancypost][fancypost bgcolor=; border:0px; font-size:17pt; color:#F43E71; text-align:center; letter-spacing:-1px; margin-top:-8px;][font=bookman oldstyle]it's just a ride.[/fancypost][fancypost borderwidth=0; width: 400px; height: 200px; overflow: auto; margin-top: -1px; font-family: verdana; color: white; font-size:7pt; text-align: justify][hr][hr]
clicky! [for the braid, heh.]nicephore is the hair man zzzt.
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you endure the process of your tainted respiration by breathing rather shallowly and directing your perception unto setting her hair into decorative plaits. everyone has that part of them that has a need to lose control, and another part that wants to gain it. i feel like we have to lose control sometimes, just to see how bad it can really get and appreciate our previous situations in a newer light. your voice has lowered significantly whilst you ponder of what the outcome of this near tragedy could possibly be.
like smoke, negative emotions cloud upwards and drift throughout your system, but you detain it to keep it out of your lexemes. the only person you can blame is the person who initiated this utter bullsh t in the first place, right? there's no way you could have known what was going to play out, and neither did kade. but he fought for you anyway, regardless of the consequences. he cares a bunch about you; he would much rather be in a coma than have to go seeing you like that. and, bringing someone could have further damaged this. they could have gotten hurt, or fought alongside kade. chances are, that could have done nothing but dragged everything out unnecessarily, and have brett after you again. your tingling lungs shrivel as you puff out a quivering dose of carbon dioxide- and your fist throbs along to your palpations. poor kade, poor rosalie, poor everyone. you briefly pause the hair dressing to glare down unto your "indian style", crossed walking poles, and to take note of the almost lazy tremors that sprint throughout your bodice.
you ignore yourself pointedly before bringing down the climbing braid that starts its adventure near the side of her appealing noggin' canvas- and comes to an end by forming into a larger pelage snake. then, the aforementioned segment of hair is herded into a fashion of messy bun and pinned into place with a few bobby pins you had scavenged from her floor while cleaning it.
well, someone call tyra banks in here, because we're running a beauty pageant. the simple mutter is a muffled compliment, and so is the hair do on rosalie.
[/fancypost][font=times new roman][size=4pt][color=black] [ c ] #caratacus[/size][color=transparent] #caracodes