hippocrates a. smethwyck (![[info]](https://www.scribbld.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} smethy) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.scribbld.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} valesco, |
~*~*~SMETCHEL~*~*~ HAS ARRIVED
Okay. So Smeth was a full-blooded male, and any full-blooded male would have been extraordinarily happy to have two, very hot dates on his arm, entering the year's most exciting and elegant event. The looks of envy and awe that had dawned on other fellow, full-blooded males were extremely gratifying, and Smeth couldn't help but puff out his chest and strut. Well, a little. It was any man's fantasy to enter with two beautiful ladies, kind of like the ultimate playboys he admired, Bruce Wayne and James Bond, respectively. However, he couldn't help but think about one Rachel Englewood. She had been on his mind for what seemed like awhile now... ever since their blowup over journals, and their avoidance around the hospital was not helping any.
However, when he had helped her down to the dispensary to find anti-potion for her potion-inflicted eyes, he had come to the realization that he missed her. He missed her a lot. He missed her making little lunches for him, the way she would meet him everyday in the lobby of St. Mungo's before work. He missed her sly smile, her laughter, the knowing way she looked at him whenever he cracked a deadpan joke.
He missed her a lot. Why didn't he realize this?
After drinking copious amounts of punch that Lydia kept passing him and Stefana, Smeth mumbled something about got up. He just... needed to move and walk around. Although chatting with two of his favorite patients were always fun, that "punch" made him want to get up and do something, anything. Also, he had discovered way too late that the drinks Lydia kept supplying were not, in fact, punch, but punch laced with an incredibly potent solution that made one's inhibitions drop, well, maybe he needed it.
He wandered around the edges of the dance floor for a bit, finishing the last of his "punch." He absently readjusted his mask as he set his empty cup on a table and his eyes focused on a lone figure in the corner. Almost without thinking, he strode the other way around, coming up from behind her. He wasn't thinking, the punch plus his mask made him braver (and more foolish) than he had ever felt in his entire life.
Wrapping an arm gently around Rachel's waist, the other on her arm, he leaned over her shoulder. "Hello, Rachel," he breathed in her ear.
Okay. So Smeth was a full-blooded male, and any full-blooded male would have been extraordinarily happy to have two, very hot dates on his arm, entering the year's most exciting and elegant event. The looks of envy and awe that had dawned on other fellow, full-blooded males were extremely gratifying, and Smeth couldn't help but puff out his chest and strut. Well, a little. It was any man's fantasy to enter with two beautiful ladies, kind of like the ultimate playboys he admired, Bruce Wayne and James Bond, respectively. However, he couldn't help but think about one Rachel Englewood. She had been on his mind for what seemed like awhile now... ever since their blowup over journals, and their avoidance around the hospital was not helping any.
However, when he had helped her down to the dispensary to find anti-potion for her potion-inflicted eyes, he had come to the realization that he missed her. He missed her a lot. He missed her making little lunches for him, the way she would meet him everyday in the lobby of St. Mungo's before work. He missed her sly smile, her laughter, the knowing way she looked at him whenever he cracked a deadpan joke.
He missed her a lot. Why didn't he realize this?
After drinking copious amounts of punch that Lydia kept passing him and Stefana, Smeth mumbled something about got up. He just... needed to move and walk around. Although chatting with two of his favorite patients were always fun, that "punch" made him want to get up and do something, anything. Also, he had discovered way too late that the drinks Lydia kept supplying were not, in fact, punch, but punch laced with an incredibly potent solution that made one's inhibitions drop, well, maybe he needed it.
He wandered around the edges of the dance floor for a bit, finishing the last of his "punch." He absently readjusted his mask as he set his empty cup on a table and his eyes focused on a lone figure in the corner. Almost without thinking, he strode the other way around, coming up from behind her. He wasn't thinking, the punch plus his mask made him braver (and more foolish) than he had ever felt in his entire life.
Wrapping an arm gently around Rachel's waist, the other on her arm, he leaned over her shoulder. "Hello, Rachel," he breathed in her ear.
Post a comment in response:
scribbld is part of the horse.13 network
Design by Jimmy B.
Logo created by hitsuzen.
Scribbld System Status