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Post by Maestro on Feb 20, 2008 2:01:43 GMT -5
She gasped a bit as he grabbed her, unable to move. And, even though she was supposed to hate the man beside her now, she didn't really want to pull away.
Shivering slightly as he ran his hands over her, she was barely able to bring herself to whisper, "Wretch."
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Post by Miss Jack on Feb 20, 2008 2:11:30 GMT -5
In the script, it said that Scarpia pursued Tosca. In his notes, Armand had scratched it out and written, Scarpia doesn't pursue. He catches.
And it held true for their situation, except that Tosca hadn't ran. In fact, Scarpia, if he was even Scarpia anymore, was considerably gentle as he grabbed her waist and pressed her into the couch. His hands ran up her stomach, tickled her arms, caressed her neck, his fingers brushing her hair tenderly out of the way. Dimly, in the very recesses of his mind, Armand was aware that he was starting to lose control of himself. Iseabail was an attractive woman, and he was, whether he realized it/wanted to or not, reacting to her.
His lips touched her collar bone and then, as he leaned up, their faces dangerously close, he frowned. "Iseabail," he whispered. "You're supposed to run."
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Post by Maestro on Feb 20, 2008 2:28:59 GMT -5
Somehow Scarpia had changed from vile tormentor almost to what Tosca was to be feeling for Mario. It hadn't even occurred to Iseabail to run; she had wanted to try a different approach to the way the scene was 'always' done, and this had certainly become different.
As his hands ran over her, she should have pulled away, but she didn't want to. She didn't move, actually letting him caress her.
His words almost broke the spell, but not quite. She managed to whisper back, "I didna want to," before trying to move out of the way. It didn't work as she had planned (or had she meant for it to happen this way? she wasn't even sure); instead of putting more space between them, her lips met his.
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Post by Miss Jack on Feb 20, 2008 2:38:55 GMT -5
Their lips brushed and in that first frightening instant, Armand froze, and then suddenly pressed his lips more firmly against hers, one hand wrapping around the back of her neck to pull her closer. Somewhere, a little voice started singsonging, That's not in the scriiiiiipt.
But not only was that voice completely inaudible to him, but so was just about every other logical sense in his body.
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Post by Maestro on Feb 20, 2008 2:51:34 GMT -5
Oh. Iseabail wasn't sure what she had expected, but it certainly hadn't been this. She had thought that he would pull away and run off, but she had not thought that this would happen.
She moved closer as he pulled her to him, tentatively placing one of her own hands on Armand's shoulder. Tempted to tangle her other hand in his hair, she settled for letting it rest on the back of his head, trying her best to stay 'calm.'
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Post by Miss Jack on Feb 20, 2008 3:00:46 GMT -5
Need for oxygen finally drew them apart, but not far. Armand kissed both corners of her mouth, in a vaguely teasing fashion, and when he kissed her again, quite a bit more passionately then he had the first time, there was a spark. It was the lust a body feels, the driving attraction to another person, but it was this spark that sent the flash of Zizzy's face through his mind. And with it came his senses, his mind.
He drew back as if his lips had been burned, and everything physically inside him protested, wanting nothing more than to keep on kissing her. He stared at her, as tense as if he'd suddenly turned to stone. He tried to regulate his breathing, which had grown ragged with their activities.
"I'm sorry," he finally managed in a choked voice.
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Post by Maestro on Feb 20, 2008 3:19:10 GMT -5
As soon as they pulled apart, Iseabail took in a deep breath; she needed it. She almost laughed as he teased her, settling for a smile, instead. As he kissed her again, she felt the same thing he did: that spark. But now, it was mutual; she had known the first time that their lips had pressed together that there was something there.
Startled when Armand pulled back, Iseabail just looked at him for a moment, a look of almost-hurt in her eyes. And then, she thought she understood. Things hadn't been meant to go this way; they had just ... happened. Maybe he felt guilty? But, no, that would be wishful thinking.
She had been breathing shallowly, but she was so startled by what had just happened that she was able to calm herself within a few moments.
Looking down, she whispered, "Dinna be sorry, Armand. It's my fault." She was fully prepared to take the blame for what had happened, but there shouldn't have to be blame.
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Post by Miss Jack on Feb 20, 2008 23:16:37 GMT -5
"No, no it wasn't," he protested in a helpless whisper, touching her face, and then quickly drawing back even further.
He swallowed thickly. "I'm sorry. I don't.... I don't know what came over me." He removed himself from the couch, and consequently Iseabail, looking frantic, guilty, and generally confused. He could still feel her lips on his.
Staring at her, he took a few unsteady steps back.
"I should go," he said after a moment. His eyes swam with a thousand emotions that he couldn't find the will to actually speak. Many things he wanted to say, most of them he didn't understand himself, but in the end, he just shook his head and left as quickly as possible.
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Post by Maestro on Feb 21, 2008 0:11:30 GMT -5
Without bothering to refute his protest (it would have been futile, anyway), Iseabail couldn't help but lean into his hand ever-so-slightly as he touched her cheek. It didn't surprise her when he pulled away again; she was practically ready for it this time.
She just watched him, not entirely sure of what she should or even could say. Maybe she should try to stop him, but he was clearly too ... emotional, perhaps? to listen to her, and she couldn't find her voice. What a time to become mute! The picture of a voice that almost never failed and Iseabail couldn't speak.
Standing up, she reached out to him, just as the door closed, finally finding her voice. Too late; the door was already closed.
"Wait," she whispered, sinking back into the couch. What had just happened?
She couldn't stay here, not alone, not right now. Grabbing a cloak from the back of the chair where she had laid it, she swept it around her shoulders, not caring what she looked like; she just needed to get out of that room.
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