dane-tow

[dane-tow]

Overcoming Obstacles.

The misty woods’ peace was interrupted by the occasional snapping of twigs, the fluttering of wings, and, occasionally, the snarling swears of young vampires trying to embrace their abilities.  

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Now the Vietcong and I You know that we don’t want to die You get your crazy violent nights and help us know, oh

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Dallon Weekes at iHeart Radio 2016.

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Made another Dane playlist, because I have a lot of feelings about electroswing him.

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Made another Dane playlist, because I have a lot of feelings about electroswing him.

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Dallon Weekes » San Francisco » 9.21.13

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Champagne, cocaine, gasoline And most things in between I roam the city in a shopping cart A pack of camels and a smoke alarm

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could this be love at first sight?

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/dies over here. 

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.

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dallonappreciation:

Photo by Aysia Marotta

[original] and [source]

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"Hello." Her voice was soft, controlled--as controlled as her outfit of crushed black velvet offset by a pearl choker and a ruby teardrop. In one hand she held a fan of peacock feathers, and in the other, a glass of chardonnay. It'd been a rough couple of days, alright, a gal was entitled to a couple of extra glasses after dinner. And before. And possibly as a nightcap. Regardless, she was drinking, she was lounging against the wall, and she was watching Dane with an air of tentative interest.

As comical as it must of looked, the small voice actually made the tall stranger jump. His mind was off as it sometimes was, running through fields and worries and stray thoughts somewhere over the balcony’s railing. Part of him egged him to follow it. This joke wasn’t so funny anymore and it was taking his nerves for a ride. The man’s hands dug idly through his pockets for a bit of hard candy, dark blue eyes distant and tired. Still, he managed a small smile with a bit of effort. “Heya, miss.” The unsettling red head. Perfect for shot nerves. 

“Fancy seeing you here.”  

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I Want To Be Bad - Helen Kane (1929)

If it’s naughty to rouge your lips

Shake your shoulders and shake your hips

Then let a lady confess, I want to be bad

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Stranger and the Strangers

There was a tension among the guests. He quite assumed their invitations had all been of a--invasive sort. Despite the pleasantries, it was clear that none of them were as interested in each other as what the house presented them. It suited him well enough, though the thinning of the crowd had him on edge.

It would be harder to hide among even the flashiest of guests. His stature was always a hindrance, but a good crowd would usually do the trick.  Still, the man showed up at lunch (he had skipped breakfast in favor of sleep), just a jovially as he’d attended dinner.

The good doctor provided well enough conversation. Edmund did not seem the type to ask too many unnecessary questions and his jokes were usually met with a pleasing laugh. Looking at the others, the doctor had to be the safest option. His nerves could be settled on that notion.

The nervous blonde was a talker--a question asker, the studious priest--seemed observant, the dark haired girl who barely had enough in her lungs to get out a syllable--probably scare her off, and then there was the dame all dyed up in red with this....peculiar leer to her features--unsettling. Ms. Larei proved a hard one to read anyway. Then again, it wasn’t too hard to figure out who had raided the bar the evening before catching a glimpse of her. 

After a pleasant enough conversation, the tall shadow stood and with a wave of his hand. A few other’s broke from the group as well, heading up toward their rooms to refresh themselves and the like. He stretched before setting off toward the elevator. 

“Oh excuse me, What did you say your name was, Mister...?” The stranger winced, glancing to his left and down a bit more. Confirmed to be a question asker. Miss Milena had taken the same elevator and unfortunately interest in him as well. 

“Ah, did I say?” Silly him. 

“You could call me Andrew.” 

You could anyway. 

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A Stranger at the Door

The stranger waited, leaning on a dark corner of the building with nothing but a lit cigarette revealing his silhouette from the concealing brush. He watched the odd array of guests arrive one by one: a grumbling priest, girl with the red curls and too wide smile, the finicky dame with resigned features, and so on. Quite honestly, he had arrived long before any of them. It wasn’t like he had anything else to occupy his time. No, he gotten rid of everything that tied him to those responsibilities. 

He had not an address, a family, or a name. They weren’t secrets so much as they had been severed from him. It was easier state of being that way and he preferred to remain within that anonymity--his freedom. 

A threat to his removed status had arrived, however, in the form of a simple invitation. A graying old woman had dropped it at his feet with a crooked smile. “T’at’s for you, deary.”  A curious piece with plain wording inviting a name of a person with an address, with a family to a dinner. The person without a name, without an address, and without a family been re-gifted with all three within that invitation. A distressing note as it were, his curiosity went fair beyond his desire to keep away. He was not a careful man. 

He was quite fond of his anonymity and it only seemed right to take it back now, or at least, deal with who had tried to endanger it. As more guests arrive, the shadow-covered figure slid among them and followed them forward. 

The stranger had arrived right on time, unnoticed and grinning.