Europe is everything they say it is. A romantic place to be especially considering how far away it is from the world I know. Period romance novellas make it out to be this magical kingdom. That's not too far off with the whole monarchy thing. What do kings and queens really do in the modern world? If not live off the people's money, parade around with scandals behind closed doors and only peeking out when the Queen dies. Still it's easy to get lost here.
Joe could have faded into the background among a sea of people. In his treks, he finds being alone oddly euphoric. Even with all this sound and bustle he's still his own silent onlooker. Moving through different cafes today he has this new obsession with tea. Coffee back home seems to pale in comparison. They're not obsessed with bitter black brew piled with espresso. They're on for a quick cuppa and a cozy chat. Or whatever the hell it's called. He has no idea what sort of jargon to use and if he did it'd make him stand out. Not the best idea even with his American accent ringing like a bell. He merely sat in a usual table near the window, hands wrapped around a hot cup. His gazed dipped long enough over its swirling steam before rising to the door.
New entrance. New person. New … you. Who are-? NO. He breaks eye contact. NO. Nothing interesting. Just another random person who means nothing. Maybe a local or even a tourist. Who knows because this professor is not paying attention. This professor is pulling a notebook up onto the table to jot down a few course recommendations. Totally not interested. He aptly tells himself this over and over. Yet his eyes flicker up again.
Oh you're doing more than flirt with me. More hands on than I expected right after I bashed that would be rapists head in. Yet you don't even bat an eye. Is it easy to wave a hand to get what you want, Ava? Am I what you want? That badly. That perfect. I should question how quickly you agreed to just hop in your car and drive off. I might get a taste of you right here if I didn't think your henchman would get off on it.
Joe's eyes lifted up onto hers. A beat passed as his thoughts tripped up all over her. Easy to succumb when it's just pulling him closer. Her hands on his hips made him feel secure in reaching out for her. He mimicked with touch. Settling his own against her waist, the man's lips ghosted hers again. The simple depriving of years apart can make a person drink from the forgotten well often enough. It's too often. He might drink a little too much. Maybe he'll become intoxicated on red lipstick, synthetic perfume and a heavy gaze that strikes all the right chords.
Are you a femme fatale now? Do you live and breathe this world of dark girls, seedy underlings? Sometimes it feels like he's in a terribly adapted book. We all know the books are better. Movies cut back on so much information, deny imagination from readers because they fit it into their narrative. They make it something people didn't envision when they first read the title! What are you, Ava? Are you still my first edition? Are you that girl I loved in the home? My first. My lost. Can you still be the same and I want to fuck you in the back of a black Rolls Royce? While your driver can hear every sound slipping from your lips like poetry.
He inhales. Sharp. Distinct. Joe sucks it in and releases slowly. Finally, he remembers her question. What has he been doing? Funny but it's strange to even consider his life compared to hers now. "I - work in a book store. I'm a manager," the answer is simple but Joe is basically the owner now after Mooney's stroke. "Not very exciting is it? Probably not for you." No malice. No dickish meaning behind it. Joe just speaks a truth he believes. Does it disappoint her? He wonders what she expected he would be doing. "Sometimes I get word on old books. Like the ones at the gala. I check them out and purchase some for the private collection." Fancier than it is really. A glass temperature controlled cave in a cellar, keeping all musty little texts preserved from this nasty climate. It works out well either way.
This follows Joe's predetermined life working as manager of Mooney's book store. A man who is always searching for love without truly understanding what it is. See about for details on this default verse - click
Verse 2. professor. vers 1〈 an english professor in new york
Joe never became that bookstore manager. He chooses to enter college as an English Lit major, bolstering a choice in career as an academic scholar. He is very much a professor of English and Poetry. The respected if somewhat quirky teacher with accolades to back up his resume. The man has a habit of becoming attached to topics along with particular people. An unhealthy obsession with the written word imbues his fantasies with carnal desires no self respecting man should entertain. Still, this acclaimed college professor dips into his own personal world of dark poetry. Some may even say he resembles the foreboding moodiness of haunted tales, byronic thrills and sometimes a taste for murder.
Verse 3. professor. vers 2 〈 where are you heading professor jonathan moore
Joe winds up following his destiny, another runaway love he's craving to find, as he ventures to Europe. Under the guise of Prof. Jonathan Moore, he falls into the world of academia. Hiding his past demons can only go so far while he endures the trials of snobbish Brit hierarchy and an insatiable lust to uncover the truth of WHO knows his true identity. This verse follows the obvious path season 4 is currently taking but as a canon divergent blog everything leading up can be plotted/altered to fit the narrative. Mostly events will exist in S4 but diverging canon is always encouraged or adapted.
Verse 4. alt〈 this is where my demons hide
Everything is turned around for Joe in a big way following his stint in the group home. As a child he is adopted into a good home, experiencing normalcy following the incident with his mother and her abusive boyfriend. Gaining a normal upbringing does not prevent Joe from suffering from abandonment issues and the unfortunate mental diagnosis of antisocial personality disorder, narcissism and PTSD. Signs caught his adoptive parents enabled him to receive some help in the form of medications to which he takes to this day. While his life might have taken a better turn, Joe still struggles with himself. He still has his moments of quirkiness perceived by others as weirdness in a world not built for people like him. An unfortunate dose of reality comes with his constant battle with inner demons attempting to break free. Joe begins to suspect his medications are turning him into someone he is not. The more he delves into this suspicion the worse he begins to feel -
Running on empty describes most of his life. The loss of gasoline only keeps him moving on fumes. His entire being could stall out with no sense of what's really right or wrong. He had no idea it would bring him this close again. Her lips are smooth, warm. A deadly red kiss wakes him up, fuels him up and he lets Ava pull him where she wants him to go. It's easy. It's a need. Joe wants it more than he can imagine. This love. This epic story.
We are part of something greater. Avangeline, you're back in my life. I never thought I'd see you grown up. After we were separated it made me feel worse about myself. I felt worthless, useless and unwanted. My mother never wanted me. For a while I thought the same of you. For a while I wanted to hurt you, maybe lose my whole head and -
Joe sucked in a breath, dipping his head as he entered the vehicle behind her swiftly. The door's closing left an audible thump echoing in his brain. His mind strayed from past feelings. Sensations he can only dream about come forward full steam ahead. Instead of dwelling on what ifs he focused on this impossible now. He stared at her for several minutes. Their bodies close, his hand still holding onto hers; Joe finally leaned his head to press a kiss against Ava's ruby lips.
"I never though you'd say yes," the man admitted, eyes soft as he gazed over his lost love's face. Grown and beautiful. Young still at heart and he wondered. How long? How tough? Did she harden herself?
Let me in. Let me sink into you. Avangeline, I wanna feel what this is between us. Whatever puppy love we had it's not just that. How can it be when it's still there? We're still bound by our shitty fates with family. Our mothers were cruel. We can be better.
Rainy Days and Mondays rang out in his head for very obvious and completely shitty comparison. It's a rainy day. Also a Monday and somehow he's thinking about a song sung by a hopeless girl who died of anorexia. Only the hopeless irony can make such a song invoke more than cheerful hits of the seventies. Yet it's profound in his mind as he watches Eloise. Waiting for the bus became an epic prologue in a great romance novel. She's the the fair lady he has to save from the wiles of creeps in public transportation.
I can see me now. Slipping in between you and your would be groper, protecting you from the filthy city. It's like a great love story. You're that girl next door all the boys want. And I'm the lead who swoops in to make you swoon. It's just such a fucking shame I don't have a boombox on me. Is cliche your key to the heart Eloise or do I need to pull out all the stops on our future romance? OH you know I will. I will for YOU.
"You do have a way with how you view social media. It's definitely a thrill of its own. The amount people will share. Opening up doors to their lives. And we peek in from the outside," Joe might have rambled but he held a true point. "Much like reality television. Except much less scripted." Still hiding all those truths behind closed doors aren't they? Those people have a lot to show to save face but honesty? No, most aren't honest. They're shallow clout chasers. They want their fifteen minutes just like everybody else. Every other person who has zero respect for themselves. He wonders in that moment as she steps up into the bus and pauses, just for a moment, if she wants her name in lights. As much as media will give. As much as a great story passed from fingertips to paper will allot.
Does she know how playful she is? With her little joke about the rain and his walking can she even imagine how endearing it is? She's got a way. She's got a power. The power of love. Celine Dion's got nothing on this Eloise. Nothing on us.
Joe steps up into the bus a moment after. Drawing his umbrella closed, he reached into his pocket. Sliding a correct amount for a ride, he moved through as people congregated in seats. Others remained standing and she too decided to do so. Light on her feet. Attempting to get away quickly. Is it you're looking to escape the sardine cans in this bus OR do you want to show off your figure?
I'm sure you're wearing a bra. Even so it's very obvious you like eyes on you. My eyes could sweep over you all day and memorize you like a story I can't put away. Instead I'll just sit here not too close. I don't want you to get the wrong impression. We're fated you see. Just you and me. Fate will guide us together you'll see, Eloise.
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