Carry In/Carry Out | Jak 

jak-iero:

Jak watched as the same brand of realization he’d just had for his own came to make its way across her features and flicker through the lights that shined behind her eyes. It was almost as though the fact that he’d been the one to notice her had its way of wiping out any nervousness or initial shock he might’ve felt otherwise. In its place, weirdly enough, he only felt amused mixed with pleasantly surprised. He loved watching the transition between obliviousness and awareness, especially when it shown through in such a way in Carth. Though in a quietly obvious way, it didn’t really matter what she was feeling, as long as he got to watch. 

Jak pursed his lips exaggeratedly at his, raising his eyebrows and nodding in a mock-thoughtful way. “…I guess you don’t.” he gave a shrug before crossing both arms over his chest, “..But this is my place of work, so I’m thinkin’… I’m the stalked. Not the stalker.” a much more genuine and sure smile found its way onto his lips at this. Slowly, he let his arms drop back to his sides and after a moment of consideration, opted to take a seat across from her. It was quiet for a beat, and he took the gap in wordless banter to just look at her. He bit down on his tongue and swallowed. Some things never change. One would think that after all the time spent apart, and Jak’s own bout in another romantic escapade, any thought of Carth in that sense might’ve been wiped out. But no. The answer was always no. Why it was such a hard thing to shake, Jak didn’t really know. Bottom line was he’d stopped trying to shake it at all. It was simpler to let them move you rather than attempt to manipulate them to take you to a specific place or in a specific direction.

“So, what are you doing here, then?” he inquired, raising one eyebrow at her and offering another sweet smile. “I doubt I’m worth following for miles.” he chuckled, resting his arms on the table top in front of him and leaning forward slightly. 

A craving had escalated once more for the chronic banter between the two that so seldom revisited Carth’s presence; perhaps it was newfound, though nevertheless it was sporadic: for she was abundant on apathy towards communication, and any types of it. If you were to ask her a question, she would shoot you a look and a raised eyebrow and walk away; and if you were to greet her as a stranger, she would blatantly say in her hollow accent, ‘Do I know you?’ like she was not aiming to offend. Needless to say, she was not very fond in any type of friendship, therefore entitled what she had with Jak (if anything at all) an acquaintanceship. Once an acquaintanceship, always an acquaintanceship; whatever was between them had been labeled by this by the instant, and never did it hesitate to remain idle. 

But she cared; in a funny, foolish, minuscule way, she cared: though she’d never utter a word that she did. It never came as easily for Carth to confess, especially when it was in her Delore nature to be truthful; but she was the very opposite, indeed: one would render her cowardly, though the proper title would be ‘insensitive.’ That was something she couldn’t deny, for it was yelled at the top of her lungs by her younger sister, and would surely be proclaimed from every other pair of lips she glanced upon. Therefore, the banter-hungry girl, wicked curve of a smirk on her lips, spoke, “Nice uniform, stranger.”

He’d been as sharply tongued as she’d remembered, and that was the only thing she could remember about him; not that every other feature of him had been insignificant: but because Holocene was such a blur of a memory that she did not want to revisit it. Nothing about it. Right now was Crestline, and it’d be this way until she grew tired.  Carth kept her eyes on Jak as he spoke; and at his inquiry, she answered, “I got Cabin Fever. Surely I’m not the only one who got sick of Holocene. Crestline just happened to be my crutch. How about you? Are the Ieros trying to bring up a new branch of diners or what?” she questioned, smirk still evident in her tone and in her lips; it’d seldom wash away, and she loved it that way. 

(Source: carthdelore)

Carth Delore. Eighteen. Vampire. I've got an appetite for destruction.