Poor Decision (that's the name for now)

Iden is a bean

It was small, but accommodating to your needs. The flooring is the same as the living room, yet covered by a layer of dust. A bed sits in front of you, snug against a dark corner to your left, the end of the bed closest to you as the bed is also against the opposite wall. It makes a large amount of the limited space. The room in its entirety is of a similar design to that of the living room, a theme that permeates throughout the retreat. Dark colours and rich wood floors, deep reds and rich brows as well as black accents the rooms. This room is not an exception to this color scheme. The thick, comforter is maroon with a milk chocolate shade of bed frame and headstand. Black pillows are positioned on the head of the bed, firm but soft simultaneously. A vanity stands across from the bed and to your left as you slouch against the door.

You stand and trudge your way to the bathroom attached. You discard your clothing, erger to rid yourself of dust and gore that clung to you from the blast. As you efface your poor excuse for garbs, now shred in dangerous locations, (near your heart for example) you searched for new injuries as well as reminiscing over scars layered on your skin. Bullet holes held stories of the past, as well as stab wounds, burns, lashes, and various lacerations veiled by the their new form of slightly raised skin. You lerch into the shower, turning it as hot as you can bear and a little more. As you relax under the blissful stream, you slouch, relaxing slightly after these high-strung days. You cleanse yourself of the grime and massage your scalp through buzzed locks, cut short for ease in violent confrontations. It's a good length for difficult times when one tries to grab at your hair while attacking and expects to grab a handful, as it's more common for females to have longer hair, and to their disadvantage to find none to use in their attempt for control. All impurities removed, you peel back the translucent curtain, stepping onto a thin, textured mat. Sighing, you reaching for a plush towel left on the counter. Wait...What? I don't remember grabbing...

"IDEN!"

"Yes?" He replies almost immediately, an amused lilt in his tone, sounding too close for comfort to the bathroom door.

OH, THAT LITTLE...!' Quickly you dry yourself as fast as you can, aggressively wrap the top of the towel around your torso, and adjust the towel until it's as though you're a burrito. How DARE he! You burst out the door, stumbling slightly in your anger. Water drips down your chin. You stand staring at eachother for an eternity.

"The hell do you think you're doing coming into my room!" 'The gall of this man!' "How the hell did you get in here?!"

"You're room? I was under the impression that this was my home, therefore I can go wherever I please." He retains his nonchalant behavior and tone throughout this enter fiasco.

"What makes you think I care! How did you even get in there without me noticing? Are you a ninja or something?

"I was surprised as much as you are, at the ease in which I got in there. All I did was walk in. Simple as that. I thought you were more diligent."

I can't believe I let my guard down, especially around this leech. Handsome leech at that, but still a leech. How foolish am I to forget that I'm not the only one skilled in combat invasion? Sneaky bastard.

You glare with as much potency and malicious intent as possible. If looks could kill, he'd be dead yesterday. "Get out," you state curtly, with venom dripping from your voice like the water on your skin.\

"Such hostility. I can't see what I did wrong. I was merely catering to my duties as a host. I do hope I have been of satisfaction in my services?" he mocks you.

"I said, GET OUT." As this command slices through the air, palpable tension grows between you, thick with time and intentions, humid and electric.

"You look good when you are angry. I should do this more often," he smirks.

"Do you want to die? Because I will find someone else to help me."

"No one as good as me." He releases an enticing chuckle, deep from his throat as he sprawls across the bed. "Tell me, why do you harbor such proclivity towards quarreling with me?"

Your irises scan the terrain of the room, searching for something to launch at him. Oh, look what we have here. You surreptitiously reach behind you to grasp the weapon of your choice. Slowly, your our gaze returns to Iden, soon to be the victim of your rage. A wide, lopsided smirk spreads across the plain of your face. He doesn't notice that you're holding a lamp... Such easy prey, leaving himself exposed.

"Iden." You say this in your most alluring voice, euphonically using your voice to capture his attention through a sense of compliant behavior toward his advances.
He cedes his chortle of laughter in an instant, perplexed and intrigued by this foreign tone of acquiescence. Somewhat hesitantly, you observe, he attempts to return to a seated position. His eyes reveal an equally intriguing attempt to entrap you into their depths.

Gotcha! His eyes dissipate this false veil of security as he spies the "weapon" placed in your grasp. You take your shot before he can react fast enough. Smack! Right into the left side of his face! A small cut appears on his eyebrow and begins pouring the sanguine liquid from his brow. Both of his eyebrows raise in surprise as he launches from the bed and catches the lamp as it falls from his face into his large palms. "What the hell!' he curses your name angrily, holding the inch-long cut above his angular left brow. "What if you give me a scar?!

"Oh shut up. You already get all the attention from every girl you enrapture -- guys, too. Besides, people flip over scars," you fire matter of fact-ly.

"Including you?" he waggles his eyebrows. At least he isn't angry anymore.

Does his head ever get out of the gutter? You grab a book from the vanity and aim it him in a mock threat.

"I see we are done here. Besides, I have planning to do for tomorrow's exertions. Good night, Liebling."

"What did i tell you about calling me that! Neither of us are fluent in German, you poser." you throw the book, Iden barely closing the door in time to prevent further injury. You lock the entrance as swiftly as humanly possible. Being the type to run warm in body temperature, once alone, the room feels stifling. You look at the bed longily. You let your body relax (as much as it can, considering the stress you carry) allow the towel to fall, and performing a face-first trust-fall to the best of your ability. You worm your way into the depths of the bed. Deciding it is still too hot, you remove the top layer of covers, which are doing a too effective job of retaining warmth. Sheltered only by a maroon sheet, you drift into a light, dreamless sleep, similar to the final leaf of autumn descending from a tree.

***