Narrative Formatting

Kicxjo - Yesterday at 7:20 PM
Café Metro was situated in the quiet northern reaches of Bordego, its name befitting the eclectic but distinctly cosmopolitan high-rise core surrounded by a belt of sprawling flats and soulless commuter communities connected by jammed high-ways, bullet trains and a dying public transport system. The Northern Ward served as the playground, the Elysian Isles which socialites, spoiled kids, and tired salarymen with a bit of extra spending money could sail to and forget their troubles in the attractive aesthetic and environment which no one could gaze upon without being reminded of the latest cheesy rom-com to grace the theatres or arthouse film freshly premiered at the Cannes.

On its sides, countless designer stores and local joints not quite busy, but certainly not wanting in patrons with their wide-glass displays and the ubiquitous flat-panel television screens that always bombarded passers-by with everything from corporate propaganda to government-sponsored news agencies kept alive through subsidies and precious, precious tax money. One could hardly even tell it was evening considering how bright the displays shimmered, everywhere imaginable plastered with neon lights or LED displays and a thousand company jingles tossed into the ocean of a logo-thirsty crowd.

The café itself was a pleasant one, certainly quieter than more bombastic, modern establishments that carried all the latest features from android serving staff to personalized name-displays for disposable coffee cups. The owner was a bit of a traditionalist, down to grinding the beans for each cup to order to the touch-screen jukebox on the wall unadorned with the unnecessary vices of voice-command or motion sensors. The inside was not the most spacious, but there were a few tables outside beneath the canopy and sheltered behind rigid fences for those who might feel the need for fresh air—well, as fresh as air could be in a place like Bordego—and a bit of space.

By the side of the door, head bowed and mannerisms accommodating to allow a steady stream of patrons to enter the quaint little shop unmolested, was a short, dainty dark-elf dressed quite nicely—then again, most people were considering it was Valentine’s Day. Her long legs and surprisingly voluptuous, pleasant apple-shaped rear were enclosed in a woolen trouser with a blue-and-white plaid pattern, the hems folded into a cuff to allow space for her black, fluff-trim boots to breathe. For her top, a blouse which held back growing but enjoyably-sized bosom in a cage of fabric with the few top buttons undone, revealing just the slightest bit of dusky, chocolate mocha skin, over which a thick, black coat hung from her shoulders open and unbuttoned. One her shoulders, a plaid scarf which matched her bottoms in color save for a muted, less bright palette was loosely wound; enough, at least, for her to bury her chilled lips into as she waited for her apparent date. Over her golden eyes, thick but cutesy glasses, while her purple hair which had gotten longer lately was tied in a folded ponytail.

Her arms were folded in front of her, and she idly twiddled her thumbs as she continued to linger in wait. She had been looking forwards to this date for a while now, even though she was the ultimate cause for its repeated delays and postponements. She felt even the slightest bit of guilt, though she knew that they would eventually make their way into this establishment which she had chosen in lieu of their original locale being bought and closed rather abruptly. It was just as well, she surmised, that their date was finally pushed to a date as romantic as the fourteenth of February. Of course, she had no delusions in her eyes as to any tinge of romanticism or innocent love for their coming here—she knew just why she had elected to go to a shop with anyone as abrasive and forwards as that high elf. She would have the fuck of her life, in public to boot. After all, she had already prepared herself well in advance: a pair of lacy panties, open at the crotch for ease of access, and a matching brassiere cut just to allow her nipples, once erect, to poke through the hole. Once she was undressed, everyone would know what a slut she was…

Fai - Yesterday at 7:54 PM
Danalia had a perpetual scowl upon her lips as the glimmering displays of propaganda against drug-dealers and the latest machinations of Griscorp flickered upon screens behind pristine glass walls that lined the buildings to the left of her. The North Ward, an opulent shopping district for the richest of the rich and even the most mundane of the 'middle' - what was left of it, not hooked on drugs, alcohol, or strapped thoroughly into virtual reality suits - class could burn both their money and their lifespan within, staring at finely woven, LED infused garb to the latest in technological wonderment to be implanted in their brains at a small price of billions. The Elf never quite understood how the currency of theirs inflated so dramatically from what was once ones becoming the same value as tens. A nuisance to her, having bills dating back decades that were forgotten to be spent becoming worthless and trivial as time ticked on, but that was besides the point.

The furrowed brow of the Elf may have told the tale of how much hatred she had for this gaudy, noisy hell scape of the city but at least she wouldn't be recognized even with her azure hair and pointed ears by any clientele. Her elongated locks filtering down over a thick woolen scarf, striped vertically in thick bands from black to blue to black again, all upon it's length that was piled upon her sweater clad shoulders. Clearly a few sizes too small, it hugged the gratuitous mounds of her tit flesh that put nearly every human on the street to shame, exposing her erect nipples flagrantly to the air as it hugged the underside of her breasts and even exposed the outline of her dipped inward navel. The ribbed length giving it a certain elasticity aroundst the waist, curving against her flared out ass and hiding her supple cheeks from view whilst the curve of her spine made it more than blatant that she had quite the lovely rump. The cusps of her cheeks flagrantly sagging down against the stitched hem, kept in a pristine black pair of nylon pantyhose that was oddly thick. As if the Elf had piled upon layer after layer after layer of the sheer cloth until flesh was blackened and hugged to an extreme, and a simple glance between knee or shin could denote quite marvelously why.

Whilst every other inch of her legs down to her clicking heels that matched the hair upon her head was ebony, a monstrous length that was engorged and thickened with life wantonly distended cloth. More than one layer clearly having been torn around it's girth, curling upon her legs with nowhere to go besides digging into her plump flesh further until only the finale few layers wrapped the flared outward cockhead. The crimson tone of flesh underneath a vivid reminder of the sanguine fluid that pumped through it's length that was so adamantly outlined by hugging tights. Veins revealed in all their glory as if nothing was there except a second skin. The nylon of the stockings glimmering in the cascade of mixed light, layers so thoroughly inundated with the sweat that soaked the shaft that even the  threads could not deny it's potency.

It was honestly a miracle that the simple act of strutting towards this silly little Cafe the tartlet asked for them to meet at didn't destroy the small illusion of modesty she had, but the layers were there for a reason, and they held that cock marvelously. A thin smile gracing the Elf's visage as she saw the small, petite little fuck-doll waiting outside the door like a docile maiden for her in her adorable little garb. The glasses that shined in the advertisements, how her long legs were stretching the plaid pattern of her trousers that only made them seem all the more voluptuous and inviting - the drug slinger had made quite the catch with this little cum-guzzler, even if she didn't have her own place to strut into like a certain nerd druggie did.

The towering elf that made the other look like a child beside, meeting her side promptly. Hand extending outwards with the unfathomable; a heart shaped box of chocolates. A small one, certainly. Already opened, and from the weight alone it was blatant that whatever was in there was not the original confectioneries that came packaged within, but a gift none the less. "I was thinking of you when I made this."

Made. Make. Just like those blistering Redhots and those terrifying Plastertabs she had 'accidentally' forced upon her one night when they had first met, that left flesh scalding and body paralyzed in hallucinating fevers. A taunt. A drug-infused, absurd mockery of what lover's give one another upon Valentine's day.. But honestly the only thing that could have been expected from this Elf.

Her opposite hand almost immediately slinking down to grope at her modest titflesh, ensnaring her within her grasp and striding into the dainty establishment. Tables packed, couples playing footsies underneath their tables whilst fingers cloyed to far more salacious abodes from man, woman, and in-between alike in plain-sight, but plainly hidden. No one so forward and outright hedonistic as to indulge in their 'personal' pleasures out in public like the two had planned. Like the slut had practically begged for - but that soon would be changing, with fingers sinking possessively into heated breast flesh, lead along by the teat.

"Two coffees. Black." Came from the taller one's lips, striding from the door to the center tables. A duo leaving their spot, arm-in-arm and betrothed by the bliss of love, giving the two their chance to sit themselves down. Danalia brushing off whatever crumbs of pastries and droplets of bitter-fluid they left behind before thrusting the small creature down into the seat afront her.

Sitting down with legs spread wide, she planted the gift upon the table lazily. Pushing it towards the docile being. "Eat it before the coffee gets her. I'm certain you'll like it." It wasn't even a, "It tastes good.", or "I made it just for you." A demand. A command. "Drug yourself before I indulge." As if being around her wasn't intoxicating enough.Those crimson hues were already busy glancing away. Looking at the singular screen within the establishment with subtitles scrolling downward. Prattling upon Griscorp's financial successes with their current head leading a charge against drug-traffickers. A far more interesting affair than their 'date'.