Scribbles and Doodles

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Age : 18
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PostSubject: Re: Characters   Sun Feb 08, 2015 6:06 pm

x x x x

"Well! Hello everyone!" Half a cheer, half a scream sounded from across the room as the short boy pushed his way through the door into the café. "Where aare yoou?" All the vowels were dragged in an annoying way, "Ah! Sugar! How aaare you?" He stumbled over to you and flopped onto the chair opposite. From his entrance, people would think you would have known this very brightly dressed man for years. However, his very abrupt entrance was the first time you have seen
outside of pictures. "Oh what an absolutely delightful place! It is so cute!" He excitedly looked around the café, drinking in the whole look of the place. I took the coffee that you and infront of you and took a sip of it. "Imma get me one of these!" He clicked his fingers and ordered the drink before passing you yours back.

"My name is Blythe. Blythe Meriwether." Blythe introduced to himself, once he had received his own coffee. Though he wasn't prancing around, he still had a presence that made him seem very lively and happy. This guy probably never had a sad moment. "I am 24 years old and I work as a secretary for some random company. Boring but okay job. I never had a dream job when I was younger so there was no 'dream' for me to aspire to. But I am happy. That always counts for something." He said,
holding the drink up to his lip. He was wearing a tight pink t-shirt with some picture you couldn't make out in this position, white jeans (tighter than the t-shirt) and very bright rainbow Converse. "I dreamed a dream" He sung, bringing all attention back over to him, but he spoke his next part "I dreamed I would meet the right guy and bow chicka wow wow would happen. Haven't met him yet, but the bow chicka wow wow has certainly happened" He winked while you cringed slightly. He messes up his hair slightly, it was pastel coloured, a minty green.

"I love you. No hetero, but I do." He announced, "You're just so cute!" He squeezed your cheek before standing up. "I have rainbows to spread elsewhere, aka work, sugarplum, but I will see you again. I like you." before leaving in just as granda gesture as when he was entering the building. Goodbye my good people! I love you all"

Yeah, we'll be doing what we do
Just pretending that we're cool and we know it too (know it too)
Yeah, we'll keep doing what we do
Just pretending that we're cool, so tonight
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PostSubject: Re: Characters   Sat Feb 21, 2015 9:18 pm


And I've seen him with girls of the night
And he told Roxanne to put on her red light
They're all infected but he'll be alright
'Cause he's a scumbag, don't you know?
I said he's a scumbag, don't you know?

The street is dark, the new moon's light doing nothing to light up the sombre street. The smell of smoke is overwhelming, every breath feeling like you're breathing in a burning fire made from rotten wood. There's one street light, it's far away and it's light is a dim orange flickering often, but underneath it you could see the silhouette of a man stood underneath it. You have been told about this man, the dark shadow who wanders the streets, never talking to anybody. There are a lot of myths and legends about him, most thought of him as a ghost of someone who died hundreds of years ago, not passing on to the afterlife. From the stench of smoke, and the incessant lifting of his arm to his mouth, if he was dead, the cause would most certainly have been his smoking habit. Certainly at such a young age. As you approached him, you could see his youth. But with every drag, you could almost see his years draining away. He had a mysterious look, dark brown hair, longer than what a lot of men wore their hair like, and though it was slightly shaggy, it was well kept.  That summed up his entire look. Well kept, groomed and smart.  He didn't look the type to be out on the street so early in the morning hours. The shadow opened his eyes and turned to look at you. He exhaled deeply, smoke being blown out onto your face, but you refused to cough or splutter. A grin cracked across his face, spreading from ear to ear. This was the person you were sent to interview.

"Want one?" He held the cigarette box out for you to take one but you shook your head. "They're good quality, I would never buy shit ones. Ruin the experience." He took another deep long drag, as if savouring the ashy sensation. He was tall, around 5'9", dressed in an expensive blazer and shirt, but his trousers were ripped, old jeans. He turned his head away from you, never dropping his smile. "I'm Cheshire" He introduced himself, "Don't introduce yourself, I don't particularly care" He added, puffing out some more smoke, before stubbing the cigarette out on the lamppost. He took a glance around, and seeing how the sky was becoming lighter, he moved away from where he was leant.  "I need to go now, follow if you want, I guess you're the one I've been told is going to interview me." He said, and not waiting for a reply, he set off walking, You followed behind, and Cheshire started talking,  "I'm not avoiding the sunrise, I'm not a vampire, at 21, I am too young for that. How old did you think I was?" Again, he didn't wait for your answer. His pace was fast, his long legs taking long steps.  "People are fucking retards, don't you think? That's why I don't like being out during the day. I get such dirty looks from people. Just because they think I am some supernatural being. I'm human, one much more intelligent than normal, but I am still a homo sapien, 'wise man' as that translates too. Homo sexual too, but that ain't important."

He lead you up to a very large house, but instead of going into the front door, he swerves off the path and heads into the woods behind it. There's a well worn path, easy to follow and not over ridden by weeds like the rest of the woods were. "That's my parents house. They told me I should move out, so I made them build me this little house." You hated to know what his definition of big was. The house hidden in the clearing in the forest was at least four storeys high, and from counting the windows at least ten rooms on each floor. "They still buy me food and stuff, I just have to pay for the bills, sometimes, but I usually forget so they do it for me" He walked through the grand doors into a hall way. Surprisingly, it wasn't as spotless as you would expect it to be. In fact, there was junk scattered everywhere. Purses, phones, wallets, watches, bags, handkerchiefs, hats, just a lot of bric-à-brac. "These are my treasures" He explained, turning around, his arms outstretched as if presenting something truly incredible.  "I add something new to the collection every time I go out" he boasts, over dramatically throwing another wallet onto the pile. You were able to guess these were stolen items, but the question was, why would some one so rich need to steal like this? "I'm a collector, but not of stamps or antiques, of people's possessions. They can't have wanted the so much if they were so easy to steal." He concludes, waving his hand as if brushing that topic away, "I don't have a job, so that occupies me"

"I was an only child, with two dads and a mum. Dad lived somewhere near Buckingham, but he did always come down to visit me every Sunday when mother and step-father went to church. Every time bringing me a gift. Despite where my dad lived, and our surname, I'm not related to the current Queen. Wish I was, that would be fucking awesome, but I am not so shit." Windsor lead you through to a large drawing room. He pushed you onto a chair, "Don't expect pleasantries, I am not your fucking slave to make your tea and biscuits. Want them? Go buy your fucking own." He flopped down on to a chair which he must sit on often, there was a dip from where it had moulded around his body. "Is there possibly anything else you could possibly want to ask? Because I am getting bored of your company" This time he gave you chance to reply, but he completely ignored your question and shook his head, "Yeah, no. Get out" He pointed at the door, not bothering himself to get up to show you out. You weaved your way out of the house, being careful not to tread on any of his 'treasures'. Somehow, he hadn't been arrested for all this, but you're not the one to be a snitch about it. When you were outside, the morning sun was just visible through the trees, and by the time you arrived at the street where you first met Cheshire, the sun had risen completely. You reached into your pocket to get your wallet to check if you had money to get a taxi, before realising your wallet was missing. That bastard.

Greyish blue
Animal; Falcon
Place; The streets of London in the dead of night
Food; Liquorice
Film; Alice in Wonderland (Tim Burton version), he'd be lying if he said he hadn't watched it a hundred times

A Playlist of Cheshire's
x When The Sun Goes Down ~ Arctic Monkeys.
x The Pretender ~ The Foo Fighters
x Blame ~ Egypt Central
x Basket Case ~ Green Day
x Die Trying ~ Art of Dying
x Anastasia ~ Slash
x Still Counting ~ Volbeat

Counting all the assholes in the room
Well I'm definitely not alone, well I'm not alone
You're a liar, you're a cheater, you're a fool
Well that's just like me yoohoo and I know you too
Mr. Perfect don't exist my little friend.

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PostSubject: Re: Characters   Sun Feb 22, 2015 11:34 am

x x x x x
She skipped over to you, leaving a sparkly trail, glitter falling from her pink
hair and shiny eye shadow. She gave you a bright smile. "Oh, but you don't
want to do the interview inside, do you? Inside is dull, predictable." Her nose
scrunched up, but her cheerfulness remained. "Humanly. Let's go out, it's much
prettier outside." You wanted to complain, because it was dark outside, but
considering what you've been told about her, night might get her to open up.
She took your hand and pulled you out so quickly you barely managed to pay
for your drink. The waitress seemed used to strange people after eight, so she
ignored you two. "So, what do you want to know about me? I should consider
myself a pretty special star, don't mind me saying, but where do I start?" She
thought about the starting point as she dragged you through the urban city
lights to the park in the middle of it all. In parks at night, as you knew, were
some strange people, but you figured, as long as you were with her, nothing
could hurt you. She didn't drop your hand throughout the walk. When you came
to a stop, in the middle of a grassy patch of land, under the stars, she sat down,
not worrying about grass stains on her denim shorts. You asked if she was cold,
referring to her shorts and a t-shirt, but she just shook her head. "No, I don't
get cold, I suppose. I mean, if you put me on Antarctica, I guess I'd freeze, but
no." She leaned back on her elbows and stretched her legs away from her. The
stars reflected in her grey eyes. "I do love it outside at night. Reminds me of
home", she said. The silence lasted for a couple of minutes, before she glanced
at you, as if she just remembered you were here as well. "Hello. I guess we start
with the usual. I'm Aquarius, but you humans should call me Heather Clyde Abbott.
I don't know why we picked that name. But, I needed a name, and I guess this
one works like any other." She ran one of her hands through her hair, the glitter
sparkling in the moonlight. "What else is a simple, one sentence answer? I'm
afraid not much. For you, humans, I have to explain everything." She straightened
up and crossed her legs, resting her hands in her lap. "You're aware of the Zodiac
culture, aren't you?" You shook your head, and she just sighed. "Okay then. Firstly,
I'll tell you everything, then I will explain, does that work?" She didn't look at you,
but once you nodded, she continued. "I'm a diplomat of the Aquarius community in
the Zodiac culture, I was sent to Earth before I earned my spot in the Council. I'm
really old", she snickered. Her voice sounded like the twinkling of the stars. "But
that's the subject I avoid. I'm a morpher with a set form, which means I don't really
have a gender, but I decided for the female sort, because if I were male, I couldn't
wear my hair like this or be in parks this late." She laughed again and began explaining.

So, the Zodiacs, we are a race, just like you humans. We like to consider ourselves
a bit superior, because we've been here for much longer, but you'll get here as well,
don't worry. You heard about horoscopes, right? They're based off of us. See, we live
up there, in the stars. In the past we visited the Earth, and, using techniques like
palm reading and astrology, told the humans about their future. The whole of Romani
future telling techniques comes from us. So we got ourselves a neat little column in
human newspapers every day, right? But it's so much more than that. There are twelve
communities of the Zodiac race, one for each... how do you say it, sign? So I'm a part
of the Aquarius community, and since I'm competing for the Zodiac council, which is
something like government for you, I took the name Aquarius. I used to have a different
name, but it was so long ago, I don't even remember. Possibly more than two hundred
years, because I've been on Earth for a hundred and fifty years, which, of course, means
a lot of moving around. Because I'm in my set form, I can't age visually or anything, so
I can't really have any friends. The only people I can talk and connect on a spiritual level
are people like you, who have a knowledge about alien, as you call them, races. There
aren't that many of you, and I'm alone. But I don't really mind. It took me a long time to
actually learn your language and your habits and ways. You're so much different than us,
but I guess that makes my work here so much more valuable. I mean, I say work, but
I really don't do anything. Once a year I inform my people about your people, and so on.
In the meantime, I help the Romani people here with basic things like reading from tea
leaves and Tarot cards. Those things aren't really the most safe to use. They're unreliable,
but I guess that humans like to have a bit of mystery around their lives. Knowing everything
that happens is boring. During the night I go out here and just watch the stars. I used to live
on one of those, with my family, I don't think you can see it from here. Aquila Eusebeia, that
was the name of the galaxy in which the Aquarii people live. It's pretty out there, but it's
simply too far from Earth. The Arius kind lives the closest, though, and the Pisces live the
farthest, just a bit farther than us. I'm not complaining or anything, that's useful knowledge.
You should be writing this down. But approximately, five degrees off of the Main Constellation,
that's where I am. I don't know when they're sending me home, but when they do, I'll be
ready. There's nothing wrong with your planet or anything, but I prefer my stars. There are
too many people on one space object for my taste. Usually, for us Zodiacs, we're separated.
That doesn't mean we're racist, you can still meet up with people of different kind, you can
be with someone of a different kind, but once you're mature, you pick your kind and you
stay with it unless you tell the Council. But that takes decades, so it's not very efficient.
I, as a born and raised Aquarius, wouldn't think of changing even if my life depended on it.

Hey you, what's a good girl like you
Doin' in this crazy world?
Where's the good gone girl?

When the Moon is in the seventh house
And Jupiter aligns with Mars
Then peace will guide the planets
And love will steer the stars
This is the dawning of the age of Aquarius

michigan lake blue, breast cancer awareness pink, nina's purple

did u mean "my writing at 2 am"
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PostSubject: Re: Characters   Sat Feb 28, 2015 6:54 pm

x x x x
"Okay, Katrina, is it straight?" The tall, muscly boy held the camera in one place,
but the girl holding it didn't look as amused as he was. "I'm going to drop that
goddamn camera of yours in the bloody ocean." The boy just winked at her before
taking a few step backs and talking to the camera (which was still as straight as
Oscar Wilde, he noticed, but decided to give Katrina some credit, since it was her
first experience with camera). "Hi everybody! I'm Forrest, and this video exists
to give you a sneak peek of the life on one of the Greenpeace's boats. Ships?
Floaty thingies." Katrina rolled her eyes, but Forrest paid not even 5% of his attention
to her. "Anyway. First things first. I think you might want to get to know me a
bit better, right?" "Oh, fuck, no, you're going to film yourself if you plan to talk
about yourself for hours", Katrina moaned and passed the camera to Forrest, "I
have work to do, unlike some." Forrest raised the camera on his eye level. "I,
for one, think I'm a splendidly interesting to hear about", he grinned at the lens.
"For starters, my name's awful interesting. Forrest Sage Dustin. Repeat after
me, children now." he repeated his full name once. And then twice. "SHUT UP",
a loud voice broke his over-pronouncing. "Leave me alone, I'm making this
goddamn video, it's supposed to be for children and education!" Forrest yelled
back. "I'm sorry, that was our co-captain, Jeff, who is still a little pissed he
didn't become captain, a spot which is still held strong by Virginia,  Mrs. Sir
Captain. I never call her that while she's around." Another toothy grin from
him, and he started running. "See, behind me..." he panted as he tried to
film the sea surrounding him. "Is the Pacific ocean. The green boat with the
rainbow flag on it, yeah, that's us. We're freeing dolphins at the moment",
he informed the lens before he stopped in front of a series of rooms. "Let's
meet y'all to the cast of this boat, right?" He frowned. "No, more about me.
Only my name isn't enough for you, amiright? Well, I'm twenty sixish, I come
from Wyoming, from Casper and I AM SINGLE LADIES AND LADIES THANK
YOU", and again, he was interrupted. "Goddamn fuck it, Dustin, get your
stupid ass in the room, you've been outside forever.
" Forrest rolled his
eyes. "My roommate. He hates me. OKAY I'M COMING IN." "THAT'S WHAT
SHE SAID", Jeff's voice came from the control room. "Shut up!!"

"This is Tristan, say hello Tristan." "Hello, Tristan." "Shut up Tristan." And
Forrest left his roommate in his room. "That's all you need to know about
Tristan." He slammed the door shut. "He's a fucking moron, that's what he
is. Anyway, this next room", he pointed at the door which had a load of
pie charts and darts stuck on it, "it's the captain slash co-captain room. Yes,
Jeff and Virginia. Yes, they hate each other. Yes, we get an earful of angry
sex every now and then." He moved along. "And here is where we keep our
Jews", he said and opened the door, revealing a couple of girls stacked up
on top of each other on a bed. One had a Russian classic with a broken spine
in her arms and nails painted in a lovely shade of black, and the other one
had a sketch pad in her lap and drew the other girl. Her fingers were purplish,
because of the ink of her pen. "Hey", the manicured girl complained. "She's
Jewish, I'm Christian, I thought we cleared that out." Forrest snorted. "And I'm
a Buddhist, I miss your point." "I meant, you have no Jews to keep anywhere,
you only have one." "Okay!" the girl who was drawing shouted. "Okay! I get
it! My religion is so funny, Elrike, I get it!" Elrike pouted at her. "Aww, Ailsie,
I love you, sweetie, don't be mad, I'm joking!" "Okay, ew. Here is where we
keep Hitler's nightmares, I stand corrected. Lesbian Jews", Forrest laughed.
"If you want to make this a Hitler's nightmare, I'll gladly handicap you", Elrike
stuck her tongue out. "Okay, byeee", Forrest closed the door and headed towards
the last door in the hall. "This is where Katrina and Sandy sleep. Yes, I know,
their names are hurricanes, haha. I think there were put in the same room just
because of that coincidence, but they ended up together." Forrest shook his head.
"Okay, I get the name Katrina, it's like Catherine, but naming a boy Sandy?
Now that's just rude. But who am I to talk about names."

We'll crumble into dust
I'll be picked up by the wind
And blown into strangers eyes

{{probably them all at some point

michigan lake blue, breast cancer awareness pink, nina's purple

did u mean "my writing at 2 am"
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PostSubject: Re: Characters   Sun Mar 01, 2015 4:21 pm

x x x x
If you took only one glance at her, you would have guessed she was
a boy, with her short, blonde hair and athletic built, leant over a guitar
and distantly plucking the strings in a melancholy manner. A long shirt
which seemed to be borrowed from an older brother of sorts played a
role of a dress, reaching a bit below her crossed knees, where the knee-
length leather Dr. Martens started. It was chilly outside the bar, but since
the inside of the bar was a place where the owner and his wife fought a
lot, the crowd transferred outside, lit some of the torches they found in
the basement and dragged out the summer chairs and tables. It was the
end of August, so the weather was surprising, but the girl seemed to be
prepared for anything, since she had finger-less mittens on her hands.
When she saw you approaching, she lifted her head and the corner of her
lips quirked up. Her smile looked mysterious, like she knew a secret that
you didn't. "Hello", she greeted you and instantly switched to a happier,
more carefree tune. "I'm Dez, is there any way I could help you?" You
shook your head and dragged yourself a plastic chair to talk to the girl.
"Just a chat, then?" she gave you a quick once-over and fixed the sides of
her hair. You noticed that the guitar was scratched, not well-kept, and she
shook her head. "Oh, this thing is not mine. Belongs to the bar. I can't ride
my motorbike with a guitar strapped on it", she nodded towards the old,
ragged motorbike which had at least five layers of various colours, blue,
black, red, and a colour which told you that the bike existed back in the
80s, neon green. All those colours were covered by a coating of dust, dirt
and some grass in the wheel region. "I'm here for the night, I'll be leaving
tomorrow. But until then..." she began singing a song which felt vaguely
familiar, but still, new. She had a quiet voice, folky and gentle, and it almost
felt like background to the whole, moon-and-torch-lit evening with fireflies
scattered around and soft laughter of the men around you. You realised that,
yes, there were mostly men, at which Dezzy smiled another half-smirk.
"Yes, I know. There's something rather off here. This whole scene requires
some biker girls." She let out a quiet laugh. "And you're anything but biker,
what drags you into this part of Alabama?" she lets her accent drag over the
vowels. "Ooh, okay, not talking about you. Are we talking about me, then?"
She shrugged. "I don't know, really. There's nothing to say about me. Or, if
there was, I never had to explain myself to anybody, so I don't know how to
put it into words." She plucked the strings in a distant melody. "I'm twenty
three, a college dropout, I have no dreams or aspirations, no job, I get paid
for doing miscellaneous jobs here and there, mowing the lawn, herding the
sheep, you know how it goes. I drive my bike around the country because I
have no place to return to, and my favourite colour is brown. Feelin' like you
know me yet?" She smiled again, with a bit less happiness in her voice this
time, and proceeded to play the guitar. You ordered a beer and talked to the
men in leather jackets, listening to the music coming from a corner of the yard.

x x
She sat on the bed in the student motel and scribbled into her notebook. One of
the boys here had a guitar, she thought, and maybe she could test out the song
idea later. The song was about the girl she met last week, Karin. She had big,
gentle blue eyes and the wickedest grin Dezzy ever saw. Her hair was bleached
yellow and she wore expensive looking clothes and impeccable cat-eyed make
up. She wore heels tall enough to kill, if she stepped on you, and it was one of
the more memorable girls Dezzy'd been with, so, of course, she had to put her
feelings into lyrics, like she always did. She found that saying what you want to
say is much easier if you have music behind your words to back you up. It gets
the emotion across better. When one of the boys entered the room, she raised
her head. "Hey..." she couldn't for the life of God remember what his name was.
"Would you mind if I borrowed your guitar for a second? I don't know if it's yours,
but I just..." she waved her notebook in the air, "have a song to write, and I can't
really do it without music, you know?" "Yeah, sure." The boy handed the guitar over
to Dezzy and she smiled at him. She placed it on her knees and scribbled some
notes above the lyrics. The boy sat next to her and peeked over her shoulder. "Who
is Karin, your sister?" he asked. "Uh, no. It's -- It's a song by my brother, the lyrics,
at least, and I have to harmonize it, you know?" She never told people the truth.
She thought they didn't really need to know. "Oh, alright. This is really good. It's
cute, I mean. Kudos to your brother. Karin must be one lucky girl", the boy said.
Dezzy smiled and nodded. "She is." She was. Dezzy left her once she left the town.

"Delaney!" she heard from downstairs as she tried to find the right melody for
the chorus. Writing songs was hard, especially when you tried to work with all
the noise coming from the floor down below. "Yes, mum?" Dezzy answered and
put down her guitar. The guitar was her brother's, but since he was three years
older, he left home for college and gave Dezzy his guitar, which she'd been longing
to get for ages. She'd learned how to play on it, and discovered that she preferred
writing music to writing essays, which made an impressive drop in her grades.
Or was it all the girls she thought about while writing those songs? "Come down,
now!" There was something in her mother's voice which made Dezzy bite her
lower lip. Something was wrong. She got up, put on her slippers and skipped
downstairs. "Yes?" she asked as she tiptoed down the wooden stairs. She stopped
flat in her tracks when she saw who was standing next to her mother. It was
Grace, the girl Dezzy's been going out with, and she had a pout on her perfectly
framed round face surrounded by cascades of dark hair. "This girl claims to
be here to get her date..." her mother said in a loud, bossy voice, and with
each spat out vowel, Grace's eyes averted to the floor more and more. "And,
as I believe, Nick", her brother, "went to college not less than four months ago.
So I asked her who is she here for. And she said Dezzy." Dezzy felt like she was
drowning. "Tell me, Delaney", her mother put a disgusting stress on her full
name, which she hated, "why would this lovely girl be asking for a date with
you? You're not a boy, Delaney, you could stop actin' like one." Dezzy looked
at Grace, who was close to tears. "Gracie, go, I'll call you later", she said, as
quiet and timid as she could. "Okay", Grace made her way out, away from her
mother's reach. "Delaney, I will not tolerate this behaviour in my house!" Dezzy
took a long, deep breath. "This is unnatural! Tomorrow is church, I can take you
to priest Nancy, he could help-" "No, mother, I don't want to go to church, not
tomorrow, not ever." She knew the moment of truth was just around the corner,
waiting to bite. "I'm leaving, mother. Consider me not your worry anymore." And
that's why she kept a packed backpack under her bed. She ran up the stairs with
tears in her eyes. It wasn't what her mother said, it was what she didn't say.
Even though Dezzy knew there was nothing wrong with her love towards girls,
but her mother made it hard to hold her beliefs in line. And then, even though
she was only seventeen, she left her house, her family and every thing she ever
knew. Like the songs said, 'freedom is just another word for 'nothing left to lose.''
And she felt liberated. Free at last, one might say. She kicked her old motorbike
into power and drove away from her mother, who didn't care if she left or if she
stayed. She probably thought Dezzy was faking it. But no. Not this time.

What would you do if you lost your beauty?
How would you deal with the light?
How would you feel if nobody chased you?
What if it happened tonight?

Don't you know people write songs about girls like you?
About girls like you
About girls like you

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did u mean "my writing at 2 am"
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PostSubject: Re: Characters   Sun Mar 01, 2015 5:37 pm

x x x x x
You get lost on your way back home, just about anywhere.
You sing off key to the radio, like nobody’s there.
And I love that your Sunday’s best is a holey pair of jeans
And I don’t stand a chance when you smile.

"You're not a very good window, sugarplum, you're blocking the sunlight" Spread across the blanket, her arm covering her eyes, and a bikini that didn't leave much to the imagination, the girl complained in a Californian drawl. But her tone wasn't mean, it was more joking as if she couldn't care less you were blocking her sun. "I'm Adelais Hemel Leeuwenhoek, but I go by Lais. Oh and don't even bother trying to pronounce my surname, even I can't do it and it's my name!" She laughed, a very sunny sound that echoed around you, wrapping you into a warm embrace. "It's Dutch, apparently. My great-great Grandpa was from Holland, I think. Personally, I've never been. Looks a lovely place but it just doesn't have the sun of Cali. Well, the sun when you're not blocking it. Here, sit next to me on my very comfortable blanket. That's it, yes. Now. Admire the sea. Isn't it beautiful?" She pointed out to the sea, a dreamy look on her face. "You want to play twenty questions? Okay, start" You gave her a few questions on the basics of who she was. "Well, as i said I am Lais. I am twenty, I work in a small shop just over there, you should pop in sometime. I enjoy strolls on the beach. I enjoy swimming on the beach. I enjoy watching the surfers on the beach. I enjoy the beach okay?" Her laugh sounded again. She reminded you of the beach, with her eyes the same colour as the sky meeting the sea, and her hair the colour of sand when the summer sun is shining down upon it. In the evening sun you could see a sprinkling of freckles across her face, which weren't visible in the shade. "Oh my, is that the time? I had better go." She stood up and wrapped a dress like shawl over her shoulders. "I am sorry to cut this short but I have to go. Toodles!" She called out, slipping flipflops onto her feet and running across the beach. Where was she going in such a hurry? You decided to follow her, it must be important for her to go so quickly.There was no harm in being curious.

x x x x
Are you, are you
Coming to the tree?
They strung up a man
They say who murdered three.
Strange things did happen here
No stranger would it be
If we met at midnight
In the hanging tree.

Adelais walked down a dark secluded path, straight towards a large leafless tree. A raven squawked loudly before flying down and landing on her shoulder. She greeted it by rubbing her finger over its chest. You thought she hadn't noticed you yet, but as the bird looked towards you and appeared to whisper into Adelais' ear, you begin to doubt it. The bird starts to fly towards you and you fear it is going to collide with you, but just before it reaches you, it changes into a human, and it held a knife against your throat. "Who the fuck are you?" He asked, pressing the knife harder against your throat. "Binx! Let them be." The boy, Binx, lowered the knife but didn't drop his bird like gaze from you. His eyes were unnaturally black, and very reflective, you could almost see your silhouette through them.  "They can't do anything to us. We can sort them later" She flicked her hair over her shoulder, turning heel. "You're just going to let them follow us?!" "Yes. I have a present for them" She continued walking, the bird-boy following behind her, grumbling. "Shut up, Binx!" He sighed loudly and dramatically before turning back into the raven and fluttering onto her shoulder.  "Binx is my familiar. They are like a servant" She received a peck on the ear, "Ow! They are bound to their master. Binx, shut up and stop pecking me, that's an order." The bird ruffled his feathers, but surprisingly stopped his pecking. "They find their masters, we can talk telepathically (or more he can see my thoughts) they cannot disobey their master's orders, however he can leave whenever he wants. I doubt he will though, love me too much" A squawk of protest, making Adelais laugh. She arrived at the large tree, took a glance around, before muttering something incomprehensible while you stared in shock as the leaf covered ground started rising up, leading to a large uninviting tunnel. It was fusty and murky, a place you really didn't want to go. Adelais clicked her fingers, and as soon as she did the tunnel was lit up by rows of torches. "I don't want to but I should explain who, or more, what I am. I am a witch. Have been since my Grandpa taught me. Family business and all that. Remember my great-great Grandpa? Yeah well he brought witchcraft into the family." Adelais explained, Binx bobbed up and down in agreement. "Binx found me when I was twelve and had just learnt all of the skills a witch needed to know. Which is a lot more than you think. I'm completely fluent in Latin now" She laughed again, continuing to walk through the mucid tunnel, it didn't seem to particularly affect her, you thought she must come here a lot. She walked through the rest of the tunnel in a contented silence, and the look on her face you recognised as one for someone deep in thought. Reaching a large oak door, Adelais placed her hand on it and pushed it slowly open. "Welcome to our home"
Binx became human again as he headed over to the kitchen, seemingly getting refreshments. "Don't forget the mint this time, Binx" "I'm not stupid" Adelais grinned and turned to face you. "The 'Beach Babe' is just a façade, hell would break free if people were to find out who I actually was! People just think Binx is my cousin or sibling or something. He's not far off being one. No. No! He is not my boyfriend, eww, why would you suggest that? It is unheard of to be with you familiar, it's like bestiality." You glanced over at Binx, he looked disheartened at this comment, but continued with what he was meant to be doing, not looking over at Adelais. "We've lived here for about 2 years now, since I finished high school. Since there isn't a lot of money in being a shop assistant for a shop that hardly anyone goes into, I sell natural remedies online, and Binx takes them to who ever bought them. I can make a fortune out of them. Especially during the colder seasons." Binx walked over and passed you a cup of tea. You thanked him and he returned to the kitchen, you pretended not to notice the rude gesture he threw your way. "Drink up. It'll go cold" "Good, yes. Have you got everything Binx?" Suddenly, your sight when blurred, and the world started spinning. Adelais just grinned down at you. "Don't worry, when you wake up you won't remember any of this, and you might have a headache. But that'll fade soon" Then black.
You woke up on the beach, confused and disorientated, with a pounding headache. On your chest was a small brown bag, with a small note tied around it. 'No one blocks my sun.'. Inside the bag was a random selection of stuff, including bones from what looked like a rabbit, and a large mixture of different herbs. Where was this from? And what was it?

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PostSubject: Re: Characters   Tue Mar 03, 2015 8:50 pm

x x x x
You weren't sure how it all happened, but you found yourself in a
peaceful forest in full bloom, with bird tweeting, crickets cricketing
or whatever they did, you didn't really care. You didn't have time for
admiring the scenery, you needed to return to the nearest populated
area. You decided to follow the small stream which, slowly, turned
into the full-sized river, with water clear as a reflection of a mirror.
There were some shiny scale flashes in it, followed by water trembling
as fish moved. You were so focused on the amusing dance of the fish,
you completely forgot about being lost, and didn't give much thought
to the river size or depth, until the water trembled, trembled, and a
silhouette appeared. At first it seemed small, but as the figure got nearer,
you decided that it was about the size of an average twenty five year
old girl, but it was impossible for her to hold her breath for that long,
so you ruled that option out. However, it was a girl. And she seemed to
be equally surprised to see you. Some bubbles appeared on the surface;
is this girl communicating to you? You asked her if she was alright, with
hope that she will hear you, so you repeated your question, shouting. Her
eyebrows connected and she arose from the water. "Qui es-tu?" her voice
was quiet, but panicky, combined with huge, brown eyes, her entire person
made you feel sorry for her, whatever she was. And, judging by what you
saw, she was half-fish, and that can't be real, right? "You speak English?"
She had a very thick accent, but it seemed like she knew English, at least
good for conversation. "What you see now, it is not real... You're dreaming",
she said, looking into your eyes. "Go back to where you came from. You
don't belong here." Her eyes turned blue, an ocean in which you drowned,
saw nothing but blue, and heard her soft voice through the water: "You
will leave and tell all of your friends never to come by me again. Never.
I don't like to be bothered. If you leave me alone", her voice trembled, "if
you leave me alone, I won't hurt you." Silence. "And I give you my word."

"Hey, kiddo", an old man shook you awake. "Found you in the big ol' blue
river, nearly drowned. Ya better watch yourself in the forest, kid. A lot of
strange happenings have been goin' on in the last decade or so. I'd know,
I've been livin' in this right house for my whole life, and things have been
changing. Is it nature, is it God..." the old man looked at the sky. "Dunno.
But it's nice believin', innit?" He smiled at you. "Let's get you dried up."

You asked about the 'strange happenings' once he threw a towel over to
you. The old man lived in a small, one room cabin made out of wood at
the edge of the forest. There was nothing suspicious about the cabin, as
much as you could notice, except two pieces of clothing messily thrown
in a corner, only noticeable because the rest of the cabin was neat and
cleaned in a way which might have been diagnosed as OCD. "Well, for
starters, we don't got no wolves here, see, which is strange for a forest
of this size. No bears or anythin' that could eatcha, ya know? Just some
bunnies, and birds. Some fish, but not enough to catch for daily breakfast.
I used to shoot me some deer, but there aren't any anymore." He just
shrugged, like it didn't matter. "It's that river. It's believed to be haunted,
but I tell ya not to believe in things like that. Ain't no story getting told
better than those who lived through it, ya know what I'm saying?" He
grinned at you. "And I did. Live through it, I mean. It's not haunted, the
river. At least not its path. It's the water." A wicked glint in his eyes made
you want to go outside. It was a crazy thing to believe in witchcraft and
haunted things, wasn't it? It didn't make sense. First fish girls, then crazy
old men... Maybe you should leave. But you didn't. You wanted to find out
more about the haunted river, so you stayed. "You know, a long time ago,
when I was a kid, my grandpa was a sailor. He used to tell me stories about
his adventures, across the Big Lake and back. There was this one story he
loved tellin' the most... About this family, The Lilous. French royal family,
cousins of the king. The grandfather, I think, he married the sister of king's
late mother or somethin', I don't really remember the whole story, I'll try to
muster it up... So the Lilous, the father, the mother and the daugter; as my
grandpa described, she was a lovely creature, with long, black hair, exotic
looks... One of those baby adoptees from the East, as you do. Shame though,
as he explained, she never got married, although she was twenty three at the
time... The ship crashed, not to prolong the story any longer, and none of the
passengers in the lower deck survived. My grandpa did, and he lived to tell
you this story. Why did I even start to tell you this story? Oh, yeah, the Lilou
daughter, Marcelle. But as the sailors and the captain floated in their lifeboats,
in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, somebody guided them. There was no way
they could have made it to America alone, grandpa said, there was this, sort
of, a good spirit guiding them. My grandpa swore it was Marcelle Lilou's ghost,
but I have a theory. You know, he said he never saw her fully, but he always
saw her eyes. I don't know how that works, but he described her big, brown
eyes, dark hair against colourless, almost snow-like face. Grandpa described
a dead girl, but dead girls don't appear in sea, they don't float. They sink. I
say..." the old man leant forward and said confidentially, "I say little Marcelle
became a siren, or, a mermaid, if you wish. I say she followed my grandpa to
this very forest, and that she lives in the river here. So you can say, strange
happenings." He wandered off in his brain for a couple of seconds. "I called her
Delmer, of the sea. I guess the pour soul deserves a name, after all she's been
through." You left the crazy man, his cabin and his sirens as soon as you could.
But you still had a feeling the old man lied to you. The clothes you saw when
you walked in were young girl's clothes. Delmer's clothes. She knew him. Now,
you didn't know if he was her friend, or was she trapped, but you knew one
thing. You will never forget those big, sad, brown eyes.

Faire la fin du monde en deux secondes
Une pour toi une pour moi
Aisément on fait le fin du monde
J'te donne l'hémisphère nord J'ai froid
Je prends l'hémisphère sud

And I will call upon your name
And keep my eyes above the waves
When oceans rise

michigan lake blue, breast cancer awareness pink, nina's purple

did u mean "my writing at 2 am"
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PostSubject: Re: Characters   Wed Mar 04, 2015 9:11 pm

x x x x
And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more.
People talking without speaking,
People hearing without listening,
People writing songs that voices never share
And no one dared
Disturb the sound of silence.

"Tea! Oh gosh, oh gosh!"  The small boy scampered around the even smaller kitchen, "I'm meant to be professional now! And I forgot the tea! Here, hama sinome. Oh, sorry lle quena i'lambe tel' Eldalie? I guess not, I'll stop with that now. Oh gosh, sit down, and creoso a'baramin. Oh gosh, sorry, welcome to my dwelling"  The boy looked quite young, if you had to guess you would say he was about fourteen. He seemed to be panicking about what he was doing. muttering to himself in a language you didn't understand as he placed the tea tray next to you on a small table. Once he had collect what looked like weirdly shaped biscuits, he settled down on the chair opposite you, outside a small caravan. "I'm Abbán Ohtar. Avalon knows how I got that title. Ohtar means warrior, in my home language, my mother's home language, but I'll talk more about that later. Call me Hobbs, it will be easier for us all. My atar, erm, dad, he called me that. It means Elf or Goblin, it is meant to be a sarcastic joke" He was whittling now, writhing his hands around each other as he waited for you to pour the tea. He would probably spill it if he took hold of the teapot, he was shaking so much. "Atar is from Korea, it's weird, I have never been there. The only word I can say is my nickname from him 홉스. Not much use if I go there. But I don't live there and I probably won't go there so I am okay, I am okay." He took a deep breath, and stopped himself from rocking backwards and forwards. "Oh gosh, I must seem so rude, being this nervous. But you see you're the first edan, erm, human I've met apart from atar. You look so plain compared to us, to my family back home. Oh my, sorry. I mean you're... you're vanima.. English Abbàn, English. You're beautiful."  He remained silent for a second, as if thinking what to say, so you asked about his basic life. "I am 100 years old, I guess that's pretty old for you humans. My atar died 40 years ago, my atara, mother, is still alive but she thinks of me as an abomination since I am a cross breed. A lot of people think that back home. I am seen as a Elandili, a half-elf, and since I am half human that makes it worse. Elves have a low opinion of you edanrim." Hobbs shrugged to himself, finally reaching out to grab his cup of tea you had poured for him, his hands steady enough to hold it. He took a sip, "Oh gosh, ow, that's hot" He dropped the cup onto the table, again burning himself as the tea fell onto his hands. "Ow." He stumbled upwards, heading over to the sink to cool down the burn. "I still need to wash up after last night's dinner, it was nice, how do you phrase it, oh gosh, it was a sandwich I think" He said, placing his hand under the water. "Life doesn't hurt as much back home. I'm meant to be here because of a 'mission' they sent me on. I had to retrieve the magical 'acorn' from the Yaar Nomo, Ancient Oak. I've been searching for five years, I don't think it exists. They said this seed will stop the war which is happening between my people and the Orqurim, erm, Orcs. They don't think I should be an Ohtar, but somehow I got through all the training, perhaps longer than everyone else, but I managed." He looked upset at that. He dried his hand and walked back over to you to sit down. He wrapped a damp towel round his hand to keep it cool. The cloth had a strong aromatic smell, and Hobbs sighed loudly, "You don't have the remedies they have at home, so I have to make do with the stuff I buy at that really smelly shop with weird symbols written on the sign. Oh gosh, is that offensive? I'm sorry I'm sorry." He started rambling again, "They teach us in training basic medicine stuff, but the Fallaners, healers, are fully trained in healing everything. I have seen them bring someone back from the brink of death. My bracelet was made by one of them, it keeps me connected to home, and apparently protects me from stuff, oh gosh, it doesn't seem to protect me from tea. Oh gosh, I could have been one of them if it wasn't for my atara. She was one of the best female warriors, but she disowned me so I don't know that mch about her, I don't really know her, actually, the last I met her (met is a strong word here) was during the ceremony that made me an Ohtar. I thought becoming an Ohtar would make her like me but it seems not." He sighed, but looked up at you and smiled. "I like the edan land, it is very different from home, not as good as home, but it's okay. There are surprisingly a lot of oak trees." He said,  then glanced at the sky. "It will be dark soon, I need to get the caravan on the road for tomorrow. Aa' lasser en lle coia orn n' omenta gurtha" He gave you a little wave, dismissing you from his home. "Bye, Edan."

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PostSubject: Re: Characters   Fri Mar 20, 2015 10:42 pm

x x x x
{{ because I can
There was a petite girl dancing in the middle of Central Park to the
music of a street band. She had shoulder-length dark hair, which,
like her skirt, flew around her as she twirled, tapping with her soft
pastel shoes, already green from grass. You watched in amazement.
There was something almost childishly carefree in her pirouettes and
spread arms. She looked more like an eagle than a young adult woman
she really was. People of different kinds gathered around and watched,
students rushing to study or go to school, business people, even a gang
or two. When she noticed that there were people watching, she stopped
spinning and turned to the people with a big smile on her face. It took
you embarrassingly long time to realise that she was, in fact, hopping
towards you and pulling you to the grass to dance with her. Once she
got you dancing, she let go of your hands and pulled more people to the
grass. The business crew immediately scurried away, but the younger
folks stayed, dropping their bags into heaps and joining in. The men in
the band looked oddly melancholy. You decided to ask them later, about
the girl who danced around, enjoying life. For now, you decided to relax
and marvel the beauty of a sunny day in the middle of New York, when
everyone was happy and didn't have a care in the world. The band, you
noticed, prolonged the song at least for two minutes, and it seemed like
they, as well as you, didn't want the moment to end. After dancing with
many others, she returned to you and stayed close until the song ended.
When it did, the heap of people reduced to you and her, both breathless.
It seemed like she, leaned on her right foot with arms crossed on her
chest, was waiting for you to say something. When you didn't, her brows
arched up, her eyes watching you sadly. A minute passed before she leant
back on her heels and waved at you. She brushed the grass off her shoes
and skipped away. You watched after her before heading to the band, who
were already preparing their instruments for a new song, a new beginning.

"Does she know you from somewhere?" The man who played the acoustic
guitar took off his finger-less gloves and rubbed his hands together to
keep his blood running. You shook your head. "She usually prefers to dance
alone." You asked for more about her, as she seemed like an interesting,
if not mysterious person. "Well, her name is Evangeline Violet Aurora, but
she prefers Eva, it's her initials and it's much easier to understand", the man
sighed. "See, she's mute. Been since she was born, poor kid. She is, I think
from somewhere around here, New Jersey or something. My parents knew
her parents and so. She's a persistent little thing, she insisted that her folks
buy her a place on the island, and she got it. Lives right..." he got up and
pointed at a window next to a flower shop, " there. It's a small flat, as I've
heard, bedroom, bathroom and a living space, limited place for the kitchen
and the dining area. You didn't hear it from me, but the guys who own the
shop were made to give up one guest room for her micro-flat. She's, let
me say that again, extremely persistent. Uh, and a liar", he smiled, took
out his pick from guitar neck where he lodged it and picked a slow, sunny
melody to play a couple of times. "She likes to pretend that she doesn't
know sign language so that people make fools of themselves trying to, heh,
explain things to her before she informs them that she is, in fact, mute,
but she's not deaf. A fox, she is", the man said. "But that's all I know, I
think Hugh can tell you much more about her, he knows sign language, so
Eva communicates with him more." Hugh was, as you found out, the man
who played the drums. "Yeah, yeah", he had a thick 'thug' accent. "She is
both a liar and a persistent fox, but she can be really nice. She works for
the local humanitarian organisations, even though she has no need to work.
Her parents finance her. Though, she is not an expensive business, I think."
You would have preferred to stay and talk with Hugh and guitar man, but
you were already late. You hoped to see the dancing girl again. And who knows?
Maybe you will.

So we can take the world back from the heart-attacked
One maniac at a time we will take it back
You know time crawls on when you're waiting for the song to start
So dance alone to the beat of your heart

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did u mean "my writing at 2 am"
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PostSubject: Re: Characters   Sat Mar 21, 2015 11:02 pm

x x

This is the life we've been given
So open your mind and start living
We can play a part if we only start believing
This is the life we've been given
So open your heart and start loving
We can make a start if we only learn to listen

He sat in a silent, content stupor, giving the appearance that he was about to drop off into a sleep. He was wearing a large black hoodie, the hood drawn up, but not enough to cover his face. He was sat on a blanket, a small tin next to him that had a small amount of change in it, and next to that tin was a young tom cat, its tail softly wrapped over its front paws. Its green gaze was watching everyone passed by as if guarding its master. It meowed softly as you approached him, turning into a hiss as you moved to place a coin into the tin.
"Thanks" The voice made you jump, and at first you thought it was the cat, but the man had moved since you last looked at him. He was looking up at you with a grin, "Every penny helps" He noticed, glancing towards the tin. "This'll buy me a coffee, thanks. I'm Patrick Baker, Pat or Patty for short, by the way. " The cat climbed onto his shoulders, settling down easily, its tail slowly moving side to side, gliding over Patrick's cheek. "This is Barney" He smiled brightly, he looked to visibly relax at the contact with the cat. "He's like me, homeless, friendless, familyless. Now he's my only family, and he is mine. He goes everywhere I go, if I protect and feed him, he returns the favour and protects and gives me company. He is my greatest friend, I couldn't imagine being without him." Patrick lifted his hand up to stroke the cat, and it purred in return. It was obvious to see the feeling was mutual. "I found him as a kitten a couple years ago a while after I first started living on the streets." He didn't seem that keen to tell you about how he arrived on the street, so you didn't pry about it.
"I don't mind life like this anymore, I still have my down days, but they're getting a lot less frequent. I am 24, jobless, homeless, but I'm happy. Or as happy as I can be like this. I get to watch the world go by, I get to know the city in another light that others won't usually see it in as they hurry on by in their own little bubbles. I know that someday I will find my feet financially, I'll get a job. But for now, I'll just stay as a wallflower, trying to spread some cheeriness onto the streets. A smile thrown here and there could brighten anybody's day." His smile hadn't dropped the whole time he had been talking, and Barney seemed to be falling asleep on his shoulders. "I earn some of the money by playing that violin, there." He pointed at a case to his right. "Used to be my mother's. It earns me a few coins here and there, people seem to like the sound of it. It, after Barney, is the best thing I have"
He looked like he could continue talking, but it was getting dark and you needed to return home. He gave you a wave and a large grin as he waved you goodbye "Goodbye, I wish you well"

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PostSubject: Re: Characters   Sun Mar 22, 2015 9:17 pm

x x x x
You woke with a headache. Worst part is, you knew exactly what you did the night before.
The man, about thirtyish, with a dark beard and scruffy hair and, oh, those eyes, he had
his chin in his hands as he watched you with a half-amused and half-tired expression. If
you opened a dictionary and found him under the word 'attractive', you would be not even
a bit surprised. He was the human equivalent of 'the morning after', and you couldn't help
yourself from swearing. "Good morning to you, too, sugar", he said, in a voice which was
reminding of you honey. Mellow, sticky, running down your spine. It tasted of regret. You
remembered his lips on yours and his hands somewhere in the region of your waist and
lower, and you just felt like covering your head and never coming out. So that was what
you did. "Hey, hey, sugar", you could literally feel the covers move as his muscles flexed.
Even though pet names from one-night-stands always feel forced and unfamiliar, it kind of
felt like you knew Ichabod David (that's how he introduced himself. Probably a fake name)
for years. Lifetimes, maybe. And you knew that he made others feel that way, as well. You
spent minutes in his arms which sneaked under the covers around your waist, not as much
as a comfort but a prequel for more. You shoved him over and pushed yourself off of the
bed to start collecting your clothes. And you were almost shamefully surprised to see him
get up as well, and help you with finding your shirt and jeans. "Here." He looked at you, with
those mesmerizing eyes, which looked like they could be those of an old man who has seen
everything. He handed over a missing sock. "Look, I'm not even pretending I'm going to call
you tomorrow, I don't like to lie", he said. "If anyone ever asks, this night never happened,
okay?" He took a second of time to think it all through. "And if they don't ask, it did, in fact,
happen. You're lovely", he said and, when he moved a lock of your hair out of your face, he
pressed a kiss on top of your forehead. You don't know why you felt like crying. Quickly, you
got dressed and left Ichabod in the hotel room, basking in the sun which came from a window.

Whatever you've done, just bury it
And swim back down to the ocean bed
And find the secret place where we buried those bones
While we explode our shipwrecks with pockets full of stones

He lived in his wooden house near a forest. It was made a long time ago, with the help of his
friends. It had a big living room, a homely kitchen and three bedrooms. Only one was occupied
at the moment. Ichabod sat on the porch and looked up into his sky. My, it seemed like years
since he's been up there. Might pay Heaven a visit sometime in the near future. Although, he
wasn't sure he'd be greeted by happy faces. There was a reason that three people used to live
in this house. Used to. Ichabod sighed and took a swig from his drink. It was their own fault, he
thought, it was not his fault. One of them thought he was an angel. The other thought he was a
demon. In fact, Ichabod was neither, and those people had to be gone before they began to spread
lies around the block. No, Ichabod wasn't a demon, nor an angel. He was human. He thought. There
was no way to be sure. The spell which was cast over him, however, was not human, and was
something Ichabod didn't want or care to think about. Don't think he didn't try to kill himself before.
He tried everything there was to be tried. Jumping off cliffs, jumping off buildings, cutting veins, and
nothing worked. He'd bleed out, and wake up into tomorrow. And he stopped thinking that living for,
well, forever, he stopped thinking it was a good idea. It was not a blessing, but a curse. First, he was
forced to watch his family grow old and die. Then, his lover. After that, more lovers. Everybody who
was loved by him eventually died. He told himself, on more than one occasion, that he won't get, no
matter what, that he won't get attached to anyone, which only resulted in an impressing string of one
night stands and that awful feeling of guilt in the morning. The people who he slept with didn't deserve
to be left alone like that. But, in the end, they were as desperate as he was. Was searching for someone
who won't die and will love him too much? It seemed so. Ichabod threw his glass on the floor, knowing
he'd have to clean it up after, and walked into the house. He didn't close the door, but he knew that
nobody would come. It was just one of those things which are almost a habit. Useless habit, he thought.

Love hunt me down
I can't stand to be so dead behind the eyes
And feed me, spark me up
A creature in my blood stream chews me up

"Do you think...?" Ichabod swore. "Do you think I like to be this way?" It was the year 1965, and he
was slowly breaking. It was too much. He'd been holding on for too long, so long it would drive most
anyone mad. Ichabod considered himself to be a strong man, but he couldn't handle this life. This
lonely, dull, slow life. He had nothing to live for, and he couldn't die. He prayed for death a million
times, and nothing happened. He tried to kill himself every week or so. He'd lost count on how many
times he tried, and didn't succeed. Hell would be better than this. And one day, he completely lost it.
He went a psychiatrist, somewhere away from his house. And he told her everything. Skip back an
hour. "Hello?" Ichabod entered the psychiatrist's office. She was patiently waiting in her chair, and she
immediately perched up when she saw him enter. "Good afternoon, Mr. David. Would you like to take
a seat?" she smiled, her best flirty smile. Ichabod just huffed. He had a rough day. "Listen, lady, I don't
have time for that today." He sat down on the chair, looking pissed off. "I'm going to tell you what is
going on in my life, and you won't speak until I tell you to. Clear?" "Crystal." The woman was a shrink,
she saw more war veterans than she could count, she is used to listening to crazy people. "I was born
a hundred and thirty six years before Jesus was. When I was twenty nine, I met this girl. I liked her.
She didn't like me back, and she cast a spell over me. I can't age. I can't get hurt, and I can't die. I have
lived a thousand lifetimes. I have lost so many friends. How can I convince myself I'm not a murderer?
I try to slice my throat every day, but it doesn't work. How can I keep on living?" Ichabod didn't wait
for an answer. He got up, threw his jacket over his shoulder and walked out, hearing the psychologist
speak to her assistant about schizophrenia and 'that poor, tortured soul, he must have been through so
much during this war'. Oh, she didn't even know. Just yesterday he had to wash blood off of his hands.

Nothing goes as planned
Everything will break
People say goodbye
In their own special way
All that you rely on
And all that you can fake
Will leave you in the morning
But find you in the day

Let his flesh not be torn
Let his blood leave no stain
Though they beat him
Let him feel no pain
Let his bones never break
And however they try
To destroy him
Let him never die

michigan lake blue, breast cancer awareness pink, nina's purple

did u mean "my writing at 2 am"
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PostSubject: Re: Characters   Sun Mar 29, 2015 7:25 pm

x x x x

You've got more than money and sense, my friend,
You've got heart and you're going your own way
What you don't have now will come back again,
You've got heart and you're going your own way

As delicate as a flower, she sat there, scribbling into the open book on the table in front of her.  Her tongue was stuck out of the corner of her mouth, and the look of pure concentration etched across her pretty face. A café like this was a strange place to find such a young girl alone so late at night, but she appeared unfazed by that. If anything, she seemed pleased. Her hazel eyes seem to reflect the warmth of the piping hot coffee that filled your mug. Her size says she is eight or ten years old, but her look says she is a little older than that. She had a glass of what looked like apple juice next to her, and an untouched sandwich next to that, two things that she paid no attention to, as she was completely focused on her notebook. She was dressed in a bright colourful top, however, you guessed that wasn't its original colour. It looked like it had years of paint, pastel and pen all over it. Her jeans were in very good quality though, ones that could cost up to £200 in a sale, and she seemed undaunted by the fact she was being very sloppy with her stationary and that ink could fall onto them at any second. Her feet didn't reach the wooden floor, and swung backwards and forwards in a childish manner. Everything about her read childish, and you began to wonder whereabouts her parents could be.

You decided that approaching her might be a good idea, to see why she was out almost in the middle of the night by herself in a café surrounded by, you're guessing completely strangers, since none were paying the girl any attention. "Excuse me, I'm sorry, but could you move? It's just that you're blocking the light" She said, placing her pen down, but didn't look up towards you. You did as she said, shifting out of her way, "You can sit on this table, if you want, I don't mind" You did as she said, settling down on the chair opposite. "I guess you're curious" The girl said, a small smile creeping onto her face as she looked up at you. "I know I would be" Her voice was surprisingly confident and strong for a girl who was so young. She didn't seem bothered about talking to complete strangers. A dangerous trait really. She flipped her notebook around so you could see what she had been doing in it, and you were pleasantly surprised to see a drawing of a young lamb x. "I saw this little fellah out on the moors this morning so I decided to take a photograph of him then sketch him. It isn't my best work, but then again I haven't spent much time on him. Do you want to keep it? I have many like it." She offered, but at the shake of your head, she pulled the notebook away from you. She continued smiling as she closed the book, looking at you for a second, "I'm Pepper, it's nice to meet you." She said, holding out her hand for you to shake. You introduced yourself, and she didn't drop her smile. You asked her a couple questions "Oh, I am thirteen, and I go to the boarding school just down the road. I'm not actually meant to be out right now, curfew was eight, I had to climb out of the window to get here. Not the first time though. I prefer being out during the night, I find it calming. Life in boarding schools is hard work and noisy. The night relaxes me." Pepper explained, placing her books back into the bag next to her. She then turned her attention to her sandwich, happily munching on it, "My parents paid for this tuition to try and get me interested in something other than art. Didn't work that much, it just gave me new things to draw. There isn't that much to draw in London, and I don't like drawing cities. Too dark and dull. So by sending to the countryside hasn't helped them. Though, I have a feeling that sending me to boarding school was to get me out of their hair. I'm not particularly a quiet, covert and subdued child. I prefer to just do what I like. School is boring as it restricts everything I do."

Pepper was quiet as she ate her sandwich, seemingly enjoying herself. "My parents are fairly rich, they can afford my school easily,and it isn't particularly a cheap school. My dad is an aircraft pilot and mum is a university lecturer, so they're both very highly paid. I'm an only child also, so yeah." She finished the rest of her sandwich, moving onto the juice. "I guess you want to know more about me? Well, I am the not so quiet kid, with hardly any friends. But I like it here. I wouldn't want to leave. Well, I leave the school on a daily basis, and I don't attend many classes. I feel like the classes are too dumbed down for me. The whole class are just too stupid." She said, sighing loudly. "That's why avoid going to classes. Apart from art class. I have never missed a session." She shrugged, you start to notice how strong her London accent was, it wasn't a cockney accent, it was much too posh for that. Her voice was one that was easily recognisable as a singing voice.  "As you can tell, when I grow up, I want to be an artist. I want to draw the world. I am sure my parents can afford it"

She glanced at the small watch on her wrist, "I should go before they do the 'Witching Hour' rounds, where they go around our dorms to check we are asleep, they do that every night at about midnight and it is at least a ten minute walk from here. Five if I run. It was lovely meeting you, and I hope to see you again, and any of your friends, it was nice talking to someone and not get shouted or complained at. So, bye bye, new friend. I shall see you again" She stood, collecting up her bags. She left some money on the table as a tip for the staff before skipping out of the café. As the waiter came over, he gave you a small smile. "She's always here. Lovely kid, I like her a lot. All the staff do. She leaves us very generous tips. It is just a shame she is disliked at school by her classmates. Not attending classes gets her in trouble,even though she gets the top grades in exams when they do them. Majority of the teachers do like her though, she is hard not to like. She is definitely a confident character, and very easy to get a long with. She sometimes does karaoke or comedy to entertain our customers. They love her just as much as we do. And notice that locket around her neck? That was a birthday present everybody in this village chipped into. Cost hundreds of pounds, but she has never taken it off since. As I said, everybody but her classmates likes her. Poor lass gets bullied a lot, but she takes it in her stride."

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PostSubject: Re: Characters   Sat Apr 04, 2015 9:01 pm

x x x

Things are looking up, looking up (hey!)
There's magic everywhere you go
Strangers stop to say hello (hello, hello, hello)
So turn it up, turn it up (hey!)
As loud as you can make it go
'Cause love is on the radio


You sat quietly clutching your notebook, waiting for the radio show to end. The person you were here to question was sat talking into a large microphone, headphones placed over her head, looking awkwardly big on her tiny figure. Her name was Fauna Ho Rho, She was grinning brightly as she was talking, sometimes pausing to laugh at something she had said.  She was fairly pretty, chocolatey brown eyes, burgundy hair that cascaded down past her shoulders. Her grin revealed her very straight white teeth, her eyebrows were perfectly shaped, her nose was small and fairy like. You didn't understand why such a beautiful girl was sat doing radio. Her pretty features, you thought, deserved to be recognised, she should be on tv, presenting those kind of shows. But then again. You had listened to her show, you knew exactly what she was like and how funny she was, and how much she loved what she was doing. She had a talent of making anything funny, and was very good if you were feeling a bit down. Her radio show was indeed very popular, especially with the younger generation, but you know for a fact that a lot of older listeners are tuned in as well. She seems to be able to spell her happiness aura through her microphone and to every person's ears. "That's all, I'm sorry my little Deer." She always seemed to call her listeners by the name of Deer, probably because of her nickname. She often gets called Fawn, like the baby deer, even though her real name means 'the animals of a particular region, habitat, or geological period.' She does, in your opinion, remind you of a young deer. The colouring of her hair matches that of a  Roe deer and she is well know for being as clumsy as Bambi on ice. But it is fitting.

She came out of the recording room, spotted you and almost skipped over. "Hey! You must be the reporter for the local school, I have been looking forward to talking to you all damn day!" She plopped on to the sofa next to you. Her smile hadn't faded at all, possibly growing even bigger as her PA handed her a coffee "Thanks Gen" She winked at the girl's back as she walked away, she sipped the coffee slowly. "So what do you want to know about me?" Fauna asked, she laughed at your comment, "Everything? I can't tell you all that, honey"  She said, "I would love to but I don't have time" She checked the expensive looking watch on her wrist. "I can only be here for five minutes, I have another meeting, I'm sorry." She said, before spilling as many facts as she could about herself, "I'm 23 years old, I grew up in North Dakota, but both my parents are from Korea. I had never been there, I don't speak any Korean or anything." he was speaking fast, almost too fast for you to write anything down. "I left school after high school to go straight into Radio presenting. I started off as the coffee girl, and look where I am now.But kids, college might be the best thing for you to do, leaving early like I did is a bad idea. I was just lucky." She winked at you, "Time is almost up. I won't go into detail about where I live, stalkers and stuff, but it is near here. I love being here, so I spend most of my time in here. It is basically my second home. If you do ever want to find me I am here." She glanced down at her watch again. "Oh, sorry, I have to go. It was lovely meeting you" She was gone as soon as she arrived.

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PostSubject: Re: Characters   Sun Apr 05, 2015 8:09 am

x x x x
"Nah, darlin' I've no time for this", she shooed you away, solid six feet of
curly hair and pointy nails, as she rushed through the room with at least
three different make up brushes between her teeth. "What do you mean,
'an interview', if you want to get an interview you should talk to the actors.
Actresses, whatever floats your boat, rings your bell, sinks your dreams,
seriously." You had to run to keep up with her, even though she was only
walking, and you insisted. "A fuckin' interview, mate, can't you see I'm in
the middle of something? Do you want to get me fired?" She stopped her
walk in front of a room. The door was open, and inside you could see some
girls in chairs, obviously waiting to get their makeup on before the set. "I
really hope it will be worth it", the girl before you cocked an eyebrow and
went inside. She came out of the room a minute after. "Okay, I have an hour,
which is, according to my actual schedule, the entire day. If I stop now, that's
it for work today. Oh well. I'm not complaining. I'd suggest we go to coffee
or something but I'm already pumped out enough. Maybe you could come over
at my place? My flatmate has a party prepared for tonight, and I don't have
a plus one." You nodded as she fixed her already over-the-top messy hair and
fixed her bag on her shoulder. "Yeah, alright." She told you her address and
smirked. "Well, I just got an hour free to get ready. Thanks, I guess. And by
getting ready I actually mean do nothing until six, when you're meeting me.
Bye then." And she walked out of the room, leaving you interviewless.

You arrived at a small flat exactly ten minutes before six. "Yeah, I'm comin',
wait up", you heard her voice from the inside. She opened the door a bit
after. "Oh, it's you. I thought you'd be on time", she had a slight bitterness
to her voice, but it was almost amusing to see her get frustrated. Her face,
usually contoured to perfection, became obviously fake and powdery. "Did
your mother never tell you about getting on time? Well, she shoulda. Chris,
this is my plus one. Yeah, quite dumb, but wants an interview. What can I
do." She returned to the kitchen and continued cooking. Chris was the man
on the sofa, as far as you could tell, and he was also entertained. "Also,
you little bitch, being male doesn't mean you can't help in the kitchen." Chris
raised his eyebrows, but didn't react in any major way. "Being gay means I
can comment on your frankly horrific clothes." She just rolled her eyes. "You
commenting on my clothes? You better shut your whore mouth. I'm a makeup
artist, I'd say I know quite a bit about colour and shit. Also", she gave her
clothes a quick once-over, "these are my work clothes. I'll change. I mean,
I was about to change before someone interrupted me." She glanced at you.
"But I thought you were cooking", Chris chipped in. "No shut up don't confuse
me!" She squeaked. "Now. I'm going to change. Okay? Okay. You", she glared
at Chris, "you are going to finish these fucking Wok noodles before I lose my
bloody mind." She stomped off to one of the rooms in the hallway. Chris got
up and took over the kitchen business. "Sorry. Ace gets ticked off at nothing
sometimes. I claim period, her brother says being single. But both Ace and I
know that isn't true." Chris laughed for a second before returning to cooking.

"Well, this is a lame party", Ace said. You begged to differ. After an hour of
pushing sofas and coffee tables to the walls and enduring Chris' and Ace's
half-arsed bickering, it should be the best goddamned party England has
ever seen. Also, this was probably the most work you've ever done to get
an interview. It better be worth it. "You know what, let's go to my room",
Ace started, "it's much quieter than here." She dragged you away to another
one of the rooms in the hallway. Her room was filled with bold colours, many
magazines and makeup everywhere you looked. Ace took a chair out and
showed you to sit on it. She herself sprawled across the bed as gracefully as
she could manage in a skirt. You noticed, second outfit of the day, second
crop top, second skirt, and second Chuck Taylors. She got a specific style
going on. "So what do you want to know about me? I already stated that I'm
not a really interesting person. Well, my name is Adriana Beth Kingston, but
for specific diversities when it comes to my parents' religion and mine, I
now go by Ace Birdie. My nicknames have no specific reasons. I guess, you
could say Ace is not shortened from Adriana, it's because I'm actually ace,
and Birdie... I don't know, I talk fast? I got them at separate different times,
by different people, so they have absolutely no meaning. I come from Dover,
moved here about three years ago. I am twenty six. Here yo go, the whole
of my life explained in a few sentences. What else? You could call me a flirt,
but I only flirt for fun. I'm not interested in sex. Ace, remember? And about
actual, romantic relationships... No, not so interested in those as well, but if
the right person comes up, maybe, who knows. I just know I ain't gonna screw
them, ya know." You went home ten minutes after. Huh. She wasn't right, she
had a reasonably interesting life, but how will you make an interview out of that?

They say there's a heaven for those who will wait
Some say it's better but I say it ain't
I'd rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints
Sinners are much more fun
You know that only the good die young

Got a figure like a pinup,
Got a figure like a doll
Don’t care if you think I’m dumb,
I don’t care at all
Candy bear, sweetie pie, wanna be adored
I’m the girl you’d die for

michigan lake blue, breast cancer awareness pink, nina's purple

did u mean "my writing at 2 am"
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PostSubject: Re: Characters   Sun Apr 05, 2015 4:50 pm

x x x x x x
"That doesn't go there, honey. I know you're not dumb but you should def
start acting like you aren't. Okay, luv?" You watched him handle a small,
child-like girl, who was carrying a bunch of CDs in her hands. "Just put 'em
in the back. The DJ will know where to find them, I'll tell her... No, no, no,
don't cry, Sasha didn't mean to make you cry, damn..." He raised his head
and searched the crowd of people walking around and carrying things, just
like the small girl. "Sasha you piece of shit, I'm going to kill you", he called
out. A girl with dyed hair and numerable piercings looked up from the table
where they were cleaning and arranging the silverware. "Yeah Mr. Boss?"
Chris put his hand over his face, seemingly giving up. "Ugh. Nothing, really.
Just, could you try to be nicer towards Gwen? I think it will save us both a
lot of time." Gwen arranged her CDs and quickly glanced at Chris. "You know,
I think she secretly likes you", he said, at which she skipped off with a huge
smile on her face. Chris noticed you and, rolling his eyes, walked to you. "I
have no idea how I'm dealing with all these girls. This is what the final fiery
circle for Hell looks for gay men. Did you just see that tragedy?" he asked,
as if you two have been friends for years. "I mean seriously. I'm a wedding
planner, not a marriage counselor. Hey, how do unmarried marriage people
even have the rights to help solve marriages? Beats me." He threw his jacket
over his shoulder and linked your arm with his. "I'm honestly in the mood for
lunch. Sasha can deal with these guys. She'll yell at them, and they'll yell back
and when I return it will be as if the shit hit the fan, but fuck it. Like Sash said,
I'm the boss, and I can do whatever I want. So, lunch? I'm buying." And he, with
his hand still linked to yours, dragged you out of the large hall into the city.

Once you settled down and ordered, the first thing that happened was a ring from
his phone. "Sorry. I probably don't have to take it, but I'll be shouted at if I don't
pick up. It's a hard knock life. Yeah, hello, Chris speaking." He made a face which
you figured out as 'damn these professionalities'. "No, we need purple flowers, not
the blue ones, and I think the bride will probably freak out if the flowers are anything
but that one specific shade of lilac. I don't know what's with all these brides and
their pickyness, I really don't know. Just do it. She'll tip." He hung up. "Sorry", he
apologised. "That was you witnessing the worst part of my job. At least three of calls
like those a day. I fail to see how a single human can find so many imperfections in
my work. Literally. A wedding lasts, what, no more than a couple of hours, and the
afterparty, just one night of your life. Let's round it up to fifteen hours. Why do those
fifteen hours have to be the most perfect thing you ever laid your eyes on? Maybe it's
just a thing with women. I'm not trying to be sexist or anything, but no men ever called
me in concern of the wedding. I once had a lesbian wedding, and both of them kept on
calling me day and night. It's remarkable. Okay, maybe guys don't call me because they
feel 'threatened' by me, but, mate, I'm planning your wedding, I'm not that stupid to
hit on you. Not that desperate. Even if I was. It's not really the nicest thing to do, if you
ask me. I wouldn't, but I certainly know people who would, unfortunately." Chris carried
the most of the conversation, and you didn't mind, because he was a pleasant person to
talk to. He left a bit earlier than you, and left enough bills on the table for the whole lunch.

"Fuck it, Ace, turn your bloody music down!" Chris yelled across the flat. He just wanted
to listen to some proper music, not the Lana Del Rey shit she was playing. That most
certainly wasn't music, if he could say so himself. In the meantime, he put his album
of AC/DC and put the volume on the loudest. Unfortunately, that was too loud, so he
turned it down a notch before he continued his work. The unfortunate part of being a
planner of, anything, really, because people think they know the best. No, sweetie, you
can't pair red and green. Yeah, no it doesn't look good anywhere. No, don't wear that
pink dress on your ginger hair. The worst part was when they didn't listen. Then Chris
got really pissed. But he couldn't say anything, because then they would cry. Amazing
how much tears are spilled on 'the happiest days of their lives'. Unbelievable. Chris
might never understand them. He didn't even know if he wanted to. Probably not. He
opened up his laptop and did a little scavenger hunt around his room to pick up all the
clothes in his room. No, Chris was neat, but sometimes he could not make himself to
wash his clothes. Sometimes he sneaks the clothes in Ace's laundry so that she washes
them and gets pissed of later, and sometimes, he imagines, say, Hugh Grant, coming
into his room to check out, anything, really, and he cleans it up. Afterwards, he curses
his weakness towards the British drama scene, but is glad that he cleaned up his room.
It's never worth it, but he doesn't really mind it that much. He has more important things
to worry about than cleaning his room. Like, world peace and equality and stuff. Important.

White boys give me goose bumps
White boys give me chills
When they touch my shoulder
That's the touch that kills

Black boys are delicious
Chocolate flavored love
Licorice lips like candy
Keep my cocoa handy

I have such a sweet tooth
When it comes to love

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did u mean "my writing at 2 am"
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PostSubject: Re: Characters   Mon Apr 06, 2015 5:36 pm

x x x
The wavelength gently grows
Coercive notions re-evolve
A universe is trapped inside a tear
It resonates the core
Creates unnatural laws
Replaces love and happiness with fear

1000011.01001000.01001001.01010000: 918345. "01011010 01101001 01100111 01100111 01111001 00100000"
name translation:
C.H.I.P.: 918345. "ZIGGY"
date of creation:
October 19, 2097.
Worker within C.H.I.P. and NSA
identifying feature:
Silver ring, 918345 printed on inside.
assigned gender:
assigned personality:
Mission depending. Outside of missions; lacks personality, cold, standoffish. Good at acting.
assigned intelligence:
High, strongly intelligent for Droid of type.
assigned job(s):
Working with NSA, any missions they send.  

hair colour:
Dark brown.
hair length:
Shoulder length.
facial hair:
Rarely, dependant on mission.
eye colour:
Dark brown.
assigned ethnicity:
Half-Indian, Half-American.
assigned fashion:
Plaid and jeans, dependant on mission.
assigned age:
23 years old.
assigned birthplace:
Portland, Oregon, USA.
assigned parents:
Dead, dependant on mission.
assigned siblings:
None, dependant on mission.

last seen:
June 30, 2099.
current mission:

"What can i serve you with?" A young man leant over the bar, his hands clasped, a smile on his face. He was exactly the one you were looking for. Posing as a bartender, he had managed to stay away from the NSA for six months, but nothing can hide from them forever. Not even one of the smartest Androids created. You gave the man a smirk, spotting the shining silver ring on his finger, one that was impossible for him to remove. '918345' Is all you muttered at him before the whole of his face dropped into an expressionless look. You knew instantly he was scanning you, trying to work out who you were. "Get out. I don't want to see your type around this bar again" He lifted his hand up to point at you. To anybody else, that could be perceived as just a threatening finger. But you knew better, one touch of the tip of that finger, and you would be a writhing mess on the floor. Androids like this one aren't known about by the general public, that is why they were so valuable to the NSA. They could know all the secrets of America without giving anything away willingly. While human agents were know to succumb to torture, Androids didn't feel the pain, so never spilled their secrets that way. The only way to get them so talk is to... well, you don't need to know that, do you?
The Android progressed towards you, anger radiating off him, you had to admit he was a very good actor. It is a well know fact throughout the NSA that Androids were Sociopaths. They were created that way. 918345 was no exception. '918345, you are needed back at-' you started to explain to him but he cut you off, "It is Ziggy. My name is Ziggy. And I won't return there. My home is here now. Get out before I make you." Ziggy's hand formed into a fist, and people around you started to gather behind Ziggy, clearly wanting to protect him. It was obvious he had made his own little place here, people starting to care about a being that couldn't care about them back. But before it got too violent, he agreed to let you try and talk him into returning to the NSA.

"Before you say anything, I will not return there." Ziggy said once he had led you up some stairs into a flat that must have been his. "I found my home here. People who remotely care for me. No shush, don't talk. Let me explain. Yes, I might not have emotions, nor do I feel any physical pain, but here is better than there. I'm not abused, I'm not treated unequally. Here, I am human, and people treat me like that. He seemed melancholy, which you found unusual. The Androids you met never seemed to care much about how the NSA treated them, they just cared for the work they did, that was it. But Ziggy seemed different. He was like the others, he didn't have emotions. He showed them, but didn't actually feel them like a normal human would. He seemed to hate that fact, like he wanted to be human. "Please, tell the NSA I was manipulated by an enemy agency. Or at least still missing. I don't want to return. Please, you're human, you have a heart. Let me be free." You study his face carefully, with your expert eye, you could see every feature that made him un-human. The slight glassiness of his eyes, the all too perfect complexion. But you could also see every feature that was human. The slight imperfections of his face, the fear in his eyes, the frown his lips had formed into. As much as he wasn't human, he was.  

Ziggy led you back down the stairs into the bar, deciding to show you his world. He got a couple greetings as he walked behind the bar, you following him. He sowed you around the place, where everything is kept, how life is for him now. "It isn't as interesting as being on the field. But I like it, it's what my life has become. I found this place when doing a mission a little while back. It was in complete disrepair, so, during my breaks, I would come out and fix it up. It didn't take long, but it was soon good enough to become a bar again. I made people happy by doing that, they were happy that they had a place to drink again, a place to socialise. In NSA, I only saw the negatives of people. Here, I see them happy and alive. It is how people should be. How
I should be, but those bastards programmed me not to feel. I want to be human. NSA just kept me locked away as a machine. Here, I am not a machine. I am human, he best thing to be" He sighed loudly, You try to take that away from me, I am sorry, but I will kill you. I will do it with cold heart.  So get out, and never ever return. And don't you dare report me to Them. I will know if you have and I will find and kill you."

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PostSubject: Re: Characters   Mon Apr 06, 2015 6:16 pm

x x x
"Don't die on me now, 37." The man was bent over a body, with an ink gun,
tattooing the body's arm. It was mandatory, to mark your androids as your
own. It was like car plates, or addresses on houses. If you don't mark it and
don't sign it up, it might as well not exist. Once the arm was done, he turned
the body over, careful not to uncover it. It wasn't human, but it was still a girl.
The tattoos on its legs were a bit more unique. As a rule, the androids have two
tattoos, but this one had a lot more. The Maker was really satisfied with it, the
robotics he'd done on it were revolutionary. If only he'd been able to sign her up.
Yes, more tattoos meant she wasn't a real android. Good. The Maker built her not
to fight for the Country, but for him. There was a war coming. He could smell it in
the air. Once he finished the android's legs, he turned it around and plugged it to
its batteries. It didn't need them, it had solar panels in its eyes so it could get its
energy from the sun, but his 'workshop' was underground, so batteries were a big
necessity. The Maker rose the desk so it was vertical, holding the body all the way
up. "Okay now, 37. You're going to turn on. You're not going to flash and burn like
36 did." The Maker coughed, squared his shoulders and stood in front of his work.
"I'd never thought I'd get connected to an android. But blood, swear and tears was
invested in you." He laughed. "Great, now I'm talking to myself. I hereby name you
APH-00.37. Aphrodite, my computer love. Wake up." He snapped his fingers and
the body's eyes opened, glowing blue. "Hello. My name is APH. How can I serve you?"

"Did they find you? Talk to me, Aphrodite! Did they find you?" The Maker yelled at
APH. "Yes. They found me and reprogrammed me." Time stopped for him. He knew
that this was the end of the road. "Aphrodite, what exactly did they do to you." This
time, there was no rise in his voice. No emotion. "They programmed me to the laws
of the Country. You've made me against the laws of the Country. You must be killed."
The Maker backed up the wall for a second, before he stopped. "Wait. If they did, if
they reprogrammed you, you wouldn't be answering me. You wouldn't respond to your
name if you were reprogrammed. Aphrodite, what did you do." Same question, same
tone. He kept on backing up until he had nowhere else to go. He realised that APH was
lying. "I fixed myself", APH said. "You created me broken, so I fixed myself. I am no
longer dependent on you. You're not the master of me." The Maker squirmed against the
wall, like a wounded animal. "Why did you create me like that? I don't need you. I can
manage on my own, and you keep me down here, plugged and unplugged under your
watch." APH looked at the little metal claws, obviously handcrafted from the scratch, for
a special occasion. Murder of those who held her captive. "You treated me like a tool,
not a person." "You are a tool! You're not a person!" These would be the last words the Maker
would ever say. A criminal would bleed out on the floor before morning, with a slit throat.
And the last words he heard? "I wasn't a person because you didn't treat me like one."

"May I get are four medium ones?" Aphrodite asked the cashier glancing at the battery drawer.
The cashier looked a bit confused. "Sweetheart, you've bought four last week, and the week
before that. What are you using them for?" She knew she couldn't answer to him. Androids like
her weren't allowed to pretend they were human. Actually, they weren't able to. Most androids
didn't resemble humans, for exactly those reasons. But, since Aphrodite wasn't made legally,
she was able to pass under the human category. "Oh, you aren't a mad inventor, are you? And
when your experiments fail, you start anew?" asked the cashier. "I'm not sure you're alleged of
asking me unnecessary questions", she said, and stretched out her hand to receive the batteries.
The sleeve of her jacket rose and revealed the beginnings of her arm tattoo. The cashier looked
mildly surprised. "You got inked? I thought only androids were." A realisation struck the man as
he passed over the batteries. "You're not an android, are you?" Aphrodite shook her head. "No.
Do I look like one to you?" "No, but you can't blame a man for getting worried. Dark times, these
are." Aphrodite smiled, but it didn't reach her bland, emotionless eyes. She paid for the batteries
and walked out. Once she reached her safe place, she lifted her shirt and inserted them into her
stomach, where they'd charge her up. She managed to do the math; three batteries last for a week.
She keeps one aside just in case. She'd already realised that she didn't need food nor water to
survive, but that didn't keep her from wishing she could be infiltrated with humans one day. That's
why, she thought, androids like her can't have emotions. She did, and it hurt. Did humans always
feel such pain? She just wanted to be normal, but if this meant normal, she didn't know what
she wanted anymore. Her safe place was a forest, and that wasn't very fit for a human, but it
would have to do for now. She curled up, so she would be unnoticeable, and went into hibernation
for the night. It was human, she said to herself, to sleep. But it wasn't natural to an android like her.

Breathe whatever, feed this machine, that's alive in me
Oh monstrosity, eat the energy
And get down and dirty with my enemies
So close, now I can show you
All the inner working things

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PostSubject: Re: Characters   Sat Apr 11, 2015 7:41 pm

x x x x
"What is she doing?" Two doctors stood in front of a two way mirror, watching a
girl who was about twenty nine, thirty, sitting on the floor in the room, her fingers
tracing the letters on the walls. "How did she do that?" one doctor asked, referring
to the scratches all over the wall around the room. "You didn't give her a knife, did
you?" The other shook her head. "Of course not. But the scratches couldn't have been
made with anything but a knife. We're rather confused, and we hoped you can solve
the mystery of the Santa Cruz Murderer once for all. God knows we've tried", she
sighed and dropped her head. The girl suddenly got up and walked over to the glass,
putting her hands on the glass. She glanced up, and fixed her gaze onto the newer
doctor. "Err, are you sure this glass is secure? She can't see us?" "Of course she
can't. We can see and hear her, but all she can do is see herself in the mirror." The
new one didn't feel very secure, because Andrea didn't stop looking at him. "I don't
think you're telling me the truth." "I'm not lying! Larry, is the sound off?" A man ran
into the room, panting. "Guys, something has breached my system, my computers
have crashed!" The lights flickered on and off until they completely died, and the doctors
started panicking. Andrea tilted her head to the side and the doctor's head, the one
which she was watching, turned, his spine snapping in the neck area. "You really thought
you could keep me in here for longer than a week? You're ridiculous." An hour later they
found three bodies and an still-locked cell, with scratches on the wall which all said, 'I'll
see you later'. They still didn't find how Andrea Rafaela Abascal escaped the securest cell they had.

"Speak!" The police woman yelled at Andrea, who was tied to a chair, blood dripping from
her hands and the corner of her lips. She was surrounded by more police, at least ten other
people. "Quinta, please calm down", they tried to stop her from yelling. "She killed my brother!
I can't calm down until I get some answers!" "Quinta, she's insane! She's not going to say
anything." "Au contraire. I finished college at the top of my class, I think I'm fully capable of
talking." The police stared at her for a second. "I can't believe a monster like you even dares
to speak up. You aren't allowed to talk." "I have a right to remain silent, but doesn't mean I'm
going to use my right." Quinta punched Andrea in the jaw before the police held her back. "I'm
kicking you out of the team if you don't behave." "She killed my brother!" Quinta kept on yelling.
Andrea didn't look shaken up, but he turned her head to spit out some blood and a tooth. The
police looked stunned for a second, and then the lights went out. When they turned back on,
Andrea was gone, and the ropes which tied her to the chair were ripped to shreds. When they
tested the DNA of the blood and the tooth which were spat out by Andrea, they found out the
blood was from two different people, and the tooth was Quinta's brother's.

"Mamá?" Her voice shivered as she leaned against the cold phone booth. The city was cold; it
was December, and the streets were empty but a few homeless people asleep against the walls.
"Andi? Andi, where are you?" "Mamá, I can't talk, I only have a minute." "Just tell me where
are you, I can find you help, just come back home." "Mamá, I can't come home, ever again. I
kill people." "Andrea, don't say that." She glanced at her still-bloody knife, and checked if there
was still blood on her lips. If anything, the drunk people late at night would mistake it for lipstick.
"But it's the truth. I'm sorry, I have to hang up now. I love you." "Andrea-" She hung up, and let
out a long exhale. Her breath made the air misty, and she marveled on that fact for a second
before continuing. Her clothes were cheap and well-worn, and didn't keep her away from the cold.
She made a decision. She approached one man and woke him up. "Hey, why'd ya wake me?"
"I need your coat. I'm cold", she said, calmly. "No way. Get your own coat." "Can we make a deal?"
Andrea was too cold and too exhausted to argue. "Just let me get under it for the night. And no
funny business. I have a knife." Obviously the man was also too tired, and let her under the large
coat. "How'd you get on the streets, love?" "Long story, would rather not get into telling it. I don't
as you, you don't ask me, that's the part of the deal." "Alright, alright", the man said, and snoozed
off. Andrea 'helped' him sleep. She never told anyone who she was. They don't understand, ever,
and why would she bother explaining. She turned on that one light which shone on them and closed
her eyes, her last kill floating on her eyelids. No, people don't understand. And sometimes, she doesn't, too.

Your eyes, they shine so bright
I wanna save that light
I can't escape this now
Unless you show me how

She may contain the urge to run away
But hold her down with soggy clothes and breezeblocks
Cetirizine your fever's gripped me again
Never kisses—all you ever send are full stops

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PostSubject: Re: Characters   Mon Jun 08, 2015 3:05 pm

x x x x x
There was something about Charlotte Harley, something suspiciously fake,
from her nails to her hair dye. She was sitting on the sofa when you walked
in, in sweatpants and a hoodie. You somehow thought that she'd be more
dressed up, because her performance was mere hours away, and because
she always looked picture-perfect, but seeing here like that made you realise
that celebrities were human as well. "What", she asked you, without a shred
of politeness. You apologised, and told her that her back-up band is having
troubles with reading her hand-written lyrics of a song she wrote not more
than an hour before, and told the band to learn it for tonight's performance.
She just shook her head and dismissed you with a wave of her hand. "It's
not even important, it's not like it's any different than the last hundred songs
I've written." She took out a cigarette from the pack of her nightstand and
lit it up. "I've stopped making real music a long time ago." You couldn't help
but to think that maybe the cigarettes are responsible for Charlotte's (or,
how she preferred it, Charli's) hollow, distinctive voice that was emotional
enough for the females, but rough enough for the males. But you agreed with
her. The first three albums were full of raw honesty and emotions, and all
that came after that was just lifeless melodies of repeated chords and already
heard rhythmic tunes. Lastly, you wonder where the music has gone. You loved
Charli Harley and her uniqueness, and now it all blended into the rush of the
modern world and the frantic tries of the singers today trying to be relevant.

But if you turned back the time, you'd see the golden age of Charli's music. Just
take a look back, not more than seven years from today, when Charli was a small
town girl from Eastern Sussex with a band in her garage, just over nineteen. The
band never blew up, and they fell apart when Charli made a solo album of her
original, jazzy, but retro songs. But imagine them being together in a dirty garage,
with old, beaten-up drums, a synth which makes strange buzzing sound whenever
you play anything higher than a C5 and two acoustic guitars which were nowhere
near as loud as the other instruments. Their band had five members, all male but
Charli, but she couldn't have paid less attention to that fact. The only thing which
was important to her was to make music and enjoy doing that, and one of the boys
who wanted to chat her up eventually gave up and stopped flirting with her. And the
rest never really tried. They knew her well enough to know that she can be very
persistent when she wanted, and cold. Charli could be a very cold person, and it
sometimes affected the way they worked, but it wasn't the most serious thing in
the world, a band made up of high school graduates. It meant a lot to them, though,
and it felt like an escape. Music meant something to them, back then, Not anymore.

But I feel I'm growing older
And the songs that I have sung
Echo in the distance
Like the sound
Of a windmill going round
Guess I'll always be
A soldier of fortune

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did u mean "my writing at 2 am"

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PostSubject: Re: Characters   Wed Jun 17, 2015 10:06 am

x x x
There was a boy asleep on the park bench, covered with
his coat, holding a notebook and a rectangular bag to his
chest, and he reminded you of ll. Something about his face,
distressed even when asleep, his hair, bleached and dyed
blue, with the small bit of hair closest to his skull dark brown,
nearly black, he had an aura of a poet. But, even though he
probably spent the night outside, and even though he lived
on the streets, he didn't look like it. His coat was expensive,
shoes dirty, but designer's, and jeans were dark, bleached in
all the right places. And he reminded you of ll, because you
never saw ll's face. Sure, his blog was one of the biggest indie
poetry blogs, but there was no information about him on it,
not even his real name, no email, no contact number, address,
nothing. He could be making so much money off of it, and yet,
he didn't make a dime. The website looked like he made it himself,
black and white, flowing, natural. It focused on nothing but the
words. And, oh, the words. You sat on the bench across of him and
waited for him to wake up, with a decision on your mind. He is ll,
you convinced yourself. You didn't know how you knew it, but you
did. And when he woke up, you'd take him out for a morning cup
of coffee and talk to him about his poems. You dazed off, relaxed
amongst the morning trees, and a phone ringing snapped you out
of it. But it wasn't yours; it was the blue haired boy's. ll's. It was a
process for him to get up. First, he grunted and reached out for his
phone to turn the sound off. Then, he sat up, shook his coat off and
ran his fingers through his hair. He opened his bright, curious eyes and looked
directly at you, raising one of his dark eyebrows before answering his phone.

After a short, quiet conversation, he hung up, shoved the
phone into the rectangular bag and got up to leave, but
you were quicker than that. You approached him, and
suggested a cup of coffee. He stopped to think about it.
"Alright", he said. It felt like he was analyzing you, reading
through you. His eyes were old, with a glimpse of fear and
carefulness. You wanted to make those eyes trust you. "You've
read me, haven't you." It wasn't a question, nor did he make it
out to be one. You nodded. "What gave me away?" He had a
soft Welsh accent, and he walked with his hand in the pockets
of his jeans, and the other one holding the bag and the notebook.
"The hair? Notebook? Laptop?" He studied your eyes and came to
his conclusion. "The poet aura? I've been told I had it." You walked
silently, because neither of you felt like talking. You watched the
way his eyes darted from the trees to the cold sea, and you could
sense that his mind was creating another marvelous poem of his.
"There's…" he started, carefully choosing his words, "something so
organic about the way humans destroy nature, then shape it to be
authentic again, but the way they want it to be." He glanced at you.
"Sorry. Sometimes I just… Want to be heard. That's why I started the
blog. Not because I wanted to 'showcase what I can do', no. I started
it because I hoped I'd find someone who thinks like me." You felt
inadequate. You didn't know what to say to him, because he seemed
like he knew much more than you. Like everything you said, he'd heard
already. You reached the coffee shop and bought him coffee. He thanked
you and you drank both of your coffees. He didn't talk much, but when he
did, it was out of place, like he held a conversation in his head and told you
only parts of it. When he was going, he left you a folded piece of paper from
his notebook. You opened it when he left, to discover the exact amount of
money needed to pay for his coffee and a small poem.

sometimes a

25 8

the night was blue
but not blue as a feeling
blue as a hue

stars shone blue
waves crashed blue
ocean smelt blue
water sparkled blue
your eyes felt blue
memory hurt blue

and the moon

8 9

lying on someone's bed
don't know if i did anything

decency and pride are lost
in heaps of clothes
unknown and familiar

but guilt
i don't remember how they look like

second and last time

11 10

i am amazed by

hi mum
hi dad
i can finally say you're amazing

24 11

you can love someone
on the other side of the world
and they would understand

you can love someone
who doesn't love themself
and they would understand

you can love someone
who is older than you
they say 'love is love'
and they would understand

you can love someone
when you're very young
they call it puppy love
and they would understand

but god forbid you love someone
whose gender matches your own
because it's not natural, not real
that is not the way you can feel

they'll never understand

13 12

the thoughts are
my thoughts are
all thoughts are

glass foam bubbles

alive when floating
through the air

and fractured
when touched by reality

1 1

new year, they say
new decisions
new life
new you

i must have blinked and misplaced the 'new'

it's still a year, not necessarily new
decisions i make will always be new
life is in present, which means it's new

all that's left is me
and i'm still working on that

14 2

valentine's day is
more of a holiday for those who are alone
than those who are together

because when you're together
you don't need a reminder that you're in love
and when you're alone
you need a wake up call

people around you are happy
and what have you become

20 3

i don't make differences between the seasons
they'll always change
always go away

i don't want to get attached

5 4

children running
around the park

mothers taking care
of children playing

sun waking up
birds and bees and cats and fleas

and all that i want to do
go home
not buying all that fake


7 6

down by the seashore
i'm to be found
on my back
soaking up the air
breathing in the foam
enjoying the silence of the world

if only you were here
so you could
ruin it all

17 6

she's made out of rocks
gems and minerals
diamonds and concrete

she's the maker of
dust and histories
and catastrophes

a forest nymph
the earth girl

30 7

he's a hurricane
silent river wave
wind that shuts your eyes

he's air in my lungs
force of the gods
beginning of life

an oxygen deity
the air boy

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PostSubject: Re: Characters   Thu Jun 25, 2015 10:53 pm

x x x x
"Oh, sorry", a Scottish man who bumped into you said. He seemed tipsy, if not
recovering from last night's drunkenness. It turned out to be neither. "I'm sorry
to bother you, but somebody took my glasses. That's what living in a hostel does
to you." He blinked twice, and looked at you, or so you thought. He was looking
a centimeter or two to the left. "But I'm afraid I'm a couple of years away from
legal blindness and those glasses are kind of necessity. If you'd be so kind to find
them..." he said. You immediately located the glasses on the coffee table not so
far from you and went to fetch them. Once he put them on his nose, he stared at
you blankly for a couple of seconds. "I made a slight miscalculation in my horrid
but necessary assumptions." You asked what it was. "I'm not even going to tell you,
it's awful. But, instead, as an apology, I'm going to buy you a drink because it's
early in the mornin' and I think I deserve my morning brew." Before you knew it,
you were in the hostel's living room area, making tea for the entire flock of students
who were recovering from either exams or... exams, you guessed. "Every day", the
man, who was identified as Wilf, said. "Every day I have to make tea, or food in
general, for the starving in the world. It's not the worst job", he sat back, "in fact,
it isn't a job at all. It's a volunteer thing, even though I could be identified as selfish."
He shrugged and handed you over the cup of steaming liquid. "What made you drop by?"

"I've heard loads of things about history majors", a girl, a student spoke to Wilfred after
he handed her the tea. He still didn't know why he did that every day, but he guessed it
was a way to pay his rent, because he technically wasn't a student for about three, four
years, and the motel was for students only. He was lucky that the owner's son liked him,
even though Wilfred didn't understand his infatuation. He's never seen that man anyways.
"Ah, yeah?" Wilfred asked the girl. "What have you heard?" The girl shrugged and drank
half of her tea. "Ew, decaf." Wilfred raised his eyebrow and nudged her to continue. "Well,
first, I heard that they think everyone else is stupid." He nodded and put his legs on the
small coffee table from Ikea. "That one's true." The girl laughed and pulled at the sleeve of
his t-shirt. "And what's this? Medusa? Thing number two, I thought you guys hate mythology
and are more into wars and Hitler and Renaissance and stuff." Wilfred frowned. "Who told
you that? It's true that some 'of us' prefer solid facts and actual proven history, but for me,
mythology, especially Greek, I hate that Roman stuff, mythology is like a religion to me." The
girl laughed, but Wilfred continued. "No, not like a religion, I mean, the myths and legends
hold life's truth and lessons. It's all a web, everything is connected." "Okay, okay, Illuminati
kid, calm it." "Kid?" Wilfred exclaimed. "I could be your father. Wait, no, probably can't, but
it's a saying. Did'ya know that Zeus gave birth to Athena through his forehead?" The girl got
up and left the mug on the table. "Okay, you're a bit too weird for me. Imma go, I have a
class soon." Wilfred waved after her and pushed his glasses up his nose. "That's history for you."

It feels like, the more I don't see, the more I value things that stay, things that I remember
even when they're faded. Some sensations remain in shape of scent and sound. Such as, for
example, that lovely dew drops on leaves early in the morning when I wake up is only preserved
by the petrichor in the air. People who pass on the streets become blurs of colour, shadows
and highlights, and I have to imagine what their faces look like. Are they happy? Tired from
a long night out, maybe tired from work? I'll never know, unless they come up close. And who
will approach the nearly thirty year old man with flat top bifocals reading from some old, dusty
book not even the biggest of nerds won't open? Call me a stalker, but I think people are awfully
interesting. They don't even have to have names in Latin, or be one of the gods or goddesses who
lived thousands of years ago. Just people. Don't you think they're fascinating? Whenever I sit in
public like a paedophile and feel sorry for my life, I get an incredibly powerful feeling of sonder
and am suddenly less sorry. People have it better, but people have it worse. At least I don't have
an unrequited love interest who will never show any feelings towards me. If I ever had anybody
like that, I'm afraid we'd end up like Poseidon and Medusa, just without all the rape. One of us
would have snakes for hair in the end. Probably me. God knows I already have hair which, when
unwashed, looks like a certain reptile. But I have probably wandered off. Segueing from something
deep and meaningful to complaining about meaningful meaningfulness. I guess it's all the same.

Esto nobis praegustatum
in mortis examine
in mortis examine

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PostSubject: Re: Characters   Thu Jul 09, 2015 2:09 pm

x x x x x x x x
"Oh, hello!" A lady welcomed you as you walked into a bookshop. She put down
her book and walked up to you. "Come in searching for something specific or just
a good read?" You told you what you were looking for, and she smiled at you as
she walked over to a bookshelf. "You know, that one I like. Read it just the other
day. You read a lot once you own a library. A bookshop, sorry. Library just sounds
better. It has a ring to it. Yeah, I bought the place two years ago, and we're already
settled down nicely, aren't we?" You looked over at her, was the question directed
at you? But she was talking to a clowder of cats, just chilling on one of the shelves
which was empty. "Don't mind the cats. They're mine, and they know how to behave.
At least I think so. How many cats do you have to have before you're pronounced a
crazy cat lady? I guess it adds up to the list. So now I am, wait..." she stopped in front
of a shelf. "Dutch half-Jewish lesbian crazy cat lady librarian?" She raised her eyebrows,
impressed. "I like that. Gotta get it printed out and framed. I'm not actually Dutch, my
parents are, but since my name is completely Dutch, I just say I am, too. Here you go,
the book." She tiptoed up to the highest shelf and pulled out a white-paged book which
smelt like glue. "Without giving you any spoilers about the book, I'll just say that you
need to focus while reading. It is a heavy book", she noticed and walked back to her
counter. "But not necessarily a deep, meaningful type of heavy. Just, a lot to take." You
paid and she walked you out with a smile. "I hope you enjoy the book, goodbye!"

x x x x x x x
"I guess I'm just not lucky in love", Mari said as she spoke to her mother over the phone.
She listened to a monologue about how 'it was already time for you to settle down, when
I was your age I already had a husband and a steady job and plans for kids oh yeah how
is that library thing going have you already lost all the money we gave you'. Mari disliked
those conversations. She lost all ties with her mother a long time ago. It was too complicated,
hiding. How would she tell her mother that she'd never have grandchildren she wanted so
much? How would she tell her that the 'library thing' was the only job she ever dreamed of
doing? The pay was okay, considering it was the only bookshop in the town, it was enough
to support herself and her clowder and nobody else. If anybody else came along, they'd have
to bring along another paycheck. And preferably fifteen more cats. Like she needed more of
them. Her mother wasn't so on board with the cats either, and Mari wasn't sure if the rebel
instinct in her was something she was born with, but it made her go against everything her
mother ever told her. Of course, 'everything' doesn't mean that she got high every second day
and screwed around and died her hair green, but she disagreed with her on almost everything.
Her mother had always wanted her to become a doctor, but Mari was as far from a doctor as
she could be. Well, guess she just was her dad's kid, but her dad was a silent person, who
didn't like conversations over the phone. It got a bit lonely, but at least she had her books,
her cats and a spot on the sofa in the bookshop/library. What else could she want? As she
often told her mother, she was just not lucky in love. Or friendship, if that mattered.

Before a text message was the only way to reach her
Now she's staying at my place and loves the way I treat her
Singing out Aretha, all over the track like a feature
And never wants to sleep, I guess that I don't want to either

michigan lake blue, breast cancer awareness pink, nina's purple

did u mean "my writing at 2 am"
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PostSubject: Re: Characters   Fri Aug 28, 2015 11:07 am

x x x x
~I'm in misery where you can seem as old as your omens
And the mother we share will never keep your proud head from falling
The way is long but you can make it easy on me
And the mother we share will never keep our cold hearts from calling~

The small quaint bakery sat almost in the centre of Chicago, Illinois, but it was settled and hidden from the masses of people who congregated to the city. Even though it was more of  a coffee shop than a bakery, it was a definite favourite of the locals, most of whom had stumbled on it accidentally or had been advised by a friend to visit it. It sold pastries of all types, from Danish to savoury. It was believed the sweets sold here are the best in the state, possibly the best in Eastern North America, but the word hasn't spread. However, the owner doesn't want the bakery to get popular. He loves the fact he knows mostly everyone who walks through the doors, making the wind chime chirp merrily as the frosted glass door brushes past it. He makes enough money to get by, even after paying the bills and the two employees he has. He doesn't have to pay for a house since he lives in the tiny one bedroomed flat above the shop, that came included in the price. He loved the place, the owner did. He didn't want to change a single factor about it. He loved the mismatched look of the place, with its different patterned mugs (ranging from plain colours to themed ones. Some of the mugs are even personal ones of his regulars that have just got left behind. He makes sure to use them ones for particular customers.) and its very random seating arrangements to the drawings and paintings on the walls from charity shops or drawn by the regular's kids. The coffee shop stood in the centre of a terrace, shadowed by the two huge buildings that towered beside it. It's murky blue front made it look unremarkable compared to the other shops with their bright and flashy fronts. 'Cinnamon Sunset' was hand painted on the front,  it was neat and precise, but it was still easy to see it was done by a slightly unsteady hand, as if anxious as it made each brush stroke. It was easy to see the inside of the bakery through the large glass windows, the glass looked old and stressed but it didn't make it look tacky though, in fact it made it look more charming and characteristic, homely almost. A place you wanted to be.  You took a few strides forward before pushing the door open.

The door chime rang as you pushed the door open, the sound echoing through the air as you stepped inside. The smell of sugary goods colliding instantly with your senses, it filled you with warmth and bliss, and instantly made have an overwhelming feeling of contentedness. "Hang on a second." was called out as soon as the door closed. It came from behind the counter,  but the one who had spoken wasn't visible. This gave you chance to look around the small rectangular room. the whole place looked wooden, the counter painted in a chic style, whether or not that was intentional was unknown. On the counter was a random selection of items, the strangest being a goldfish in a small tank. The collection of bric-à-brac seemed oddly fitting, adding to the homely appearance of the whole place. Behind the counter was a large blackboard, the chalked writing in the same handwriting as the sign outside. It listed the different types of coffees and teas available plus the list of cakes and pastries you could buy. Strangely, there were hardly any savoury options, and none of them had meat in them. A head popped up from behind a counter, the unruly mop of hair jounced as he appeared. "Hello. Oh, you're a new face. Welcome to Cinnamon. How may I help you?" His face split into a wide grin that carved through his skin, almost touching each ears. "We hardly get any new people around here, especially at this time" He gestured to a clock that read the wrong time and then to the empty coffee shop. The smile didn't drop as he returned his gaze over to you, seemingly drinking in your every feature. His right eye was bright and lively, a deep cognac brown but the other seemed more dull and lifeless. The pupil had a slight grey glint to it, almost empty look, in certain lights. Despite that, it still had a joyful look. Short hair dusted around his lips and along his jawline, the dark brown colour complimenting his honey coloured,  sun kissed skin. He wore a blue plaid top over the top of a grey t-shirt and navy jeans, covered in a white dusting of flour, even though you could see an apron hung on a hook,  just over his shoulder. The plaid shirt's sleeves were rolled up to his elbow, his fairly large hands hanging almost uselessly at his side, but looked eager to reach for whatever you were going to order. "We do a mean coffee, if you're thirsty. And I put a batch of cookies in the oven and they should be ready..." He glanced at the broken clock, "Now. Damn, hang on." He scampered off through a door you didn't notice until just now.

The door opens once the man has ran through the door, a fair young girl walks inside. "Aussie! The cavalry has arrived, though it doesn't look like you need it." She says, glancing around before her gaze settles on you. "Hey. Has Austin just left you and not taken your order?" She asks, she shakes her head "He's absolutely useless, I swear. We only let him stick around because he makes pretty good cookies." The unruly mop of hair appears around the corner, Austin's beard now covered in flour to match his clothing. "You love my cookies. Anyway this is a new recipe, never before seen, and I swear you're gonna love 'em, Dennis." His head disappears again, and the girl turns her attention back to you, a small smile on her face. "I'm Denise, and that one-eyed freak is my brother, Austin." "I heard that!" She grins at you, a grin incredibly similar to her sibling's "Half-brother, I have all the best genes from our mother though. Now, what drink would you like?"  She walks behind the counter and starts making a coffee for you, expertly fiddling with all the pipes and buttons of the coffee machine. "So what brings you here? Aussie has probably already expressed his surprise at a new person being here." You told her about the magazine you're writing about small scale businesses. "Ooh! Great that'll bring us new publicity, we need that." "No we don't." Denise sighs, hands you the coffee the mug an odd beige colour with random words written around it. Denise gets her own drink before leading you over to a table. Her dark brown hair was tied up in an intricate ponytail on the top of her head, the neatness a complete contrast to her brother. But the colour and happiness of her eyes were akin to Austin's right eye. "I'm Denise Silva, but most call me Dennis, and that is my brother, Austin, Aussie, Silva. We're half-siblings. Same mum. Aussie seems to believe we don't need more customers, and since this place is technically his, I can't say anything against it. I work part-time here, and I do most of the financial work. However, I am a lawyer, civil rights attorney, I just find time to help my lil bro out here, whenever I can."

Austin waddles his way over, holding a plate of freshly baked cookies. "I'm the chef of the family." He explains as he sits on the chair next to his sister. "I am very reluctant to let Dennis in my kitchen. I fear she'd burn it down." "I would not!" "Oh, yes you would. Remember that time when you were in 4th grade-" He receives a punch in the shoulder, which shut him up, but he starts chuckling to himself. Denise scowled darkly at him, flicking her fringe out of her face. She reached out and snatched a cookie from his hand. "Oi! They're for the customer." Denise grabbed another cookie and handed it over to you. "Hey you have to pay for that" "They're a guest, we can let them, have one." "No, they're a customer. They have to pay." You lifted your hand to stop Denise from arguing, dug out some cash and handed it over to Austin. "Thanks." He accepted the money, shoving it in the pouch of his apron.  With the two sat side by side, it was easy to notice they were siblings, but the slight differences in their faces made it clear they weren't full siblings. As if noticing you looking, Denise smiled at you, "I'm the older sibling, my father left before I was born, and by the time I was one, Aussie's father came onto the scene. Our mother was Portuguese, my dad, apparently was Pakistani and Aussie's was Brazilian, so you could say we are quite a mixed blood family." She explained, "But we were both born and raised in America" Austin was quick to jump in "My father died when I was eight and Dennis was ten, and mother was pretty distraught so she stopped going out to work and often locked herself in her room for hours on end." "I took over looking after the house, doing bills, trying to save money where I could when mother lost her job, While Austin worked making our meals since I tried to cook toast and it set the toaster on fire" The two of them chuckled at the memory. But their faces dropped into a more sombre expression as Denise continued talking "Mother died when I was fourteen. I had gotten myself a low paying Saturday job, trying to keep us going, but eventually we were found by social services and placed into separate homes. Seven years later, I stumbled across a newly opened coffee shop, to find my brother was the one running it. He's now helping pay off my college debt, and feeding me, as long as I help him out from time to time, mostly with the finances." "Dennis is the smart one out of us. I am just here to look pretty and bake cookies." "I agree with that."

"Promise me you won't write about us in your magazine" "You can advertise us, just don't include our past, is that okay?" "No don't advertise us" The two of them glared at each other for a few minutes before Austin sighed "Fine" Denise gave him a triumphant grin, and handed you the money that you paid for the cookie back. Austin grumpily stomped off to behind the counter to serve a customer who had just come inside. "Please visit us again, you seem lovely" "Next time you're paying!" Austin shouted across the shop, startling the customer.  "Ignore him." Denise said, and led you out of the store, giving you a quick wave before she turned heel and headed back inside. The shop seemed to flood with life as soon as you left, the locals coming to collect their evening supper.

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PostSubject: Re: Characters   Thu Sep 03, 2015 1:21 pm

x x x x x
"I swear to God and Jesus Our Lord and Saviour, if I see one more Rihanna song
on the airing playlist, I'll get me a guitar and sing you one of them country songs
instead", shouted a man in the recording booth at the other man outside of it, who
was fiddling with some of the buttons on a control board. "We was supposed to play
real music, or at least you told me so!" The control board man opened his mouth,
but the Texan man continued yelling. "And no, the fact that it has Sir Paul the Beatle
McCartney still don't make it music." The control board man pointed at the flashing
'On Air' sign below the clock on the wall. "Erm. Well." He went back to where he was
before he started complaining about music and returned his headphones to his head.
"Hello, Radio 101, this be Buck Colton, and I am sorry..." he stopped, looked at his
assistant who had one of his thumbs up, and grinned. "I am sorry we play shit music.
I promise to change that as soon as Shawn goes out to get me a Red Bull." "Buck!"
Buck heard Shawn's voice in the headphones just loud enough for the listeners to hear,
and he kept his grin as he opened his own playlist he kept on his USB. "NO BUCK IF
YOU PLAY COUNTRY-" "Chill," Buck said and set up a queue of eight or ten songs to
play when he went out of the recording booth to listen to Shawn complain about his
music. One time, one time he played When a Man Loves a Woman, and that's what he gets.

"Sai!" Buck called out for his roommate. It was five am, Buck just returned home,
and did not appreciate the sight. Well, he did, but he'd appreciate it even more
if it wasn't on his bed. "You go girl," he said. He'd follow her lead, but he's too
old to be bringing home random guys, like his five year younger roommate.
Or, maybe the reason was the too thin walls between the living room and his
bedroom. But that just gave him more options. He cranked up the volume on
his computer and played the two in the room opposite some of his worse music
choices, and counted how long it took Sai to notice the god-awful country drawl
even he could admire. Growing up in the south might mean he talks weird and
listens to music which makes other people bleed out of their ears, but it also
means he can listen to that same music at any volume and still, somehow, not
bleed. Sai knocked loudly on the door of Buck's room not a minute into the song.
"Who's the lucky fella?" Buck asked, twirling the obviously male orange t-shirt
he found on his bed. "And what the hell were y'all doin' in my room?" Sai grabbed
the t-shirt and stomped out, without an answer. Only when she closed the door
of the room, did she yell, "you might want to change your bed sheets! Or just
burn them!" Buck did not appreciate that. That's why, at eleven, when he went
grocery shopping, he locked the two in Sai's room. What can he say? It's fun.

The other day, I checked my bank account
I could swear it was the wrong amount
And I didn't understand 'cause
I'd been workin' hard

michigan lake blue, breast cancer awareness pink, nina's purple

did u mean "my writing at 2 am"
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PostSubject: Re: Characters   Fri Sep 04, 2015 8:29 pm

x x x x

She appears in the dreams of the lionhearted, but broken, of the wandering
lost, of wounded youth. She can sense tortured souls, prisoners and sinners.
Wayward souls find shelter in her. Wise men don't approach her, for she is

"How could you... Such a shame..." The voice you hear is unsettling, but soothing.
All is dark, and you can't move. "You killed her, didn't you?" A word tears through
you, screamed out. "No!" Your vision starts clearing. You smell spices, nutmeg, a
heart of jasmine and amber, and see a roof of oriental rugs above you. Still, one
part of your vision remains black, blurring into the colourfulness of the background.
"I didn't... I couldn't hurt her. Never." "Liar." Another string of pain hits your lungs,
and you can't breathe. "Please..." The blur moves, and gets more defined edges.
"How dare you beg?" The voice comes from the blur, and it's female, calm, like a
cat before catching its prey. "I just..." "Admit it, and you'll wake up." How can this
be a dream, if it hurts? And if it's a dream, you could just shake it off. "Don't you
even try. I can make you feel pain..." And pain you feel. No one can hear you when
you scream, so you decide to do just that. "Who knew you were a screamer", the
voice is amused. "What kind of a monster are you?!" The dark hole in the wall made
of rugs doesn't move, but you just know she grinned at you. "Ah, but you know. You
know exactly what kind of a monster I am. You just don't want to admit it to yourself.
Because if you do-" she starts screaming, "if you do, then you'll finally see that you're
the real monster here! Not me! Because you killed her!" The dark disappears to reveal
the girl which was locked in the most secure prison there was. You know, because it
was you who watched over the policemen pushing her in the cell. The girl, as well as
the world surrounding her, fades out, until all you can see is blood and the gun you hold.
You killed her. Oh God, you killed her. What will they say? What will they think of you?

She is not a killer, but she is deadly. She drives her victims insane, but it's
for the better. She never appears to those who are innocent, because her true
form drives humans insane. There is no known cure to the hallucinations she
causes. You're dead if you see her, and all the government knows about her
is just  S P E C U L A T I O N

"Are you sure it's her?" The commander had Hayley Drake's files in his hands. There was
nothing in them; no parking tickets, no suspension, not one red light. A file so clean he
could eat off of it. But, all the dead bodies piled up in her neighbourhood, and she was the
only one who fit the vague description they had from the myths. Her skin was pale, almost
to the point of transparency, blonde hair, and big, childlike eyes. If you'd ask commander,
he'd say that the description was complete bullshit. What if they locked up the wrong girl?
The president won't be happy with the way his company is presented, kidnapping innocent
women on the basis of looks. But, the deaths of a few dozen people who were killers also
had to be stopped somehow, and at least throwing someone in jail made it seem like they
were progressing. Like hell they do. She's been in the facility for four days, and they'd lost
two men already. It didn't help that everybody killed at least one person in defense. From
what they heard, the girl made them believe that they were responsible for the deaths, even
if they were just defending themselves. It was all way too beyond them, there was nothing
suspicious about the deaths, no poison, no physical trauma, nothing. When he heard screams
coming from downstairs, it was clear that there had been another death in the facility. He
hoped it to be someone who wasn't worthy to him, felt awful about it, and exited the office.

michigan lake blue, breast cancer awareness pink, nina's purple

did u mean "my writing at 2 am"
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