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Post by ryan mitchell on Oct 11, 2009 13:29:34 GMT -5
--- Rare was the day when Ryan Mitchell was allowed to leave the confines of his apartment complex. Even when he was allowed to go outside and get some fresh air, he was always forced to wear the obligatory bandage around the damning piece of evidence that alluded to his servanthood. God, if only he had been graced with an "M" on his wrist. Maybe then, his life wouldn't be this difficult, this unforgiving and cold... Ryan bit down on his lip, staring at the white piece of cloth covering the "S" that had been branded on him at birth. Why didn't they just give him a damn bar code along with that? Maybe a set of numbers, as if he was living in a concentration camp?
--- These thoughts were uncharacteristic for Ry, though. He wasn't a rabble-rouser or anything -- he was good with what he had. He never objected, he did his job, and he stayed quiet. That was the most important part, right there. Staying silent... he didn't complain when he had been finally assigned to his master, and that ended up just fine, didn't it? Having his best friend turned lover as his master was perfect -- it was almost too surreal. The main difference at this point was the fact that... he was allowed to go out. He had been positive that he would get a protective master that wouldn't allow him any breathing room and would actually put him to work, but Keith wasn't like that. Keith was giving him all the freedom that only a master would normally be granted. And so, here he sat, in the library, the gauze safely wrapped around his wrist to prevent the tourists and others outside of the city from figuring things out.
--- His eyes danced over each page that was exposed to him -- if there was one thing Ryan loved the most, it was reading a good book. He always had a thirst for knowledge, a thirst that only a well-written novel could cure. A small, uncharacteristic smile lit up his face like a light as he read. It had been a while since he had last picked up a Shakespearean play. Othello had always been a favorite of his, though, and reading it again was like visiting an old friend. He turned the page automatically, as if on cue, as each scene was absorbed. His dark eyes were fanned by his black bangs, hanging limply in his face. He didn't bother to move them out of the way -- as long as he could see what he was reading, he was okay.
--- Nobody else was really in the library at this point -- it was noon, and most servants were at home, working, and their masters were out doing other, more exciting things. The entire place was peaceful and serene. It was a perfect time for Ryan's mind to slowly begin to wander. He looked away from the play in his lap and began to daydream. He didn't hear the sound of feet approaching him -- otherwise, his face would have been a flurry of red and his eyes would have widened to the size of saucers.
[/color] complete words[/color] 628 muse[/color] 6/10 for[/color] anyone! comments[/color] hey, this is open! xD [/blockquote][/size] |
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Post by nevaeh affinity taggard on Oct 13, 2009 16:58:26 GMT -5
 YOU'RENOTTHEFIRST,ORTHELAST
BUTYOU'REPOSSIBLYTHEPRETTIEST[/font][/center] she was a servant, trapped to the law to the master she was assigned to. she pulled the sleeves of her hooded sweatshirt down over her fingers, but the mark of the S still burned back at her. it was always staring her down, intimidating her, screaming to everyone around. the silent voice rang in her head, over and over. it didn't matter that no one else could hear it. to nevaeh, everyone could hear it. every single person on the street somehow magically knew that she was a servant, that she was a lower being to the rest of Boston.
but of course, in reality, not a soul around her knew what was hidden under the sleeve. they didn't see a servant, they saw a self conscious girl hiding under her baggy sweatshirt.
shapes in the clouds called out her name as she skipped through town, giggling at them as they floated through the sky. she found a bunny and a duckie and a boat! she danced, hopping on broken stones and pieces of sidewalk. what if every day was like today? the question couldn't help but pop in her head, the side effect of endless curiosity. what if every day played out that she could freely hop skip on stones rather than wondering at the end of who's leash was she going to be tethered to?
she took exceptionally ginger steps, making virtually no noise at all. her steps were always precise and soundless, a skill mastered after years of sneaking around the house trying to avoid her mother's abusive boyfriends or better yet trying not to wake mother when she had one of her morning "headaches". her skirt fluttered about with the bouncy movement- which excited her more.
standing outside, the library was so large. she hoped it vacant, as it occasionally was, for fear of someone knowing... someone watching, waiting for her to make the wrong move. waiting for that demon S to come crawling out from underneath the clothing and bandaging, the black abyss that stared at her from her wrist and haunted her in her sleep.
she was scared. she'd admit it. sometimes she even feared walking around her own apartment, that someone, somewhere, from the outside would see it through the window. though the probability of such an event was zero, she still feared it and was somewhat paranoid by it.
nevaeh danced through the library, despite the odd looks she received from others and despite the sudden swell of somewhat terrible thoughts that rushed her mind. she didn't want to think terrible thoughts. they always brought sadness and regret and all the things that weren't very nice. she forced herself to smile, and even let out a small giggle from doing so. that's all it ever took; a single smile to get her going again.
the library had become the epicenter of her existence once her schooling was brought to an end. well, that is her normal schooling. of course servant schooling always felt like a constant. there was always something new, the city trying to brainwash her (as she called it) into bowing down to the word of their master and wooing to their every phrase or command. quite rubbish really. but how was a little girl to rebel over something so much bigger than she? so she complied, only as much as she absolutely had to. no more than that.
she plucked a book from the shelf. The Fox and the Hound, by Daniel Pratt Mannix. originally published in the late 1950s or early 1960s and recreated as the classic Walt Disney film. she much preferred the book, simply because of it's realism opposed to the child-friendly movie. though, don't get me wrong, she absolutely adored the movie as well. and in this sick, twisted little sense of her mind- she kind of wished Slade had shot Todd and Copper in the end scene when they're standing on the waterfall shore.
as she moved past the aisles and aisles of books, a little something caught her eye. it wasn't as much of a something as it was a someone, or perhaps maybe it was the something of the someone that had made her do a double take. the image before her was quite the simple one. one of such simpleness, that one would think her crazy for taking such a dramatic turn around to take it in a second time. it was that of a male figure, not much older than she, reading a book.
simple, right?
wrong.
from where she stood, and perhaps it was only caught onto because the girl was ridiculously observant, she spotted some sort of... bandage on the male's wrist. subconsciously she touched her own wrist where her own bandage was, while lying somewhat dormant under bracelets, sugar coating a charcoal monster. a strange sort of courage rose from her stomach, or maybe it was the chance of their painful similarity, that caused her to tiptoe toward the male.
she considered turning around. of course she did. a small part inside her wanted her to turn right back around and run the other way. what if she was wrong? there was always the possibility that she was ridiculously wrong, and setting herself up into a deadly trap. but there was that small voice in the back of her head, whispering to her. do it. do it. you'll hate yourself if you don't find out.
and then she was there. staring down at him, across the table, a half a foot from its edge. she was sort of scared to get any closer, but she didn't want him to think she was really out there if she started talking to him from eight feet away. "hello," she spoke calmly, much more collectively than she thought she would. mother always told her she had the voice of an angel, but nevaeh never really believed her. you're my little angel, she'd always say, as she tripped around in a drunken stupor. that's why you're my nevaeh, my little piece of heaven.
she cautiously moved to the chair somewhat kiddie-corner to the male, opening the book and pretending to read it. she frequently, subconsciously, brushed her fingertips against the sleeve of her hoodie that overlooked the demon beneath it.
STATUS! complete.
TAGGED! ryann.
WORDS! 1035
COMMENTS! wow. don't know where all that came from. haha,
[/size][/blockquote] HE'SAFIGHTERPASTHISPRIMEINTHEGUTTER
WAVINGHISHAND,"I'MJUSTFINE" [/font][/size] |
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Post by ryan mitchell on Oct 13, 2009 18:58:28 GMT -5
--- As argent gaze darted back and forth across the aged parchment, printed with words that were so masterfully cast that Ryan felt a sense of jealousy towards it, his tongue darted out to wet his lips. Shakespeare had always been his favorite writer. The way he crafted a story with so little to work with, and would create believable, flawed characters that would ultimately lead themselves into their own demise was simply fascinating to him. He was a true artist, something Ryan felt pangs of jealousy over. If only he were brave enough to write everything he felt on a sheet of paper. But, alas, his paranoid mind would always scream at him, saying that someone would find it, read it, print it somewhere and claim it for their own, or even come to Ryan and berate him on his terrible writing skills.
--- A delicate, manicured hand rose to brush the fringe from his eyes -- he was finally growing annoyed of it. He chews on his full, bottom lip for a moment before letting his black-tipped fingers delicately turn the page. He always treated books that way; as if, if he touched it in a bad way, they would fall apart or poof into a pile of dust at his fingertips. That's how he treated everything, though. His meek, gentle nature was a total contrast to his loud, obnoxious sense of fashion. It always got him into trouble, as well. He was too flamboyant with himself for his own good; and yet, he tried his damndest to hide his sexuality from other people who had no business knowing about it. Lord knows that he had gotten beaten up in grade school plenty of times for it -- and who was always there? Keith Morgan. His saving grace, his light, his everything... he bit down on his lip again, trying to push his face from his mind's eye. Reactions would start, and he didn't need to slide inconspicuously out of the library because he had "things" to take care of.
--- As his brain absorbed the treachery of Iago, something registered that someone was approaching. It was a nagging thought in the back of his brain, but the fascination of Desdemona and Michael Cassio were much more compelling than stupid fears that always seemed to invade his head. He lifted his other hand, the gauze - covered wrist screaming at him, reminding him of the slop that he was. He didn't even have a choice in the matter -- he was the scum of Boston, all because of some random pick. It wasn't fair -- But, Ryan had learned at a young age, ever since the hot lick of fire first grazed his skin when he was three, that life wasn't fair. Things didn't always turn out the way they should, or the way that you plan it out in your head. Things happen that keep you from your goals, your dreams.
--- Only when he heard a "hello" did his eyes dart up from his book. His face went from a deathly pale to a bright peach in a matter of seconds. Panic gripped at his frame, and he opened his mouth to reply. No words escaped, and his wide eyes looked down at his book, seeking comfort in the pages. His heart beat wildly in his chest. Someone was watching him, studying him. Maybe she had seen the gauze on his wrist? Would she start asking questions? He had no idea if she was a tourist or an actual part of Boston, and honestly, what did that matter to begin with? What if she wasn't friendly? What if she just wanted to drug him somehow and steal the little money that he had, beat him, and leave him bleeding in some remote alleyway?! Shaking his head a little, he twitched before finally looking up at her, his apprehension wavering slightly. "H-h-hullo -- " he was able to choke out meekly; he couldn't bring himself to make eye contact just yet, though.
[/color] complete words[/color] 777 muse[/color] 6/10 for[/color] nevaeh (maybe one other person?) comments[/color] b'aw, she's cute! OHH NEVAEH = HEAVEN BACKWARDS LOLOLOL *extremely slow* [/blockquote][/size] |
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Post by nevaeh affinity taggard on Oct 13, 2009 22:14:55 GMT -5
YOU'RENOTTHEFIRST,ORTHELAST
BUTYOU'REPOSSIBLYTHEPRETTIEST [/font][/center] the gauze screamed at her from his wrist. she shuffled, uneasy now, panicking to decide what her next move would be. what if he wasn't a servant? what if he was just someone that had coincidentally cut their arm, in that same exact spot that everyone native, or even somewhat native, to Boston had been branded? what if she was dead wrong and was throwing herself into the hungry jaws of death. if she was wrong... oh, how if she was wrong. it was like playing chess with the grim reaper.
"H-h-hullo -- " she could feel her hands begin to tremble. what was she doing? why was she talking to this guy? what in the hell posessed her to do something so stupid? but she had to take a chance. wasn't that what mom always said? but then again, look where that got her. but nevaeh would never know. mother was gone now, it was all up to her now. it was all up to her. but she had to know, she had to.. find out.
but how does that come about. what could one possibly say. it wasn't like there was some sort of code word for the servants to use, to find out who was who and what was what. no. it was playing jenga with her life, with every single person that she talked to. every single person she passed on the streets, every person she came into any kind of contact with. it was all playing a game, messing with her mind and putting everything on the line. it was an involuntary gambling addiction.
but with no rehab.
there was no way to make it stop.
she continued to stare down at the book, occasionally flipping the page to make it appear as if she was actually interested in the words on the page. any other day, she would have been fixated on the elements before her. the story was a dance in her mind, each new sentence flowed and whirled with a grace she could only dream to posess. it was an entirely new world, where no one was a master or a servant. freedom took on a whole new meaning. it was in these books, in this library that allowed her to be free.
her imagination spiraled, twisting in the waltz of the words. lost in this, for a moment, she had completely forgotten about the quest she had put herself upon. she glanced up at him occasionally, creeping a peek at his face from her book. he looked so petrified when she first appeared- but the way he blushed made her smile. oh boy, there she goes with that smiling thing again. she rolled her bottom lip between her teeth, nervously, racing around her mind for a solution.
what was she to do? she hadn't completely thought the process through. and quietly cursed at herself for being so impulsive. it had been the most important thing brought with her from her childhood, among the other quirks she'd acquired from the setting she was raised in. nothing was ever, ever to be done on impulse. impulses brought unseen consequences, and if one can't handle the consequence, then one shouldn't have comitted the action. everything was a risk, everything had a consequence. and dammit, she hadn't weighed the outcomes of this one.
she couldn't help herself, continuously side glancing at him as he read. she swallowed hard and quietly set her book down on the table. "whatcha readin'?" nevaeh offered a kind smile with her words, of which were spoken with childlike anticipation. she wasn't exactly sure if he was going to answer her or not, considering the reaction she had intially gotten out of him- she prepared herself to come up with some sort of lame small talk; anything that may spring some sort of answer from him. catching a glimpse of the binding, she couldn't help but smile at his choice literature.
"shakespeare's really great," it was sort of like talking to herself. with that thought rushing through her busy mind, she couldn't hold back a small, girly giggle. in an attempt to compose herself, she blushed and took a smooth breath. "i love macbeth. well i mean, the play... not so much macbeth the character. he was kind of a nutjob. i liked lady macbeth a lot better, but y'know, she was sort of completely off her rocker too." she rambled, glancing down at her own book a few times, as if she had to watch it to make sure it didn't run away.
"what's your favorite shakespeare play?" she inquired, giving him another one of those joyful little smiles she always had plenty of. it was somewhat of a shock whenever one wasn't plastered across her face. it was generally a constant, and if she wasn't smiling at the time- then she was sure to be grinning or giggling in a matter of seconds. it was, simply, nevaeh being her typical joyful little self.
she closed the fox and the hound and held it to her chest, her arms folded across it- gripping it on the sides. she quietly scooted her chair over a couple inches, moving herself almost directly across from him. tilting her head slightly to the side as she waited for some sort of a reply to her attempt at conversing with him, she wondered if she had rushed it a little... oh well. if he felt uncomfortable, then he was just going to have to get over it. he was going to talk to her. she was determined now.
oh dear. nevaeh's determined.
STATUS! complete.
TAGGED! ryann.
WORDS! 925
COMMENTS! oh no D:! my count went down!
[/size][/blockquote] HE'SAFIGHTERPASTHISPRIMEINTHEGUTTER
WAVINGHISHAND,"I'MJUSTFINE" [/font][/size] |
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Post by ryan mitchell on Oct 15, 2009 10:57:28 GMT -5
--- It seemed almost as if she was spying on him or something. His heart thundered in his chest, and his face was slightly panicked. Why was she just standing there? What did she want from him?! He despised it when people hovered, especially people he didn't know. He always felt stifled, like he would suffocate if they got any closer to him. All she was doing was just... just... standing there, reading her book. Couldn't she stand somewhere else? Ryan swallowed nervously, the red tint to his cheeks still visible. They would probably stay that way well after she left. If she'd ever leave...
--- His eyes darted up from his book occasionally, the nervous ash gaze landing on her wrist. Why was she covering it up with her sweatshirt? Was she a -- his eyes widened slightly with a sudden burst of hope before he shook his head. He shouldn't get his hopes up -- he had never met another servant before, and that fact would probably stay that way. He wet his lips nervously, trying his damndest to concentrate on the words of Othello (and, normally, laugh at he and Desdemona for their stupidity). Clearly, however, it wasn't working, and he was slowly feeling himself growing more and more unnerved. God damn it! Why wasn't she moving? Was there something seriously wrong with her?
--- She suddenly began to speak -- he jolted in his chair, completely startled out of his mind. He didn't think she was ever going to open her mouth. Not that actually talking to him was a better option. He meekly held up the book cover, even though he was sure that she could have read it herself in the first place. He did have it in plain view, after all. Maybe that was just him being anti-social again, though. Biting down on his lip, he tried once again to concentrate on Iago's treachery, and the girl seemed to let him for all of about a few minutes. It felt like a few seconds though before she began to bombard him with comments that he would find totally useless to him in the future. So, she liked Shakespeare. Ryan hasn't once met a person who didn't. However, he wasn't sure if she was really telling the truth or not. Many people try to play it off like they know everything about Shakespearean plays and books because it made them sound more intellectual. It was disgusting, how people tried their hardest to pretend to be something they really weren't. Did that make Ryan a hypocrite? Perhaps, but humans were inherantly hypocritical and narcissistic -- it was their way of coping, their own special way of survival.
--- He let her comments fall flat -- there was no use in replying to them. She wasn't really leaving him much of an opening. Even if he wanted to say something back, all he would be able to think of was a "yeah...". Now, that didn't sound very intelligent. Ry didn't want to come across as some idiot. He merely nodded in agreement as she prattled on about MacBeth's wife. He remembered the things she mentioned happening in the play itself, but he really didn't have anything to comment about. Flushing furiously, his eyes darted back to his lap, and he bit down a little on his lip. He snapped at the gauze holding his wrist in place once before suddenly hearing her ask him a question. He frowned and looked up. "W-w-wha -- what?" he managed to squeak out nervously, his argent gaze finally focusing on her face. Wow, there was such melancholy hidden there, it suddenly took him aback. His heart twisted a little inside his chest, and he quickly looked away again. That mask, it was too familiar to him, too personal for him to be able to look at. "I... I'm pa-partial to Othello, myself --" he said, finally giving her a chance. Something about her eyes sent shockwaves of pain through his system...
[/color] complete words[/color] 788 muse[/color] 3/10 for[/color] nevaeh (maybe one other person?) comments[/color] ffffff- sorry that took so long D: [/blockquote][/size] |
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