ɴeveʀ ʟeт ɢｏ

[my Lalia]

(Done forum on first page :) )

[Nostalgia]

[ Miriam] - [ Female ] - [ Eighteen ] - [ The deadly one ]

at first sight →

[ n a m e ] Miriam Savannah Deneuve.
[ n i c k n a m e ] Ria, Ava, Vanna, Mira, Annah.
[ a g e ] Eighteen years old.
[ b i r t h ] May 1st, 1993, Corsica.
[ g e n d e r ] Female.
[ o r i g i n ] France.

you're beautiful →

[ p h y s i c a l ][ a p p e a r a n c e ] Miriam looks strong, seductive and closed. Her beauty is considered to be marred by some, but nobody can deny the fact that she's attractive. Inky black locks tumble down her shoulders, usually swept to one side and contrasting wildly with her almost paper-white skin. Strong, black brows linger above dark forest green eyes rimmed with black and framed by long, slightly curled black eyelashes. As for her lips, they are a pale peach, delicately accented on her pale face, and her skin seems almost flawless, having gotten rid of the usual teenage acne a few years ago.
Going down, you can see a slender neck and narrow shoulders, then a black panther tattoo on her left shoulder blade. The huge cat is creeping to the end of the girl's arm, seemingly ready to pounce at her victim. Lower, you see feminine curves, a slim stomach and another tattoo of a phoenix in the small of her back. Moving down yet again, you see one more tattoo of a dragon on the girl's right wrist. Her hands seem gentle, delicate, with long fingers perfect for a pianist and neatly trimmed and filed nails. Her forearms are exceptionally thin, with no fat on them and barely any muscle showing, even though they're strong. Her thighs are, like most of her body, quite slender, as are her calves and ankles. Now, when you look at her left ankle, you can see a Golden Eagle in flight on the outside, and a trail of the bird's feathers on both sides of him, meeting together on the inside of the ankle. Then, after getting used to the beautiful inked creatures on her body, you finally begin to notice the many scars on her body, healed slashes on her arms, legs, stomach and one across her left cheek.
[ e y e ][ c o l o r ] Forest green.
[ h a i r ][ c o l o r ] Inky black locks which seem to always form messy waves, somehow still managing to be soft.
[ e t h n i c i t y ] French British, almost paper-white skin.
[ h e i g h t ] Five feet six inches. | A hundred and sixty eight centimetres.
[ w e i g h t ] A hundred and twenty one pounds. | Fifty five kilogrammes.
[ m o d i f i c a t i o n s ] Many thin scars on her whole body, a black panther tattoo on her left shoulder blade, a phoenix in the small of her back, a dragon on her right wrist and a Golden Eagle on her left ankle.

under your skin →

[ p e r s o n a l i t y ] In general, Miriam can be described as the femme fatale of the story. She is the deadly woman, the one who will drive her lovers insane until they can't think for themselves any more. She knows how to use her beauty to get what she wants, and her natural charm and allure only help her in her endeavours. The hint of mystery in her just helps draw more victims to her, since they always want to help or understand her. Truthfully, she could never be the villain. Of course, she plays with men, but she doesn't do it to hurt them, just teach them a lesson or have fun. Unfortunately, most people can't get past the first impression she gives off, either ticking her off as evil or trying to toy with her.
Deeper down, Ria is practically the epitome of dark humour and sarcasm. She's a realist, an atheist and a cynic, add her dry sense of humour and you get a person that's extremely hard to like. She will point out every flaw and every error, not caring if it hurts someone. She's also a perfectionist and will not tolerate laziness. Extremely intelligent, Savannah doesn't lie. At all. She's blunt and doesn't beat around the bush, simply telling the truth immediately. While it might be considered a virtue by some, people get hurt by her words easier because of it. It's just that she doesn't really mind and won't change her ways because someone got his feelings hurt. She's not the type of person to stay quiet just because, but if she deems it necessary, she can stay silent for days at a time until the reason disappears.
If you somehow manage not to run away after all of those things, you will see yet another level of the girl's personality. Anna is loyal. She doesn't back-stab and won't betray you, because she doesn't think that's right. Even though she might never be truly nice, you can receive a good word or perhaps a compliment from her if you do something right, and in her mouth, a compliment is only delivered if she truly thinks you deserve it, which is better than getting praised for nothing. She's strict in choosing her friends, but if she does accept you, you'll have won an extremely useful acquaintance. Although you may have to become immune to constant sarcastic comments, or take a break from her once in a while to keep your sanity.
[ h i s t o r y ] Born on the French island, Corsica, Miriam and her parents moved to the French Riviera when she was five years old and stayed there for another ten years. If only Eleanor knew what the outcome of that move would be, she probably would have never decided to leave the beautiful place.
Ria loved the Riviera with all her heart. She spent hours on the beach every day, learning to swim in the sea. She was an extremely happy child; her parents were rich, she was beautiful and she got what she wanted whenever she wanted it. Until that one day. She was fifteen and out on the beach like usual when he trapped her. To cut a long story short, he raped her. Quite smartly at that, not leaving a single piece of DNA so they could identify him, but causing many scars to form on the girl's body. At the end, it would always be his word against hers, and who would listen to a teenage girl’s accusation when it could condemn a successful businessman? Nobody. Not one single person. Of course, most people would expect Miriam to break after this incident, curl up and not let anyone touch her. She did exactly the opposite. Instead of being scared, sad, instead of crying in bed for weeks, she seethed. The fury in her eyes was visible in all the trials and not once after that day did she shed a single tear. She never blamed herself for the rape. She knew it wasn’t her fault, but she wanted to make others pay for it. She flaunted her beauty, charmed men and boys, then broke their hearts one by one, making them regret ever meeting her. She’s gotten ‘better’, so to say, over the years, managing to more or less control her anger, but she still despises the monster who changed her.
After the trials were over and the case was dropped, the family moved to England. After a few years there, her parents decided to let her travel the world; she would mail her schoolwork back to school from wherever she was at the time, but she would have a bit of a breather.
[ l o v e s ]
- storms
- cats
- the dark
- the night
- eclipses
- sarcastic people
- intelligent people
- the colour blue
- the wind
- tea
[ h a t e s ]
- sunny days
- dogs
- firework displays
- pushy people
- stupidity
- romantic comedies
- heat
- sparkling water
- sweet drinks
- oranges
[ f a m i l y ] Eleanor Deneuve {mother}, Alexander Price {father}, Arabella Chastain {aunt}.

skip a heartbeat →

[ c r u s h ] None yet.
[ o r i e n t a t i o n ] Pansexual.
[ s t a t u s ] Single.

what lies unawaken →

[ p o w e r ] War.
[ s t r e n g t h s ] Swimming, thinking, planning, running.
[ w e a k n e s s e s ] Waiting, helping, being a positive and nice person, trusting somebody.
[ u s e s ] The first use of Miriam's power would be controlling negative emotions. She can cause sadness, despair, anger or even pain with a single look in someone's direction. She can practically breathe in misery and it makes her happier, feel more at home. Her body revels in bad feelings and drinks in every drop.
The other use, the one purely mental, is the ability to control others' minds. Vannah can push people to make decisions, stop them from doing something and manipulate thoughts so they sound different to the person.
Most would think that her powers can only bring destruction and hate, but, if she wanted to, she could stop someone's sadness or pain, move it to another person or herself. She cannot bring relief or happiness, but she can make somebody do the right thing, push them onto the right path. The only problem is that negative feelings make her feel good, and she can't feel the misery before someone else does {i.e. she has to make someone miserable before taking it away to satisfy herself}.

{{Danger, I hope you don't mind that I basically copied everything from another of my forms? I would have created a new character, but I just don't feel up to that right now. :)}}

[light.]

[[ accepted nostalgia, and get well soon c: artesian should be getting the form up today, so we may start late today ]]

[Artesian]

[Ooc: Finished! Small edit on powers and weaknesses at the bottom.]

[ Stanley Jennesen ] - [ Male ] - [ Nineteen ] - [ Simple ]

at first sight →

[ n a m e ] Stan Jennesen
[ n i c k n a m e ] Stan, Stanley Stanny boy, Jen, Blondie. He answers to pretty much anything.
[ a g e ] 19
[ b i r t h ] June 12th, 1992 in Colorado Springs, US.
[ g e n d e r ] Male
[ o r i g i n ] Anywhere in the USA. His family traveled a lot when he was a kid. He was most recently from Kansas.

you're beautiful →

[ p h y s i c a l ][ a p p e a r a n c e ] Stan is well-built, with strong arms. Delicate, agile, scrawny - these are all words that do not apply to him. He can easily lift over a hundred and fifty pounds, can hike for hours, run a mile without getting out of breath, and swim across the Mississippi river (he's done it). He had blond hair, sandy and light, which never stays where he puts in. He keeps it very, very short, otherwise he turns into a dandelion head.

He has a strong chin, an easy smile with slightly crooked teeth (not quite crooked enough for braces, even if his parents could afford them) and eyes which seems to change color in the light, from pale gray to blue to green to gold. He has callused hands, a scar from a motorcycle fall on his arm, and a tiny birthmark on his left side. It doesn't look like anything but a blob.

He tends to wear hard-wearing clothes: jeans, plain t-shirts, wind-breaker and tennis shoes. His idea of of a classy, fashionable outfit is a button-down shirt with black pants. If questioned about style, he'd do his best to politely change the subject, or listen to you attentively and absorb nothing you say.


[ e y e ][ c o l o r ] His eyes depend on the light, but are always pale shades of blue, green, gold, or gray.
[ h a i r ][ c o l o r ] Sandy, cut short.
[ e t h n i c i t y ] He says he's Heinz ketchup, a mix of everything. He's mostly French and Native American on his mom's side, and his dad... well, no one knows who his grandfather was.
[ h e i g h t ] 1 meter, ninety centimeters; six feet, two inches.
[ w e i g h ] ~90 kg, ~20 stones.
[ m o d i f i c a t i o n s ] He has a tiny birthmark on his side, and a scar on his arm from a motorcycle fall. He wants to get a tattoo, but hasn't gotten around to it.

under your skin →

[ p e r s o n a l i t y ] Stan seems like a simple person. He's kind to everyone, welcoming to newcomers, and a sympathetic person to talk to. You can tell him absolutely anything, and he'll understand. For years at his old high-school, everyone called him the Counselor; he was the clearing house for gossip, sob-stories, help and who-likes-who webs. If he saw someone with a sad face anywhere, he'd go and sit by them, tease out their troubles, listen, talk, and help them out until they felt better. (His only flaw as a 'counselor' is that he will tell secrets. When two people have independently told them that they like each other, he feels like he'll burst unless he tells someone.

He has a talent for reading expressions correctly, and getting along with everyone. He doesn't have enemies, just friends that don't know him yet. Popular isn't the right word for him though. He's never a fixture in the school social hierarchy, just someone passing through for a year or two, who seems to effortlessly fit into any situation.

Unfortunately, his innate talent for social situations is offset by his lack of intelligence and guile. Stan is uncomplicated. He never lies outright, rarely by omission, and can't imagine manipulating a person in order to hurt them. He's never gotten an A in a class in his life, and celebrates every time he passes another year. He is, frankly, not very bright. He works hard, it's just that nothing academic comes easily to him.

He's nondenominational Christian, but casually so. You'll never know unless you ask. He believes strongly in his God, and believes that He is watching out for him, and for all people, whether they believe in him or not. This whole reincarnation-of-the-elements thing has been a little hard on his faith, but he never lets it show.

Lastly, he loves being out in the fresh air. Pretty much any kind of outdoor sport, he's into. Swimming, football, soccer, tennis, hiking, swimming: if it's outdoors and involves exercise, he'll come. He loves animals, and habitually keeps cat food and dog treats in his pocket for passing animals.


[ h i s t o r y ] Stan was born on the road, during a violent storm which prevented them from reaching the hospital in time. His parents were technicians for a touring country music band, and brought him up on the road amongst the backstage staff. He loved to sing along with the music from an early age, and when his parents decided he should start first grade in the fall, he was devastated.

They settled down as the permanent staff of a venue in New Jersey, where he went to first, second and third grade. Then, when the venue was torn down, they moved to Florida. Then Minnesota. Then Alaska for a memorable summer. Then California, where his younger sister was born. Then Colorado, where his little brother was born, and finally, for his Junior and Senior year, a small town a few hours drive from Topeka, Kansas.

He loved it there, the school was small enough that within a few months, he knew everyone. He played on the football team there, started work on a corn-ethanol farm nearby his house, learned to drive, bought a truck, and had a couple of girlfriends - nothing serious, he never truly fell in love - and generally had an uneventful but contented life.

He knew he was not going to college, even on a football scholarship, but was happy enough with staying behind while his friends filed off to art colleges, oversea universities, and engineering colleges on the far coast. He planned on traveling as a roadie with a few bands for his living as soon as the summer was there. He'd signed on as general muscle and sound technician, said goodbye to his parents and the 'brats' (as he called his little siblings), and headed off to the rest of his life... and ended up here.
[ l o v e s ] Music, sports, singing, swimming, nature, storms, rain, animals, traveling, flying in airplanes, bungee jumping, sunshine, people.
[ h a t e s ] Staying in one place, schoolwork, math (augh), spelunking, fatty foods, airports, hail, motorcycles, people who purposefully hurt people, cows.
[ f a m i l y ] Mother (Theresa-Yves), father (Tom), brother, five (Westin), sister, fifteen (Marie). They all have no idea what's happened to him.

skip a heartbeat →

[ c r u s h ] Stan is sweet on the whole world. He thinks all girls are beautiful (some more than others, honestly) and has never found anyone special. No crush, yet.
[ o r i e n t a t i o n ] sexual orientation: Straight, partly because it was the way he was raised. The idea of being gay, bi, trans, etc. just wasn't in his world.
[ s t a t u s ] relationship status: single. Not looking for anything serious, but always looking.

what lies unawaken →

[ p o w e r ] Wind
[ s t r e n g t h s ] Singing, anything to do with music. Strength. Anything to do with animals. Amiable personality, easy to get along with. He's also a good cook, surprisingly.
[ w e a k n e s s e s ] Anything academic (please let it go awaaaay!) He doesn't do school, studying, computers, or lying. He can't lie, he turns bright red and stammers whenever he tries. He's capricious too, and has a hard time setting his mind to a goal and following it. He also gets no benefit from his power over air when falling, as the ground doesn't care what the air thinks of it. He's terrified of caves and being underground, and his intelligence and focus varies with the stuffiness of the room.
[ u s e s ] Part of his skill with singing is due to his power over air. He doesn't actually need to breath to speak or sing. He can predict the weather a few days in advance with moderate accuracy by feeling the air. He has some control over the weather, although it's mostly emotional based and unconscious. (One of the worst storms in the last five years happened in Kansas while he had whooping cough. Once, a hurricane demolished the home of a sixth grade bully while he was in Florida.) The bands he traveled with called him their lucky charm; they were never rained out when he was with them. He can hold his breath underwater far longer than most people, although it becomes increasingly uncomfortable after the first two minutes. Currently, he can hear all sorts of sounds in a five mile radius around him, if he concentrates. (Later, he'll be able to hear words spoken anywhere in the world, as the wind carries words spoken everywhere to his ears). Flying? Maybe. It's the ground and the air which prevents someone from flying, and Stan and the ground are not friends.

Affinities: Fire (gives energy to, supports, but somewhat draining), Water (cooperation, storms and clouds)
Repulsion: Earth (depressed by Earth, mutual dislike), Knowledge (he's too much of an airhead, indecisive person).
Neutral: War (dislikes her personally, but not elementally), Dark (air doesn't care about dark or light), Light.

[light.]

[[ well, I think this means we can start. we're starting arriving to the house or just waiting there. I'm using pic just for my intoduction post ]]

Alessandra wasn't bored, but she couldn't stand the lack of movement around her, the stillness that surrounded her in this new but inimical and hostile place, where she didn't know anybody. No one from her family came with her to the drop off, just kissed her goodbye and left her at the bus station. They didn't show any emotions, no pain, no sadness, all fake pity feeling that made her sick, wanting to puke, making of her empty stomach a knot she couldn't undo no matter how hard she tried. The real tears of her older brother, who stared at her with his face clean of any pityful expession [just like she had asked him a few hours ago, just when she woke up], but which never fell from his blue eyes, were burning in her memory, just like every remembrance she had with her brothers or her family. Even with her stepsisters.

Bianca and Belinda decided just to shake hands with her, as her mother [Alessandra's stepmother] had told her, and reiforced her words giving example to her daughters, shaking hands coldly to Alessandra, raising her chin and staring at her from her high heels. Alessandra didn't need them, she was tall enough, but she felt intimidated, weak, though she resisted to let those miserable emotions to come out of her heart. It was hard enough for her sorrowful heart to hold the tears which, like the small drops of rain in a bucket, accumulated with every shaked hand, every look she exchanged with the deared ones. Everytime her heart shook, like a mountain getting ready for an avalanche.

But the avalanche happened, the tears that filled the bucket of her emotions reached the top and the bucket collapsed through her eyes when she reached bianca, the younger of her two stepsisters. Alessandra was leaving because of them, because her stepmother and her father thought it was dangerous for them to stay in the same house as her, with the risk of burning alive always present. They were six, but Alessandra was one. She was who had to leave, with only two bags full of memories from her past, her old clothers, photographs, books. Things she needed to stay alive, to continue breathing. To continue being the person she used to be, because breathing didn't meant to be alive. She was going to spend a while dead, there in the mountains of boring Colorado, where she had never been. But it wasn't their stepsisters fault. Not at all.

Bianca didn't want to shake her hand. Bianca wanted to hug her, to apologize for the pain Alessandra was going to suffer, from the agony away from home, from her friends, her brothers, her father. The deared ones which she wouldn't see for a while. And with a while her father meant a lot of time. Bianca looked at her, directly in the eye, and for a moment, Alessandra and her stepsister were perfectly synchronized, inside each others mind. And suddenly Bianca's arms where around her neck, her face sobbing against her shoulder, while Alessandra buried her face in the curve her neck formed on her shoulder, shielding from her stepmother deadly looks while tears streamed down her face.

That's when the non-emotional drop off finished and the emotional drop off started, with tears and tissues going around them. Then the taxi came, she had to go to the bus station to get her bus. It was true no one had been with her at the moment of the real drop off, when she came out of the taxi. But every member of her family was inside her heart, which that day seemed big enough for all of them to stay there, where the cold didn't reach. They were safe there, and the mountains of Colorado didn't seem so bad after all. Alessandra could live there, and if she felt bad or missed her home she would be strong and stay there, suffering with pride. Because she was strong and she wasn't afraid. The fire wasn't afraid of anything never.

Colorado hills surrounded the bus, which transited by a dirt road, which surely no one used, since it was covered with small branches, rocks and dust. The house wan't very far away, but Alessandra didn't know what to expect, who'd she find there, in the middle of the woods and an endless forest in the middle of... nothing. There was nothing there, no internet connection, no mobile service unless you wanted to climb a mountain to get it, no bathrooms [at least during her travel, the motels and fuel stations didn't have very decent bathrooms for a lady like her] and no people in the bus that she could see, besides the driver. It was the last stop, the final stop of that travel which had lasted six hours.

The roughness of the seats reminded her of the fur of an undiscovered animal: short, rough, artificial. Different. It was different from everything she had seen or touched during her life. Alessandra was accustomed to velvet, silk, linen, cashemere... Rich textiles you couldn't buy at the corner shop. You needed to go somewhere else; a high couture boutique, a shop at the "rich" streets. Alessandra knew about that. That had been her live, everything she had known, something she had mastered at. The bus wasn't a very expensive bus; with a bathroom inside, a fridge for drinks and seats you can use as a bed. It wasn't the most comfortable bus Alessandra had tried, because Alessandra haven't tried many buses during her short life.

"This is what normal people do, they travel in buses and they're happy. Try to be happy because if they can, you can". This was something she had been repeating all the travel, like a mantra, a motto. Something to hold on to, to keep her from loosing her faith. Trees moved outside the window: pine trees, poplars, cottonwoods, small bushes scattered along the way with bright colored flowers. It was very obvious, watching that display of colors, that the sping had arrived there early. Those colors were the shades of the spring, something she wasn't accustomed to see at New York City, where the shades of the industry reigned: grey, black, white, brick orange. All of them combined with metal reflects, something Alessandra couldn't seem to find there, deep in the woods of Colorado.

[ words are only painted fire; a look is the fire itself ]


··Moo∂··
b o r e d in the busl
··Wʜeʀe··
b u s, almost at the house
··Wɪтʜ··
a l o n e

quote by mark twain, picture by favim.

[my Lalia]

Mood:
Bored
With:
Alone
Where:
At the house in the living room
Saying:
"Water is life's mater and matrix, mother and medium. There is no life without water."

Jake was one of the first people at the house, which he was finding to be quite nice though he would hope that someone else would soon arrive. He was just walking down the street to get some food when a black car pulled up next to him telling him to get in, he was confused but got in when they showed him their badges. It was quiet ride for the most part, when he did manage to ask where they were taking him all they would say was that he was going to a safe place with others like him. Jake couldn't help but be a little angry at that statement, his "people" were native american, as he was dead sure that these people were being racist. When he asked why they were taking his "people" away from society all they said that they were dangerous. This made Jake too angry to speak anymore, that was when it began to rain a little but he paid no attention to that as he looked out the window. He watched as the landscape changed from city to country, from flat to hills every where. He found the drive to be nice once the rain stopped, he liked the country it calmed him in many ways. The one thing he hated about the car ride that it was long and they wouldn't stop and let him stretch his legs and get something to eat or even pee for that matter.

When they reached the house Jake looked out across the vast landscape, it was beautiful. Rolling hills of green against a blue sky with a few white puffy clouds that showed no signs of rain, he smiled to himself then before turning around to see the men in black siuts stare at him. "A few more of your kind will be coming soon, best go and claim a room while you can." Said one of the men before they went over to the car, that was when Jake realized that he had brought nothing him. "Hey! I have no clothes, no toothbrush, no books, no nothing! How do you expect me to live?" He asked a little frustrated as he grabbed the car door before they could close it. "Your stuff is in the living room, we had it brought here before we picked you up. Now if you mind we are going." The man said before yanking the door away from Jake then driving off. Jake stood there for a moment watching as they drove away before heading to the house to grab his stuff and find a room. He went over to dorm four seeing that it had a nice view of a small lake and unpacked his stuff, he could see that he might be sharing a room so he took great care not to take up too much room.

After he was done unpacking he went to the living room and at sat down, he was sure someone would be arriving soon so he was going to wait. He pulled out a deck of cards from his pocket and began to lay them out to play solitary, all the while wondering who was coming and why he was there. Sure strange stuff happened to him all the time but this was something different, he wasn't expecting to be pulled from society and dumped here. Though he wasn't sure where "here" actually was, the men in suits never told him where they were taking them for all he knew they taking him some where were he wouldn't hurt people. But Jake wasn't the one to hurt anyone if anything he hurt himself or poeple hurt him, he smirked at the thought as he flipped the queen of hearts over. He really hoped someone would show up soon since he like being with people even if they weren't in the same room, just knowing that they were close by comfort him.

[111misc]

Bobbie sat, dazed, impudent, and irked, in her cab that was driving swiftly over the dusty dirt roads that laced this part of Colorado, sending clouds of dirt and pebbles showering behind the car. Sulking in the back, she reminded herself how much she hated cars. Or busses. Or trains. Or any form of trasonportation, really, besides planes and boats, because all they did was run over the earth like some sort of door mat. No one appreciated the ground anymore, because they were too busy getting across it. So privately Bobbie had, over the years, developed a serious hate for cab drivers, like the one with his back to her now, and their profession.

However, he respectfully payed her no attention, and she gave him the same curtesy. Somehow it was all so anticlimactic, after all, wasn't the government supposed to lock her up in some insane asylum, with a straight jacket and looney pills, keep her hidden from society, and have her surrounded by snipers wherever she went? Wasn't a normal cab, a simple house in the mountains, a little..well...normal? How ironic, though, for Bobbie had to be the opposite of normal.

Glancing down with dark blue eyes almost black, but with dark tints of sapphire, at the paper the girl held in her tanned hands, Bobbie reread the contents. The last letter from her mother, Karen, before she stopped her contact. It hadn't been an order, Bobbie supposed her mother and grandparents could have wrote to her, if they'd wanted...but obviously they didn't want that type of strangeness in their lives. Anything abnormal or unique was utterly shunned by her family, and now, the blonde haired girl realized with a sort of depressed epiphany, so now, too, she was abnormal, and the cautions and feelings of something like that--someone like that, remained the same. She was dead to them.

Any normal girl would have cried, would have frowned, but at that moment, practically isolated in a dirty old cab spewing pollution and pebbles in it's wake, Bobbie, her vibrant hair like a sunlit beacon amidst the dingy greyness of the car, couldn't help a grin, just as sunny as her hair, spread across her face. It was a silent smile, but it was more then a laugh in its happiness. It reached her eyes, normally so dark and aggressive, lightened and gay. Because, after all, wasn't it just too funny? Wasn't it all just a dream?

That was what Bobbie kept telling herself, that this wasn't really happening. Late at night, before she would fall asleep, she would think to herself that her life was still normal. She was still just a girl, and she still had a crush on that one boy from english class, and she still wore normal clothes, and went to a normal school, and had a normal family. She still had a dog named Bucky, she still had her innocence from this fact that had now entrenched her life, tangling her and matting her in this web of strangeness and isolation.

It had become a habit, for Bobbie, to deny the truth, when it was particularily painful. After Henry's accident, Bobbie would cry herself to sleep from thinking over and over again that it never happened, that he was still sleeping in the room beside hers. And then she would wake up and he wasn't there. It was the same with this, now. This...curse. It tore her from her family, her friends (whatever few she had had), her entire life. Everything she knew was now a memory, and she had to become someone totally different.

Bobbie looked at her reflection in the glass window, blonde haired, blue eyed, strong boned and freckle-faced. The reflection stared back passively, mindlessly, dazedly, just as she looked. Too tired from all the driving she'd already done that day, too numb from her parting from her family, and too nervous about what was to now be her life, until farther notice.

"Oh, oh, right," She said hastilly, groggy, as the driver cleared his throat, already turned around towards her. She had fallen asleep, still thinking, about her life, about the earth, about everything she could, and the movements of the car, so rythmic, had made her feel so tired...she couldn't help herself. So it seemed not a moment later she was waking. Before her there was long, winding pathway that she assumed led to the house, and the driver stopped at the gateway there. "It's too narrow down there, my cab can't take it," he said gruffly, turning back around to face front, waiting for her to get out. She'd payed him before, for the long drive.

So Bobbie let herself out, opening the trunk and grabbing her bags; three of them, large and bulky. Normally, the tomboy was a very light packer, just a few pairs of clothes, a toothbrush, some hiking boots and a swimsuit or two, but that was for a week long vacation or trip. This...This was for a while, she figured. And not only did she need clothes for this type of thing, Bobbie figured, but memories too. The teenager didn't have many in the first place, but she owned a few pictures of her and her brother when they were younger, of her family, smiling, and had a couple journals some friends had given her when she told them she had to leave...of course, Bobbie hadn't been completely honest with them, but she felt no guilt. The blond hardly ever felt guilt for lying; and especially with that one, because telling the truth would only get her hurt.

It was a long trek towards the house, but it was beautiful, and Bobbie really enjoyed it. She thanked silently that she'd worn something practical, brown sneakers and old-style, faded jean shorts, along with a pretty loose T-shirt, light green, with a bleached white rose on the back, the symbol from a summer camp she'd gone to once. Bobbie remembered it fondly enough, running around with other kids, racing and fighting for fun; she'd gotten the shirt when she'd left, but it had been almost neon green and bright, icy white. Obviously the many washes she'd put it through had not been kind to it, and it looked old, and slightly frumpy, but that was the way Bobbie liked it the best.

The forest around her was beautiful, and it captured the girls entire attention. Her dark eyes flicked around the trees, up into the canopies green and swaying, down to the brown, muddy roots. She saw the prints of animals long dried in dirt as they'd passed through there, she saw bushes, some she could name, some she could not, and lots of aspen trees, white and wiry, so numerous she could never have counted in a hundred years how many there were in that one stretch of wood. Flowers dotted the forest floors, and the fragrences of the wet wood, dirt, and petals, all rustling like the best symphony she'd ever heard; it intoxicated her. Before she knew it, Bobbie was trudging along, towing her bags with her hands behind her, making little indents in the dirt, and the house came into view. Or at least, the tall girl thought it was the house. It was the only one she'd seen so far, and from this hight, on a hill, Bobbie could even see the long, high metal gate that encircled this stretch of land. She must have been sleeping when the driver passed through it. IT gave Bobbie a shivering feeling, one that chilled her spine and left her blinking harshly. It was beautiful here, but it was still a prison. And Bobbie told herself coldly, in her mind, not to let herself forget that.

But, a smile crept into her face and eyes as she let her gaze slip away from the man made gate to the natural wonders of the world around her: her world. Crouching down for a moment, she let her fingers run through the loose dirt by her feet, smudging her tan skin brown. It felt nice, warm and soft and like silk to her fingertips. "Well, I suppose it could be a lot worse," she said aloud to herself, perceiving she was alone in front of the house, and Bobbie closed her eyes, and just let the dirt sink into her hands, like it was the most beautiful thing in the world.

[Artesian]

~~Stanley Jennesen ~~

The plane screamed towards the ground, tearing apart the air like a blunt knife through layers of tissue paper. The wind buffeted the sides of the plane as it was pushed, protesting, from the nose of the plane. This alien device, this thing of metal and ingenuity glided across the air's unwilling gusts, swallowing the air in enormous gasps and expelling it behind the plane in streaks of wet artificial cloud, crisscrossing the sky about the airport like stitches in a wound.

The captain adjusted minutely the angle of the plane, keeping it carefully below the three degrees range for the comfort, safety and convenience of his passengers (Aerocorp: Where ya'll are our first priority). A stewardess threaded her way down the central aisle, beaming and balancing like a ballet artist in two inch heels. She stopped, leaned down, and smiled."Please put up your tray, sir," she instructed as sweetly as she could.

The teenager nodded, clicking the tray into position. He was a large man, with brilliant blond hair and gray eyes; the stewardess found herself smiling broader at him, her face stretching at the corners of her mouth. "We're landing soon?" he asked. He had a slight southern accent which softened his o's into a swinging, swaying sound.

"Yes, in just a few minutes," she told him, and continued on down the row.

He nodded nervously, and pulled out a thick envelope. It showed the signs of wear, including probably being accidentally washed in his pockets more than once. His name, 'Stanley Jennesen' was printed on the outside, by a computer. The more he stared at it, the more nervous he felt. Stanley? Stanley? No one called him Stanley. And this incredible offer of a slot at an 'exclusive college for the talented' was unbelievable. There had been references to his 'skill with the ethereal plane' which sounded awesome if completely impossible, and then... they'd talked other things they knew.

How they knew that his emotions synced with the weather in his area.
How he had won that swimming competition by holding his breath.
How he had auditioned for a choir, and terrified everyone with that endless note that had rattled the chairs of the concert hall.
How he could sometimes hear his family and friends whispering from miles away.

They'd explained his options, which hadn't been impressive. Apparently, it was against some law or another to mess with the weather (who knew). Either they could come and find him, and make his life a misery until they found him, track him down, and drag him to prison for life, or worse, or he could come to them, and maybe he'd be allowed to leave after a few years of training. Maybe. A set of first-class plane tickets, each a week apart, had been enclosed in the envelope, with instructions on who to meet at the airport exit. He'd packed his stuff (not more than a small suitcase, he was traveling anyway) and took the first plane here. Bogus or not, this was interesting. He'd left Kansas looking for adventure, and hadn't found it on the road: just bad food, boring people, and lots of rules and restrictions.

A normal person (no, not normal, a sane person) would have found seeking adventure in a prison a bad idea. Stan wasn't exactly sane. Going to an unusual prison sounded like fun to him. He leaned back in his chair a little, and watched the tarmac swoop up to meet them in a smooth, graceful landing. His biggest worry is that the plane tickets had been an expensive prank, and that he'd be stuck in Colorado without any transport home. The deceleration pushed him back into his chair, and he chewed his cheek absentmindedly, swallowing to clear the pops in his ears. His enthusiasm deflated slightly, as the slick gliding motion of flight was replaced with the rough dragging feel of travel on the ground. It pulled at his mind like sticky gum on his fingers, digesting his bubbles of joyous excitement into confused dread. What the h*ll am I doing here?

* * *

There'd been a long walk down to the airport exit.
There'd been a man with a sign reading Stanley Jennesen in all caps. Printed, again.
There'd been a long, jarring car ride over back roads, over the great wide plains of Colorado, into the mountains.
There'd been a final stop, and the world had stopped moving for him.
There'd been a metal gate.
There'd been a click as it shut behind him.

Then he'd been left alone, sitting on his suitcase which contained all his worldly belongings, beneath the enormous Colorado sky. The quiet glowed in his stomach, but it was tinged with mockery... the freedom of the sky was shut out by that iron gate. Those metal bars. This was a prison, and Stan belatedly realized, a prison isn't just a place you visit. It's a place you can't leave. He stood up woodenly, and carried his suitcase into the main house. If this was... his home - an image snapped into his mind of his family playing in their backyard with the dog - he'd best find out just what sort of a prison this was.

A prison.

Something twisted inside him, and far off over the plains of Colorado, a thunderhead bloomed.

Here we are, trapped in the amber of the moment. There is no why.


··Mood··
Gloomy
··Where··
Main house,
··With··
Alone

Quote from Kurt Vonnegut.

[{{ f i a s c o }}]

I remember tears streaming down your face
When I said, I'll never let you go
When all those shadows almost killed your light
I remember you said, Don't leave me here alone
But all that's dead and gone and passed tonight

Just close your eyes
The sun is going down
You'll be alright
No one can hurt you now
Come morning light
You and I'll be safe and sound

Don't you dare look out your window darling
Everything's on fire
The war outside our door keeps raging on
Hold onto this lullaby
Even when the music's gone

Just close your eyes
The sun is going down
You'll be alright
No one can hurt you now
Come morning light
You and I'll be safe and sound.

They're arriving.

And then; e=mc^2.

Dim dawn. 27 degrees Celsius, or, what was similar, 82 degrees Fahrenheit. A gusty wind - pronouncing imminent rain as cloudstorms brood some 5 km to his north-north East - swayed the linen hammock gently as it's occupant flicked boredly through the latest Physics journal he had been able to get his hands on. Not that he didn't know all it's content already, but it was a way to pass time. Something he had had too much of in the past five years, it seemed.

The porch creaked gently under the strain of the wind - mahogany was sucseptible to making sound when under pressure, and since it hadn't been oiled in exactly two years five days past, it was beggining to wear down to an inapporpiate level - but James wasn't precisely bothered. He was alone as he would ever be, and that allowed him - to a certain extent - a halo of peace of mind. Nothing except Knowledge could disturb him now.

Seven were coming. Three - Barbara, posessor of Earth, Stanley Jenssen, posessor of Air, Alessandra Jawbrooke, posessor of Fire - were already at the gate, one other in the house,- Jake Soul, possessor of Water - playing solitary in the living room. All seemed to share an air of false nochalance, layering over a sense of nerves, of not belonging, of hate for this place. Of misery, of pain. At least these weren't the extremes, not yet. The most problematic ones - War, Light and Darkness - had still to arrive.

Effitec 95; 1.5567/litre

Along with; IBEX 35; - 5732.1 points.

Jesus, Spain's stock is going down the drain.

If a tree falls down in the middle of a forest, and no-one is around to hear it, will it make a sound or not?

Of course it will, you doofus brain. The law of conservation of energy implies that it will obviously convert that kinetic energy into sound energy.

The light breeze ruffled the grown boy's blonde locks, making it cross those bi-coloured aquamarine and sky-blue eyes like whiplashes on a Roman slave's back. The forest around them groaned, swaying to the wind's mercy, but imperceptibly so. It could be said that if said trees fell down, he'd be the only one around to hear them. However, this was unlikely; pines, oaks and the occasional birch and willow got stronger as they grew older, and for all he knew - which was a lot, mind you - they showed no sign of illness or decay. This forest was probably as old as his great-grandmother thrice removed, dead 126 years now, and made for the perfect recove to hide freaks like them, freaks nobody should see, freaks nobody should even know about.

Gods reincarnated.

With an angry sigh, James slapped his journal on the ground below him, and with a swift gracefull movement, swung his legs over the ever-moving hammock. Flip-flops slapped on the wooden floor as he moved up, and began towards the window, silent as a mouse. Nobody was out here to hear him, but there were three or four people nearby he didn't want to reveal himself to. The most problematic one, perhaps, the one sitting in front of him, immersed in his card game. He had been as distracted as to not feel his prescence.

James put his calloused hands into his pocket as he observed the troubled teen form the glass pane that separated them from each oftheir respective parallel worlds. He was 20, born in Canada, of Native American Indian descent. After spending some rough 350 seconds staring through the looking glass, James cleared his throat and rapped at the window, signaling as for the guy to open the door.

As if James needed any help. He knew all the exits, the secret passages, even what material the foundations were built of - 96% cement, 4% Spandex -, and he knew perfectly well that the door could be opened from the outside, also that the door was unlocked amd there was a key hidden under a fake rock by the wall. Simply, as to save time, he walked up to the oak door - cleverly tinted as to be confused with the expensive mahogany floor -, picked up the key and unlocked the door. By this moment, his palms were sweating. James did not enjoy human contact as this fellow seemed to.

"Nice to meet you, Jake," he offered, casually, not bothering to stretch out his hands from his pockets. His gaze wandered over the panneled ceiling while Einsteins working out for e=mc^2 ran through his head once more.

[Nostalgia]

A warning to the people
The good and the evil
This is war
To the soldier, the civillian
The martyr, the victim
This is war

A warning to the prophet, the liar, the honest
This is war
To the leader, the pariah, the victor, the messiah
This is war

It's the moment of truth and the moment to lie
The moment to live and the moment to die
The moment to fight, the moment to fight, to fight, to fight, to fight

To the right
To the left
We will fight to the death
To the edge of the earth
It's a brave new world
From the last to the first

To the right
To the left
We will fight to the death
To the edge of the earth
It's a brave new world
It's a brave new world

They wanted her. She was told - no, ordered - to come to a house in Colorado. To stay there for however long was necessary, to learn to control her 'abilities'. She snorted automatically at this thought, still remembering the uncontrollable laughter she had fallen victim to the moment when she first read that line of the letter. Like they could do anything she couldn't. They had no idea how to handle her and she wasn't about to help them with it. Of course she was aware of her power. At least parts of it, anyway. She discovered it when she first wrote a test in high school, the anger, worry and pure misery of most of the people in the room at the time blissful to her. She revelled in it, drinking in every drop for the whole hour. After that, she started to feel a pull towards every person feeling something negative, lingering around kinds being bullied and ones with problems. When she was near them, she felt better. If she was a naturally kind and helpful person, she would have tried to stop those horrible feelings, to lift the moods of the affected people. But Miriam was selfish, and the feeling she had when she was near such emotions was so sweet that she wouldn't dream of stopping it. Perhaps it was good that somebody like her received the power, since most people would try to get rid of it, hate themselves for feeling things like this. Most adults said that everyone was evil nowadays, preferring to hurt someone than help them, but the girl disagreed. People were far too good for her liking, always trying to raise each others spirits and cut off the emotions she loved so. And what about her? Oh, she definitely wasn't as angelically pure as them. Breaking hearts, causing pain came naturally to her, her thirst for revenge after the incident crushing any goodness in her. Of course, she wasn't evil, honestly. She never hurt anybody physically, usually just teaching them a lesson and reaping the rewards that came with that. Unfortunately for her, she still didn't learn it was possible for her to cause those emotions, inflict pain. She could only feel them, not able to control them just yet.
As for the other part of her ability, it was more foreign to her. She could get into minds, read thoughts and find things out, but she couldn't yet control people, only managing to poke them in a direction if extremely concentrated and desperate.
At this moment, Savannah was sitting in a car hired to drive her to the house in Colorado. Even if they didn't 'help' her at all, it was always an interesting change, and the teenager was all for adventure. She wouldn't mind even if they locked her up with a bunch of people she didn't know, since they would all probably feel horrible after the first few days, bringing the strange girl what she craved. It might have been wrong to think like this, but frankly, Miriam didn't care all that much. She wanted what she wanted and she wasn't about to change her ways just because somebody could get their feelings hurt.
Finally, she was there. She paid the driver what she had promised, offering a slight tip for a completely silent drive, not minding rewarding someone who didn't annoy her with pointless chatter, and stepped out of the car. It didn't look that bad. A normal house, it wasn't what she would call luxurious, but it would be enough. She wasn't a pampered princess, like some thought of her. Not that she cared. Grabbing her bags, she strode forward confidently, passing a girl playing with some dirt - a twitch of an eyebrow her only reaction at the sight - and waltzed into the house. Inside, she was immediately hit by a thick layer of confusion and sadness, and she inhaled, the emotions swirling around her and travelling into her body, calming her. She had gotten so used to this, she would have been extremely disappointed if it turned out everyone in this house had high spirits. The corners of her lips pulled into the familiar smirk as she walked into the living room, glancing at the two males already inside. A quick look at the younger of them was enough to extract basic information about him. For some reason, people always held their name at the back of their mind. She never questioned why because she simply didn't mind. It helped when meeting someone. James Strider, possessed the power of knowledge. Wonderful. This meant one less person she would have to introduce herself to, since he would know everything about her. She only hoped he wouldn't blab her life story as soon as he got the chance. Now for the older one. Jake Soul, didn't have his power in his thoughts. Maybe he hadn't discovered it yet, or simply didn't care about it? Seemed pretty harmless, but annoyingly peaceful. Liked people. What a joy.
"I'm Miriam Deneuve." she heard herself speak, automatically addressing Jake since the other boy probably knew her name already.