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Post by verena on Mar 31, 2009 2:43:27 GMT -5
ivory rose kingston .ONCE YOU’VE HAD A TASTE OF PERFECTION.like an apple hanging from the tree,
i picked the ripest one i still got the seed - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
[/color] There just has to be something… Ivory shook her head once more as she ripped yet another paper out of the seams of her lucky notebook. This was ridiculous. It seemed for the longest time she was without any inspiration—any want to truly write anything! She sighed and leaned back into her chair. She knew exactly why she was feeling this way and she hated it. Gosh, she hated it with every inch of her being and just wanted to grab the next person and start pounding them into the floor as though they were a sack of…something. She frowned rolling her eyes at herself for her crazy thoughts.
She still couldn’t believe her father had really gone ahead and moved to Ireland. It was the most wretched thing he could have done to her. She was as deeply rooted into the English soil as her mother had been. But maybe that was it. Her father wanted to be away from anything that reminded him of Evelyn and so he decided to loose the entirety of Great Britain and grab the first quick-witted redhead with a dreadful accent that he could get. And that’s exactly what you did, Papa.
She couldn’t help but be extremely angry with him. After all, no longer was she the crème de la crème regal queen of the school and neither did she have a million men fawning over her. Sure the dramatics program may have been much better here than at the academy, but she was the one who was forever receiving the leads—here such a thing could be easily bought, or so she felt. It depressed her, this lack of friendship, contacts, knowing. It was much too foreign and different to become a part of her liking or ever really fit with her.
Without a thing to warm me, I lay cold
Gone, wasted, I aged a million years in a day
So I was, as I never thought I would be, old
An infinite ever-turning disaster in a way
Ivory glanced down at the paper once more before tearing it to shreds and throwing it at a trashcan. Naturally she missed. ”Damn it.” She snapped, getting up. She plopped back down, rolling her eyes and deciding to just leave it alone. Forget it. Let someone else pick the bloody thing up. She wasn’t exactly in the best of moods and so her humanitarian instincts had declined immensely. She fiddled with her pen, doodling and paying zero attention to the remarks passed upon her by a few girls around her age.
She knew exactly what they were saying. It was what they all said. ”It’s the spoiled brat from England…Why she acts as though she were Princess Di herself…She used to be rich you know…I heard her father murdered her mother for the money…” Ivory set her jaw tightly before turning completely around so they were no longer in her peripheral vision. “Least I’m not one to talk as though I’m completely blotto.” [/b] she muttered to herself. She hated the fact that her father had married her mother for what seemed at the time to be simply her riches. Of course, her mother had to die as soon as she became a true heiress and then coincidentally, there were no leads as to how she was killed. Of course her father became the suspect. Then, the Irish girlfriend in four months time and moving to her country within the year—it was all too directly positioned to be simply chance. But that was exactly what it was. Ivory felt her father was simply an insensitive jerk who was selfish and just needed to get some in order to maintain his happy-go-lucky demeanor. Too bad such a thing didn’t rub off on her. Ivory had taken solace from her best friend and well, her boyfriend as well. But, as they had moved such a long distance relationship of countries and seas over could not have gone on for long. She was now without anyone to whom she felt she could truly talk to or use as a shoulder to cry on. It was just her and this horrible, horrible world to which her father had now exposed her. Well, that and all she had were her writing and acting. Thank goodness for that. At least with her pen and theatre she could become someone other than the lowlife she was at the moment, and she feared she would remain. Ivory flipped up her phone and dialed his oh too familiar number. She waited almost six rings until she finally it seemed all she would receive would be his voicemail. ”Good Avvy, Dylan…It’s Ivy…I really do miss you. I haven’t spoken to you in the longest time. Last we talked you told me I was being much too melodramatic and I needed to calm down. Well, I have but it seems things haven’t gotten any better. Please, I need a familiar voice. Call me back soon and I’ll make sure I pick up.” She felt terrible. What if he was still angry at her? She had become so emotional she had cried and he for some reason had yelled at her for such. She still wasn’t sure why he was acting so different but it worried her. He was the last thing of her old picture perfect life to which she could refer back. Ivory touched her eyes to make sure she wasn’t crying even though she knew she wouldn’t. She wasn’t the type of girl to go balling. She could keep her emotions in check extremely well. After all, wasn’t that the most prized quality of a proper English miss? Ivory frowned once more at her choice of wording. He folded our memories, our hopes, our dreams
Without a care in the world he shrugged them away
But still they are with me, and so it seems
I alone will forever feel strongly in such a way. “No, that’s….ugh.”[/b] She scratched it out and leaned back further in her chair. The tip of the pen to her lips she pondered the several unsuccessful ways in which she had tried to cheer herself up in order to find one she hadn’t yet tried. Unfortunately, not only was her mind wandering but her balance was too. She fell back taking the chair with her. "Damn! Damn! Damn! Please kill me if you have any mercy." she muttered rather loudly for a whisper as she tried to gather herself back up. With a hotness to her cheeks and deep embarrassment flowing within her veins she closed her eyes and wished it could all just go away. Why was this happening to her? Why now? Wasn’t sixteen supposed to parfait?[/blockquote][/font][/size] - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
TAG? open to anyone!
CREDITS? template/graphic by me :)
WORD COUNT? 1,263
FURTHER COMMENTS? just wanted to start rping--so sorry if it's sorta blah blah. |
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Post by megan2 on Mar 31, 2009 12:29:25 GMT -5
Outfit!
The town had a huge luxury library that the town was absolutely proud of. It was sort of centrally located in the center. It was more grand than the one on campus. Chrissy had a report to write for her literature class on the age-old story of Romeo & Juliet. She had not yet started and the deadline was quickly approaching so that morning she was off to the library to complete the paper. She had gathered her books, papers, notebooks and pens into a bag and threw it on her shoulder and headed towards the old building to start writing. She had a knack for literature; it was her second love to acting. She had portrayed Juliet before in a performance piece for her acting classes and had loved every moment of blank verse and iambic pentameter through out the work itself. She adored the story of how love surpasses all and hopes that one day her Romeo will come out of the wood works and die for her as well.
She was just to the part in the book when the messenger doesn’t reach Romeo of the Frair’s plans, and he learns of Juliet’s apparent death. She had the book in hand all the way to the library on foot and tried her best to avoid people also walking on the sidewalks, trying not to collide with them, or into anything inanimate. She loves the last line of the Prince’s elegy for the lovers, “For never was a story of more woe / Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.”
She reached the library, and pulled open the heavy, archaic door and entered. She wrote her name on the sign in sheet and made her way to the middle of the large room, past the grand staircase to find herself a table to sit and work at near the back, away from people and away from all the doors. She liked her peace to write and she wouldn’t get that in the dorms, so she made it a point to visit the library weekly. Whether she was working on her school work, or her novel.
She had started her novel when she was fifteen years old. It’s about a young orphan girl who gets a chance to get adopted by a wealthy family and she runs away because she doesn’t care about the money, she wants to be loved. She finds that love with a stray dog. It’s a moving story of courage, classes and England. She had lived in England before, when she was younger. Before her parents shipped here to Ireland. She was one of many girls in their family and she hated that most of the time she was the good girl who always got ignored. But yet she could never bring herself to make trouble just to get attention like some of her sisters.
She found a table in the back, noticing some girls at a nearby table giggling and talking about another girl whom was sitting alone at the next table over from hers. She took a seat and pulled out her notebooks and pens. She already knew how she was going to start her paper, just like the story. She put her pen to paper and started to write…
Two households, both alike in dignity,
In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes
A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life;
Whole misadventured piteous overthrows
Do with their death bury their parents' strife.
The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love,
And the continuance of their parents' rage,
Which, but their children's end, nought could remove,
Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage;
The which if you with patient ears attend,
What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.
She stopped when she heard the paper hit the trash can and fall. She watched as the dark headed girl lifter from her chair and then sat down again. She wanted to ask her if she was going to pick up her trash, tell her it was rude to litter. But figured it best she didn’t get involved. She heard what the other girls had said about this girl being from England, and her Dad killing her Mom. She knew she would have gone nuts had someone said that behind her own back, but she wondered if it was true. She didn’t know this girl well, but had seen her around before. She knew she as an acting major, same as Chrissy.
Chrissy sat back in her chair, watching the girl as she wrote and scribbled it out and not meaning to, but eavesdropped as the girl made a phone call and left a message for someone she obviously cared about, but whom didn’t want to talk to her apparently. She was starting to feel sorry for the girl, and she had the urge to go and talk to her. But then she leaned back a little too far in her chair and fell…Chrissy decided to make her move. She got up from where she was sitting and went over to the table where the darked headed girl had fallen. Ignoring the girls curse words, she said Oh my gawd, are you ok? She helped pick the chair back up and when she was standing next to her, she added, Hi, I’m Chrissy. She put out her hand, intent on the girl shaking it.
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Post by verena on Apr 4, 2009 2:10:01 GMT -5
ivory rose kingston.ONCE YOU’VE HAD A TASTE OF PERFECTION.like an apple hanging from the tree,
i picked the ripest one i still got the seed - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
[/color] Ivory nearly reeled backwards once more as she saw the girl make her way towards her. The words that spilled from her lips were even harsher to her. ”Is everyone in bloody Ireland anything but English? she muttered to herself. What she wouldn’t give for a familiar ‘fish and chips’ salesmonger screaming out their lungs on the streets or even a few rushed gasps of air from a pointy nosed schooling mistress. But alas! She was given to Americans, Irishmen, Frenchies, and the lot. She couldn’t help but want to snatch the vocal cords of each and educate them as to how to pronounce each word in English as it was supposed to sound rather than their splotchy accented ways of speaking.
Indeed, Ivory was a rather stuck up girl when it came to her background. She had a large amount of pride and an even higher tilt of her chin when it came to anything concerning such—especially the language. She would consistently cringe whenever people talked and would often muffle herself from chastising them about the matter in order to relieve herself from any laughter or rolls of the eyes that may have followed. Perhaps this was one of the several reasons that she simply did not belong anywhere besides her native country and another reason why everyone in Ireland looked at her with distaste. After all, if she wasn’t about to give anyone a chance, why should anyone give her one, right?
And that was exactly one of the pure reasons why the academy had come to take her on as a form of their entertainment. Not only was she an easy target since there were so many things one could nitpick about her, but also due to the fact of her pride being so high. When it came to that, bringing such a narcissist down brought gallons of pleasure to any ruffian wanting some happiness from another’s misery. It was just much too much for one to simply ignore and not say anything about with Miss Kingston. There was her personality, past, and the fact that she was absolutely incorrigible when it came to socializing.
She glanced over the girl, scrutinizing her bubblegum blonde hair…outfit…eyes—everything about her seemed much different from what Ivory was. Where Christiana had the flattering seventeen magazine-cover clothes with a frosting of accessories, it was a stark contrast to the clothes Ivory wore. Ivory simply could never wear jeans—she wasn’t sure why though there were a million reasons she threw out to people. Currently, she had on a grey knee-length sweater dress, black and grey-checkered stockings, and a pair of schoolgirl mary-jane heels. Her accessories composed of a single strand of pearls across her neck, bud earrings, a scrunchie, and the purity ring she was rarely if ever without. With the matching scarf and oversized sunglasses and book bag—it looked as though she had just stepped out of a catalog from Harrods. And so once again, the girl was showing off her undying patriotism!
She tried her best to keep away the ever-present air of pride and sarcasm in her voice, but it seemed it could not be subdued. ”Am I bleeding? Bruised? Do you see any knives in between my limbs or even a bullet hole?” [/b] Ivory rolled her eyes once more before standing up and avoiding the hand the girl had extended. ”I’m rather fine besides being soundly shaken.” She brushed herself off, noticing a few stray lint strands here and there upon her person and some dust particles that must’ve come from the carpet. She wondered just who exactly the girl was in front of her. It seemed she was a year or two older than herself though she did act much like one of those horrid preps…or maybe she was mistaking her for a sweetheart. Either way she was rather candy-coated when it came to a personality. Now, of course this wasn’t a bad thing but in Ivory’s opinion it was. It was people like these to whom one could become close friends and instantly regret it when and if (which was a most likely sort of if) they hurt you. She was much too cynical to understand her overgeneralization of the entire ordeal and so it seemed her wish was granted when it came to never becoming close to such people. After all, a clear example of such a thing going wrong was the fact that Dylan…Dylan what? Ivory looked down. She wasn’t even sure what was going on with the two of them at the moment. He had been the first one there for everything and now it seemed he would also be the first to let her down. Well, not the first, but it would hurt the most if it were to ever come from him, which she had guessed it would pretty soon. Even she knew she didn’t love the guy, but she was in deep like with him. If that makes any sense whatsoever! Love was a feeling she hoped to never have to endure. Because then when they die you’ll feel like you did when mother did. she thought to herself. ”I’m sorry as far as I remember we’re not roomies or even in the same year. But if you’re introducing yourself merely for your own pleasure, I suppose that’s fine with me. Or, is there anything I can help you with?” Ivory stated thickly in that British accent of hers that almost spoke hoity-toity just by its pitch. Once again, she was trying to distance herself.[/blockquote][/font][/size] - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
TAG? open to anyone!
CREDITS? template/graphic by me :)
WORD COUNT? 1,007
FURTHER COMMENTS? zip zat natah! besides the fact that i'm so sorry i didn't reply sooner. i didn't even know you had replied until i noticed it today. oh and sorry that ivory is so grr. lol |
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