☆◞ young bodies, warm skin, perfect symmetry

[nine heads]

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Michael threw his age old backpack onto his bed and ignored the eerie creaking sound it made in response to the assault of the sudden weight. He rubbed his hands over his face and groaned, wishing more than anything for some kind of punching bag to appear in his room to release most of the fury he was currently feeling. He dropped his hands from his face, no such thing had appeared. The boy collapsed onto his bed, over his book bag which he quickly shoved out of the way and onto the floor causing a loud thump to echo through the room, one he was sure his mother had heard from the downstairs kitchen below. Sure enough he was right, and he heard the not too unfamiliar sound of his mother's footsteps sneaking up the stairway. He braced himself. Next came the gentle tap on his wooden oak door, and then it slowly slid open and the round yet slender face of his mother peaked around hesitantly. She studied her sons face intently for a moment before saying anything.

"What's with the commotion Michael?" Her usually cheery voice was now solemn, distant and showed hints of cautious undertones. Michael continued to look at the ceiling. He couldn't formulate the words right now. His mother pressed on, "Just please tell me it isn't her --" His mother didn't get to finish her thought. She was abruptly stopped by the interjection of her son. "Mom, please. I don't feel like this right now." Michael continued to stare up at his ceiling, he wasn't even sure when the last time he had blinked had been. "Alright, I'll be downstairs. No eating up here okay? We're having a real dinner tonight." With that her voice ended and her footsteps could be heard quite clearly as she stole away back downstairs. Though it might have been official that he was a jerk, he was justified. Somewhat. Today had been pretty much the worst day he had had in a while for just so many reasons. Football was just starting off for the season and they had not only lost their scrimmage, but he had twisted his ankle.

Not to say that Michael was some kind of football obsessed, one tracked mind kind of kid, but he was an upperclassman and this was supposed to be his year to shine. He couldn't do that with a messed up ankle. Thing had proceeded to only worsen when his coach told him with what had happened today with his ankle and all, he 'just wasn't fit to play for the start of the season'. Really nice. He had spent the rest of his time on the bench, having a water boy help him ice his ankle. Yet even despite all of this there had been one thing he had been looking forward too. Seeing Whitney. Whitney was Michael's girlfriend of the past two years. She was gorgeous, a cheerleader and just the perfect match for him. Everyone said so. So how could it be that lately they had been arguing all the time and not she hardly ever even wanted to see him? Why was their once perfect relationship starting to fall apart? He couldn't let that happen. But what could he do to stop it? After practiced he had, with the help of an old emergency crutch made his way over to where the cheerleaders hung out after games before they left school.

The girls (and guys ..) usually all retired to an the old gym that the school had used before buying building an entirely new, better one last year. Now the old gym lay abandoned, only good for pickup games and the typical pot heads who had nothing better to do. As Michael opened the heavy door with some definite difficulty he stopped and had just stared at what he was looking at in front of him. It was Whitney, and some guy from the team just standing there, their arms tangled around each other and lips dangerously close to touching. In the next minute he couldn't even have described what went through him. Anger, confusion, sadness ... yet it all came through at the same time, and it was not good. Michael abandoned his crutch and pulled the door fully open, suddenly oblivious to the weight of it. He couldn't formulate the words to speak, but who knows what he would have said if he had. Probably something he would have ended up regretting. "What ...?" Was the only word that had shown itself.

"Sorry man ... she.." The guy mumbled and quickly rushed out of the gyms other exit. He was now left to face an astonished looking Whitney. He looked at her a minute, and suddenly all he could feel was the feel of his chest as it seemed to be swimming in a deep bucket of ice. "Come back ..." She pleaded, but somehow Michael was already out the door. He was walking, surprisingly fast for a guy with a hurt ankle, towards his car ... half of his uniform still on him. He could hear his girlfriends pleas coming from somewhere behind him but he couldn't tell what she was saying. It was all he could do to keep focused on his car in front of him. It was not like this, or similar things to this, hadn't happened ... or had been rumored to have happened before, it was just that it always seemed to be a surprise when they did. He knew he would forgive her, even for this, and that was probably what pissed him off the most.

Michael woke up. His eyes scanning the room, confused for a second. He could still feel the searing pain of his ankle and he could smell the sweat that was seeped into his uniform. He groaned. He must have fallen asleep while staring at the ceiling. He leaned forward and massaged his throbbing ankle. As he did so he happened to glance to the right, to where his window was a quarter way open and where a breeze was slowly but surely making it's way through, ruffling the curtains slightly as it did so. He stood up, wincing at the pain that such a simple thing as standing now caused him, and hobbled over immediately putting all of his weight onto the ledge of the window. Michael pulled back the curtain and looked towards the same house that had been there all of his life. It was the house that held the girl which he had also known since he was only in diapers.

They had played in the sandbox together, went to preschool together, and now went to high school together though their worlds couldn't be more different. She was his best friend, the one person he knew he could tell anything too and the one girl who was single handedly unlike any girl he had ever before met. Micheal had a far away look in his eye as he tried to see into her room which was the window facing his.

[nine heads]

x
ANNA

▌x samples
▌x role you want (Purple Team girl 1 Pink Team girl 2...etc)
▌x how active you are
▌x link to a HQ picture larger than 250x350. Paradaise Pier employee = bathing suit/shirtless. Paradise Thrill = clothed, please.
▌x your favorite ice cream flavor

[nine heads]

S P A C E S P E S P A C E S P A C E S P A C E S P A C E S P A C E S P A

The front desk clerk had hardly seen anything like him before. Not in her museum at least. It was noon, the early afternoon sun was falling through the blinds in thin lines that formed a sort of pathway over the marble floors, and the exotic and caged birds in the lobby were chirping to themselves as they always did, which had taken the clerk a long while to learn how to effectively tune out. The Natural History museum was unusually empty today, there had been some small children who had come in earlier with their nanny, but other than that she had only sold admission to an elderly couple, the husband having needed help climbing the steps, two women and a lonesome looking bearded man. Only nine in total, until now. The first thing that she noticed about the dark haired man was that he was very well dressed in a long rain jacket and dark leather shoes. His face was hidden behind a copy of London Today but only when he lowered the newspaper did the peculiarities truly begin.

He was young, and stomach wrenchingly handsome. The sort of beautiful that makes you ache in a way. There was also something very familiar about him, as if he resembled a long lost friend that she had forgotten about and was just now remembering. Either way, her spieling ability had disabled itself, and she was now plummeting into darkness. He was staring at her with intent, awaiting some sort of greeting apparently, but she couldn't seem to remember what all she was supposed to say. In fact, he seemed like he might be expecting something else from her entirely, so she simply sat in her seat waiting for him to ask directions to the loo for instance, or inquire about directions to some swanky West Side party. Certainly he didn't mean to be here, at 163 Sideboro Dr. His was rain covered and she could see now that his newspaper was soggy, the pages unable to stand upright. This led the clerk to believe that he had been walking, but to where? For it without doubt could not have been to arrive here, at noon on a Tuesday to the museum of Natural History.

At quite a last he grinned with a bit of nervousness, understanding. “One ticket please.” He paused, looking up at the sign above her which listed prices, “That is, a chlid ticket.”

As he strained to peer up at the board, she could see a hint of the man's adams apple, bobbing every now and again as he spoke to her. His eyelashes were wet and clumping together and there was a single raindrop which had slid down his smooth nose and disappeared onto the floor as he had moved his head upwards. She couldn't have cared less what the man was saying, only how he was saying it. But had he said something funny? Why was he smiling? Was it only she, or did he look a bit nervous at present? It took the clerk what felt like a full minute to realize that he was waiting on her.

She seemingly burst into a fit of hysterical giggles at the joke meant to relieve her tension, and made a point to sharply turn away from him and bury her face behind her computer screen, relief flooding over and against her at release from eye contact. She swiveled back towards him, ticket in hand, only to see that he was faced away from her and peering into the first exhibit room, seeming very preoccupied and completely oblivious to her. She cleared her throat and he turned around, smiling apologetically and shaking his head as if to clear his train of thought. Her heart melted again and the familiar blankness crept into her head just where it had settled before. He approached her, extending his hand for the ticket and she hesitated,

“12 pounds, sir.” She half whispered, her voice starting off stronger than she had hoped for only to crack as she addressed him.

The man stared blankly for a minute before his eyes lit up, sharing a hint of surprise and slight embarrassment with the clerk. He looked down, fetching his wallet and when he met the eyes of the clerk, he was smiling in spite of himself,

“I’m a bit everywhere today, it must be all of the rain.” The clerk smiled politely, her thoughts becoming more clear as she attempted to make sense of the pretty man in front of her.

“Our newest exhibit is to your right in our African Hall, it features photography from old Kenyan villages. Enjoy your visit.”

[nine heads]

(x♣x)xxxxfirst middle last
xxxxOUR STORY'S VERY OWN ROLE
TRAIT, TRAIT, TRAIT

♣xx nickname
♣xx age
♣xx gender
♣xx colour
♣xx model


username

[nine heads]

The front desk clerk had hardly seen anything like him before. Not in her museum at least. It was noon, the early afternoon sun was falling through the blinds in thin lines that formed a sort of pathway over the marble floors, and the exotic and caged birds in the lobby were chirping to themselves as they always did, which had taken the clerk a long while to learn how to effectively tune out. The Natural History museum was unusually empty today, there had been some small children who had come in earlier with their nanny, but other than that she had only sold admission to an elderly couple, the husband having needed help climbing the steps, two women and a lonesome looking bearded man. Only nine in total, until now. The first thing that she noticed about the dark haired man was that he was very well dressed in a long rain jacket and dark leather shoes. His face was hidden behind a copy of London Today but only when he lowered the newspaper did the peculiarities truly begin.

He was young, and stomach wrenchingly handsome. The sort of beautiful that makes you ache in a way. There was also something very familiar about him, as if he resembled a long lost friend that she had forgotten about and was just now remembering. Either way, her spieling ability had disabled itself, and she was now plummeting into darkness. He was staring at her with intent, awaiting some sort of greeting apparently, but she couldn't seem to remember what all she was supposed to say. In fact, he seemed like he might be expecting something else from her entirely, so she simply sat in her seat waiting for him to ask directions to the loo for instance, or inquire about directions to some swanky West Side party. Certainly he didn't mean to be here, at 163 Sideboro Dr. His was rain covered and she could see now that his newspaper was soggy, the pages unable to stand upright. This led the clerk to believe that he had been walking, but to where? For it without doubt could not have been to arrive here, at noon on a Tuesday to the museum of Natural History.

At quite a last he grinned with a bit of nervousness, understanding. “One ticket please.” He paused, looking up at the sign above her which listed prices, “That is, a chlid ticket.”

As he strained to peer up at the board, she could see a hint of the man's adams apple, bobbing every now and again as he spoke to her. His eyelashes were wet and clumping together and there was a single raindrop which had slid down his smooth nose and disappeared onto the floor as he had moved his head upwards. She couldn't have cared less what the man was saying, only how he was saying it. But had he said something funny? Why was he smiling? Was it only she, or did he look a bit nervous at present? It took the clerk what felt like a full minute to realize that he was waiting on her.

She seemingly burst into a fit of hysterical giggles at the joke meant to relieve her tension, and made a point to sharply turn away from him and bury her face behind her computer screen, relief flooding over and against her at release from eye contact. She swiveled back towards him, ticket in hand, only to see that he was faced away from her and peering into the first exhibit room, seeming very preoccupied and completely oblivious to her. She cleared her throat and he turned around, smiling apologetically and shaking his head as if to clear his train of thought. Her heart melted again and the familiar blankness crept into her head just where it had settled before. He approached her, extending his hand for the ticket and she hesitated,

“12 pounds, sir.” She half whispered, her voice starting off stronger than she had hoped for only to crack as she addressed him.

The man stared blankly for a minute before his eyes lit up, sharing a hint of surprise and slight embarrassment with the clerk. He looked down, fetching his wallet and when he met the eyes of the clerk, he was smiling in spite of himself,

“I’m a bit everywhere today, it must be all of the rain.” The clerk smiled politely, her thoughts becoming more clear as she attempted to make sense of the pretty man in front of her.

“Our newest exhibit is to your right in our African Hall, it features photography from old Kenyan villages. Enjoy your visit.”

[nine heads]

Beverly heaved her heavy luggage onto her bed, watching the bedpost wobble unsteadily under the sudden burden. She kicked off her flats while making her way to the french doors that had developed a certain layer of dust in her absence. Gazing out at her ocean front view, she lost herself for a moment. This had the room that she always escaped to in the summer as a child, sometimes in the winter too. It all depended on what type of year it had been. The ocean was still as blue as ever, and the rocks lining the cliff far, far, away still seemed to be in another land entirely. Nothing had changed. Beverly breathed out, the knots in her chest from school undoing themselves. The nineteen-year-old was finished with her first year of college. Ivy League, of course. She hadn't had much choice in that matter. Brown was beautiful, but Rhode Island bored the girl. She missed New York and her apartment, her two little Persian kitties, the glowing lights sprinkles about in Central Park, and the noise. Especially the noise. But who would ever miss noise? Beverly graced her hand along the curved door handle. It was starting to turn color with neglect. She pushed the door open, cringing inwardly at the stiff creaking sound that was exchanged. How long had it been since she had been to the beach house? six, seven years? Her porch seemed smaller somehow, and she froze, noticing a pair of binoculars laying forgotten on top of the wooden boards. Hesitantly, she reached out to pick them up, carefully stooping down and using both of her unwilling hands to grip them. Once upon a time they had been a very nice pair. Slowly she picked them up to her eyes. The looking glasses were fogged, no doubt from years of weather and heat and cold. She strained to see, shaking the contraption slightly. It was then, right after that little shake, that teams of the tiniest bugs began to crawl over the glass, turning the once into a crawling mesh of black.

Beverly screamed, throwing the binoculars away from her eyes and over the chipping porch. Her hands were pressed firmly on her mouth and her chest was heaving as she increased the distance between her and the railing, though the binoculars had long since hit the sandy floor below. She hated bugs. How stupid of her for picking up that thing to begin with, hadn't she realized how long it had been laying in that precise spot? Her breathing began to even, but not without much self willing. After a few seconds she scrambled up from the wooden boards and stumbled inside, slamming the old french door behind her. She hadn't heard a creak that time. Gathering herself as she made her way to her old full sized bed, she heard a stirring downstairs. It was undoubtably her little brother, Russell, complaining to their mom about the lack of food in the house, or about the lack of a high speed hookup in his room downstairs. Things that had never bothered him as a little kid. Bev felt around her luggage for the zipper, finding them eventually, and pulling the two heads apart. She had packed for two weeks tops. She wasn't going to be staying here much longer than that. Her mom was sort of an idealist, after all. Mrs. Reynolds was an artist. She made and designed ceramic pots and sold them in a posh little gallery in Soho. The critics loved her. With her first year's earnings she was able to not only completely redesign their Upper West Side apartment, but they also bought this beach house right on the shore of the Hamptons. Beverly's mother had divorced her father six and a half years ago. That's when they had stopped coming to the Hamptons. Her father, Mr. Reynolds had been head of the English Department at Columbia. The divorce had been especially hard on Russ, Beverly thought. He was so introverted now.

Now, her mother thought that heading back to the beach would be a nice refresher.

[nine heads]

● Abusive Couple
● Zoë Benoit
● Twenty-One
● Reno, Nevada
● Aloof
● Poetic

[nine heads]

❝❞

[nine heads]

Spotty coast and brilliant Pacific stretched out beneath Ezra like a warm blanket, and his sleepy eyes fluttered open, shut and then open once more, like two little butterflies evading a mesh net. The dark haired twenty-six year old had been in the air for a little less than an hour and a half, and familiar exhaustion was already gnawing at his limbs, inviting them to rest. But Ezra didn’t want to fall asleep; He wanted to enjoy the view. It really was breathtaking, after all – the deep purple of the ocean and the sunlight on the jagged rocks all seemed like the brushstrokes of some exotic painting. Andy would have liked this, He thought. And then smiled, knowing that in reality his three-year-old son would have probably been terrified. But, the smile quickly faded. Andy. The uneven plummet of Ezra’s heart chased away the festering exhaustion, causing him to readjust in his reclined leather armchair. Ezra hadn’t seen his son in almost two months. He pulled his iPhone from his pocket with an eagerness, but no. No messages from Eden – not that that was surprising. He was sure that not even a zombie apocalypse would warrant receiving a message from his ex. Ezra slipped the phone into the back pocket of the seat in front of him. Andy had been a rather unexpected star in the figurative night sky of Ezra’s life. Ezra’s life had already been populated with so many little stars at the time, most mundane and habitual, but some rather dazzling – such as Eden. His son had emerged as an entire sun, throwing everything out of whack. Creating both chaos and order where there had been none before. It was then that Ezra knew who he had to be and what he had to do.

On weekend visits, little Andy accompanied his father to the office more often than Ezra would like to admit. The blank white walls and über modern architecture of the office building were hardly a three-year-olds idea of fun – unless a pack of crayons happened to be handy – but Ezra always tried to make it up to him. Giants games were attended, hotdogs were consumed – one, two, and then three, All while Andy’s inhaler lay reassuringly in Ezra’s back pocket. This was its firm resting place now, after what had been the most terrifying day of Ezra’s life. It was last summer, and Andy was two and half. The pair had been playing a game of catch in a small park close to Ezra’s downtown apartment. The air quality had been very poor that day, and a thin layer of smog and cloud hung over the city, blocking out a good bit of the sun. Ezra had thought nothing of it; he himself being used to the usual smells of exhaust and sizzling pizza stands, which was characteristic of urban San Francisco. They had been playing for about ten minutes (Andy had still been getting used to the baby catchers mitt) when Andy started coughing. Within minutes the little boy was on the ground, eyes watering and throat swollen, gasping for breath. If it hadn’t been for the loud Italian man at a close pizza wagon, who knows what might have happened. The man rushed over to what was now a conjugation of 911 dialings, shrieks and Ezra, kneeled down over his son pushing the child’s hair out of his face in a silent panic. “Give ‘em this! Give ‘em this!” The man insisted in a low gruff voice, shoving his inhaler in Ezra’s face. With fumbling hands, Ezra put the inhaler to his son’s mouth. “Please breathe, Andy.” Ezra had whispered, or had he yelled? The whole episode was merely a fog now. The inhaler had seemed to work. His son’s eyes slid closed, but he was breathing. His chest was heaving, his lungs were filling with air.

Eden was livid, of course, but Ezra didn’t blame her. Neither he nor Eden had known that their son was asthmatic, but he should have been more careful. It was after this that the two agreed to keep their son away from San Francisco for the time being. Nevermind that when Andy finally came back around, the first thing he did was to slip on his little catcher’s mitt. “Can we play again?” He had asked through his nebulizer, and Ezra could only smile in spite of everything. This was Ezra’s life; A whirr of missing Andy, disappointing Eden, and his big-break job in Silicon Valley. Right out of Stanford, Ezra was offered a freelance-contracting job working for a Fortune 500 company. It wasn’t the minor-league contract that he had been dreaming of for most of his life, but it paid well. Seemingly, the only downside was the impending move to San Francisco. He would be away from Andy, but Ezra figured that in the end, he didn’t really have a choice. Making sure that his son was taken care of was his sole purpose now. He just hoped that Eden could see that he wasn’t running away. Again. Ezra’s chest panged uncomfortably. There was definitely an elephant in the beautiful room that was the city of Punta de Mita, but Ezra would sure as hell not be the one to acknowledge it. Instead, he would just continue to suffocate, slowly, as the room became smaller and smaller and the elephant inside of it, bigger. It wasn't that he hadn't wanted to come to his little sister’s wedding, nor that he wasn't beyond happy for Harley. Just that, it all seemed a bit odd. Four years ago, if you were to ask anyone in the Kover family just who might be getting married out of the two siblings, the answer would have been a bit of a giveaway. Not Harley. Four years ago, Ezra had been very much in love and everyone had known it. But that was four years ago, and Ezra was slowly realizing that even if it felt like yesterday, it wasn’t.

Four years was a lifetime. In four years, his little sister had grown up, graduated college and fallen head over heels in love with a starry-eyed Spaniard. He cracked a tiny smile at the thought. He had never expected it, but then again had he expected her to marry Joseph Zoütwinger, the boy Harley had dated in highschool, who’s father joint-invented the barcode? His sister had to be … unpredictable. And Mason Cruz Taylor was just that. It was a good thing Ezra loved the guy. Not that it was hard. The pair had met a couple of times in the short – very short – five month dating period, and the two immediately hit it off. But Ezra couldn’t help but feel that it wasn’t just his own laid back aurora and general acceptance that kindled their friendship. Mason was just a really good guy. To say that he would do anything for Harley would be an unfortunate cliché. Rather, Mason was dedicated to his sister in a way that he had never quite seen before. It was pure and sure and Ezra always left the company of the two feeling quite inadequate. Nevertheless, he was thrilled for Harley and Mason. He just hoped his sister knew what she was getting herself into. The way Harley dove into marriage made the institution seem effortless. But then again, Harley had always made everything look easy – it was her curse.

________________________________________***

The jet had landed and parked before Ezra realized that he had fallen asleep. A warm hand on his shoulder called him back to consciousness like a soft blinking light at the end of a long, narrow tunnel.

“Mr. Kover, you’ve arrived.” A smiling, middle-aged flight attendant cooed, being sure not to startle her only passenger, “Your bags and taxi are waiting outside.”

“Thanks, Valerie.” Ezra grinned, half embarrassed and half asleep, “The flight was great.” Standing up, the man realized that his legs were still stiff with fatigue. He grabbed his favorite travel duffel from the overhead compartment and stepped into the brilliant sunlight. Outside, the pilot was smoking, and Ezra’s bags were arranged neatly on the concrete slab. Ezra felt a bit awkward taking the company jet to Mexico for a private wedding, but his boss had suggested it when he had approved the time off. Ezra’s boss was not a man that you could say no to. Ezra nodded to the pilot, exchanging a handshake before grabbing the remainder of his luggage, which was only a rolling bag and twin duffel to match the one that he was already carrying. He got into the cab. He had packed light, figuring that if anything he would probably be leaving the paradise early. It wasn’t that he necessarily wanted to, but if Eden seemed to be too upset by his presence he had decided that he should be the one to leave. Eden would be too polite to do so herself, plus she was traveling with their son who could use a bit of clean air and sunshine. The truth was, Ezra hadn’t a clue what to expect from Eden. Things were really broken between them, and Ezra had accepted blame for that. But there was always a chance to fix things, right? He did want to fix things, didn’t he? He mulled over these questions as his backseat view changed from airport to coast, to hotel. He had arrived at the Four Seasons, but hardly at an answer.

The Groom’s Bungalow was unreal. The beach was right there, almost a part of the dining and living area itself. Ezra dropped the few bags that he had with him on what he was assuming was his bed, seeing as the other was already scattered with luggage of its own. He pulled back his hoodie sleeve to check the time. He had about an hour until the dinner, but he didn’t want to waste any time. If he knew Harley at all, she would expect everybody there, placed perfectly, awaiting her arrival before she even set a foot into the room. He pulled his hoodie off and over his head, but before hopping into the shower, Ezra checked his phone again. Still nothing. He knew better than to worry, after all, looking after Andy was hardly a job that allowed for much else, but he still felt slightly uneasy. An uneasiness that didn’t vanish until he left the Bungalow and began walking through the maze of long hall corridors. Before leaving he had asked Mason if he was heading out, half hoping to have someone to walk with, but Mason had seemed a bit preoccupied. Understandable, all things considered. He was sure the groom-to-be just needed a little alone time. Or, at least that’s what he had thought until he ran into his slightly lost, yet absolutely stunning looking little sister moments after stepping into the hall. Wiping a somewhat crafty look off of her face, she had greeted him but only before scooting past him into the room. Ezra smirked, playfully wanting to remind his sister to lock the door, but thinking better of it. He was still within hearing distance, and didn’t want to embarrass Mason.

Rounding yet another hallway corner, Ezra realized he was lost. He adjusted his tailored, black blazer searching for some kind of directional arrow pointing towards an elevator. It was then that he felt a sudden weight gripping at his legs and heard the high trill of “Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!” Reaching down for the little boy, Ezra scooped up his son, planting a big kiss on the boy’s left cheek. Andy responded by sailing Spiderman right into his father’s right cheek.

“You got me, buddy!” Ezra proclaimed, laughing and kissing Andy again. “Where’s …” But before Ezra could even think of completing his thought, he turned his head and saw her. Eden was striding toward him in a dress that temporarily made him forget his own name. He quickly regrouped.

“Hi.” He smiled, suddenly nervous.

❞

[nine heads]

________________________________________________________________________

Evelyn absentmindedly swept a particularly annoying piece of her wild brown hair back from her face as she continued to search through the sloppy piles of sheet music and scripts that lay before her on the floor of the backroom in the drama department. She was running late. Her meeting with Mr. Ross was scheduled for 3:30, and to be anything but punctual was unfathomable. It was imperative for them to take her seriously. How else would she get into Julliard and move on her with her dream of becoming a Broadway superstar? With that frantic thought Evelyn switched into full throttle mode, feeling panic take over her arms and furiously push past any piece of paper that wasn't labeled Winter Marigolds. Where was it? Where was her five act play that she had spent all of summer writing? Not that she didn't have copies at home, though those copies didn't matter. All that mattered was that it was 3:15 and she had no script. No script equaled no play. No play equaled ... well the rest was known. "I knew ... I should have done it myself, but no..." Evelyn replied with huffs of air. She lifted her hand to her forehead in resignation. She had been stupid to let anyone but herself place the one-hundred page life decider in the departments backroom to be safely kept away. Plain stupid. Incredibly stupid. Was this a joke? She had thought she could trust her own best friend, but apparently not. This was all probably some queer sabotage attempt, or maybe something had truly happened to Ally. Either way Evelyn's phone wasn't on her, it was safely locked away in her locker where she could be sure it would not go off during the meeting. Not that it would make any difference now. The mere thought made her stomach both turn and tie in what felt like a series of complicated knots. She was going to be sick from all of this. Carefully standing up, Evelyn immediately felt a little dizzy. Holding the wall for support until she the room evened out she let out a slight moan which attracted the attention of someone out in the main room of the department.

"You okay?" The freshman replied tentatively peaking their red head into the room, "You don't sound so good." Evelyn squinted her eyes a bit to make the short figure out but she didn't recognize the girl at all, though in her defense everything was still slightly blurry, "I'm fine. I just lost my script and without it I'm ..." Evelyn stopped. She couldn't continue, the room was spinning again and it was taking all her focus to stop from falling over. The little girl said something, but it was unclear. All that was clear was that at any moment the school might turn upside down depositing both of the pair onto the ceiling. Strangely enough the next thing out of the girl's mouth brought everything back full circle. "Winter Marigolds? Is that your play? Seriously, you look really sick." Evelyn shook her head as her vision cleared and the room stabilized for what she hoped was the final time. "What did you say? How did you know?" She felt the floor become firm again beneath her petite feet and in a sudden fit of courage she removed her hand from the wall."I was told to look after it ... my mom's been here for fifteen minutes you could have hurried up." With that the girl threw the portfolio at her, Evelyn barely catching it in time, "Your welcome!" She replied as she stalked out of the doorway of the backroom, her attitude clearly apparent with every word. She waited until she heard the door of the main room close before even looking down at what had been tossed in her hands. Sure enough it was her screenplay, music and all. Ally always came though, how could she have ever doubted her? Breathing a sigh of relief she made sure all was intact for the third time before exiting the backroom, just greatful that she hadn't had a panic attack in front of the little girl. Things had been kind of crazy lately, and this little incident would have definitely drove her to the breaking point, or if you will, put the icing on top of the cake that was her insanely stressful mess of a life.

"You okay?" The freshman replied tentatively peaking their red head into the room, "You don't sound so good." Evelyn squinted her eyes a bit to make the short figure out but she didn't recognize the girl at all, though in her defense everything was still slightly blurry, "I'm fine. I just lost my script and without it I'm ..." Evelyn stopped. She couldn't continue, the room was spinning again and it was taking all her focus to stop from falling over. The little girl said something, but it was unclear. All that was clear was that at any moment the school might turn upside down depositing both of the pair onto the ceiling. Strangely enough the next thing out of the girl's mouth brought everything back full circle. "Winter Marigolds? Is that your play? Seriously, you look really sick." Evelyn shook her head as her vision cleared and the room stabilized for what she hoped was the final time. "What did you say? How did you know?" She felt the floor become firm again beneath her petite feet and in a sudden fit of courage she removed her hand from the wall."I was told to look after it ... my mom's been here for fifteen minutes you could have hurried up." With that the girl threw the portfolio at her, Evelyn barely catching it in time, "Your welcome!" She replied as she stalked out of the doorway of the backroom, her attitude clearly apparent with every word. She waited until she heard the door of the main room close before even looking down at what had been tossed in her hands. Sure enough it was her screenplay, music and all. Ally always came though, how could she have ever doubted her? Breathing a sigh of relief she made sure all was intact for the third time before exiting the backroom, just greatful that she hadn't had a panic attack in front of the little girl. Things had been kind of crazy lately, and this little incident would have definitely drove her to the breaking point, or if you will, put the icing on top of the cake that was her insanely stressful mess of a life.

"You okay?" The freshman replied tentatively peaking their red head into the room, "You don't sound so good." Evelyn squinted her eyes a bit to make the short figure out but she didn't recognize the girl at all, though in her defense everything was still slightly blurry, "I'm fine. I just lost my script and without it I'm ..." Evelyn stopped. She couldn't continue, the room was spinning again and it was taking all her focus to stop from falling over. The little girl said something, but it was unclear. All that was clear was that at any moment the school might turn upside down depositing both of the pair onto the ceiling. Strangely enough the next thing out of the girl's mouth brought everything back full circle. "Winter Marigolds? Is that your play? Seriously, you look really sick." Evelyn shook her head as her vision cleared and the room stabilized for what she hoped was the final time. "What did you say? How did you know?" She felt the floor become firm again beneath her petite feet and in a sudden fit of courage she removed her hand from the wall."I was told to look after it ... my mom's been here for fifteen minutes you could have hurried up." With that the girl threw the portfolio at her, Evelyn barely catching it in time, "Your welcome!" She replied as she stalked out of the doorway of the backroom, her attitude clearly apparent with every word. She waited until she heard the door of the main room close before even looking down at what had been tossed in her hands. Sure enough it was her screenplay, music and all. Ally always came though, how could she have ever doubted her? Breathing a sigh of relief she made sure all was intact for the third time before exiting the backroom, just greatful that she hadn't had a panic attack in front of the little girl. Things had been kind of crazy lately, and this little incident would have definitely drove her to the breaking point, or if you will, put the icing on top of the cake that was her insanely stressful mess of a life.

ooc ⊱

[nine heads]

__________________________________________

❝

Spotty coast and brilliant Pacific stretched out beneath Ezra like a warm blanket, and his sleepy eyes fluttered open, shut and then open once more, like two little butterflies evading a mesh net. The dark haired twenty-six year old had been in the air for a little less than an hour and a half, and familiar exhaustion was already gnawing at his limbs, inviting them to rest. But Ezra didn’t want to fall asleep; He wanted to enjoy the view. It really was breathtaking, after all – the deep purple of the ocean and the sunlight on the jagged rocks all seemed like the brushstrokes of some exotic painting. Andy would have liked this, He thought. And then smiled, knowing that in reality his three-year-old son would have probably been terrified. But, the smile quickly faded. Andy. The uneven plummet of Ezra’s heart chased away the festering exhaustion, causing him to readjust in his reclined leather armchair. Ezra hadn’t seen his son in almost two months. He pulled his iPhone from his pocket with an eagerness, but no. No messages from Eden – not that that was surprising. He was sure that not even a zombie apocalypse would warrant receiving a message from his ex. Ezra slipped the phone into the back pocket of the seat in front of him. Andy had been a rather unexpected star in the figurative night sky of Ezra’s life. Ezra’s life had already been populated with so many little stars at the time, most mundane and habitual, but some rather dazzling – such as Eden. His son had emerged as an entire sun, throwing everything out of whack. Creating both chaos and order where there had been none before. It was then that Ezra knew who he had to be and what he had to do.

On weekend visits, little Andy accompanied his father to the office more often than Ezra would like to admit. The blank white walls and über modern architecture of the office building were hardly a three-year-olds idea of fun – unless a pack of crayons happened to be handy – but Ezra always tried to make it up to him. Giants games were attended, hotdogs were consumed – one, two, and then three, All while Andy’s inhaler lay reassuringly in Ezra’s back pocket. This was its firm resting place now, after what had been the most terrifying day of Ezra’s life. It was last summer, and Andy was two and half. The pair had been playing a game of catch in a small park close to Ezra’s downtown apartment. The air quality had been very poor that day, and a thin layer of smog and cloud hung over the city, blocking out a good bit of the sun. Ezra had thought nothing of it; he himself being used to the usual smells of exhaust and sizzling pizza stands, which was characteristic of urban San Francisco. They had been playing for about ten minutes (Andy had still been getting used to the baby catchers mitt) when Andy started coughing. Within minutes the little boy was on the ground, eyes watering and throat swollen, gasping for breath. If it hadn’t been for the loud Italian man at a close pizza wagon, who knows what might have happened. The man rushed over to what was now a conjugation of 911 dialings, shrieks and Ezra, kneeled down over his son pushing the child’s hair out of his face in a silent panic. “Give ‘em this! Give ‘em this!” The man insisted in a low gruff voice, shoving his inhaler in Ezra’s face. With fumbling hands, Ezra put the inhaler to his son’s mouth. “Please breathe, Andy.” Ezra had whispered, or had he yelled? The whole episode was merely a fog now. The inhaler had seemed to work. His son’s eyes slid closed, but he was breathing. His chest was heaving, his lungs were filling with air.

Eden was livid, of course, but Ezra didn’t blame her. Neither he nor Eden had known that their son was asthmatic, but he should have been more careful. It was after this that the two agreed to keep their son away from San Francisco for the time being. Nevermind that when Andy finally came back around, the first thing he did was to slip on his little catcher’s mitt. “Can we play again?” He had asked through his nebulizer, and Ezra could only smile in spite of everything. This was Ezra’s life; A whirr of missing Andy, disappointing Eden, and his big-break job in Silicon Valley. Right out of Stanford, Ezra was offered a freelance-contracting job working for a Fortune 500 company. It wasn’t the minor-league contract that he had been dreaming of for most of his life, but it paid well. Seemingly, the only downside was the impending move to San Francisco. He would be away from Andy, but Ezra figured that in the end, he didn’t really have a choice. Making sure that his son was taken care of was his sole purpose now. He just hoped that Eden could see that he wasn’t running away. Again. Ezra’s chest panged uncomfortably. There was definitely an elephant in the beautiful room that was the city of Punta de Mita, but Ezra would sure as hell not be the one to acknowledge it. Instead, he would just continue to suffocate, slowly, as the room became smaller and smaller and the elephant inside of it, bigger. It wasn't that he hadn't wanted to come to his little sister’s wedding, nor that he wasn't beyond happy for Harley. Just that, it all seemed a bit odd. Four years ago, if you were to ask anyone in the Kover family just who might be getting married out of the two siblings, the answer would have been a bit of a giveaway. Not Harley. Four years ago, Ezra had been very much in love and everyone had known it. But that was four years ago, and Ezra was slowly realizing that even if it felt like yesterday, it wasn’t.

Four years was a lifetime. In four years, his little sister had grown up, graduated college and fallen head over heels in love with a starry-eyed Spaniard. He cracked a tiny smile at the thought. He had never expected it, but then again had he expected her to marry Joseph Zoütwinger, the boy Harley had dated in highschool, who’s father joint-invented the barcode? His sister had to be … unpredictable. And Mason Cruz Taylor was just that. It was a good thing Ezra loved the guy. Not that it was hard. The pair had met a couple of times in the short – very short – five month dating period, and the two immediately hit it off. But Ezra couldn’t help but feel that it wasn’t just his own laid back aurora and general acceptance that kindled their friendship. Mason was just a really good guy. To say that he would do anything for Harley would be an unfortunate cliché. Rather, Mason was dedicated to his sister in a way that he had never quite seen before. It was pure and sure and Ezra always left the company of the two feeling quite inadequate. Nevertheless, he was thrilled for Harley and Mason. He just hoped his sister knew what she was getting herself into. The way Harley dove into marriage made the institution seem effortless. But then again, Harley had always made everything look easy – it was her curse.

________________________________________***

The jet had landed and parked before Ezra realized that he had fallen asleep. A warm hand on his shoulder called him back to consciousness like a soft blinking light at the end of a long, narrow tunnel.

“Mr. Kover, you’ve arrived.” A smiling, middle-aged flight attendant cooed, being sure not to startle her only passenger, “Your bags and taxi are waiting outside.”

“Thanks, Valerie.” Ezra grinned, half embarrassed and half asleep, “The flight was great.” Standing up, the man realized that his legs were still stiff with fatigue. He grabbed his favorite travel duffel from the overhead compartment and stepped into the brilliant sunlight. Outside, the pilot was smoking, and Ezra’s bags were arranged neatly on the concrete slab. Ezra felt a bit awkward taking the company jet to Mexico for a private wedding, but his boss had suggested it when he had approved the time off. Ezra’s boss was not a man that you could say no to. Ezra nodded to the pilot, exchanging a handshake before grabbing the remainder of his luggage, which was only a rolling bag and twin duffel to match the one that he was already carrying. He got into the cab. He had packed light, figuring that if anything he would probably be leaving the paradise early. It wasn’t that he necessarily wanted to, but if Eden seemed to be too upset by his presence he had decided that he should be the one to leave. Eden would be too polite to do so herself, plus she was traveling with their son who could use a bit of clean air and sunshine. The truth was, Ezra hadn’t a clue what to expect from Eden. Things were really broken between them, and Ezra had accepted blame for that. But there was always a chance to fix things, right? He did want to fix things, didn’t he? He mulled over these questions as his backseat view changed from airport to coast, to hotel. He had arrived at the Four Seasons, but hardly at an answer.

The Groom’s Bungalow was unreal. The beach was right there, almost a part of the dining and living area itself. Ezra dropped the few bags that he had with him on what he was assuming was his bed, seeing as the other was already scattered with luggage of its own. He pulled back his hoodie sleeve to check the time. He had about an hour until the dinner, but he didn’t want to waste any time. If he knew Harley at all, she would expect everybody there, placed perfectly, awaiting her arrival before she even set a foot into the room. He pulled his hoodie off and over his head, but before hopping into the shower, Ezra checked his phone again. Still nothing. He knew better than to worry, after all, looking after Andy was hardly a job that allowed for much else, but he still felt slightly uneasy. An uneasiness that didn’t vanish until he left the Bungalow and began walking through the maze of long hall corridors. Before leaving he had asked Mason if he was heading out, half hoping to have someone to walk with, but Mason had seemed a bit preoccupied. Understandable, all things considered. He was sure the groom-to-be just needed a little alone time. Or, at least that’s what he had thought until he ran into his slightly lost, yet absolutely stunning looking little sister moments after stepping into the hall. Wiping a somewhat crafty look off of her face, she had greeted him but only before scooting past him into the room. Ezra smirked, playfully wanting to remind his sister to lock the door, but thinking better of it. He was still within hearing distance, and didn’t want to embarrass Mason.

Rounding yet another hallway corner, Ezra realized he was lost. He adjusted his tailored, black blazer searching for some kind of directional arrow pointing towards an elevator. It was then that he felt a sudden weight gripping at his legs and heard the high trill of “Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!” Reaching down for the little boy, Ezra scooped up his son, planting a big kiss on the boy’s left cheek. Andy responded by sailing Spiderman right into his father’s right cheek.

“You got me, buddy!” Ezra proclaimed, laughing and kissing Andy again. “Where’s …” But before Ezra could even think of completing his thought, he turned his head and saw her. Eden was striding toward him in a dress that temporarily made him forget his own name. He quickly regrouped.

“Hi.” He smiled, suddenly nervous.

❞

[nine heads]

_________________________________________

AM I REALLY SO DREADFUL?
with my black eyes

no pupil,
just solid

stone, but watery
diseased

infectious?


THEY COME WITH THEIR DIAMONDS
smiles and fear, their hope at their sides
like a sword or a blunt knife, a cure

eager to adorn us with their jewelry,
to banish our onyx, decorate with crystal

I often wonder whether they know that they
are alive, without the pain, how do they know
for sure? Dead versus the alive, switched.

to suggest such would make them furious,
scared like sky-gazing puppets



IN YOUR DREAMS I AM
contorted with pain,
colorless,
faceless,
painless,
PERFECT
AGAIN

nineteen years of empty,
and only after the signing
have my features begun to
reflect


A BLACK SOUL AND DARK LAUGH
submerged in such white stone?

we can be saved
our wrongs amended
our hands wiped

cavities filled with their propers.
right and whole again.

whole and sitting in silence,
Lucie, Lucie, a good little girl
drowned, dead at twenty
buried at seventy-three.
x

veins of g l i t t e r

[nine heads]

_______________________________________________________________________

Evelyn absentmindedly swept a particularly annoying piece of her wild brown hair back from her face as she continued to search through the sloppy piles of sheet music and scripts that lay before her on the floor of the backroom in the drama department. She was running late. Her meeting with Mr. Ross was scheduled for 3:30, and to be anything but punctual was unfathomable. It was imperative for them to take her seriously. How else would she get into Julliard and move on her with her dream of becoming a Broadway superstar? With that frantic thought Evelyn switched into full throttle mode, feeling panic take over her arms and furiously push past any piece of paper that wasn't labeled Winter Marigolds. Where was it? Where was her five act play that she had spent all of summer writing? Not that she didn't have copies at home, though those copies didn't matter. All that mattered was that it was 3:15 and she had no script. No script equaled no play. No play equaled ... well the rest was known. "I knew ... I should have done it myself, but no..." Evelyn replied with huffs of air. She lifted her hand to her forehead in resignation. She had been stupid to let anyone but herself place the one-hundred page life decider in the departments backroom to be safely kept away. Plain stupid. Incredibly stupid. Was this a joke? She had thought she could trust her own best friend, but apparently not. This was all probably some queer sabotage attempt, or maybe something had truly happened to Ally. Either way Evelyn's phone wasn't on her, it was safely locked away in her locker where she could be sure it would not go off during the meeting. Not that it would make any difference now. The mere thought made her stomach both turn and tie in what felt like a series of complicated knots. She was going to be sick from all of this. Carefully standing up, Evelyn immediately felt a little dizzy. Holding the wall for support until she the room evened out she let out a slight moan which attracted the attention of someone out in the main room of the department.

"You okay?" The freshman replied tentatively peaking their red head into the room, "You don't sound so good." Evelyn squinted her eyes a bit to make the short figure out but she didn't recognize the girl at all, though in her defense everything was still slightly blurry, "I'm fine. I just lost my script and without it I'm ..." Evelyn stopped. She couldn't continue, the room was spinning again and it was taking all her focus to stop from falling over. The little girl said something, but it was unclear. All that was clear was that at any moment the school might turn upside down depositing both of the pair onto the ceiling. Strangely enough the next thing out of the girl's mouth brought everything back full circle. "Winter Marigolds? Is that your play? Seriously, you look really sick." Evelyn shook her head as her vision cleared and the room stabilized for what she hoped was the final time. "What did you say? How did you know?" She felt the floor become firm again beneath her petite feet and in a sudden fit of courage she removed her hand from the wall."I was told to look after it ... my mom's been here for fifteen minutes you could have hurried up." With that the girl threw the portfolio at her, Evelyn barely catching it in time, "Your welcome!" She replied as she stalked out of the doorway of the backroom, her attitude clearly apparent with every word. She waited until she heard the door of the main room close before even looking down at what had been tossed in her hands. Sure enough it was her screenplay, music and all. Ally always came though, how could she have ever doubted her? Breathing a sigh of relief she made sure all was intact for the third time before exiting the backroom, just greatful that she hadn't had a panic attack in front of the little girl. Things had been kind of crazy lately, and this little incident would have definitely drove her to the breaking point, or if you will, put the icing on top of the cake that was her insanely stressful mess of a life.

"You okay?" The freshman replied tentatively peaking their red head into the room, "You don't sound so good." Evelyn squinted her eyes a bit to make the short figure out but she didn't recognize the girl at all, though in her defense everything was still slightly blurry, "I'm fine. I just lost my script and without it I'm ..." Evelyn stopped. She couldn't continue, the room was spinning again and it was taking all her focus to stop from falling over. The little girl said something, but it was unclear. All that was clear was that at any moment the school might turn upside down depositing both of the pair onto the ceiling. Strangely enough the next thing out of the girl's mouth brought everything back full circle. "Winter Marigolds? Is that your play? Seriously, you look really sick." Evelyn shook her head as her vision cleared and the room stabilized for what she hoped was the final time. "What did you say? How did you know?" She felt the floor become firm again beneath her petite feet and in a sudden fit of courage she removed her hand from the wall."I was told to look after it ... my mom's been here for fifteen minutes you could have hurried up." With that the girl threw the portfolio at her, Evelyn barely catching it in time, "Your welcome!" She replied as she stalked out of the doorway of the backroom, her attitude clearly apparent with every word. She waited until she heard the door of the main room close before even looking down at what had been tossed in her hands. Sure enough it was her screenplay, music and all. Ally always came though, how could she have ever doubted her? Breathing a sigh of relief she made sure all was intact for the third time before exiting the backroom, just greatful that she hadn't had a panic attack in front of the little girl. Things had been kind of crazy lately, and this little incident would have definitely drove her to the breaking point, or if you will, put the icing on top of the cake that was her insanely stressful mess of a life.

"You okay?" The freshman replied tentatively peaking their red head into the room, "You don't sound so good." Evelyn squinted her eyes a bit to make the short figure out but she didn't recognize the girl at all, though in her defense everything was still slightly blurry, "I'm fine. I just lost my script and without it I'm ..." Evelyn stopped. She couldn't continue, the room was spinning again and it was taking all her focus to stop from falling over. The little girl said something, but it was unclear. All that was clear was that at any moment the school might turn upside down depositing both of the pair onto the ceiling. Strangely enough the next thing out of the girl's mouth brought everything back full circle. "Winter Marigolds? Is that your play? Seriously, you look really sick." Evelyn shook her head as her vision cleared and the room stabilized for what she hoped was the final time. "What did you say? How did you know?" She felt the floor become firm again beneath her petite feet and in a sudden fit of courage she removed her hand from the wall."I was told to look after it ... my mom's been here for fifteen minutes you could have hurried up." With that the girl threw the portfolio at her, Evelyn barely catching it in time, "Your welcome!" She replied as she stalked out of the doorway of the backroom, her attitude clearly apparent with every word. She waited until she heard the door of the main room close before even looking down at what had been tossed in her hands. Sure enough it was her screenplay, music and all. Ally always came though, how could she have ever doubted her? Breathing a sigh of relief she made sure all was intact for the third time before exiting the backroom, just greatful that she hadn't had a panic attack in front of the little girl. Things had been kind of crazy lately, and this little incident would have definitely drove her to the breaking point, or if you will, put the icing on top of the cake that was her insanely stressful mess of a life.

ooc ⊱

[nine heads]

Pieter Dreher thanked the cabbie as the uniformed, older gentleman rolled the black Bentley to a very gradual stop. The young prince had arrived in front of one of England’s finest hotels, the exterior of which was meticulously ordained with flecks of gold, silver and onyx. The cabbie, however, had a much different focus. Seeming relatively unimpressed with his surroundings, he instead silently examined his royal backseat guest through the cab's rearview mirror. Within moments after the cab had haulted, two red-outfitted gentlemen circled to the back of the black car, expelling the prince’s luggage from the trunk and loading it onto a polished, golden trolley destined for Pieter’s suite for the night. As the bellman loaded, rebel rays of sun filtered through the cab’s halfway open sunroof, casting the driver’s sullen face in dancing light and shadow. Suddenly spooked, Pieter made an effort to refocus his attention towards his window. Leave it to his mother to arrange a cab ride with a complete nut. Outside of the window, a handful of anxious photographers mulled about, eyeing the newly parked Bentley with interest. There was no doubt that they had been tipped off about the onslaught of royals that would be arriving throughout the day. They were strapped with heavy looking backpacks and widely brimmed hats to shield their eyes from all of the sun that was not shining. The day was overcast, a dismal fate of the country, but the cobbled walls of the hotel held a contrasting warmth. It was then that two sharp raps on the prince’s window brought Pieter back to present. The cabbie muttered something under his breath before lowering the Princes back window. Outside, a crisp hat and pink, ruddy face greeted Pieter with a bit of a crooked smile. The bellman looked expectant, almost eager as the solid black of the window gave way to reveal the hazel eyed Future King of Switzerland.

“Your suite is ready, sir.” The man assured, “Now, if you’d be so kind as to follow me.” The man stepped aside and opened the polished cab door. With another nod towards the cabbie, who only continued to stare harshly, Pieter grabbed his duffel and stepped into London's sweet afternoon air. As he made his way across the threshold and into the glistening main lobby, a few cameras had flashed, but Pieter had sensed that he wasn’t whom the photographers had been expecting. His mother’s words spoken to him as a child suddenly materialized inside of his head, “You can’t put a prince on the cover of a magazine, that’s what princesses are for.” Mostly, he was sure that his mom had been trying to make him feel better about his general life-long lack of spotlight. In fact, growing up had been a fairly normal experience for Pieter. The whole of Switzerland had been his playground. Winter ski trips, spring boating excursions and fall mountain-side camping trips had been a norm. But best of all was summer. It was during summer that his family traveled to a sprawling chateau-style mansion on the boarder of Switzerland and France. And it was there that Pieter had met Arlette LeClaire for the first time. He had been almost five when his family first journeyed west for the summer. Even now, he could remember that summer, it had been the best of his life. Up until then Pieter had never had many – any – friends that were his own age. He was the only child to the King and Queen of Switzerland with an estate chocked full of smart, old men and bustling, spectacled women darting to and fro holding folders and briefcases. Perhaps this was why Arlette came to the young boy like a bright daisy amidst a field of swaying grass. She was his very first friend, and for a great while, his only one. But, as he grew older it became vividly apparent to Pieter how very different their lives were. She was the brown haired and brilliant eyed Princess of France. Pieter could hardly go a week without hearing mention of her name.

Pieter had always felt his royal life to a bit inadequate in comparison. He had spent several nights during his childhood trying to account for the blatant difference between his life and the life of most other royals, finally attributing the differences to the fact that his parents kept very much to themselves. Besides the LeClaire royal line, his mother and father rarely socialized. The two were very business minded, and they did not take the running of their country lightly. Perhaps this was why Tudor Dimitrov had interested Pieter so. When his son was fourteen, King Dreher hosted a rather imperative meeting with Russia. Pieter could still remember the month before the arrival of King Dimitrov and how little he had seen his father, who had been in his office, doubled over treaties and documents. Switzerland was hoping for an alliance with powerful Russia, who was currently excelling in areas of molecular science and renewable energy. When the King Dimitrov arrived, Switzerland heralded the event almost as a party, throwing parades in front of the palace and conjugating in the public courtyards to catch a glimpse of the Russian royals. Unbeknownst to Pieter, however, was the knowledge that the King of Russia had brought his son along. Long after King Dimitrov had left, Pieter’s father had admitted with a crows-footed smile that he had planned it as a little surprise. The two bonded immediately, and spent the entire week exploring every crevice of the palace that Pieter called home. No old storage attic was spared, and no bookshelf was left unchecked for hidden secret passage ways. To start, Pieter had not been convinced that the two would find much of anything besides misplaced dog bones, dust, and cobwebs galore – but as the week stretched on, the conviction with which Tudor searched started to convince him otherwise.

That was the difference between the two boys. Where Pieter was unsure, Tudor was certain. The boy was emphatically stubborn, essentially the definition of, but fourteen-year-old Pieter had gone along with Tudor’s every word – just happy enough to have a companion. When it was time for Tudor to leave, Pieter was surprised at how difficult it was to imagine his friend's absence. The Russian felt more like a brother than anything, accent and all. On the final day of his stay, the two were up in the familiar, old coat attic when Tudor came up with an idea. “European Bro Club?” Pieter had laughed exposing his gapped adolescent teeth. But it stuck. And though Pieter had only seen Tudor a handful of times since that week, their friendship was something that nevertheless felt concrete. Despite all of the little nagging pressures, Pieter decided that he was looking forward to the start of the Tour. The Bellman escorting Pieter cleared his throat rather suddenly in front of a swirly, oak door demarcated with a golden number 909. Bringing the golden luggage trolly to a halt, he once again beamed at the young prince. "Here we are ... Your ... er..." Clearly, uncertain of how to address the King-to-be the man trailed off, his ruddy face only reddening as he jiggled the key to the door. It clicked open, and Pieter smiled.

"Just Pieter," He reassured in smooth English, reaching out to shake the man's hand. The bellman eagerly shook the royal's hand, seeming very relieved and a little bit baffled. He moved the trolly inside, put aside it's contents and then saw his way out, leaving Pieter alone in a room that was clearly spared no expenses. A complete wall of window was at his bedside, overlooking the River Thames and hundreds of tiny stone buildings below. The floors were marbled, counters were granite, and the vaulted ceilings were unreal. Certainly this hotel had been quite an architectural feat. Pieter shook his head, feeling slightly nerdy at such a thought. Only he would be smack-dab in the middle of a room such as this and remark on the complex architecture of the vaulted ceilings. For Pieter, architecture had always been a childhood hobby, later becoming his University major. Planes, train sets, toy sailboats -- basically, anything that came in a building set had piqued an unusual interest in him. Tossing his duffle onto the bed, the boy collapsed next to it, bringing his hands over his eyes to rub his exhausted face. As he did so, Pieter realized that had forgotten to ask the bellman if any others had yet arrived. He should do that now, he thought. But curiously, every limb in his body had become heavy and within seconds Prince Pieter was fast asleep.