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TakaLoveless
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- Posted: Thu, 01 Jun 2006 20:36:31 +0000
For anyone planning to post right now, I ask that you don't. You see, I need two posts to put up my story submission...
Also, I'm sorry in advance, Jazz, if anything about this, a missed or flawed detail, annoys you. ^_^;
Also, I'm sorry in advance, Jazz, if anything about this, a missed or flawed detail, annoys you. ^_^;
TakaLoveless
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- Posted: Thu, 01 Jun 2006 20:38:53 +0000
This is a continuation of the story I posted before. Thanks to Jazz for letting me get this bad boy going, and anyone who enjoys my writing PLEASE PM me for more!
Without further ado, this is the story of Ms. Jazz's visit with Marx to the Jazz Club!
Two weeks seems good enough, right?
Yeah, that would have been enough time to find a place. She took another quick glance at the address she had been given, and confirmed that it was right. Even for Marx, this seemed like a somewhat run-down place... not to say he looked like trash, mind you, but not exactly royalty, you know? But he at least looked like he'd live somewhere better than this... The walls were chipping in paint, the windows, a few were cracked, and one was even missing entirely. Grass barely grew there, some patches brown and unkept, and only a few limping flowers dotted the windowsills.
But after a second, her optomistic (And somewhat ditzy) mind hit her on the thought that the inside certainly must look better than the outside. With this in mind, she crutched her way up to the door (Brown, with bits of white paint still left on it) and began to knock.
For a minute or two, there was no response.
A few more minutes, still nothing.
Finally, she gave the door a good firm hit and shouted, "MARX!"
From her right, a very loud thump almost made her jump in fear, but she mastered the potentially dangerous impulse as some large object or another tumbled down a nearby set of stairs that led to the backyard. At a point where the staircase turned, it stopped, and she went over quickly to see what it was.
"...Marx?"
"Ah-HOW!"
She looked back at the porch and saw the hammock that had been hanging from two nearby walls, somehow escaping her attention. She realized now that Marx must have been lying in there, and her sudden shout made him fall out of it and down the stairs next to him.
It was the most perfectly designed comical situation she had ever seen, and she couldn't help but give a little giggle as Marx scooped up his hat and rubbed his muzzle.
"What the HELL was that..."
"I'm sorry," Jazz said in a sympathetic tone, "Did I scare you?"
"Did you not notice the freaking Hammock? You delivery people get more retarded every time you drop by, for Christ's sake!"
She tilted her head a bit.
"Delivery people? Marx, it's-"
"It's $22.50, I heard you on the phone..." Marx groaned, "No tip 'cause you sent me down the stairs, jackass..."
His eyes, one closed, finally turned up to her, and he took a moment to furrow his brow in deep thought.
"Jazz?"
"Yes?"
He gave his head a shake, then forced a smile as he dragged himself up the stairs on his sleepy feet.
"Sorry 'bout that!" he laughed, "I thought you were the guy they sent with my food..."
"Not a guy and I've got no food, but good to see you again!"
"Likewise, if not for the falling down the stairs bit," Marx sighed, "That part sucked..."
Hoping to change the subject, she looked back to the abode and said to no one in particular, "So, this is where you live..."
"Yes indeed," Marx said, with a proud air, "I keep it looking bad on the outside so people don't bug me about donating to stuff, you know?"
"That makes sense," she admitted, "But please tell me it looks better inside..."
"Bet your a**," Marx smiled, "But in other news, what brings you around here?"
"You told me to drop by after a while and see if you'd found a good club, remember?"
Marx gave a momentary look of utmost confusion, then his expression brightened and he snapped his fingers.
"Oh, that! Well, you'll be delighted to know I've dug up a most wonderful place for someone like you to go for a first!"
"Really? That's great! What's it called?"
"It's the place .called... I think Velvet Paw, or something like that. It's supposed to be a real dandy, but liquor's involved so we must be stealthy."
"It's not, like, a sleazy place, right?"
"Not to my knowledge, and I gave her a pretty good recon. I've got plans to drop by upcoming Saturday, sound good?"
"That sounds good to me," She nodded, "How should I dress?"
He ran his eyes (Not sexually, mind you) up and down the outfit she had on; A somewhat tight short-sleeve T, in black, with the same skirt she had worn when they first met (She'd washed it, thank god). Her eyes hid behind thin-framed glasses that accentuated their shine, and her cast, once bulky and clumsy, had now been slimmed down to give a thinner look to her leg, and actually her whole body.
"A TINY bit fancier than that," was his reply, indicating how little he meant with his fingers, "Don't go all out, or they'll realize if we snuck in or not."
"And where will we meet to go there?"
"Um... just show up here Saturday, around... eight, alright?"
She gave a nod, then looked back to the house again.
"What does it look like inside?"
"Very Jazz-Oriental," he shrugged, like that was a common term, "Care to see? I gotta get some ice anyway..."
"Please!" she smiled, moving from the top of the stairs so he could walk by. Crutching along in his foot-steps, she entered the somewhat thin doorway sideways and let her eyes widen at the sight before her.
-------
The carpet was the first thing she saw, and it was very easy on the eyes, mainly red with a gold set of tassels coming from the sides, and several Chinese (OR japanese) letters woven in silver around the center. The walls were a more maroon shade of red, bearing every so often a symbol in sleek black paint, done in such a fashion so as the ends didn't stop as much as fade out. The lights were kept dim, to add to the mystifying feel of it. The chairs were backed with bamboo, seated with a wood of dark red laquer. All in all, a pretty nifty looking place.
"Wow," she muttered, nodding slightly, "You look very well off... But where's the Jazz part of it?"
With pride, Marx pointed to the den, which was filled with dark-wooded chairs and tables with a raised piece of floor in the back of the room. Currently, most of the first were pushed to the sides of the room, and a television gazed out over the deep red carpet at the small set of leather chairs. To the side of the platform was a large, upright bass, standing next to a normal bass guitar.
"You're a musician?"
"Not too good of one, but I do enjoy music quite a lot."
With a giggle and what she could manage of a clap without falling over, she blurted, "Play something!"
"Oh, come on..." Marx sighed, trying to ignore as she came in front of him and pouted her lip.
"Please?"
"Fine, a short bit, then I've got to clean up around here, got it?"
She nodded and, with his assistance, found her way into one of the seats and nuzzled into comfiness. Crossing her crutches over her lap, she turned her ears forward as Marx selected the upright, taking a seat so his somewhat lanky arms came around the instrument and took position on the strings. After quickly adjusting his hat, he began to play.
(If this next part is somewhat poor, keep in mind trying to transfer sound to text is a bit hard)
It sounded low, relaxed, and calming, the sort of beat you'd associate with someone reading poetry. His fingers were moving slowly up and down the strings in simple-looking chords, and Jazz saw now why he had moved his hat; to try to hide himself counting measures on his lips. Regardless, he kept up the soothing ring of the tune for a minute or two more before, with a slight nod, he started to hit the strings in the same pattern, but double, his mouth now adding a silent 'and' between the counting to keep the new notes in line.
He's actually alright, Jazz thought to herself as she leaned further back. Slowly, he let the tune fade back into the first chord he had played, then suddenly he shot it up to a more intense beat, with agressive sound due to rough slapping of the strings with his thumb. Still counting with silent lips, he brought the sound up one octave, then slowly let it slide back down to normal, where he let it stop with a final slap of the strings.
"As I said, I'm not anything special, but how'd you like it?"
"I liked it," she smiled, giving a few quiet claps, "And it was cute how you had to count beat out loud."
He stammered something, but she sound of her crutching away drowned it out.
-------
While she had waited for Saturday to come around, she had taken her own look at Velvet Paw. It looked like a very expensive place to get into, with elegant cursive neons proclaiming the symbol of the club onto the dark pavement below, a wolf's pawprint of soft yellow. Those outside the doors, trying to get in, were as varied as could be. Everything from bodybuilders to models to intellectuals, even those bald old humans who slick back the few hairs on their head trying to ignore the mass of fur coming from their greasy shirts. There were drunks, though discouraged, a rare few musicians, and, only one she saw, a clubbie, you know the kind of person who goes to clubs with ecstasy wearing elbows and knee pads and so forth.
Anyways, she picked out her outfit, long sleeved black shirt and loose brown cargo pants, with a slightly spiked collar. She wanted to put on her favorite boots, but her cast forbid putting on one, and having on just the other boot would look quite silly, wouldn't it? So, to her irritation, barefoot it was.
Her parents, however, weren't as easily solved.
"Come on, please!" she moaned, putting her hands together, "I'll clean up the entire house for a week!"
"That doesn't matter," her father shook his head, "You're not going to some kid's house we don't know, and that's that."
"Mom?!"
"Absolutely not!" she said, not looking up from whatever she was working on, "This Marx or whoever he is sounds just fine but you're not going to his house for the night, boys his age... well, they think a little to highly of themselves."
"...what do you mean? They think about sex a lot?"
"And how do you know about sex?!"
"I'm sixteen, mom, how would I NOT?"
"she's got a point," her father nodded.
"You shush!" Her mother hit him with a piece of paper.
"Pleeeeeeeeeeease?" Jazz whimpered, "Just this once..."
"The answer, and remember it this time, is NO."
Despite how hard it is to sound pissed crutching your way up stairs, Jazz managed to do it.
-------
As she usually did when she was mad, she lay upon her bed and kept running angry thoughts through her head, some of which aren't quite within PG-13 limits, so we're moving on.
It wasn't fair! Her parents were so boring and they tried to make her boring too, they wouldn't let her go to any parties or anything! They only let her go to all-girl slumber parties and stuff, and those got old after a while! How many makeovers can one group of people undergo before they go mentally insane?
Either way, she hadn't waited for more than half an hour or so before it was 8, and with a groan she murmured out loud, "I'm late... now I'm gonna miss it and it's all their fault!"
No sooner had she uttered this, however, than her personal phone rang. Curious, she picked it up and mumbled, "Hello...?"
"So I'm looking around my house," Marx's voice responded, "And we're just packed, we've got friends, a drink or two, some music, but we're missing something, oh what could it be... oh yes, WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?"
"Marx?" she sighed, "My parents won't let me go..."
There was a moment of silence.
"Marx...?"
*Click*
She sighed angrily and put her phone down. As if things couldn't get any more inconvenient for her... Now Marx probably is leaving without her and won't think twice about it... stupid jerk, let him! Like I care about the stupid club and everything!
Angrily, she tore off her collar and threw it away across the room. She was tempted to chuck a boot, but decided against it and just lay face down on her bed, trying to get to sleep to get this stupid night over with...
-------
Suddenly, her half-sleep was interrupted by a rapping on her window. Her droopy eyes caught time at 8:17, and then turned to the darkness of the window. For a moment, she could see nothing, then a bright light came right through her glasses, making her temporarily blind as a voice murmured, "She's been locked up but good, boys, open the window! We ain't leaving here without her!"
Her window slid open, and she quickly fixed her vision in time to see Marx leaning halfway in her window.
"Tell me again why you're not coming."
"Put down the stupid flashlight and keep quiet!"
The beam of light went down and he whispered, "Answer the question."
"Cause my parents say I can't cause they're evil!" Jazz seethed, "They're so annoying!"
"Then we sneak, like we'll do into the club."
"How, out my window? In case you haven't noticed, I'm in a cast!"
He held out his arms in a sort of cradling position, and she shook her head.
"No! I'd feel all helpless!"
"Cause you felt so independant back in the train station."
She tried to think of a comeback, but sighed and retrieved her collar and crutches.
"If anyone asks," she whispered harshly as she got near the window as she could, "I went down the whole ladder myself, got it?"
"You have fun making them believe that," Marx smiled, shaking his head as he picked her up and began slowly making his way down the ladder which she noticed belonged to her father. Aside from noticing that, her eyes were stuck sternly up in the stars, trying to ignore that she was high above the ground trusting someone to not drop her. She felt a little drop and gasped, but Marx laughed quietly, "We were just getting to the ground, relax."
With a little 'humph!' in attempt to discredit that she had been afraid, she began to go quietly as possible over to the waiting vehicle Marx had arrived in. It was a large, almost hippy-esque van with several passengers inside, trying to keep themselves and the car quiet as possible. Marx directed her to the rear of the behemoth, opening the doors with as much silence as a poor oiling can give, and letting her clamber her way up into the back, where a seat was offered her by a young boy who didn't look like he was off to a club as much as along for the ride.
"Thank you," she smiled, letting him take her hand to help her into the seat, even though it didn't help much.
"You're welcome!" the little fox smiled, sitting on the floor next to her with a smile back.
"So, where are you going with all these guys?"
"My big brother's taking me for Ice Cream!"
"And who is your big brother?"
He pointed to a wolf a few seats ahead, passed out.
"Why is he asleep?"
The little fox shrugged, then tilted his head.
"Why was everyone being quiet when we picked you up?"
"Well... cause I'm sneaking out of my house to come along."
"You like Ice Cream that much?"
She giggled and shook her head.
"No, I'm not going for Ice Cream, I'm going-"
"Of course you are!" Marx shot in, giving her a wink, "All of us for Ice Cream, damn straight!"
She realized they didn't want the kid to feel left out, so she nodded almost proudly.
"For Ice Cream, of course."
He gave a smile and looked forward, slowly fighting down a yawn. Jazz poked his shoulder, giggling, and said when he had turned, "Maybe you're a little tired?"
He shook his head like he was offended at the notion, "I am not!"
"You sure?"
"I'm not gonna miss out 'cause I'm tired!"
The car went on silently for a minute or two more before Marx suddenly smacked the wolf on his muzzle.
"Jack, you're on for Ice Cream!"
"Alright, ALRIGHT! Hit me again, Marx, I dare you..." the murmured response came.
On his way out, Marx gave him another smack. The little kid turned back and held out his paw.
"My name's Alex!"
Jazz shook his hand and replied, "Jasmine."
"Good to meet you! Hey, wanna come with-?" he started before he was taken away. The door was shut instantly behind him, and the van sped off.
"We're almost there, Jazz, so get ready. Our plan is to get out a little ways away from the club, then sneak in the back door, they know me there and they'll let me in as long as we're good boys and girls," Marx grinned, holding up two fingers.
"Promise!" Jazz smiled, returning the sign, "This better be worth all the sneaking, though, Marx!"
"Trust me, it shall..." came the reply, half-minded as the car slowed down. Just before it stopped fully, someone said loud but calm, "Now!" and all the remainder of the van, excepting the unfortunate driver, evacuated the car quick as possible. Jazz had a bit of trouble escaping, but she managed without anyone's assistance, to her pride, and followed them toward the building they wished to enter.
Without further ado, this is the story of Ms. Jazz's visit with Marx to the Jazz Club!
Two weeks seems good enough, right?
Yeah, that would have been enough time to find a place. She took another quick glance at the address she had been given, and confirmed that it was right. Even for Marx, this seemed like a somewhat run-down place... not to say he looked like trash, mind you, but not exactly royalty, you know? But he at least looked like he'd live somewhere better than this... The walls were chipping in paint, the windows, a few were cracked, and one was even missing entirely. Grass barely grew there, some patches brown and unkept, and only a few limping flowers dotted the windowsills.
But after a second, her optomistic (And somewhat ditzy) mind hit her on the thought that the inside certainly must look better than the outside. With this in mind, she crutched her way up to the door (Brown, with bits of white paint still left on it) and began to knock.
For a minute or two, there was no response.
A few more minutes, still nothing.
Finally, she gave the door a good firm hit and shouted, "MARX!"
From her right, a very loud thump almost made her jump in fear, but she mastered the potentially dangerous impulse as some large object or another tumbled down a nearby set of stairs that led to the backyard. At a point where the staircase turned, it stopped, and she went over quickly to see what it was.
"...Marx?"
"Ah-HOW!"
She looked back at the porch and saw the hammock that had been hanging from two nearby walls, somehow escaping her attention. She realized now that Marx must have been lying in there, and her sudden shout made him fall out of it and down the stairs next to him.
It was the most perfectly designed comical situation she had ever seen, and she couldn't help but give a little giggle as Marx scooped up his hat and rubbed his muzzle.
"What the HELL was that..."
"I'm sorry," Jazz said in a sympathetic tone, "Did I scare you?"
"Did you not notice the freaking Hammock? You delivery people get more retarded every time you drop by, for Christ's sake!"
She tilted her head a bit.
"Delivery people? Marx, it's-"
"It's $22.50, I heard you on the phone..." Marx groaned, "No tip 'cause you sent me down the stairs, jackass..."
His eyes, one closed, finally turned up to her, and he took a moment to furrow his brow in deep thought.
"Jazz?"
"Yes?"
He gave his head a shake, then forced a smile as he dragged himself up the stairs on his sleepy feet.
"Sorry 'bout that!" he laughed, "I thought you were the guy they sent with my food..."
"Not a guy and I've got no food, but good to see you again!"
"Likewise, if not for the falling down the stairs bit," Marx sighed, "That part sucked..."
Hoping to change the subject, she looked back to the abode and said to no one in particular, "So, this is where you live..."
"Yes indeed," Marx said, with a proud air, "I keep it looking bad on the outside so people don't bug me about donating to stuff, you know?"
"That makes sense," she admitted, "But please tell me it looks better inside..."
"Bet your a**," Marx smiled, "But in other news, what brings you around here?"
"You told me to drop by after a while and see if you'd found a good club, remember?"
Marx gave a momentary look of utmost confusion, then his expression brightened and he snapped his fingers.
"Oh, that! Well, you'll be delighted to know I've dug up a most wonderful place for someone like you to go for a first!"
"Really? That's great! What's it called?"
"It's the place .called... I think Velvet Paw, or something like that. It's supposed to be a real dandy, but liquor's involved so we must be stealthy."
"It's not, like, a sleazy place, right?"
"Not to my knowledge, and I gave her a pretty good recon. I've got plans to drop by upcoming Saturday, sound good?"
"That sounds good to me," She nodded, "How should I dress?"
He ran his eyes (Not sexually, mind you) up and down the outfit she had on; A somewhat tight short-sleeve T, in black, with the same skirt she had worn when they first met (She'd washed it, thank god). Her eyes hid behind thin-framed glasses that accentuated their shine, and her cast, once bulky and clumsy, had now been slimmed down to give a thinner look to her leg, and actually her whole body.
"A TINY bit fancier than that," was his reply, indicating how little he meant with his fingers, "Don't go all out, or they'll realize if we snuck in or not."
"And where will we meet to go there?"
"Um... just show up here Saturday, around... eight, alright?"
She gave a nod, then looked back to the house again.
"What does it look like inside?"
"Very Jazz-Oriental," he shrugged, like that was a common term, "Care to see? I gotta get some ice anyway..."
"Please!" she smiled, moving from the top of the stairs so he could walk by. Crutching along in his foot-steps, she entered the somewhat thin doorway sideways and let her eyes widen at the sight before her.
-------
The carpet was the first thing she saw, and it was very easy on the eyes, mainly red with a gold set of tassels coming from the sides, and several Chinese (OR japanese) letters woven in silver around the center. The walls were a more maroon shade of red, bearing every so often a symbol in sleek black paint, done in such a fashion so as the ends didn't stop as much as fade out. The lights were kept dim, to add to the mystifying feel of it. The chairs were backed with bamboo, seated with a wood of dark red laquer. All in all, a pretty nifty looking place.
"Wow," she muttered, nodding slightly, "You look very well off... But where's the Jazz part of it?"
With pride, Marx pointed to the den, which was filled with dark-wooded chairs and tables with a raised piece of floor in the back of the room. Currently, most of the first were pushed to the sides of the room, and a television gazed out over the deep red carpet at the small set of leather chairs. To the side of the platform was a large, upright bass, standing next to a normal bass guitar.
"You're a musician?"
"Not too good of one, but I do enjoy music quite a lot."
With a giggle and what she could manage of a clap without falling over, she blurted, "Play something!"
"Oh, come on..." Marx sighed, trying to ignore as she came in front of him and pouted her lip.
"Please?"
"Fine, a short bit, then I've got to clean up around here, got it?"
She nodded and, with his assistance, found her way into one of the seats and nuzzled into comfiness. Crossing her crutches over her lap, she turned her ears forward as Marx selected the upright, taking a seat so his somewhat lanky arms came around the instrument and took position on the strings. After quickly adjusting his hat, he began to play.
(If this next part is somewhat poor, keep in mind trying to transfer sound to text is a bit hard)
It sounded low, relaxed, and calming, the sort of beat you'd associate with someone reading poetry. His fingers were moving slowly up and down the strings in simple-looking chords, and Jazz saw now why he had moved his hat; to try to hide himself counting measures on his lips. Regardless, he kept up the soothing ring of the tune for a minute or two more before, with a slight nod, he started to hit the strings in the same pattern, but double, his mouth now adding a silent 'and' between the counting to keep the new notes in line.
He's actually alright, Jazz thought to herself as she leaned further back. Slowly, he let the tune fade back into the first chord he had played, then suddenly he shot it up to a more intense beat, with agressive sound due to rough slapping of the strings with his thumb. Still counting with silent lips, he brought the sound up one octave, then slowly let it slide back down to normal, where he let it stop with a final slap of the strings.
"As I said, I'm not anything special, but how'd you like it?"
"I liked it," she smiled, giving a few quiet claps, "And it was cute how you had to count beat out loud."
He stammered something, but she sound of her crutching away drowned it out.
-------
While she had waited for Saturday to come around, she had taken her own look at Velvet Paw. It looked like a very expensive place to get into, with elegant cursive neons proclaiming the symbol of the club onto the dark pavement below, a wolf's pawprint of soft yellow. Those outside the doors, trying to get in, were as varied as could be. Everything from bodybuilders to models to intellectuals, even those bald old humans who slick back the few hairs on their head trying to ignore the mass of fur coming from their greasy shirts. There were drunks, though discouraged, a rare few musicians, and, only one she saw, a clubbie, you know the kind of person who goes to clubs with ecstasy wearing elbows and knee pads and so forth.
Anyways, she picked out her outfit, long sleeved black shirt and loose brown cargo pants, with a slightly spiked collar. She wanted to put on her favorite boots, but her cast forbid putting on one, and having on just the other boot would look quite silly, wouldn't it? So, to her irritation, barefoot it was.
Her parents, however, weren't as easily solved.
"Come on, please!" she moaned, putting her hands together, "I'll clean up the entire house for a week!"
"That doesn't matter," her father shook his head, "You're not going to some kid's house we don't know, and that's that."
"Mom?!"
"Absolutely not!" she said, not looking up from whatever she was working on, "This Marx or whoever he is sounds just fine but you're not going to his house for the night, boys his age... well, they think a little to highly of themselves."
"...what do you mean? They think about sex a lot?"
"And how do you know about sex?!"
"I'm sixteen, mom, how would I NOT?"
"she's got a point," her father nodded.
"You shush!" Her mother hit him with a piece of paper.
"Pleeeeeeeeeeease?" Jazz whimpered, "Just this once..."
"The answer, and remember it this time, is NO."
Despite how hard it is to sound pissed crutching your way up stairs, Jazz managed to do it.
-------
As she usually did when she was mad, she lay upon her bed and kept running angry thoughts through her head, some of which aren't quite within PG-13 limits, so we're moving on.
It wasn't fair! Her parents were so boring and they tried to make her boring too, they wouldn't let her go to any parties or anything! They only let her go to all-girl slumber parties and stuff, and those got old after a while! How many makeovers can one group of people undergo before they go mentally insane?
Either way, she hadn't waited for more than half an hour or so before it was 8, and with a groan she murmured out loud, "I'm late... now I'm gonna miss it and it's all their fault!"
No sooner had she uttered this, however, than her personal phone rang. Curious, she picked it up and mumbled, "Hello...?"
"So I'm looking around my house," Marx's voice responded, "And we're just packed, we've got friends, a drink or two, some music, but we're missing something, oh what could it be... oh yes, WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?"
"Marx?" she sighed, "My parents won't let me go..."
There was a moment of silence.
"Marx...?"
*Click*
She sighed angrily and put her phone down. As if things couldn't get any more inconvenient for her... Now Marx probably is leaving without her and won't think twice about it... stupid jerk, let him! Like I care about the stupid club and everything!
Angrily, she tore off her collar and threw it away across the room. She was tempted to chuck a boot, but decided against it and just lay face down on her bed, trying to get to sleep to get this stupid night over with...
-------
Suddenly, her half-sleep was interrupted by a rapping on her window. Her droopy eyes caught time at 8:17, and then turned to the darkness of the window. For a moment, she could see nothing, then a bright light came right through her glasses, making her temporarily blind as a voice murmured, "She's been locked up but good, boys, open the window! We ain't leaving here without her!"
Her window slid open, and she quickly fixed her vision in time to see Marx leaning halfway in her window.
"Tell me again why you're not coming."
"Put down the stupid flashlight and keep quiet!"
The beam of light went down and he whispered, "Answer the question."
"Cause my parents say I can't cause they're evil!" Jazz seethed, "They're so annoying!"
"Then we sneak, like we'll do into the club."
"How, out my window? In case you haven't noticed, I'm in a cast!"
He held out his arms in a sort of cradling position, and she shook her head.
"No! I'd feel all helpless!"
"Cause you felt so independant back in the train station."
She tried to think of a comeback, but sighed and retrieved her collar and crutches.
"If anyone asks," she whispered harshly as she got near the window as she could, "I went down the whole ladder myself, got it?"
"You have fun making them believe that," Marx smiled, shaking his head as he picked her up and began slowly making his way down the ladder which she noticed belonged to her father. Aside from noticing that, her eyes were stuck sternly up in the stars, trying to ignore that she was high above the ground trusting someone to not drop her. She felt a little drop and gasped, but Marx laughed quietly, "We were just getting to the ground, relax."
With a little 'humph!' in attempt to discredit that she had been afraid, she began to go quietly as possible over to the waiting vehicle Marx had arrived in. It was a large, almost hippy-esque van with several passengers inside, trying to keep themselves and the car quiet as possible. Marx directed her to the rear of the behemoth, opening the doors with as much silence as a poor oiling can give, and letting her clamber her way up into the back, where a seat was offered her by a young boy who didn't look like he was off to a club as much as along for the ride.
"Thank you," she smiled, letting him take her hand to help her into the seat, even though it didn't help much.
"You're welcome!" the little fox smiled, sitting on the floor next to her with a smile back.
"So, where are you going with all these guys?"
"My big brother's taking me for Ice Cream!"
"And who is your big brother?"
He pointed to a wolf a few seats ahead, passed out.
"Why is he asleep?"
The little fox shrugged, then tilted his head.
"Why was everyone being quiet when we picked you up?"
"Well... cause I'm sneaking out of my house to come along."
"You like Ice Cream that much?"
She giggled and shook her head.
"No, I'm not going for Ice Cream, I'm going-"
"Of course you are!" Marx shot in, giving her a wink, "All of us for Ice Cream, damn straight!"
She realized they didn't want the kid to feel left out, so she nodded almost proudly.
"For Ice Cream, of course."
He gave a smile and looked forward, slowly fighting down a yawn. Jazz poked his shoulder, giggling, and said when he had turned, "Maybe you're a little tired?"
He shook his head like he was offended at the notion, "I am not!"
"You sure?"
"I'm not gonna miss out 'cause I'm tired!"
The car went on silently for a minute or two more before Marx suddenly smacked the wolf on his muzzle.
"Jack, you're on for Ice Cream!"
"Alright, ALRIGHT! Hit me again, Marx, I dare you..." the murmured response came.
On his way out, Marx gave him another smack. The little kid turned back and held out his paw.
"My name's Alex!"
Jazz shook his hand and replied, "Jasmine."
"Good to meet you! Hey, wanna come with-?" he started before he was taken away. The door was shut instantly behind him, and the van sped off.
"We're almost there, Jazz, so get ready. Our plan is to get out a little ways away from the club, then sneak in the back door, they know me there and they'll let me in as long as we're good boys and girls," Marx grinned, holding up two fingers.
"Promise!" Jazz smiled, returning the sign, "This better be worth all the sneaking, though, Marx!"
"Trust me, it shall..." came the reply, half-minded as the car slowed down. Just before it stopped fully, someone said loud but calm, "Now!" and all the remainder of the van, excepting the unfortunate driver, evacuated the car quick as possible. Jazz had a bit of trouble escaping, but she managed without anyone's assistance, to her pride, and followed them toward the building they wished to enter.
TakaLoveless
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"Hey, guys, passing through with some friends!"
The chefs turned around to look them all over, and one smiled at Jazz.
"She's gonna need a Sleaze-Guard in there, I'll tell you what, the greasy ones are out and about tonight."
"How bad is it?" Marx said, walking backwards while looking at the portly chef who had spoken.
"The girls are travellin' in packs for safety, they're like rats, those fellas, you know?"
"Duly noted, pal, thank you!"
Marx stopped the whole crew by the door, and made them wait for the proper timing to sneak into the room. One by one, the group of roughly six or seven filtered down to the last two, just him and Jazz left. He quickly nudged her in before him, then slid in himself, blending in to the passing group until he could turn and wander off, escorting her through the dense gathering.
"There are a lot of people here!" she awed, trying to look less noticable with her crutches. Marx leaned down so his ear was practically on her muzzle and half-shouted, "What?"
"THERE ARE A LOT OF PEOPLE HERE!" she repeated louder.
"That's why we came here! More people, easier to sneak in, of course!"
His eyes followed a panther-woman walking by with earnest interest, then came back to Jazz like nothing had happened.
"Okay, I lied, THAT'S why we came here, or why I came here," he grinned devilishly, directing her towards a table where the rest of the group had migrated. Instantly, his hands scooped up a wine menu, and his eyes began roving over it.
"Sake, Sake, Sake... there must be Sake here..."
She put the menu down and raised an eye brow, putting up two fingers to him.
"I thought we were gonna be good boys and girls?"
"But... but..." Marx pouted his lip, "I wanna get trashed..."
"That's definitely not 'good boy' behavior."
"Buzzed?"
She shook her head.
"Then can I just taste some, for Christ's sake?"
"Fine, a taste, but keep sober cause you're taking me back up the ladder when we go home, remember?"
Eagerly, Marx ran off, then returned with a shot of some wine or another in his hand. As he began to sip, a jaguar in the group leaned in and asked, "So, what's everyone's run on the band?"
They all took a moment to listen to the out-of-tune sax, weak drumlines, and tired trumpet bellowing from the stage.
"Roughly between..." Marx said, faking thought, "s**t and total s**t. I don't heckle during a performance, but I'm tempted to break that vow for these schmucks."
"Thank god it's winding down," Jazz agreed, now thinking of her own desire to drink something. Most of the choices were alchoholic, but one or two without booze got her attention, mainly some tropical thing involving many types of unpronouncable fruit and one or two coffee/cappucino types. As her eyes went between the two on the menu, she became aware of a hand on her shoulder. The first thing about it she took note of was the terrible scent; smoke, liquor, and cheap cologne.
"Name a drink and it's yours," a voice, presumably a bit on in years, spoke out. Her skin shivered a bit and she tried not to simply throw up on his feet.
"I'm not even going to look at you and I'm going to tell you to back off, like now."
"Guess you haven't caught my scent yet," the man chuckled, "it's supposed to drive furry gals like you mad."
"It's driving me mad cause it stinks, get away before I heave!"
"Last chance before your free drink walks off, babe."
"Marx, can I borrow your Sake?"
"Um... sure?"
Happily, she splashed the drink onto him, grinning at his face of rage at his ruined impersonation silk.
"You can get me a refill on this, if you want," she smiled, shaking the small wooden cup at him.
"No thanks," the guy mumbled, "I know a les when I see one..."
Jazz threw the cup and, to her surprise, not only did it hit, but it was accompanied by several shoes, mostly high heels, from various directions. One took off the toupe he was wearing, and Jazz laughed aloud as he scrambled for it, putting it on in the most ugly looking way possible aside from how it had previously been. She didn't care who had thrown the shoes, just that the old, ugly b*****d had been embarassed. She called over the waitress sent to retrieve the cup and ordered her coffee, thankfully with no help from any senior bachelors.
"Enough already!" The jaguar in the group shouted to the stage, breaking the silence, "Please, stop playing!"
One or two scattered pockets of people shouted their agreement, and in anger the leader of the band took up the mic and shouted back, "Like any of you drunken pricks could play any better than us!"
There was a moment of silence, then he muttered, "I thought so."
"Marx could!"
The man on stage turned to Jazz with a raised eyebrow.
"Who?"
She pointed to Marx with a smile, "He could play better!"
"Alright, let him prove it then!"
"Oh, come on..." Marx sighed, shaking his head, "I came to listen, not to play, but for the record you guys do suck pretty hardcore."
"I'll bet you a drink for every person in this bar that you can't play better than me!"
Marx snapped his head up, then slowly let a grin emerge.
"Pass me a bass and I'll let you get everyone here hammered."
The man in front threw him a bass from backstage, and Marx took a second to tune it properly before going up to the platform and taking a seat behind the mic.
"Now, what should I play..."
Several songs were shouted out, from Sinatra to Sammy Davis to Van Morrison, but in a moment of silence one member of the group Jazz sat in shouted, "Play the one you wrote!"
"Yeah!" A few more near him shouted, "Play your song!"
"Oh, no, please don-!"
"Play your song! Play your song!" The four or five still-sober people at her table began to chant, the call slowly taken up by those near them, until most of the bar was shouting, "Play your song!"
"FINE!" Marx sighed, causing the audience to cheer a bit. He snapped his fingers at the jaguar and pointed to a nearby piano, "You got me into this mess, you help me out of it," Adding with a whisper, "And screw you for making them chant about it..."
Marx leared his throat, and began to play out the same soft, poetic beat Jazz had heard earlier...
"Take your eyes away from mine and
Turn them up to the sky of gray...
I must be the luckiest man in the world
Cause I can stand with you, today...
Leastaways, that's what I'd tell you
If you wer-n't so far from home
But my feet stand by no other
And my heart beats all alone..."
The piano slowly faded its way in, to mark the start of the chorus...
"Come back home love, don't be shy
Make Passion Red from Lonely Blue
I'd give my kingdom in a heartbeat
If I could share this cloud with you..."
The piano faded back down, but didn't stop altogether, as the crowd began to nod their heads and feel the music...
"For days and nights uncounted
How I've tossed and how I've turned
Cause my heart simply cannot match the way
Next to your own it burned...
A week, you swore to me, was all
That you would need to be away
And even though it pains me deeply
Know that loyalty don't sway..."
The way the three beats of 'loyalty' hit seemed to please the group, since they cheered a little more when it came. Jazz, sipping at her coffee thoughtfully, was very much enjoying the performance being put on. The crowd attempted to sing along as the chorus was repeated...
"Come back home love, don't be shy
Make Passion Red from Lonely Blue
I'd walk my way through hell and back, girl
if I could share this cloud with you..."
Now the music changed, a more intense version of the same beat, with slaps every two beats or so.
"I guess
I've...
Got
To...
Check my patience, cause
I've still
Got..
Two days
To wait for your return...
I guess
I've...
Got
To...
Let my mind go, or
I'll lose
It...
O-ver you!"
One or two 'oww!' sounds rang out through the bar, accompanied by whistles of enjoyment. Taking her lips from her cup, Jazz even offered her own sound of praise. The song began to soften as the final verses began to play...
"In the mail today
A note from you
'I love you, darlin'
Home by two.'
My skin goes pale
My eyes grow wide
I swear to you, love
I could fly!
As your high heels hit the platform
And your eyes weave into mine
The happiness my lonely heart feels
Can only be defined divine..."
The instruments came to a halt, and Marx came close to the mic to sing the final chorus quietly.
"Come back home love, don't be shy
Make Passion Red from Lonely Blue
I must be the luckiest man around
Cause I can share this cloud with you..."
Slowly, the crowd began to cheer, and with a smug grin Marx turned to the previous performer and, removing his hat in a bow, said, "I do believe drinks are on you."
"HEY!"
The whole crowd looked toward the front at the muscular bouncer.
"You punks are under eighteen!"
"Ah, ********..." Marx sighed, putting the bass down carefully, then sprinting madly for the door in the rear. The group all did the same, but Jazz, impeded by her crutches, was having a harder time of it. Thankfully, the crowd was on their side, trying to hold him back as much as they could while the youths made their getaway.
With a bit of help from the jaguar, who had taken a bit longer to get going than the others, she also made it to the safety of the waiting van.
-------
"That was so epic!" Marx shouted to no one in particular as the van started up and got to going, "I could not have planned that situation to go a better way! Well, I COULD have made me end up with one of the women there... but I'm not complaining!"
Slowly, Jazz came to the realization that she had accidentally stolen the cup she had been drinking from and, with a shrug, took another sip. It was still actually pretty good...
"Now... Marx asked, as the van rounded the corner near Jazz's home, "How am I gonna get you back UP the ladder?"
"Well..." she started a reply, but as her eyes wandered over her house they went wide, and her ears drooped.
"You're not gonna have to worry about that..."
Of all the sights that could have ruined the good feeling of that night, none coudl have done so quite as effectively as the shadow of her father standing in the doorway, arms crossed and legs spaced slightly. With a tiny whimper of fear crossed with annoyance, she slowly rose from her seat and made for the back door, climbing out slow as possible to delay the lecture about to happen.
"Who in the hell are you," her father shouted, "And where did you take my daughter?"
"Hey there," Marx smiled nervously, "How are ya?"
"If there is so much as a scratch on her head..."
"All she got to was some coffee, swear to God!"
"And you!" the direction of his shouting changed to Jazz, approaching slow over the front lawn with a downcast head, "Climbing out a window? With a broken leg? What were you thinking?!"
As she passed him, she shrugged at him, and with a deep smile, replied, "I was thinking it was worth it."
The chefs turned around to look them all over, and one smiled at Jazz.
"She's gonna need a Sleaze-Guard in there, I'll tell you what, the greasy ones are out and about tonight."
"How bad is it?" Marx said, walking backwards while looking at the portly chef who had spoken.
"The girls are travellin' in packs for safety, they're like rats, those fellas, you know?"
"Duly noted, pal, thank you!"
Marx stopped the whole crew by the door, and made them wait for the proper timing to sneak into the room. One by one, the group of roughly six or seven filtered down to the last two, just him and Jazz left. He quickly nudged her in before him, then slid in himself, blending in to the passing group until he could turn and wander off, escorting her through the dense gathering.
"There are a lot of people here!" she awed, trying to look less noticable with her crutches. Marx leaned down so his ear was practically on her muzzle and half-shouted, "What?"
"THERE ARE A LOT OF PEOPLE HERE!" she repeated louder.
"That's why we came here! More people, easier to sneak in, of course!"
His eyes followed a panther-woman walking by with earnest interest, then came back to Jazz like nothing had happened.
"Okay, I lied, THAT'S why we came here, or why I came here," he grinned devilishly, directing her towards a table where the rest of the group had migrated. Instantly, his hands scooped up a wine menu, and his eyes began roving over it.
"Sake, Sake, Sake... there must be Sake here..."
She put the menu down and raised an eye brow, putting up two fingers to him.
"I thought we were gonna be good boys and girls?"
"But... but..." Marx pouted his lip, "I wanna get trashed..."
"That's definitely not 'good boy' behavior."
"Buzzed?"
She shook her head.
"Then can I just taste some, for Christ's sake?"
"Fine, a taste, but keep sober cause you're taking me back up the ladder when we go home, remember?"
Eagerly, Marx ran off, then returned with a shot of some wine or another in his hand. As he began to sip, a jaguar in the group leaned in and asked, "So, what's everyone's run on the band?"
They all took a moment to listen to the out-of-tune sax, weak drumlines, and tired trumpet bellowing from the stage.
"Roughly between..." Marx said, faking thought, "s**t and total s**t. I don't heckle during a performance, but I'm tempted to break that vow for these schmucks."
"Thank god it's winding down," Jazz agreed, now thinking of her own desire to drink something. Most of the choices were alchoholic, but one or two without booze got her attention, mainly some tropical thing involving many types of unpronouncable fruit and one or two coffee/cappucino types. As her eyes went between the two on the menu, she became aware of a hand on her shoulder. The first thing about it she took note of was the terrible scent; smoke, liquor, and cheap cologne.
"Name a drink and it's yours," a voice, presumably a bit on in years, spoke out. Her skin shivered a bit and she tried not to simply throw up on his feet.
"I'm not even going to look at you and I'm going to tell you to back off, like now."
"Guess you haven't caught my scent yet," the man chuckled, "it's supposed to drive furry gals like you mad."
"It's driving me mad cause it stinks, get away before I heave!"
"Last chance before your free drink walks off, babe."
"Marx, can I borrow your Sake?"
"Um... sure?"
Happily, she splashed the drink onto him, grinning at his face of rage at his ruined impersonation silk.
"You can get me a refill on this, if you want," she smiled, shaking the small wooden cup at him.
"No thanks," the guy mumbled, "I know a les when I see one..."
Jazz threw the cup and, to her surprise, not only did it hit, but it was accompanied by several shoes, mostly high heels, from various directions. One took off the toupe he was wearing, and Jazz laughed aloud as he scrambled for it, putting it on in the most ugly looking way possible aside from how it had previously been. She didn't care who had thrown the shoes, just that the old, ugly b*****d had been embarassed. She called over the waitress sent to retrieve the cup and ordered her coffee, thankfully with no help from any senior bachelors.
"Enough already!" The jaguar in the group shouted to the stage, breaking the silence, "Please, stop playing!"
One or two scattered pockets of people shouted their agreement, and in anger the leader of the band took up the mic and shouted back, "Like any of you drunken pricks could play any better than us!"
There was a moment of silence, then he muttered, "I thought so."
"Marx could!"
The man on stage turned to Jazz with a raised eyebrow.
"Who?"
She pointed to Marx with a smile, "He could play better!"
"Alright, let him prove it then!"
"Oh, come on..." Marx sighed, shaking his head, "I came to listen, not to play, but for the record you guys do suck pretty hardcore."
"I'll bet you a drink for every person in this bar that you can't play better than me!"
Marx snapped his head up, then slowly let a grin emerge.
"Pass me a bass and I'll let you get everyone here hammered."
The man in front threw him a bass from backstage, and Marx took a second to tune it properly before going up to the platform and taking a seat behind the mic.
"Now, what should I play..."
Several songs were shouted out, from Sinatra to Sammy Davis to Van Morrison, but in a moment of silence one member of the group Jazz sat in shouted, "Play the one you wrote!"
"Yeah!" A few more near him shouted, "Play your song!"
"Oh, no, please don-!"
"Play your song! Play your song!" The four or five still-sober people at her table began to chant, the call slowly taken up by those near them, until most of the bar was shouting, "Play your song!"
"FINE!" Marx sighed, causing the audience to cheer a bit. He snapped his fingers at the jaguar and pointed to a nearby piano, "You got me into this mess, you help me out of it," Adding with a whisper, "And screw you for making them chant about it..."
Marx leared his throat, and began to play out the same soft, poetic beat Jazz had heard earlier...
"Take your eyes away from mine and
Turn them up to the sky of gray...
I must be the luckiest man in the world
Cause I can stand with you, today...
Leastaways, that's what I'd tell you
If you wer-n't so far from home
But my feet stand by no other
And my heart beats all alone..."
The piano slowly faded its way in, to mark the start of the chorus...
"Come back home love, don't be shy
Make Passion Red from Lonely Blue
I'd give my kingdom in a heartbeat
If I could share this cloud with you..."
The piano faded back down, but didn't stop altogether, as the crowd began to nod their heads and feel the music...
"For days and nights uncounted
How I've tossed and how I've turned
Cause my heart simply cannot match the way
Next to your own it burned...
A week, you swore to me, was all
That you would need to be away
And even though it pains me deeply
Know that loyalty don't sway..."
The way the three beats of 'loyalty' hit seemed to please the group, since they cheered a little more when it came. Jazz, sipping at her coffee thoughtfully, was very much enjoying the performance being put on. The crowd attempted to sing along as the chorus was repeated...
"Come back home love, don't be shy
Make Passion Red from Lonely Blue
I'd walk my way through hell and back, girl
if I could share this cloud with you..."
Now the music changed, a more intense version of the same beat, with slaps every two beats or so.
"I guess
I've...
Got
To...
Check my patience, cause
I've still
Got..
Two days
To wait for your return...
I guess
I've...
Got
To...
Let my mind go, or
I'll lose
It...
O-ver you!"
One or two 'oww!' sounds rang out through the bar, accompanied by whistles of enjoyment. Taking her lips from her cup, Jazz even offered her own sound of praise. The song began to soften as the final verses began to play...
"In the mail today
A note from you
'I love you, darlin'
Home by two.'
My skin goes pale
My eyes grow wide
I swear to you, love
I could fly!
As your high heels hit the platform
And your eyes weave into mine
The happiness my lonely heart feels
Can only be defined divine..."
The instruments came to a halt, and Marx came close to the mic to sing the final chorus quietly.
"Come back home love, don't be shy
Make Passion Red from Lonely Blue
I must be the luckiest man around
Cause I can share this cloud with you..."
Slowly, the crowd began to cheer, and with a smug grin Marx turned to the previous performer and, removing his hat in a bow, said, "I do believe drinks are on you."
"HEY!"
The whole crowd looked toward the front at the muscular bouncer.
"You punks are under eighteen!"
"Ah, ********..." Marx sighed, putting the bass down carefully, then sprinting madly for the door in the rear. The group all did the same, but Jazz, impeded by her crutches, was having a harder time of it. Thankfully, the crowd was on their side, trying to hold him back as much as they could while the youths made their getaway.
With a bit of help from the jaguar, who had taken a bit longer to get going than the others, she also made it to the safety of the waiting van.
-------
"That was so epic!" Marx shouted to no one in particular as the van started up and got to going, "I could not have planned that situation to go a better way! Well, I COULD have made me end up with one of the women there... but I'm not complaining!"
Slowly, Jazz came to the realization that she had accidentally stolen the cup she had been drinking from and, with a shrug, took another sip. It was still actually pretty good...
"Now... Marx asked, as the van rounded the corner near Jazz's home, "How am I gonna get you back UP the ladder?"
"Well..." she started a reply, but as her eyes wandered over her house they went wide, and her ears drooped.
"You're not gonna have to worry about that..."
Of all the sights that could have ruined the good feeling of that night, none coudl have done so quite as effectively as the shadow of her father standing in the doorway, arms crossed and legs spaced slightly. With a tiny whimper of fear crossed with annoyance, she slowly rose from her seat and made for the back door, climbing out slow as possible to delay the lecture about to happen.
"Who in the hell are you," her father shouted, "And where did you take my daughter?"
"Hey there," Marx smiled nervously, "How are ya?"
"If there is so much as a scratch on her head..."
"All she got to was some coffee, swear to God!"
"And you!" the direction of his shouting changed to Jazz, approaching slow over the front lawn with a downcast head, "Climbing out a window? With a broken leg? What were you thinking?!"
As she passed him, she shrugged at him, and with a deep smile, replied, "I was thinking it was worth it."
Haru Mania
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O.G. Codger
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- Posted: Thu, 01 Jun 2006 21:00:58 +0000
Murr.. I dunn think I'll be able to finish that last picture. D: I'll do it for you later though. x3
Anywho, saw X3 again. x3 I love it soooo much. biggrin
It pains me that they credit some really awesome characters but you don't really see them... I looked so hard each time to see Psylocke, but I guess she was just random extra #37 to give us fans a "squee" at the end.
Anywho, saw X3 again. x3 I love it soooo much. biggrin
It pains me that they credit some really awesome characters but you don't really see them... I looked so hard each time to see Psylocke, but I guess she was just random extra #37 to give us fans a "squee" at the end.
Hamtigers
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- Posted: Thu, 01 Jun 2006 21:06:26 +0000
Haha, there's no way I'll have enough of this done in time, but I'll still finish it because you deserves it anyways XP
TakaLoveless
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- Posted: Thu, 01 Jun 2006 21:12:35 +0000
Haru Mania
Murr.. I dunn think I'll be able to finish that last picture. D: I'll do it for you later though. x3
Anywho, saw X3 again. x3 I love it soooo much. biggrin
It pains me that they credit some really awesome characters but you don't really see them... I looked so hard each time to see Psylocke, but I guess she was just random extra #37 to give us fans a "squee" at the end.
Anywho, saw X3 again. x3 I love it soooo much. biggrin
It pains me that they credit some really awesome characters but you don't really see them... I looked so hard each time to see Psylocke, but I guess she was just random extra #37 to give us fans a "squee" at the end.
Murr?
Is it like a private picture?
Lil Jissy
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- Posted: Thu, 01 Jun 2006 21:13:13 +0000
♪♫ hey, that story was really good, Jake! i liked it a lot! ♪♫
TakaLoveless
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- Posted: Thu, 01 Jun 2006 21:16:12 +0000
Miss~Jis
♪♫ hey, that story was really good, Jake! i liked it a lot! ♪♫
Thanks, Jis!
...but do you subscribe to threads just to follow and praise my work?
Lil Jissy
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- Posted: Thu, 01 Jun 2006 21:19:06 +0000
Muroda
Miss~Jis
♪♫ hey, that story was really good, Jake! i liked it a lot! ♪♫
Thanks, Jis!
...but do you subscribe to threads just to follow and praise my work?
♪♫ i'm so sorry, i was gonna post here days before, but.... that was when you were angry with me, and i didn't want to bother you or anything.... ♪♫
TakaLoveless
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- Posted: Thu, 01 Jun 2006 21:20:44 +0000
Miss~Jis
Muroda
Miss~Jis
♪♫ hey, that story was really good, Jake! i liked it a lot! ♪♫
Thanks, Jis!
...but do you subscribe to threads just to follow and praise my work?
♪♫ i'm so sorry, i was gonna post here days before, but.... that was when you were angry with me, and i didn't want to bother you or anything.... ♪♫
Ish okay, thanks for your support and all is solved now. ^_^ *Huggle*
Lil Jissy
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- Posted: Thu, 01 Jun 2006 21:22:45 +0000
Muroda
Miss~Jis
Muroda
Miss~Jis
♪♫ hey, that story was really good, Jake! i liked it a lot! ♪♫
Thanks, Jis!
...but do you subscribe to threads just to follow and praise my work?
♪♫ i'm so sorry, i was gonna post here days before, but.... that was when you were angry with me, and i didn't want to bother you or anything.... ♪♫
Ish okay, thanks for your support and all is solved now. ^_^ *Huggle*
♪♫ yay! *huggles back* so how much did i miss? -_-' ♪♫
TakaLoveless
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- Posted: Thu, 01 Jun 2006 21:23:45 +0000
Miss~Jis
Muroda
Miss~Jis
Muroda
Miss~Jis
♪♫ hey, that story was really good, Jake! i liked it a lot! ♪♫
Thanks, Jis!
...but do you subscribe to threads just to follow and praise my work?
♪♫ i'm so sorry, i was gonna post here days before, but.... that was when you were angry with me, and i didn't want to bother you or anything.... ♪♫
Ish okay, thanks for your support and all is solved now. ^_^ *Huggle*
♪♫ yay! *huggles back* so how much did i miss? -_-' ♪♫
Of what?
Lil Jissy
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- Posted: Thu, 01 Jun 2006 21:25:13 +0000
Muroda
Miss~Jis
Muroda
Miss~Jis
Muroda
Miss~Jis
♪♫ hey, that story was really good, Jake! i liked it a lot! ♪♫
Thanks, Jis!
...but do you subscribe to threads just to follow and praise my work?
♪♫ i'm so sorry, i was gonna post here days before, but.... that was when you were angry with me, and i didn't want to bother you or anything.... ♪♫
Ish okay, thanks for your support and all is solved now. ^_^ *Huggle*
♪♫ yay! *huggles back* so how much did i miss? -_-' ♪♫
Of what?
♪♫ i dunno, of anything. *shrug* i know i definitely missed the 2nd part of your story, i missed that. ♪♫
TakaLoveless
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- Posted: Thu, 01 Jun 2006 21:25:58 +0000
Miss~Jis
Muroda
Miss~Jis
Muroda
Miss~Jis
♪♫ i'm so sorry, i was gonna post here days before, but.... that was when you were angry with me, and i didn't want to bother you or anything.... ♪♫
Ish okay, thanks for your support and all is solved now. ^_^ *Huggle*
♪♫ yay! *huggles back* so how much did i miss? -_-' ♪♫
Of what?
♪♫ i dunno, of anything. *shrug* i know i definitely missed the 2nd part of your story, i missed that. ♪♫
...I just posted that...?