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 Posted: Thu Oct 08, 2009 5:27 pm
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Posted: Thu Oct 08, 2009 6:04 pm
Table of Contents
-- Page One --
oo. Cacao/Chocolate
o1. Table of Contents
o2. Essence of Cacao
o3. The Dust
o4. The Guardian
o5. The Proof
o6. Reserved
o7. Reserved
-- Page Two --
o8. Open for Critiquing
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Posted: Fri Oct 09, 2009 7:51 pm
Essence of Cacao The chocolate tree, or Theobroma Cacao originates in South America.
It is a "lower rain forest canopy" plant, and thrives in damp warm conditions with partial shade.
The plant germinates from a cocoa bean, which quickly spouts and splits, producing a stem that produces new single-stalked leaves at its apex as it grows. Leaves are initially a translucent red, hanging down vertically on the ends of horizontal stalks. Hanging vertically allows the limp growing leaf to expand quickly, with water more easily able to reach all parts of the expanding leaf, and without the shape needing support. The damp growing leaf and its stalk quickly expand from a few millimeters in length to the size of an adult human hand in just a few days, then harden and turn a medium dark green.
The stem also also has soft green thin flexible spikes around the stems. In an adult tree, some of these should change into flowers, resulting in large sweet-tasting yellow or orange seed-pods, containing large bitter seeds.
When roasted and processed, these brown seeds are the base material for chocolate.Reference: http://www.chocolatetreebooks.com/choccytrees.html
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Posted: Sat Oct 10, 2009 7:05 pm
The Dust A Quick Overview
[labels are so trifling]: Milk
[my innards tell me so]: Female
[let's see what you're made of]: Cacao Seed
[what's on the surface, really?]: Dark brown/chocolaty complexion
[not-so open doors]: REALLY light brown, like chocolate milk!
[bitter locks]: Dark brown, slightly lighter than skin, long with bangs and choppy
[outline my body for me]: Slim and slender
[how'd i get like this?]: Green stockings beneath a round poofy seed-shaped dress of light yellow and dark orange
[i abhor responsibility]: Quinton Oakbrook.
[make me smile, please!]: Foliage, the outdoors, rain, the feeling of being self-sufficient, wearing bright colors.
[quite distasteful]: Bugs, excess amounts of sunlight, tangy or sour foods or candy, seafood, staying inside all day.
[take a trip inside]: Mostly bitter, sometimes sweet, and much like the plant itself, doesn't need support from anyone else... supposedly.
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Posted: Sat Oct 10, 2009 7:52 pm
The Guardian A Quick Overview
[labels are so trifling]: Quinton Oakbrook
[but you can call me..]: Que. (Pronounced Cue)
[age before beauty]: 23
[my innards tell me so]: Male
[hormones, eh?]: Heterosexual
[just an organ with no name]: Single, not looking
[keeping my hopes up]: Agnostic theist. Open minded to religion, but not currently accepting any.
[up you lazy bum!]: Journalist
[what's on the surface, really?]: Light, Caucasian
[not-so open doors]: Chartreuse green
[bitter locks]: Brown curls down to his waist, small thin curls hair-sprayed in place
[outline my body for me]: Broad shoulders, lean body
[how'd i get like this?]: Always wearing a big brown hoodie and jeans and brown sandals
[i abhor responsibility]: Jerry and Carol Oakbrook.
[make me smile, please!]: Playing guitar, going to the beach, sports of any kind, any type of food especially Shepard's Pie.
[quite distasteful]: Constantly being indoors, pessimists, girls getting mistreated, beets, getting his hair pulled.
[take a trip inside]: Very positive and playful, can be very laid back and chill, not prone to anger most of the time. Very... nonchalant.
[what've i learned?]: Quinton never liked growing up in a rich household. Getting virtually everything he wanted WHEN he wanted was only a blessing for so long. As a child he was spoiled rotten. Having been accustomed to getting his way, if even a speck of dust was out of place he would scold the maid, who would cower in fear of the eight-year-old, knowing that he was one to tattle to his parents for anything.
When school came around he found out the errors of his life. His parents being aristocrats, they neither kept nor needed any jobs. They had enough to live off of. Quinton watched as kids spoke of what their fathers did for a living, and he couldn't share in their discussion and was left out. They would tell about how their parents would work hard to get them the things they asked for. Quinton had the gall to be prideful of his parents that were able to afford just about anything he asked for, when a girl in the class stepped up to his egotism.
"It doesn't mean squat to them. They barely have to lift a finger to please you, so it's easy."
Quinton laughed. He didn't understand the intelligence the girl had, but he soon would as he thought about it. Quinton grew angry at his parents for spoiling him so, as his eyes had been opened. Other parents worked hard to get what their children wanted because they loved them. His parents could afford just about anything with no problem. When it came to harder tasks that they weren't used to such as playing with him or actually interacting with him, they lacked the ability. Jerry and Carol knew Quinton's greedy nature and they would buy him his toys and send him off to his room. Now that their parenting was blowing up in their face they chose to ground him and punish him for daring to think that they didn't love him.
Typical, Quinton thought as he sat in his room, now at thirteen years of age. "They're too busy trying to assert themselves authoratively as parents than to do what's right," he grumbled to himself.
Quinton wasn't unintelligent in any way. His upbringing had one strong rule and that was education. After age ten he was home-schooled, mainly because it was that girl in his class that had put such rebellious thoughts into his head. Keeping him barred indoors and sheltered was their idea for their child. He had no personality of his own. Keep his hair trimmed nicely. Keep his clothes nicely ironed, especially his suits. Keep him from the outside world and give him everything. They couldn't understand that everything he wanted was everything intangible.
However he respected his parents position rather than their choices and remained under their rule until his eighteenth birthday sprung around. The morning his parents had waltzed into his room with an extravagant cake, they had found his bed empty and his window... wide open with the curtains flowing with the incoming wind ominously. No note left whatsoever. But probably the number one sign that he wanted nothing else to do with his overbearing parents was the fact that he took no suitcase with him. All of his clothes, books, items he had been bought over the years was still in place. He took nothing but himself and his pajamas.
* * *
Quinton is now twenty-three years of age. In between his eighteenth birthday and now he had indulged in everything previously forbidden; everything his parents deemed as unfitting for a strapping young man. He dabbled with a cult, practiced with Ouiji boards. He wore the type of baggy clothes he adored. He got in touch with nature by spending his days outside beneath the trees. He chased skirts and got his share of awkward sexual experiences. He grew his hair long and curled it exactly how his parents hated it to be. But the one thing that happened at the end of that five year period, he grew up.
Quinton rid himself of his teenage pleasures and wonderments. Now it was time to take responsibility as an adult, something he was finally looking forward to. Having had no contact with his parents whatsoever for all these years, he knows that if he even tried they probably wouldn't want to have any contact with him, much less help him.
His opinionated mind led him to be a journalist for one of Aimes Newspapers. It payed decently so it helped him buy a small house for just himself... that is, until he found Milk.
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Posted: Sun Oct 11, 2009 7:50 am
The Proof Quote: The sun set on Keisam's thoughts once the words escaped from her mouth. One could never tell how he truly felt about them. With a sardonic expression it was obvious he was trying to let the pain roll off of his shoulders without a second notice. The pain gripped at his shoulders and ripped its way down his arm in the fight to leave his pretentious snarl that slipped between his teeth. He hadn't even taken notice to it, but Ta-Ah probably did.
It wasn't his fault, he wanted to tell himself in the back of his mind. He wanted to catapult all of the blame on her shoulders. Hers weren't bleeding with the pain that couldn't roll without dragging pieces of him down with it. With every word the blood-soaked muscles twitched with rage, resisting every inkling that came to his mind. Sadistic... every sadistic thought of ending the conversation where it lay. Something in his heart was contradicting, however. When the curiously placed arms made their way around his waist, Keisam could do nothing but let go of every plan he had on being spiteful. It was meant as a term of endearment... 'friend,' and it was meant as an act of endearment... a hug; Keisam just couldn't see it in this fashion. On the surface he longed to embrace her in return and just pretend like the situation was behind him, but deep inside he knew he had other thoughts in mind.
How could she do such a thing? Illumar was practically wishing for the day when his pulse-less body would lie six feet beneath the ground, and yet Ta-Ah cared so much for him? Keisam swallowed his pride. It wasn't about his happiness, it was about hers. So with a swallow of saliva he embraced her in return without another word said. They wrapped their arms around each other... and Keisam died a little inside.
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Posted: Sun Oct 11, 2009 8:04 am
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Posted: Sun Oct 11, 2009 8:06 am
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