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 Posted: Sun Jan 06, 2008 2:21 am
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Posted: Sun Jan 06, 2008 2:22 am
Lazy Bones
Lazy bones… Sleeping in the sun… How’re you supposed to get your day’s work done…?
Jasmine smiled as the jazzy ballad from Harry Connick Jr. Swept into her ears. The song seemed appropriate, since the week before Thanksgiving (She wasn’t too sure what the holiday was about, but she was guessing it was not so important because she had already been seeing Christmas commercials when she glanced at the TV) was being very peaceful, and somewhat lazy. She was walking slowly back from school and training, going a little slower when she noticed someone decorating their house or building for Christmas so she could watch them.
When you go fishin’, I bet you keep wishin’ the fish jump off the line…
Her slow-moving feet had soon been dragging at such a slow pace that a small dog had cut in front over her walking. Jasmine grinned, bending down and stopping the dog. Maybe this wasn’t the best place to be practicing her powers, but a soft lullaby-like tone wouldn’t make people fall asleep if she were really quiet.
“Lazy bones… Loafing through the day… How do you expect to get a dime that way…?” To Jasmine’s satisfaction, the dog’s eyes fluttered, and soon the dog curled up and slept. She picked the dog up, safely placing it in an alleyway before continuing down the street.
You’ll never make a dime that way…
“Well, well…” Said a voice quietly to himself. “It looks like she just sang to the mutt, then it fell asleep…” A long ‘hmm’ noise came from the man in the shadows, “I should stay back here…” His eyes followed the strange girl until she was nearly out of sight.
… Never heard a word I say…
Jasmine turned her head, hearing a strange noise come from behind her while she was watching the Christmas decorations being put up. Her eyes shifted from one side to the other, as she was almost certain something was wrong. But something had always wrong to her, that there was always a lurking shadow in her life. Knowing that she didn’t want to have a mental breakdown in the middle of a calm, but crowded street, she dismissed the subject and continued watching.
“THOSE DAMN MUTANTS!” Screeched out a husky, male voice that could be heard from a good couple of blocks on the busy streets, sounding as if he wanted to bring down the world at that exact moment- the authorities had still not arrived. .
Jasmine really paid attention that time. She turned fully around trying to figure out where the furious voice came from. The silent girl soon found the owner of a small thrift store, a big man who was loudly steaming over a broken glass door and a bit of his merchandise stolen. She reached for her book, writing down her question before she tapped the man on the shoulder and showed him. “Did you see what the guy who did this look like?”
The man turned to find a teen dame almost his height shoving a piece of paper in his face. “Wha… The guy? Yeah, the little b*****d was a short guy, with huge forearms and a monkey-tail. Uhh…” The guy stopped, scratching his head to remember what he was wearing. “He was in red ‘gangster’ clothes, with the sideways-hat and everything. Why d’you have that book, anyway?”
The silent girl blinked, quickly jotting down a couple of words. “Cancer.” She lied, hoping that lying wouldn’t get her in too much trouble. “And thank you.”
Jasmine sat on the concrete ground, writing down the question that she would have to use to find the guy. For the next thirty minutes, the girl had combed out a couple of the New York streets, asking “Have you seen a man in loose, red clothes, with large forearms and a monkey tail?” to any and every store owner. She poured through every crowd, judging every man’s forearm that she came across until she had come up to another corner, seeing blue lights and a crowd. Hoping to coming closer to finding the monkey-man, she flipped to a clean sheet of paper, jotting down her question before showing it to a nearby man. “What happened here?”
The man turned, looking at the question and showing a small smile. “Well, some crazy evolved came in and wrecked the place- stole some of the stuff, too.” Jasmine blinked. What the Hell? She had noticed that the thrift owner’s store had been pretty small, but still held a lot of things, but this store was even bigger and had been completely cleaned out! She gritted her teeth in frustration, turning back around and weaving away from the incoming crowd that had come because of the new five o’clock hour.
“So… To be carrying all of that stuff… he would have to have some kind of hideout nearby to store all of this…” Jasmine thought vigorously, still keeping her eyes sharp on finding the man.
“Remember people!” She heard a policeman shout over the crowd. “We’re looking for a Caucasian male in a pinstripe business suit, slightly large forearms, and a monkey tail! If you see him, call the police!”
What?
She had been misinformed? Yeah, the thrift store owner looked incompetent, but someone couldn’t have been that off, could they? No, this man had to be nearby, since he had time to change. But what about the differing forearm sizes? “Maybe… Maybe he can change them!” s**t! Jasmine had been looking at forearms the entire time, so the thief could’ve gotten away!
“So whatcha think, Lazy Bones? Like what you see?”
Jasmine turned, seeing a slightly older man with a small goatee forming on his slightly chubby face. He was wearing a cultural black coffee-drinker uniform- or that was what the silent girl nicknamed- with tiny forearms and his tail wrapping around one of his wrists.
“… You!” She hissed, using her voice to try to hurt the man’s ears.
He shook his head, somewhat brushing off her meek attack. “Nuh-uh, Lazy Bones. You won’t catch me that way! I went and got earplugs before you showed up again! I saw you sing that mutt to sleep, and that won’t happen to me!”
The girl’s eyes widened. He… Knew…? s**t, there went her surprise attack. “S-so…” She choked back her fear, not wanting to show weakness by stuttering and a weak voice. “…Why are you back here?” Jasmine asked, her feeble voice now cold and laced with malice.
The monkey-man grinned, pointing to the crime scene with a bony finger. “To watch them. I know what they’re looking for, and what you were looking for, and changed what I looked like to throw you guys off.”
“So why did you come up to me when you knew I was looking for you?” She raised her voice a little.
The man shivered, somewhat reacting to her voice since she had managed to raise her voice enough to cause him pain. “Because I can snap your neck if I want to.”
“And I can cripple you by only using my voice. I haven’t even starting screaming yet, but you’re in pain…” She gave a hostile grin, seeing a bit of hesitation in the man’s eyes. “The eardrums play a huge part a human’s balance. With broken eardrums, you’ll never walk straight again.” She spoke with a frightening animosity, now carrying a threat. Jasmine wanted to end this peacefully, but this guy wasn’t joking when he gave the threat to snap her neck, even though it looked like the monkey-man was having second thoughts.
The man winced, now feeling her harshly-spoken words now tearing through the man’s hardly-useful ear plugs. “Like I’ll let that happen!” He yelled to the girl before taking off into the crowded street.
Jasmine cursed in her head, starting to pursue the man after he had ran away. The chase had continued at a fast pace for almost twenty minutes until he had led the girl into an almost abandoned street and over a trashcan he had attempted to jump over. Jasmine sped up to catch the opportunity, practically sprinting to jump on the man’s back to make sure he wouldn’t get away. The monkey-man cursed repeatedly- his arms had fallen under him and had almost broken due to what weight the girl put on him. Jasmine reached for his plugs, pulling them out before singing the German Lullaby her mother had taught her when she was little. “Guten ah… Bent gut nauckt… Mit Rosen, be dauckt… Mit ne Cline be skeit… Schloof unter de deck… Morgan froo, wen got wille, wierst do wie deir gah weickt…”
The monkey man shut his eyes tight, trying to ignore the music she sang, but soon drifted off to sleep. Jasmine smiled when she heard the sound of snoring, turning the man over to see if he was hurt. Not really, but his arms seemed to be sprained- but that could be fixed easily. She untied a bit of nylon wire that had kept the garbage can in place and tied it around his arms, carrying him out of the abandoned street on her back. When she reached a small store, she knocked on the door with a free hand.
The owner of the store opened the door, then looked down at the sound-asleep man being carried by a girl.
“Call…” Jasmine tried to speak at a good medium that wouldn’t put them to sleep or hurt them. “Call… The police… Please…” She took in a large breath when the shopkeeper allowed her to come inside. Sitting down, her sane mind started to tear apart her decision. "What were you thinking? Mom and Aunt Mary-Anne's going to have your a** on a silver pladder when they find out about this!" The girl smiled, however, feeling a sense of satisfaction.
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Posted: Sun Jan 06, 2008 2:23 am
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Posted: Sun Jan 06, 2008 2:24 am
Yeah, we Deserved Coal...
Cast (In order of appearance):
Chares
Susan
Ace
Candy
Joshua
Graveler
Jasmine
Raleigh
Ruriska
Erol
Keagan and Kaden
Coal-animals
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Posted: Sun Jan 06, 2008 2:25 am
Because I CAN!
Cast (in order of appearance):
Ace
Jasmine
Guest Appearance by:
Jim
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Posted: Fri Feb 15, 2008 12:14 pm
Focus, That's Your Cue!
The tight-closed amber shine of he setting sun had captivated Jasmine Peterson, her light blue eyes wide in awe of the light being reflected off of the gargantuan buildings’ windows- as opposed to the flat grassland of her hometown in Ireland. New York City, to the silent girl, had been a rush of excitement and amazement, and this day was no less. It was another night of going to the theater to watch a play, but today she clutched in her arms a copy of the final draft of her first noteworthy play, Focus, to personally show to a group of small-time producers. She first gained their attention and interest of the two-hour fantasy play by being guilty of not turning a page carrying a small bit of dialog from Focus while writing an apology to one of the producers for accidentally bumping into them.
Of course, her feet shifted with the movement of the line that was beginning to dissolve behind the now opened doors. Jasmine, however, filtered herself out of the crowd and up the staircase- to the boxes in which she was invited to enjoy their more recent production.
The room which led to the boxes seemed o some straight from a Renaissance theater, and Jasmine half expected that a man donned in a flowing, black cape and a half-mask that shielded the world from his grotesque burn marks would fly down from the ceiling, carrying a noose in which to end her life. Although the Phantom of the Opera seemed to steer himself clear of the moderately-sized, but old and rusty theater, for the sake of her vivid imagination’s safety did she keep her left hand at the level of her eyes.
Her arrival— in box five, no less— seemed to shock some of the younger of the producers, who had never seen a person actually walk into the box to pitch their play. They all looked tired, but excited about the opening night of another play, which she couldn’t remember the name of since she was so excited about her own. One of the producers— a young man with inky-black hair stretched beyond its limits with hair gel and soft green eyes offered a seat next to him. The girl smiled, pulling out the notebook that she had previously been shielding maternally behind her Focus script. “Thank you, sir.”
The man stared at the piece of paper, his brow doing the best it could to furrow under the stress of the hair gel. “Man, you must be some writer, if you write that much.” He grinned.
Jasmine leered at the man, taking the rash statement as an attack on her psyche before turning back to her book to write again. “I’m a mute.” She wrote, its blunt tone bursting from the page before showing the man.
His cocky demeanor never diminished— he actually smiled when he read her sentence. “Ah. Then why don’t you use sign language? I can do that.” The producer showed off by spelling out the first five letters of the alphabet in sign language.
Jasmine scoffed, turning back to her paper. “So you can’t read or write?”
“Urr…” The man’s grin faded, now looking a bit angry as some stray hairs pulled loose of the hair gel’s grip. “I can read and write, I just… Urm…” He sat, dumbfounded as he tried to think of a response. “I just don’t like to.”
“So why are you a producer if you don’t like to read?”
The man stood still again, then retorted angrily. “Look, I’m just taking the business up after my dad!”
The silent girl seemed to have stolen the man’s grin. “So you have a family of snarky businessmen—sharks, so to speak?”
The man’s face twisted curiously. “No! We don’t live anywhere near water!”
“So you’re a land shark?”
“No, no sharks, just people.”
“Snarky Land-shark people.”
The man’s eyes narrowed sharply. “You are a writer. You have that twisted and weird sense of humor.”
“It comes as you write, I guess.” Jasmine smiled again, having the last word of their argument before the lights dimmed and the show began.
The show itself was great, apparently a showoff of their ability to spot winning plays by the words of one boasting old man in the front of the row. As some of the group—wives and children by the look of it—began to clear out of the room, Jasmine tried to swallow the lump in her throat. She was facing one of the old men, a man who seemed to be in control of most of the production company. He shuffled around in his chair, holding his own copy of the script in his hands, and was flipping the pages, as if he were re-reading the work.
“Samuel, you’ll translate what she writes for me?”
The young man that she had argued with smiled wryly and nodded his head. He leaned over so he would be able to read her words. It was then that she realized her mistake of arguing with anyone. "Of course I will."
Hesitating, the silent girl turned to her paper. "Hello, my name is Jasmine Peterson, and I'm here to have my play reviewed."
Samuel cleared his throat. "I'm Jasmine, and I'm here to pitch my show."
Jasmine shook her head at the man, but ignored him as she continued. "Alright. I know I seem very young, and this is the only play I've finished, but I think it could be well enough to..."
She stopped, her face turning pale as the man began to misread her notes.
"I know I'm not that good, but this will be a hit." He grinned and winked at Jasmine, then to the other producers.
"It has the potential of a masterpiece..." The old man said, looking the girl in the eyes. "... But it might not be a good idea to produce a play with a different religion than Christianity..."
The girl gave a silent huff at the man. "Well, don't you think it's the perfect time to start?"
Samuel retorted back, almost as if he were acting. "Not everyone's a Christian, you know. Plus, many other plays that you have done feature Jewish and Muslim people."
The old man gave Jasmine a glare. "But the stars? That's insane!"
"So are genocide-inducing dictators, but you use him a lot."
This time, Samuel echoed her words exactly-- the writer was finally starting to understand what it took to get in in this world.
"... Ugh..." The man moaned, rubbing his temples slowly. "Fine, we'll do your play. Freddie!"
A small, middle-aged man who looked as if he were scared to death appeared in the doorway of the box. "We've got five months until we do auditions. Peterson--"
Jasmine had already stood up as if to leave before her name was called; she turned around.
"You'll be here at every rehersal."
The silent girl beamed happily, nodding before finally taking her leave from the theater, clutching Focus tightly and smiling-- her first play was actually going to be shown in a theater!
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