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 Posted: Mon Feb 01, 2010 1:53 pm
-- Reserved for awakening rp --
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Posted: Thu Feb 04, 2010 10:19 am
-- Reserved for awakening response --
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Posted: Thu Feb 04, 2010 10:22 am
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Posted: Thu Feb 04, 2010 10:23 am
  Dress to ImpressWords: 997
Looking back on it now, he should have known better. The boys that played tag, the girls who talked to him at the party, and the few who sat next to him when they shared cake had returned back to sneering and snickering. Their new taunts hurt him with renewed force. What he wore, how he ran, that he cheated during one of the games; these were all passed around, but not as much as the present that was given. It seemed that letting his mother pick the gift had been a mistake, and Abigale had been the unwilling owner of a pair of white, ladies gloves. When his mother was wrapping them, Ladon agreed that any girl would like them as his mother often wore gloves when going out to dinner. He’d been wrong. What girls wanted were jewelry and makeup, ways to make them older, mature, but certainly not ‘young ladies’.
It would have been better if he had stayed at home and had been insulted for turning down the offer, but now he had a swelling pain that throbbed in his slender chest. He hated himself for going and expecting something to change, and he hated his classmates even more. He spent the next few days feeling sick and refusing to talk about snooty, slut-faced Abigale’s party to anyone.
With his pillow wet, he did learned a few things. The first was that getting your hopes up too high was your mistake, and it wasn’t smart. It was better to expect the worse, because it was likely that was how it would play out. Secondly was that just because you were invited to someone’s home didn’t mean you were wanted. A invite wasn’t always friendly and was sometimes just for show. And lastly, he had no idea what girls actually wanted or liked. Something his dad would probably say most men suffered from.
Today was no different.
The teenager looked at his bed, nervous and wondering if it would've been better if he never got Tate’s phone number. The little post-it sat on his desk, looking at him from across the room to remind him that he was way over his antisocial head.
It had been years since he went to someone’s house, and he still had no idea what would make a girl happy with him. Certainly not gloves.
On his bed sat three types of dress from the three sections that made up three parts of his closet. The first was a black suit picked from 3 others he owned, given to wear on special occasions. It was dark black and had only been worn twice. Once to a court hearing and the other time to his uncle's funeral. The second was a pair of dark brown pants. A matching milky crème top laid on top of the pants with tiny buttons running down the front and a mahogany brown ribbon serving as a tie. This was something he wore outside of school, away from the places where his peers would see him, and took up almost half of his closet. It was the clothes he liked, but also the ones that raised eyebrows. Comfortable and Uncomfortable depending at the same time. Lastly, there was a dark blue sweater and faded jeans, something picked out from the clothes that he wore out on the open streets with the confidence that something so average wouldn't turn heads.
He debated with himself. The suit might be too much, and he didn’t want her to think he was an idiot. There was the normal outfit, but would that look as if he didn’t care? Maybe he shouldn’t care? Maybe this was all stupid and he should text her that he had the flu, than ignore her till she eventually forgot about ever meeting him. No. He wanted to keep seeing her. If he could have someone to talk to on a regular basis, than maybe he would be reintroduced into bigger circles.
“And stop spending most of my time talking to you instead.” He looked up on the bed where his clothes were laid out to a stuffed, blue dog. It wasn't unusual for Ladon to have conversations with the dog or any number of the plushies that called his room home. This habit had been something he'd done since he could remember. “Well, what do you think?”
Ladon looked at the clothes he liked to wear, the crème shirt and brown pants, and then the jeans and blue sweater. Tate had only seen him in his gym clothes. He could go to her house and see if she even cared if he wore the clothes he liked. The clothes that most boys didn’t wear unless they wanted to be thrown into a dumpster.
But if she didn’t like it, it could ruin his chance.
It was better not to cause any ripples.
Taking the suit and the brown outfit, he put them back into the closet and went back to gather up the shirt and jeans. “Here’s….”
Hoping?
No.
“…to not ******** this up.”
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Posted: Thu Feb 04, 2010 10:25 am
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Posted: Thu Feb 04, 2010 10:26 am
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Posted: Thu Feb 04, 2010 10:29 am
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Posted: Thu Feb 04, 2010 10:34 am
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Posted: Thu Feb 04, 2010 10:35 am
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Posted: Thu Feb 04, 2010 10:35 am
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Posted: Thu Feb 04, 2010 10:36 am
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Posted: Thu Feb 04, 2010 10:37 am
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Posted: Fri Feb 05, 2010 1:58 pm
First Hand ExperienceWords: 1,401
It wasn’t the type of place he ever saw himself in. Of all the rat holes he shouldn’t be walking in at night, this was the one he both wished to avoid and best suited his needs. Not the needs that most desperate citizens ran here for -easy sex from the cheap to the taboo, the drugs that could be popped, smoked, or injected, and all the bootlegs, blackmail, and black market business - all that society frowned upon was here. Which was why he was here. The dark-haired teenager moved along the streets, rubbing a shoulder to get some warmth as he nervously made his way down. Even in his uniform, he felt uncomfortable and out of place in Destiny’s City’s Red Light District. Years of being told where not to go had made him afraid and on edge about nearing the part of town which he only heard rumors about. A car peeled rubber in the distance, a scuffle was heard down a dark alleyway, and red curtains waved out of a window to let some of the mounting heat escape outside. Streetlights were left flickering or busted, and what few neon lights there were only stretched the shadows.
“Hey baby-darling. How about you spend some time here with momma?” A group of women cackled from across the street, puffing their cigarettes and no doubt freezing to death in miniskirts and skin-tight tops.
“Oh come now. Little sugar like you needs to be in bed. I can tuck you in nice and keep you warm.” The very thought made his stomach twist and he felt disgust before pity. Whatever bed she was offering probably had more things infesting it than just bed bugs.
Ears turning pink, he hurried past them, keeping his head low as he became more and more aware how out of place he really was.
“Ah, come on ladies. Sugar dear probably running off to his man. Sweet thing like that. Bet jail-bait like him caught someone rreeaall nice." The women laughed again, their voices trailing behind him as he turned a corner.
Who were they to jeer and taunt him? It wasn’t like he had ‘screw toy’ written on his back. It was bad enough to be here, but to be mistaken as one of the corner-side hookers was just too much. It made every part of him sick to his stomach, and brought on an unwelcome nervousness at the suggestions they put in his head. While he was prepared for his uniform to be picked on, he was proud of it and secretly liked the added detail of the green bows. It was a confession he would take to the grave, and not something he wanted some nasty skanks to make filthy. He knew what they thought without them saying it. Who could blame them in the end? The prostitutes here saw more traffic than the streets did, and a boy wandering in the dark dressed up in black and bows really wasn’t helping them or anyone else think differently. Even if it made him fit in, he didn’t want to be associated with these people. The people who gave up and worked like this. Their hungry eyes made him uneasy, a few falling on him as he walked, and it made him unsure if they were after his money or something else. These people were a different corner of the underbelly of this city, and he wanted neither himself or the Negaverse to be a part of it. They were of a finer class in his opinion. Higher up than all of them, and it was these people that made their city worse. If they had so much energy to waste on these sort of activities, he’d just take it and do the world a service.
Energy. It's what he was after, and what seemed to him what starseeds were made of and used for. From what he learned from Serandite, starseeds were founds in people, hidden deep in their chest. While he didn't get the logic in this, he'd seen enough magic, was a living product of something out of this world, to take her words seriously. If he was to excel, he had to find someone he could steal a starseed from.
He spent time thinking about it. There was the fear of being too close to a person, being in range of an attack. The idea of having your hand in someone's chest made him think it was a very vulnerable position, and only just over 5 feet tall, he couldn't just take on any behemoth. Not at the first go, and it was good if he could find someone who was in the open and incapable of defending themselves. This lead to him thinking about drugs and alcohol. Either state left people passed out in any number of dangerous and secluded places, all of which were perfect for him to test out starseed harvesting.
In a place like this, it wasn't long that he came upon a man slumped in an alley, but upon coming towards him, found him covered in his own vomit. Nope. Not doing it. There was no way he was touching a man covered in his own gunk, and he felt he could be picky. He had standards after all and a working nose.
Turning, he went to find another person, and after a few more minutes of navigating the back streets, he found a man sleeping on a stoop. Dressed in a heavy overcoat and smelling of rock gut vodka. His hood was turned up as the man slumbered deep in the confines of his coat, no doubt trying to ward off hypothermia. Being winter, this wasn't the season to be camping under the stars.
Wolframite paused, standing before the man, and looking at where he knew his chest was, and the two hands resting on the man's stomach. He looked helpless enough, and the heavy snoring told him he wasn't a light sleeper either.
Now or never.
Moving over, he rose up the first step and peered at the jacket. Did he have to remove it to be at the chest directly bare or .....how did this work? Dive right in?
He decided to peel the jacket just a bit and ....reach in. Already he felt squeemish and biting his lips, reached over to slowly undo a button, checking around for cops and any witnesses. What a way to feel like a pervert!
He undid one button, and slowly undid another until he could open the the coat to show the man's neck and upper chest. A heavy smell of morning breath and booze blew up into his face, and he turned to suck in some fresh, cold air. Turning again, he started to reach forward.
Ba-dump.
His fingers drew closer, and he slipped them into the jacket.
Ba-dump.
He could feel the skin first, but then, like magic, he felt it evaporate and felt it get cold.
Ba-dump.
His hand sank deeper in and then he felt something hot, warm, and firm. It was like a rock that was left out in the sun during summer, but was smooth like glass.
Ba-dump.
He gripped it tightly. The man woke, and a hand shot up to grab his arm. Startled, Wolframite shot his hand back, empty, and pulled away.
"Whut ya doin' there, sweetie?" The man was obviously drunk to think he was a sweetie. Panicing, he started to tug, but even while plastered, the man was strong. He started to pull him close, breath hot on his neck.
"I jush wanna talk."
Talk my a**! You didn't give someone's arm a vice-grip hold like that when you wanted to talk. It really didn't help that he had been reaching into the man's clothes. From the way the dunkard was looking at him, checking out his outfit, he could already figure out what this was leading too, which was why he did what he was taught in self-defense.
Turning, he kneed the man in the groan, and then ran like hell. Screw a starseed! His was probably all nasty anyways!
Turning tail, he bolted up to a roof and left the man howling on the sidewalk, grabbing his pants.
Well, he didn't get a starseed, but maybe he managed to keep someone disgusting from breeding.
It certainly wasn't one of his better moments.
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Posted: Fri Feb 05, 2010 5:38 pm
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Posted: Mon Feb 08, 2010 7:26 pm
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