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 Posted: Wed May 14, 2008 4:09 pm
Reserved for Who the hell is that
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Posted: Wed May 14, 2008 4:10 pm
Appling strangers [Reserved]
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Posted: Wed May 14, 2008 4:11 pm
Emo rocks in your socks make you trip over obvious potholes [Reserved]
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Posted: Wed May 14, 2008 4:12 pm
Which witch wants which watch? [Reserved]
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Posted: Wed May 14, 2008 4:13 pm
Screw Jobs are for Walls not people [Reserved]
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Posted: Sat May 17, 2008 12:24 pm
Polly and Tango part duex [Reserved]
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Posted: Sat May 17, 2008 12:25 pm
Reserved for The Necklace
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Posted: Sun Jun 08, 2008 4:04 pm
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Posted: Sat Jun 14, 2008 12:14 pm
Reserved for Sometihng witting about Kiwi and Mango
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Posted: Thu Jul 17, 2008 10:17 am
Maturity Prompt (Required To Teach Teen Stage) Learning how to be responsible is an important part of growing up. In order for your scent to mature into a teen, they need to prove that they are capable of taking responsibility for themselves and/or others. That said, your scent comes home one day with an amazing story that shows how responsible they are. They have rescued a cat, saved up enough money to buy themselves something nice, or saved the world from an evil wizard that tried to divide by zero. Whether it was ultimately to serve themselves or others, your scent's tale will show traits of maturity that will let them blossom into angry, hormone-driven monsters that act nothing like the sweet children that you fondly remember having. Be as creative as you'd like with their story, and remember:RESPONSIBLITY, DO YOU HAS IT?!
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Posted: Fri Jul 18, 2008 4:08 pm
Her mind was spinning, one thought coming to her head, but never staying long enough to be dissected and inspected before another bounced in, tossing the first away with it's eagerness to be pondered over. She let her mind wander from topic to topic not attempting to stop the process where no thought seemed to connect to the other. The seat beneath her was hard and uncomfortable. She shifted in her chair, leaning back as far as possible, her doe orbs moving away from the table in front of her to the sky before her.
It was a dreary day, she decided. The air was thick with humidity and fog hugged the ground. Wisps stretched and reached for her legs with icy fingers, attempting to draw her into it's grasp. She didn't mind, and didn't bother to kick away the vapors.
With a sigh, she leaned forward, picking up the cigarette from it's spot on the ashtray. Raising it to her lips she took a drag, letting out a shaky breath as she placed it back on it's spot. The smoke that rose from her lips twirled and twisted around itself, a smaller version of the smoke that tickled her ankles and crawled up her legs. She watched as the smoke curled in on itself before dispersing itself completely.
So maybe she hadn't coped as well as she would have liked. Maybe she didn't cope like most people would. She hadn't locked herself in her room and cried for hours. She hadn't tried to force herself to believe Carrie was alive and well. Hadn't screamed and threw a fit, tossing papers about and acting like a child. She hadn't laid on the floor, emotionless and dead, trying to wrap her mind around the concept. She had, instead, cried once on a stranger's shoulder, and then forced herself to believe that that was all she had the right to cry.
It had taken about a month for her mind to snap from the corner it had been trapped, pushed away so that she couldn't resume her thoughts on her friend's death, and she took to the cancer sticks for comfort.
She didn't even like the things. Hated the way it felt when she sucked in. Hated the way she coughed half the time. But she was quickly becoming dependent on them. Not as a mere addiction, but as a comfort factor. It had become her Linus blanket so to speak. Still, she tried to keep it a secret. Ashamed of her bad habit, she only pulled out the objects when Tango wasn't around to catch her with them.
Briefly she wondered where he'd gone out to today. He rarely stayed home, it seemed. And when he was home, he lounged around on his bed or a couch. If she hadn't known better, she'd have guessed he truly despised her. Yet she knew the boy held some affection for her, and was really, just a lazy bum who enjoyed his independence. And that was perfectly fine with her for now.
She leaned forward, taking another drag. Her eyes, this time, strayed away from the dancing vapors to the forgotten paper that laid so innocently on her table. She'd come out to write her article on- on-...what was she supposed to write again? She couldn't recall. Not that it mattered much. She had instead ended up not doing her work at all, but writing pathetic attempts at musings, trying to get her thoughts out of her mind.
She shook her head, and shivered as a bitter chill wind passed through her body. She was half tempted to go inside, but doubted anyone in this cheap little cafe wanted to be intoxicated by her vial habit.
Yet another drag.
The ashtray already had two butts in it. She inhaled another puff, trying to forget, while her lungs decayed. Idly, she wondered what Samuel would say to her if he knew what she was doing. He'd probably berate her, once more, for her vices. This time, not so jokingly.
A bitter chuckle escaped her lips as she took in another breath in of the cigarette. Instead of returning it to it's place on the ashtray, she opted to holding it between her fingers as she leaned back in her chair one more, letting her head tilt back. She found it funny that, to her shock, she really didn't care what Samuel thought of her. Not now at least.
He didn't know her. Not really. No, he was like some hero in a paperback novel you could pick up in a drugstore. handsome, polite, kind, and rich. She was probably the heroine's best friend. The one that urged on the relationship, told her to go for the gold. Now- if only she could remember who the heroin was.
If she was honest with herself, she really, truly did wish that he knew her. That brief flickering moment when she had thought he had been telling her the truth, that he in fact liked her as well, was dashed- shattered- the first time she picked up a cigarette. With the suicidal object, reality seemed that much clearer. Perhaps that was why she kept smoking. ...Or maybe she was already addicted, physically, to the substance.
Damn.
"May?"
The voice had her head snapping up right and soon emerald clashed with brown as she stared into the eyes of her son. "Tango?" She questioned, forgetting her dirty secret lay in her fingers, begging to be noticed.
"What are you doing here?" He questioned, his brow furrowing. It wasn't like May to hang out at cafes, not really. She only seemed to go on occasion because he, in fact, liked them. He'd never seen her go on her own accord.
Her eyes moved down to the paper in front of her, and he followed her gaze to see her elegant scrawl on the paper. Her voice brought his eyes back onto her face. "Writing." He nodded, the answer making sense. His eyes took in the sight of the ashtray before the paper, but assumed it just had yet to be picked up by some flustered waitress. "And you?"
He cocked his head to the side a bit, before pulling a chair away from another table and sitting in it across from her. "I bought music book I've been eying. I saved up for it with the extra money you gave me." It was her turn to nod, proud that her son had managed to save up money for something. "Che~" It was a drawled sound as he slouched in his seat. "I had to stop going to the cafe for a week!"
May smiled warmly at her son, leaning forward, her elbow placed on the table, holding her chin up in her palm. "Well, for what it's worth, I'm proud that you were responsible enough to save up your allowance like that. Want me to get you a coffee?"
Her words were lost on the boy however, as he seemed transfixed by something else. "Tango?" Still, his gaze did not waver, and slowly, she lifted her chin out of her palm to follow his sight line. She gasped in horror as she realized he was staring at the cigarette that lay clasped between her pointer and middle fingers.
"What-?" He asked, his eyes narrowing dangerously.
A sudden spike of defensiveness rushed through her at his unfinished question. She was his mother- he had no right to question her on her motives. "What?" She snapped the question back at him, and his eyes widened for a fraction of a second out of shock before narrowing even thinner then before. "I'm an adult, Tango. I can do whatever the hell I please." And then the shame set in, and the guilt that twisted her stomach and made her nauseas. She thought she was going to throw up. "Whether you like it or not." She finished weakly, her eyes moving from his to the table, not able to meet his intense emerald stare.
A moment of awkward silence passed between the pair, and she felt her heart sinking. What had she done? How could she have been so thoughtless?
The sound of metal screeching against concrete had her looking up again, her eyes questioning as his closed and he shoved his hands in his pockets.
Was it just her, or did he seem older then he had before? This wasn't the same boy, she realized with a jolt, that had been complaining about yet another burnt dinner last night.
And again, her heart sank into her stomach, with the realization that Tango was growing before her very eyes. He'd been with her less than two years, and it seemed he was so much older than that time frame. She bit back the tears that rose, unbidden in her eyes. She didn't want him to grow up- not yet. She wanted him to stay with her longer than that. He'd already become such an integral part of her daily routine. Her heart shattered, yet again, when she realized that sooner then she was ready- he'd be moving on out. A lump formed in her throat, and she felt the desire to throw up, and cry, cry, cry.
"Come on." He spoke, and bitting on her bottom lip, she stared at him with watery- questioning eyes. "Let's go."
"Go where?" Her voice cracked pathetically, even to her own ears.
"I think you need some lavender tea or something. I'm sure Samuel will have some." And for the first time since they met, he gave her a smile. A true, genuine smile, offering his mother his hand.
And the dam broke, just like that. She chocked a sob and nodded, raising to her feet and taking his hand. Sniffling pathetically, she let him lead her off to his best friends house, wondering when, exactly he'd become so mature.
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