|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Mon Jun 23, 2008 6:33 pm
Windy days like this were the ones best remembered in her mind. On these days she could sit beside a babbling brook, or beneath the leaves of a huge umbrella tree. She could sit and simply exist, instead of having to be or interact with these other people that didn't seem to share the same world as her. When she looked up, she saw beauty. Other people saw nothingness, going onto forever. How could that be? How could it be she shared this same earth with them? Nevertheless, she smiled and sat herself down against the trunk of a tree. Her slim body easily nestled there and she folded her dress around her neatly as she adjusted the locket around her neck.
Taking out a book, she proceeded to open it and read quietly beneath the deep blue sky on a warm summer day.
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Jun 24, 2008 11:13 am
 "In a sense, it don't come easy... in a sense, it never will.
Accidents mean no one's guilty--ignorance means someone's killed..."
((Link to the Song--Ignore the video: x))
Always the musical one, he was...
"So I asked our Mr. Mellor how to get to where one's going...
And he points to his survival, and he points me down the road--
And I go on...
Wonderin' if I've got a soul...
Counting down the hours 'til it goes."
Trotting along the ways with a little bounce to his step, the small male seemed to always be singing (or at least listening) to something--and oftentimes, though he had a wonderful voice, he would later find himself embarrassed that he would burst into song. But today was different, he surmised to himself as he made his way. No one was around to hear him, that he knew about--and he certainly wasn't listening to something that might be incriminating, like most of his music. He had... slightly dirty tastes, when it came to American music--after all, coming from Germany and knowing every Rammstein song his family played with a fond fervor, he couldn't really help it.
"On a dark, wet night in April,
On a street in Jersey where
I went looking for some writing
That I knew would not be there,
And a punter from the Pelhams,
And the Police in the rain
Were concerned more with a car
Than with the fact the light had changed
But after listening all morning
As I drove down 95,
To a story of detainees
Who were barely kept alive,
I could deal with trying to process
Pigeons acting like they're doves,
But not with interference
From the power lines, above.
As I go on,
Wondering if I've got a soul, and
Counting down the hours 'til it goes."
Slowly, he seemed to fall into his own world, his legs still taking him where they would, as his eyes fell closed to the reality around him.
"And oh, precautions--yes, precautions.
But if you're playing with a gun,
Well, you could kill someone...
And in the dark, it's hard to know a friend...
But I'm not angry.
I won't be forever angry.
As I'm walking toward tomorrow
With a rifle in my hand,
And I'm thinking 'bout New England,
And I'm missing old Japan,
And a mountain in California,
Where a spring runs hot and cold.
If I told you I felt ageless,
Would you tell me I'm not old?
As I go on,
Wondering if I've got a soul, and
Counting down the hours 'til it goes."
Strange, how the song seemed to fit him. He was rather peculiar in choosing what he sang about; that it gave him away, in small bits and increments. However, only anyone who was listening closely could tell.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Jun 24, 2008 7:23 pm
The day seemed to freshen each breath of crisp air and float the whole world away on a divine wind. Her eyes and mind were lost to the decrepit pages of an old novel. It was a love story, like most of those she read. However, unlike modern day novels, it had all the ancient finesse and charm of something beautiful. It couldn't be considered cliche because it was the stuff that all the other things had been made from. It was the original, and it was wonderful. Few things could disturb or interrupt the canine as she flipped the pages in vigor.
Few things but voices. Or rather, a voice. Just one. It wasn't angelic by any means, but the voice seemed to have a story to tell and by gods it would tell it. She cocked her head to the side and lifted her ears a little, listening. Moment after moment passed on bated breath and she finally heard the direction from which it came. Closing her book gently and setting it down beside her, she stood and looked in the direction of the other who seemed not far away at all now.
She opened her mouth to speak, and then decided better of it. Perhaps he had more to sing and she was quite loathe to interrupt him in such a ferver of passion.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Jun 25, 2008 1:02 pm
As soon as the last chorus died down, the young male seemed not to pause very long, indicating that perhaps he was listening to some kind of musical device. The next song was a slew of Japanese, and he spoke it with a decidedly perfected articulation. He, admittedly, seemed to project his voice much more masterfully when he wasn't limited to the singing style and the awkward range of Ted Leo.
In fact, singing along with Gackt only seemed to make his voice into that angelic overtone one almost expected from someone of his physical demeanor. True, he was pretty--and true, he had a voice that could compare to an angel's--but there was a sort of... humble air about him that made all this seem quite usual. He didn't project arrogance or spite--in fact, seemed only to have a lack of such things. He almost portrayed a sort of marked pacifism.
However, his steps once bouncing with a lively melody, they drew slowly and much more languid along with the beat of "Fragrance", his long-furred tail swirling idly behind him, controlled by a mind of its own (as with most cats), his mismatched eyes closed, still, to his surroundings as his passion led him nigh.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Jun 26, 2008 11:48 am
His artistic ability to switch languages and tones and moods seemed almost godly. The pup's eyes were caught in awe. Gently, she fingered the silver locket around her neck. It was a nervous habit of hers, and she, more oft than not, didn't quite realize she was doing it. Fiddling with it was a sign that was truly captivated. Her large misty steel eyes watched him quietly. She was desperate to say something but knew that it would still be rude.
Canting her head to the side, she sighed a little, smiling softly. Then she realized it might be enough to show her appreciation with a simple clap. It might disrupt him, but then again, she really didn't think it would. He seemed so lost in his own self and music. And so she began to clap gently, laughing very lightly.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Jun 29, 2008 3:20 pm
Being a linguist made the transition only natural. Really, he knew ten tongues--but this never came up in conversation--sometimes, it was only known that he recognized and spoke a language when it began to pour from his mouth. An odd one, this Aquarius was.
The thin ears of the Turkish Angora cat twirled when he took notice of the clapping, and with that, his eyes flashed in curiosity toward the supposed direction of the sound. He was blind in the left eye and deaf in the left ear, so he was usually pretty bad at telling, but with a scan of the area in his curious silence, he seemed to lock upon the culprit.
Hm. She was purple, he mused. He did like the color... in fact, it was his favorite. He smiled a little to himself as he thought that he'd probably never tire of looking at her, one lithe, long-fingered hand sweeping away the headphone at the base of his ear-shell, to open him to communication--something Air signs like himself seemed unable to get enough of.
"Oh... eh... pardon me," he assured with a nervous chuckle. "When I hear music, I always have the most fanciful urge to start singing."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
