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 Posted: Thu Jan 08, 2009 11:42 am
Follow through
Make your dreams come true
Don't give up the fight
You will be alright
'Cause there's no one
Like you in the universe
Don't be afraid
What your mind consumes
You should make a stand
Stand up for what you believe
And tonight we can truly say
Together we're invincible
During the struggle, they will pull us down
But please, please, let's use this chance to turn things around
And tonight we can truly say
Together we're invincible
Do it on your own
It makes no difference to me
What you leave behind
What you choose to be
And whatever they say
Your soul's unbreakable
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Posted: Thu Jan 22, 2009 8:55 pm
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Posted: Thu Jan 22, 2009 8:57 pm
 Name: Milo Wells
Nicknames: ---
Age: Cabbage
D.o.B: ---
Species: ---
Sex: Male
Height: ---
Weight: ---
Hair Color: ---
Eye Color: ---
Complexion: ---
Distinguished Characteristics: ---
Hobbies: ---
Likes: ---
Dislikes: ---
Personality: ---
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Posted: Thu Jan 22, 2009 8:58 pm
Name: Penelope Wells
Nicknames: Pen, Penny
Age: 25
D.o.B: April 4th
Species: Human
Sex: Female
Height: 5'3"
Weight: 150 lb
Hair Color: Cherry Red
Eye Color: Brown
Complexion: Mocha
Distinguished Characteristics: ---
Occupation: Aspiring Actress | Waitress
Hobbies: Cooking, Television, Classical Music
Personality: ---
Background: ---
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Posted: Thu Jan 22, 2009 9:14 pm
Lowell d'Avignon: ---
Jacques d'Avignon: ---
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Posted: Thu Jan 22, 2009 9:20 pm
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Posted: Thu Jan 22, 2009 9:22 pm
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Posted: Thu Jan 22, 2009 9:23 pm
Title | Character(s) | Link
I've Got Sunshine on a Cloudy Day | Penelope | [ x]
We Don't Spill Soup on Old People | Penelope | [x]
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Posted: Thu Jan 22, 2009 9:24 pm
The Cabbage Patch Conceptยฉ EmperialTeal/romesilk
Milo, Penelope & Co.ยฉ Ieeko
Milo's Official Artworkยฉ Glampanda
Other Artwork ยฉ Respectful Artists
Inventory Items ยฉ Respectful Artists
Banners ยฉ ---
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Posted: Thu Jan 22, 2009 9:25 pm
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Posted: Thu Jan 22, 2009 9:25 pm
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Posted: Thu Jan 22, 2009 9:36 pm
 Quote: Her feet had dragged along the dusty floor, the cold from the wood seeping upward into her skin. Little by little, she patted the hallway wall with her hand, leading herself along the dark from her bedroom until she had found the light switch to click on the lights. The hum had echoed throughout her groggy mind; it had taken away the remains of sweet dreams that had kept her slouching and stumbling haphazardly along without much care.
Penelope had never been the sort to flourish in the late evening. Nevertheless, it seemed impossible to sleep. Lines were running throughout her mind, followed by the sweet accompaniment of theatrical bliss. She loved drama. Auditions were approaching, and she loved drama. Nevertheless, the prospect of a company was never easy to deal with. She had held no stroke of luck within her years, which she had attributed to a silent conspiracy that there was a severe lack of parts fitting her ability. At least that was easier to cope with than the idea that she was surely no good!
That was the truth, though, and that was what had awakened Penelope in the midst of her slumber. The truth had disrupted a wonderful fantasy in which she had been the star of her very own show. When it had become clear that she was dreaming, the date of the auditions had loomed over her. The deadline was a storm cloud broaching her sunshine; she would have none of it, and if she needed to review her lines one final time before sleep, so be it! She would review her lines yet again.
She had slammed her hand against the edge of the short hallway's wall as she staggered along. Her fingers had gently massaged her eyes as she let out an exaggerated yawn. Awake. She was awake. Work time. Yet it seemed so gloomy within the apartment. The stark shadows were cast over the fake potted plants and articles that made up her few belongings. In the dark, they certainly did seem creepy.
Nothing a little sunshine couldn't fix. If only sunshine were hanging about outside one of the windows. Technology was the solution, and it seemed adequate enough. She had simply clicked on the lamp, and thus there was light. Her fingers had wriggled as she passed by it, spinning the shade in procrastination.
"Where did I leave that book, now..." Penelope had hummed. Her eyebrows had furrowed as she leaned to observe the end table on which the lamps sat next to her sofa. There was nothing there. "I could have sworn I left it right here. Maybe I ... Oh no - did I leave it at the music hall? Tell me I didn't do that. I didn't do that, there, I told myself." She had set her hand upon her forehead in frustrated thought. She couldn't remember anything at all. Had she brought it with her at all when she had gone to see Lowell? "Think, think. It's usually there, now it isn't - maybe it's in the kitchen ..."
How wonderful. The fear of not knowing her lines and the desire to study had resulted in the inevitable realization that she had no idea where her book was! The clouds were really blocking in on that metaphorical sunshine.
Penelope had puffed out her lips in a bit of a pout as she scoured the room, searching beneath the sofa, on top of the television, and even within the miniature jungle she had put together over the years of her tenantship. The kitchen had been scoured from top to bottom, from every nook and cranny. She had even searched the bathroom to no avail! That was, until she had turned to click off the lights and leave. Sitting neatly next to her toothbrush on the counter was her book.
"And there it is!" She had hummed, heaving a sigh as she gave a quiet glance over her shoulder. Speaking out loud seemed so unusual when she was living alone. It was an old habit, however, and unavoidable. As her face stiffened, she had began to brush off the book. Her fingers had flipped through the pages idly as she contemplated it. Crimes of the Heart. The story of three sisters walking different edges to the brink of sheer insanity. She had always adored it; the drama, the suspense, the ... Absurd reality. It brought a smile to her face, butterflies to her stomach.
Finding a section that was highlighted off, Penelope has eased. Her shoulders had sank as a look of determination befell her. She was going to get the part of Lenny if she had to sell her soul. She had always wanted to perform in Crimes of the Heart. She had to have the part.
"Alright, Penny, focus, focus." She had inhaled a deep breath, preparing to speak. It was then that something in the sink caught her eye. It was large. It was green. It was ... Cabbage? She couldn't remember having put a cabbage in the sink. She was sure she hadn't. Why would she put a vegetable in the bathroom? She didn't even like cabbage. So where had it come from?
For the longest time, she had gawked at the greenery, then it had dawned upon her: It had to be a joke. Who was the only man with a key to her apartment? Lowell, of course! Yet it seemed so unlike the man to be playing practical jokes. He had never been the comedic sort, and he lived a good distance away. No, Lowell couldn't have sent her a cabbage. Or had he?
The book had slipped from her fingers before collapsing on the floor. How very funny, yet how very unsettling. A cabbage, really? What kind of a joke was that?
The matter needed to be clarified. Somewhat spooked, Penelope had shut the door to the bathroom and had hurried off to find the phone. Someone was going to receive an ear full if it was in fact a funny little joke.
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Posted: Thu Jan 22, 2009 9:37 pm
 Quote: "Would you just make sure to water it, please?" Penelope had squeezed her lips together as her fingers had nimbly run down her crinkled uniform shirt. Her eyebrows had furrowed upon her face, the stretch of exhaustion and worry surrounding her like a plague of small demons. She loathed the thought of leaving a cabbage, or a seeming cabbage, laying about a restaurant where anyone could pick it up and make off with it or turn it into lunch. It was for that reason she had turned to the manager to request her aid in what she had determined was a form of babysitting.
"And don't let anyone chop it up, or touch it." She had squirmed somewhat, once more fiddling with her shirt before taking a step back to look around at the various tables seated with the occasional family.
"Honey, it's a cabbage ... Are you sure you're feeling okay?"
Penelope had blinked; her head had snapped, a befuddled look crossing her face. She was tired. She was disappointed, having not received the casting call for the part she had long practiced for, but she was fine. She was perfectly fine, and the accusatory look on her boss' face was something of a vague insult. She wasn't crazy to believe that the cabbage was something special. It had to have come from somewhere, after all, and she presumed it had something to do with the place she had gotten Lowell's joke cabbage. After a phone call to Lowell, and many days of attempting it, she had heard some silly little story about a young ... Rodent that was living with him, and how furious Lowell was about the situation.
Her memory seemed to have developed a blip. She couldn't remember anyone mentioning children coming from cabbages when she had ordered the cabbage - yet it didn't truly surprise her. With everything that had been crossing her mind - from the death of Lowell's dog, to his moving across town, to the auditions, and the failing to nail the auditions, to the cabbage in her bathroom, to ... There seemed to be so many things going wrong with her life. Maybe she had misheard something - maybe she had misstated something, but if there was one thing that she knew, it was that she was not crazy.
"Please, Marge? Please just do it. I'll give you my tips today, how's that? My tips."
Marge had tilted back her crinkled neck, the crevice bulging with her breath as a stern Grandmother's eye was delivered. Penelope had sheepishly smiled, somewhat relieved when the old woman had seemed to drop her accusatory expression. "Fine, your tips - I'll keep it watered and away from the cooks."
"Ooooh! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Penelope had squealed, wrapping her arms about the old woman while peering over her shoulder at the chair where the cabbage neatly sat from behind the kitchen doors.
"Now hurry and go grab a few tables."
Penelope had squinted. "You're sure you'll be alright going back and forth between the ---"
"Honey, you just spent five minutes begging me to watch your ... Cabbage... Because I am supposedly the only one who can. Don't tell me you're suddenly concerned about my ability to do so because I'm keeping an eye on the world too? Now hurry up, get to your tables, I'll hear no more of this nonsense."
Penelope had become stiff. Her eyes had sank to the floor as she gave something of a nod, jumping in place when Marge had ushered her out into the main floor of the restaurant. The conversation was over, however abrupt and awkward it seemed. It was just another addition to her life.
Back and forth, back and forth - she went from the kitchen to the tables, taking orders, delivering orders, delivering food. It was a merry-go-round cycle that brought her to the cabbage, away from the cabbage, but her mind was at ease knowing that, in every cycle, either she herself or Marge would be able to keep an eye on the little green nuance.
Yet this worry brought with it more anxiety. Her mind continued to wander. Where had the cabbage really come from? Had Lowell been joking with her when he had mentioned a rodent boy? Was she really going crazy? Oooh. Even the audition didn't seem as big of a deal. No. That was a big deal too, and she was sure that she would have nailed it had the blasted cabbage not brought about its plaguing thoughts. That begged the question --- why was she taking care of it anyway? After all of the annoyance and hardship that it had brought with it? She was blaming the cabbage. She would have made her big break in theatrics had the cabbage not shown up. It was the cabbage's fault!
That seemed silly - and as Penelope had attempted to balance a tray of soup on her arm, along with a tray of sandwiches, she could only huff at herself. She really had to be exhausted to believing silly stories while simultaneously blaming an inanimate object for all of her woes.
"I really must be going crazy." She had whispered to herself, looking down to watch her feet. Left and right, her plump little legs had moved with a balancing grace. A rhythm had developed between her movements and her thoughts. She needed sleep. That was all. Sleep. Rest. She needed to get rid of the cabbage, or someth--- In an instant, she had tripped. A loud squeak had escaped her as the trays tumbled forward, food spilling every which way, and the soup finding its chosen target of an elderly couple.
She was going to be in so much trouble.
And it was decided.
It had to be the cabbage's fault. It was all the cabbage's fault!
"AGH! I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry!" She had blathered, frantically scurrying from place to place to try and attend to the mess she had created. Patrons were staring, Marge was eying her from the door. Things were spinning. Oh, how much worse could things go in a day? They weren't supposed to spill soup on old people. That had been lesson one - don't spill soup on old people, because old people were the regulars and they paid fantastic tips - yet, what had she done? She had spilled soup on an old couple, and each of them seemed thoroughly disgusted with her, shouting what she couldn't comprehend. She simply felt tired, and strained, and worried. Oh, the worries. To make the matter worse, everyone knew that it was bad luck if you were a waitress and spilled soup all over an old person! It was an old urban myth - law of the land. What had she done? Just a few moments before, she had fumbled the ice tea pitcher and had spilled that onto a table, and even before that she had written down the wrong orders. It wasn't fair. She was tired, and she was frustrated, and she was confused, and... She just wanted to go back a few days to enjoy a concert, a cup of coffee, and subtract the practical jokes and mishaps that had followed what had otherwise started as an optimistic week devoid of the anxiety attacks that had always ruled her spazzy life.
Like an injured dog with her tail between her legs, Penelope had ushered back to the kitchen, only to be greeted with Marge shoving the cabbage into her arms and pointing her out. No ifs, ands, or buts. No conversations or explanations, not yelling - only anger resided within those old, accusatory eyes. Penelope was embarrassed, and that was enough.
"Go home and get some rest, come back when you're not dropping trays on people and raving about cabbage!"
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Posted: Wed May 13, 2009 2:21 am
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