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 Posted: Sun May 08, 2011 9:32 pm
[ [ OOC: Will add layout and edit later. Sorry if this is ehwhateverish. I had the SATS today and spent the rest of the day in a semi-vegetative state. Happy for this thread, though c;
EDIT: Sorry to delete and repost. Just thought it fit a bit better after Dimitri's post instead of before.] ]
__________ ___________ ___________
Elena Sophia Vivas stood across the street in the snow for a long while, her gloved hands pressing her red and gold gift to the center of her torso, earthy brown eyes fixed on the doorknob. She wasn’t entirely sure what she was doing there, why she was wearing her nicest shoes, or why she’d spent a good hour looking for the perfect gift for a stranger. It wasn’t like her to even consider something like this. She didn’t like bonding with people, though she seemed to have quite a knack for it. Befriending people was like putting down roots and Lena was raised a tumbleweed. Also, getting to know people meant having people to miss when she left. Lena Vivas was a twenty two year old ghost, but not really. She was very much alive, of course, but she tended to vanish at the drop of a hat. She never stayed anywhere for long, always got too restless if she did. The longest she’d stayed anywhere was six months and she’d been living with her boyfriend for two and a half. When she’d first moved in, she’d told him straight out that she wasn’t good at settling, but he’d thought he could change her. She was surprised to admit that he almost had. Almost, but not quite.
Lena was a drifter. Her childhood had left her struck with wanderlust and a restless, agitated heart. It was against her very nature to be doing what she was, to be standing in the snow, staring at a brightly lit house, watching a few other guests file in and wondering whether or not she should actually go inside. When Mr. Santos had invited her, Lena had immediately (but politely) declined. She’d called again a few days later, after the thought of his gathering had wiggled its way into her head and had set up a seemingly permanent camp, to change her mind and had spent the day or so preceding the party anxiously rummaging through her suitcase for an outfit and assembling a tentative bundle of gifts. Lena glanced down at her hands now and lightly nibbled on her tongue. She held a present and a small box of chocolate fudge from the bakery under her apartment. She raised her eyes to the door and tried to remember if she had a pen in her pocket. It wasn’t too late to scribble a little note of apology on the presents, leave them on the doorstep, knock twice and leave. Maybe,, she thought and let the snow catch in her hair.
But what if this year was different? What if one night with semi-formal company wouldn’t hurt? What if she could have a night of fun, a night with potential new friends, and then just leave? She could leave Willington, Vermont, the very next morning. Lord knew she’d already stayed longer than she meant to. It’d been two months since she’d first arrived, two months since she set up a little dog-walking business—requesting to only be paid in cash—and had rented a closet-sized apartment. Two months and already she could feel the restlessness sneaking in. Tomorrow, she’d leave, she reasoned, braving a quick glance down the road before crossing it with a measured, increasingly comfortable stride. She hopped up the small cluster of steps and ducked gratefully under the snow-laden awning, tapping into some secret source of exuberance and feeling a rosy flush—aided by the cold, of course—toast her golden cheeks. A small, honey sweet smile worked its way onto her lips and Lena cradled the gifts in one arm and watched her own fist raise and rap gently on the door.
She was nervous as hell, to be honest. It had been so long since she’d approached anyone or any group of people for the sole purpose of socializing. People tended to come to her, but, then again, ‘people’ were usually only twenty something sleep deprived writers, intrigued by the twenty something sleep deprived girl reading a book about dead or dying romantic languages in some coffee shop at four in the morning. Lena fell her smile falter when the door didn’t open immediately. Her courage was fleeting and she wondered just how long it would stay, just how long the remnants of it would let her keep waiting. In the meanwhile, Elena turned her head so that her cheek faced the door and glanced a ways further down the quiet road. All the houses were lit, all the nearby, skeletal shrubbery and trees were dripping with little white lights. The snow was everywhere. Lena never had taken to liking the cold, but even she had to admit the sight was relatively breath taking. Lena smiled again, but this one was smaller and faded just a little quicker than the last, a smile meant more for herself than for presentation to a stranger. She could feel it melting away, her courage, and made a point of not looking at the door, of not fixating on each groove in its surface or just how bright the lights were. Instead, Lena kept her head turned and just the ghost of a smile on her lips as she examined the post-card panorama and tried not to think about what exactly she was getting herself into.
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Posted: Mon May 09, 2011 9:44 am
 
Hearing Jamal giggling in the living room, Brook smiled in the darkness. Her body almost leaning into the large oven to lift the roaster out of the oven. Very slowly maneuvering to place said roaster on the stove, Brook’s orange oven-mitt covered hands then pulled off the lid as hurriedly as possible to avoid being bombarded by vicious steam. Seeing the well-done thanksgiving bird its trademark golden brown hue, her eyes were salivating as much as her mouth was. Metaphorically of course. While it was true that Turkey with stuffing and roasted vegetables was not anything ‘new’ or unique, it was tried and true, and Miguel had specifically requested that she use a traditional recipe when basting it. Looking up from a job well done, Brook pulled the temperature gauge out of the bird as her attention drifted elsewhere…to the half a dozen crock pots that had been keeping the remainder of the meal warm and toasty.
‘ Well…now to find the serving dishes…’, Keeping the orange cooking mitts on as the crock pot lids flew off their kettles, soon the kitchen was filled with about half a dozen succulent aromas. Each more appetizing that the last. Carrying one serving tray at a time to the lavishly set dining room table, on her third sprint from the kitchen, Brook made a startling discovery. ‘ Crap…they wont all fit on the table…’ Seeing a nearby little table, Brook began to remove the santa figures and decorative snowmen into the nearest corner. ‘ Buffet style was not what I had in mind…but I guess it shall have to do for some of the side dishes.’ Returning back to the kitchen for the porcelain bowl filled with baked yams with melted marshmellows, Brook was on her way back towards the dining room when her eye peeked through an open door to check on the arriving guests. Only, Brook wasn’t staring at all the guests. Her eyes were stuck on Kareem holding Jamal against his shoulder. For no logical reason, there was an uncomfortable tug in Brook’s stomach that pulled on a few out-of-tune heartstrings. Any man holding her baby like…like a father would, made Brook feel very uncomfortable. Truth be told, Jamal didn’t have a father figure besides his gandpa, and the idea of her son forming any strong attachment to a male figure that could up and leave at any moment made the motherly instinct within her gut pierce her conscience uncomfortably. ‘ I said -watch him- not…hold him…’ The fact that the scene was endearing just made it worse.
‘ Dinner! Set the table…’, Returning to her work, Brook’s feet were pattering towards that little buffet table to set the yams down overtop a Christmas-y pot holder. While there were still trays to be brought and served, Brook couldn’t help but peek around the corner of the door again. Watching a complete stranger holding her son. ‘ I can‘t keep watching this.’, disappearing into the kitchen, four more trays of food were brought to both the dining table and that little buffet table before a crock pot of split pea soup made its way onto the final spot of the buffet table. With that, the bread basket of freshly baked delights was set down beside the mashed potatoes, and Brooklyn fished a few matched from her apron pocket. Lighting the candles like a pro, Brooklyn suddenly began to feel very apprehensive about going back out there. Which was surprising, because she was always the social butterfly who loved conversing and making friends. You know, Jamal needs to eat a little before his nap…just feed him in the kitchen and put him to bed in the family room…To think, Brook was trying to come up with reasons to avoid people.
Removing the apron, Brook walked back into the kitchen and hung it up before taking a deep breath to rekindle her usual self. The bubbly mood returning, Brook almost pranced out of the kitchen with that glowing smile on her face. Seeing the girl in the stripped sweater, Brook struggled to remember her name.
“ Hello H…Hailey? I‘m sorry for disappearing on you before, had to set the dinner table.”, Unsure how long she was gone, only that it was probably quite a few minutes, Brook set her attention on the taller stranger in the lavish suit. Strangely enough, the man reminded her of her father. ‘ Course…I doubt he ever owned a suit like that.’ Her father’s top spending limit for a suit was three hundred dollars. (Unless one was getting married). Wanting to shake the man’s hand, Brook walked towards the gentleman and outstretched her arm, shaking it only if it was offered before turning to Kareem with a glowing smile on her face.
“ Thanks a heap‘ Darlin‘.”, Brook said with a chuckle as she raised her arms to gently peel Jamal from Kareem to hold him again. However, while Jamal was being pulled away, his little hand tugged at one of the buttons on Kareem’s shirt. Catching herself before she pulled the button off with him, Brook embarrassingly chuckled and tried to pry his hand loose. Unable -not- to notice the fact that the mans’s shirt had been unbuttoned, Brook’s eyes gravitated towards the revealed skin as her face flushed somewhat. ‘ Jamal! I really hope that was -your- doing.’, giggling rather uncomfortably to try and heal the situation, Brook awkwardly held her baby against her chest and tried very hard not to smile awkwardly.
“ Fl…Flinner is ready,”, ‘ Dear god! I can‘t believe I just stuttered.’ Embarrassed exceedingly by her tongue being tied, Brook clamped her eyes shut as if that could erase the previous moment.
“ I mean. Dinner is served…so I shall be right back…I must inform Mr. Santos.”, Alright, so she didn’t really have to do that, but she did -truly- wish to flee the room. Heading towards the back hallways, Brook had to knock at about six rooms before she finally heard a ‘Yes?’ on the other side of one. Relieved to hear his voice, Brook leaned in closer to the door.
“ Mr. Santos…dinner is served, and more people are arriving…”, Brook thought she heard a rather glum sound similar to a groan on the other side of the door. But the door did then open, and Miguel walked out wearing a rather handsome suit. Hands somewhat pale, as if he had been anxiously pacing. Only then did Brook have any comprehension that the man might not be chums with his holiday guests. ‘ Is this some kind of business meeting? It certainly doesn‘t look that way…’ Not questioning the man, Brook offered him a smile. Miguel then began to walk towards the living room, but Brook’s feet were frozen to the floor. ‘ Urgh…don‘t make me go out there…’ Mr. Santos stopped when Brook didn’t automatically follow him, and made a quizzical expression.
“ Are you coming?”, Brook offered him a smile and lightly chuckled.
“ I just have to take little Jamal to the bathroom…”, Miguel’s eyes lit up in understanding as the conversation became very uncomfortable. The man knew little to nothing about children, only that he imagined Jamal needed a diaper change, and hewanted no part of it. Awkwardly walking backwards a step, he raised his hands in surrender and began to head towards the living room. Brook raised a shrewd eyebrow when the man was no longer looking. ‘ Men…’ Snorting a laugh, Brook was about to walk in the direction of the bathroom to at least check to see if Jamal could use a new diaper when she discovered a very peculiar thing. Her baby was falling asleep… ‘ Aww…’ Kissing his forehead, Brook disappeared into a nearby tv/family room and set her son down in his portable playpen. Staring down at her son for the longest moment to keep from being in the same room as Kareem for a little while longer, Brook brushed her hand over his hair in parting before closing the door behind her.
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Posted: Tue May 10, 2011 10:06 pm
 Even though it was a little dark out and cold and snow to top things off, Rick was walking outside. He didn’t really have much of a choice. It wasn’t like he owned a car or anything. Granted, he could have easily decided to just skip out on this little party. From what he heard, it didn’t sound too exciting. Still the prospect of new ‘meat’ was intriguing to him. It wasn’t the only reason he would be attending but it was definitely a plus.
Rick was about ready to turn around and head back home. The place was so damn hard to find and Rick wasn’t a big fan of being the last one to show or showing up obnoxiously late. Just when he gave himself a five minute window to find the place, it seemed to pop into view. With a slight eye roll, he went up to the front door and knocked. After knocking only twice, he put his hands in his pockets and waited.
[[I’m definitely coming back and working on the posting format…sorry guys, just wanted to get something up.]]
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Posted: Sun May 15, 2011 9:51 pm
[[O O C: Finishing layout. First picture, etc] ] 
Elena Vivas took pride in being able to melt into shadows, in becoming practically invisible and nondescript just by slouching her shoulders or adopting a nonplussed stance. It was a skill she’d mastered over the years and one she tended to employ without realizing it at moments of even minor stress. So it wasn’t really that much of a surprise when a young man in a rather nice-looking leather jacket sauntered up onto the stoop on which she was waiting and knocked without once noticing her. She grudgingly supposed his obliviousness to her presence wasn’t so much as attributable to her long-mastered talent of melting into the background as it was the fact that, after a few minutes of hopping from foot to foot in front of Mr. Santos’s decidedly closed door, Lena had shuffled off to the side, out of the light, and had come to sit on the stoop’s fancy railing. She watched him just briefly but then began to worry about the bright lighting of the porch and about him catching her watching before she introduced herself. With a little sigh—a sound made a little louder than usual in attempt to mildly alert him of her existence—Lena stood, clasping her gift with on hand and brushing the snow off the bottom of her shirt with the other. She took a step forward, a bit farther under the festive lights, and let the heel of one of her boots click a little louder than usually permitted. That was another thing she was good at—walking quietly in heels. She knew some women who wore heels for the very reason of making noise and, in towering over their coworkers, asserting their dominance. Elena hardly ever wore her nice shoes. She preferred sneakers worn quiet after having traveled through towns and cities and across state lines with her. But, of course, she’d found herself in many situations where heels were extraordinarily preferable and, like always, had found a way to adapt.
She was talented in only very oddly specific fields. She knew about three languages—well, three and a half, but her Russian was still shaky—and spent her free time translating texts from one language to another and making lists about names she’d assumed and places she’d been and other places she wanted to go. Elena—for that was, without a doubt, her birth name—was good at leaving things behind. She had a knack for leaving her army of boyfriends and one or two girlfriends when they least expected it. She’d told one girlfriend before she left and, after the handful of irretrievable hours she’d spent consoling her, had vowed never to warn anyone again. Her favorite trick was packing her bags and taking them out of the apartment when her boyfriends were out jogging or running errands. She’d leave them at a bus depot and return to the apartment as if nothing had happened. She’d stay for a day or so then peck her current lover on the lips, promise to return after a quick run to the store, and board a bus travelling far, far away while her beaux waited for her to return home with oranges or the newspaper. As it was, Elena never felt very attached to her things and was entirely comfortable with leaving them completely. The few things she kept, she could fit in her coat pocket. And she did.
She kept her lists in her pocket with her wherever she went, always reassured by the fact that she could leave everything else behind if she only had her lists. She’d been keeping them since she was a child and sometimes she’d read them just to watch her shaky childhood handwriting morph into teenaged block letters or experimental script. At the head of each list, she’d write her real name—Elena—just so she’d never forget. And then there were the lists of places she remembered being, sign names that had been engraved in her memory or highway exits that had never quite lost their significance. The last list was filled with phrases and quotes and little enchanting facts about life she’d picked up along the road. That was the newest. The lists were several thin pages each and folded up into a neat little rectangle she could fit into the palm of her hand. Now, having emerged from the not-a-shadow shadow, Elena’s hand wiggled into her coat pocket and wrapped around the papers, seeking both the comfort of the one consistency in her life and that of a warm pocket for a cold hand. She offered an impulsive smile towards the man. “Hey,” she said, careful to keep her voice warm and friendly. She nodded towards the door and rolled her eyes, her mouth keeping a subtle curve of a good-natured smile while she spoke again. “I’m thinking either his door froze shut or they’re all partying too hard to hear. You here for Mr. Santos’s thing, too?”
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