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 Posted: Sat Nov 12, 2005 12:43 pm
Welcome to Disinclined and Riyana's journal. Please do not post without their permission.  Lanturns:Active: level 3 - affectionate Dormant: level 3 - macaw 16 your new lanturns (please save to your own server if you would like to display them): 
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Posted: Mon Nov 14, 2005 12:37 pm
((*will edit this up shortly!*)) This is the "box" now!  This is a gift from Devan to Riyana - isn't it pretty?  OMFG~! She ate it and now look! 
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Posted: Mon Nov 14, 2005 12:38 pm
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Posted: Mon Nov 14, 2005 12:39 pm
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Posted: Mon Nov 14, 2005 12:41 pm
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Posted: Mon Nov 14, 2005 12:44 pm
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Posted: Mon Nov 14, 2005 12:48 pm
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Posted: Mon Nov 14, 2005 12:56 pm
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Posted: Mon Nov 14, 2005 1:37 pm
((Enough Reservations. I don't even know what I'll be putting in them! n_n ))
"Well here we are, Lampy," he crooned, sarcasm dripping off his voice and soaking in his words. "Home. Sweet. Home." He held the baby-blue lantern up, as if the glowing "thing" could actually see.
There wasn't much. The apartment complex Devan lived in was a low-pay, run-down box. Drafty in the winter with a shotty heater, the air-conditioner never lasted more than a week in summer. That was when they'd burn. There was no happy medium, not in this place.
Inside, there was a mattress lying in the far corner of studio. Black sheets were crumpled, with clothes of all variety strewn over it. The wrinkles proved that Devan didn't bother pushing them off when he slept - he slept right on top of the clothes, even those attached with metal chains and plastic buckels.
More clothes littered the floor for the room - his closet, half-open, was crammed with lonely hanger, bare as the day they were created. There were no chests, there were no drawers, and there were no tables. Along with clothes, the next obvious sign of "Home" were paper plates smeared with week - month - year old food. A plethora of pizza boxes were crammed in the corner, and a strange, stuffy odor came from the garbage can overflowing in the corner.
He'd have to take that out, one of these days.
Despite having paper plates and boxes strewn about his floor, it was amazing that his kitchen was clean. There were a handful of dishes placed upside down on a white and blue striped dishrage, long dry from their original wash. The sinks were empty, the three rows of tile, which made up his kitchen floor, were clean. His fridge, the tiny thing which is was, had magnets attached of a variety of places. He'd never visited any of them, but that didn't mean he couldn't pretend he had.
A gaming system was found on the opposite wall, underneath the only window and across from his mattress. Wires sprung out everywhere, criss-crossing, and tangling up with other wires and plugs, as if Technology itself was learning the art of courtship. A 16" T.V. sat next to a baby desk. Upon that desk sat a computer, a scanner, a keyboard, and a monitor. Everyhting was crammed, and there was little room for movement.
His MP3 player was plugged into one of the remaining outlits, Ani DiFranco singing the familiar chords of "Untouchable Face".
Soothing music, despite the chaos of the environment.
Soothing, but rightfully angry.
The walls were covered in film. Literally. He had a friend who was a manager at the local movie theatre. They had boxes upon boxes of film, all turned to scrap once the movie was finished or outdated, and so he'd easily borrowed many rolls. With long hours of patience, a lot of cutting, and a lot of double-sided tape, his room was now covered in blacks and greens - previews from The Matrix, Ice Age, I. Robot, and a variety of other films donned his walls. Highly flammable, yes, but it gave his apartment a darker feel.
Pinned and taped over the individual film-strips, were posters. Screaming neons, band names and poses all helped set the mood.
Devan wasn't an angry boy, but he certainly had a flavor for the dark.
A few shelves were nailed upon the walls, lava lamps bright, their warm eccentric glows soothing. Old glowsticks could be found littered troughout the apartment, and, finally, his most treasured love: an old neon green, red, and purple sign which screamed, "Escapades De Nuit".
$100 on ebay and the old french sign was his.
He loved it.
That was his motto in life, and if his new lamp learned anything, it would have to learn from that.
"So I hear you're alive, huh? Is that right? Wellllll," he sneered, kicking the door shut behind him as he entered. "Meet some of your new roomates, kiddo!" This was ridiculous, but he might as well be entertained.
It was funny how the glow of his lamps light DID react to words. Sort of. Maybe. All coincidental, of course. It was just because he'd been walking, and talking at the same time, and the motion OBVIOUSLY had to cause the little lamp's glow to flicker.
"This here is Georgio," he lied, spitting out names as they came. "The Green Lavalamp. Listen to him, sweetheart, else he'll keep you awake alllll night. You don't want to get on his bad side."
Devan didn't notice the glow flicker nervously.
"This one, this one is Pinkette, the red lavalamp. You'll be sitting next to him, I think. Pinkette may look quiet, but watch out." His voice took on a whisper, and he brought the little blue lamp up to his lips. "He likes to bite."
Before the little lamp had a chance to cringe, he brought her over to the looming neon sign.
"But this - this is the Dictator of our room of lights. You listen to her and I wouldn't suggest upsetting her. She loves like the devil, and is just as cruel. So, I'd suggest you move careful when around her. Her light stays on. . . . forever."
This was ludicrous. Rolling his eyes, he gave the simple lantern a pat on its blue side?. Despite Devan's harsh words and horror stories, he was slowly growing more and more fond of the little blue light.
It was simple, and had its own source of light. All the other lamps in his place relied on chords and plugs and various paraphenelia. But this one. . . .
Part of Devan wanted to say it was special.
But that was stupid and melodramatic.
It was a light.
He'd forget about it soon enough.
Reaching up, he set it on the shelf, where it belonged. "Go make friends," he encouraged lamely, shoving his free hands in his pockets and making his way over to the kitchenette.
"Who's up for some tea?"
((Short - but - I gotta get going else I'll be late! O_O More later tonight, with any luck. Funny how his apartment is a mix of my roomates room, my room, all mixed with a ravers kiss. Niiice. Poor Riyana. ~.~; I'm an evil, evil person.))
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Posted: Thu Nov 17, 2005 12:02 am
"This is snow. It's cold. It's wet. And as pretty as people think it is, it's nothing but a killer. Seriously." He held the glowing blue lanturn up to the window. He doubted the light could see it, thanks to the reflection and glare off the glass, but at the very least it could feel the cold.
Maybe.
What was he thinking? Feel the cold? FEEL THE COLD! It was a goddamn paper box. It didn't have nerves, it didn't have ears, it didn't have feelings no matter how many people claimed it did.
And yet, despite Devan's adament certainty, that the blue lanturn was nothing more than an object, why did he still feel as if it could hear him? Why did he still talk to it? Why did he still pick it up and show it things?
Oh man. Was he really that desperate for friendship and defining some sort of social life? Was he really that crazy as to think that a light he bought was ALIVE!?
"I need to get out of here. . . " He murmured softly to himself, resting his forhead against the window pane. He removed it just as quickly, as the cold instantly burned his warm skin. Ugh. Snow. He hated it.
"Cold, ain't it?" He asked, as if expecting the blue lanturn to reply. He pressed the smooth side against the class, to prove his point. The light's gentle glow seemed to flicker, once, then twice, as if it didn't like the feeling.
Devan snorted. "I don't blame you. Sucks, doesn't it? Snow and cold kill things you know. A person gets caught outside for long enough, they can freeze. SLowly fall asleep as their body shuts down and then they die. Or they get frost bit, their digits and noses and ears turn black and can even fall off! Terribly painful, really - kind of like if I kept you to the window for hours. You wouldn't like it, would ya?"
Another flicker, but Devan ignored it.
"I wouldn't either." Reaching up with his free hand, he ran his bony ringed fingers through his pink hair. "Stay out of snow if you can help it, Box," he suggestted, moving away from the drafty window. "You wouldn't last an hour out there."
The light dimmed, as if it too, agreed.
((And I need sleep. ._.; More tomorrow. Maybe actually SHOWING Riyana snow! OoooOOOOoo. The possibilities are endless. ))
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Posted: Mon Nov 28, 2005 9:44 pm
"So how'd you like your first celebrated holiday, hmm?" Devan lounged in his room, resting upon his bed. The lights were off, all but the warring glows of his Neon Sign, his lava-lamp, and paper lantern.
The man really didn't expect an answer, but he'd slowly given into conversing with his lights. Talking to lightbulbs was probably better than talking to no one at all. Shadows weren't much company, and not talking only seemed to heighten that overwhelming lonliness.
Emptiness.
Strange how dying ones hair, how wiggling rainbow-socked toes, and overall sneering at society through the Internet did little to keep away that need for friendship. Companionship.
BUT - no.
Devan wasn't going to dwell on those thoughts. Friends were no good to him. SO perhaps that's why he kept the lights on, forever on. They were something ofr a comfort to him, a security blanket, without the fabric.
Not like Devan would admit it to himself.
"Happy Turkey Slaughter Day," he murmured, eyes closing as he allowed the pounds of food to settle. Yeah, he'd gorged, mostly on stuffing and cranberry sauce! But regardless what was stuck in his stomach, the effects were all the same.
He didn't feel like moving, or even talking.
But heaven forbid the creepy people he'd met, that strange cat-girl, would hunt him down and slice his tongue off if he DIDN'T talk to his light.
"Shame you couldn't try it, Boxy," no - he kept no one name for his lamp. He was too lazy to remember what he'd called it. And like the lamp was going to care. It didn't have ears!
"Guess you'll just have to sit there and glow, like you do everyday. Glow and glow and glow. I'll do the living for us, you just sit tight til' you burn out."
((Short post - once I find some inspiration more will come. ._. ))
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Posted: Fri Dec 02, 2005 1:14 pm
Devan stared down at the little lamp in his hands. It was blue and still glowed, but why the *hell* did he bother to bring it out with him? Could anyone say 'retarded'? Yeah. That's exactly what this was.
Still, it was a pretty little lanturn, for being small and its glow dim. Probably the light or flame dying, or going low. For whatever it was that charged these things, Devan couldn't begin to believe that they'd glow forever.
Nothing on this world was that stable or reliable. NOTHING.
"Just don't complain about the cold, all right?" He warned the lanturn, raising it up to peer at it. It continued to glow, and Devan gave a little smirk. "That's a good one."
Pet rock but better, that's all this thing was.
Reaching up, he tightened his scarf about his neck (also rainbow, to match his incredibly awesome socks!). It was cold, and Devan loathed such weather. He much preferred warm climates, where the worst you had to deal with was scorching temperatures or rain. If that was the case, then why the hell was he still here!?
Too poor to move, and didn't have much of a future no matter where he went.
C'est la vie.
His striped gloves cuddled the lanturn close, the little light glimmering and keeping his hands warm. The snow was falling around them in gentle flakes, miniature fairies of white, turning and spinning softly upon the sky. They danced, as if performing a show, but each hardly held 15 seconds of fame. Drifting down upon clothing, the little ice crystals melted into water, never to dance again.
Sure, some snow piled into inches and feet, lingering until spring showed its warmer weather, but ultimately the fate of a snow flake was bleak. "Maybe that's why it's so pretty to look at, eh?" He murmured, lifting the little lanturn so it too could "see" the snow.
This game of "let's pretend" wasn't a bad one to play, when he was alone. Like he'd ever admit to any of his fair-weather friends he actually talked to thing. Yeah right. He'd be commited with a blink of an eye.
But when they were alone, and no one was witness, Devan wasn't a complete a**. The little lanturn was growing on him, a secretly cherished keepsake.
Wouldn't it be wonderful to be a lamp?
No angst.
No lonliness.
No feeling at all.
"You've got it lucky, box," he snorted, pushing up his fogging emo-glasses.
"Be glad the most you have to do is sit around and glow. This life 'ain't all it's cracked up to be. Be glad you don't have a heart. Those fragile things don't do anyone good."
His words were sincere. Devan had been on the recieving end of the beating stick too many times in his life. Heartbreak and lonliness jaded a man, and Devan was no exception. He was a d**k because that was what he'd learned to be, growing up. Besides, putting faith in people was ridiculous. People were only good for one thing: letting another person down, and that was that.
Looking down at the innocent light, he gave a little smirk. "I envy you."
The blue glow dimmed, as if hurt by the sadness found in his voice. The little light then flickered, trying to send a brighter, reassuring light. It almost worked, but as always, Devan didn't notice or see.
Together, the mood sombre in the winter wonderland, Devan carried the lamp back to town. He needed cash and thus, he needed an ATM. His rent wouldn't wait.
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Posted: Sun Dec 04, 2005 8:15 am
Devan sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the little glowing lanturn. The soft blue light glowed dimly, placed neatly on his cluttered dresser. This couldn't be happening. There wasn't a spirit in his light. There wasn't, there wasn't, there wasn't. That little pink-jello-mold that talked - he'd been hallucinating or something, hadn't he?
Drugs, right?
No no. Devan didn't take drugs, or even smoke cigarettes. So there was little chance his Happy Meal for lunch contiained hallucinagens.
Who was he kidding?
He'd been wide awake. That girl in black with her guitar, those fluttering paper lanturns, the lights flickering in the breeze. It had all been very much real, and that girl - she had gone into the lanturn, and returned. There was no denying that sort of reality. There was no denying that his eyes hadn't decieved him.
"So you're real, huh?" He murmured, guilt gnawing at his soul. "That - I mean - did I - er," he looked over at the neon sign, glowing comfortingly in his room. "It won't eat you, you know," gods, how lame did it feel speaking to this living lamp.
Boxy. Cardboard Box. Thing. It. Paper Head. Everything he'd called it, everything he'd said. Well, it hadn't been mean so much as (probably) threatening as all hell.
Staring down at his feet, he cleared his throat. "I. . . I uh, er," he stumbled over his words, not sure what he wanted to say. Did he apologize? Could she hear him? Oh gods, this wasn't real. It couldn't be, it couldn't, it -
"I forgive you," the voice started, very gently, very hesitantly, and what sounded a smidge on the sad side.
Devan jerked in his bed, instantly crawling back, away from the source. The light she carried was dull and dead. Instead of disgustingly pink, there was a baby-blue jello-girl standing in front of him. She was thin, with long hair, tied back neatly in a chord. A few strands framed her face, and her little lips seemed to pout at him.
She was beautiful, in a strange, bluey sort of way.
And Devan didn't know what to make of her, or do!
The girl studied him, little expression upon her features, before looking down to stare at the floor. She felt awkward, being there - maybe she should have waited? Maybe she shouldn't have come out at all. Was he going to mock her? Was he going to reject her, like he had in the beginning? Get angry, grow snarky and defensive.
He didn't trust people, so why should she?
He didn't like her, so why did she feel the urge to let him know it was all right?
Did she blame him?
No. Maybe. Not really.
Reaching up, she rubbed the side of her arm, not sure what to say herself. Despite her weak glow and gentle nature, she knew how to take care of herself. She could be as bitter as he, and just as defensive. She'd learned from the best, hadn't she?
But now wasn't a time or place to be angry. Slowly, she looked up and focused on her gaze upon him. It was expressionless, almost cold, a smidge jaded. Did he even care?
Devan was terrified. What was she going to do to him? After all those things he'd said, all those things he'd done. She didn't look particularly friendly, but then, he could blame that on himself, couldn't he?
"I - uhm," he swallowed, a lump in his throat. "I'm Devan," he turned to etiquette and formal introductions. That's what a person did, when meeting another person. . . made of jello. Ish.
Two-faced, two-faced, two-faced! The words screamed like a trains whistle through his head. Once bitter, sarcastic, and edgy - now he had no defenses. People didn't train him to deal with souls that came from paper lights. This wasn't in any school books taught in class!
The girl looked at him, sensing that fear. Oh boy. It was going to be a long few hours. "Riyana," she offered politely.
He still wasn't used to her.
Fine.
Turning her back, she moved closer and sat down on the corner of the bed. He was going to have to get used to her - she didn't want to go away again, and she certainly didn't want to go back into that cramped lanturn.
She wanted...
She wanted...
Well what did she want?
Maybe it didn't matter. Maybe it never had.
Devan blanched. Not to panic. Not to panic. "Hey," he started, wondering why his voice sounded so loud. The girl didn't bother turning to face him, but the pink-haired, shaken up man decided that it was probably best they found some others.
Like the pink girl.
"Want to, uh, want to go out? I can show you 'round the city?" How was he going to take care of a manifestation of a lamp? Or a spirit? Or whatever? He had to find someone with oneo f the glowing things. Were they people? Were they . . . ?
Oh, he wasn't sure.
This was happening way to soon.
Lights.
What had he gotten himself into?
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Posted: Mon Dec 26, 2005 8:27 pm
Riyana sat in the corner of the room, staring up out the window. Devan was at work, and the drafty apartment was empty and alone. Except for the gentle glows of the bubbling lavalamps and the imported French sign. They were her only company, currently, but perhaps that was just as well.
The little blue girl wrapped her thing arms around her knees, allowing her hair to fall down around her. She gave a little sigh, staring out the window at the snowflakes. Snow. It fell gently, innocently - like rain, but frozen and larger. Crystals were what they truly were. Ice crystals.
Funny how they never fell alone. Always in such a large group, in such large amounts. And no matter how quickly they melted, they were always together.
Friends.
Were snowflakes ever lonely?
The girl, lost in her own thoughts, mused over the question.
Who was she kidding? Snowflakes didn't feel.
They felt about as much kindness and compassion as Devan did, and that wasn't saying a lot.
Devan - was he her friend?
Riyana wasn't so sure. She never could be sure when it came to him, her guardian. He hadn't liked her much when she was nothing but a box, and his relationship with her hadn't seemed to improve.
He tried to be more gentle, but just because he didn't rip on her out in the open, didn't mean they were close.
Toshi and Hakari seemed close, hadn't they? They bantered easily together, and there was little tension between them.
The same with the bright orange Braedan and his person. They had argued, certainly, but the one whom guarded the orange lanturn had followed him into the diner, and sat with them.
Again, there was no tension or anxiety.
So what about Devan and her? Why couldn't they get along?
Everything seemed fake. So very fake.
The little soul gave another scowl. Maybe it was she who was being ridiculous again. Who cared if they were friends? She'd come out, he'd stopped making fun of her name, and they lived in the same apartment. She stayed out of her "box" by choice, and he had neglected to kick her out, again, by "choice".
So what if they weren't close or bosom buddies?
So what if they tended to stare at each other from a distance and not interract or play?
She didn't need him to take care of her. And she certainly wasn't someone who was dependant upon friends.
She had friends enough - like Toshi (sort of), and Braedan (sort of), and even that little yellow one.
Friends.
She was fine by herself, alone.
Maybe that was just how she liked to be.
Resting her chin against her knees, the little girl closed her eyes. If worse came to worse, she always had the blessed silence.
There was no shame in befriending lonliness.
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Posted: Fri Jan 13, 2006 10:22 am
"Where on earth have you been!? Do you know how much trouble you've caused me!?" Devan was livid. Absolutely positively LIVID! He paced back and forth in his living room, reaching up to run fingers through his disgustingly pink hair. It was in need of a trim, it was getting too long and the ends were starting to split, but that was the last thing on the boys mind.
"I looked everywhere for you, and you all but disappeared! You could've at least TOLD me where you were going! You should've come back, or picked up the goddamned phone!" Devan wasn't the greatest of father figures.
He was about as patient as a lion standing on a bed of hot coals, and just as friendly. He kept his hands through his mesh of hair, pulling at them, ignoring the discomfort it caused. He'd rather pull at his hair than get violent. But right now - after THREE DAYS of neglecting to return to the house - Devan didn't know what to do.
Part of him was relieved that she'd come home, that nothing had happened to her. He was so very glad to see her safe and alive - but three days? THREE DAYS!? Where had she been!???
His anger wasn't necessarily directed AT her - he was mad at himself for having no clue where to find her, for keeping her away, for being so oblivious for so long. And yet, he wanted to scream at her, to make her feel bad about causing him so much grief and worry. To make her feel bad enough that she wouldn't do it again. Did she realize how stressed he'd been? How upset?
No, he hadn't gone back to the little shop to ask for help. If he'd done that, who knew what would have happened? How good would it have looked if he'd come in and told them about his little light running away? Yeah - they would've killed him, skinned him alive.
No, he wasn't the most friendly of people, he was born and bred to have defenses, so of course he was sharp. He had edges, angles, and walls - he kept people away for a reason. Stubborness kept him from going for help, though last night he seriously considered it.
Thankfully, she'd knocked on the door early that morning. But now, after his relief of finding her safe had run its course, Devan was pissed.
Riyana sat on the edge of the small sofa, legs drawn up underneath her, arms hugging herself as she stared hard at the floor. She'd been away - flitting and fleeing throughout the city, visiting a few friends - like Rown and Toshi and Braedan - and when not with them, had enjoyed the solitude.
Sure, she'd been terribly lonely when not with her gentle friends, but it had been better than getting in Devan's way. She'd been certain he hadn't wanted her back, he surely hadn't gone out of his way looking for her. And yet, as night would turn into day, the little, long-haired girl would war with herself about going back. About giving him another chance, about making ammends.
They had an interesting relationship. It was fragile, but the two were good for each other. She listened to him, she had tried to provide him comfort. She wanted to be with Devan, her first friend, and yet . . .
Now, with him fuming like he was, with him screaming at her, she remembered the reasons why she didn't like it here. He was always so mad at everything. He wasn't ever gentle or kind, he didn't like to play games with her, didn't like to do much of anything with her. They lived in seperate worlds, and Riyana wasn't sure she liked this one with Devan.
Why did he other friends get along fine with their guardians?
Toshi had said she needed to try to work things out with Devan. Toshi had told her that much, a few nights previous, when she'd run into her new look.
But Toshi, now that she was grown, didn't have to be the one to talk sense into Devan. Toshi's girl was nice, from what she remembered, and played music.
Devan was always gone, or came home in a mood, tired and exhausted. There was no time for games, and the music he listened to was loud and sharp. Could they work out their differences?
Could she tell him what she wanted from him?
Would he listen?
Or would he just yell.
The girl ducked her head lower, hoping to hide from the world behind her hair. She thought of Braedan, her bright little friend, who was so fun and full of energy. He was so very nice to her, so very kind and they always had fun. Then there was Toshi, and she was grown and big now. Very big and tall, but still friendly. And a girl. No one else she knew was a girl. And finally, there was Rown - the purple one, the one like a sheep. The one she'd promise to smile for. He was sweet and quiet like her, but tall and big like Toshi. They all liked her, they all appreciated her - didn't they?
They didn't yell.
They didn't snap.
They didn't bite.
But Riyana couldn't find nerve to bite back with Devan so close. She could snarl at him when he wasn't near to hear, she could run away when he wasn't in viewing distance - but now, forced to confront him, the girl was at a loss.
What could she say that would make him listen?
He didn't want to listen - not now.
He was too angry to hear.
"I'm. . . I'm sorry," she apologized, voice hardly audible. How she wanted him to know she hadn't meant to cause him distress. She'd thought he would have had a good time without her getting in the way, without her constantly being inside.
Apparantly she was wrong.
Devan gave a snort of disgust. "Sorry? That's all you have to say!? YOU'RE SORRY!? Riyana~!" He exclaimed, pausing in his pacing to throw a glower at her. "Next time you're gonna disapear, I'd advice you to LET ME KNOW! You had me scared stiff! What are you doing not coming home anyway!?"
The girl bit her lower lip, hugging herself tighter. She didn't like him being mad. Why wouldn't he stop fuming? "I - I wanted to - I wanted to give you space," she rushed out, throat and mouth dry. She licked her little blue lips, unsure of how that was going to go over. Part of the girl expected him to snarl and scream again.
She was right.
"SPACE!? Who said I needed space!?" Again, another crack of anger, another shot of displeasure. Exasperated, the man rubbed his face, and stormed out of the room, pacing resumed down the hallway. "Next time, don't do it. Come home - I have half-a-mind to ground you from going out for the next year~!"
Riyana stayed still as death. She didn't respond, she didn't speak, she hardly breathed. An uneasy quiet permeated throughout the apartment. This fight was over, or so the silence seemed to command. It wasn't resolved, but that was enough arguing for one morning.
The girl felt sick. Argh. She should've gone to find Toshi or Braedan or Rown. She could've begged one of them to stay, to visit for just another day. Instead, she came home to work on the problems, and things only seemed to have gotten worse.
The little girl had it better when she was inside her little lanturn. Maybe that's where she should've gone in the first place.
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