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Post by Rebecca Ashlyn Snow on Feb 18, 2012 19:40:11 GMT -5
 It had been a long day and Ashlyn was more than ready to slink back into her dorm and sleep until September-except for the fact that she had quiz tomorrow in lit which she needed to study for. She ran her hand through her hair, angry that she’d forgotten about that until now. She was about to walk past the cafeteria when an idea hit her. She had just figured out how to get over that writer’s block she’d been having in her novel for a few weeks. a rare smile crept up on her face. She had to get it written down. Now. She veered into the cafeteria, stress and fatigue forgotten. She made a beeline for an empty table right by the entrance, as far away as possible from all the late night supper-ers. Ashlyn threw her bag unceremoniously off her shoulder and whipped out her Journal. She tried to make any and all writing ended up in here when her computer wasn’t handy, which was one of the reasons she took it pretty much everywhere. She flipped it open and began too write, excitement making the words fly across her thoughts faster than she could possibly get them down on paper. Somewhere in the back of mind she reflected on how odd it was that she'd come up with this idea while walking by the cafeteria and thinking about the Victorian literary era, but other than that she was so immersed in her writing that she was completely oblivious to everything that was going on around her. outfit: www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=44050800words:267 tags:Cassander song: words by these green eyes |
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Post by Cassander Tuireann on Feb 19, 2012 16:04:50 GMT -5
Cassander was preoccupied with glaring at his ballet textbook as he shoveled food into his mouth. He was a slender boy with a slight frame and elegant masculine curves to his body that he was proud of and so he usually watched what went into his mouth like a hawk. He had never been overweight in his life, but his guard against gaining unwanted weight was paranoid.
Right then, however, he was too busy glowering at something he hated more than the idea of making the little dial on the scale spin when he stepped on it. "Entry to upper-division ballet classes". Yuck.
It wasn't that Cassander was a bad dancer. On the contrary, Cassander was a very good dancer, but he loathed the philosophy behind ballet with a passion. It was the same school of thought behind maths that had frustrated him so much in secondary school" that there was one correct way of doing things and all others were worthless. There was no room for innovation and creativity in his teacher's mind and even more in his textbook's, where he should have been memorizing the correct shapes your body was supposed to make in different ballet poses.
Once again, yuck.
Finishing his food, (...dear Sondheim...had he just been eating fried chicken? That's it! He was going on another diet!) he carried his tray to stack it with the others before bad-temperedly propping open his book and attempting to study like a good boy, but of course it was to no avail. Marking the page with his thumb, he carried the book over to the nearest person and pointed at the most difficult post on the page.
"Does that even look safe for the human body to you?"
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Post by Rebecca Ashlyn Snow on Feb 19, 2012 19:00:07 GMT -5
Lryssa flipped open her compact mirror and needlessly applied lipstick for what was probably the fifth time in the last hour. She would never admit it, but she was nervous, and this was the only way she knew to distract herself.
Granted, this was probably one of the most serious modeling gigs she would have in her entire career, but Lryssa didn't get Nervous.
She was..... "Does that even look safe for the human body to you?" Ashlyn barely managed to keep herself from jumping. She was fairly certain her heart had missed a couple of beats. which was weird, because she was never caught off guard. Or at least, she wasn't usually caught off guard. Her head snapped up and she blinked, trying to process several things at once. Standing above her was fairly attractive guy who was holding an book out to her that was open to a page with a diagram of someone who looked like they were trying to bend themselves in half and eat their own foot. "ummm...I don't, know..." she made her 'this weird and I really don't know what I'm doing or what's going on' face, which involved looking everywhere but at the person in front of her, cocking her head to one side and pressing her lips tightly together. "No?" she responded somewhat automatically, shrugging slightly. |
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Post by Cassander Tuireann on Feb 20, 2012 19:56:13 GMT -5
"Thank you!" Cassander groaned, completely oblivious to her timidity. Without invite, he seated herself across from her and slammed his book down on the table and without introduction or pre-amble, launched into a ranch about the complexities of advanced ballet class.
"The thing is, they expect you to multi-task, but it's not just multi-tasking with one thing, it's multi-tasking with every part of your body, while thinking about your next move. Then you've also got to count to keep in time with the music and the other dancers...well, the other dancers have to be keeping time with you too and if someone's off, you have to stop, bitch at each other and start all over again. Then, of course, you have to worry about keeping the proper shape all the time and if it deviates even a little from the shape your body should be making, the teacher stops you, singles you out, makes you fix it and then makes you do the entire combination again. And Sondheim forbid you forget part of the combination, because you can't fake it...the thing is...it's like maths! There's only one right answer and there's only one way to get it!"
He was breathing heavily for the few seconds of silence he finally provided.
"Hey, I'm going to get something to eat...you want something?"
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Post by Rebecca Ashlyn Snow on Feb 20, 2012 21:37:53 GMT -5
Despite Ashlyn's superb listening skills, she got lost part way through what this guy was saying, not that she'd been paying full attention anyway. Something about ballet and multi-tasking and...
She raised her eyebrows when he asked her if she wanted anything, feeling very wrong-footed. She didn't like overly friendly people, and this guy seemed to be redefining overly-friendly. Considering Ashlyn didn't communicate very well with the people she'd grown up with, she had no idea how to handle conversations with complete strangers. She looked around, as though hoping for an escape from the situation. But of course there wasn't one.
She looked back at the person in front of her, trying to decide how to get rid of him without seeming rude. "Ohh I'm not....I mean I wasn't.....I already ate." she finished hurriedly, grimacing at how lame she sounded.
She bit her lower lip again, trying to decide if she should add more. But no, the briefer, the more likely he would get bored and lave, and the sooner she could get back too writing. Besides, she probably only sound weirder, if that was possible.
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Post by Cassander Tuireann on Feb 27, 2012 23:38:07 GMT -5
“’Kay, watch my stuff!” He said, cheerfully, before getting up and bounding over to the cafeteria. He whizzed through the line at lightning speed, returning with a plate full of salad and raw vegetables and chopped fruit, with a side of keifer, which explained his slender build. Without any sign of awkwardness and still no introduction, Cassander seated himself across from her and dug in.
“This watermelon is delicious!” He commented, stuffing the pieces in his mouth. “Are you sure you don’t want some?” For all his stuffing his face, he was still a delicate eater, the food went down the hatch at an alarming rate when he was hungry, but his tongue and teeth knew how to handle chewing them correctly, and quickly.
"So," He said, between mouthfuls of food, "Tell me about yourself." But he plunged on, without giving her the chance to answer. "I'm a musical theater student, but I'm also studying songwriting and musical comp. I want to write musicals one day, y'know, after I play the leading roles in all the classics on Broadway and workshop and originate roles. Plus, I still want to keep performing as a write. I also play piano. I guess you could call me a triple threat, except I'm more like a ..." He paused, counting on his fingers, "...sex threat?" He stopped and giggled, realizing the innuendo and wiping away a splash of watermelon juice away from his lips with a napkin.
"Did you know that watermelon juice increases libido?"
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Post by Rebecca Ashlyn Snow on Feb 28, 2012 0:00:39 GMT -5
Ashlyn just stared at him, he mouth gaping open slightly. She couldn't help it, this guy was seriously throwing her off. He was like her sister only he was a guy and not bitchy-yet. She didn't respond to anything he'd said, she was too perplexed, yet somehow she managed to shake her head at the right point in the conversation. She had barely registered that he'd ask her about herself, when started talking again-about himself. Must really want to know about me. She reflected, irked.
She had to resist the urge to rest her head on her hands, and obvious sign that she was not only bored but not really listening. usually Ashlyn would listen, but all she could think about right now was that novel she'd been writing before she'd been interrupted.
She got that he was a theater guy who apparently already knew that his life was going to play out exactly the way he wanted it too. Good luck with that,she smirked.
She actually did a perk up a little when she said writer, so this guy might actually have something in common with her after all. Granted, he would be a playwright, which was something she'd never had any interest in, but writing was writing.
She also heard the word sex, though she'd missed a little of what led into it. Finally it got to the point where she could no longer fake her way through, she would have to say something.
"Errr..No?" She probably sounded like a broken record. She was still hoping this whole unresponsive thing would get rid of him so she wouldn't have too directly, but judging by the way things were going, it didn't seem very likely. Ashlyn had a feeling she could fall asleep and he still wouldn't notice.
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Post by Cassander Tuireann on Mar 4, 2012 21:09:52 GMT -5
“Well it does!” Cassander replied, with conviction, shoveling more watermelon into is mouth. “And it’s a lot tastier than some of the liquids that could be going down your throat in that department—yes, I like men too.” He added, just in case she missed the graphic mental images he was laying out with her with such care. Not that he knew what that tasted like, but she didn’t need to know about his inexperience. “It must be nicer than taking Viagra, though. Have you ever taken Viagra? I never have. Never needed to. Look at that guy!” He pointed to a random guy crossing the cafeteria with a pile of watermelon visible on his plate. “I’ll bet he’s taken Viagra!
“So, what are you doing?” He questioned, finally seemingly interested in her, as he leaned across the table, popping the final piece of watermelon into his mouth and then licking his fork subconsciously, but way more than was necessary. This girl seemed strangely shy and didn’t like to talk much, even though he had given her every opportunity to answer his questions and had peppered her with anecdotes to bounce back off of.
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Post by Rebecca Ashlyn Snow on Mar 5, 2012 17:23:07 GMT -5
Despite her growing disinterest, she was getting better at keeping up with what he was saying. She was surprised when he said he liked men, because she thought she was pretty good at picking out that sort of thing. Perhaps it was best that she hadn't though, or she might start profiling people.
She bit her lip, he'd come back to her. Though she'd disliked his constant talking, she'd also been kind of appreciative because it meant that she didn't have to reply, but now it seemed she wasn't going to have an easy out.
How should she answer? What she was doing now? What her major was? In both cases the answer would be writing, but Ashlyn wasn't sure she wanted to tell him that. She'd never really told anyone about her writing, and even though she was at an art school and hoping to become published, she still didn't talk much about it. But what else was she supposed to do, lie?
"I was writing." She muttered. "Kind of chose a bad time—and place— for it." She kind of trailed off at the end, which was something she had a habit of doing in conversations.
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Post by Cassander Tuireann on Mar 14, 2012 23:11:19 GMT -5
"You were writing?" Cassander said, repeating her question, but with interest in her for the first time. "Ooooh, what? A play? Any roles I could play? What about a screenplay? A novel I could adapt into a play? Could I write a song for the ending credits of your movie? Please?" He fixed her with big, hopeful puppy eyes for a long moment.
"But seriously, what's it about?" He wanted to know, his interest shifting back from her long enough to be distracted from describing his own skills and selling his body on the streets of campus for hire in low-budget films...and for once, porn was not involved.
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Post by Rebecca Ashlyn Snow on Mar 15, 2012 17:41:05 GMT -5
Ashlyn slapped her palm to her forehead, metaphorically speaking. if she hadn't wanted to talk about her writing then she shouldn't have mentioned it, but that was the thing with peple like her. They were really good at figuring out what to say, after they had already said something...else.
She almost replied with some rude remark about plays and movies, but decided it wasn't worth it.
"I..don't...know...?" She actually did grimace a little bit after that one. She remembered that he asked what type of writing it was before he'd gone off on his little spheel, but by then he had already voiced another question.
He'd voiced the question. They question that everybody asked after they got their head around the idea that some people still write books in this day and age.
She paused, how was she supposed to answer the question? How could she put a culmunation of years of experiences, questions, thoughts, ideas—the compliation of it all into a story that kept her locked within its grasped 24/7. How was she supposed to cram all the themes, motivations, motifs, characters developments, questions that keep her up at night and answers that kept her writing until her fingers cramped; into one little paragraph.
She couldn't.
"It's a novel about...runway models." she grumbled.
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Post by Cassander Tuireann on Mar 21, 2012 21:10:09 GMT -5
"Runway models?" Cassander repeated, instantly interested. He liked fashion and he fancied himself to be a part-time model (although, in reality, he was nowhere near as buff as he needed to be to get any substantial work).
"That's cool. I like fashion and I like modeling." He offered. He waited for a minute, waiting for her to say something that would further shine the light on him. And then...
"So...give me the tagline? Pitch it to me. What happens? Does anyone die? Who's the love interest? How did you get the idea to start writing it?"
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Post by Rebecca Ashlyn Snow on Mar 22, 2012 15:51:15 GMT -5
Wonderful she mused when he said he liked modeling, because I don't. It was one of the reasons she had wanted to write the book in the first place.
She took her handd off the table, feeling a little bit flustered. She should get used to this, pitching her novel to random strangers. She could view this as a mock session, of sorts.
But she didn't want to, not now, not to him. he wasn't a literary agent, or a publisher, and whatever he may think he probably barely even understood writing.
"Listen I don't really—I'm not really in the mood don't walk to talk, aren't really..." she was rambling, and she had forgotten how to form sentences again. she paused, closed her eyes and looked down at the table, giving her mind a minute to catch up with her mouth.
"I...just...don't..." She heaved a sigh and looked quickly to the left, her whole body turning in this direction. maybe he'd leave, and maybe he wouldn't, she wasn't sure she cared anymore.
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Post by Cassander Tuireann on Mar 26, 2012 17:14:57 GMT -5
Cassander's socially-driven brain didn't understand what was happening. She stuttered and wouldn't look him in the eye, in fact, she turned away from him, using closed, "I-don't-want-to-talk to you body language. He couldn't understand why. Why would anyone not want to talk to him? He was the single most fascinating kid in New York City! And he was cute. Perhaps she was just nervous in his presence. Yeah, that was it.
"It's okay," He crooned, reaching a comforting hand across the table as he adopted a tone of voice worthy of visiting a hospitalized child, "I promise I won't laugh. Really, I won't. You should have seen some of my first scripts..." He made a noise reminiscent of something that is impressed by how disgusting something is. "...they were, well, shitty." He paused and smiled for a moment, remembering. "So tell me, what happens in your story? Do you have a title yet? What about the main character? Do they have a name?"
OOC: Random Glee reference for the win!
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Post by Rebecca Ashlyn Snow on Mar 27, 2012 23:18:20 GMT -5
joyHer internal sarcasm, the kind she used the most, mused, he's gotten condescending. Ashlyn was used to people assuming she was slow or even mentally retarded. Sometimes she just made her excuses and left when it got to that point so she wouldn't have to deal with setting them straight. Sometimes she played along, but usually she let her inner sarcasm out.
"You want to know what's it about?" she said with a lot more punch than anything else she'd said before. Sarcasm time seemed to be the only time when she could actually talk coherently and say more than a few words.
"It's about this girl I met a while back," She began in a mock condescending voice which the sarcasm was completely overwhelming. "she was a model, and an egocentric freak. We hated each others guts out, and after she left I decided to write a book about her, vwhela." she added with a wave of her hand before looking to the side again, and ugly look on her face as she slumped in her seat and folded her arms of her chest. "Oh, and her name is Lyrssa." she added as an after thought, still not looking at him.
After a moment of this she turned and glared at him in her still pretty much indifferent way, which meant that it couldn't be glare so much as a hostile vibe.
"Don't you have somehwerone, other's actually, you know, want talk." She was doing it again. She bent her head down, leveling it with the table and staring at her lap for a second before flinging it back up, messing up her long brown hair.
"People." she said firmly. "Don't you have other people you you can do your little-thing with." She accompanied this with a few weird arm motions, but mostly just slumped back into her seat.
Life, she decided, was interesting.
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