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Post by honey on Jun 2, 2011 20:24:08 GMT -5
Honey walked out on to the roof, a pair of brushes clenched between her teath, a canvas tucked under her arm and a black, bulky backpack over her shoulders. It was a bit tricky attempting- wait, no, succeeding- getting on top of the school, but it was done. She looked around at the school. The sun was barely setting, barely anyone was left at school and, most of all, she was alone. Sure, being alone wasn't the greatest, of the most fun or even pleasing, but at least no one is making her talk and she can just sit up here and paint her heart away. Besides, she's used to being alone. Since...he died, being alone came naturally, not craving the attention of the preppy girls or someone to talk to her.
She pulled out her ipod and plugged her headset into it as she sat down on the cold roof. She played 'Its Just Me' by Escape the Fate while she prepared her art. Acrylic paint poured onto a paper plate, a water bottle for cleaning her brushes, paper towels and her canvas laid on her lap. Biting her lip, she looked out into the scenery for inspiration. The sunset was...pretty, but she wasn't looking for pretty. She wanted to paint something complex, intriguing and meaningful. Letting a sigh escape her lips, she tilted her head back, looking at the dimming sky.
Nothing.
Looking back at her plain canvas, she scowled softly, running her fingertips lightly against it. What to paint, what paint... Feelings, she decided. I'll paint feelings, but what feeling? Happiness? No, that wouldn't turn out right. It would be too confusing... Confusion? Maybe...that was a bit too complex for now. She closed her eyes, trying to feel something. She felt despair. She felt misery. She felt pain.
Oh, Xander...she though to herself gloomily. Why?
She reached for her paint brush and paper plate and poured out blue, black and red paint. She painted each brush stroke carefully and as artistically as she could until the canvas was colored fully in dark red and dark blue paint, the blue being more near the top and the red near the bottom. As she waited for it to dry, she poured white paint, black paint and blue paint. The cool air seemed to help Honey with the drying of the canvas, helping her move on to the next step: painting a moon at the center top and white flowers at the bottom, covered in light dew.
Finishing the moon, though it took an hour, she moved on to the flowers only to realize the sun had completely set. Looking at her pods clock, she noticed the time to have easily passed. Oh well, its not liked she had wanted to do any of her core class homework. She set her materials to the side and looked up at the dark, star infested sky, a light smile upon her lips. |
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Post by Nathan "Nate" Jameson on Jun 2, 2011 20:57:30 GMT -5
Nate loved his school, and Dahlia and Crystal, his adoptive parents, were pretty nice too. It was better than living in shitty foster homes, with shitty foster parents, and going to shitty schools. Some days though he needed to get away from the women who adopted him. Some days he could not look his brother in the eye without seeing his father, and it terrified him. His brother and his father were nothing alike, but they looked so similar it was scary. He feared the man greatly, but loved his brother dearly and sometimes he just could not get over the resemblance.
He was a guitar player and a song writer. His brother told him he has a nice voice too, but his brother was the only person to ever hear him sing. He had his guitar strapped to his back and a few notebooks shoved into small brown canvas bag on his shoulder, wandering the campus after hours.
He sighed, climbing the steps to the roof. It was getting late, but he liked heights and he learned the janitor rarely actually locked the steps. Artists were always breaking the lock to get onto the roof anyways he supposed. Better vantage point he guessed. He has just been addicted to heights since he was a kid. He often slept on the roof and in trees when his dad decided to kick him out, or he didn't want to be in the foster homes, and didn't want his brother to be around the type of people they were shipped to.
When he got up there, there was a girl. She had her headphones in and he was being very quiet. He looked over her shoulder at the painting out of curiosity, hoping not to interrupt her. He knew that sometimes a quick interruption was enough to kill a song completely when he was writing. He was sure that carried over into all forms of art. He nodded, it was a good painting, before walking away and sitting a few feet away from her on the roof.
He got out his notebook, but not his guitar, and started scribbling in the margins, of the song he was working on. It was about his father, and it was killing him to wrute but it was just one of those things that had to come out. It would not take no for an answer. He notices when she looked up, and he figured he could say something. She set her things down and was either done or taking a break.
"I didn't expect anyone to be out here." He said, not sure if she could hear him over whatever she was listening to. If she did, that was ok, if she didn't oh well. It was not one of those things he would dwell on.
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Post by honey on Jun 2, 2011 21:20:44 GMT -5
"I didn't expect anyone to be out here," said a faint, male voice under the sound of her music, playing "I'm With You" by Avril L. She took off her headset, letting it hang around her neck, smothering her dark brown hair against the skin of her neck. She played with the bracelets on her left arm, covering the scars on her left wrist. Good, they were still covering her wrist properly, she had no idea how to react to someone that found them.
She turned from side to side to find the source of the voice. A boy, probably older than herself with a guitar and a notepad. Cool, she thought to herself. Guitar sounded so amazing, but she preferred the sound of the deep bass guitar. There were so many spectacular musicians at this school, but even among them, there was a ranking. The spectacular, and the amazingly spectacular...and also, the ones only spectacular enough to barely make it in. As she looked at the boy with her brown eyes, she wondered which group he fit in to.
Noticing her smile had dropped after hearing him, she replaced her emotionless appearance with a soft smile and waved at him. Then, quickly, the looked at her supplies. Hm, she would have to wait a bit for the canvas to dry, as well as her brushes, before she could take them back to the apartment. No point in smudging her art, or getting...more paint on herself. She looked at her arms, which were clothed in elbow-length sleeves from her black shirt, but where also covered in paint splattered on, not only her skin, but her clothes as well.
Closing the jars of paint, she packed them into her bag with her brushes. As she zippered it up, she took a peak at the boy and took interest in his note book. Hesitating for a moment, she contemplated going over and asking...but asking meant talking... She shook her head slightly before getting as and kneeling in front of him, point at his note book with a puzzled look hoping she'd get her message across without having to talk. Maybe he could do most of the talking. She didn't mind nodding her head...she just didn't like to talk... |
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Post by Nathan "Nate" Jameson on Jun 2, 2011 21:47:12 GMT -5
He recognized her vaguely, now that she turned toward him. He was terrible with names, so tended to categorize people by their quirks. She didn't talk, he was pretty sure she could talk, but she didn't. Not usually. He didn't mind that. He wasn't much of a conversationalist himself beyond flirting with a pretty girl or talking to his brother.
He had expected her to just ignore him, but she didn't. She came over and pointed to his notebook. One could assume she was wondering what he was writing. He sighed, now wondering if he should tell her or not. He didn't particularly like talking about his father, or his family. Other than his little brother they could think what they wanted about his family. Most people assumed he had an apple pie, fishing trip every Sunday life. He wasn't sure why and was almost positive that ninety-nine percent of the student population here did not have that sort of life. The apple pie life didn't make artists and dreamers. It made doctors and lawyers.
On one hand, he could tell her what he was writing about. She didn't seem like the type to ask a lot of questions or give him a pity party, which was something that he hated, so he figured there was no harm in it. Unless he misjudged her character and she was the type to give him the pity party. He doubted it but there was a chance.
On the other hand he could shrug it off and say nothing more than 'writing a song'. Vague but true because he was not a liar. He was also not a mean person by nature so he wasn't going to just tell her to buzz off. He honestly did not get why people gave him a bad rep. So he had a few mishaps with the police. It wasn't like his record had anything extraordinarily bad on it, like rape or murder. Those were things that he detested.
"I'm writing a song, about my father." He said, flipping the notebook over to her. It was anger and pain and hatred, and sadness. There were hard scratch marks where he scribbled out lines that did not fit, and bars of music above each line of the song. Many of those were scribbled out and rewritten as well.
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Post by honey on Jun 2, 2011 22:10:25 GMT -5
 sometimes life seems too quiet
into paralyzing silence
Honey let her smile drop a little bit as he spoke, handing over his note book. His father. The man must be a really good, a really funny or a really bad guy for his son to write a song about him. Quickly, she scanned the pages of the rough draft, singing the song in her head and trying to make sense of it. Or, at least, the most sense of it she could the notes scribbled onto the pages and parts of it harshly scribbled out.
But as she read it, like someone might read a novel, she threw her own artistic mind into it. Like, how could a bass part fit in, where is the rhythm to the song and how it might all fit together. She looked over it for a few minutes before snapping out of her trance and actually taking the lyrics to heart, so read them purposefully. Wow...not only were the lyrics...well, perfect but...just, wow. His old man wasn't that great, huh?
When you think about it, whose is? Her father puts work before her, Xanders dad walked out on him and his mother, and then the comical parts of those chick flicks where the dads too protective of the girl. Well...that last one wasn't as...yeah, she's just going to stop thinking about that now. She handed the note book back to him and looked at him. He didn't seem too sad or mad about it. Sure, he had that sort of...determined kind of resting face, but he didn't look like he wanted her sympathy. Not like she could give him any, unless he wanted a pat on the back or a sad nod or something. She just shrugged and stood back up, giving him another faint smile just to show she, um, approved of his work?
She walked back over to her stuff, packing away what she didn't need anymore and leaving the canvas out, seeing as reading his music hadn't been long enough to let it fully dry. She touched the paint lightly, the red sticking to her finger. Yup, definably not ready to move around just yet, so she sat down and laid back. The stars where pretty...or as pretty as they could be in this kind of city.
Closing her eyes, she tried to find the energy to get back up, but couldn't. Too tired, she guessed. Then her stomach growled loudly, and almost painfully. Guess that mango juice and toaster waffle didn't last very long... Maybe she could stop at a 7/11 on the way back. Wait, no, she didn't have any money. Great.
sorrow by flyleaf
[/color] lyricsomnomnom[/color] notesnathan/open[/color] tagged[/right][/blockquote] |
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Post by Nathan "Nate" Jameson on Jun 3, 2011 12:58:13 GMT -5
Nate shifted uncomfortably as he let her read his notebook. He usually didn't share unfinished pieces with anyone, except his brother so he wasn't really sure why he did now. So many people of this school were so amazingly talented that he always felt like he couldn't hold a candle to them. He knew he got in here on his own with his own talent, but sometimes he just did not feel adequate. He was a kid with a pen and a guitar nothing special there were kids like him all across the nation that would go nowhere no matter their talent level. He sighed.
He smiled when she smiled at him. Not that he could help it. He took it as a sign that she liked his work, and therefore could not help the slightly goofy grin that reached his face. When she walked back to her things he got up from his spot to look at here painting again. When he got there it was not finished so he wanted to see it again. It was much better than before, the shapes on the page actually recognizable and pretty.
He often did not admit to appreciating art, because if made him feel like he was some sort of weirdo girly dude, which was fine for the guys who liked looking like that but it just was not for him. She did give him some feedback, so he felt it only common courtesy to do the same.
"It's a very nice painting." He said, not really sure what else to say. He did not have any sort of an art background so he didn't know how else to describe the painting but he knew it was good. More than good. He to this day did not understand why producers and museum owners didn't just line outside out of their door because everyone who knew anything knew talent thrived in the halls of Hollywood Arts. Most of these students would not be able to function in a 'normal' high school. They's be bullied or picked on and they would lose their dreams, forget their talents and meld with the crowd. That was something he thought was a horrible crime.
Admittedly he was one of those people who would just give up in a normal school, but his brother would hold onto his dreams til the very end even if it caused him pain, which is why he decided coming here was the best thing to do. He laughed when her stomach growled, he shoved his hands in the pockets of his brown leather jacket to make sure he had his wallet before saying anything.
"You wanna go get something to eat? I'll buy." He offered shrugging. Dahlia was a model and a rather well paid one at that. Crystal owned a cyber cafe and so they gave him and Aiden some pretty large allowances, as long as they actually did the chores required to earn such money. They were big on the whole 'teach children responsibility thing' despite already knowing the two boys were far more responsible and independent than two kids their age should be.
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Post by honey on Jun 3, 2011 16:37:38 GMT -5
sometimes life seems too quiet
into paralyzing silence
Upon hearing the boys compliment, Honey felt a blush creep up on to her face. Not like this was anything new. Teacher, private teachers, students, whatever. She just wasn't...well, used to complements. Sure, her parents liked to buy the tutors and help her along, but they never commented on anything she did. Xander did, though, but it never made her blush. She would just smile, say thanks and then talk for hours and hours about things that didn't make sense...most of the time.
Then, when he laughed...at her, her blush grew deeper and her stomach hurt, but not only because of her hunger. She opened her eyes and looked up at him and began to wonder: why? Don't people usually ignore people that don't talk? All she's done was smile and read his notebook. Should she decline? But...she was hungry and this would just be free food, right? Ok, sure, she could go for just food.
Honey stood up and slung her backpack over her shoulder and picked up her canvas. It wasn't completely dry, but it was dry enough. She looked down as her feet and waited for him to say something. At this moment, even if she wanted to say something she didn't know what to say. Her name? Where she wanted to go? Nah.
She reached into the side pocket of her backpacker and pulled out a muffin wrapper and showed him, a half smile on her lips and a shrug of her shoulder. Hopefully he'd get what she was trying to say....muffins...yup. Wow, she sure relied on hope a lot. Well, whatever. She was just trying to get by on life and if it meant asking for muffins in a strange way, that's what happens.
sorrow by flyleaf
[/color] lyricsomnomnom[/color] notesopen[/color] tagged[/right][/blockquote] |
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Post by Nathan "Nate" Jameson on Jun 4, 2011 17:44:34 GMT -5
He pulled out his phone to check the time quickly after seeing the muffin wrapper. It wasn't quite as late as he had anticipated, which was good because it meant the place he wanted to go to was still open. Shoving the phone back into his jacket pocket he closed his notebook and places that and his pen back into the bag he brought with him. He leaned down to pick up his guitar and slung it back over his shoulder before also slinging the brown backpack onto it. Muffins. Odd request but he knew just the place.
"My.." He paused not really sure how to describe his parent. "One of my adoptive mom's owns this cyber-cafe. It's usually filled with like super nerds but the place has some of the best bakery in the world. No joke." He said. It wasn't like he was embarrassed about his status as an adoptee, nor was he embarrassed that both of his parents happened to be women, he just was sometimes afraid of the reaction. They lived in California after all, which made it not so big of a deal, but he still got crap about it sometimes.
She did not seem like the type of person to mind, though he was assuming heavily about her character based on her actions. Honestly you never really knew what people were thinking until they expressed it in one way or another. He was happy to be going to the small cafe. He could use a cup of coffee himself, despite the hour. They sold some finger sandwiches and stuff too. For a place that was focused mostly on the computers they had a wide variety of snacks.
He smiled at the girl and waited until she was done packing up. He didn't want it to seem like he was rushing her or anything, because he wasn't. The cafe was pretty much open until customers left. One of those places that would stay open if the owner liked the people inside. Crystal tended to work late shifts because of it but Dahlia did not really mind, and neither did he or Aiden. Honestly he spent quite a bit of time there just hanging out.
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Post by honey on Jun 4, 2011 18:25:47 GMT -5
sometimes life seems too quiet
into paralyzing silence
Honey held the canvas tightly in her grip as she listened to him. His adoptive mom? Well, that sounds good. At least he's not with his dad, because, by the looks of his song, the man wasn't so great. Actually, it was pretty cool his mom had a restaurant, even if it was a computer cafe. But, wait, 'one' of 'moms'? Oh...a lesbian couple, alright. Well, she wasn't about to judge anyone. If anything she thought same sex couples were cool. Kind of like the whole hippie thing of 'standing up to the man.
She looked at her hand and remembered the muffin wrapper, putting the wrapper back into her bag; she wasn't about to litter on the roof. But who really cared about garbage on a roof? Well, maybe the janitors did and some other people who enjoy the roof as well.
She pulled out her ipod, changing the song to 'Low lifer by Theory of a Headman and taking the headset around her neck back on as she began to walk. The music would hopefully keep her from being forced into a conversation and since she didn't know how long the walk was from here to there, music was a safe bet, but it was a little rude... oh well. She just wanted the muffin.
sorrow by flyleaf
[/color] lyricsomnomnom[/color] notesnathan/open[/color] tagged[/right][/blockquote] |
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