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Post by Elora Shaye Willis on Oct 8, 2012 22:44:42 GMT -6
[/font][/size][/ul] [style= background: url(http://i48.tinypic.com/nz2902.jpg); height: 300px; width: 450px; vertical-align: top; padding: 0px;][style= font-family: times new roman; font-style: italic; font-size: 26px; line-height: 22.5; text-transform: lowercase; padding: 0px; text-align: right; color: #ffffee;]tug of war, sweet as sin [/style] Don't go out with the boys tonight, I won't sleep a wink Wondering what you're doing. Don't go out with the girls tonight, I will turn to drink Wondering who you're screwing. You seem too good, Too good to be true. I'm loving you longer, Longer than I'm used to. Don't go out with the boys tonight, I won't sleep a wink Wondering what you're doing. Don't go out with the girls tonight, I will turn to drink Wondering who you're screwing. Tug of war, Sweet as sin. I let go, I fell in. Feel the pull Call your name. I'm alone Once again. "Whatever," Elora mumbled to herself with a roll of her eyes as she picked her bag up off the ground. So what if her top was a little "revealing"? It was cute. Obviously, the teacher that was writing her up for breaking dress code did not understand fashion. Lori thought the woman had to be barking mad, though. Did the teacher really expect her to take the note to the vice principal? Obviously, but that was not going to happen. Elora simply wandered along the rather empty hallways, enjoying the fact that most everyone else was still in class. The teen was still adjusting to the new school and honestly just did not want to bother with classes that day. What she really wanted was to go home, not that it was much of a home. At least there, though, she would have an easier time at making money. Oh, well. She would adapt. She wondered how Mary was faring, dealing with all the kids without help. At least if she had been allowed to stay there, she could have helped. The girl frowned at the thought of the kids not having a decent Christmas that year and she made a mental note to send enough to Mary to get what the kids needed and wanted. She had no doubts that she would earn more than enough between that time and then. Lori did not sell herself for cheap, after all. The heels of her boots clicked against the tile as she walked, and she hummed softly to herself, trying to decide just where she was going to go. She had been wandering for a while when something caught her eye. A disused classroom. She could easily hide out in there. The teen smiled to herself as she went over to check the door, glad to find it unlocked. She then shut the door behind her and sighed heavily as she made her way over toward one of the desks in the dim lighting of the room. She peeled off her coat and draped it over the desk, setting her bag down with it. The room looked as though it had not been entered in many years, if the dust and cobwebs were anything to go by. With a soft hum, Elora lifted herself onto the top of the desk, crossing her legs at the knees, and she pulled out a cigarette and lighter. The girl did not often smoke, but in that place, she felt she needed it. Her eyes were pulled toward the door as she set aside the lighter and the door opened, letting in someone else that Lori could not really see due to the way the light in the hall made the other person's face all shadowy. "Hello?" Her brow furrowed a little as she strained to see who the person was, honestly not caring if she got caught. She was in trouble for her attire that day, anyway. Why not add fuel to the fire? It felt like a good day to do that.
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Post by Simon Patrick Gallagher on Oct 13, 2012 21:17:50 GMT -6
Pace yourself. Don't allow yourself to become overwhelmed. Ask for help. If you need to leave class, just raise your hand.
It was ridiculous. It was insulting. He should have been appalled by how they were treating him now, more than that, how he was allowing them to treat him. He wasn't made of glass. How many times had a teacher asked him how he was 'doing', with that same look of appropriate concern. They meant well. It was all about intentions, reading intentions. Hard to do when your brain had been removed, rewired, replaced by an automaton who felt nothing. The new medication had screwed with the circuitry, changed the chemical composition. The machine controlled everything. The wheels spun at the air, spun in circles. No decisions could be made. This new mind occupied the old body. Above ground, all of the plants looked the same until too late. Roots rotten, the plant died without any apparent external cause. The symptoms were in check, but the illness raged on under the surface. Human beings are animals at the centre of it. They took Simon, the sick animal, rather than put it down, they made it live because they could, because though the animal was broken and in pain and had outlived its usefulness, the crooked moral code said that life was sacred. So, suffer he would.
Quietly, now. The chemicals changed the composition of his thoughts. They were almost entirely devoid of feeling. Even pain became boring. Above all, there remained boredom. Boredom became the truth of life for he who felt nothing. These waking experiences translated into nil. No feeling is infinitely worse than bad feeling. No feeling is boredom, it isn't living, it is the antithesis of living. The automaton raised his hand, asking to be excused from class to collect himself and get some air. Air, the cure for everything. Collect what? He, the automaton, Simon, knew not what remained to collect. There was nothing to collect. Chemicals and electrical impulses, that kept the automaton in motion. Mobility is key when one is pretending to be a human being.
Simon left the classroom after raising his hand, giving one last parting nod to the professor who wanted only the best for him. The cold outside kept him from indulging in the true fresh air. Another old classroom would do. He'd taken to hiding in old classrooms of late. They promised quiet. As much quiet as there could be here. He didn't anticipate the other person in the room.
"Hello?" The voice was accompanied by the smell of smoke. A student, then.
"Hello." Simon said, to the darkness that greeted him. He had every intention of leaving the room at that point, but there was something promising in the pitch of that voice. Lacking the energy to find another classroom, the automaton shut the door behind him. "Do you mind if I stay here?" It seemed reasonable to ask, though if he received a negative answer, he'd probably stay anyway at this point, not keen on the notion of just wandering around the campus until class sounded appealing again.
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Post by Elora Shaye Willis on Oct 14, 2012 14:47:00 GMT -6
[style= background: url(http://i48.tinypic.com/nz2902.jpg); height: 300px; width: 450px; vertical-align: top; padding: 0px;][style= font-family: times new roman; font-style: italic; font-size: 26px; line-height: 22.5; text-transform: lowercase; padding: 0px; text-align: right; color: #ffffee;]tug of war, sweet as sin [/style] Don't go out with the boys tonight, I won't sleep a wink Wondering what you're doing. Don't go out with the girls tonight, I will turn to drink Wondering who you're screwing. You seem too good, Too good to be true. I'm loving you longer, Longer than I'm used to. Don't go out with the boys tonight, I won't sleep a wink Wondering what you're doing. Don't go out with the girls tonight, I will turn to drink Wondering who you're screwing. Tug of war, Sweet as sin. I let go, I fell in. Feel the pull Call your name. I'm alone Once again. The voice Elora heard in response was not one she really recognized, but as the teen actually came into the room more, she could see his face better. She recognized him from around (maybe he was in one of her classes), but could not put a name to the face. There were too many people in the school for her to know everyone, anyway. Besides, she had not been there that long. The girl had already made herself quite popular, though, especially with the boys. Then again, that was never too difficult when you were a flirt with a nice body and a cute face; and, Lori did know how to use what she had to her advantage. "Do you mind if I stay here?" At the question, Elora's lips twitched slightly in amusement. At least the boy was not one who was threatening to tell about her breaking the rules. Despite her not caring if she got caught, it was always nice to find someone who was not going to rat you out for something so insignificant. "Nah, not at all. S'long as you don't mind me smoking," she replied, flicking an ash off the end of the cigarette. The girl actually felt kind of awkward, not that she let it show, like she always did when facing someone new. It was a difficult choice to decide whether or not to treat the person like anyone else, or a potential job. That was the worst part. Something about the other boy made her think that he would not be very interested anyway; so, she would just go with the friendly approach. "Don't think we've met before. I'm Elora... or Lori... Lora... whatever you wanna use." Elora was used to a variety of nicknames from people, and she often replied to any of them, unless she was just in a bad mood. Sometimes, though, certain ones just pissed her off. Like when a client called her "baby", that never ceased to grind on her nerves. She was not their "baby". She was nothing to them but a lay, so the pet name was unnecessary and a bit too personal in her opinion. The thought alone was enough to make her start to feel that tingle of anger, but she pushed it aside by taking another long drag off the cigarette, absently shaking one of her feet. "So, why are you skipping classes?" she found herself asking, though Lori was not exactly sure she cared. It was better than an awkward silence between her and this boy she had never really met before. Plus, the guy had the potential to be a friend, but friendship did not happen without communication. So, she figured there was no harm in starting it. Right? The ginger haired girl flicked her bangs out of her eyes as she lowered her hands to either side of her on the desk (mindful of the cigarette), and lifted herself up slightly to shift in place to a more comfortable position before settling back down again. One arm crossed over her stomach as she lifted the other hand to take another, final drag off the cigarette. Then, she dropped it to the floor and lowered a foot enough to step on it until it was out. "D'we have classes together? I think 've seen you around." She was not fully sure, still, but it could not hurt to ask.
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Post by Simon Patrick Gallagher on Oct 14, 2012 21:59:40 GMT -6
When the light hit her face, Simon could see the face of his shadowy companion. It might have been a sweet face once, but something had cut it into a hard, crystalline, prettiness that inspired no feeling of warmth inside of a person, just a cold little thrill of surprise. Cold beauty had a habit of wearing out after prolonged exposure to it, where another sort of beauty, the kind that had more to do with the cute sort of pretty that made a person smile without meaning to, might have filled you with warmth. Cold beauty was shocking at first, but rarely lasting. Simon wondered who had tempered the burning youth in this girl, to make her into this cold glass caricature of beauty. He looked at the girl and felt nothing. That sullen beauty didn't stir him. It reminded him of cracked ice on a frozen lake. Immunity to beauty might have been one of the few advantages of being an automaton. Beauty bored him, so it finally lost its capacity to frighten him.
The girl asked to smoke, and the automaton replied in the language of humans. "That's fine." Because an automaton could not 'mind' anything. Automatons are impervious to smoke.
Porcelain. The girl looked like one of those porcelain dolls. The fingers, slim, stained slightly by the tobacco ash, were the facsimile of another pair of hands--- of f hands that Simon had read in a book, countless books. How many artists had attempted to capture the curve of that lip on canvas, in ink? The tilt of the head, a bobbing head on a doll's slender neck. The slender fingers brought the cigarette to the haughty lips, à la petite gamine. That just about completed the living profile of a working girl, the embodiment of the stray, one who had been prey now turned predator.
The automaton saw a childlike Jezebel, with lips carefully painted a pale shade of pink. It should have saddened the automaton, or perhaps inspired disgust, lust, any of many emotions, had he retained an once of the human fabric from which it had been cut. Silence reigned in the hollows of the machine. Thoughts were fed through tubes and were processed by the amoral computer, only to become useless bits of information never to inspire a single action nor emotion.
"Don't think we've met before. I'm Elora... or Lori... Lora... whatever you wanna use."
A name. An introduction. This could only mean that the girl wanted an introduction in return, another trivial human custom. Observing human customs, no matter how ridiculous, is essential to 'passing' in human company. As long as the automaton was masquerading as a human being, it would continue to observe such customs. "Nice to meet you, Elora." The automaton extended a smile rather than a hand. "I'm Simon."
"So, why are you skipping classes?"
"Now that I think of it, I think we have German together." A smile. "Oh, and I'm actually not skipping class." Said the automaton, feigning embarrassment. It saw confusion, so it added, for clarification, "I'm allowed to leave class... doctor's orders." A natural beat of rest in the conversation followed by, "What about you?" Smile.
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Post by Elora Shaye Willis on Oct 21, 2012 20:33:16 GMT -6
[style= background: url(http://i48.tinypic.com/nz2902.jpg); height: 300px; width: 450px; vertical-align: top; padding: 0px;][style= font-family: times new roman; font-style: italic; font-size: 26px; line-height: 22.5; text-transform: lowercase; padding: 0px; text-align: right; color: #ffffee;]tug of war, sweet as sin [/style] Don't go out with the boys tonight, I won't sleep a wink Wondering what you're doing. Don't go out with the girls tonight, I will turn to drink Wondering who you're screwing. You seem too good, Too good to be true. I'm loving you longer, Longer than I'm used to. Don't go out with the boys tonight, I won't sleep a wink Wondering what you're doing. Don't go out with the girls tonight, I will turn to drink Wondering who you're screwing. Tug of war, Sweet as sin. I let go, I fell in. Feel the pull Call your name. I'm alone Once again. Something seemed very... formal and stiff about this boy. It was odd, and Elora was not sure what she thought of it. His words almost seemed over practiced. Though, the more she thought about it, the more she was reminded of this girl back home that was on different mood and behavioral medications. They pretty much made her a zombie. Maybe this kid was on something similar. Given their surroundings, it would not be that surprising if he was. "Simon, huh? Like one of the little rodent things?" She was referring to this movie she had seen at the home once, an old recording of a movie from about ten years prior. It had these little animal things that talked. She could not remember much about it, other than one of them had the name Simon and another was fat. "Now that I think of it, I think we have German together." German. German class. What did she remember from the classroom? She could remember the teacher and the layout of the room. Bingo. Right. She could remember seeing the other teen there in the class. "Ah, ja, sehr gute," she replied with a nod as she shifted in place to get more comfortable again. The girl then blinked when she realized that she had switched to actually speaking in German. Okay, ew. They were not in class. Elora shook it off and flicked her hair back out of her eyes as she studied the other teen when he explained that he was not actually skipping classes. Lucky kid, she thought. She wished that she had a better reason for not being in class besides having been sent out, especially for something as ridiculous as her clothing choice. "Apparently having tits in this place is a crime and offends people," Elora replied with a shrug, though she knew her shirt was a bit too low cut for school standards. It did show the top of her bra. Both the top and her bra were cute, though, so why should it matter? Plus, it was not like she was baring it all. She was still covered. It was "distracting" and "inappropriate" though. Lori liked her outfit for the day, and thought that it was a good choice despite being told "no". The thought of being reprimanded for her style choice, though, was enough to make her grit her teeth for a moment. It was ridiculous. She should be able to wear whatever the hell she wanted. She paid for the stuff. "Do you think the dress code is ridiculous? I mean, I can't be the only one who thinks the school has its head up it's a--" She cut off as her phone interrupted her by playing a text message alert, which she checked only to roll her eyes again. She did not have time to deal with idiots. So, she shoved her phone back into her bag and flicked her hair out of her eyes as she looked back toward Simon. "What was I saying?"
open/simon, 0506, outfit, ew, short word count is short [/style] |
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Post by Simon Patrick Gallagher on Oct 26, 2012 17:20:47 GMT -6
"Simon, huh? Like one of the little rodent things?"
Simon raised an eyebrow in near amusement. "I'm afraid I'm not getting your reference." His voice was cool, controlled, polite. He was having trouble making it seem like he gave a damn. The truth was, he didn't. The emotional machine was broken. The only mouse Simon could identify with was a stupid clockwork mouse that was wound up to spin around in pointless circles. Numb sucked. Numb was no better than being dead. He'd go to great lengths to feel anything these days. Just last week he'd spent the afternoon in the back of some guy's electric hippymobile, shotgunning marijuana from some pretty hipster chick's warm lips. He'd gotten nothing out of it, just a little bit of mental fog that cleared too quickly to be of any use. Then, he'd drowned his face in visine before returning to school, leading a teacher to think that he'd been crying because of the way it dampened his eyelashes. If he hadn't been completely numb he would have found the entire situation hilarious, and maybe a little pathetic.
The teacher had taken him aside and told him that he was so strong, but that he didn't have to be ashamed of his emotions here. Everyone just wanted to get better. He could have laughed in her face if he had any laughter left in him. Instead he'd just played along with it and gotten himself a free ticket out of class. The vacant pleasure of being let out of class was later counterbalanced by an extra therapy session, since the teacher had apparently taken his eyes to mean that he was having a breakdown in class. The whole ordeal couldn't have been any more disgusting.
He let out a low, uninspired chuckle when the girl, Elora, started speaking German, seamlessly. At least someone is passing the class. And, when she said that people found tits offensive, he let out something closer to a real laugh. "Offended? Really? You'd think they'd be distracted." The words were mechanical. His amusement was mechanical. The gears turned and the automaton moved, but there was no conscience to that. He was soulless. He'd never been so empty.
The girl got a text and Simon wasn't the least bit interested on what it might say or who it might be from. He had no interest in conversation, really. He engaged in idle chitchat for the sake of avoiding offending anyone. In his automaton world, there was no need for words. There was no need for anything. Death would be just as dull a fate as life, and one outcome didn't seem any more or less attractive than any other. He simply existed to occupy space, while he attempted to fill the spaces that were inside of him. He needed a rush, anything. Drugs, pain, crime, anything would do. Anything but this total silence. Boredom was more painful than pain itself.
Just yesterday, he'd deliberately burnt himself with a cigarette lighter. His body had flinched involuntarily, but he held that lighter down on his skin, fighting against his self preservation instincts. He could feel no disgust, no joy, no disquiet, no anything when he looked at that charred flesh, and that internal was the root of his troubles. He'd then proceeded to cut himself open, faintly, with a penknife that he'd stolen from Walmart. It was easy to steal things there. All of the people who were employed to catch thieves were thieves themselves, and always stole more than enough to make up for their low pay and lack of benefits. He'd taken to stealing things on a regular basis, though it gave him only a little rush to do it.
He'd actually been caught taking a box of condoms, and the employee who'd caught him had not only failed to report him, but helped him open the box. "Only take the good ones. Leave the her pleasure ones here, and choose the flavoured ones and the fire and ice ones." The man, whose name tag said his name was 'Brian', had told Simon. And, then he'd told him to avoid the mint flavoured ones, as they tasted like cock. Simon didn't ask him how he knew what cock tasted like or point out that the whole point of flavoured condoms was to taste cock. He didn't even need them. The hipster chick he was screwing was fine without them. But, he didn't know where her body had been. Contracting AIDS or chlamydia wasn't exactly high on his bucket list.
The sex had been loud, thanks to her vocal talent, and uninspiring, thanks to his lack of interest. He could physically enjoy sex without actually enjoying it, if that made any sense. She'd given him her phone number and asked him to call before she left for Portland the next day, but the moment she was gone, he'd thrown the slip of scented paper away. He'd probably regret that some day, but at least it meant he wouldn't feel compelled to talk to her once he did get his mind back. And, he did intend to get his mind back. Being King Nobody of Nowhereland was not how he intended to spend the rest of his life, however short that might be.
"What was I saying?"
The automaton sensed that it was supposed to give a verbal response to the query. "You were telling me about the dress code. Yeah, it's pretty stupid. I'm right there with you. You should be allowed to wear whatever you want... or wear as little as you want, or whatever." Oops. His disinterest was showing through. "Sorry, I don't mean to be rude, but could I bum a cigarette off of you? I'm out." He didn't smoke until a few weeks ago. Now he physically craved it, but mentally got nothing out of it. Cancer. Now that sounded exciting. He wondered if she could see the bruises on his face in this light.
It had been the high point of his life since starting the medication. For no reason at all, he'd started a fight with a complete stranger. It was a guy who looked like he was about ready to kill somebody, and then Simon had given him a reason to want someone dead, a place to channel that red hot rage. Simon had only gotten one punch in, but it had been the most incredible feeling, feeling that man's rough cheek against his knuckles. Getting hit was an incredible feeling too. For a moment, he was alive again. And, then the guy had thrown him to the ground and spat on him. The fight was a lost cause. The other guy had to be close to seven feet tall and must have weighed a ton, but winning was never the point, Simon had realized. There was something about conflict and danger that brought some of the human out in him again. His heart had been beating wildly for a good five minutes after the fight. His departing hipster lay was worried about him. "Don't get into trouble. Don't miss me too much."
Poor girl, what was her name? If she'd known that the only thing he could promise her was that he wouldn't think of her too often, she'd probably be offended. People tended to become offended when you didn't care about them. Like, you should give a shit about them just because they existed. Simon couldn't be offended any more. People would be better off if they just didn't give a damn what anyone thought. Then, he wouldn't be pretending. His ribs hurt where they'd hit the ground and bruised. He might have even gotten a nice little fracture in there, but he wasn't going to tell anyone about it unless his entire ribcage collapsed and crushed his internal organs into slush. Then again, he might not tell anyone then. Being killed by your own body might be interesting. And, he was running out of interesting things to do.
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