Post by Adalia Locke on Jul 2, 2009 18:42:28 GMT -5
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ADALIACLARISSELOCKE
[/color]ADALIACLARISSELOCKE
“ LET’S BEGIN BY FAKING OUR OWN DEATHS
UNPARALLELED ARE MY MOTIVES BABY
AND EVEN IF YOU THOUGHT YOU’D SAVE ME/WE’D BE TOGETHER
YOU’RE WRONG
SO HAVE A HEART AND BREAK MINE
DON’T YOU FORGET, DON’T YOU FORGET WHO I AM "
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OKAY, SO GIVE US THE BASICS !
SORRY, NOT QUITE. SO WHAT ARE AND AREN'T YOU INTO ?
HOW ER... INTERESTING. EVER LOOKED INTO THE MIRROR OF ERISED ?
WHAT MAKES YOU SHAKE IN YOUR BOOTS ?
EVEN YOU HAVE TO HAVE SOME GOOD QUALITIES, RIGHT ?
AND IT'S QUITE OBVIOUS YOU HAVE YOUR BAD, HUH?
LET'S GET DIRTY. WHAT TURNS YOU ON ?
DO YOU LOVE YOUR FAMILY ?
WHERE YA FROM, BY THE WAY ?
THE DEMENTORS ARE HERE. WHAT DO YOU THINK OF ?
BETTER GET UP A PATRONUS. WHAT ARE YOU REMEMBERING ?
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HI, I AM TOASTY (IT’S A JOKE) AND I AM 15 YEARS OLD.
I HAVE BEEN DOING THIS SHIT FOR YEARS AND I AIN'T
QUITTING ANYTIME SOON. WELL, I GUESS I NEED TO SHOW YOU I'M THE SHIT,
SO HERE IT GOES.
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HI, I AM TOASTY (IT’S A JOKE) AND I AM 15 YEARS OLD.
I HAVE BEEN DOING THIS SHIT FOR YEARS AND I AIN'T
QUITTING ANYTIME SOON. WELL, I GUESS I NEED TO SHOW YOU I'M THE SHIT,
SO HERE IT GOES.
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(As Eira somewhere else)
The midnight haired vixen let a soft curse escape immaculate lips. The bloody air was freezing to her, enveloping her soft sweater and crystallizing the fabric. The damn weather always seemed to mock her, now that she was this accursed beast, foul, and desiring nothing more than blood to sate her hunger. Humor in the form of being a vegetarian in her past was perhaps all that consoled her. It wasn’t her fault, was it?
Of course not. That was what she had to keep telling herself. It could keep her sane, or at least healthy enough to survive until she decided to call an ‘exterminator’ to deal with her. She let herself chuckle tenderly as she pulled her hood farther down to cover half of her eyes. Maverick bangs already shaded her azure orbs enough, but the comfort of a piece of brightly striped cloth still made her smile. Here, she was different yet alike, which killed her on the inside. The humans assumed she was part of the elite Night Class, and the Night Class assumed she was a member of the Day group. The fact that she was neither didn’t prove to be a problem to the headmaster. In fact, he was delighted to have a half-breed, as he so gently put it. Eira snorted. Some sympathy.
All she wanted right now (besides the insatiable thirst for bloody satisfaction) was quiet. No interference, no distractions, just the guitar resting in the case dangling from her right hand and the damnable air. Was that too much to ask? Of course it was. Everything she needed, regardless of the fact that her requests were meager in comparison to those of others she knew or had heard of, was out of her reach. Eira didn’t appear to deserve the same treatment as everyone else. But she was used to that by now. She had to be; after all, she was really here, wasn’t she? There was no one to comfort her now, to tell her that this was all a dream, and that she would wake up without this cursed need.
Anxiety. Yes, it was one of her many problems, but it was among the highest ranking distractions that could possibly ravage a tormented soul. It was bad enough hearing and tasting the pulses of all humans that crossed her path—but the anxiety just made it worse. Slender fingers ran themselves through newly tinted violet hair as cerulean eyes gazed straight ahead. Please, no company. Just leave me alone. Of course, this simply request would not be met. Cross was not a place to be left alone. Either the pesky Day Class students would be vying for the attention of the exchange student from the UK, or the notoriously nosy and stubborn Night Class would be trying to figure out how such a lowly character was ranked with the likes of the. Stupid hierarchy. It was a shame; she could have been friends with them if they had given her the chance instead of greeting the newest addition to the academy with cold stares.
Eira had been forced to, after class, wander the grounds until the Day Class woke—accompanied only by her beloved Alvarez. The old, worn, and yet still perfect acoustic guitar had been with her far before she had become one of them, and it had continued to stick with her long after. Finally, a bench secluded by strangely curled trees came within her line of vision. “Finally. Somewhere I can play as loud as I wish and still annoy the crap out of people walking by…people who can’t see me.” The dark haired vixen allowed herself a chuckle and headed straight for the wooden chair. Her case, she set down beside the probably ancient contraption. Herself, she rested tenderly on the scrap of dead tree and metal, so as to not break it before its time. Tired hands unfastened the locks of the Alvarez case and pulled the adored guitar out and onto her lap. After adjusting her sweater and pulling her annoyingly short uniform down, she allowed her fingers to slide across the neck of her acoustic. Each delicate note played started out soft and built up until the dark, soft melody drifted through the grounds of the academy.
Silence. That was all she needed to get the inspiration to try and figure out the complex riffs of some of her favorite songs. Otherwise, she was out snapping shots of random things on the spur of the moment. Her mother, a regular photographer human, had instilled the creativity within her, as well as the need to keep her talents out of spotlight. Eira didn’t like the attention, as did most of the students that had attended Julliard with her back in the UK. She had scoffed at the idea of showing off…her father was humble as a doctor, although as a vampire, he far surpassed the knowledge, nobility, and appearance of all his co-workers. See, Eira didn’t like the attention. It was all too much for her. Perhaps that would explain why she kept pictures plastered all over her bathroom walls and inside her closet, and why she played her guitar in the secluded parts of walkways, where she could indeed be heard, but not noticed too much. Most people would just walk away.
But the need for some kind of company was always there. People just had to get past her quiet outer shell; they had to peel away the layers of hardcore music and brightly colored hair. Even now, her fingers were tapping out Coheed and Cambria. Footsteps came to her attention, though far away, but they didn’t stop her. If somebody wanted to talk to her, she’d endure it.
The midnight haired vixen let a soft curse escape immaculate lips. The bloody air was freezing to her, enveloping her soft sweater and crystallizing the fabric. The damn weather always seemed to mock her, now that she was this accursed beast, foul, and desiring nothing more than blood to sate her hunger. Humor in the form of being a vegetarian in her past was perhaps all that consoled her. It wasn’t her fault, was it?
Of course not. That was what she had to keep telling herself. It could keep her sane, or at least healthy enough to survive until she decided to call an ‘exterminator’ to deal with her. She let herself chuckle tenderly as she pulled her hood farther down to cover half of her eyes. Maverick bangs already shaded her azure orbs enough, but the comfort of a piece of brightly striped cloth still made her smile. Here, she was different yet alike, which killed her on the inside. The humans assumed she was part of the elite Night Class, and the Night Class assumed she was a member of the Day group. The fact that she was neither didn’t prove to be a problem to the headmaster. In fact, he was delighted to have a half-breed, as he so gently put it. Eira snorted. Some sympathy.
All she wanted right now (besides the insatiable thirst for bloody satisfaction) was quiet. No interference, no distractions, just the guitar resting in the case dangling from her right hand and the damnable air. Was that too much to ask? Of course it was. Everything she needed, regardless of the fact that her requests were meager in comparison to those of others she knew or had heard of, was out of her reach. Eira didn’t appear to deserve the same treatment as everyone else. But she was used to that by now. She had to be; after all, she was really here, wasn’t she? There was no one to comfort her now, to tell her that this was all a dream, and that she would wake up without this cursed need.
Anxiety. Yes, it was one of her many problems, but it was among the highest ranking distractions that could possibly ravage a tormented soul. It was bad enough hearing and tasting the pulses of all humans that crossed her path—but the anxiety just made it worse. Slender fingers ran themselves through newly tinted violet hair as cerulean eyes gazed straight ahead. Please, no company. Just leave me alone. Of course, this simply request would not be met. Cross was not a place to be left alone. Either the pesky Day Class students would be vying for the attention of the exchange student from the UK, or the notoriously nosy and stubborn Night Class would be trying to figure out how such a lowly character was ranked with the likes of the. Stupid hierarchy. It was a shame; she could have been friends with them if they had given her the chance instead of greeting the newest addition to the academy with cold stares.
Eira had been forced to, after class, wander the grounds until the Day Class woke—accompanied only by her beloved Alvarez. The old, worn, and yet still perfect acoustic guitar had been with her far before she had become one of them, and it had continued to stick with her long after. Finally, a bench secluded by strangely curled trees came within her line of vision. “Finally. Somewhere I can play as loud as I wish and still annoy the crap out of people walking by…people who can’t see me.” The dark haired vixen allowed herself a chuckle and headed straight for the wooden chair. Her case, she set down beside the probably ancient contraption. Herself, she rested tenderly on the scrap of dead tree and metal, so as to not break it before its time. Tired hands unfastened the locks of the Alvarez case and pulled the adored guitar out and onto her lap. After adjusting her sweater and pulling her annoyingly short uniform down, she allowed her fingers to slide across the neck of her acoustic. Each delicate note played started out soft and built up until the dark, soft melody drifted through the grounds of the academy.
Silence. That was all she needed to get the inspiration to try and figure out the complex riffs of some of her favorite songs. Otherwise, she was out snapping shots of random things on the spur of the moment. Her mother, a regular photographer human, had instilled the creativity within her, as well as the need to keep her talents out of spotlight. Eira didn’t like the attention, as did most of the students that had attended Julliard with her back in the UK. She had scoffed at the idea of showing off…her father was humble as a doctor, although as a vampire, he far surpassed the knowledge, nobility, and appearance of all his co-workers. See, Eira didn’t like the attention. It was all too much for her. Perhaps that would explain why she kept pictures plastered all over her bathroom walls and inside her closet, and why she played her guitar in the secluded parts of walkways, where she could indeed be heard, but not noticed too much. Most people would just walk away.
But the need for some kind of company was always there. People just had to get past her quiet outer shell; they had to peel away the layers of hardcore music and brightly colored hair. Even now, her fingers were tapping out Coheed and Cambria. Footsteps came to her attention, though far away, but they didn’t stop her. If somebody wanted to talk to her, she’d endure it.
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