|
|
Post by Brook LaRue on Sept 11, 2009 0:38:14 GMT -5
She closed her eyes for a moment and rubbed her arm, why did she feel so guilty? Because someone actually showed interest in her. She reached over and touched his arm, letting her eyes drift to the ground. For a moment she couldn't say anything and she knew he was going to pull away any minute. So she let out a sigh, honesty was the best policy right?
"I don't know how I feel..." she said softly before she folded her arms. "An.. I don't want you to think you were second best and just cause Blink doesn't notice me.." she sighed and closed her eyes. "If you really.. feel that way about me, mon choux. I can't carry feelins for Blink no more. It's not fair to you.. or me I guess.. he doesn't really care 'bout me that way.." she sighed and closed her eyes. No Blink just liked having.
|
|
|
|
Post by Snoddy King on Sept 11, 2009 0:49:07 GMT -5
When she touched his arm, he pulled away. Her fingers against his bare forearm burned like fire.
"I don't know how I feel... An... I don't want you to think you were second best and just cause Blink doesn't notice me... If you really... feel that way about me, mon choux. I can't carry feelins for Blink no more. It's not fair to you... or me I guess... He doesn't really care 'bout me that way..."
Snoddy shook his head, jamming his hands into his pockets and turning away from her; he felt like he was going to be sick now. "No," he said, his eyes focused firmly on the ground, "no, I... I don't want it that way. I don't want it to be because--" Impossibly, he felt a chuckle bubble out of his mouth--a self-loathing, hateful chuckle, but a chuckle nonetheless. He wiped a hand over his face, chewed a fingernail for a moment before trying again. "I don't want it to be because you're tired of waiting for someone else and I happen to be the nearest guy. So just... just forget I said anything. You don't like me like that, you like Blink. You know that, I know that, every-damn-body in Manhattan knows that. So go tell Blink that."
Poking out of the ground at the base of the oak, Snoddy spied a mushroom. He kicked out at it, knocking it over, before taking a step away from Brook. "C'mon," he said gruffy. "I gotta get you back to the lodging house."
|
|
|
|
Post by Brook LaRue on Sept 11, 2009 0:56:09 GMT -5
"I don't want that either." She closed her eyes a moment and ignored the last part shaking her head as she stepped back. She wasn't going to make him suffer her presence anymore. He was right, it wasn't fair. She did like Blink and she hated him all at the same time. She let out a slow breath as she took another step back.
"I'm going to go stay with Mason.." her brother, she was running home because she'd caused hurt to someone she cared about. Closest place to home was her brothers and they weren't far. "Don't.. worry about me.." Anymore, she wasn't going to hurt him again. He was one of her best friends and now.. it wasn't good. "I'm sorry.. really.. sorry.." she couldn't do this anymore so she turned and started to walk in the opposite direction of the lodging house. She'd be fine, she just-- felt like the worst human being alive.
|
|
|
|
Post by Snoddy King on Sept 11, 2009 15:02:11 GMT -5
Snoddy listened to Brook refuse to go back to the lodging house, keeping his focus on the mushroom he'd upturned. Didn't really matter to him, he wasn't planning on staying at the lodging house tonight, either. If she wanted to go stay with her brother for a while, maybe that'd be best--he could keep an eye on her, anyway. And Blink wouldn't be hanging all over her every evening.
As she took off in the opposite direction, Snoddy turned to go. He hadn't made it more than a few steps when his conscience started nagging him. Shit, he couldn't just let her walk off alone. He turned back, watching her hurry across the park, and opened his mouth to call her name, but thought better of it. Snapping his mouth closed again, he shoved his hands in his pockets and trudged off after her, following behind her, just close enough that he could make sure she got there without being hurt.
Sometimes Snoddy really hated being such a damn nice guy.
|
|
|
|
Post by Pallet O'Shea on Jan 4, 2010 15:49:52 GMT -5
[NEW DAY] Pallet set her box of paints and brushes on the ground and sat down next to them, placing her blank canvas in her lap. She inhaled a deep breath and exhaled. The air was cool and crisp, so she pulled her jacket tighter around her and pulled her knees up to her chest. Resting her chin on her knees she looked around, relishing in the quiet and peace. The past few weeks had been really hard on the whole Lodging House but, everyone was slowly getting back to normal--as much as they could under the circumstances. Lexi and Reid were still taking it pretty bad, but with time and each other, they could pull through it. Pallet had to get out of the house and take a breather and relax, so she headed straight for Central Park, with her painting supplies in tow. Pallet sat up straight and crossed her legs, setting her canvas horizontally on her lap. She pulled her paints, brushes, and palette out of the mahogany box next to her. Then, she squeezed a bit of each color of paint onto the palette, and took a brush in her hand and began painting the scene in front of her.  (Pallet's Painting- found on google. not mine) |
|
|
|
Post by Alice Byrne on Jan 4, 2010 23:04:28 GMT -5
Most days at this time (or at least most weekdays, anyhow) Alice would have been sitting at her desk at school, figuring out math problems or listening to miss Finney chatter on about this or that. But today, by some stroke of luck, she had been spared that daily torture when she came to school and was immediately turned away due to the fact that the principal had declared it a snow day. It had seemed strange to her considering that even on foot, she'd had absolutely no trouble making it to school and she'd always thought that snow days were only supposed to be called when the conditions were too bad for people to get to the school safely. But, whether it was a sound decision or not, she wasn't going to turn down a whole day of freedom.
After the snow day had been declared, most of the kids had trotted off to the warmth of their homes or gone off to play with friends. Alice, however, fully aware that going home would only result in her spending half her day working and that none of the other kids would be too eager to invite her to play with them, had made her way over to central park and planted herself on the snowy ground behind some bushes. She unfastened the belt which was holding her schoolbooks together and pulled out a copy of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer which she had borrowed from the Brooklyn library a week ago.
She had hoped to be able to read in peace at least until lunchtime but her hopes were soon dashed when she heard footsteps coming past the bushes and over to the tree nearby. She tried to stay focused on her book. After all, whoever it was wasn't making much noise. But it was a lost cause. After she realized that she had read the last sentence at least ten times in the past five minuutes without remembering a word of it, she finally gave in and peeked through the bushes to see who was there.
Through the leaves, she spotted a brown haired girl who looked to be a lot older than her sitting on the ground by the tree, painting. She didn't really have a good view of the painting so she couldn't tell what it looked like, but considering how much the girl was glancing up at the nearby bridge, Alice figured that she must have been painting it or something around it. Intigued, she placed her book back onto the stack of her schoolbooks and crept over to get a closer look at the painting.
As it turned out, the girl seemed to have just started the painting. In fact, there was little more on the little, white board- thing that she was painting on other than a couple of steaks of blue. Still curious, she edged a bit closer and glanced up at the bridge before looking back down at the board and te paints that the girl had nearby. A small, pouty sort of scowl formed on her face as she did so and then, suddenly, forgetting that the girl didn't seem to be aware that she was standing right behind her yet, she blurted out "What the hell are ya paintin' that for? It's boring!" with a note of annoyance in her voice.
|
|
|
|
Post by Pallet O'Shea on Jan 8, 2010 13:06:00 GMT -5
"What the hell are ya paintin' that for? It's boring!"
Startled by the girls insolent comment and not aware she was being watched, Pallet dropped her paint brush on the ground and turned around. "I wasn't aware I had an audience," she looked up at the young girl standing above her and raised an eyebrow, smiling. "It's not boring. It's beautiful," She added in her Irish accent.
Pallet turned back to the scene she was painting and picked her brush up off the ground. She patted the ground next to her, "Here, have a seat. Now, look. There may not be many colors-- just whites, blues, grays, and browns-- but if you look at it, it just evokes a peacefulness in you. The ducks swimming in the still water, the reflection of the bridge and tree on the water... And if you look past the bridge through the trees, you can see the buildings of the city. Looking at this picture when I finish it, no one would know how busy the streets are. It shows the calm, and peacefulness hidden in the city." The calm and peacefulness she had been looking for when she came here today, to escape the emotions and just everything back at the Lodging House.
Pallet went back to painting-- adding some more colors and lines onto her canvas. The bridge and trees and city skyline now appearing. A smile crept onto her face as she painted, finally feeling more relaxed and peaceful than she had in weeks.
|
|
|
|
Post by Alice Byrne on Jan 11, 2010 21:35:06 GMT -5
Alice snickered inadvertently at the girl’s apparent surprise at her abrupt appearance but, inwardly she heaved a resigned sigh. Now she was never going to get an answer to her question. She never meant to surprise people when they weren’t looking but, most times, before she’d even thought about it, she’d already done it and, after that, the only response that she ever got from grown-ups was a lecture on how rude it was to just come up behind people like that. To her great surprise, however, the girl promptly answered her question.
"It's not boring. It's beautiful, Here, have a seat. Now, look. There may not be many colors-- just whites, blues, grays, and browns-- but if you look at it, it just evokes a peacefulness in you. The ducks swimming in the still water, the reflection of the bridge and tree on the water... And if you look past the bridge through the trees, you can see the buildings of the city. Looking at this picture when I finish it, no one would know how busy the streets are. It shows the calm, and peacefulness hidden in the city."
Quickly recovering from her initial shock, sat down in the grass where the girl had indicated. She listened to the girl’s explanation and glanced back and forth between the unfinished painting and the bridge before replying bluntly. “sorry, lady, but I don’t care how many colors ya use or how good it makes ya feel, that painting’s just going to be boring if ya don’t at least change it a little.”She looked over at the girl and gave an exaggerated shrug as if to say ”what can I do? It’s the truth.” before continuing, “But y’know, I think I know how ya can fix it.” She added, her eyes lighting up as she scrambled to her feet and dashed over to the stack of books, snatching The Adventures of Tom Sawyer from the top.
When she made it back over to where the girl was sitting, she delved straight into an enthusiastic explanation; “See, I been reading this book, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer,” She held up the book for the girl to see, “and it’s really good ‘cause the kid in it spends the whole book doing all kinds of stuff that I couldn’t ever do like running away to an island with his friends and all kinds of other neat stuff and the whole reason why it’s not boring is ‘cause I couldn’t ever actually do it. But, with your painting, even if I liked just sitting around and looking at a stupid bridge all day, all I’d have to do is come down here and do it. I wouldn’t need your dumb painting. But, if you added something to it that people couldn’t actually have like a neat pirate battle or even just a family, ‘cause lots of people don’t got that, then people’d people’d wanna look at your painting and not the real thing ‘cause your painting’d have something the real thing don’t” she finished with a proud smirk on her face.
|
|
|
|
Post by Pallet O'Shea on Jan 22, 2010 18:41:15 GMT -5
Pallet chuckled at the girls bluntness and enthusiasm, and not taken any offense to anything negative she had to say about the painting. It reminded her of her younger self, back in Ireland. Her mother had often scolded her for speaking before she thought about what she was saying.
Pallet looked over at the book in the younger girl's hand and listened intently to her description of the familiar story. Tom Sawyer was a favorite of several of the kids in the Bronx.
"That sounds like an idea." Pallet chuckled thinking about seeing a pirates ship in her painting. Putting a family in there wasn't such a bad idea, though. "I suppose a family sitting there along the bank would look nice."
Pallet set her painting aside, deciding to finish it later after the girl left. She turned towards her and smiled, "My name's Pallet. What's yours?"
((Sorry took so long. Been working A LOT.))
|
|
