[ Show ]
Support VoyForums
[ Shrink ]
VoyForums Announcement:
Programming and providing support for this service has been a labor
of love since 1997. We are one of the few services online who values our users'
privacy, and have never sold your information. We have even fought hard to defend your
privacy in legal cases; however, we've done it with almost no financial support -- paying out of pocket
to continue providing the service. Due to the issues imposed on us by advertisers, we
also stopped hosting most ads on the forums many years ago. We hope you appreciate our efforts.
Show your support by donating any amount. (Note: We are still technically a for-profit company, so your
contribution is not tax-deductible.)
PayPal Acct: 
Feedback: 
Donate to VoyForums (PayPal):
[ Next Thread |
Previous Thread |
Next Message |
Previous Message ]
Date Posted: 19:23:54 05/11/02 Sat
Author: Pandora Fallon
Subject: There's got to be something better than in the middle
In reply to:
Julian Emberson
's message, "come on, try a little. nothing is forever." on 00:16:16 05/11/02 Sat
/ Sleeping through the evening / Singing dreams inside my head / I've had an out; I've got some ins who say they care and they just might \
Well, eureka, with the seeming revelation of the disclosure of the location of her varnish painting and charcoal etcher supplies, it was almost detectable that while painting in a varnish genre of sorts, she was varnish herself... in a different context, of course. What with the "discovery" of her aides to art, she was coerced into being social, one of the rare subjects that she didn't exactly excel in. Perhaps it was the fact that she nursed an uncharitable, unexplained abhorrence towards the heavenly body known as the Earth imprecisely. A near sable, slim eyebrow increased in altitude somberly as she distinguished his every movement as he began ransacking random things to achieve proper decorum. Although she was taciturnly amused by the effect a human he wasn't accustomed with had adversely on him in a disheveled state, especially a described [I quote] 'untouchable' as herself, one would never hypothesize from her outside appearance. She canvassed him in her mind as she scrutinized him soberly, a thorn in his side, merely contemplating him to make him furtherly uncomfortable and malaise in her presence. This was her nature; to exacerbate. "Apparently... and I must say, superb application of trial and error skills." Nettlingly sarcastic, of course. You couldn't expect much else from her. On a quotidian, monotonous day, she may have comported herself differently and would not have acknowledged that he exsisted at all even when he spoke, but, luckily [or maybe unluckily] for him, her human benevolence levels had skyrocketed from negative two to zero. An innovating improvement, most would claim, although she would moan that it was a dire situation that needed to be righted immediately.
/ I'll run away with you if things don't go as planned / Planned and pictured / It could be a gamble \
The sophisticated, chic blonde merely perpetuated the smallishly embodied, baffling being's beguiling entertainment as he fruitlessly attempted a futile drag from the cigarette and seemed to hover on the precipice of proverbial suspended grace... and this time, she gave carte blanche to a minutely unpretentious smirk. "I can't bear false witness, but I doubt I will be interrogated as to the demonstration of unfledged smoking ability you just exhibited." The event had been quite larkish, though, what with him swatting and biffing at the air in a miffed way to get the smoke he had produced away from him. The intractable female's amethyst toned, emotionless eyes, naturally wide from decades of refinery in Fallon generations, somewhat churlishly and somewhat rivetedly gawked towards him as his piquant wit shone through when he made reverences to ancient Roman times. It almost [keyword: almost] caused her to snigger. Excluding this token of alludedly aroused curiousity, the rest of her regal, seemingly exquisitely chiseled face incomprehensibly donned not one expression; not even an expressionless expression. The solid ebony lashes blinked a few times owlishly and distractedly as her constant cerebration reached new, intimidatingly advanced and baroque heights, to the point where she, irrationally, slightly resented him for something so complex that it is genuinely difficult to explain. Although she was not one to make prejudicial presumptions about strangers that seemed to have a bit of gumption, and she wasn't judging him; no, not at all... it was the fact that when she witnessed a possibly savory character that she might have a vague snowflake's chance in hell pertaining to coexsistance with, it overwhelmed the reclusive girl because the feeling of hope was so drastically foreign to her. In that moment, a brick in her carefully constructed, standoffish wall between she and the rest of humanity, or the excrescence, rather, crumbled. Not to fret, though, for there were thousands to be eroded before she was defenseless.
/ I've already rolled the dice \
[ooc: don't ask why i'm incorporating songs into this; especially when they have nothing to do with the situation. i feel musicial. x_x btw, one headlight's my favorite song. it used to be pandora's theme until i changed it. i might change it back though. ^_^]
[
Next Thread |
Previous Thread |
Next Message |
Previous Message
]
Replies:
[> [> [> [> [> [> [> [>
Re: come on, try a little. nothing is forever. -- Joaquin Riddle, 21:34:01 05/11/02 Sat
Droplets of shower water fell through his lashes and into his eyes, finger reflexively reaching up to brush the liquid away. With a sour smirk he turned and made for the closet, wondering where the hell he kept the triptychs ____ gave to him the previous day. As the closet opened magically, Joaquin rubbed at his eye again and smelled his finger. "Thanks a fucking lot, Julian, now my eye smells like Vidal Sassoon. Go ahead and take the revision and give me the rest when you're finished..." He trailed off, picking between spaces and peeking under things. He became a bit cross, taking things out with furious attempt. "Where the hell did I put those triptychs?"
He turned back in annoyance to search the cabinet opposite of him in time to see Julian choke pathetically on one of his cigarettes. His lips curled like a mocking snake, eyes rolling. "Health freaks don't make good smokers, Pandora," He commented wryly. "Especially not this one. You should be glad these are cheap." He shook his head and crawled over the desks to get to the other side, again flipping open the doors with magic. He smiled brilliantly as he dove in the bottom shelf and began to dig. "Eureka!"
[ Post a Reply to This Message ]
[ Edit | View ]
[> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [>
I think I've got an incurable neon disease -- Pandora Fallon, 23:17:59 05/11/02 Sat
If possible, her cantankerous mood had worsened astronomically since she had been constricted into speech; an unreasonable feeling of being delimited and incarcerated dousing her, putting a damper on any prospect of remote uplifting of her always gloomy mind. She seemed comatose, as she frequently did, merely staring off vacantly into more dismal emptiness in a sort of dazed stupor, utterly absorbed by her relentlessly infiltrating thoughts and ambitions that seemed to reign supreme in her autocratic life. It was elaborately labyrinthine and obsfucate, what she deemed and what she christened her creeds; esoteric, by all means. The lissom trunk of her body twined as she absently dropped her bag upon the stone mosiac floor, the colorful curses her teacher ennunicated barely registering in her sapient brain. "Mmm." By this point, plausibility of retrieving her from her wayward, abrupt downward spiral were bleak but they were far from impossible.
Lethargic, the prodigy slowly rose from her seeming hibernation and began to religiously expedite completing the charcoal sketch of the cemetary of lost souls she had been meditatively working on until interrupted by the oh so holy arrival of the resident parasite. The spirit was strong but the flesh was weak, and in the end, this was, ultimately the death of everything. Nothing lasted forever; nothing had the capacity to endure eternity. With rather violent strokes of the swarthily ledded pencil, a demented grin creeped along her peach colored lips. Lack of sanity, would you say? Maybe, but for the most part, she was of sound mind. Her richly hued, umber tresses slipped from behind ears and drifted across her bronze toned visage, titillating the surface of her graveyard scene. Inflamed with deeply repungant detestment that blinded her in this state of mind, she took her balking frustrations out upon her terrifying image, and then began gradually becoming tranquil again, until the point where her breathing had evened. Some would call her strange, and strange was an apropos word for her.
[ Post a Reply to This Message ]
[ Edit | View ]
