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[> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> Ironic, but such is life, eh? -- Pandora Fallon, 17:29:50 05/15/02 Wed



Since her unebullient tirade had concurred full circle, she had been shading and experimenting with chiaroscuro upon her grotesque image, becoming more and more tolerant of it as cauducous time evanesced and she canvassed it more. Perchance it was the opposite; maybe she was developing a loathing distaste for it as profuse minutes passed, but she couldn't adjudge by descretion if she would hurl it all in the trash where a nagging something told her it belonged, when it didn't. The conversation was her ballast to reality for the time being, as she was getting quite immersed and engrossed in the ghastly of portentous demise her tormented, and tormenting, mind had concoted and bizzarely brought to life outlandishly upon paper. Pleased parlance about had surfaced as it granted her the supreme capability to cut herself down to the quick, a phantom of a grin tugged at the corners of her peachy toned mouth in a ghostly way, but it possessed such celerity and concealment that it was difficult to decide if it was actually there at all once it disappeared. "It's not dirty. Rank would be the word. It's what I felt compelled to do it. It's a graveyard with those who met violent ends rising from six feet under." A bit banely malignant, yes, but she was fairly confident he could swallow her words without reacting like he had to the cigarette. Almost tentatively, she turned it around to display it to him, simply because she was desperate for someone else's opinion since she was irritated by her inability to reach a conclusion. She deduced that if he felt it necessary, he could approach to view it since she was on the other side of the room, but if not, she would not be crestfallen, as she was just that insouciant. Well, perhaps the most meager amount of disappointment would occur, but she would sweep it under the rug, so to speak, and let it add to her cache of weak moments that smothered and choked her inwardly every day. The grim reaper towered above the melancholy cemetary, the trees hovered ominously, the graves were embossed with perfectly crafted names and deathdates, and the cadaverous people's lost and vengeful expressions were so real, so frankly disturbing, that it seemed they could reach through their inanimate parchment like, permenant abode and yank a gawking bystander into their eternal, dreary and wicked place of death and despair. Her slight, elfinly feeble form shifted with slight, unexplained discomfort; the petite frame focused somewhere in between his languidly relaxed figure and her own thoughts.

Inquisitively and insightfully, she lifted the edges of the corrupted sketchpad with skilled, delicate digits, (gazing at them upside down as the most recent work was facing towards him) surveying her past creations with a disapproving, disdainful frown. They weren't good enough to her; not adequate enough to satisfy her esurience, compulsive need for complete and utter perfection. Nothing was. She did relish in the fact that they all somehow implicated death into their grand scheme. Drifting away from him momentarily in a mental sense, she slowly floundered back into reality, a faraway look absently in her wide, orchid coloured oculus for a moment before she responded, blinking periodically. Her swarthy eyelashes, thick eyelashes barely even contrasted with the almost raccoon like, deeply lavender circles beneath her eyes. If there was one thing that could shatter her shell of insensitivy, it was her exceedingly critical father, and he was on her mind as she riposted verbally. She stared at him percolatingly, incisively, and the thing that rode above all was the blatant cynicism she was displaying with a red flag. Her distrustful, ambiguous gaze was a sharp as the edge on a machete that had been sharpened against a rock for far too long. Finally, it seemed he had coaxed a response out of her, however disparaging to others it may have been. "Maybe. Since I am far from social, I rarely talk to life forms, much less intelligent life forms, as they are rather scarce here. Holding a conversation with my dog provides a higher intellectual value than with some of the dundering idiots in attendence of this school." She emphasized the word "some," as not to accuse him of such a preposterous crime as being unscient in the head. Musing for a moment, a cerebral look came over her face. "It..." a pause, to ferret through her capricious, articulant noggin for the most applicable words, "...accumulates after a while." Dawdling to escape the deadly mischief and pernicious mirth etched into her dark artwork, she exhaled lightly. "Perhaps I'm insane." She added as an honest afterthought, brows furrowed in a flummoxed way as the potential truth of her comment seeped into her brain and as she studied her wretched picture. Hatred, for herself, for everything she did, was her kindled creed; that she was inchoate and everything she attempted was as well when it was usually far superior to others. This described her remarkably obstinate and befuddling mentality.

[ooc: talking about the computer game Alice? if you are, i have it. i enjoy it immensely although i'm still just learning the ropes of it. i've gotten to pandemonium which is fairly sucky but only got it two days ago or so. if you're not talking about the computer game, disregard this.]

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[> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> Re: If you could only see. -- Julian Emberson, 19:56:24 05/19/02 Sun

[[ OoC: Yeah. AMAlice. I haven't finished it either because my friend took it and didn't ask and well, I've been to busy to ask for it (as I have been really busy these past days). The Cheshire's design is great. =D ]]

He smirked victoriously. Perhaps it wasn't much of a victory. Maybe she talked as much to other people. But it seemed victiorious anyhow, a broad smile like the fifth symphony on his face. His other arms tapped aimlessly on the edge of the chair, listening some intently to her words. He felt even fuller as she began to turn it around, taken aback by the simple beauty he found in it. It entranced him as any gracious piece does, eyes nearly watering with amazement and ardor for the simplicity of the pencil lines, drawn across a pad. The coal forming figures the drew him into his mind, void of anything but the vision of the painting. Every piece he admired was like a high for him, a pill, taking him into himself to file within the strokes, the artist, the piece. He blinked.

"It's beautiful." He remarked, going no further than saying so. If she had seen for a brief moment, how he had tucked away into his mind (for it was always obvious --he made no moves to cover any of it), the honesty in those words, that was all that needed to be said. Why be articulate with a millions words when there was one way you felt about it, mundane as it was? That he no longer regarded as important. The entire side of his head rested on his arm, letting the other half simply drop across the empty space of the edge of the chair like a dead stick. He nodded, completely silent as his eyes remained on her sketch, which in his eyes seemed unearthly ethereal. He withdrew his position and sat straddling the chair, back straight and eyes now directly on her. He understood her point of view. Quite more, he shared it. That was a problem in this school. However talented anybody may be at magic, they all cared more about their stature than anything else. It annoyed him. As if you could find love in this school and let it be allowed without being a sin to conduct. He'd much rather find it somewhere where stature that didn't matter, didn't interfere.

He nodded, a regretful frown on hsi face. "It is rather a pity, isn't it, that people here haven't outgrown a lot of unnecessary things? Or perhaps, maybe, we've just grown too fast," He closed his eyes, opening to look at the clock then back to her. "Either way, yes, most of everyone is pretty stupid. To say the least. And I'd go as far enough as it's hard to find smart people around. Either they're too quiet," He smiled. "Or they're too stuck in their thirst for popularity. Anyway," He watched as Joaquin stumbled out with the triptychs. "Insane or not, you're good."

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[> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> wonder what i'm blinded by? -- Pandora Fallon, 14:39:33 05/20/02 Mon

The vacant and somehow insightful lilac colored eyes bore cynically into his murky teal gaze, pessimistically assuming he would disparage her assidiously completed work although he does quite the opposite; instigating a hiatus from dreadful fret for her. As he professed the laconic speech, a coy simper of beguiling though meager proportions facilely lambented across her unflawed visage, but it was gone so quickly that one would question it ever exsisting at all. It succored her, being in the mere, solacing presence of someone that perhaps she could find rapport with, but she was so preternatural that it was objectional if she would ever lighten up a bit, if you will. If one held hopeful prospect of her ever becoming an open book, they should quickly reconsider their foolish deducements, for that is something she would never sink so positively low to achieve. Content with basking in the sometimes golden, sometimes not, silence, as he continued to study her art diligently. "Look at the faces, and maybe you'll recognize some of our peers." She smirked tremendously, maybe even a little dementedly, but rapidly straightened herself out so that she didn't appear frazzed and insane. Let's be honest, now, she wasn't completely sane, but she also wasn't the most lucid mind around, either, despite being inspiringly and astoundingly intelligent; a la Van Gogh. The ironic similarities between duo painters that had lived such a gargantuan time frame apart were peculiar... bizzare, even, to the point where she cogitated about being him in a past life of sorts.

"They think so much alike and insipid. Their dullness makes my eyelids droop. I hold a belief that they're afraid of me because I have a mind of my own. Imagine that, eh?" She snorted blandly, rolling her orchid toned optics in disgust. A thoughtful look crossed her face as she began contemplating him with slightly narrowed, oddly colored orbs. "You seem to slide in with them somehow, but you're not like them." Reclining by now but not slouching as she would never forsake her polished, ineffable grace and urbane etiquette, she folded her feeble arms directly above her slim abdomen and crossed her dainty legs. The aesthetic, deranged sketch she had been bestowing towards him gravitated towards her lap with the aid of her elegant hands, eventually landing the piece silently and gently. The elfinly delicate girl extended her limbs, graceful hands curled to fists, a tingling, satisfying sensation joustling through her as she stretched. A yawn conveyed her exhaustion but not ennui, by any means, for this posh blonde stranger was quite intriguing; to the behemoth extent that he had actually prodded her awake from her lethargy and gloom. "Flattered." Sarcastic, of course, what else would one expect? If anyone got too close between the barbed wire that she had caged herself with from the 'putative mainstream', as she referred to them oh so affectionately, they would feel the scathing of the woefully vengeful bournes of the immuring tool that would never leave her defenseless. A ghostly vestige of a phantom like smirk played across her light mulberry colored mouth to accompany her satirical snipe, and her passionless followed his olive one to the intellectual teacher. Perhaps not everyone was quite as insufferable as she had been adament in austerely enforcing herself to accept, but only time would tell if she could somehow escape the great emotional void she had calamitously debacled into.


[OOC: we should probably start winding this thread up soon within the next few posts since when she came in he only had fifteen minutes left and blah blah blah. -nods- I got to Beyond The Wall in the Fortress of Doors recently, a couple days ago, I think. I haven't had a chance to play it since then, though. I agree. I think they designed all of the characters well. Pandora reminds me of Alice because Alice is in an insane aslyum and I think that's where Pandora will end up.]

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[> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> Re: the ringing of your ears. -- Joaquin Riddle, 18:55:17 05/22/02 Wed

Joaquin huffed as he set piles upon piles of huge, oak-paneled triptychs on his desk. He sighed in content as he trudged lazily to his chair after finishing, falling back with a relaxed exhalation of air. He sat there, half-listening to their chat, lids nearly closing but was awoken by the sound of thundering footsteps. He jumped, watching the students fly by the door and students enter, taking their seats. He watched Julian sit, proper in his seat and Pandora's own reaction as the room was filled. Joaquin smiled, waving cheerily as he always did.

"_______ was absent today, so instead of Miss (Mr.?) NeoHippie teaching you, it will be me. Don't know me? Well, I'm Mr. Riddle." He smiled, almost maniacally. "So very nice to meet you all."

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