Create a New Forum Admin Login Member Login Contribute to Voyager Search VoyForums Help Desk VoyForums Exchange VoyForums Directory/Categories VoyForums Homepage VoyForums News FAQ - Frequently Asked Questions

[ 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):

[ Login ] [ Contact Forum Admin ] [ Main index ] [ Post a new message ] [ Search | Check update time ]

[ Post a Reply to This Message ]
[ Edit | View ]

[> [> [> [> [> [> I think of death; it must be killing me -- Pandora Fallon, 15:56:27 05/10/02 Fri

/rogue: n. A vicious and solitary animal, especially one that has separated itself from its herd. \

At espied prima facie, the corbie shrouded, diminutive contour that projected in a slim, elfinly tenuous looking silohuette, seemed to cast the image of dismal gravitas as it drew nearer, what with the nearly sallow toned visage and somewhat hawk-like, aristocratically elevated facial characteristics. The high cheekbones upon which the atmospheric hued oculus presided orphically over with striking, unspeakable coldness and emptiness defined frangibility and sovereign augustness. Catching her eye was like putting your hand on something that was so absolutely gelid that it felt sereingly torrid; provoking an effect similar to something being white hot. The keyword there is similar, because a pair of eyes cannot possibly entirely accomplish such a reaction... however the stoney, callous facial characteristics and the plum colored eyes combined almost achieved in producing such a vitriolic, consummate expression such as the one depicted above.

Whereupon the event where the bantam, satirical rogue of blueblood descent strode in with fluid grace, the locomotion of her lower limbs almost too smooth to a fault, it was determinable that she was definitely not some ebony mantled shadow stalker. Like a wraith, she had evinced herself in a sort of apparition, hailing from an impromptu, terse meeting with her fencing instructor who had decided she wanted to exhibit her as her Free Scholar example; therefore, Pandora would be her guinea pig for one of most novelly first congregations of Maitre d'Armes fanatics... a scenario she didn't necessarily find appealing, but we don't always find everything in life appealing, now do we? The scient oner's bleak, orchid toned optics cautiously allowed an askance, brief glance towards the duo of males inhabiting the intriguing bailiwick, both of them recognized, namely the elder of the two, as she attended his abracadabra class. He, apparently, was the temporary subsitute for the day's proceedings, but that didn't earn him a veneration worthy spot on her trust list. No, the cynic wasn't associated with obsequious, bantering blandishment, in all aspects to each of the mentioned words. Respectful to authority or not, it didn't mean she was in essence, amicable; a philanthropist she was not. She mused that perhaps a satomasochist might define her more accurately than most other terms.

The one that her scarcely captivated, nuetral attention had seemed to guilingly elude the most was the the rumoredly wealthy, wiry platinum tressed stripling she had observed a few times. The specious adolescent's contemplations of people were something she endeavored in, for they would be quite prevalently convienent and vitally cardinal in her concealed, auricular schemes. His evident intellect [the many times she had descried him in the library] and wit, which she had speculated and annotated mentally from various occasions told her he was not the trivial, frankly irritating mainstream that densely populated the cosmic world. He had appeared rough to an excess when she viewed him as she ingressed the artroom, as if he had drowned somewhere and been rescued by a mangy mutt, but this wasn't a deter to her. Slight intrigue, you might say, was the effect he had on her, to be up front. The deter was that she harbored a massive amount of mistrust of human motives; carrying an calumnity to new heights with her envenomed tongue.

In all her antisocial, pristine friendliness, [haha] she gave a mere, curt nod in greeting to both and promptly selected a seat at a table a far cry away from the small crowd in order to evade any verbal contact. Aloofly, she awaited the unfortunately ineluctable advent of the rest of the class, upon which she would simply be sarcastically overjoyed with. [Again, haha.] The pyrotic misanthrope's feminine dorsal side shifted to them hastily as she fumbled through her books and such, obviously immersed in an engrossing hunt for her art supplies. She knew perfectly well where they all were located, but she was stalling, if only to excuse herself from making indolent palavar. She was far too organized, her life was far too structured, far too meticulously created by herself, for her to misplace something. With tiny building blocks, she had constructed a person that superseded the words "callous" and "cynical," and for that reason only, she was insensitive as an inanimate object was to pain. She knew that life had a hidden label on it somewhere that said "assembly required" and to survive, you had to do just that. Assemble yourself the way you wanted to be... and of course... she had done just that.

[ Post a Reply to This Message ]
[ Edit | View ]

[> [> [> [> [> [> [> come on, try a little. nothing is forever. -- Julian Emberson, 00:16:16 05/11/02 Sat

Julian's attention was quickly drawn at the entering classmate, immediately aware of his unprepared self. His jaw slackened and his hands ran to his hair, crawling hastily between wet locks and splashing the man behind him as he styled the messy tendrils in vain. Groaning as he ran to a bag he had set down, he dug desperately for the leather Canali zip-up jacket, straightening himself up as well as he could. "Yes, damn the world for having the perfect sense of times to intrude," He growled, messing his hair up, annoyed. He looked over to her, frustration embracing his features, but he forcibly smiled. "Fifteen minutes until class and you're here, Pandora?" He asked, snatching a cigarette from the case on Joaquin's desk. Along with that he grabbed the zippo, smoking irate. He coughed, almost looking as if he were being brutally aspyhxiated, before decidedly putting the new cigarette out and waving the smoke out of his face. With another cough he looked over to Pandora, laughing. "Yeah, uh, don't mind that. Listen, Riddle, is that all you had to do with it? You've got fifteen minutes to get your head out of the imaginary gutter you think you have and tell me."

He had never really known Pandora. As far as knowing went, he knew she was in a couple of his classes as well as one of the more advanced students in the Fencing Club. He'd always regarded her as one of the untouchables, the intellects he could throw a peace sign to and know what it really meant. They had never really been the best of acquaintances, considering his stature in the Skiztoln society. But he knew she probably had more than enough sense than to judge before the first impression. There weren't many who did. He gave her a curt nod of acknowledgement before smacking Joaquin's dreamy trance outside and giving him a rather inappropriate wake-up call. "It's triptych day. A little advanced but I'm sure the lot of us can manage with a little proper help."

[ Post a Reply to This Message ]
[ Edit | View ]

[> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> There's got to be something better than in the middle -- Pandora Fallon, 19:23:54 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. ^_^]

[ Post a Reply to This Message ]
[ Edit | View ]

[> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> 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 ]

[> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> Re: come on, try a little. nothing is forever. -- Julian Emberson, 18:33:15 05/12/02 Sun

Julian snorted at her comment and his brow rose, distinctly unappreciative of her humor. "Well, I can't always be the living legend, can I?" He semi-quoted, trodding over to his preferred spot in the classroom, fingers curled around the handle of his laptop (it had followed his force, falling off the table and knocking off the case of cigarettes along with lighter). Julian ignored the clattering of the items and set the laptop, along with a few supplies, on top of the desk and sat princely. His fingers wiped his shoulders dry of the water still dripping onto his shirt. He sniffled and unzipped the bag. His wand was held gracefully between damp fingers. "Wingardium leviosa," He called out at the parchment on Joaquin's desk, flicking his wrist back and dropping his wand as the parchment raced to his hand. He caught it, fingers tenderly deft at handling the papyrus, placing them in a folder connected to the inside of the cover of the case.

Joaquin's attempts at finding the triptychs were drowned out. The man could be so irresponsible sometimes. He leaned back tiredly, sniffling again. It was too quiet despite Joaquin's shuffling. He decided to make idle conversation. "What about you, Pandora? What's the history behind the legend that is you, if that makes any sort of sense at all."

[ Post a Reply to This Message ]
[ Edit | View ]

[> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> My nerves are shot -- Pandora Fallon, 20:38:45 05/12/02 Sun



She was highly embittered by the inconsiderate indelicacy of the clamor of the knickknacks plus laptop tumbling to the stone floor, acumen dechipering the sounds all too perceptibly. Annoyed and frustrated more because of herself than him, she found a scapegoat in the posh stranger, more or less, even though the noise wasn't that massive, and ergo she snapped, "Alright, oh Prince of Gluttonous Grace, I am attempting concentration." The closest thing to entreat you could get out of her was slathered in paradoxical, tart verbal poison, the words rolling off of her tongue acerbically. She would incorporate him into her graveyard scene if he furtherly abraded her, not necessarily because he had peevishly, genuinely wronged her, but simply because she was in an almost irreconsilable mood, induced completely by herself. She was her own worst enemy and would end up eventually drinking her own arsenic.

Au courant from her seeming revival from her staid, unstable sort of neurosis that ceased to exsist after the laptop amongst things of less magnitude that had descended to the nadir of the room, she was more aware of the ongoings of the room. Staring with unreasonably critical derision upon her terrifyingly gruesome image, depicting the turmoil that raged within her derranged but substancially intellectual and interesting mind, she slowly gripped the edge of it, unsure if she should ball it up and hurl it into the trashcan, or better yet, burn it. Conflagration fascinated her; the luminous, softly flucuating flames and their gentle, ardent glow; almost phosphorescent, the way they were so aesthetically orphic and pleasing to reside beside as long as they were captivated by a hearth. And oh, the damage they could do if they escaped their captor. Burn flesh to charred black and sere dreams and material things and bonds of all sorts to nothingness and timeless oblivion... an aberrant glaze slithered over her in a serpentine way and abandoned her when her authority spoke. A bit delayed in her reaction, or retort, rather, as if mulling if she should banter hollowly or burden upon him how she really felt about herself, she grinned truantly, seeming distrait and vacuous.

Slap yourself alive, Pandora. Respond before you look like a mindless ninny. Listlessly inside her mind she followed her own directions, blinking distantly, sable pigmented lashes brushing the purple circles beneath her eyes that matched the color of her irises. "Legend? Infamous for being negative, maybe, but legend..." One day. A small smirk made meager beginnings on her full lips as she mulled over what she would say to deceive but somehow to speak the truth. "I've been raised in a very structured habitat. I'm specialized at homeostatis and I'm multifaceted and callous from assembling myself. If you invent yourself, no one can get to you. You can be insensitive." A pause in the almost confessional epoch occured, perhaps to rack her mazily intricate mind. "I've coined a policy of passionlessness for myself to abide by. Never really felt loved, so I don't reciprocate such emotions," she spit the word out like it was eroding acid, then continued without inflection in her smooth voice, "because to my parents, I am but the heir in their monarchy. Or so I assume. So there you have it. Not story book, not a childish fairy tale of happily ever after. You can decide for yourself if you deem it logical enough to make sense. I do." She wasn't regretful of the words she unrehearsedly murmured, because she immune to gossip and didn't particularly have solicitude to the fact that the words could be repeated. It didn't matter to her. Nothing did, really.

[ooc: it's okay. erg. pandora's more pyschotic than i anticipated her to be.]

[ Post a Reply to This Message ]
[ Edit | View ]

[> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> Re: And so are my veins. -- Julian Emberson, 21:50:38 05/14/02 Tue

Julian turned around just in time to watch her grin. He was reminded of the chesire from Alice. He smirked, amused at his thoughts as he said them out loud. "You're drawing something dirty, aren't you Pandora?" What? He couldn't help it. Pointlessness in the midst of depression was something he needed. He sighed a bit, lookingly blanky out towards her direction as she spoke. He took it all in, pondering each clue she gave him into her past. He rested his elbow on the edge of the chair, chin on his biceps. Inside, he was merely sorting out the details into little file folders, an interested twinkle in his eye. "Has that been building up for a while? Just out of curiosity. And I /was/ listening."

((Sorry it's so short, I'd just rather keep it going. I'll do better when I have time. Heh.))

[ Post a Reply to This Message ]
[ Edit | View ]

[> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> 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.]

[ Post a Reply to This Message ]
[ Edit | View ]

[> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> 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."

[ Post a Reply to This Message ]
[ Edit | View ]

[> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> 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.]

[ Post a Reply to This Message ]
[ Edit | View ]

[> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> 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."

[ Post a Reply to This Message ]
[ Edit | View ]

[> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> Re: sorry about the subjects. -- A., 18:34:49 05/12/02 Sun

(i'm a little ignorant of them in my hurry. heh.)

[ Post a Reply to This Message ]
[ Edit | View ]