And these clocks keep unwinding-- {velvet}

[audreyvandergraaf]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image:url(http://i56.tinypic.com/2v1ndpe.jpg), border: solid #ffffff 5px; width: 200px; height: 500px;] here is a scale. weigh it out and you'll find, easily,more than sufficient doubt that these colors, you see were picked in advance by some careful hand with an absolute concept of beauty ► I know a disease It was late in the evening, the sun had set hours ago, and Audrey was still toiling away over a lengthy research paper in the Library. Black coffee steamed from the glossy mug beside her, and the tips of her spindly fingers were dyed dark from her usage of an excessive amount of ink. However, one should not think for a moment that the blonde’s handwriting would be sloppy. On the contrary, each letter was written with the meticulousness of a true over-achiever… even if they were only notes on scrap paper. It just so happened that it was borderline impossible to maintain clean hands while penning an assignment on American Isolationism in the 20th century. Audrey sighed, her head starting to hurt as she felt as though she ran out of ways to dictate the cultural relevance of high fructose corn syrup and how the anthropological perspective on its uses related to the 20th century. More than anything else, she wished to backhand her textbooks across the ornate antique rug and toss her notes straight into the paper shredder. Fortunately though, the ballerina managed some self-control. Carefully, Audrey laid her notes out on the end table to let the last few paragraphs sink in before she returned to her work. She desperately needed a moment to collect herself, and perhaps come up with some more innovative ways to impress her teacher… Anthropology of American Life was far from Audrey’s specialty, but she refused to accept any performance that ranked below absolute excellence. If she was to ever get into Princeton, or eventually become a principal dancer in the Princeton Ballet Company, she was going to have to push herself toward academic perfection. ”I’m just so tired…” the slight girl mused to the empty library. Audrey continued to talk to herself, comfortable with the notion that the majority of her peers were already tucked away in bed and that the library was bound to stay completely empty. ”This semester is going to be a piece of rice cake.” she giggled to herself, reaching for her piping hot coffee, and bringing it to her pale lips with anticipation. The steaming drink briefly warmed her from the inside out, although her empty stomach now sloshed with liquid when she made sudden movements. Audrey narrowed her light eyes, placing the coffee back on its original seat on the desk as she returned her fixation to her studies, the project only requiring a few more paragraphs before the planning period was complete. Yes, Audrey wrote out entire papers by hand before even touching her laptop. Now that it was the final stretch, but the slight girl found herself completely dumbstruck, her mind blank as she tapped her ballpoint pen against the arm of the rustic chair. ”Fuck, fuck fuck.” she thought to herself, chewing at the thin skin of her lower-lip. As she continued to ponder hopelessly, her stomach contracted, and a slight grumble vibrated the flesh hidden beneath her grey thermal. It was at that point that the young girl figured that she probably couldn’t focus due to her gnawing hunger. ”Did I even eat today?” she began to wonder, the calculations beginning in her head: ”55 + 85 is … 140 grams, so 140 grams of coffee…” her blue eyes wandered toward her still steaming cup, ”Make that 170 grams of coffee…” She fidgeted with her spindly fingers as she continued to think, ultimately realizing that she had consumed virtually nothing within the past 24 hours… Audrey wasn’t sure whether she wished to smile or sob… that these doctors can't treat TAGS: VELVET , WORDS: 600 + , LYRICS: BRIGHT EYES - A SCALE, A MIRROR, AND THOSE INDIFFERENT CLOCKS , OUTFIT: HERE template made by hay shay ! @ caution 2.0

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[TARIQ IBRAHIM ARAIN]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,170,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,0,true][atrb=vAlign, top][atrb=style, background-color: #eaeaea; margin-top: -20px; border-left: #cdcdcd solid 1px;] [/style][style=width: 138px; padding: 6px; opacity: 0.8; margin-left: 5px; margin-right: 5px; border-top: #c0c0c0 dotted 2px;] You said there's too much on my mind — Then you ripped out a page and set that shit on flame. I quit writing.

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,0px,true][atrb=vAlign, top][atrb=style, background: url(http://i.imgur.com/DfhFz.png);] AND WHEN THE INK DRIES AND THE PAGES TURN TO DUST —so will we turn to dust, so will we: dust, dust   Four years and too many hours in them had endowed the library with a weary familiarity tinged with resentment: Tariq sometimes found himself musing bitterly that for the amount of time he spent in it, this room felt more like home than his own dorm - if any part of this school could have that title. The ticking of the wall clock that hung above the librarian's desk had been like a constant metronome, the white noise in the background of his life: now with the end of his senior year lurking just one season away, he had an uneasy feeling that it would thread through all of his memories of Mayview. It didn't seem like much to be left with. Outside, night seemed to press in against the windows; the blackness was rendered almost impenetrable in contrast to the room's harsh electric lighting. It was almost silent - or it may as well have been, because Tariq's earphones were a decent kind of armour against ambient noise. The tread of librarian's shoes across high-pile carpet - the sound of the heaters, like quiet breathing, competing with the draught wafting from the curtainless windows - a female voice murmuring softly - the idle clicking of somebody else's ballpoint - all of these served to be maddening distractions when one was editing and re-editing that immaculately researched paper. Except tonight, instead of an essay it was a newspaper article; and one on a subject he couldn't give less of a shit about. Mayview's Harry Potter club proposes trip to Wizarding World theme park, Florida. He hunched over his Macbook, glaring darkly at the word processor from under furrowed brows. It was an easy subject - standard newsletter issue, basic, totally routine - but wording was as much effort as pulling teeth: he couldn't quite keep the derision from creeping in. Backspace, backspace, start again, punctuated by sips of acrid coffee from the vending machine. It was due tomorrow. Four hundred simple, insincere words that he couldn't steel himself to dredge up. More than once the temptation crossed Tariq's mind to call it a day and say screw it, miss the deadline - but he bit his tongue. Backspace, backspace, start again. He hit the space bar with too much vehemence; his elbow hit the flimsy styrofoam cup; it spilled over his keyboard. "Fuck!" Against the din of the music, that came out a little louder than intended. Tariq ripped the earphones out, biting back a few further curses as he righted the cup and searched blindly for something, anything, he could use to absorb it, slow the damage. He pulled off his denim jacket and pressed it against the keys. "Don't die on me, don't die on me..." It was useless. The screen stayed irritatingly bright, taunting him with his feeble sentences, but the keys stuck and refused to add anything more to this travesty of an article. Dully, it registered that the best possible outcome for this weekend would be a trip to the computer repair shop. He remembered reading somewhere that coffee was more fatal for electronics than any other liquid. Good thing he regularly backed up. He'd killed what was not just the most expensive, but arguably the most important piece of technology in his life: his files were retrievable, but for the time being half of his life was stored in what was essentially a metallic corpse. Tariq knew that he should be seething. But where would be the logic in that? He managed to shut down the computer and breathed deeply, cracking his knuckles and forcing the tension to evaporate. Gave the machine another cursory mop with the now stained-to-ruin jacket. Stood up. Walked over to the now-empty librarian's desk - she had gone home some time ago - and picked up the box of kleenex. Maybe it wouldn't help, but it would make him feel better. So distracted by his technological catastophe, it wasn't until now that he noticed the girl sitting at one of the mahogany tables nearby. He almost did a double take: at this time in the evening, he was used to being alone in here. He looked from the box of tissues back to her and then stopped, earphones hanging loose around his neck; he ran a hand through his hair awkwardly. He guessed decorum owed some kind of explanation. "Had an accident. Coffee, laptop, not a good mix." He recognised her from Film Club. Junior, too thin, brittle like a bird. He knew she was a new student - some Dutch surname - Audrey? "Occupational hazard of leaving things to the last minute, I guess. I wouldn't know." It was Stevie's fault he hadn't had a chance to start it until now. He noticed the inkstains on her fingers and the sheets of paper arrayed in front of her. "Looks like you have the right idea. Audrey, right? I'm Tariq."

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,477,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,0,true][atrb=style, margin-top: -10px;] — made by ayu of btn

ooc: this is both late and overlong. i probably could have cut 500 words. i'm so sorry!

[audreyvandergraaf]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image:url(http://i56.tinypic.com/2v1ndpe.jpg), border: solid #ffffff 5px; width: 200px; height: 500px;] here is a scale. weigh it out and you'll find, easily,more than sufficient doubt that these colors, you see were picked in advance by some careful hand with an absolute concept of beauty ► I know a disease Staring blankly at her halted assignment, Audrey was suddenly forced back into reality at the sound of a student suddenly shouting an expletive. Most people would probably run over to see if the person was okay, but instead, Audrey turned back to her work, blushing at the thought of the other student having heard the entire conversation she was having with herself earlier. The ballerina tried to rationalize that the other student probably wasn’t even aware of her existence. He was, after all, all the way across the room and there was always a gentle buzzing noise drowning out the sounds of voices that were over five feet away. There was hope, Audrey decided, until she could feel the boy’s gaze fall onto her. ”Fuck.” she mumbled under her breath. As the other student, whom she now recognized as Tariq from film club, began to make his way toward her, she tried to look busy so that he would be deterred from starting a conversation. Clearly, this technique was ineffective as the boy continued to draw nearer, stopping just before the table Audrey was seated at as he began to speak, ”Had an accident. Coffee, laptop, not a good mix.”

[/i]

Audrey turned toward Tariq, deciding that now there was no chance of avoiding an interaction and that she might as well behave politely. Although, once her wide eyes fell upon the attractive teen, she couldn’t help but begin to analyze his appearance, her glance quickly moving from his feet upward, pausing at the earphones draped around his neck. Finally, the girl could relax; it was unlikely that the Tariq could hear any of the embarrassing nonsense she was speaking earlier if he was listening to music across the room. Phew.

Now that potential mortification was averted, the frail blonde maintained a proper amount of eye contact, nodding a little mindlessly as the handsome teen continued to speak. ”Occupational hazard of leaving thing to the last minute, I guess. I wouldn’t know.”[/i] Audrey shrugged; she wasn’t a procrastinator either, but she could empathize with having a broken laptop. It was an unpleasant experience, to say the least.

”Looks like you have the right idea. Audrey, right? I’m Tariq.”[/i] Audrey followed the teen’s glance to her desk, realizing that he was talking about her methods of preparation. She almost felt guilty for having all of this work done when Tariq had start whatever it was he was working on all over again. It seemed like a major pain in the ass.

“Yes, Audrey is correct.” she responded evenly, surprised that Tariq knew her name; for the most part, she felt pretty invisible here at Mayview. ”And yes, I know you from Film Club, although I don’t think that we’ve ever been formally introduced.” The girl then reached across the desk for her coffee, her hand quivering slightly as she grabbed onto the handle of the cup, steadying the drink with her other hand as she brought it to her lips, taking a sip, ”So, if you don’t mind me asking, what were you working on before you decided to water-board your laptop?”


[/div]

that these doctors can't treat

TAGS: SRY I'M A LITTLE UNINSPIRED :C
WORDS: 500 + ,
LYRICS: BRIGHT EYES - A SCALE, A MIRROR,
AND THOSE INDIFFERENT CLOCKS ,
OUTFIT: HERE

template made by hay shay ! @ caution 2.0

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[TARIQ IBRAHIM ARAIN]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,170,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,0,true][atrb=vAlign, top][atrb=style, background-color: #eaeaea; margin-top: -20px; border-left: #cdcdcd solid 1px;] [/style][style=width: 138px; padding: 6px; opacity: 0.8; margin-left: 5px; margin-right: 5px; border-top: #c0c0c0 dotted 2px;] You said there's too much on my mind — Then you ripped out a page and set that shit on flame. I quit writing.

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,0px,true][atrb=vAlign, top][atrb=style, background: url(http://i.imgur.com/DfhFz.png);] AND WHEN THE INK DRIES AND THE PAGES TURN TO DUST —so will we turn to dust, so will we: dust, dust   Tariq was aware of Audrey looking him up and down. For the briefest moment his eyes narrowed into a slightly knowing look, a half-smile flickering across his features. As she had hoped, he was completely unaware that she had been talking to herself; if he had misinterpreted her gaze, at least it was to the benefit of his ego. He let out a quiet huff of a laugh at her formal way of speaking — but it wasn't mockery: it was recognising one of his own. The over-articulate, over-analytical overachiever whose unthinking verbal tics were uncomfortably conspicuous amongst their peers. But maybe he was simply projecting. For all the ambition and cool assurance he made to project, Tariq knew that to work so hard and try so seriously was to put yourself in a brittle and precarious position: nothing was acceptable but perfect, and other people knew it. To see someone in the library this often and at this hour endowed a sense of solidarity: other people talked about academic rivals, but in some strange way, he saw them more as allies. Tariq gave a non-committal shrug to her question, his eyes following her trembling cup. "Huh, your hands are shaking." The remark was a little redundant, but although he had noticed he gave it no further attention: in returning to his answer, his mouth was pulling downwards in a disgruntled expression. "Eh. It was just a newspaper article," he said. "The geek societ— I mean, the Harry Potter club are campaigning for a trip to that Florida theme park. Riveting stuff. My head's on a plate if it's not in tomorrow." He looked down at the spreading stain on his jacket and bundled it up more tightly, realising he was still holding the tissue box in his other hand. His Macbook was damaged, and he was worrying about missing a deadline that could be neither more petty nor more contemptible. He smiled wryly, wondering whether this ridiculous set of priorities had always been so ingrained into him. "Yeah, I guess it was nothing urgent. Screw it. I'll forget about it." It was irrational, but he felt far less nonchalant than he sounded: he had never missed a deadline before. Tariq shifted to the other foot, passing the tissue box from hand to hand. His gaze moved over the table idly, and then suddenly the sheets of paper registered. "Shit, you're working on something. Sorry. I should let you get back to that." But he seemed reluctant to move. Company was a distraction: he didn't want to give the misfortune of the last few minutes a chance to sink in. Without somebody to witness it, it would be too easy to give in to the tension he was repressing. Audrey gave him the composure to keep a level head. "What are you doing?"

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,477,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,0,true][atrb=style, margin-top: -10px;] — made by ayu of btn

[audreyvandergraaf]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image:url(http://i56.tinypic.com/2v1ndpe.jpg), border: solid #ffffff 5px; width: 200px; height: 500px;] here is a scale. weigh it out and you'll find, easily,more than sufficient doubt that these colors, you see were picked in advance by some careful hand with an absolute concept of beauty ► I know a disease Audrey continued to nurse her coffee, a little taken back by Tariq’s laughter, hoping that it wasn’t directed at her; she didn’t do anything stupid, did she? The frail girl remained calm, even as the other student drew unwanted attention toward her quivering hands, ”Huh, your hands are shaking.”

[/i]

She feigned surprise, glancing down at her own palms for dramatic effect, ”Oh, wow, I guess too much caffeine?” Audrey offered as an explanation, as if her body’s sudden and spastic movement surprised her as well. The blonde giggled somewhat nervously, pushing her cup back to its former position on the table in front of her, feeling relieved when the boy continued speaking as if his previous aside never occurred.

He prattled on about the newspaper and some Harry Potter club that Audrey had never heard about prior to this conversation. She supposed that one of the benefits of being new was the blissful ignorance to certain asinine organized groups at Mayview. The sixteen year old nodded her head at appropriate intervals during the next couple of minutes, although she was a bit disappointed when Tariq offered to leave her to finish up her work; his conversation was providing must needed distraction, and Audrey wasn’t looking forward to returning to her paper.

”What are you doing?”[/i] The girl had to restrain herself from letting out a sigh of relief when the other student decided to maintain the idle talk. Although, she would have preferred speaking about something that wasn’t directly related to this dreadful paper. She cleared her throat, scanning her notes as she summarized her project, ”Oh, well, just preparing for a research paper on American Isolationism during the 20th century, specifically the cultural and fiscal division instigated by the en masse introduction of high-fructose corn syrup…”

She caught her breath, turning her face back toward Tariq, realizing that she probably sounded like an enormous dweeb, ”I’m sure you’re not interested, it’s really dry…” The blonde then instinctively held her wrist with her hand, a nervous habit she developed during childhood; some psychologists claim that women do this to recreate the comforting touch of their mother during their earliest years, but Audrey didn’t agree with most psychologists.

Still feeling uncomfortable, Audrey decided that some nicotine would soothe her anxiety, although she was unsure of how Tariq would respond to that. ”Sorry if you think this is gross but I could really use a cigarette right now…” She was always more apologetic when conversing with the academics at Mayview, as if she desperately wanted to be accepted amongst them, ”I completely understand if you don’t want to join me, I’ve just been sitting here for hours and dying for a cigarette.” She hoped she didn’t inadvertently offend the guy, he seemed really nice, but getting in a quick smoke seemed to trump the need to impress this bright acquaintance. Although, it would be ideal if she could have both…


[/div]

that these doctors can't treat

TAGS: VELVET , WORDS: 488 ,
LYRICS: BRIGHT EYES - A SCALE, A MIRROR,
AND THOSE INDIFFERENT CLOCKS ,
OUTFIT: HERE

template made by hay shay ! @ caution 2.0

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[TARIQ IBRAHIM ARAIN]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,170,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,0,true][atrb=vAlign, top][atrb=style, background-color: #eaeaea; margin-top: -20px; border-left: #cdcdcd solid 1px;] [/style][style=width: 138px; padding: 6px; opacity: 0.8; margin-left: 5px; margin-right: 5px; border-top: #c0c0c0 dotted 2px;] You said there's too much on my mind — Then you ripped out a page and set that shit on flame. I quit writing.

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,0px,true][atrb=vAlign, top][atrb=style, background: url(http://i.imgur.com/DfhFz.png);] AND WHEN THE INK DRIES AND THE PAGES TURN TO DUST —so will we turn to dust, so will we: dust, dust   Tariq listened attentively to Audrey's description of her work, but she was right: he wasn't interested. It was familiar, necessary territory. Exchanges of scholarly woes and essay progress updates were a rite in conversation here, almost a kind of social currency — offered with a delicate balance of interest and humility. It was a truth universally acknowledged that none of Mayview's high-fliers would ever accept less than an A - or preferably a perfect score - but etiquette demanded a facade of doubt: it didn't pay to look too arrogant. Tariq had always felt that these interactions were stained with a faint tinge of melancholy: a mundane life measured out from between deadline to deadline. He knew that neither of them really wanted to talk about this. But it was all too easy to get trapped in that soporific pattern. He raised a brow at her admission, a little taken aback - the library of all places? - but he shrugged. "No, it's cool; I smoke too," he said. "Just usually not inside." He turned to place the Kleenex box back amongst the clutter of the librarian's desk, giving up on the idea of any further reparation to his laptop. He glanced back at Audrey, his brow furrowing slightly, as if debating whether to discourage her. After a pause he added, "it's not really worth it. They tend to be pretty vigilant." His tone was flat and measured: he would offer his opinion, but she could do what she liked. Four years of boarding were long enough, Tariq thought, to know where to concede. There were certain infractions to which the school might turn a blind eye, but others - well, with others he had no temptation to test his luck. He wound his earphones around his iphone and pushed it back into his pocket, leaning against the desk behind him. "It's not so much the cigarettes they care about." Unconsciously, he had started cracking his knuckles again. "It's the fire risk. A couple of years ago, this junior got expelled for having a bunch of candles in her dorm. Sounds crazy, but when you think about the numbers in the building every night, you kinda get why they don't want an open flame." He realised his tic and stopped, balling up his fingers against the edge of the desk. "There'll be somebody lurking about the corridors still who'll smell it, so for a smoke break, I'd pick somewhere other than the library." It was one of the many joys of boarding school: constant observation. Constant occupation, with the long school hours - continuing on a Saturday morning - the extracurriculars, the excruciating organised socials... to do anything one shouldn't, a Mayview student had to be rather wilier than their public school counterparts.

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,477,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,0,true][atrb=style, margin-top: -10px;] — made by ayu of btn ooc: i wrote part of this last night, part of this a few hours ago and part of this just now - i wasn't kidding when i said i kept interrupting myself! - so i hope it all makes sense and isn't too disjointed <3

[audreyvandergraaf]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image:url(http://i56.tinypic.com/2v1ndpe.jpg), border: solid #ffffff 5px; width: 200px; height: 500px;] here is a scale. weigh it out and you'll find, easily,more than sufficient doubt that these colors, you see were picked in advance by some careful hand with an absolute concept of beauty ► I know a disease Audrey subtly raised an eyebrow, her pale eyes widened in bewilderment due to the other teen’s admission; the blonde couldn’t imagine the boy standing near a lit cigarette, let alone inhaling one himself. Admittedly, a lot of the top academics at Mayview were known for snagging a quick drag between classes to relieve some of the stress of the heavy course load… She decided not to speak though, deciding it would be more polite to nod rather than vocalize her surprise. Although, Audrey wasn’t actually sure how to respond to Tariq’s following statement, ”Just not usually inside.”

[/i]

The ballerina tilted her head in confusion, wondering whether or not she had misspoken or something… He could not have genuinely believed that she was about to light up in the library, right? Before the girl could jump to her defense, Tariq began to extrapolate upon the error of smoking inside of administrative buildings, which even included a brief narrative related to candles… She nodded carefully to the rhythm of his words, ushering his tangent to a close so that she would have the opportunity to speak.

”Interesting, especially the bit with the candles, I should probably remember that, but I wasn’t suggesting that we just start chain-smoking in the middle of the library...” The teen’s voice trailed off, hoping that her tone wasn’t too abrasive; she wasn’t trying to be a dick, but she was having trouble rationalizing Tariq’s assumptions regarding her ability to make practical life decisions—Who would even dare to smoke in the Mayview library?!

She shrugged her narrow shoulders, neatly picking her notebooks, papers, and pens off of the desk and placing them inside of her leather satchel, ”But, I would appreciate it if you’d join me for a smoke outside of the library.” The frail ballerina then slipped inside of her pea coat, piling on scarves and leg warmers due to her impressive vulnerability to the cold; her skinny knees would practically knock together at the introduction of a strong wind.

After a pause, Audrey began to fear that the boy would reject her offer, and that would be incredibly embarrassing. Her only trouble was getting a proper read of his personality; she couldn’t decide if Tariq was stoic or playful, disinterested or friendly… Thus, she fixed her eyes onto the regal carpeting and busied her hands by thumbing through her possessions, making sure everything was present multiple times. Essentially, the girl didn’t want to make eye contact with the older boy in the event that he would say “no.”



[/div]

that these doctors can't treat

TAGS: EVERYTHING YOU WRITE IS PERFECT ,
WORDS: 423 ,
LYRICS: BRIGHT EYES - A SCALE, A MIRROR,
AND THOSE INDIFFERENT CLOCKS ,
OUTFIT: HERE

template made by hay shay ! @ caution 2.0

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[TARIQ IBRAHIM ARAIN]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,170,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,0,true][atrb=vAlign, top][atrb=style, background-color: #eaeaea; margin-top: -20px; border-left: #cdcdcd solid 1px;] [/style][style=width: 138px; padding: 6px; opacity: 0.8; margin-left: 5px; margin-right: 5px; border-top: #c0c0c0 dotted 2px;] You said there's too much on my mind — Then you ripped out a page and set that shit on flame. I quit writing.

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,0px,true][atrb=vAlign, top][atrb=style, background: url(http://i.imgur.com/DfhFz.png);] AND WHEN THE INK DRIES AND THE PAGES TURN TO DUST —so will we turn to dust, so will we: dust, dust   New students were an unknown quantity. After the event, it seemed an almost embarrassing misjudgment, but for a moment there Tariq had been genuinely uncertain of what Audrey intended to do. He had seen too many assume that being removed from the clutches of their parents meant they could do as they pleased at Mayview — only to be relieved of that notion rather quickly, and gain a sharp shock in the process. There was no telling the kind of environment someone had emerged from; Tariq had never been to a public school, but he had heard things about them that suggested... well, that things were done differently. At Mayview, it was important to toe the party line - or at least to wear a veneer of decorum when one didn't. He thought he heard the hint of a sting in Audrey's voice when she rebuffed his mistake, but he decided to ignore it. He shrugged non-committally, gazing over his shoulder at his laptop as she packed her bag. He knew there was no point in dabbing further at the keyboard - all those tissues could do was assuage his guilty conscience. He knew that he should grab some paper and write out this article longhand to meet the deadline, and for a minute his mind wrestled dutifully with the idea. Tariq had stressed the importance of punctuality and responsibility to the newspaper team enough to make him unpopular amongst them; enough for his pride to hate the prospect of backing down, even once. But something about the broken machine made him give in to the cold pit in his stomach. He shut the lid of his laptop in one decisive movement and turned back to Audrey. "Yeah, sure. I could do with a cigarette." In contrast to her multitude of layers, he hadn't so much as bothered to put on the thin denim jacket he'd used to mop up the coffee. He ran his free hand through his hair, giving a tight smile. "I know I just said outside, but here - some conflicting advice. There's a bathroom a couple of hallways away that's out of order, and I left my coat in my dorm." The idea of standing still in the cold was unappealing at the best of times, and given Audrey's impressive array of knitwear, Tariq guessed that she felt similarly. He stowed the laptop back in his brown leather backpack, which he fastened and slung over one shoulder. Only the empty cup littered the desk he had been sitting at - it was petty, but at this point he resented it too much to throw it out. He walked over to the door, holding it open as he waited for Audrey to follow; his eyes glanced from her to the direction he would take, then back again. At this point, he was almost impatient to leave. "I guess I should warn you," he said. "It's out of order, but not unused. A few sharpie scrawlings, the occasional unpleasant relic of... well, better not to ask. No big deal. The point is, it's heated."

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,477,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,0,true][atrb=style, margin-top: -10px;] — made by ayu of btn

[audreyvandergraaf]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image:url(http://i56.tinypic.com/2v1ndpe.jpg), border: solid #ffffff 5px; width: 200px; height: 500px;] here is a scale. weigh it out and you'll find, easily,more than sufficient doubt that these colors, you see were picked in advance by some careful hand with an absolute concept of beauty ► I know a disease Audrey let out a gentle sigh of relief, secretly thankful that Tariq didn’t reject her request for company. Admittedly, she was surprised by the boy’s sudden reversal of opinion, proposing now to go smoke in the bathroom instead of outside the library. The ballerina snickered, bringing her thumb to her bottom lip as she teased, ”Seriously, you’re willing to mar your flawless record because you’re afraid of a little cold?” In reality, Audrey was actually glad that they were going to stay indoors, even if it meant lighting up in a repulsive bathroom; her fingertips were still freezing from her last outdoor venture, which was three hours ago. Following the handsome boy’s subtle gestures, Audrey nodded politely as she held her purse tightly to her frame, stepping through the door and offering a quiet “thank you.” She wasn’t sure if Tariq heard her, but she didn’t particularly care; at least she was following his suggestion. ”I guess I should warn you, it’s out of order, but not unused. A few sharpie scrawlings, the occasional unpleasant relic of… well, better not to ask. No big deal. The point is, it’s heated.”

[/i] The boy dictated as the two students creeped down the dimly lit corridors, carefully opening doors and closing doors, emerging just outside of their shared destination. ”I’m aware.” she responded bashfully, not wishing to let on the level of familiarity she had with this particular restroom. Audrey spent quite a bit of time in the lesser-traveled areas of the academy, mostly due to her habitual misbehavior; the last time she was in here, she noticed the words “Audrey V. is an anorexic slut” scribbled on the wall in bright pink sharpie. She was surprised that someone actually took the time to acknowledge her existence in writing. It was flattering.

Cautiously grasping the door handle, Audrey attempted to open the door as slowly as possible, not wishing to make too much noise in the event that a faculty member was nearby; it was unlikely at this time of night, but one could never be too careful. As anticipated, the room was odiferous, but it didn’t smell nearly as foul as the girl had expected. The moment the door had shut behind Tariq, Audrey ‘s dainty hands plunged into her bag, pulling out her cigarettes hurriedly and popping one between her lips without pause.

The ballerina hadn’t consumed a solid food in over 24 hours, so the addictive rush of nicotine was one of the only things that would manage keep her from falling over. Flicking the gear of her lighter, she inhaled greedily, taking in a considerable drag. Finally experiencing the rush of much needed relaxation, the girl turned her attention back to Tariq, her recently exhaled plume of smoke dissipating into the surrounding air. ”You have no idea how desperately I needed this,” she effused, giddy with the sudden surge of chemical energy, ”but tell me this, how does someone like Tariq Arain start smoking?”



[/div]

that these doctors can't treat

TAGS: BREAKING ALL DA RULES ,
WORDS: 495 ,
LYRICS: BRIGHT EYES - A SCALE, A MIRROR,
AND THOSE INDIFFERENT CLOCKS ,
OUTFIT: HERE

template made by hay shay ! @ caution 2.0

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[TARIQ IBRAHIM ARAIN]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,170,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,0,true][atrb=vAlign, top][atrb=style, background-color: #eaeaea; margin-top: -20px; border-left: #cdcdcd solid 1px;] [/style][style=width: 138px; padding: 6px; opacity: 0.8; margin-left: 5px; margin-right: 5px; border-top: #c0c0c0 dotted 2px;] You said there's too much on my mind — Then you ripped out a page and set that shit on flame. I quit writing.

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,0px,true][atrb=vAlign, top][atrb=style, background: url(http://i.imgur.com/DfhFz.png);] AND WHEN THE INK DRIES AND THE PAGES TURN TO DUST —so will we turn to dust, so will we: dust, dust   Tariq flipped the light switch; only one of the fluorescent bulbs overhead flickered into life, bathing the room in an anaemic glare. The cubicles were secured shut and one of the sinks was missing, exposing some of the pipes in the wall. The bathroom was awaiting refurbishment and was supposedly locked, but being in a lesser-traveled part of the school, its use was something of an open secret. The stress he had just been through was enough to make him crave a cigarette, but the scent of smoke in the confined space had made the need urgent. Audrey's question prompted him to look up from rifling through his rucksack for his lighter, unlit cigarette already slouching in his mouth. He was surprised that she knew his surname, but less surprised that she had already formed a preconceived idea: it went with the cachet of his grades, of being top of the pile in his extracurriculars, of being seen in the library quite so often as he was. He could be evasive and ask 'and what kind of person is that, then?' of her 'someone like'; but there was no point in being coy, they both knew the answer. Having found what he was looking for, he shrugged and lit his cigarette. He took a deep drag before he answered, letting the smoke escape from his nostrils. "For one thing, I guess," he began, "by having a name like Tariq Arain in a sea of Sammy Weingarners and Suzy Johnsons. When you're a fourteen year old with Buddy Holly glasses this thick—" he pinched his forefinger and thumb half an inch apart "—and a pathological focus on your GPA, taking up smoking seems like a good way to stop yourself getting pigeonholed as the Asian nerd." He took another drag, half-smiling as he exhaled. "Not sure it worked," he said. "But it's easier to start than quit. Besides, to leave an expensive school without picking up a few bad habits - it'd be against tradition." Returning the question would be redundant: Audrey's thinness was answer enough. She was probably a dancer or a gymnast. "So, where'd you come from before here? Is this your first time boarding?"

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,477,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,0,true][atrb=style, margin-top: -10px;] — made by ayu of btn

[audreyvandergraaf]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image:url(http://i56.tinypic.com/2v1ndpe.jpg), border: solid #ffffff 5px; width: 200px; height: 500px;] here is a scale. weigh it out and you'll find, easily,more than sufficient doubt that these colors, you see were picked in advance by some careful hand with an absolute concept of beauty ► I know a disease After Tariq flicked the light switch, Audrey became acutely aware of the filth surrounding them and she stifled a gag, not wishing to vocalize her disgust. The blonde opted to turn away from the exposed pipes and layers of grime lining the tiled floors, instead focusing on the handsome face of the boy keeping her company. Despite being a self-professed academic, Tariq was painfully attractive, sporting a chiseled jaw and scrumptious brown eyes; he obviously stood in defiance of the ‘brain’ stereotype. Audrey nodded as she paid close attention to the boy’s response, his justification for their shared nicotine habit. The girl couldn’t exactly relate to Tariq’s struggles with being judged by his ethnic background; Audrey was the “Sammy Weingarners” and “Suzy Johnsons” the teen spoke of. Although, the ballerina could relate to having assumptions placed on her because of her name. The Vandergraaf surname was well known and well respected in the upper-echelon of Manhattan society—When she was a few years younger, her family was photographed and featured in an article in Page Six… She still was unsure of how she felt about the attention. The blonde giggled as she acknowledged the amusing truth of Tariq’s explanation. Boarding schools were infamous for fostering bad habits, and one would have to be a total square to walk away without one. She wouldn’t want to admit it, but she was just as guilty as everyone else when it came to judging Tariq based on his ethnicity; before she found out he smoked cigarettes and doled out witty comebacks, Audrey understood him as just another over-achieving Asian nerd. She was pretty ashamed of her assumptions, but at least Tariq took her questions in stride. Now it was his turn. ”So, where’d you come from before here? Is this your first time boarding?”

[/i] Audrey groaned, covering her mouth immediately afterward, embarrassed that she had such a physical response to a simple inquiry. Plugging her mouth up with a cigarette, she took a drag in order to stall for a few minutes longer, unsure as to how she should respond. Ordinarily, Audrey was pretty shameless about her stints in rehab, but while she was in the company of such an upwardly mobile and studious peer, she didn’t want to seem like such a fuck-up.

”Before this past September, I went to a performing arts school in Manhattan,” she took another drag, feeling somewhat wistful, “And although it wasn’t exactly a ‘boarding school,’ it sort of functioned like one… We had standard classes from eight in the morning to two in the afternoon, and then dance practice from three in the afternoon to seven in the evening. I was barely ever home.” Despite the arduous scheduling, Audrey actually adored her old school. She may have had her problems with a certain instructor, but aside from him, the curriculum revolved around ballet, and she was on track to begin dancing professionally from the moment she graduated. Things have obviously changed since then.

”But then I got really ill, spent half a year between places, and had loads of work to catch up on… So my parents decided to ship me here!” The blonde ended on a cheerful note, afraid she might be dragging the conversation; she didn’t want to be depressing or attention mongering, but it was almost impossible for Audrey to be honest and pleasant at the same time. ”But I don’t want to bore you with the details,” she managed, ashing her cigarette gingerly, ”so why don’t you tell me how you ended up here? It’s probably a more interesting story.”

[/div]

that these doctors can't treat

TAGS: PRECIOUS MOMENTS~ ,
WORDS: 598 ,
LYRICS: BRIGHT EYES - A SCALE, A MIRROR,
AND THOSE INDIFFERENT CLOCKS ,
OUTFIT: HERE

template made by hay shay ! @ caution 2.0

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[TARIQ IBRAHIM ARAIN]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,170,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,0,true][atrb=vAlign, top][atrb=style, background-color: #eaeaea; margin-top: -20px; border-left: #cdcdcd solid 1px;] [/style][style=width: 138px; padding: 6px; opacity: 0.8; margin-left: 5px; margin-right: 5px; border-top: #c0c0c0 dotted 2px;] You said there's too much on my mind — Then you ripped out a page and set that shit on flame. I quit writing.

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,0px,true][atrb=vAlign, top][atrb=style, background: url(http://i.imgur.com/DfhFz.png);] AND WHEN THE INK DRIES AND THE PAGES TURN TO DUST —so will we turn to dust, so will we: dust, dust   Tariq was a little taken aback at Audrey's vocal reaction. He took note, but refrained on commenting; his question had obviously touched a nerve. Her explanation caught his interest, and he found himself nodding as he listened. So his guess hadn't been far off: she was a dancer. It wasn't just the sleek lines of her limbs that had given that impression, but the discipline and focus he had seen her working with, an obvious perfectionism clearly instilled by long hours of practice. The pursuit of excellence in one area often influenced all others. 'Really ill'. His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, flickering over her face. High pressure, high stress, an intensely competitive environment — within this context, it was easy to hypothesise the meaning behind those two words; whatever sickness she referred to, its origin was unlikely to be physical. A nervous breakdown, maybe. Despite the high, upbeat tone in Audrey's voice, he could recognise a door closing. This was territory he had no intention to trespass into. But - a more interesting story? Tariq laughed, the sound sharp and sudden. He didn't know what the girl was expecting to hear. "You'll be disappointed," he said. "My dad wanted to send me to a good school with an old reputation; that's it. Mayview's prospectus happened to be the most persuasive. Four years later, here I am. And it's only a mere ten hours' drive to NJ." The flight to Newark airport was a little under two hours, but needless to say, he didn't go home a lot. At times he found himself envying the students whose families lived in nearby cities, visited every other weekend. For him, the summer months were something of an oasis. He tapped the ash from the end of his cigarette and returned it to his lips. The walls around them had entirely lost their antiseptic-looking whiteness under the assault of ink of various colours. When Tariq was in here alone, he found his eyes drifting across the crass graffiti almost against his will; but with company, he found no temptation to read it. "So you lived in Manhattan?" he said, returning to the earlier subject. "Amazing city. I go there a lot in the summers - I want to go to college there." The radiator creaked noisily and the heat seemed to increase a little. Despite the unpleasantness of their surroundings, it was clear why students would seek refuge here rather than face the wind outside. "Hadley must be pretty boring to you," he said. He almost sounded a little envious of where she used to live. "I can't say I like this town a lot myself. It's so remote, it feels like exile. And this is from somebody who grew up in a glorified commuter suburb."

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,477,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,0,true][atrb=style, margin-top: -10px;] — made by ayu of btn

[audreyvandergraaf]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image:url(http://i56.tinypic.com/2v1ndpe.jpg), border: solid #ffffff 5px; width: 200px; height: 500px;] here is a scale. weigh it out and you'll find, easily,more than sufficient doubt that these colors, you see were picked in advance by some careful hand with an absolute concept of beauty ► I know a disease Audrey’s wide eyes darted toward the floor as Tariq laughed, amused by her suggestion; it was a pretty obvious ploy to take the attention off of herself, but the girl had wish it had gone over more seamlessly. Unfortunately for Audrey, Tariq was perceptive, and it was unlikely that anything the girl could verbalize would go over her classmate’s head. Grateful that the handsome teen decided to indulge her request, Audrey nodded intently as he explained his journey to Mayview, and she perked up at the mention of New Jersey. The blonde assumed that Tariq had grown up there, considering his concern with the length of the trip to and from the garden state; she wondered if perhaps they had crossed trajectories at some point, unknowing that before their paths had converged here, the two of them could have only been separated by a city block or the Hudson river. ”Yes, Manhattan is wonderful.” Audrey responded longingly, taking a final drag of her dying cigarette before tossing it somewhat carelessly into one of the nearby decrepit sinks. She missed the wail of sirens late at night, disappearing into a crowd on a whim, and meeting eyes with a stranger that she would never see again. ”Let me guess,” the frail ballerina continued, awoken from her daydream as she stroked her chin dramatically, playfully looking the senior up and down, ”You want to go to… Columbia?” This wasn’t an assumption, but rather, a fact. Judging by Tariq’s aptitude and academic achievement, it was unlikely that the boy would attend any school that wasn’t an Ivy League. After all, wasn’t that the point of attending Mayview Academy, to prepare oneself to attend the most prestigious universities in the world? Despite Audrey’s interjection, the conversation charged forward, and the blonde couldn’t even feign surprise when her classmate admitted to being underwhelmed by Hadley. People who challenged common ideologies never lasted in the suburbs; these were areas where mediocrity came to thrive. Sure, Mayview was a safe haven of intellectual discourse, but it was surrounded by a neighborhood defined by its homogeny and upper class ignorance. The ballerina may have been born with a silver spoon in her mouth, but she also grew up in area full of cultural and economic diversity, and a day didn’t pass where she wasn’t directly confronted with the daily struggles of the 99%. ”Hadley can be dull,” she admitted cautiously, not wishing to come off as a stereotypical Manhattan snob, ”but I have encountered plenty of interesting characters both on and off campus.” A mischievous grin played on her lips, her expression subtly hinting that Tariq was in this collection of ‘characters.’ The boy wasn’t strange, per se, but he was probably one of the most intelligent people Audrey had ever encountered. She could remember the first film club meeting she had attended, Tariq had thrown down the gauntlet with the club’s president, arguing the artistry of Italian Neorealism versus the standard Hollywood sound-stages of that time period. Needless, to say, the girl was impressed. that these doctors can't treat TAGS: UPTOWN GIRL & A BACK STREET GUY ;) , WORDS: 506 , LYRICS: BRIGHT EYES - A SCALE, A MIRROR, AND THOSE INDIFFERENT CLOCKS , OUTFIT: HERE template made by hay shay ! @ caution 2.0

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[TARIQ IBRAHIM ARAIN]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,170,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,0,true][atrb=vAlign, top][atrb=style, background-color: #eaeaea; margin-top: -20px; border-left: #cdcdcd solid 1px;] [/style][style=width: 138px; padding: 6px; opacity: 0.8; margin-left: 5px; margin-right: 5px; border-top: #c0c0c0 dotted 2px;] You said there's too much on my mind — Then you ripped out a page and set that shit on flame. I quit writing.

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,0px,true][atrb=vAlign, top][atrb=style, background: url(http://i.imgur.com/DfhFz.png);] AND WHEN THE INK DRIES AND THE PAGES TURN TO DUST —so will we turn to dust, so will we: dust, dust   Tariq found his expression mirroring Audrey's instinctively; she was proving to be such good company, it was difficult not to find her smiles infectious. As he caught her insinuation, there was a flattered glint in his eye, although it was laced with a pleasant uncertainty. Was she genuinely complimenting him, or was she teasing him at his expense? It was impossible to tell; and that slight unpredictability was something he had always liked. "Inshallah I'll be at Columbia in the fall, yes." Even without his beginning phrase, the caution the words rode on made it evident just how much he wanted it; he wasn't superstitious, yet he couldn't bear to jinx his chances. "Yeah, there are definitely a few eccentrics. I guess being cut off from everything makes people a little... quirky," he said. Mayview was like a bubble, and during the school year the world outside ceased to exist: he hardly mixed with people who weren't students. He barely noticed the locals enough to comment much on them, except that they seemed predominantly middle-aged and used to a slow pace of life. "And," he continued, "living with everybody twenty-four seven, you quickly get to know those quirks pretty well. Who's your roommate?" The question Tariq really wanted to ask was who Audrey hung out with; he had to bite back his curiosity. Girls who looked like she did were usually absorbed into the in-crowd with such speed it was almost by default, but he couldn't recall having seen her with anyone outside of the socially neutral territory of extracurriculars. It was all very well to ask who someone's friends were - unless they didn't have any. He would gain nothing from embarrassing her. He leaned his back against the radiator, leaving space for Audrey to do the same if she wanted to take advantage of the heat. He glanced sideways, letting his gaze flicker over her. She was too engaging to be a loner, surely; he found it hard to believe Audrey could be anything close to a pariah. Yet maybe it wasn't so implausible. Intelligence could easily be misconstrued as haughtiness, and prettiness likewise - not to mention that after years of living in each others' pockets, the groups could be tight-knit enough to be impenetrable. His attention moved to the graffiti covering the walls. Mayview's faults couldn't have more concrete proof.

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,477,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,0,true][atrb=style, margin-top: -10px;] — made by ayu of btn italian neorealism? soundstages?

[audreyvandergraaf]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image:url(http://i56.tinypic.com/2v1ndpe.jpg), border: solid #ffffff 5px; width: 200px; height: 500px;] here is a scale. weigh it out and you'll find, easily,more than sufficient doubt that these colors, you see were picked in advance by some careful hand with an absolute concept of beauty ► I know a disease Audrey offered an understated nod as her expression softened. She was clearly amused by the accuracy of her assumption; despite her status as a social outcast, the girl was fairly competent when it came to sniffing out the intentions of other’s. It was most likely a result of her untrusting nature and her Machiavellian breeding. It was true that the students of Mayview were, to say the least, “quirky,” although the ballerina doubted it was a result of isolation. Audrey thought that her peers were comparatively bizarre due to a lifetime of both entitlement and expectations. After all, she herself hadn’t escaped the psychological trauma that accompanied her outrageously lavish upbringing. She decided not to comment though, content with maneuvering the conversation away from herself as she began to learn more about her striking classmate. ”And, living with everybody twenty-four seven, you quickly get to know those quirks pretty well. Who’s your roommate?”

[/i] The ballerina smirked, immediately recalling the miniature tantrums that her roommate would throw over some rather trivial circumstances. Talk about quirks. ”Isabella Dias,” she began, knowing fully well that Tariq would recognize the sultry brunette’s name; She was beautiful, popular, a dancer and a cheerleader, and she was also a total sweetheart. ”We’re both dancers, and we actually get along quite well, even though we’re so different from one another…”

It was true. The two girls were good friends, although Audrey was pretty sure that Isabella was concerned about the frailer dancer’s behavior. The blonde worked to keep her practices in illicit substances a secret, only the girl’s drug-dealers knew that she got high, but her disordered eating was obvious to virtually anyone that the sixteen year old encountered. ”I can’t even tell you how many guys have asked me absolutely repulsive questions about Isabella,” she snorted, assuming that Tariq was thinking something along those lines. As far as Audrey was concerned, all men were only interested in sex, and even if they behaved politely, it just meant that they were more capable of hiding their desires.

”I’m so glad I don’t have to deal with that, it must be awful.” Audrey’s tone lacked jealousy. The ballerina was completely genuine in her admission. It was possible that she envied her roommate’s beauty, but she would never fantasize about unsolicited attention from the opposite sex. The blonde used her sexuality as a vehicle to exert her power, but whenever a man became the aggressor, all of that strength was lost.

”So, how’s your roommate? I doubt I’d know who he is, but I wouldn’t mind hearing about him.” The blonde mused, keeping the conversation light as she watched Tariq move toward the radiator, leaving a decent amount of room beside him as he silently offered her a spot. Cautiously, she eyed the space, and despite her figure’s narrowness, she was unsure whether or not she could occupy the area beside him without forcing him to move aside, ultimately embarrassing herself.

Audrey was incapable of accurately assessing her own mass and was absolutely terrified of occupying more space than she believed she deserved. She was cold though, very cold, and quickly she decided that her nonexistent caloric intake for the day meant that she had brought her personal body of matter to a point that was almost acceptable, and therefore she allowed herself to join Tariq in appreciation of the rusted metallic heat... Shockingly, there was plenty of room.

”I owe my life to modern heating systems.” the girl joked, turning toward the sharp senior with a playful smile.
[/div]

that these doctors can't treat

TAGS: OH , DON'T BE SO HUMBLE~~
WORDS: 587 ,
LYRICS: BRIGHT EYES - A SCALE, A MIRROR,
AND THOSE INDIFFERENT CLOCKS ,
OUTFIT: HERE

template made by hay shay ! @ caution 2.0

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Also, sorry if all the eating disorder internal-dialogue feels tired, it's just impossible to accurately depict an anorexic character without having a constant stream of food&body-conscious related thoughts. I'm trying to keep it interesting though, I swear! D: