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Post by mavy3 on Mar 26, 2013 13:37:45 GMT -5
 SHE COULD BE A JOAN OF ARC If there was a word for a harrowing boredom that rots the soul like a dead fish, then Sye’s current situation could be described in a much more concise manner. At first, moving to Mayview Academy had been an adventure until she found the days as average and interesting as a paddle with a ping-pong ball attached to it. Sye had never been much of a philosopher, so while some may take the silence of a spring night to contemplate the world around them, she was sprawled over her bed. On the bedside table sat the aligned stack of books required for school, only there to remind her that she still had yet to complete that English homework. She didn’t care about the effects and uses of representation, and in no way would it aid her later on in life unless she decided to write a book riddled with metaphors. There was no way a girl like her could ever write the next masterpiece of the millennium.
Her bedroom was still quite bare, lacking any personality or character that one expects with a bedroom. Sye had no posters or photographs worth displaying to those who would enter, and after a lifetime of moving from one house to another she had learnt to keep all her possessions to a minimal. If she couldn’t fit it in her purse or her suitcase, then it wasn’t worth keeping. All that was in her room was a bed, a mirror, a wardrobe with drawers, a nightstand with a lamp and a set of shelves. All in all, the room made her feel privileged. In most children’s homes, sharing a bedroom was mandatory. As she had no brothers, she could only ever remember sharing her room with girls. By now, she was used to claiming small areas as her own and having no privacy. With a whole room to herself, Sye threw the tennis ball against the ball, with a hand patiently waiting for it to bounce back to her. The process was therapeutic and rhythmic. Each thump of the ball slamming against the wall was similar to the blunt boredom. The school had more children than any children’s home ever could, and yet here she was, bored and alone. Thump. Thump. Thump.
’Only boring people get bored,’ the favourite motto of Janice, a frugal foster carer who soon stopped both caring and fostering, echoed in the depths of her memories. Sye sighed, and sat up. There wasn’t even anything to clean. Nevertheless, she wasn’t a boring person. There was no way Janice could be right, the woman spelt her own name wrong when signing things. She’d just have find something to do. The sixteen year old threw the ball against the wall one last time before letting crash on her bed. Then she placed the ball on her shelf. Only a crazy person would leave a ball on a bed.
Obviously when searching for fun the average person seeks out their friends. Unfortunately Sye was no average person. There was a time she had friends, heck she still had friends, but at this moment in this exact location she had no friends. She closed the door to her dorm quietly and gazed at all the shiny numbers nailed to the doors. Which room could she go for? It was like judging a blank, wooden book by its cover. There had to be an interesting person here somewhere. Without even checking the number, she pounded her fist on one door with the hopes of excitement and adventure behind it. If her room was still basic, what would other’s rooms look like? “Hey!” she called, “Turn your fricking music off some people are trying to sleep you know!” Sye paused for a second, then mentally exhaled on her choice of excuse. There wasn’t even any music playing on the other side of the door.
WORDS 648 TAGGED OPEN NOTES RAMBLE POST RAMBLES TEMPLATE BY WE WERE INFINITE ! OF CAUTION 2.0 |
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Post by COSTELLO EDER WOLLF on Mar 27, 2013 18:04:31 GMT -5
If Sye's room was clean and impersonal, then Costello's was the opposite. But then, nothing about the young Austrian was contained, or organized, and his room expressed that. It did not help that no one was willing to take on the hazardous position of Costello's room mate, and as such the clutter which the sophomore considered his prized possession spilled across the entire room. In fact, the place hardly looked like a college dorm room: more like some exotic, vintage mechanic's office. The youngest Wollf's style did have a rather spectacular habit of overflowing into everything he touched – and he had somehow transformed the room to mirror his eclectic thoughts with the aid of posters, rugs, wall-hangings and bookshelves overflowing with political journals and magazines. And to the madness a burning incense stick, a vinyl player next to a tower of LP records, and the motorbike parts sitting on the oil-stained desk, and you had, perhaps, seen a glimpse of the insanity of Mr Wollf.
Nevertheless, despite the time the strange boy had dedicating to overfilling his bedroom, he didn't spend much time there. He had made his nest, but he avoided sleeping in it as much as he could. Costello would rather be out drinking, or having a spontaneous adventure, riding his bike, or having sex – being in his room signified that nothing interesting was happening, and that was always heartbreaking news. And today, he was home. Disappointed and disgruntled by the fact that no one had offered him a better alternative, the boy had indulged in an afternoon of lazy foppery.
In the three hours since he had returned to his room, the spontaneous and eternally energetic Costello had done many things to pass the time. He had danced outrageously to his vinyls. He had tinkered with bike parts. He had drawn a series of mustaches onto his face with eyeliner, just to try them out. He had thrown darts into the picture of his father which was taped to the dartboard above his bed. He had performed both sides of a debate over nuclear power whilst wearing a top hat and fur coat. He had taken a luxuriously long shower. He had decided to spend the night dressed in a lose kimono which had been a comedy buy from a friends. And, when Sye knocked on his door, he had poured himself a glass of wine, and was tactically blowing cigarette smoke out of his window.
The knock was, in all honesty, a relief to Costello, who was close to going stir crazy despite having been alone for only a few hours. But, with such a provocative shout from beyond the door, he was hardly going to greet the visitor in a kindly fashion. Costello Wollf was never one to pass up the opportunity to be an utter bitch.
And so, he swanned over to the door, cigarette in hard, and swung it open – peering down at the girl outside with a superior little sneer. “Sleeping,” he declared in his usual imperious tone, Austrian accent clinging slightly to his vowels, “Is not for the day time”. He surveyed her for a moment: enjoying the angry eyes. Angry was good. “And if you are, as is the only option, referring to the music which is my life, I can't stop. Some of us were just born to be art~”. Arrogance was a talent of Costello's – and so what if he kicked it up a notch for strangers? Costello Wollf was something of a sink-or-swim experience.
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Post by mavy3 on Mar 30, 2013 16:04:08 GMT -5
SHE COULD BE A JOAN OF ARC When the door opened, Sye’s features dropped. It was the law of the universe that, considering she didn’t know where anybody in these dorms lived, anything could be behind the door. A cheerleader. A nerd. An emo. A jock. A person who enjoyed sophistication over tomfoolery. A person who was a nervous wreck. An ugly person. A beautiful person. Green eyes. Blue eyes. Blue hair. A boy. A girl. The possibilities were positively endless. Yet the last thing Sye could ever imagine was a person like Costello. Her mouth hung slightly open, almost in disgust, as her eyebrows lowered. His long blonde hair, fine features and kimono outfit were a lot to take in for Sye. The only word she could use to describe someone like Costello was ‘fabulous’, as he stood in the doorway, cigarette tucked into his hand comfortably. Everything was so exotic, including his voice. Sye never had an ear for accents, but she could notice that European twinge in his words. What the fuck even was this person? The possibilities were also endless, and that was just considering the gender of Costello.
A storm cloud formed over her head and her face darkened. What a cocky fuck. He was the kind of person who would grow up to be as much as an asshole as he is now, or so Sye thought. Instead of saying words like yes, he must go ‘mmmhmmmmm’ in delight, ending on a high note. Sometimes, after being alone in her room, she forgot that she was the token poor kid. Obviously an academy that only took rich kids was an unfair idea, so her little sob story about living in care her entire life swayed the officials into giving her a place, like a talent show judge giving higher marks for the disabled kid. Obviously she was smart too, but her intelligence wasn’t a quality she prided on. Being clever in a lesson was easy, but her use of language in conversation dumbed her down. She came to the conclusion that Costello was too... blasé for her mind.
“I’m sorry I didn’t realise I was interrupting your fricking fancy dress party,” Sye finally said, after a long, hard, confused silence. “I have no idea what the fuck you are, or what the fuck you are even talking about, but I’m bored, and you’re so bored you’re a woman turning into a man or a man turning into a woman - I can’t really tell what the fuck you are – but either way you’re gonna give me a cigarette and let me in...” For a split second, Sye looked confused herself. Oddly enough, what the... person had said when they opened the door just hit her. “What do you mean sleeping isn’t for the day? It’s fricking 11pm at night! And your ‘music of your goddamn life’ is echoing all the way down to my fricking room when I want to sleep!” Sye paused for breath, then stamped her foot like the stroppy teenage girl she way. “Seriously, what the fuck are you?!”
WORDS 511 TAGGED DOOR MAN/WOMAN NOTES YEAAAAAA OKAY THIS IS A CRAP POST ANYWAY SORRY TEMPLATE BY WE WERE INFINITE ! OF CAUTION 2.0 |
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