Claire

Thanks! I guess it's safe to say that Charlie definitely wasn't real. I actually had plans for a lot more imaginary friends and scenes but there was an awful word limit. This version was actually a bit too long for the class and I had to shrink the font and the margins to keep it from taking up 10 pages. Yikes. Plus the assignment was like a day late when I managed to write it so I definitely wasn't able to perfect the story. Not that I ever got any constructive criticism in that class...gah. This is the first I've heard of Morning Pages. It might be interesting to try but I just constantly have writer's block. Actually I think it's half writer's block, half absurdly high expectations for a near-perfect first draft. I have some writing assignments due Monday, just a page-long short short short about some fictional event from my life or someone else's life, and I am absolutely stumped. I am going to participate in NaNoWriMo, though!

ATTN Everyone: You can get Mew from the Nintendo WFC now. Just do Mystery Gift and tada. I just picked up the game for the first time in months yesterday. I found myself in Celadon City so I figured I might as well beat Erika. She ended up being rather tough. What's weird is that her Tangela gave me the hardest time--that's not really a Pokemon you'd expect to have trouble with. I ended up just Ice Punching everyone with my level 61 Tyranitar, who actually got knocked out by Tangela's Giga Drain at one point. Yikes.

I like coffee as long as it has milk and sweetener. I never drink it, though, because the caffeine always makes me jittery and sick. I'm more into tea.

[quote name='chibi-master' date='17 October 2010 - 09:40 PM' timestamp='1287366016' post='701116'] I got to the ninth person in the video and closed the window. Why would anyone think this would be helpful at all? This is not the way I want the gay mariage message to be spread. As a homosexual, I believe there are more effective and certainly more civilized ways to try and open peoples' minds. [/quote] I feel like it may be more for people who support this cause than anyone else. Maybe the producers intended it as some kind of confidence booster, rather than a weapon against discrimination. Maybe the t-shirts are purely to instigate intelligent debates. I don't think people are going to read that far into it, though.

[color="#FF0000"]warning: nsfw, if the url didn't give that away.[/color] [url="http://fckh8.com/"]http://fckh8.com/[/url] Let me get a few things straight* right away 1. I am gay. 2. I'm all for same-sex marriage and human rights. 3. I love cursing often and excessively. BUT I don't like this video at all. I totally agree with the message (in pretty much the same words, even) but I don't think it's expressed in the best possible way. It's abrasive and unrelentingly in-your-face, and I know that most of the target audience ("the Christian right," "hypocritical republicans," and pretty much homophobes in general) will be so offended by the video that in all likelihood it will have the opposite of the intended effect. I can totally see people at my family's church (or pretty much any church anywhere) using this video as a rallying point for protesting gay marriage. I don't think it would be right to cater to the other side's interests, but this is way too much. There has to be a reasonable, sophisticated, thoughtful way to support this cause. Really, has just telling someone to "get the **** over" something ever made them get the **** over it? So what do you think? [size="1"]*har har[/size]

I wasn't conscious enough in the nineties to actively listen to any music. I can only remember listening to what my dad did, which was country, The Beach Boys, and plenty of classic rock stuff; and also Radio Disney, which basically played every generic pop star available then. The first CD I ever bought by myself was N'Sync's Celebrity. It's still hanging around my house, somewhere. When I really got into music on my own, I somehow started by falling in love with Avril Lavigne at age 11. Then I started listening to the local rock radio station and watching FUSE, which only played rock music videos at the time. 7th grade: Mostly pop-punk (Simple Plan, Green Day, Good Charlotte), maybe still Avril Lavigne a little bit. Favorite band was AFI. 8th grade: All goth (Rasputina, Bauhaus, Dead Can Dance, Siouxsie and the Banshees). Favorite band was Nightwish. Very elitist about music. Love pretty choral pieces. 9th grade: Still somewhat goth. Favorite band was Rasputina. Introduced to indie (The Smiths, Sufjan Stevens) and punk (Adicts, the Misfits) scenes. First Trans-Siberian Orchestra concert. 10th grade: Punk scene and more. Tried to distance myself from past tastes. Favorite bands AFI, Circa Survive, the Misfits, TSO. 11th grade: Not much changed. Favorite bands AFI, Circa Survive, The Academy Is, Calabrese, TSO. 12th grade: Massive shift in interests. Getting into indie scene. Favorite band Tegan and Sara. Also getting into She and Him, Uh Huh Her, Band of Horses. Interest in choral music resurfaces big time. This year's Trans-Siberian Orchestra concert is still my favorite memory. First year of college: Same interests. Favorite band Tegan and Sara. Second year: Pretty much the same. Favorite band still Tegan and Sara, but right now I'm obsessed with Florence and the Machine. Current top favorite bands: 1. Tegan and Sara 2. Florence and the Machine 3. Elliott Smith 4. Neutral Milk Hotel 5. Fleet Foxes 6. She and Him 7. Brand New 8. The Beatles 9. The Ink Spots (this spot is basically occupied by any music from the 1940s and earlier, all the way back to the Baroque and Renaissance periods) 10. Trans-Siberian Orchestra (I get radically obsessed with them once or twice a year, usually close to their annual concert here, and I only really enjoy listening to them live) I wish I still had the same Last.FM page from high school, because that would be hilarious and informative.

I don't usually watch music videos. If I know a song I like has one, I might check it out once or twice, but ultimately forget about it. However, I'm currently obsessed with this one: [youtube]TpLXQorSQe8[/youtube] [size="1"]Unfortunately, embedding is disabled. Blaaaaaaaaargh. [/size] Anyway, I could probably watch this all day and all night and not get sick of it. I love the song, so that definitely helps, but I think what really draws me in is Florence herself. Basically: ksdhglkshdgklhdsklhglskfkgldgl

[quote name='oxic_berry' date='09 October 2010 - 09:12 PM' timestamp='1286673176' post='701021'] ah, i see ^__^ ah-well, to each their own! it's just great that you write these short stories :3 have you thought about putting a compilation together for a book? short stories are my favorites (one of my favorite books being a bible-sized book of short zombie stories)! looking forward to reading more of your creations! peace! [/quote] I think it crossed my mind a couple times. The only short stories I've written (including this one and Rabbit-Hearted Girl) were for class, so I don't have too many available for publication. I need to try to get into some lit mags, though. I just need to squeeze some new stories out and spend a lot of time polishing them.

[quote name='oxic_berry' date='09 October 2010 - 09:24 PM' timestamp='1286673894' post='701022'] :D i loved the pokemon-world setting! took me by surprise, but i like where you went with the story ^___^ i was a bit confused about the egg though... o_0 still, it was great - i'm looking forward to the next chapter :3 [/quote] I think I can safely confirm that the "egg" is the Pokemon world equivalent of a pregnancy test. A pink egg with white plus signs indicates a pregnancy, while I believe I decided a solid blue or black egg would mean the test was negative. I wish I could have gotten far enough into the story for this to be apparent! I say "safely confirm" because I don't know if I'll be able to keep this story going. I don't read fanfiction and I felt really weird trying my hand at some, despite knowing the Pokemon lore as well as if I'd come up with it myself. I didn't like narrating the story as if the reader didn't automatically know what a Charizard was, but I also wanted to make it a little more accessible to other people. Pokemon weren't supposed to be very present in this story since I had a specific focus on the human characters and their stories. It just so happens that the characters live in the Pokemon realm (though not all of them are canon). I was really into the idea when I wrote these passages, though. Maybe knowing at least one person wants to read on will help me keep going. Hmmm.

[quote name='oxic_berry' date='08 October 2010 - 09:54 AM' timestamp='1286546060' post='700987'] i really like this one too. i've got three shrinks for parents, so i can empathize with jones. again though, really good style and delivery ^____^ i love your writing! it's kinda nerdy, but we're on an otaku site so... do you roleplay at all? i love writing stories with people, in 9th grade i wrote a 53-page story RPing with a girl on gaia! XD you can laugh :3 it's funny [/quote] I'm really glad you actually enjoyed something I wrote enough to go find something else! For real, thanks. I tried to roleplay a bit back in middle school, but I liked it better in a chat setting than on a message board. I don't know if any of the old RPs I participated in are still available on this board, but if someone managed to find them they'd see that I was definitely no good at collaborating with a group like that. I never got any further than a couple posts.

[quote name='oxic_berry' date='07 October 2010 - 05:19 PM' timestamp='1286486379' post='700967'] sweet :3 oh, and just out of curiosity, why'd you decide to title it "rabbit hearted girl"? just curious! keep finding inspiration ;D peace! [/quote] I usually steal from music when it comes to titling my stories. In this case, I'd been listening to Florence and the Machine the entire time I was writing the story (more than seven hours!! all in one sitting because of my deadline, yikes) and decided to use this line from the song [url="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7nxO-yPQesA"]Rabbit Heart (Raise It Up)[/url]. It doesn't have any really specific meaning; it just felt right.

[quote name='oxic_berry' date='07 October 2010 - 11:48 AM' timestamp='1286466485' post='700962'] wow! that was really good! :D i loved your writing style ^___^ the story and writing was engaging and descriptive (but thank you for not describing [i]everything[/i], i hate it when writers do that!) and i admit, i was sad to see the bottom of the page when i'd reached it do you plan on writing any more to this particular story? [/quote] Sweet, thanks so much for reading it! I actually have quite a bit more to write for these particular characters; it's just difficult to keep going when I'm not writing on a deadline. Hopefully, after my creative writing class reviews this part of the story, I'll figure out how to continue it.

[i]"You like horses and gambling, but not to excess! "[/i] I've had that exact fortune TWICE. (I also like neither of those things)

[quote name='The Professor' date='02 October 2010 - 02:33 AM' timestamp='1286001199' post='700848'] [font="Comic Sans MS"]A mistake in the thread title? That's ridiculous! I see no such thing! [size="1"]This is either the best winking smiley ever or the worst.[/size][/font] [/quote] Yeah, you're right, I definitely don't make mistakes ever. [size="1"]Thanks. :3[/size]

(Just so you know, this thing is over 4000 words long. Hope it doesn't scare you away. Also FUUUUUUUUU I made a booboo in the thread title). [center]Rabbit Hearted Girl[/center] I could tell by looking at him that the man was no good. He was this squashed rotund little person with a frantic static buzzing around his head, and dark eyes deadened by hunger. His ratty brown coat told me that he was poor, but I could smell that he spent his days chain smoking and drinking in lieu of earning his keep. There was no one to miss him. As I observed him from a shadowed alley, he observed a gaggle of tipsy, singing women emerging from the bar. He licked his lips, his fingers contorting into talons. When he made his move, so did I. Nobody saw the man disappear, of course. One moment he was there, creeping down the sidewalk, and the next he was not. It was a relief rather than a shock. No one had seen me at all. I moved as swiftly and silently as the breath following a speeding train. The next morning some unfortunate passerby would find the man slumped on the ground between the buildings, sitting in puddles of fragments of glass. One hefty shard would be lodged in the front of his neck, and his shoulder would be in the wrong socket - he must have fallen from some great height, drunken, and impaled himself on his own bottle of beer. [i]Câ??est la vie[/i], they would say as they cleared away the trash. There would be no blood, but it would go unnoticed. I quietly slunk away from the scene, just out of reach of the gaslit street lamps. My veins were tingling with new, foreign energy, and I suddenly knew what a soap bubble must feel like right before it collides with someoneâ??s finger. The ground couldnâ??t properly absorb the adrenaline hammering against the soles of my feet. I wanted to climb to the rooftops and leap across the ceilings of Paris, as if they were made of soft rubber. It would have been the easiest thing, but I simply put one foot in front of the other until I was home again. After all, I had work in the morning. *** Weâ??d barely been in Paris a week before the money was gone. It had been left behind in Austrian concert halls, in German opera houses, in Dutch art galleries and in hotels and train depots from here to Firenze. I suppose itâ??s not too surprising, since neither Rosa nor myself had had any steady source of income in the past sixty years. Not even the dead can see Europe for free. I thought weâ??d hop on the first train back to Toscana, hidden in a storage car if necessary. But one morning, a few hours before sunrise, Rosa came home to our tiny apartment with her curly hair tangled and blood smeared across her lips and said sheâ??d found me a job. â??What did you do?â? I said. â??Who did you kill?â? â??Donâ??t worry about that. You just be glad I took the initiative.â? The prestigious Académie de Ballet a few blocks away would be needing a new rehearsal pianist, she told me. That was something I could handle, no doubt about it. Rosa herself had been giving me piano lessons since we met, and she knew that half a century of practice was more than enough. â??I donâ??t think thatâ??s a good idea,â? I said. â??But it is,â? she said, pushing me towards the door. â??It is a [i]great[/i] idea, because I am not going back to Italy.â? And that was that. Rosa dragged me to the academy, a looming brick building with stained glass windows and a tall dome that made it look like a cathedral, and we waited inside for someone to show up and hire me. When the director arrived, she and Rosa had a long conversation in French, occasionally punctuating their nonsensical words with excited gestures towards the piano in the corner of the room, the walls lined with mirrors, and my oblivious, perturbed self. I didnâ??t speak French. I knew English because I had a British governess when I was a kid, and I knew Italian for obvious reasons. Neither of those languages would help much in this situation. So I have no idea what either of them ever said, but a few hours later I was slouched at the baby grand, staring furiously at the keys as I felt the eyes of twenty Parisian girls tearing through my clothes. They all wore skin tight black leotards and sweet perfume that made my sinuses burn, and they all bickered giddily in the same high-pitched gibberish. I decided right away that they were just stupid little girls and that I hated them all. Rehearsal ended after about five hours too many, and when it was finally dark enough outside that I wouldnâ??t go up like a furnace full of kerosene, I headed to the nearest bookstore to find the French translations of the books Rosa and I had brought from home. I figured if I had to withstand all the gossip, I should at least learn to understand it. The plaques naming the genre of every shelf were in French, but some of the words were understandable enough. I had no business looking for [i]aventure[/i], [i]amour[/i], or [i]mystere[/i], though. Itâ??s awfully stereotypical, but every book in Rosaâ??s personal library deals with the most terrifying monsters, the most grotesque murders, the most hellish nightmares imaginable. I found the aisle that seemed close enough to what I needed: [i]horreur.[/i] But I stopped when I first glanced down the rows of books. There was a tall girl in a black leotard, with her red hair done up in a messy bun and a massive white purse slung over her shoulder. I remembered seeing her amongst the other ballet students, though altogether they were nearly indistinguishable. They were a bee-hive. Perhaps Iâ??d been mistaken about this section. Surely those prattling flibbertigibbets had no use for such dark, frightening books. She noticed me and gasped so quietly she probably assumed I couldnâ??t have heard. Then she mustered a brief, perfunctory smile, and said something. I assumed it meant hello, or quite possibly who the hell are you? I nodded noncommittally, just to be polite, then glanced at the selection of books in front of me: [i]Docteur Jekyll et Monsieur Hyde[/i], [i]Dracula[/i], [i]Frankenstein[/i]. How bizarre. The girl pulled a volume from the shelf and began skimming the pages, tracing the words with her finger. Her green eyes lit up at something, and I heard a tiny chuckle in the back of her throat. She would most likely buy this book, this gothic novel. This scary story. I grabbed everything I needed and rushed out of the store. *** A few weeks passed, and though I was far from fluent, I could actually comprehend most of what everyone said. I heard them whispering to each other during practices, sometimes about their vapid lives, sometimes about me. I didnâ??t catch the specific gossip at first, because nobody ever properly pronounced my name. In Paris, I was [i]Lucy-oh[/i]. But now that I understood, I couldnâ??t stop myself from listening. It was involuntary. And I regretted every second of it. â??[i]Mon père ne veut pas envoyer de l'argent[/i].â? Daddy wonâ??t send me any money because I want to buy diamond necklaces that are heavier than my head. â??[i]Je ne vais pas manger de bonbons plus[/i].â? Iâ??m giving up sweets because Iâ??m not a stick figure. â??[i]Je me sens mal, je pense que je suis contracter la maladie de Lucio.[/i]â? Iâ??m blaming my sore throat on [i]Lucy-oh[/i], because he looks like he has about a hundred thousand contagious diseases. More or less. *** I ran out of reading material very quickly and returned to the bookstore to pick up more. When I rounded the corner of the horror section, I came face to face with the redhead once again. This time she didnâ??t gasp. She looked right into my eyes and said hello, again, I was sure of it now. â??[i]Bonsoir[/i],â? I said. Do you come here very often? She nodded. Once a week, at least. Books donâ??t last very long. I noticed the book in her hand and stifled a laugh. I almost told her that [i]Dracula[/i] is a bit of a joke, that itâ??s only a little accurate and really an overblown portrayal of my bunch. I doubt that would have gone over well. Instead I stepped an inch or so away and focused on the books in front of me. She wanted to know if I liked horror. I suppose so. Itâ??s more or less all Iâ??ve been reading lately. She asked if Iâ??d read [i]Frankenstein[/i]. I had, in multiple languages. â??Oh, you speak English?â? she said. Her voice was distinctly British. I had not expected this, but I said yes. "That's a relief. Your French is too clumsy." She then invited me to see the [i]Frankenstein[/i] film later that night. My first reaction was a resounding no, inside my head. She was a silly human girl, and though not really as much as a twit as I initially believed, she was still guilty by association with the others from the ballet academy. I could see her digging her nails into my shoulder and screaming as Frankensteinâ??s monster burst alive, a horrid mass of mismatched limbs that I would most certainly find comical. â??I canâ??t tonight. Iâ??m sorry.â? No, itâ??s best I donâ??t go anywhere with you. *** Rosa had a different idea. â??A girl asked you to take her to the cinema and you [i]politely declined[/i]?â? she said after chucking a pillow from the sofa at my head. â??I donâ??t even know her name,â? I said. â??You can ask.â? â??Why should I know her name? I donâ??t really need to.â? Rosa went over to the door, pulled my coat from the peg on the wall, and tossed it over my head. â??Weâ??re going to see the moving picture tonight.â? I donâ??t know what it was about Rosa. She was impossible to ever argue with. She wanted me to get a job in Paris so we wouldnâ??t have to go back to Italy, back to a house where she slept by herself in a bed built for two. We left our home in the first place because [i]she[/i] wanted to get away from it, and I just tagged along. I can empathize with her on all of that, but I there was no use trying to make me more sociable. Itâ??s something thatâ??s woven into my fabric. Before I could come up with another argument, we were out the door. Rosa had a very strong grip. When we reached the theatre, we found the redheaded girl at the ticket booth, exchanging coins with the clerk. She was surprised when she saw Rosa and me, but I donâ??t think much of her reaction was on account of [i]my[/i] presence. â??So, [i]Lucy-oh[/i], you decided to come after all,â? she said, eyeing Rosa, who was very deliberately detached from me completely. The two of us could have been twins, for all the girl knew. Or at least brother and sister. We had the same dark curly hair, the same sickly pale skin, the same strange sunken yellowish eyes. I knew Rosa would play this up. I knew she would assure everyone that we werenâ??t and couldnâ??t possibly be [i]together[/i]. Rosa quickly jabbed her elbow into my side, so fast that the girl wouldnâ??t notice. â??Yes, I suppose I did. Here I am,â? I said. Hope everyoneâ??s happy. Rosa genially introduced herself as my sister, as I expected her to. Then she asked the girlâ??s name because she knew I couldnâ??t figure out how. â??Charlotte,â? said the girl. As I stepped up to the booth to buy our tickets, Rosa glanced at me in a way that suggested I had over-reacted before. [i]Is this really so hard[/i]? her eyes said. [i]You pansy[/i]. *** Charlotte turned out to be a very courteous film watcher. She didnâ??t read the subtitles aloud, she didnâ??t scream when the skeletal shell of Frankensteinâ??s monster sat upright and waved a gnarled bony hand at the audience seemingly all on its own. She didnâ??t even gasp. I couldnâ??t be sure, but at one point she may have even giggled at the absurdity of it all, alongside Rosa and myself. I felt a bit more buoyant walking out of the theatre afterwards. But at the academy, where Rosa couldnâ??t twist my ear to make me talk, I still kept to myself. So maybe Charlotte had a brain that wasnâ??t made out of twisted ballet flat laces. Maybe she was interested in more than wearing absurd amounts of perfume and finding a handsome, muscular husband. Maybe she had substance. I still couldnâ??t associate with her, because I knew exactly what would happen. I could grow to appreciate the way she smelled like her skin was made out of rose petals. I could grow to like her wild auburn hair, to miss her bright green eyes when they werenâ??t staring straight into mine. I could grow to actually [i]like[/i] her. And then what would happen? Would she feel the same? Would she wonder why I never took her out to dinner, why she never saw me outside during the day? She wouldnâ??t wonder for long, Iâ??m sure. [i]Dracula[/i] may be hokey, but itâ??s not entirely wrong. Charlotte was smart and well-read, and she would figure me out right away. I can already hear the scream sheâ??d been saving since the Frankenstein film. I can see the terror in her eyes. And I can understand her telling everyone she knows, all those irksome chatterboxes at the academy, all of Paris itself. So to keep me from ending up dead, really dead, I would have to break her neck. Iâ??d snap her spine with one arm. It would be quick, maybe painless. Painless for one of us, at least. Sheâ??d at least have relief immediately afterward. No, I couldnâ??t let any of that happen. I would just sit at the piano and shut up. I would find a different bookstore to shop at. I would remain detached and everything would be fine, and I wouldnâ??t end up like Rosa, always on the run from a memory. If only life went according to plan. â??Hello? Is anybody home?â? I snapped out of my morbid trance and looked at Charlotte, who was waving her hand in front of my face. I wanted to pretend I hadnâ??t heard the doorbell ring, that Iâ??d stepped out to lunch. "Sorry," I said. "I was just lost in thought." She had enjoyed our time last night. There was another movie playing later, [i]The Wizard of Oz[/i]. Not really our usual fare, but the main villain was an evil, conniving, intimidating witch. Did I want to go see it? I glanced away, rapidly searching for a better focal point than her large, pleading eyes. The sheet music on the piano seemed impartial. â??I canâ??t, Charlotte.â? I canâ??t. She said it was fine, but I could see that she didnâ??t really believe me. Iâ??d set her up to distrust me when I joined her for the first film even though I said I wouldnâ??t. I felt like my long dormant stomach was attempting to digest a brick. Rosa asked me what happened today when I made it home. I said nothing. I shut myself up in my bedroom and went straight to sleep. When I woke up a few hours later, I had a moving image of Charlotte and myself looping in my mind. We were at the theatre, laughing uncontrollably at the grainy pictures on the screen. Her hand was locked around mine and it was so warm I could have been holding a tiny sun. I donâ??t know where the scene came from. I havenâ??t had a dream since 1842. *** She was angry. It rolled off of her in tangible waves that almost made my hair stand on end. Her eyes seemed less green, less shiny, probably because she refused to look at me. She acted perfectly normal around her friends, laughing at their catty jokes, smiling at them, talking in a smooth, level voice. To me, it was a sharp piece of sandpaper scraping against my chest. Was it possible that I could regret avoiding her even more than I would have regretted seeing her? Rehearsal did not last long enough, for once. I knew that when the dancers fell out of their last dramatic tableau, Charlotte would gather her belongings and storm out without a single word. At least while we were in the same room she was acknowledging me with her ire. But class ended and everything played out exactly as I imagined, for what seemed to be the very first time. She was gone before I could push myself away from the piano. Sheâ??s just being ridiculous, I told myself. I never said I would meet her. I explicitly told her I couldnâ??t. She had no reason to expect me. Sheâ??s being preposterous. Sheâ??s just like the other girls after all. I repeated this in my mind all the way home. Things were turning out how I intended, after all, and I should have been glad of it. But Charlotte stayed mad for the rest of the week, and I never felt any better about it. In fact, I started feeling worse. I started feeling angry myself, but it was totally misplaced. I wasnâ??t angry with [i]her[/i]. I wanted to split myself in half, and one part of me would rant with her about how much of an asshole that other me was. Then weâ??d go out for ice cream or something fun like that. The sensible half of me would be able to eat actual food and walk around town with her during the day, like real people do. It was starting to drive me crazy. I kept pacing around the apartment, wearing tracks in the carpet with my bare feet. Rosa watched me from the sofa, but she never asked what was wrong with me. I think she was over everything. Then, at the peak of my burgeoning hysteria, Charlotte finally looked at me. We locked eyes for a solid second before she glanced away again. But that was enough. That was like sticking a needle into one of the balloons floating around in my stomach. I felt like maybe I could approach her after rehearsal and she wouldnâ??t punch me in the face. So I zoomed over to her, maybe a little faster than I really should have, just to make sure she wouldnâ??t escape. I asked her if sheâ??d picked up any new books. Literature was a safe enough subject. Start slow. Rebuild. â??[i]Non[/i].â? And she returned to her purse. She was already gone. Iâ??d been left behind. [i]Non[/i]. I couldnâ??t take it anymore. I had to talk to her. I followed her out of the classroom, passing the disapproving faces of her petty friends. I didnâ??t care if they already saw me as outlandish and creepy, or if they thought Charlotte was perfectly justified in ignoring me. I had to fix everything. â??Why are you mad at me?â? I said. Charlotte stopped. The other girls were suddenly mesmerized. Theyâ??d never heard me speak so confidently. I hoped they didnâ??t understand. â??Iâ??m not mad,â? she said. Sheâ??s just [i]tired[/i]. Itâ??s production week. Sheâ??s stressed, and sheâ??s been staying up too late. But then I mentioned how she hadnâ??t spoken to me in over a week. How she wouldnâ??t even look at me. I wanted to bring up all the little things I sensed, like how the temperature was noticeably lower around her shoulders, but my resolve was wavering. Maybe she really was tired and I was worsening everything by pressing a subject that didnâ??t even [i]exist[/i]. Iâ??d been wrong about Charlotte before. Was I really so vain that I could make anything about myself? She stood still, glaring at me, her eyes as emerald as ever. I had one more chance. â??Iâ??m sorry.â? â??You donâ??t have to apologize.â? Her features remained rigid. She started walking again. â??[i]Attendre[/i],â? I said. â??Wait. Iâ??ll take you to a movie tonight. Iâ??ll take you to three movies, and to your favorite restaurant, and Iâ??ll buy you whatever books you want. Or we donâ??t have to do any of that. We could do whatever you want. Or nothing, if you want nothing.â? The words sounded fairly convincing, to me. I did mean them. For a moment I was afraid she would take it the wrong way and think I was implying that all she wanted was material compensation. The sides of my mouth ached from my clenched teeth. â??If you want,â? she said. [i]If you want[/i]. And though her mouth was still an inflexible line, I swear I could see a smile somewhere in her face. She headed down the hallway, leaving me feeling about twenty pounds lighter. The other girls were clutching their cheeks in unmitigated delight, but for once they didnâ??t bother me at all. *** We met outside the theatre around midnight. Charlotte was dressed comfortably in a loose sundress and cozy blue peacoat, like this was just an ordinary thing. Iâ??d broken out my most expensive pleated vest. I hoped she didnâ??t think much of it. She went over the list of films showing and said she wasnâ??t very interested in any of them. They were all tragic romances. I was fine with this turn of events. Instead of seeing a picture, we went for a walk. Things were quiet between us for a little while, and I was starting to feel a little anxious again. It was possible that sheâ??d agreed to go out with me to just shut me up. We came upon a church. It was a fairly small building with only one solitary steeple and a plain, drab front. I remembered the Catholic cathedrals from my childhood ages ago, and though I was no longer sure what exactly had control over the universe, I still had some respect for the grandeur of the high vaulted ceilings, stained glass artwork, and even the stone gargoyles that entered my nightmares when I was five or six. This church had none of that, and I didnâ??t understand how anyone could find God in such a dowdy old place. Charlotte stopped, fixated on the tip of the skyward cross. â??Letâ??s climb up there,â? she said. And before I could stop her, she was scouring the sides of the building for footholds. I didnâ??t want to climb the church. Someone would come along and tell us to get down, I was certain. Or maybe Charlotte would fall. Sheâ??d step on a loose shingle and slide right off the roof and I wouldnâ??t be able to catch her. The building may not be as big as God, but I was positive it could muster the same amount of wrath. She called for me, â??[i]Lucy-oh[/i],â? from behind the church. There was a latticework that could easily be used as a ladder. I hurried to catch her but sheâ??d already ascended. â??Iâ??ll stay down here,â? I said. â??Just in case.â? â??Are you scared?â? â??Iâ??m afraid youâ??ll fall off and get hurt,â? I said. Then she laughed. â??Iâ??ll land on my feet. Iâ??ll be fine. And if you donâ??t start climbing, Iâ??m going to jump.â? I reached the roof in a matter of seconds. Paris stretched out before us, just a cluster of black boxes perforated by bright yellow squares. I could see the top of my apartment, where Rosa was probably sitting by the window reading. I hadnâ??t told her I was going out with Charlotte because I half-expected her to say something along the lines of I told you so. And I could see the dome of the academy, which seemed to be the tallest thing in this part of the city. Charlotte would probably love to climb that. She laid down on her back and stared straight up, deep into the vibrant cosmos dotted across every inch of the dark purple sky. The moon was just a curved silver splinter in the middle of the starry field. "Come here," she said, patting a space of the roof next to her, and I joined her. She pointed at some indeterminate plot of sky and said the constellation looked like a teapot. I squinted, following the tip of her finger to the alleged shape, but I couldnâ??t see anything other than a splatter of stars. â??Then what do you see?â? I looked at her then, and it was like Iâ??d swallowed the heavens. I was buried in a bouquet of roses, shrouded in a bright green haze. Everything was hot, though down below it was an early December morning. Something unbelievable had happened, something outrageous and impossible. And for once, it didnâ??t feel me with dread. I felt hopeful. I felt happy. â??I just see stars,â? I said, gazing back up at the galaxy. She smiled and told me she could see them, too.

[font="Book Antiqua"]Current Display Name: Tonks. Username: Clurr. Previous Usernames: Ailes de Velour, Amelia, Marsh. Join Date: I think it's Dec. 31, 2005. I don't feel like checking. Usual Name IRL: Claire. Age: 19. Gender: Gurl. Member Picture/Description: [img]http://sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc4/hs064.snc4/34552_138828579479283_138827176146090_280187_7565936_n.jpg[/img] Desktop screenshot: [IMG]http://i227.photobucket.com/albums/dd177/nilsnectar/deskscreen0810.jpg[/IMG] Do you play any sports?: Nope. What do you study?: Creative writing. Except I don't actually study. Job: Nothing yet, but hopefully I'll start working at a record store sometime soon. What languages do you speak/write?: English. I can understand a little Spanish and I'm learning Italian. Location: Tampa, FL. Religion: None. Opinion on Religions: They're okay for people who need hope, but religion has caused a whole lot of problems in the world. Sexuality: Gay as can be. Opinion on homosexuality: It's the best. Political opinion: Most of my ideals are liberal, but I don't pay enough attention to politics to really speak confidently on this issue. Opinion on Political Opinions: I'm not interested. Operating System: Windows Vista. It's what I can afford. Opinion on Operating Systems: I grew up with Windows, but sometimes it's frustratingly awful. Do you text/call while driving?: Don't text while driving!! I talk on the phone sometimes, but only if I have something short and important to communicate to someone. Opinion on Texting/Calling while driving: Don't be a douche. Opinion on Evolution Theory: Of course evolution exists. My Charmander turned into a Charizard; how else do you explain that?! Opinion on Tasing: It seems horrible. Opinion on Health Care: I'm very poorly read on this issue, but universal health care sounds like a really good thing. Even people in America die of simple sicknesses because they couldn't afford to see a doctor, and if this can somehow be rectified, then it should be. Opinion on Abortions: Women's choice. People shouldn't be dumb about having sex and then expect an easy escape from the consequences, but there are plenty of good reasons to abort a pregnancy (rape, health issues, etc). And I really don't understand how people can be adamantly pro-life AND fully support abstinence only education. Really?? The problem is not being solved AT ALL. Opinion on Euthanasia: I don't know. Some people have done things so horrible that they don't deserve to live, or it costs too much to imprison someone (as a side note, it's pretty sad that money is a deciding factor when it comes to destroying a life...same goes for abortions, though the concept of "being alive" is debatable there) so maybe the death penalty is appropriate. I honestly don't know how I feel about it, though. Give me an anti-euthanasia argument and I will probably agree with you. What does your user name/display name mean?: Tonks is a character from the Harry Potter series. I have a crush on her in the fifth movie. The end. What members would you like to meet?: Kevin! OB Family: I ain't got no family. Ninjas or Pirates?: I dgaf. Chicken or the Egg?: I'm vegan. XL Basic or Wet Paint?: I dunno the difference. Why did the chicken cross the street?: WHAT I THOUGHT THE CHICKEN CROSSED THE ROAD. How wrong was Kanye for disrupting Taylor's MTV Awards moment?: I don't even like Taylor Swift, but that was ridiculously rude. Even if Beyonce did have a better video (and everything else), you don't just go and tell someone that they're not #1 as they're winning a trophy for being #1. On TV. Are you from 2001-ish?: Nope. I was only in fifth grade then. I barely had the internet. The Nerdiest Thing You've Ever Done: I was hella nerdy in middle school. Your celebrity crush: Tegan Quin. Do you like cooking?: Not really. I hate cleaning up afterwards too much to ever really try. Do you procrastinate much?: Absolutely. If you could go back in time five years, what's one thing would you tell yourself?: "Everything that happens next, you will live through." Your worst crime ever: I don't know. "Stealing." What book are you currently reading?: [u]On Writing Short Stories[/u] for my Creative Writing class. Except I'm not actually [i]reading[/i] it. Best April fools Moment: I don't think I've ever pranked anyone. Valentine's Day ideas: Put on a red shirt and go laser tagging. What did you get for Christmas?: Kodak Zi8 camcorder. Best birthday gifts you ever received: Unsolicited attention. Favourite Sandwich: Fresh mozzarella, tomatoes, basil, and pesto on ciabatta. Favourite Recipe: I don't even like food right now. Favourite Class In School: AP English Language, AP English Literature, chorus, drama, creative writing. Favourite Sock: My purple ones. Least Favourite Sock: My white ones. Favourite Band/Musician: Tegan and Sara. Favourite Song: "The Con" by Tegan and Sara. Also everything else by Tegan and Sara. Your Theme Song: Bach's "Little Fugue." BECAUSE I SAID SO. Favourite love songs: TEGAN AND SARA Favourite Anime: Dragonball Z! Favourite Manga: Same. Favourite Film: It varies from Lion King to Titanic to Labyrinth. Favourite TV Show: Ace of Cakes. Favourite Actor/Actress: Zooey Deschanel. Favourite Director: My friend Dustin. Favourite Video Game: Pokemon. Favourite Board Game: Clue. Favourite Game Console: Nintendo 64. Favourite OB Thread: Beats me! Favourite OB RPG: I never managed to fully participate in those. Favourite OB Member: ME. Favourite OB Staff Member: OLD ME. Favourite OB Memory: When people told me I'm a good writer. Favourite OB Version: Weh. Favourite All-time OB Forum: I'unno. Favourite OB Inside Joke: I don't have any friends, so I don't have any inside jokes. Favourite LolCat: Anything with properly spelled text. Favourite Youtube video: "Some woman talks about kitten huffing" and the assorted Brenda Dickson parodies Shameless Plug: http://www.t-timecovers.tumblr.com http://www.facebook.com/pages/Ghost-Shirt-Society/184591799551 http://www.facebook.com/pages/Twin-Compass/138827176146090 Other: Mother.[/font]

I found the original Pokemon Gold at Play-N-Trade today. I'm pretty shocked that they had it, since they didn't when I was looking for it a few months ago. But still, hooray!

[quote name='Lady Shy' date='05 August 2010 - 08:55 PM' timestamp='1281056104' post='698947'] You're missing "because they think it's wrong, so they want to prevent it." If you're convinced of something being a sin, the just thing to do would be to prevent it from happening. If you knew someone was going to murder another person and you're able to prevent it by some means, wouldn't you do so? Still, yay that California finally caught up. [/quote] I was going to expand on Allamorph's reply by mentioning how many things the Bible claims are sinful in addition to homosexuality that Christians don't even acknowledge (and may even participate in), but that was pretty much covered in Heaven's Cloud's linked video. And as a weird flipside to this, there are things the Bible is okay with that people today consider to be morally wrong (like slavery). Anyway, my reaction to this news was weird. When Prop 8 passed two years ago, I was so angry at the world I actually wrote a song about it. Now I don't really feel any excitement or relief or anything. I didn't even know it was going to be re-voted until the day before, and the only reason I knew it had fallen was that all my friends were celebrating it on Facebook and Tumblr. I'm glad it got overturned and I know that though it may not affect me where I am right now, it could mean great things for human rights; I just don't feel anything. Maybe it's just that I'm so busy with and stressed out by other things right now. [size="4"]Anyone who has a tumblr, follow this one! [url="http://www.gaywrites.tumblr.com"][u]Gay Writes[/u][/url][/size]

It had been over a month since the party, but Ariana hadnâ??t noticed the progression of time. She was still wearing her dress, zippered halfway, though anyone who looked at her would have seen a heavy black coat and the drab gray pleated uniform skirt she needed for school. Her ears were still ringing from the blasting stereo, and she could still smell the musty air of the bedroom. She had been drunk for more than thirty days. At least, she hoped that was the case. As she sat on the edge of the tub and stared at the floor, she couldnâ??t feel the cold, hard porcelain, and she couldnâ??t see the gleaming white tiles. Instead, she saw sweaty lips pursed, poised to attack again and again. She saw baby muscles flexing stupidly, and she felt clammy hands in places they didnâ??t belong, spreading waves of nausea with every touch. Vomit surged up from her stomach, but she swallowed hard to keep it from escaping. Arianaâ??s hands were shaking as they held on to a small piece of white, rectangular plastic. Her bouncing feet counted each passing second. It had been almost five minutes now, but the thought of moving a muscle was almost as disgusting as the memory of the bedroom. She could have lasted a lifetime without giving the plastic device a single glance. There was a knock at the door. â??Ariana?â? said the man. â??Are you okay?â? She gulped again, searching for the will to speak. All she could manage was â??Fine, dad.â? The man seemed satisfied with her answer, for he walked away without another word. Ariana sighed, though without a smidgen of relief. Her grip on the device tightened. Seven minutes had flown by - perhaps if she acted now, sheâ??d be graced with a bit of good luck. Ariana grinded her teeth together and held her breath, slowly lifting the device to eye level. Cut into the front of the plastic was a long square window. It showed a comical picture of a bright pink egg, covered in white plus signs, that would have been cute and cheerful in any other situation. This particular egg burned Arianaâ??s eyes like a freshly chopped onion. She turned to stone at the sight of it, her breath cutting off as if her lungs had been tied in a bow. The desire to crumble away into a smoldering pile of dust overwhelmed her. Sudden crashing noises from up above startled her out of her frozen state. She inhaled sharply and shifted her focus from the horrible pink egg to the door directly behind it. Then she leapt to her feet and stuffed the harrowing device into the deep pocket of her coat, where no unsuspecting innocent eyes could see it. After a quick glance in the mirror to be certain she wasnâ??t really as green as she felt, Ariana hurried out of the bathroom and up the stairs out of her apartment. When she emerged on the next level up, she was immediately enveloped in a maelstrom of hot sand. She bundled the thick collar of her coat around her face for protection and made her way into the stands against the wall, where the storm couldnâ??t reach. The thunderous booms continued, but the source was hidden somewhere inside the opaque barrier of whirling sand. Somewhere within the howling wind, Ariana could hear unintelligible voices shouting. She waited there for only a few minutes before the storm abruptly cleared away, revealing several figures standing in the middle of the floor below. One man towered over the other, his brown tinted skin taut over his bulging muscles. His black hair was tied back to keep out of his beady eyes, and he wore nothing but loose white pants. The other man was a skinny column of flesh topped off by a plume of blood red hair; he looked like a lit match. A black cape billowed softly from his shoulders in the dregs of the wind. His black, militaristic uniform was covered in sand. Hovering the air a few feet above the mensâ?? heads was a large, orange-scaled creature with menacing talons on its feet and bony horns protruding from its lizard-like head. A ball of fire was gurgling from the tip of its long tail.. The draconic monster leaned into a dive and deftly landed on its feet next to the skinny man with a resounding thud. It then tilted its head back and released a satisfied roar. Ariana watched the two men shake hands, then the larger one turned and walked out of the building with his head hung sadly. The red-haired man gave his monster a congratulatory pat on the shoulder, then produced a baseball-sized red and white orb from a clasp on his belt. The monster faded from reality into a beam of infrared light and disappeared into the ball. The man directed his attention to the stands. â??Hey, Ari, did you see that?â? he called. â??See what?â? Ariana said, standing and walking down the steps to meet him. â??I couldnâ??t make out anything through all that sand.â? The man sighed with a smile as she reached the floor level. â??Thatâ??s too bad. It was a pretty spectacular victory, even for me.â? Ariana rolled her eyes and headed back to the stairs leading to the apartment, and the man followed suit. â??This guy was tougher than most, though,â? he said as they walked into the living area under the gym. â??He started off a little slow with a Hitmonlee that couldnâ??t aim a kick right in the sandstorm and pretty much knocked itself out just crashing all over the place.â? Ariana wasnâ??t in the mood for a detailed recollection of his recent battle, so tuned him out and collapsed on the couch with her hands in her coat pockets. The egg was still there, searing the skin of her stomach through the cloth. She balled her fists so tightly the knuckles could have torn through her flesh. Her fatherâ??s voice wavered in and out like a shoddy radio signal, interlaced with other crackling feeds from interfering stations in her mind. â??Of course, Dragonair was no match for Ice Punch-- [i]â??This is fine--â?[/i] â??--and when he sent out Onix I was actually nervous--â?? [i]â??--guest room, you wonâ??t notice--â?[/i] â??--Charizard was in top form today, just dancing around every single rock--â? [i]â??--theyâ??d get reamed at beer pong if I--â? [/i] â??and Onix just buckled under a couple swipes of Metal Claw--â? [i] â??--of course Iâ??m ready--â? [/i] â??--all it took to finish him off was one burst--â? [i]â??--of course Iâ??m ready--â?[/i] â??--and he just accepted defeat real gracefully, unlike most other--â? [i]â??OF COURSE Iâ??M READY.â?[/i] Ariana bolted upright, clenching the egg so hard she could feel the plastic bending between her fingers. Frigid sweat cascaded down her back and plastered her uniform to every bit of her body it could touch. Her father had moved into the kitchen, still yammering on and on, too enrapt in his story to notice anything odd about her. Ariana stood and dashed back into the bathroom, barely in line with the toilet before the egg forced everything inside of her up and out. â??Ari, are you sick?â? said her father as he appeared in the doorway. She slumped over the bowl, coughing and gagging, too weakened to speak. The man ran to the kitchen and returned with a glass of water, which he set on the floor next to her. He lingered in the doorway, watching her heavy breathing with a concerned expression, then gently pulled the door shut. Ariana stayed there, shivering, clinging to the toilet bowl as if she were about to be swept away by a vicious current. She barely managed slow, wispy gasps for a long while. Her father knocked on the door periodically, just to check on her. When she couldnâ??t respond, he pressed his ear against it to pick up the sound of her staggered breathing. Then he sat on the floor beside the doorway, waiting for her to come back to life. After a few hours, they fell asleep right where they were. (Maybe I can manage an update a day! Seems like a decent goal for myself).

Haha, this is cute. I've been reading a lot of humorous Pokemon web comics lately and it makes me want to draw my own, but I don't feel the proper inspiration. Le sigh.

I haven't played HG/SS in a while (I've actually been trying to get through Pearl on a Nuzlocke challenge) but this is relevant. [url="http://www.otakuboards.com/index.php?/topic/44547-arianas-story/"]I'M WRITING A STORY.[/url] That's right, "story." I'm not going to accept any other term for what it is I'm working on.

[i][right]Blackthorn City. 1979.[/right][/i] Like most other stories of this nature, it begins in a bedroom. The room was dark and quiet, except for the muffled sounds of loud music and cacophonous conversations oozing in from the thin crack under the closed door. Most of the space was occupied by a queen bed, dressed in simple lavender sheets. There was an empty chest-of-drawers made of cedar and a floor mirror with a single crack near the top. Someone had attempted to brighten up the dull white walls with generic paintings of waterfalls and pink flowers, hung in ornate white frames. There was a very fine mist of dust clinging to the air. The room hadnâ??t seen a human face in a long time and did not expect to any time soon. Then there was a harsh knock at the door, and it slowly swung open. â??This is good,â? said a voice, only slightly louder than the roaring soundtrack of the party outside. Two people slid into the room, clinging to each other like pieces of Velcro. The speaker was a burly young man with shaggy brown hair and a grin that barely fit on his face. He stood with his chest puffed out, straining his long-sleeved plaid shirt that was obviously a size or two too small. Latched to his side was a girl in a short pink dress whose legs seemed to have turned to jelly, but retained their lanky, green bean shape. Her bright red hair fell askew over her face, which emitted a constant stream of drunken giggles. â??It smells old in here,â? the girl mumbled, letting go of her crutch and sitting clumsily on the bed. The boy shut the door and secured the lock before joining her. â??Guest room. You wonâ??t notice after a while,â? he said. He wrapped his bulky hands around clumps of her messy hair and shot forward into an aggressive kiss. Their tongues waged war for several minutes, and probably could have continued endlessly if the girl hadnâ??t pulled away for air. â??Are you sure your jock buddies wonâ??t miss you downstairs?â? she asked with a smirk. â??Iâ??m sure,â? he said. â??They know theyâ??d get reamed at beer pong if I was there.â? They locked lips again, but this time the boyâ??s hands were busy unbuttoning his shirt. He flung it away and reached for the girlâ??s back to undo her zipper. As her dress slid down her skinny frame, she detached from him once more. â??Are you ready for this?â? she said. The boy delivered rapid kisses as he struggled to wiggle out of his jeans and help her remove her dress all at once. He forced her down with his flurry of passion and rested his hands on her bare shoulders. â??Grayson?â? the girl said in between smooches. â??Are you ready?â? The boy sat up, gasping with a smile. He brushed the hair out of the girlâ??s red eyes, then lightly rubbed her cheek with his thumb. â??Of course Iâ??m ready.â? This was a lie, of course, but neither of them knew that yet. [tbc] (I'm still in the process of writing this, but I'm hoping to find inspiration and motivation so I can keep it up. I have a ton of ideas and plans for this).

[quote name='CaNz' date='05 July 2010 - 09:10 PM' timestamp='1278378659' post='696612'] I just saw it today... I loved it... the movie was not to big on the excitement factor but everything else was wonderful. I was wondering why people were saying it was sad, and then [spoiler] when the ending came i actually cried... oh... no spoilers... im just kinda embarrassed [/spoiler] what an amazing sequel... cant wait for four. [/quote] There probably definitely won't be a fourth Toy Story movie. It would just ruin the most perfect ending Pixar already accomplished. I hope they don't start making sequels to all their old movies, though. I heard there's going to be a second Monsters Inc.

[quote name='Allamorph' date='05 July 2010 - 08:25 PM' timestamp='1278375946' post='696610'] [font="Calibri"]It's actually not a possessive in that case. It's a contraction, much like "it's". "mom is" becomes "mom's"; notice that the sentence "your mom's it" doesn't actually have a clear verb in it. However, the overarching point is that the only people with whom you can correct grammar during casual conversation are other English-ophiles.because we should know better. Anything goes in a professional presentation, but driving yourself batty over txt-speech and the almost complete lack of rules will do absolutely nothing (since your addressee won't care) and will label you as a first-class self-possessed *****. I'm already a first-class self-possessed *****, so it's perfectly fine for me. [/font][/quote] So is apostrophe s ever used in a possessive case? I always thought it was, at least under some circumstances. And there's some difficult rules when it comes to words that end in s, too. I think I understand them, for the most part, but only very recently, so I've never been able to utilize them. Like..."Jesus's stuff" would be right in that case, and "The peoples' stuff" would be right in that one. Right? Or am I just making stuff up? I usually don't correct grammar at all. Seeing the wrong form of "your/you're" and occasionally even "lose/loose" makes me go inside for a moment before I get over it, but this morning brought a seemingly a constant barrage of it. And now for something completely different, watch this: [media]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E3Z1PXxI1qI&feature=related[/media] I cry every single time. Sometimes I only have to think about the music and I start tearing up.

[quote name='Vivian' date='05 July 2010 - 05:43 PM' timestamp='1278366196' post='696601'][color="#9932CC"][font="Microsoft Sans Serif"]While I've not officially changed majors yet, I'm more than likely going to try creative writing as my major this time around. Although I'm kinda in the same situation as you, Tonks, 'cause I'm not sure where it'll get me, either, if anywhere. But it's a start, at least.[/font][/color][/quote] The thought of changing majors is pretty terrifying. I haven't even started any of the courses required for this degree yet, but when I imagine getting halfway through my junior year and deciding to change majors I feel like dying. And I'm not even anywhere near that yet! I honestly have no idea what kind of career is available with a creative writing degree, other than maybe teaching. That would be okay, but it's not really something I want to do. Maybe there are plenty of options that I'm just not aware of. What I really want to do requires talent and connections rather than a degree from a university, but I'd rather play it safe in school than throw all my eggs into one far-fetched basket.