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Post by lu on Mar 23, 2009 20:16:32 GMT -5
 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -The warm weather in Venice never stopped Maddie for she was a girl who could not be stopped, especially when the matter of sleeves were brought into play. Though it was warm enough to fry an egg on the side walk Maddie still had long sleeves protecting her arms from the rays of the sun as well as the thousands of eyes around her. Granted her home in the heart of the city of Venice beach was not situated in the best part of town, but still for some reason Maddie never worried about thugs or things of that nature. For she knew there were worse things in the world than that, much worse thing in deed. Besides she often found herself hoping that they might find her, seek her out and put an end to an existence she was beginning to think should not be true. Being alone will do such things to your mind, play tricks and make you question whether or not life was ever worth it in the first place. However today was not a day to feel sorry for one's self, oh no, today was a day for peace of mind, to rest her weary head and concentrate on a thing she loved most in the world, her art. It was always merely a past time for her, drawing had never been anything more than something to pass the minutes, not like her writing, her writing was a passion, a reason for living. Then of course there was the photography and painting restoration thing which for her seemed purely a way to pay the bills, something she didn't have to go to an office to do. In fact corporations were what sickened Maddie, the long hours and hard work all for misery, in her eyes it seemed more plausible to do something you loved than something you hated. To her bliss was worth it's weight in gold, she would trade a life time of despair for even one millisecond of happiness. Legs carried her along the side walk, staying as close to the inside as possible, trying to maneuver about nameless faces surrounding her. It wasn't early, in fact it was anything but, midday, when the sun was highest in the sky, one would think a girl would be crazy to wear such confining clothes in such weather. Which would be why the passers by seemed to stare incessantly. Maddie's destination was familiar, a place where she felt relativly comfortable, the tattoo parlor, the perfect place for inspiration and perhaps a tid bit of quiet. Even if it wasn't quiet at least it was public, which in translation meant she was fulfilling the goal for the day. Atleast it was better than staying cooped up in the house as usual, painting or writing the day away until she couldn't see straight. Speaking of not seeing straight she lost a contact that morning and so was then stuck with the good old glasses which she found to make her look even dorkier than usual. Which in her mind was difficult to accomplish, after all she was pretty sure she was the only person in Venice that was utterly incapable of getting a tan. Really in terms of complexion it seems she was either pale, paler, or varying degrees of red. Sun burns were her worst enemy, then again Maddie was pretty sure they were the enemy of most people considering the fact that they were utterly unaesthetically pleasing and her like hell. The sun was relentless as she walked the few blocks to the shop where she spent much of her time, okay where she spent a portion of her time considering much of her time was spent at home. As far as hang outs go it wasn't really a 'hang' out central, not unless you were freakishly into piercings/body art, or you worked there. As a matter of fact Maddie was pretty sure even the workers were kind of shocked by her attendance, but hey she aimed to shock and aw, well sometimes at least. As her destination came into sight a semi rare smile crossed her features for a moment. Her hand wrapped around the handle on the door and secretly Maddie quietly rejoiced in the familiar sound of the bells ringing to sound her entrance. As usual a small wave and tight smile was sent toward the counter to whoever was on register duty. Aqua eyes flashed to her usual seat, a folding chair sitting before a small table scattered with books of art work. In true form Maddie placed her sketch pad which had been tucked under her arm on the table and scowered the surface of the somewhat organized table searching to see if their were any new books. When none caught her eye she figured she'd wait to see if anyone mentioned any new art filed away for observing. A charcoal pencil which was tucked between her ear and skull was retrieved as Maddie grabbed the sketch pad and took her seat in the chair, leaning back slightly and starting on a drawing. Pausing only to press play on her her low volumed ipod, using music as muse as per usual, happy to be out of the heat and in the AC... - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
[/i][/b] 879. outfit; click!. lyrics; crash by papa roach. notes; tagged for zack (andy). rather short, should be longer next time. [/ul][/left][/size][/blockquote][/blockquote] |
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Post by ZACK BAKER on Mar 23, 2009 22:37:50 GMT -5
DON'T DESTROY YOURSELF LIKE THOSE COWARDS DO,
[/COLOR] MAYBE THE SUN KEEPS COMING UP BECAUSE IT'S GOTTEN USED TO YOU.[/FONT] - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -[/center]
He couldn’t help it. He was staring. And he knew it was kinda rude. But this guy was kinda weird. Plus, he wasn’t paying any attention to the guy behind the counter he was talking to. So Zack had more than enough reason to stare. The guy wasn’t going to notice. He wasn’t going to complain. He wasn’t going to get that self-conscious feeling. He wasn’t going to go home and hang himself. In fact Zack was officially sure this guy would have better things to do this afternoon. He seemed like the guy who had it all. And then some. And after that...he seemed like the guy who knew he had it all, and then some. One of those stuck up rich types. He came into Baker's shop with those brand-name flip-flops, the purposely holey pants, a polo with the collar popped--that's right, popped collar--sun-glasses, still on, and bleached blonde hair. In short, Zack couldn't believe what he was seeing. His mouth might have been a bit open as well. Just from pure shock.
“I just kind of what my name to pop, yo? You know I want them to look like they’re coming at me. I don’t want it to look like it’s sinking into my skin, I want it to look like it means something. Like I’m the shit…which I am. So do you understand? I just kinda…I want them to…well POP!” With something of a jump Zack snapped out of it, his mouth snapping shut and his eyes returning to the drawing the boys hand. “You got it dude?” Once more his eyes shifted to the boys face and then to the drawing, before he started nodding. At first slowly and then the pace quickened, “Um, yes, yes, I definitely get it…dude.” With hopeful eyes his gaze returned to the tanned face adorned with oversized sunglasses and was taken aback by a perfect set of seemingly glowing white teeth. “Perfect.” Zack’s shoulders relaxed, feeling like they’d just dropped a load of…something and he almost took a seat back behind the desk before…the kid started talking again, “I really don’t think you get it man, I’ll explain it one more time.”
“Please do,” he muttered, under what he thought was his breath.
“What?”
“Um, n-nothing. Go ahead, please.” This was getting ridiculous. Again Zack’s mind shifted into a state of child-like dependency, thriving off of the blood supply his heart continued to pump and completely lost all focus for the incessant chatter of the teenager behind the counter. Hell, he almost felt like he could fall asleep. And just when he thought it was all over…
“—POP! You got it this time man?”
He was about to agree, he really was. Even come back with some questions, they always liked it when you asked questions, made them feel smart and important. When in reality…the artist always changed whatever imaged they had to whatever the artist felt would look better. And the customer always agreed. So he was about to do his job and do it well, bombard this kid with questions way over his head. When a bell rang. With wide eyes and an almost flutter set to his heart he looked towards the door. And there she was. In all her radiant beauty…wait. What he was he thinking? Getting carried away with himself…as usual…
She waved in his direction and he waved back, mouthing a hi that never seemed to reach his vocal chords and watched her take a seat.
“Woohoo, would you look at that. Man, I think I’ll get me a piece of—” The teenager—Brad, was it?—turned around and looked at her, shifting his glasses on his nose to peer over the rims at Ms. Pascal. And…of course, Mr. Baker didn’t like this. His eyebrows furrowed as he glanced over at her again and then retrained his eyes on his client, “All right Brad I think I got it.” He tugged the paper from the boys hand and bent over the counter to right some notes down on it. Especially the word POP. In capitals, underlined three or four times. “Dude, It’s Kevin.” A warm red tint came to his cheeks and he glanced upwards, “Sorry about that. Kevin, I think I got it. Why don’t you give me a week. I think we have an opening next Friday…three-thirty.” He shifted his eyes to the schedule book laying open next to his elbow and nodded. Sure enough the slot was open. “I’ll have a sketch finished, you can check it out and we’ll get started. All right.”
“All right, man.” The boy glanced back at Maddie.
“See you next week, Kevin.” He quickly added reaching out his hand for a shake.
“Yeah, thanks Zacky. Remember POP!” Again Zack jumped but he nodded and added some assuring words such as, sure thing or you got it and watched the boy walk towards the door. Again, on his way out, he shifted his glasses on his nose and peered over them to her. Zack breathed a sigh of relief when the bell finally tolled exclaiming the beast as outta the building and looked back at Madeline. She was here. Again. A strange thing. She came here for her tattoos…and to look at the books. It was a wonder she was a writer and not a tattoo artists herself. Though she didn’t really fit the bill…however, that could’ve easily been fixed with a few more tattoos. He sat back down in his chair, staring at her—as per usual. He couldn’t help but get those imaged from the last time she was here out of his head. It was simply a relief to see her alive and well this time around. Miraculously he hadn’t heard of the mysterious death of a well-known author in her lonely apartment in Venice Beach, California yet. Sure enough she was alive.
With a sort of mixed resolve he cleared his throat and stood, walked slowly over to her and peered down at her sketch-pad. “Hi there, Miss Pascal,” apparently he was unaware of the little stubs in her ears. It really didn't matter, because all of the sudden he was extremely self-concious and it'd probably be better if she hadn't heard him.
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Post by lu on Mar 24, 2009 17:38:07 GMT -5
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -With music turned down real low, becoming mere back ground noise to the world around her Madeline was fully capable of hear the remark made by the no doubt rich daddy's boy who was stationed at the counter. Trying her best to repress a small chuckle she kept her composure and continued to dot her page. Yes that's right, dot. It how she started every drawing, placing random dots about the stark white page. To most the dots seemed like specks, meaningless little thing that had little to do with drawing, but for Maddie they meant everything. This was how she always sketched and thus far it's always seemed to work out. Some how the random place markers acted as a guide for contours or boxes, or whatever it was she was drawing. Lately however things had become different in her drawings as much as in her life. Lately she never knew what a sketch might turn into until it was done, where as before she could draw of her own conscious will rather than the will of her sub conscious. It seemed that it was the same with her latest writing creation. Usually a plot forms in her mind and she finds a way to make it into a novel or short story, but since she started her latest piece of work she was unable to form a plan, a format. Something which threw her off completely, it sent her into a maddened tizzy. Speaking of tizzies she was contemplating having one, starting off by tackling the little rich boy who's eyes she could feel on her as he passed. Maddie looked up just in time see the boys eyes look her over once more before heading out of the shop, the bells on the door ringing much to her relief. Going back to her sketch Maddie began to draw like a mad man, or in her case a mad women. The pace was fast but precise, her eye for detail kicking in as she forced her her hand to be steady while she drew a contoured line connecting two or three dots to another few. It was at that exact point that Maddie began to get lost in release that for drawing, letting all she had pent up out on the page. It something she aimed to do every time she drew or wrote or painted and often it showed in her work. Emotion had always seemed to be the center of her universe, the center of her little world that was other wise known as "Maddie zone". It seemed feeling was a staple of her being, though that fact had always perplexed her as she had always made it a point to keep all that she felt to herself. Well unless of course it was anger in which case some times she could do nothing but express herself by getting into situations which usually got her in some kind of trouble. Which of course would explain the bruise on her side, shoulder, and one of her knuckles. Nothing could compare to the thrill of getting your butt whipped, sarcastically speaking of course. Then again it was indeed an adrenaline rush. When in the so called "zone" Maddie was oblivious to the world around her and as such she was sucked into the art that was forming before her. The music that was once back ground noise became louder as she got more and more lost in her work, though the volume was not changed in the slightest. So of course Madeline was completely unknowing of the approach of Zack until he spoke. The voice pierced her concentration and out of pure surprise she jumped sending her sketch pad and the half made eye on it along with the charcoal pencil in her hand flying into the air. The ear buds were ripped from her ears in the process and then the sketch pad landed on the floor near the other side on the table while the pencil began to roll on the table. Embarrassment was certainly not the correct term for her current feeling as her face began to bleach red. Well if that didn't prove she was crazy she was certainly unsure what would at that point, well besides the thought process which governed her odd little mind. Unsure how to reply Madeline still felt compelled to none the less. So with a slight laugh and an awkward smile she replied some what duteously " err, um... hello Zack?..." she spoke in a sort of half questioning tone as if she was unsure of how that reply would due considering her slight seeming spazziness. French accented lyrics sounded strange to even her as she was in deed not the biggest speaker. Plus given the situation her tone was borderline laughter at her own stupidity. Madeline kept her line of sight to the floor for as long as she felt she could possibly manage. The situation seemed odd enough with out her having to go and seem weirder than even usual. Especially after what she was pretty sure he had seen, no doubt things were now going to be a bit more tense, not that they weren't to begin with. In moments her mind began to race a mile a minute and she felt as if her head was going to split in two. Thought that had become increasingly more reoccurring circulating around her frazzled, tired mind. Long standing questions never to be answered made sure to remind her of their presence. In that instant she yearned for a different, less artistic sort of release. Depression had left it's mark, grabbed her whole, and was starting to contemplating swallowing her, though the process of chewing her up had yet to be complete. Un tel imbécile the words floated in her mind such a fool, it was something her mother had always said about her father. So like most everything else about her Maddie began to assume she had inherited that as well. It didn't help that there was someone there to see her in all her foolish glory. After a few moments of avoiding looking at him, far less stealthily than she would have liked, Maddie decided the inevitable could not be evaded any longer. Plastering a sort of half smile on her face to mask what she was really feeling, to hide that she wanted nothing more in that moment then to just break down and give up, but as usual she refused to show that weakness. Looking up she boldly met her eyes to his, partially to prove to herself that it was possible to be the slightest bit fearless. Then that feeling she lately seemed to get every time she looked at him clenched her tightly. It seemed to her like he could see right through her, see straight through what she was trying to put off and every inch of that feeling terrified her as much as bothered her. Composure was something vital to her and to lose that with even one person was something Maddie was sure could break her in two... - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
[/i][/b] 1185. outfit; click!. lyrics; crash by papa roach. notes; blahness...? [/ul][/left][/size][/blockquote][/blockquote] |
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Post by ZACK BAKER on Mar 24, 2009 18:26:48 GMT -5
DON'T DESTROY YOURSELF LIKE THOSE COWARDS DO,
[/COLOR] MAYBE THE SUN KEEPS COMING UP BECAUSE IT'S GOTTEN USED TO YOU.[/FONT] - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -[/center]
God he was nervous as heck. Who wouldn’t be? Well, obviously Kevin—whom he was sure watched Miss Pascal as he passed by her outside the window—wouldn’t be the slightest bit nervous. In fact, there were probably tons of guys who would not be the least bit dismayed in her presence. She was small, not a threat. She looked sweet, no harm. She didn’t give off the run and hide, catch me if you can, play hard to get bitchy type either. She was just a girl. A sweet thang, guys had no problem looking at, and trying to get at. But it was exactly for those reasons that Zack was having a particularly difficult time talking to her. Or being near her at all. It was a wonder he never hurt her in the process of decorating her skin. What Mr. Baker seemed to lack of confidence. And all those other things that kept girls watching the other beach-dwelling hunks in Venice Beach. He was nothing special. Nothing unique. Unfortunately. Whereas…he found her particularly special. Especially unique.
And…there was that other thing. The fact that he knew so much about her, through communicating so little. At least, he knew what kind of stories she wrote, though he never read them. He knew how her characters used to act, the patterns in which the plots used to progress. The types of towns they were set in. He knew they were normally tragedies, and horrors. He knew they were depressing, and only getting worse. And that part scared him a little. He knew she didn’t seem happy, though she liked to pretend that she was. He could see her unease from the first moment he saw her and consequentially wondered why no one else could see it. Zack found it particularly obvious. He found her as easy to read as the numerous pages she’d written left out on a table in broad daylight. Though he never knew why she seemed so pained, so awkward, he knew she was. And she felt that way. Maybe…because he felt the same. However, to a lesser degree.
Lately…the man’s feelings twisted slowly into those of intense concern. Ever since she came in that day...
After her last piece. After it all. He couldn’t remembering where she wanted it. He couldn’t remember actually doing it. The only things running through his mind as they pertained to that day were what she was wearing: a skirt, the tattoo image—as morbid as it was—and the marks on her legs. Those he would never forget. How could he? They were obvious, they were numerous. They were scary. And oddly enough Zack remembered the blush rising to his cheeks, and the heat in his chest. How hard it was to breath after that. How it was hard to look at her. Through the tattooing. At the cashier. As she waved goodbye like she always waved hello and headed out the door. But after she’d left…Zack remembered how badly he wanted to see her again. How badly he wanted to confront her on the issue. Ask her what was wrong. Make her tell him if was an accident, she had simply tripped and fallen…on sharp rocks….in perfectly cut lines. Oh, God. Who was he kidding? He couldn’t deny it. Something was wrong. He was worried for her. He wanted needed to help.
Unfortunately he wasn’t progressing so far. The young tattoo artist seemed to be doing much worse actually. His words caused an apparent fluttering within her. And he jumped back as she jumped upward. His eyes wide as they watched the book sail through the air and land on the side of the table opposite him. She looked shocked, scared, surprised. And any other negative s-word one could imagine. She was all of it. And immediately our Mr. Baker was extremely sorry. So sorry, in fact, that he chose to voice his concern. Several times in fact.
[/b]“Sorry!”[/b] He began directly after—or would it be mid?—her jump. Both of his hands went out in front of him, trying to show her his harmlessness. He wouldn’t hurt a flea…but apparently a small girl he would…Again, “Sorry! Sorry, sorry, jeez…” What an idiot. What an idiot! Quickly Zacky walked around the table and picked up her pad, not even glancing towards the drawing, and placed it back on the table. “I didn’t mean…”"err, um... hello Zack?..."She didn’t seem too harmed, not too hurt. She seemed all right. Like she didn’t die. Whew. Thank God. She wasn’t dead. That was a good sign. And what was that…a smile? Yeah, he could tell it was a bit forced, but she tried, right? He straightened up, a bit and an equal sized smile tugged at his own lips, “Um, hi…sorry.” Her voice…so soft. With that beautiful accent…it was like… Stop it. Baker noticed her eyes drift downward, towards the ground, and his eyes mocked hers before realizing that she wasn’t looking at something, but away from something. Him. To be more exact. “Sorry,” he muttered again and looked up at her. Waiting…for something some sort of response. And immediately he started to get that inadequate feeling. Like he’d done something wrong. Like she was sitting there wondering, what the hell he was standing there for. He was only her tattoo artist, not her best friend. He sighed, and his mouth opened, the words he wanted to use—to excuse himself back to the counter and apologize again—burned in the back of his throat, but a movement in her features distracted him… Again a smile. He too, smiled, feeling like this smile might be something more than a fake. And yet…it seemed so…Ah, whatever. He shrugged it off and glanced around the empty shop, before slowly easing himself into the seat across from her. Which…lately, he’d strategically placed there so he might be able to do just that: sit across from her. Try to talk to her. He cleared his throat and turned his eyes downward for a brief moment. What to say…what to say…he couldn’t mention the scars. Way too fucking soon. He couldn’t ask her about her life…too awkward. But hey…they seemed to be in a tattoo shop…and he was a tattoo artist. He attempted a smile in one corner of his mouth and looked back up at her, “Here to…talk…tattoos…or…?” In the back of his mind the same line repeated itself over and over again: ’I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.[/SIZE][/COLOR][/FONT][/blockquote] |
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Post by lu on Mar 25, 2009 16:47:13 GMT -5
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -"sorry! sorry, sorry, jeez..." Why was he apologizing, it was her fault, her stupid reaction, her stupid mind getting sucked into one task in such a sort of obsessive way. Maddie would give anything for him to take those apologies back, everything in her screaming for him to stop apologizing. It seemed such a minuscule thing to get upset about, but to her it seemed that it was at least something to care about. Watching as he retrieved her sketch and placed it on the table. Why did he have to be so nice? It'd be so much easier to push him away if he wasn't, if he was just like every other bone head in Venice, but of course he wasn't, she had to choose the nice, handsome, talented, and... fait taire! (shut up!). Her inner voice screamed in her mind, what in the hell was she thinking? Okay so she wasn't exactly blind, he was adorable in a way that she refused to admit not even to herself, but that meant nothing. As far as she was concerned they'd both be better off without each other, him in particular. After all just because the division lost track of her didn't mean they weren't still looking and to drag him into their path would be the greatest crime she could commit. Besides she was convinced it'd all be over soon anyway, well at least if her mind and guilt had anything to do with the matter. Really it's not that she entirely wanted to kill herself, it wasn't like she thought it'd fulfill some sort of sick, twisted fantasy or destiny. No she was not that crazy. The only reason she considered the option was because she fully and whole heartily believed she had nothing left to live for. Nothing left to give to the world but one more useless body in a sea of them. Besides no one could get her if she dead. To her it was well past her time, it was her belief that she should have gone back for her father or fought harder for her mother. She should have done everything to keep them in this world, alive, or in the least she should have died trying. However the same fear that wouldn't allow her to go through with the act had stopped her those moments seemingly so long ago and now there was no way to take them back. Though her life seemed to be falling to shambles, plan less and empty, unorganized, Maddie had a plan about how it would end. After her newest novel was finished she would end the endless charade she was allowing to pass for a life. Oddly she had it planned out to a 'T', but those my friends will remain a secret till the finale. Lets just say she plans to go out with a BANG sort to speak. Though she seemed so harmless, so simple, it seemed that in her mind she was more harmful and complicated than anything. Enough with the mellow dramatics Madeline.... there seemed to be an endless war, an endless monologue raging in her mind at nearly all times. Taking her seat once more she retrieved the ipod from her pocket and wrapped the dangling headphone cord around it before placing it on the table and moving her sketch pad in front of her once more, flipping to the page she had been working on. " Thank you and you shouldn't be sorry, I was in...how you say? ah, "my own little world", I'm sure you're able to relate to that sort of thing, yes?" her accented lyrics were spoken rather softly and somewhat rushed. Being a writer didn't necessarily mean she recalled all the phrases and such things of the English speaking world, in fact if she did her editor would be out of a job. Speaking of which those meetings often turned out to be highly amusing as Maddie tried to explain what she was thinking but couldn't find the word for and Sara -her editor- would be guessing like a mad woman. The highly important meeting usually turned into a multiple hour long game of charades and laughter. Anyway if her reaction hadn't confirmed any suspicions he had of her she wasn't sure what would. Immediately embarrassment replaced any other feelings, sending a reddish tint across her face which would no doubt stand in distinct contrast to her pale flesh. A sudden thought crossed her mind, she was pretty sure he had never seen her blush before, at least not without her trying to hide it. That fact made things slightly more embarrassing some how, in a rather awkward way. Trying to distract herself Madeline reach for the charcoal pencil which had landed on the table just a few inches in front of where Zack now sat. A some what long sleeve covered arm slid across the table and pale fingers clasped the pencil just as Zack began to fill the brief, rather awkward silence that had engulfed them. " Uh, yes, perhaps... I just finished up a short story for a collective short story novel thing. I'm not sure if I'd like to get a tattoo for it though..." her speech was slower this time around as she tried to switch her mind from French to English. It was odd, sometimes her mind would automatically revert back to her native language with out her meaning for it, kind of like it was on different wave link from everything else in her head. At the thought of a new tattoo Madeline began to think about what she might get if anything and where she would place it. That always seemed to be the difficult part, figuring out where to get it. Coming up with what she wanted was also a minor challenge, but Zack always seemed to come up with something if she couldn't, or they would play things off one another until something struck her fancy. Sometimes Madeline would even have a drawing in advance and just go over it with Zack for his input and changes. It seemed the process always was fun or at least amusing regardless of how much or how little time it took for her to make up her mind on something... - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
[/i][/b] 1044. outfit; click!. lyrics; crash by papa roach. notes; i'm not sure if the french is correct, i only know a bit of spanish so i'm using an online translator... [/ul][/left][/size][/blockquote][/blockquote] |
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