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| >> Campfire Creative >> Appendix >> Arts >> ID #1007592 |   |
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| [Introduction]
(Erg, look at the "romance" tag...) Anyways, tried getting this started a while ago, but my account kinda had a seizure and died on me for a while. All forms of art- sound, writing, painting, dancing, etc.- have a place in the world. They are all loved and hated, praised and cursed. And when young people develope an interest in art, they never think the same again. The Grismel School for the Refinement and Practicing of the Arts is of service to people ages 17 to 25 who posess the talents capable of making them careers as musicians, dancers, painters, and what-have-you. Your job is to create these people, and decide whether they succeed or fail. Love, hate, defy, and befriend whoever you wish, and watch what it does to other people. Watch what it does to your art. Be as expressive and graphic and controversial as you wish to be in this campfire. After all, we're talking about art, right? Make your bios: Name: Age: Gender: Ethnicity: Appearance: Personality: Area of Art: Other information: If you would be so kind as to start WRITING your story in the same addition as your bio, it would be greatly appreaciated... Please send an invite request! I'm looking for girls AND boys. And please. Make your characters diverse, not the same, "I'm really hot and smart and perfect" kind of characters I've been seeing everywhere since I started reading these CFs. |
 t.s. wood, the sleepy art kid  Name: Theo AlvarezAge: 19 Gender: Male Ethnicity: Caucasian/Hispanic Appearance: Theo is of medium build, with broad, slightly bony shoulders. He usually fails to keep his thick, brown hair combed neatly; it is most often mussed and sticking out in an odd fashion. His eyes are angular and hazel, deep-set under dark eyebrows. Often dressed in faded or dark colors, he is usually overlooked in a crowd, especially since he does not make the efforts to emphasize his presence. Personality: Though quiet and reserved at first, those who get to know Theo find in him one of the most bizarre, complex, wild people they will ever encounter. He's always asking difficult, and as his teachers have told him, too many questions, daring to think the unthinkable and ALWAYS challenging religious principles and ethics. He has a desire to know as much as he can about everything around him- yet, he does not desire to know much about himself. Theo can sometimes work himself up too much, and he'll release his stress through drawing or the little bit of piano that he's taught himself over the years. Area of Art: Theo loves cartooning and making his own comics, an area of art that is usually not taken seriously by others- just like him. Other informatioin: Theo comes from a biracial family, a Hispanic father and a Caucasian mother. Being an only child, he's had high expectations that sometimes he does not want- and cannot- live up to. As a result, he often quarrels with his parents. From early primary school and onward, teachers had always assumed he had a mental problem- either he was bipolar or had OCD, and he was sent to counseling for a few years, from age 12 to 16. He knew he was not mentally disturbed in any way, but people's constant accusations and assumptions about his mental health pushed him to question his own sanity. His philosophy: "As long as I don't send anyone to the emergency room, I'm okay." __________________________________________________ His fingertips were grey and shiny from the graphite, and they left faint streaks upon his forehead has he brushed his messy bangs back. There hadn't been a day recently when he'd worked this hard on something. The tortiyon had been run flat, and so his hands were the only objects he could use to shade the picture- though this was his preferred method. Theo only wanted the class instructor to be pleased he knew what the tools placed in front of him were for. Muttering curses to himself as he furiously scraped the large rubber eraser against the page, the dull click of a flat-soled heel made its way down the aisle of small table-tops, pausing after every few secons. The clicks stopped as they admired the students' work and started again as they pulled eyes farther back in the room, closer to Theo. "Mr. Alvarez?" The clicking shoes possessed a voice. Timidly, Theo raised his eyes from his work and glanced up at the large, middle-aged man whose bushy goatee resembled dried, brown grass. "May I see what you've gotten?" Theo hesitated before nodding reluctantly and brushed a few stray eraser shavings away before placing his assignment into the hands of Geoffery Lirbennet, who took the drawing and gazed at it from atop his silver-rimmed glasses. Theo watched his instructor's eyes flit back and forth, across the paper, the man's bushy eyebrows lowering and rising, over and over, for an infinitely-long fifteen seconds before the drawing was placed back onto the table. "Very nice," was the most of an answer Theo could be given, and Lirbennet strolled away, into the other isle. "Very nice," was not what Theo had in mind. "Very dull," was more like it. As a part of a levelling exam for the traditional medium students, they were each given different black and white photographs of different people doing different things at different times in different lighting and different places. The assignment was to redraw said photograph as accurately as possible, to make it as similar as possible. And that was what frustrated Theo. He knew realism well, and he abhorred it. It was too flat, too boring, too usual. It was something you could see in the world around you, and that was not what he wanted to be the creator of. His sketch was almost identical to the picture of the young girl eating a muffin- he wanted it to be different. He wanted to contort her face, to bring the county fair scenery grossly out of proportion, to do anything to make it as unreal as possible. It was a perfect photo. Theo didn't want a perfect drawing. Letting his breath out through clenched teeth, he snatched the paper and crumpled it up beneath his desk, knocking his pencils onto the floor. They clinked almost melodically, a beautiful sign of the defeat that had befallen his intentions. And then a voice whispered, "What the hell did you do that for?" Mary The Gypsy - All Grown Up Name: Tina MacLeanAge: 18 Gender: Female Ethnicity: Irish and Native American (though its so slight you can’t tell) Appearance: Originally she had plain brown hair, but she has dyed it many times, finally deciding on a very unnatural shade of red. It falls to the swell of her hips, and she braids it often. Her face is graced with a few beautiful features, but her babyfat and scowl overshadow those most of the time. Her eyes are a dull brown, that turn black when she gets mad. She has a large body, curvy, but fat. She’s been made fun of all her life for her weight, so she works out obsessively. She has fairly toned muscles, and curves, but she’s gained an eternal look of sorrow that make her unapproachable most of the time. Her pale skin turns red when she’s upset, and she’s upset a lot. Personality: Though most people call her “The Witch”, Tina is cries a lot. She wants to be loved, and the fact that she was abused most of her life by her drug addict sister makes her very vulnerable in close relationships. Because of this, she never lets herself have any. She keeps everyone away, hoping they won’t be able to hurt her as much as she hurts herself. She pretends to be happy around her parents, but the only thing that really brings her joy is her art. She sculpts everything and anything. She loves sculpting the human body, but is lacking in subjects. Her room is full of sculptures of herself. She never lets anyone see them though. Area of Art: Sculpting, and writing stories to go with her sculptures. Other information: Tina is absolutely obsessed with the naked human form. She walks around naked when alone, and even if she doesn’t see someone in a sexual way, she can be engrossed by studying their form. She has an eye for beauty of all types, and loves children. Most of her childhood was taken away, so though she’s rough with most people, get her around a child and she becomes putty. And, though she hides it, she’s very much into studying religions, and is a closet pagan. She is a virgin, but is fascinated by sex. She talks candidly about it if she feels in a good enough mood, and can seem a whore to people who don’t know her. _____ “What the hell did you do that for?” Tina asked the dark-skinned boy. She swooped down and picked up the pencils he had knocked over. She had seen him destroy his beautiful drawing, and inwardly cringed. How could he destroy such beauty? “You should respect your instruments more.” She said with a sigh. “Any idiot would know that.” Then, without waiting for an answer, she strode away, her large hips swaying. With a curt smile, Tina put the note her sculpting teacher wanted her to deliver on the drawing teacher’s desk. She went back to her sculpting class. Her teacher was eccentric, and made Tina uneasy. Mrs Dorren was a beautiful woman, perfectly shaped, with a perfect face, and with a perfect smile. Her blonde hair fell in a perfect sway to her shoulders. It made Tina sick. Tina’s teacher didn’t look human. There were none of the sweet imperfections that made the human form unique and alluring. The subject they were sculpting however was a different story. He sat on a pedestal, showing his frail back to the class. A slight scar marred the surface, and Tina let her fingers slide through the clay, making a miniature of the man. His body seemed thin, yet he still had strange rolls of fat on his sides. Nothing large, but sweet and endearing bits of chubbyness. Tina went into a mode where she was part of the sculpture. Her hands moved sensually over the surface of the pliable clay, creating a perfect image of the nameless man. The subject of the day. She thought back to the boy who had thrown down his pencils. Tina would like to sculpt him. His mixed heritage gave him features that were. . . Well, she had never met any just like his. They would be interesting, an interesting subject. Tina looked down at her clay and used her fingernail to sculpt the chin, a frown playing on her soft face. Even If I Died Name: Leo RomanoAge:24 Gender:male Ethnicity:guess....italian, baby! (and a little something else....kinda a heinz 57 if you ask me) Appearance: browne hair with blonde highlights. kind of a golden brown, naturally. Amber eyes, naturally tanned skin. Slight build but muscualr. very handsome, well put together Personality:he may look good on the outside, but something isn't quite right on the inside. Or maybe everything is normal, and he's telling the truth. You see, he is a bit radical at times, believing he has to tell the story of what happened to him a few years back in his teenage years. Other than that he is nice, outgoing, and a pretty good guy. He is moody though a times. Area of Art:He tells his story through his paintings. Oil paint, watercolor, acrylic, whatever- he paints the most graphic scenes of angels and demons, of war and beauty. He paints in every style- and does so very well. There are no limits to what this boy can do with a brush and canvas. Other information: Leo has had a hard life. Born to a crack addict in the Bronkes, Leo learned at an early age to fend for himself and his little sister, Becca. When he was about 18 he met this girl, and that is where his story begins. He claims she was a fallen angel, and that he fought demons for her and they fell in love and all this stuff. Then she apparently died or dissapeared and two or three years went by and she suddenly came back when he was away at college. (by this time his sister and him were taken into custody and adopted by a loving home who sent him off to college) only this time a lot of strange things happened. Leo dissapeared for about a year and a half, suddenly appearing back in his dorm one day, covered in chain mail and holding a sword. He then felt compelled to tell others of his quest through darkness and the battle of Armagedon, but everyone thought he was crazy. After a year of psyc evaluations and a lot of meds, Leo was pronounced 'incurable' and sent to this school to start over. He is not the same person he was before his dissapearance, and he takes the events of his life very seriously. ~*~*~*~ Leo twirled the long, white feather in his fingers as he made his way to class. He held it to his nose momentarily and breathed in its essence, "Smells like cherries," he whispered to himself, "Smells like Tai..." Quietly he stuffed the pretty feather between the pages of a certain book before entering class. Today would be his first day, and he would be glad to be doing something normal. He would start from scratch, he knew, and no longer would he feel the compulsion within to tell others the story. No more. He took a seat next to a nameless girl with blonde hair. Concentrating on the matters at hand, he took up the papers that other students passed out and began to read them. Pressing his lips together with his teeth, Leo fought the need to begin talking to this girl beside him. Sweat began to trickle down his forehead, and he wondered, "what is wrong with me?" he placed his forehead in his hands and hoped no one noticed his redening face. Soon enough the compulsion did pass, but not without him taking out a piece of paper and quickly sketching out what he had needed to say. "An outlet," he whispered to himself, "I have found an outlet...." Living in a Land of Sin Name: Alyssa Alexopolous Age: 20 Gender: Female Ethnicity: Greek Appearance: There’s something classic about Alyssa. She’s not what anyone would call ‘breathtaking’ - none of her features are particularly striking, and when you put it all together in a package, she’s more intriguing than beautiful. Her body’s typical of most dancers, which is to say that it’s drastically underweight but extremely lithe and subtly muscled, like satin over steel. Her deep amber eyes, naturally tanned skin, slightly oversized nose and rich dark brown hair that reaches to the middle of her back all speak to her Mediterranean heritage. Philosophy on Life / Personality: The phrase best used to describe Alyssa’s take on life would probably be: “Lead, follow, or get the hell out of my way!” She has intense leadership qualities, and is perhaps more driven than any person should be, but when she comes up against a person with a similar personality who is more knowledgeable about whatever the topic at hand is, she is more than willing to step back and let that person lead. She’s stubborn and opinionated and believes in pouring passion into everything that she does. She takes criticism and failures deeply to heart, but they only push her to be better, stronger than she already is. Area of Art: Since the age of three, Alyssa has been dancing. She started out in ballet, much like all the other little girls her age, and instantly fell in love. She’s a pretty quick study, so she can usually pick up other dance styles if needed, but ballet usually takes all of her discipline and time. Other info: For the past decade Alyssa had pretty much been living an independent life, having been separated from her family at the age of 11 to study ballet at the National Ballet School of Canada. She came from an upper middle-class, white Protestant family with two younger sisters and happily married parents. She was well educated, deeply loved and her career was just beginning to take off. She was aware that she was living a fortunate existence, but in the way of people in that position, she tended to take it for granted. That all changed a year ago when a car crash took the lives of both her parents and her thirteen-year-old sister Hope, leaving her baby sister, Zoe, and herself orphans. Family has always been the peg that centred Alyssa’s life, so when tragedy forced her to choose, she gave up her dreams of ballet in order to take custody of her sister and care for her properly. She dropped out of school in Canada, moved back to the United States and now lives in a cramped two bedroom apartment over the quaint little bookstore where she works fulltime. When September came, it was an extremely hard decision for Lys to reconcile herself to going back to the stage, whose limelight she still craves. After a year’s absence, her body’s no longer used to the rigorous training, and with school work, Zoe, constant visits from meddling social workers and her job at the bookstore, she’s isn’t sure that she can cope with the pressures of her new life. Addition One Alyssa rolled over onto her side in the darkness, beating her pillow with a closed fist for what seemed like the hundredth time, trying unsuccessfully to find a comfortable position. It was impossible. Thousands of noisy thoughts had been pounding their way through her consciousness for the past two hours keeping her wide awake. That… and the fact that her nearly two-year-old sister had been standing in her crib in the corner of the room stomping her feet, gurgling with happy little girl laughter and lisping her requests that Alyssa come play with her. She had no idea that it was currently blinking 2:39AM in neon green writing on the digital clock that sat on her bedside table, taunting Alyssa with its slowly passing minutes. Resigning herself to the fact that she wasn’t going to be able to sleep anytime soon, Lys fought against bed sheets that had become tangled around her legs and rolled out of bed. Squinting without her contacts in, she tried to cross the dark room without bumping into anything, but could only manage a pitifully exhausted whimper when she accidentally stepped on the sharp corner of one of Zoe’s blocks. “C’mere baby,” she whispered as she picked Zoe up out of the crib and settled her on a hip as she fought a brightly coloured afghan around both of them. “Can’t sleep either, huh? I don’t blame ya… Tomorrow’s a big day for both of us. You want me to read you a story?” As she talked, Alyssa kissed her sister’s temple and inhaled the sweet scent of strawberry shampoo, baby powder and light sweat that was uniquely and heavenly, Zoe. Zoe nodded energetically and slung one plump arm around her neck, “Jenny Gweenteef!” (Which of course meant Jenny Greenteeth, a children’s book by Mary Alice Downie) Alyssa stifled a yawn and grabbed the battered green book off the shelf before sliding both of them into the ancient rocking chair beside the crib. The book was one she’d bought from the store downstairs a few months earlier and was about Jenny, a witch with bad teeth who was surly and ill tempered because she didn’t have any friends. It was her sister’s favourite, and Lys knew practically ever word off by heart from repeated readings. Zoe settled onto her lap, her head of dark curls tucked under Alyssa’s chin, her tiny ear right over Lys’ heart so she could listen to its steady, comforting rhythm. Alyssa had finished barely half the book when Zoe slipped off to sleep and her own eyes began to drift shut. Yawning openly now, she eased herself out of the chair, gave her sister’s soft cheek a quick nuzzle and put her back in her crib as gently as she could manage. Finally, at half past three in the morning, Alyssa stumbled back to her own bed and fell into an exhausted sleep. Her last thought before drifting off was about how terrified she was to start Grismel the next day… ~ * ~ * ~ The next morning, despite her lack of sleep, Alyssa felt as if she had enough energy to dance Giselle twice in a row without feeling winded. She flew around her apartment getting both herself and Zoe ready for the day, belting out oldies along with the radio in a terrifically rusty voice and making her sister clamp her hands over her ears and practice her best pouting face. There was a gigantic diaper bag to pack with all the necessities, her own back pack and her gym bag with all of her dance stuff in it. The long, dark hair that she had managed to tame into a loose braid was already starting to come unfastened and tendrils softened the area around her heart-shaped face. She wore simple jeans and a faded graphic t-shirt that proudly proclaimed that she was “Made in the 80’s”. From her ears, tiny red crystals swung wildly back and forth at the ends of long silver threads. They were gorgeous, so she almost hadn’t minded that Zoe had grabbed hold of one of them and tried to yank it out this morning before her bath. As she slurped down a lukewarm tea and tried to get Zoe to eat more of her yogurt than she was wearing on her face, Alyssa ached sharply for the mornings when she was younger and she’d come downstairs before elementary school to see her mom drinking coffee thick enough to stand a spoon up in, her father reading the paper and her baby sister Hope wearing Cheerios in her hair, all cosily encased in their sunny yellow kitchen. Alyssa fought back the prickle of tears that always seemed to come along with a particularly sharp and sweet memory of her family, and pasted a smile on her face for her sister’s benefit. “Ready to go, Pumpkin?” She asked the squirming toddler as she wiped her face with a damp cloth. When Zoe responded enthusiastically, Alyssa took a deep breath, grabbed their bags, Zoe and a stroller and began to struggle down her apartment stairs, mentally preparing herself for the big, bad institution known as Grismel… ~ * ~ * ~ Alyssa had just spent several very informative – translation: very boring – hours listening to welcome speeches and program descriptions and now Zoe was getting hot and fidgety. Alyssa had already had to promise her an extra helping of dessert that night to garner another hour of her co-operation before they headed to the bookstore for dinner and work. Thankfully it was never too early in a child’s life to introduce them to bribery. Alyssa looked down into her sister’s quickly tiring face. It was definitely time for an N-A-P, but there was still so much to do before they could go to Writer’s Block where her boss kept an extra playpen in the back for Zoe. She’d dealt with all the administration stuff like getting the “okay” to bring Zoe with her to classes, and the only thing left on her agenda that day was to get a campus tour. Since she was starting a few days after everyone else, and had missed the general orientation stuff, the Office had sent her to a classroom at the end of the hall to ask the teacher for a volunteer to show her around. She knocked on the door, trying to look casual and like she belonged to be in this wonderful school with some of the most talented instructors the United States had to offer. A slightly overweight man with bushy eyebrows and thick, silver-rimmed glasses answered the door, a slightly annoyed look on his face. “Yes, may I help you?” He flicked a quick, disdainful glance at Zoe, who smiled up at him charmingly from her stroller and started to happily babble to herself over something fascinating. Alyssa worked up a smile for this decidedly fastidious man, “Hi, I’m Alyssa Alexopolous. Ms, Friedman in the office sent me to ask if you could spare a student to show me around.” Again, he sent her a nearly incomprehensible look and then turned back to his class with a shrewd glance, contemplating who to victimize. “Ah, Mr. Alvarez, since you seem to have such an aversion to my assignments,” the teacher raised a pointed eyebrow at the crumbled ball of paper under the boy’s desk, “you may show Ms. Alexopolous around campus.” Alyssa sneaked a look around the doorframe to see the lanky, dark haired boy shrug half-heartedly and start to pack up his supplies before coming to join her at the door. In an uncharacteristic show of nerves, Lyssa absently smoothed her untidy braid with one hand, and ran her other over the soft roundness of Zoe’s now sleeping cheek as her head lolled forward in exhaustion. Her eyes twinkled with mischief as she found the two of them on the outside of Mr. Liebennet’s door as he snapped it smartly shut in their collective faces. “Hi, I’m Alyssa.” DarkStarr Name: Qi MichiyoAge: 22 Gender: Female Ethnicity: Black/Chinese Appearance: Her shoulder length, dark strands carried streaks of silver she usually kept pinned in back. A few errant strands flowed in front of her face, partially concealing her light-gray orbs. Sometimes, she wears narrow glasses that sat atop her slender nose. Though quiet, she had a natural beauty truly evident when her thin lips smiled. Her stature was a woman's average, the curves of her light brown figure never revealing that much to the public. Though the right articles of clothing could bring out the appearance of a model, she preferred a more conservative choice of apparel. She always kept herself neat, wanting to give off a professional appearance most of the time. Personality: She is a quiet natured person. Tends to keep to herself and has a very small circle of friends. She does socialize with others and she does get out every now and then, but she loves her solitude. After meeting her and becoming one of her friends, you will see that she has a bubbly personality. She loves to laugh and to have fun. Area of Art: Music (violin, voice, piano) Other information: She carries a love of writing since she was younger, whether it be poetry or stories. She also loves to dance; her favorites are ballet, lyrical, and hip-hop. Her mother is black and her dad is Chinese. Qi also suffers from an eating disorder. In her mind, she is not fit she is not beautiful. She will do anything in her power to meet this goal. Qi She raised her leg high above her head, her eyes closed. She felt so at ease when she danced. So calm, so centered. Listening to the instructions of her professor, she placed her leg unto the beam, leaning down on it as she reached for her toes. She took these little exercises as time to think and meditate. Soon after, class was over. Qi walked briskly to the back quarters and changed attire before she grabbed her backpack and walked out of the class, heading towards the campus eatery. Her hair was pulled and plaited into a braid that looped around to make a bun. Her attire consisted of a black asymmetrical camisole paired with khaki capris and flats. She walked into the building and placed an order, joking with the girl at the counter about how her friends had chosen her to get the food for today. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Her eyes were red as she stared at her body in the mirror. She pulled at her side, looking down at it. I am fat. She pulled at her thighs. I’m huge. Qi walked back into her bathroom, grabbing a bottle of mouthwash as her phone rung with in her small apartment. She ran over and answered it, sighing deeply. “Hello?” The voice on the other end did not sound familiar and the person they asked for did not sound like her name. “I think you have the wrong number, who are you looking for again?” Aaron Aiken: filled with gloom Name: Aiden Jones Age: 17 Gender: Male Ethnicity: German/English Appearance: He's of a medium height, but since he has three older sisters who are all taller than him, it's kind of left him with an inferiority complex. Aiden has straight black hair that he doesn't even bother to tame anymore-it sticks out from his head like a sea anemone. He's very thin and delicate looking, something which he's tried desperately to change. One day he even tried using tanning lotion to make him look more manly, but instead he looked like a carot. But one thing you will notice on meeting Aiden are his eyes; they're a bright blue, and somehow it feels like they're boring into your soul. This quality has made him very self-concious, and he tends not to look people in the eye when he speaks to them. Personality: He's sensitive almost to the point of being an empath, which in turn has given him a hypersensitivity to how he interacts with the world around him. And this world is filled with dangers and humiliations for poor Aiden. But for the chosen few who cause him to open up, he lets loose a mind that is both powerful and imaginative, and there's even a sense of homour there...if he wants there to be. He's also a varacious learner, and devoured the whole library in his last school, from the theory of relativity to molecular biology. But his foremost passion is art. He once told his mother inspiration was his lover in an endorphine filled creative moment, which caused her to carefully stare at him for over a week. Area of Art: He's having trouble making up his mind, but for now his love is drawing and photography. Other informatioin: Aiden grew up with his family in a small town in the Mojave desert, where everyone knew everything about everyone. And being obsessively shy, Aiden grew up with a double life-the one he showed people and the one he actually lived inside his head. His parents never divorced, although he has long believed they should have. They each slept in different beds, and he always found it a bit frightening that the fifties could define his life. He was the youngest of four children, his three sisters the domineering female presence in his life. They're loud and enourmous personalities made him ever more timid. He's also been questionng his sexuality for many years, and is pretty certain he's gay, but is in mortal fear of telling his family, since they are rather conservative. He hopes this new school will be more accepting. * * * Aiden bent over and picked up the crumpled piece of paper, smoothing it out with his fingers. A girl eating a muffin...I think I've lost my appetite. He walked across the white linoleum to the trash can, his hand poised over the inevitable route to the land fills polluting our Earth, and his hand stopped. Somehow, he couldn't do it. Why would someone spend the effort to create something, and then just so carelessly destroy it? Feeling the usual anxiety rising like a swarm of stinging bees through his chest, Aiden took a deep breath. Well, at least he could appreaciate it. With a sigh, he carefully placed the drawing in his notebook. "Can I help you?" Mr. Lirbennet said gruffly, looking up from a pile of assignments on his desk. Class was over; student-teacher contanct should be at a zero level. "Um, I was wondering if I could transfer into this class from sculpting," Aiden said somberly, setting his pack down on the floor beside his black-booted feet. "I'm sorry, the registrations were a week ago, everything is full," he said irritably, giving Aiden an exasperated stare. New school year stress was driving him crazy. "Well, you see..." Aiden expressively waved his right hand through the air, as if divining the answer through the very molecules. "Sculpture...is dead for me." "Dead?" The teacher raised his eyebrows. Sometimes these students could be complete lunatics. "You see..." Aiden shook his head roughly. "Ugh, it was a mistake, you see? I signed up for the wrong class-I meant to sign up for this one." "Do I honestly want a student who's so absentminded?" "Well, just in case there was resistance..." and in Aiden's eyes Mr. Lirbennet could see some fire flickering, "I brought my portfolio." Resigned to his fate, he pushed asside the yet to be graded papers and let Aiden silently place the portfolio in front of him as if he were imparting a holy relic of his soul. "Alright, let's take a look..." placing his silver-rimmed glasses atop his pudgy nose, Mr. Lirbennet scanned through the pages...and felt his blood actually stand still. In it were pictures; pictures of such an utter loneliness that he shuddered. A man staring through panes of bullet proof glass, a black telephone pressed to his ear, a little girl huddled outside a rundown church, a young woman flinging out her arms in front of a faceless factory...Mr. Lirbennet looked up and said, "When did you draw these?" "Last yaer. Are they not good enough?" "No! No, they're outstanding. Your technique may need a bit of improvement, but the intesity...." "If people let themselves, they would always feel this way," Aiden muttered. "Okay." Mr. Lirbennet sighed, gratefully shuting the portfolio. "You'll start next time we meet." t.s. wood, the sleepy art kid "And this is the Student Support office." They were standing outside of a plain, dark-brown door with a poster of cheery, smiling youths glaring out at whoever walked past. The little baby was blowing spit bubbles, her chin shiny with slobber. She giggled as a particularly large one popped and spattered upon her cheek and sent pleased squeaks echoing down the hallway that ricocheted off of the spotless poster-covered walls and floor tiles."What goes on here?" asked the Alyssa girl, nudging a small shoulder towards the door. Theo itched at an eyebrow. "Apparently, most of the people attracted to the arts are loonies. I'm probably one such person. So there's an on-site psychiatrist, and you should feel free to tell her whatever is on your mind." Theo gave her the cheesiest, most forced smile that he could. "Just know that whatever you tell her will end up as office gossip for the next day," he said, turning and continuing down the East Corridor. Alyssa rolled her eyes and shook her head, but smiled. "And how do you know that happens?" Looking back over his shoulder, Theo shrugged. "I made the mistake of telling her about how I kept having recurring dreams of wild sex with Martha Stewart." Alyssa gasped and hunched her body over the blue stroller a bit, as if she were shielding the little person in it from Theo's words. "Not in front of my sister!" She hissed, wide-eyed. Zoe blew another bubble as she groped for a discarded, chewed pencil that lay on the ground in front of her. "You can't shield her from Martha Stewart forever." "No!" Alyssa said, letting out her breath through clenched teeth. "The S-E-X." "That too." Theo continued walking, and soon the creak-whirl-creak-whirl of the stroller followed, bringing Alyssa back beside him. "You're crazy." "Der." _________________________________________________ There was another angry email from his mother when he got back to the small apartment that night. He read it, though this one was hardly different from the others. Theo- You know that it would be right to take over Papi's practice. You of all people should know that- he's wanted you to succeed him since the day I found out I was pregnant with you. Being a lawyer would support you AND our family more than chasing these spontaneous ideas you have. You need some stability in your life. I'm sorry, honey, but these cartoons won't get you that. You need to stop seeing them as your career and what they are- a hobby. You do them for fun. A job is not always fun. Let me know when you've found your common sense. -Mom Theo deleted the message, the white glow of his roommate's computer screen making his face appear a light blue in the dark gloom. He never responded to his parents' emails anymore. His roommate, Brian, was gone again, probably asleep in some new girl's bed. It seemed as if he was hardly ever there, and Theo took such a frequently-occuring time as a chance to use the computer all he wanted, go through Brian's things, and do what he wanted- alone. As soon as Theo had turned eighteen, he was almost always alone. He moved out of his parents' house as soon as he could, got an after-class and weekend job at a record store and a pet shop and supported himself. He made enough to pay for half the rent, as well as the pads of paper and boxes of pens and markers and pencils that he was always going through, and groceries once or twice a week. He could cook- his father had shown him- and he could do laundry- his mother had taught him that. Theo didn't desire any help, and at first, the rush of being his own person excited him; he didn't need anyone else around. But that didn't mean that he did not want anyone else around. His fist collided with the keyboard, the sound of a rock being dropped onto raw eggs slicing at his ears, and he reached around the CPU and unplugged the thick, black cord. The screen went black; the last of the light in the apartment disappeared. Theo sat back in the uncomfortable wooden chair, his hands shaking, his eyes slammed shut. In the dark, he stumbled away from the desk, tapered fingertips gliding against the wall as he walked to the small kitchen counter where he'd left his pencil bag and sketchbook. "Fuck them," Theo muttered, scooping up the items into his long arms. The chill of the sketchbook's spiral binding pierced through his thin shirt, cutting in to his ribs and lungs, making him shiver from the inside out. His mother was wrong. She thought that his art wasn't stable, that it jumped and skittered back and forth from him, from success. But art was actually the only thing that had remained constant for Theo. As a young boy, his drawings always covered the refrigerator door. His father used to have one framed on his desk at the office. When he was fifteen and got a picture published in the newspaper, they were so proud of him. They showed it to all their relatives and friends and gloated about it whenever they could, always reminding whoever they were talking to that "My son did that." And suddenly, the boy that they once praised for his drawings was a man whose art they were ashamed of because it was not "stable.” They were hypocrites. The pencil bag rattled like bones in a sack as Theo felt his way around the counter and to the door. He glanced at the scarlet numbers on the clock on the back wall, 11:42 staring back at him with oppressing luminescence. Theo left the apartment. He knew no one would notice. Mary The Gypsy - All Grown Up It was almost midnight, and she still hadn’t found a subject. Tina was decked out tonight. She had gone to a poetry reading, and as always, she was on the prowl for a good subject. She had found a few, but the first girl she had approached had looked at her strangely, and asked if she was a lesbian, and the two guys she had asked just wanted sex. She was depressed. It almost always turned out this way. She was sick of sculpting herself. She needed a story. She needed a masterpiece. And for that, she needed a subject. She wore a sweeping red skirt, slit to expose the whole of her right leg. Her blouse was sleeveless, Japanese in style. Red dragons danced across a black landscape. She had found both items at the flea market. Cheap style is what she called. She had been struggling for money since she had gone off on her own. As she leaned against the window of the coffee shop she frequented, she saw a familiar face leave an apartment building. It was the boy she had been so cruel to at school that day. A frown fluttered across her blood red lips. She thought his name was Theo. For a minute she was afraid to approach him, but with a deep breath, and a steeling of her nerve, she walked up to him. “Umm. . .Theo?” She asked. He looked really upset, and her resolve faltered for a moment. “I wanted to apologize for earlier.” Tina saw his face shadowed by sorrow and confusion. It only made his features that more interesting. For a minute she wanted to ask him outright, but she decided to be more subtle. Without letting him respond, she put her arm around his shoulders and ushered him to the coffee shop. “Let me get you something to eat and drink buddy. You look a bit down. Don’t worry, its on me.” Evra Von was Zircron Name:Rex MettlerAge:20 Ethincity:100% Irish but american accent Gender:Male Apperance:His style is punk. He died his hair dark purple. His eyes are electric blue thatt catches peoples eyes. He is 6'3 slim and lean. He works out every day. He weres black and red mostly and uselly a tie. He weres skatebording shoes because he uselly has is skate board or blades with him. Personality:At his first year he thought he would be a reject. Most people like him.He has a good personality.He is smart and funny. He always looks on the brighter side of thing. Area of art:He is a bassist to a rock band andplays classical to. He is also a painter. In those he expresses him self the most in. Other:He loves rock and thinks he is an outsider. He loves going out with girls. He can never stop thinking about SEX. He loved it after the first time he had it. He had the best childhood a kid could ask for. Average Joe Name: Amy ParkerAge: 17 Ethnicity: American, but her parents are Pilipino Gender: Female Appearance: Small, four feet tall. She always wears a school uniform, and is very neat and precise about her appearance. She’s the sort of person that no one really notices, as she is quiet and tries not to attract attention to herself. Personality: She’s the sort of person that no one really notices, as she is quiet and tries not to attract attention to herself. She rarely talks, even when she is spoken to. She often seems sad. Area of Art: Her talent lies in dancing of all types, but she is too embarrassed to perform in front of people. She got into the school as a writer, but she is not very good. Even when she works hard it is just barely passing. She only ever practices her dancing alone, and is extraordinarily good at it. Other: She doesn’t really want to do art, but her parents pushed her into it. Her two older brothers became a doctor and a businessman, so her parents wanted her to do something less practical, as she would never want money. HarukiMurakami Name: Airen CapelAge: 20 Gender: Male Ethnicity: Caucasian Appearance: He has a fair complexion, and his brown hair covers the left side of his face, while the edges curl making his hair seem shorter and his head bigger. Airen is just about the height that you have to measure to tell that he is taller than average. His glasses complete the outfits of dirty pants and generic t-shirts. Once he tried growing facial hair, but someone threw a chicken wing at him and called him a bum. When he is clean he can be "cute". Personality: Awkward Strangeness. Airen trips over nothing, and is quite nerdy. Aware of how strange he is, but doesn't quite care. Relaxed to the point that the most annoying things don't matter at all. Area of Art: He is a chef, but has started to take other art classes. Other information: Before he graduated from high school, Airen started taking culinary classes and left to study cooking in other countries. His father, a wealthy businessman, helped in the creation of a number successful restaurants which left Airen financially set. With no work, he was unsatisfied and set out eventually finding work at Grimsel. He only teaches one class(arranged by the school), so that he can also be a student there. ____ "You're not a stalker, you're not a stalker," Airen whispered to himself as he stared at the boy. This was the second time in his life he had problems telling a guy he liked him. Airen thought he had gotten over this hill, but this kid... This one looked exactly like his first crush in high school. Except for the hair color everything matched perfectly, and Airen had switched classes (using the leverage he had as a teacher) a few times so far so that his schedule matched the boy's exactly save the class period in which he taught. To switch into Geoffery's class after school was more work then Airen wanted, but the boy had done it, and he was all that mattered to Airen right now. t.s. wood, the sleepy art kid ***GAH! Sorry for the disgustingly long delay. Was having trouble with Writing.com, and I couldn't add to any CF's for a while... SO! I've got two additions to post here, mine and blood metal's. Thanks for being patient.***"I don't drink coffee." They were sitting in the front corner of the small cafe, surrounded by the smell of Colombia's finest and tobacco. Old newspaper articles hung in tacky, dusty frames, their paper yellowed by both age and the light of the ceiling lamps. Theo stared straight down into the cup and let the heat slide up against his nose. "Well, why did you let me buy you one?" The girl who dragged him in there sat back in her chair and loosely crossed her arms. “I didn’t exactly let you, you just dragged me in here and stomped up to the counter.” He gazed out of the dark, smudged window at the empty street. “Why did you bring me in here, anyway?” The girl scooted forward in her seat, opened her mouth, closed her mouth, cleared her throat, opened her mouth again, and sighed. “Just... when I walked into your class. I could have been nicer, or I could have just stayed out of your business,” she said, her voice not as sharp as before. Theo raised his eyebrows. “That’s it?” “Yeah, so? Being nice is normal.” Her tone had become defensive. “Is it a bad thing I’m trying to make up?” She pouted and slumped against her seatback, the crimson threads of her clothing glaring at him even more than her face was. Theo muttered an apology and decided it wasn’t a bad time to change the subject. “So... what are you doing this late dressed like that?” he asked in as chatty a manner as he could manage. Her expression only hardened. “I’m not a slut.” “I didn’t say you were!” Theo sighed in exasperation. “I’m asking what you’re out doing. I’m curious.” She shifted in her seat, looking off to the side and avoiding Theo’s eyes. “I sculpt.” “At Grismel, right?” “In my apartment, too,” she said, turning back to him. “All the time. And I needed someone new, so I decided to hang around here and ask about.” Theo snorted. “‘Oooh, come back to my place and let me sculpt you!’ People are either going to think you’re out of it or that you want to sleep with them.” “You know, I figured that out a long time ago!” She raised her voice quite a bit, and a few of the remaining patrons of the café glanced towards their table. Theo immediately wanted to take back what he said. Of course she’d know that; she’d probably done this countless times. He felt his stomach sink onto the ground, and his head buzzed with questions of what to do next. Quickly he picked up the cup of coffee and took a huge gulp. His mouth and throat were scorched as the thick, dark liquid splashed across his teeth and tongue, as if they were disintegrating like sugar cubes in hot water. Theo gasped as he swiftly placed the cup back down and slammed his eyes shut as he tried to gulp down the repulsive, powerful-smelling drink. He stifled a whimper. “I thought you said you didn’t like coffee,” said his new acquaintance, almost smiling. “I don’t,” he said, “but I might as well try anything now.” He said that more for himself to hear than for the girl across the table. And he was right; he had almost nothing, nothing that he actually deeply cared about, to lose. He would try foods he thought he hated, watch movies whose trailers didn’t appeal to him, and go places he’d rather not be seen. The first step was to finish the cup of coffee. The second step was agreeing to be her “subject.” _________________________________________________ ***and now for blood metal's addition*** _________________________________________________ Name: Valin Nosferratis Age: 19 Gender: Male Ethnicity: Russian/Italian Appearance: 5’11’’, excessively thin but with toned muscles underneath. Black messy hair with spontaneous highlights of red, blue, silver, gold, green, purple, orange, or pink depending on the day and his mood. He has gaunt , sharply angular features which are described as either hawkish or fox like. Tattoos and designs of the sun, vines, wings, and oriental script spread across his shoulders and trail down his arms to his elbows. Spidery forms cover his left hand completely as well. 7 piercings: 3 nose, 2 in his left ear, 2 in his right eyebrow. Wears all black, with the occasional deep red or blue. Slightly tan skin and dark gray eyes with purpley tinges. Thin agile handsthat are constantly moving. Personality: Quiet, he talks to himself and finds that there’s nothing left to say to anyone else. Loner, only because he doesn’t pay enough attention or doesn’t choose to include anyone in his one man show. Becomes easily obsessed with subjects and exhausts them completely- art being the only consistent thing in his life, you can never know everything, its not always the same. Angry and resentful, although this he masks with apathy and boredom, which explains his violent mood swings. Isn’t sure what he wants anymore so he tends to just ignore thoughts about the future. Independent, slightly depressed , although he won’t admit the reason for either is he doesn’t trust anyone enough to take the time to save him is he falls. Area of Art: Acting, painting/drawing , dance, and woodworking. Acting he practices in every class, making every teacher think something different of him Painting , his canvas are the walls of his apartment, much to the astonishment of his roommate. He will draw or sketch on anything he can get his hands on – furniture, textbooks, notebooks, sometimes even people. He constantly carries his carving knife with him and has other uses for it than cutting designs into desks and blocks of wood. His forearms are scarred with various designs revealing his other cutting domain. Dancing is a rare and almost desperate creative outlet for Valin as it brings out his competitive and perfectionistic side, frustrating him to the point of not being able to stop until every move is executed with precision. Note: All the forms of art I actually do, its not that I was just making it up to have a ‘perfect’ character. -_-- Valin’s gaze flicked agitatedly between the customers at the Luna Café`, a local coffee shoppe. None of them were what he was looking for. His thin fingers tapped at his sketch frustrated, 3 hours and still not a single model. A couple walked in and caught his eye. That girl… she was perfect. Valin cocked his head to the side in thought…he knew her from somewhere..and the guy she was with he was in the same class…ah! Grismel. Contemplating to ask her he lost track of time , when he looked up they had gone. Jamming his sketch book in his bag in frustration he made his way to the bus station and back to his apartment. Tomorrow awaited his questioning, the rest of the night awaited his answers. Evra Von was Zircron Rex sat on his bed and through some paint brushes his canvas. He looked out the window and saw the pool. He was second story with his balcony over a 20 foot deep pool. "What the heck," he said. Rex stripped off his shirt. He sat on the side and slid down. He went down with his feet pointed. He felt sudden coolness and saw blue from under his eyelids. He swam up and did some laps. [Sorry, didn't know what to write. Plus later I'll write that he had a car accident ans is paralized from the knees down. Just thought I might add a bit of chaos.] Average Joe "Pencils down."Amy furiously scribbled on her paper, trying to get the last few sentances of her short story down. She gasped in suprise when the teacher snached the paper from her. He looked down at Amy with a frown on his face. Amy shrunk back and tried to make herself seem small in the seat. The bell rang, freeing the students from their class. Amy walked through the halls looking at her feet. She dimly heard the buzz of conversation around her. She pushed through the crowds and made her way toward her dormitory. Amy worked on her out-of-class paper for the rest of the night, struggling to make it sound just right. She knew that she couldn't make it just right-she was making a boarderline C/D as it was-but she needed to do as well as she possibly could. As always. Amy put her head in her hands and closed her eyes. She was just so tired, and no amount of sleep would rest her. She had to spend nearly every minute of each day doing something she hated. Amy sighed. Screw the assignment. She still had a few more ways to do it. Amy grabbed her duffel bag from under the bed and walked out the door. It was a long walk, but Amy had healthy legs, more musculer then anyone saw. Her clothing did little to accentuate her legs, or any of her form. Amy didn't have the toning of a bodybuilder, but of someone whose recreation and passion was physically demanding. After an hour's walk amy finally got to her destination, a large dance studio. The sun was setting, so the studio was closed, but Amy knew the owner. She took out her key and let herself in. Amy was streching on one of the dance floors. She was wearing a leotard, something she would be mortified to be seen in. She found comfort in empty places, places where she could be alone. She looked across the large room at all the emptiness and smiled. Amy finished her streches and started the real workout. Amy StarPrincessWife Name: Fiona DebrisAge: 17 Gender: Female Ethnicity: English Appearance: She is nothing out of the ordinary, brunette down to her shoulders and neatly kept. Straight and yet with it's own special shine. She likes highlighting it sometimes but her parents greatly disapprove. Her face is very ordinary, oval, thick eyebrows and beautiful long eyelashes. Her eyes are a hazel green, like the colour of a forest. She is fairly thin and is often on a special diet to be able to keep her that way. However sometimes the odd doughnut is to tempting for even her to resist. Personality: Fiona was raised by two very conservatively catholic parents who were quite wealthy and had raised her to be a little bit what most people would say up herself. However she fights against this constantly and was often getting into trouble for communicating with people that her parents judged to be: "below her stature". Despite her catholic upbringing she is interested in witchcraft and believes that she could possibly be a lesbian as she has never had any interest in a male in her entire life. Area of Art: Creative Writing with a minor in Drama. Other information: Fiona has had severe depression ever since she started looking into witchcraft and lesbianism as her parents were very much the kind of people that put anyone down who looked into these subjects. Her psychiatrist suggested that she went to this school. She has regular sessions with the school psychiatrist scheduled, the school psychiatrist being a family friend of her psychiatrist and is still going to be writing to her psychiatrist and her parents through email. Meanwhile she will be living in a hotel near the school which has room service and a maid on call. -------------------------------------------- "Would there be anything else that you would be needing for tonight mam?" the maid asked her bowing gently. "Yes, can you please quit calling me mam? It's Fiona, other than that..have a good evening," she said looking at the television screen. Tomorrow was going to be a hard day. After all she started her new classes tomorrow..she hoped that she would fit in with everyone at the school. © Copyright 2005 t.s. wood, the sleepy art kid, Mary The Gypsy - All Grown Up, Even If I Died, Living in a Land of Sin, DarkStarr, Aaron Aiken: filled with gloom, Evra Von was Zircron, Average Joe, HarukiMurakami, StarPrincessWife, (known as GROUP). All rights reserved. GROUP has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work. |
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