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Post by Jackson Hardy on Feb 17, 2010 8:37:21 GMT -5
He was trying to decide whether it was late winter or early spring, but it didn't really matter; the sun had a habit of wrapping itself with clouds, hiding behind a thick white veil, whatever season or month it was (unless it had finally came to the very short months of summer, when people flocked to the fields, somehow managing to make their vast lengths cramped and claustrophobic). Jackson lay in the long grass, hoping for a stray beam of light to bathe in, but content none the less with lying amidst the flowers, listening to music through a set of small, portable speakers - they're pretty crappy, but they do their job, and were so cheap that they were basically free. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small tin box, with flowers and vines carved across its surface, which gave the impression that it was worth something, rather than being an old container for breath mints. Keeping his gaze to the sky, Jackson pulled a small package out of the box, and another from his pocket, combining their contents carefully in his hands, and licked his thumb part way to aid in its completion. He drew the masterpiece to his mouth, returning everything else to his pockets, and brought out a lighter. Like the tin box, it was made of a soft metal, patterns carved around its surface. With a flick and a spark, it, too, was put back in place with the rest of the cases, and Jackson lay in the flowers, head back, taking in the view, and inhaled deeply.
"... This is good." He said, removing his creation from his mouth and looking over it, "Shame I didn't buy much of it."
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Post by Bridgette Marlot on Feb 18, 2010 13:57:12 GMT -5
Bridgette walked through the field, one foot after the other, skirt swaying in the breeze, visualising a notepad in her mind, letting the scenery slide in to fill its pages.
Petals sadly dance, The chill of Winter rules them, And hides the warm light. Picking flowers was always a good way to spark the imagination, and today was no exception: the colours, the smells, every one of her senses were invigorated; apart from taste, but chewing on leaves from the ground didn't sound overly appealing. The weather simply added to the experience, the bite of the air making everything more vivid. But something was missing, she didn't feel like she was flowing, her thoughts felt too forced, stunted... Maybe flower picking was growing a bit old, it did seem clichéd, after all. She dropped the flowers she had in her hands, letting them fall in a heap on to the muddy ground below her, leaving them behind as she walked farther into the fields, letting the atmosphere seep into her, hoping that not interacting with it, not wasting thought processes, might help clear her head.
♪ Little darling, I feel that ice is slowly melting ♪
She stopped in her tracks, wrinkling her nose in confusion, "What the fuck?". Looking around she couldn't see anything, the field was empty, clear for miles, filled with nothing but long grass and flowers. Following the sound of the music, carried by the breeze, Bridgette searched for inspiration.
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Post by Jackson Hardy on Feb 18, 2010 16:27:25 GMT -5
It was peaceful lying in the grass, everything was still. The breeze couldn't reach him deep below the tips of the blades and it was too cold for bugs to crawl all over him, or at least too cold for wasps, at any rate. Taking one last draw, he removed the stub from his mouth and flicked it away into the ocean of green surrounding him, it had all but burned out and was no longer of any use.
♪ Here comes the sun ♪ _________ "Doo-be-doo-doo ♫"
Sometimes singing along to music would come out of nowhere, naturally, if he was in the right mood - Jackson wasn't very good at singing. He was awful. But music is infectious, and he liked to sing along to the backing track whenever possible, knowing it was as close as he would ever come to playing an actual instrument. He'd achieved close to nothing that day, he came to the fields, as he so often did when he had a day to himself, questing for some peace of mind and tranquility. He had managed to find it, and that was all he needed to feel content. He slid his hands into his pants and held them there, there was no particular need to, it just felt good, and he was already feeling great. He stretched his legs out as far as they could go, feeling the grass with his spare hand. Everything felt so amazing. He lay there, listening to the song reach its conclusion and thought aloud,
"It's spring. Definitely."
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Post by Bridgette Marlot on Feb 18, 2010 17:02:03 GMT -5
She treaded cautiously forward, unsure of what to expect, but compelled to continue marching on. The gears in her head began to spin wildly,
A siren calls forth, Drawing in its foolish prey, Concealed by shadows. That one barely needed a second thought. Was it the relentless practice which was helping or the situation? This could be the key to her becoming better, to her improving her skills. If the oil for her mind was more potent in different situations then so be it, she would grasp this feeling with both hands and hold it with her forever, but if she simply needed to practice then she would carry on as she was. The music was getting closer, louder with every wary step. Her eyes grew wide, searching for the source of the music. This could be it, this could be what she was waiting for - what she needed to write with real passion. The pinnacle of artistry, of beauty, right here, in this field. Her muse.
"Oh! Oh god, I'm sorry!" She span on her heels and walked in the other direction, still surprised by the sight of the man in front of her, in what looked like a moment of ecstasy. She was shocked, appalled... Yet jealous. He had what she wanted, what she needed. She stopped in her tracks and sat down, not far from him, planning on what to do. It wasn't cold in the grass, almost warm. It helped her thoughts slow, to clarify themselves.
"Excuse me, " She called back, holding her eyes closed in embarrassment, "Would you mind if I sat with you?" Her voice took a very polite tone when she was nervous, giving an entirely incorrect impression of what she's like normally, which was usually far more unrefined.
"And could you not touch yourself in public. It's a bit weird" She hadn't laughed in a while, it felt good.
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Post by Jackson Hardy on Feb 18, 2010 19:35:06 GMT -5
The song was coming to an end, the guitar's soft, final strums mixing sweetly with the voice of the girl who spoke to him, giving it an angelic quality.
"Come on over, then! Always room for one more!" He called back and stretched both his hands into the air, trying to emphasise the size of the field around them, beckoning her, "...And look," He added, triumphantly "No hands!" He hadn't spoken to anyone for a day or two now and, as an extrovert, excruciating boredom had tried to take hold over that time - it would have succeeded, too, were he not to have his old reliable with him. He patted his pocket at the thought, glad that (even though it was expensive) it kept him sane. He used to always be surrounded by people, but this year was so much more quiet, lonely even. Whenever he came to a new place Jackson was usually greeted with waves of people like him, who he could talk to and understand, but Blackstone was an oddity, everyone seemed so wrapped up in their own business there, stuck within cliques, barely even talking between each other within them. It was different. And not good different. The field grew quiet, filled only with the gentle sound of rust tainted song.
♪ I still don't know what I was waiting for And my time was running wild ♪ Awesome, haven't heard this one in a while. He reached into his pocket again, ready to create a new masterpiece, in hopes that the shy girl hiding in the grass nearby would prove to be unique amongst the self absorbed Blackstone pupils.
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Post by Bridgette Marlot on Feb 19, 2010 11:00:31 GMT -5
Bridgette picked herself up and strode through the waves of jade, making for the waving arms upon its surface. Would talking to a burn-out really make that much difference to her? She didn't particularly believe in fate, but this seemed all too coincidental - meeting one of those 'deep thinkers' in a time of lacking creativity, and out in the middle of nowhere.
Through cloud ridden skies, A ray of Spring's light shines through, Revealing the truth. Meh, this haiku shit was becoming tiresome; maybe it was her overuse of creativity (if she could even call the monstrosities she was coming up with lately 'creative') that caused the supplies to dwindle. She must have came up with about one thousand reasons now, why she wasn't as good as she wanted to be, it was severely detracting from more pressing issues, like when was she going to get her course work done? They went hand in hand, of course, and one problem should be addressed before another, but deadlines were drawing close and pen had not yet touched paper.
♪ Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes Turn and face the strain ♪ The hands in front of her were still waving, as though he was doing it unconsciously, while sleeping. Bridgette skipped to them and leant over him, lowering her head so it was between his arms, and looked into his eyes. He lay with a cigarette of sorts in his mouth, a thin trail of smoke drifting from it, floating in a sleepy tendril out of the grass, dissipating as it grew higher.
"Hey." she said, "I like your music."
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Post by Jackson Hardy on Feb 19, 2010 12:47:03 GMT -5
Bright curls of red hair hung around him, the sun's light, breaking through the clouds, shone behind them, making them glow. They dangled overhead like a fiery chandelier, bouncing lazily in the wind.
"And I like your hair... It's glistening."
Smoke coiled slowly upward as he spoke, thin tendrils wrapping themselves around her locks of hair. She didn't look like the type that would complain about a little second hand. He reached up to touch it, but pulled his arm back, not wanting to come across as a pervert. Covering his movements in as sly a way as he could (which was still very obvious, seeing he had just snapped his hand back from about an inch away from her face) he took the joint from his mouth and raised it up to her,
"You could see the world as brightly as I could, too."
This was always the first way to test a personality, if somebody had such strict morals in life that they wouldn't even give it a try he would never be able to understand them fully. He couldn't befriend a robot, a person that didn't allow themselves to be a real human. He looked into her eyes meaningfully, they were silhouetted, but he could see past the shadows. He was gifted, in a way. Jackson felt he could look into people more than others could, that he could pick up body language to a finer detail than the masses. It was probably nothing, but he liked to think he was an individual, and small things like that helped him identify who he was, and who those around him were.
♪ So the days float through my eyes, but still these days seem the same ♪
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Post by Bridgette Marlot on Feb 19, 2010 15:55:51 GMT -5
She looked at the boy's tanned hand in front of her, standing strong in the light. For someone so relaxed he had a very powerful aura around him. His breathing was calm, and his chest rose and fell fluidly, but everything he did, even blinking, he seemed to have a purpose, a motive behind every heart beat. Her jealousy kicked in again. Moving her head closer, she took a deep breath, letting the smoky mist the joint had produced pour into her lungs. With outstretched fingers she removed it from his grasp, straightened her back, and brought it closer to her mouth,
"The name's Bridgette Wilson."
She put it to her lips and took a draw from it, breathing out the smoke in a thin elegant line, "What about you?" She took another draw and smiled, placing the joint back into his hand. She didn't usually smoke; she only knew how from the one or two times her drunken counterpart had decided it seemed like a good idea to try. But this boy was enticing, she had never seen a burn out with such a sense of mystery around them before, and had never dreamt of meeting one with such good taste in music.
What is he, a well dressed hippy? This is like being in a modern day version of the sixties... If that even makes sense.
She looked back into his eyes, which were gazing deeply into hers, like they were searching for something. Her head tilted in curiosity as she looked into them, doing some searching of her own.
♪ Strange fascination, fascinating me ♪
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Post by Jackson Hardy on Feb 19, 2010 19:46:53 GMT -5
She was an odd one, that was for sure. She acted too casually to be a Prep, but still held an air about her; she thought she was above this. She was pretty, too, but in a kind of... smart way. She knew she was, though, or that she was intelligent, at least; it was in her eyes, they were deep, like a pair of dark woods, connected through the intricacies of her mind. Jackson eyed her suspiciously, lowering the joint back to his lips, taking a draw, and tapping the ever increasing stretch of ash from its tip into the grass by his side.
"I think, Miss Mar-low, you should take a seat by me before we talk, you'll get cold up there."
He gestured to the side where he had not just tossed ash around, and repositioned himself so he sat facing the same, empty patch of grass. Picking up the speakers, he began to flick through songs, snippets of several different tunes playing one after the other, some classics, some only he would have heard of, all of which he loved. He stopped on one, smiling appreciatively as its first notes hit his ears, and put the speakers back down on the grass by his side.
"I'm Jackson, by the way... Jackson Hardy."
That sounded too slick for his liking, but he could hardly take it back - he wasn't that good at cracking jokes either, so a 007 reference would be best left alone in the recesses of his mind.
♪ What to say? What to say? ♪ In place of covering his tracks, he pretended to be innocent, tapping his hands against his knees to the beat of the drums. A silent moment passed, which felt like a minute, and Jackson was still sitting opposite an empty patch of grass.
What's with her? Who takes this long to sit down, really?
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Post by Bridgette Marlot on Feb 22, 2010 8:12:38 GMT -5
In times like these Bridgette was revealed to be the woman of thinking she was, unable to make any move without stalling for thought. Most of the time she would be able to condense her sudden confusion into a split second, but she had been out of synch with herself recently, falling into constant emotional turmoil and feeling unable to correct it. Something as simple as sitting down could throw her mind entirely out of harmony; it seemed like such a commitment - she could be tying herself to this boy, trapping herself to taking part in future meetings, and what if he wasn't everything she hoped he would be? What if it ended up being a massive waste of her time, time she could have spent correcting her problems? She was beginning to look stupid.
Maybe sometimes acting on impulse is wiser than to stand around like an idiot...
She took a step over Jackson's legs, twirling her skirt slightly as she did so, and sat facing him. He didn't seem all that affected by the delay, a nice, typical burn-out, too consumed by the white dots bouncing around the sky to fully comprehend what was going on around him. Either that or he was just good at concealing what he really thought, or so she had to hope, not wanting her efforts to be futile.
"Sorry about that, I thought I'd left my curling irons on for a moment. You know what us girls are like." She'd never used curling irons in her life, her hair was naturally out of control, but it was a good excuse to use once in a while. Her hand reached forward and plucked the joint from his hand, to take another graceful draw, throwing in as cute a smile a she could muster. Congrats, Bridgette, saved yourself from looking like a fool. She held her hand away from her face, listening to the music fill the silence.
"So what brings you all the way out here?"
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Post by Jackson Hardy on Feb 22, 2010 18:26:12 GMT -5
Hair was a light year away from being an interest of Jackson's. It was one of the many things in life he tried to distance himself as far as possible from, metaphorically, but even he, a philistine of fashion, could see that she hadn't curled her hair. His girlfriend of two years, who he had broken up with at the end of the his first year, was obsessed with hair products, and curled hers religiously, without fail, every day. He could never forget the effect it had, and Bridgette, although her hair looked kempt in its own way, didn't have the same effect he would see on his girlfriend. He shook it off, thinking about her was a bad habit, and thinking about hair styles was a sin. Incomplete _____________________________________________________
MEGAFAILPOST: Yes, I caved in and decided to actually write this.
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