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Post by ashton reinhart on Sept 23, 2012 0:31:22 GMT -6
| [atrb=style,width: 120px; height: 300px; background-color: #7BE0CB; border-radius: 60 0 0 0; vertical-align: top;][STYLE=width: 100px; height: 100px; background-image:url(http://i.imgur.com/nsRzY.png); margin: 10 5 5 10; border-radius: 50; box-shadow: 2px 2px 0px #363636;][/style][STYLE=font-family: georgia; font-size: 22px; text-transform: lowercase; font-style: italic; color: #fff; padding: 10px; vertical-align: bottom; line-height: 18px; letter-spacing: -3px; text-shadow: 1px 1px 0px #363636; text-align: left;]{ ...just sing me a sad song to make me feel better sing me a happy song and i might start to cry... }[/style] | [atrb=cellpadding, 0, true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style,width: 300px; height: 150px; background-color: #fff; border-radius: 0 0 60 0;][classy=scroll][STYLE=height: 200px; width: 270px; margin: 10; padding: 5px; font-family: tahoma; font-size: 10px; text-align: justify; overflow: auto; background-color: #fff; valign: top;]She felt like she was being eaten away- step by step, bite by bite. Eyes ever roaming the pavement, Ashton couldn't help but wear the shallow grimace on her face as she wandered aimlessly, hands stuffed into her the pouch of her hoodie, as usual. It seemed to be where they liked to rest these days, as opposed to resting happily at her sides. She hated how listless she had become since the incident, how unmotivated and uncomfortable she always was now. Even when she tried to smile, it always seemed to twist into an awkward frown. But then, she hadn’t been doing a lot of smiling the past couple of years so maybe she’d just forgotten how?
A derisive snort banished the silly little thought as movement caught her attention from the corner of her eye. A small child, standing there staring at her. She didn’t really care for children. Of course, the mother was right next to the toddler, her attention diverted to what looked like a family friend, the dark expression she wore led teen to believe she was talking about the…incident. It seemed as if that was the only topic on people’s tongues nowadays. She stared at the youngster, waiting for the little boy to break his gaze first. She didn’t know why but she automatically didn’t want to be the only to blink first. It was stupid of her, it wasn’t like the kid was trying to goad her either but she didn’t want to look away.
Sighing into the fabric of her long-collared shirt Ashton’s frown deepened and she averted her eyes back at the ground, yet continued to feel the toddler's stare dig into the back of her head as she kept walking. "Staring is rude." she grumbled under his breath, more to herself than anybody. Even as she turned to corner, she saw that the little boy was off somewhere else, playing. So why did it feel like everything was still watching her?
Ashton wasn't used to paranoia. She never had it before, or at least not quite as severe. When you lived on a gated community it wasn't like there were total strangers around. But those days were long gone and here in this inner city full of regular, working class people, she'd be hard pressed to call anyone around a friend. Staring into store windows, feeling like the people inside of them stared right back, judgmental eyes seeing through her rather than at her, it was unnerving – like they knew who she was and was judging her for the crimes that were hers only by affiliation or that she had escaped tragedy by being a delinquent. She hated this place.
Shirking the feeling, she pursued the stores though she had no intention of buying anything; these things were a little out of her price range. She’d never thought those words would ever apply to her but now that money was a real issue, buying everything that caught her fancy was out of the question. As the hooded teen continued to bumble around, inspecting anything that caught her eye, she finally came upon the familiar sight of Farlax’s arcade, one of her many haunts.
The dim lighting, the smell of perspiration and a sort of muggy heat that only came about when there were too many humans in too small a place, was soothing if she had to give the feeling a name. It was comforting in a way, a familiar setting that didn’t make her feel totally displaced or reminded her of how badly the world outside these walls had become. Without a thought she trotted inside, taking care to mind where she walked as people moved in every direction. The atmosphere was charged with a revitalizing energy, youth pulsing along with the bass of some game issuing music from his left that she haplessly followed. What she found brought a wave of nostalgia and a bit of longing. A popular dance game was being played by some blonde kid who navigated the steps like a pro – or at least better than Ashton had been able to when she’d first tried it after her brother had conned her into playing in their living room.
She watched, not really paying attention to the player himself so much as the spastic flash of lights on his screen and playing them in her head. When the song ended she moved on to her preferred corner of the arcade. Dancing games weren’t her thing – or rather, coordination wasn’t her thing – a plastic gun and zombies were more her speed. And that was exactly where she situated herself, in front of a console with the cheap, chipped and slightly sticky plastic firearm aimed at the screen and immersing herself in a merciless slaughter of zombies.[/style][/classy][STYLE=width: 270px; height: 50px; margin: 5 5 -10 10; padding: 5px; border: 1px dashed #7BE0CB; border-radius: 0 0 50 0; font-size: 8.5px; font-type: georgia; color: #000;]TAG! open
WORDS! 800
NOTES! nothing nothing[/style]
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Panda Malone
McKinley Students
Sophomore - McKinley[M:0][M:0]
Flower Shop
Posts: 18
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Post by Panda Malone on Sept 23, 2012 22:42:23 GMT -6
Shift over, Panda was staring out the windows of the flower shop he worked in with his mother. He looked back at her, she worked longer hours and it would probably be better of him to stay and help her; work extra. But, she nodded at him with that smile of hers, the one that told him to just go and not worry about her. And he knew that that smile really meant she wouldn't allow him to stay, and he never won against his mother, his father didn't either. Well, he did this one time but when he did he had to sleep on the floor for a week. His old man had described it as 'not worth it' so Panda never really tried himself. With a shrug and a sigh, he smiled back at his mother and made his way out the door. There was no real point in going home, no one would be there and it would be all quiet and boring. Quiet and boring was a terrible combination. He stretched and yawned before making his way down the sidewalk. Maybe he didn't look too weird today. He was wearing a shirt of his father's, a plain white one and not the filthy white one either, and he was wearing the jeans with the least rips and tears in it. His sneakers were still a worn as ever though, and he was pretty sure the right one would have a hole in it within the month. Not that that was a bad thing; you only need new shoes when all your toes are sticking out in the middle of winter. Or when your feet grow two sizes too big, but that wasn't happening at the moment.
All of these thoughts went on as he waited to cross the road, a couple of other people were waiting there with him, but none he recognized. When it was safe to cross, they all went without second thought. It felt like clockwork. But the difference between him and them, most likely, was he didn't have a destination. He looked at the buildings, at the stores and restaurants, with almost confusion. He'd never been in one of either, never finding the time or the money, and never really being interested. He'd never gone in any of these buildings. He'd been in the flower shop and that was it. Well... that wasn't entirely true... He entered into the arcade with a blank stare still on his face.
What was he to do here? What did he ever do here? Nothing. But he liked it here. He liked the way he could be alone yet not alone, and he liked that it was never silent here. Never. The other, angrier part of him disliked every last one of those things that he listed, but it just sucked to be him then, because the arcade was where they were. After he entered, he found himself immediately taking notice to the uh... the... the dancing thingy. He liked that thingy. Well, specifically, he liked the lights. Maybe he was a bit childish or babyish in that sense; he liked lights and shiny things. He could be easily amused every now and again, but maybe that was just how he had to be to get by. He watched one person, then the next, then the next, not really watching them but focusing more on the sounds and lights, the things that made him smile in a goofy way. Eventually he had to get moving though, not wanting to be a statue in the way of people trying to move about.
So he began walking around the arcade, glancing at the things people were doing. Just waiting for something to jump out at him and give him an idea. Maybe he could find something to build in this arcade. A model of something or another. He needed new ideas for building and creating... well, not really. His brain was full of ideas; but new ideas were still nice anyway. Eventually he came to a halt as his eyes locked on some zombies. Someone was playing a game that involved shooting zombies. He remembered that to be the only time the two sides of him ever worked together on something. His face went blank and cold again, as he stood still as a statue once more and stared at the zombies as they were killed. The two of them had made a plan for a zombie apocalypse, a theory maybe. He wasn't sure what to call it. It was pretty much a 'how long can we live with a makeshift spear and dumpster diving' kinda thing.
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Post by ashton reinhart on Sept 26, 2012 10:33:41 GMT -6
| [atrb=style,width: 120px; height: 300px; background-color: #7BE0CB; border-radius: 60 0 0 0; vertical-align: top;][STYLE=width: 100px; height: 100px; background-image:url(http://i.imgur.com/nsRzY.png); margin: 10 5 5 10; border-radius: 50; box-shadow: 2px 2px 0px #363636;][/style][STYLE=font-family: georgia; font-size: 22px; text-transform: lowercase; font-style: italic; color: #fff; padding: 10px; vertical-align: bottom; line-height: 18px; letter-spacing: -3px; text-shadow: 1px 1px 0px #363636; text-align: left;]{ ...just sing me a sad song to make me feel better sing me a happy song and i might start to cry... }[/style] | [atrb=cellpadding, 0, true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style,width: 300px; height: 150px; background-color: #fff; border-radius: 0 0 60 0;][classy=scroll][STYLE=height: 200px; width: 270px; margin: 10; padding: 5px; font-family: tahoma; font-size: 10px; text-align: justify; overflow: auto; background-color: #fff; valign: top;]Ashton had found that nothing was quite as soothing as running through a dilapidated building, navigating through shitty lighting, and offing as many flesh-eating dead guys as she could before running out of ammo. It was practice for the apocalypse, she had reasoned when her love of hunting the undead had been realized. Just like her obsession with old kung fu movies and James Bond flicks, preparation for the future. One never knew when such skills as unsynchronized dialogue or dry British humor might come in handy.
Her focus was absolute. The screen was her only priority, that and the gun leveled at it. Every few minutes she’d dip the nozzle of the firearm replica down to reload her weapon before resuming her mindless charge into zombie-infested corridors. It was only on her fourth reload that the hooded teenager even realized she had a spectator and that was only because the frost-white hair had been a stark contrast to the rest of the room. There was only the barest hesitation in her movements to indicate her acknowledgement of the boy but it was slight and hopefully subtle.
It was an arcade, people often wandered from console to console, watching other people play. She’d been doing the same thing a few minutes ago even so it wasn’t like she was any less guilty of being a bystander on occasion. Her logic was sound but rationale had rarely been a salve for anxiety as it was and despite convincing herself that the kid would tire of watching her wade through dismembered enemies she would discreetly glance at him every so often to see if he’d move.
He didn’t.
Weirder still was the expression on his face, wiped clean of any telling sentiment. Most people couldn’t do that, too many emotions to bottle up to achieve that kind of poker face. And yet here he was, lurking in her peripheral like some kind of gargoyle, saying nothing, doing nothing, just watching. It was unnerving, irritating.
Ashton forced herself back to the game. Tried to ignore the boy to the best of her ability but knowing he was there incited her to look which of course irked her more because he was still there when she did. When she finally couldn’t stand it anymore she cocked her gun – a little harsher than was necessary – and muttered in a low tone, “Do you need something, kid?”
[/style][/classy][STYLE=width: 270px; height: 50px; margin: 5 5 -10 10; padding: 5px; border: 1px dashed #7BE0CB; border-radius: 0 0 50 0; font-size: 8.5px; font-type: georgia; color: #000;]TAG! open
WORDS! 400
NOTES! nothing nothing[/style]
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[STYLE=padding: 3px; font-size: 10px; font-family: tahoma; color: #999999; text-align: center;]TEMPLATE BY PEBBLE OF BTN[/style] [newclass=scroll ::-webkit-scrollbar]width: 4px; background: transparent; direction:ltr;[/newclass][newclass=scroll ::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb]background: #7BE0CB; border-radius: 2px;[/newclass][newclass=scroll ::-webkit-scrollbar-corner]background: transparent;[/newclass] |
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Panda Malone
McKinley Students
Sophomore - McKinley[M:0][M:0]
Flower Shop
Posts: 18
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Post by Panda Malone on Sept 26, 2012 19:33:39 GMT -6
Figure I could make a model of a city torn by apocalypse? Dunno where I'd get supplies. It'd probably all be made of cardboard... unless I can trek to a junkyard when I'm not busy. Yeah I could do that... Have to find the time. Also gonna need a place to build... dunno how big it'll be yet, guess I should plan that too... "Need someone to invent a punching bag that can bleed. Don't know if you can help with that." his voice slipped out just as harsh; it was low and cold and almost angry. At the sound of his own voice, Panda blinked and came back to reality, "Huh? Wuh? Oh! I-I'm sorry. We were just..." he looked around and put a hand to his mouth for a moment as he took a moment to collect himself. He didn't want to say anything more until his brain caught up. "I was... just looking at the zombies. Uh, thinking. A-about building a model... I..." 'Alright, that's enough talking. You're just one big embarrassment.' Usually he didn't listen to that voice... this time he did. He didn't really have anything to say or any kind of explanation. He'd... just been thinking. What else was there to say? Besides, he didn't want to look like a bigger idiot than he probably already did... and he'd made the mistake of saying 'we'. It was almost painful to himself to say it, it made that other side more real. But sometimes you just couldn't help it, when you were talking...
"I... apologize if I uhm... annoyed you. Or... or anything like that. It was just funny 'cause h-... Uh. I... I mean it was... just interesting 'cause... I was... looking for something to build..." I'm not very good at this. 'No, really?' I'd let you do it if you weren't so mean... 'Yeah, what makes you think this person's any less so?' I... it doesn't matter, Dad says... 'You're always on about that. Who cares what Dad says?' I care... he works all day for us... "I shoulda made you go home, you idiotic little..." This was muttered under his breath, but he wasn't really sure how to cover it up so he just stood there awkwardly. He didn't know where to look anymore, but eventually returned his eyes to the screen. It was rude to stare at people after all... a screen wasn't a person though. He could stare there all he wanted and the screen wouldn't yell at him... unless technology overthrew humanity and... no, no. Not the time to think about such things.
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Post by ashton reinhart on Sept 27, 2012 12:48:27 GMT -6
| [atrb=style,width: 120px; height: 300px; background-color: #7BE0CB; border-radius: 60 0 0 0; vertical-align: top;][STYLE=width: 100px; height: 100px; background-image:url(http://i.imgur.com/nsRzY.png); margin: 10 5 5 10; border-radius: 50; box-shadow: 2px 2px 0px #363636;][/style][STYLE=font-family: georgia; font-size: 22px; text-transform: lowercase; font-style: italic; color: #fff; padding: 10px; vertical-align: bottom; line-height: 18px; letter-spacing: -3px; text-shadow: 1px 1px 0px #363636; text-align: left;]{ ...just sing me a sad song to make me feel better sing me a happy song and i might start to cry... }[/style] | [atrb=cellpadding, 0, true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style,width: 300px; height: 150px; background-color: #fff; border-radius: 0 0 60 0;][classy=scroll][STYLE=height: 200px; width: 270px; margin: 10; padding: 5px; font-family: tahoma; font-size: 10px; text-align: justify; overflow: auto; background-color: #fff; valign: top;]The teenager muffled a snort of amusement, maybe a little more out of disbelief than of genuine humor, at the biting response she’d been treated to. Her reaction was shielded from view as she went back to unloading into a crowd of flesh-eaters. “Yeah they’ve got things like that already kid, it’s called boxing. Though I wouldn’t recommend you try it. You look like you’d bruise easy.” Her snide retort was accompanied by the furious click of the trigger being pulled and the violent sounds emitting from the console as she decimated the oncoming horde with a newly obtained machine gun. It was almost loud enough to drown out the boy’s sudden bout of the jitters – at least that’s what she was calling the shift in demeanor.
What was it about people switching personalities in front of her lately?
“Yeah, sure kid.” She muttered distractedly, still more interested in not getting munched on then to pick apart the teen’s grammatical error which she in fact hadn’t even picked up on. Unfortunately for Ashton her zombie stomping had to come to an end – if only until she inserted another twenty-five cents. Damn those treacherous dark corners for hiding the sneakier enemies. Sighing tightly at the development she angled the gun down and took the presented opportunity to inspect the weird spectator, belatedly realizing she recognized him.
While the dark of the arcade did nothing to enhance her vision, the sporadic flash of lights from other systems lightened his features enough for her to realize he was a former McKinley student. She might not know his name but she knew his face in passing. ‘Sophmore I think…’ What was he doing out here on a school day? Maybe he had bad blood among the Private Prep school kids like she did.
Expression thoughtful, Ashton tuned into the mumbled reply and quirked a bro as he explained he wanted to build a model. “You want to build a model of a zombie?” she inquired skeptically as she tried to humor the thought. Building a zombie? She could understand building a replica of the alien from Alien vs Predator for a promotional stunt but what use would a high school kid have for a zombie figure? ‘Maybe he wants to be a toy maker.’ As disturbing as that might be but there were worse things.
“You’re still annoying me,” she grumbled amusedly in lieu of his apology. She didn’t know what his deal was but she honestly didn’t care that much. If he wanted to build something shouldn’t he be looking at buildings or fountains? Since when did watching people paint virtual walls with brain matter constitute as a method of seeking inspiration? His silence further bemused her but it was clear that there was something going on in that head of his. Ashton was starting to think he was a schizophrenic off his meds when he mumbled something else, without stuttering and with the same acidity of his first remark.
Crazy confirmed.
She folded her arms across her chest and leaned against the front of the console, “You do this often? Switch between stuttering idiot and sarcastic nimrod?”
[/style][/classy][STYLE=width: 270px; height: 50px; margin: 5 5 -10 10; padding: 5px; border: 1px dashed #7BE0CB; border-radius: 0 0 50 0; font-size: 8.5px; font-type: georgia; color: #000;]TAG! open
WORDS! 524
NOTES! nothing nothing[/style]
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[STYLE=padding: 3px; font-size: 10px; font-family: tahoma; color: #999999; text-align: center;]TEMPLATE BY PEBBLE OF BTN[/style] [newclass=scroll ::-webkit-scrollbar]width: 4px; background: transparent; direction:ltr;[/newclass][newclass=scroll ::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb]background: #7BE0CB; border-radius: 2px;[/newclass][newclass=scroll ::-webkit-scrollbar-corner]background: transparent;[/newclass] |
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Panda Malone
McKinley Students
Sophomore - McKinley[M:0][M:0]
Flower Shop
Posts: 18
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Post by Panda Malone on Sept 28, 2012 21:27:45 GMT -6
Build a zombie? No, not really what he'd meant... not that he'd expected anyone to understood what he meant when he'd said he was drawing inspiration from someone shooting zombies. It was pretty inspiring if you looked at it right though... or maybe it was because he was insane. If that was the case, insane people had the best ideas then. At least, that was his opinion. And that made it kind of better. "Oh, well no. I mean a tiny little zombie's easy. A human sized one is a maybe but I think if I was gonna model a zombie I'd make a really big one. But, my supplies come from garbage cans and junk yards, so I don't think a zombie'd look right with those materials. I was referring to the idea of apocalypse. A model of a city, crumbled, ruined, by the event of apocalypse. Little city models look better with the scraps I find." He let out a nervous laugh after that, "I uhm. I like to build things that are more... unusual. Not everyone appreciates the art, but it's... it's not like they were using the garbage anyway... so... so why not..." He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and back and forth, "I... uh, you know... recycling and all that... My parents always said we gotta use what we can, but I don't think they can use all those old scraps to fix our clothes, so s'why I started using them to build..." Rambling? Yes.
He zoned off a bit, wondering what exactly stuck him to this spot. Why not just walk away? That'd be rude. But being here as an interruption... is also rude. Huh... He refocused as the other human being in front of him asked about his switching. "Oh, uh... it uh... depends on the time of day...? Kind of... I guess. I mean. Depends on where I am I guess, but I mean...S'like when I ran away, you can't be... uh well you... can't be this," he pointed to himself, "out on the streets. He says I wouldn't last a minute there, only time I'd agree. Aw.. but hey, you know... sometimes being crazy isn't all so bad... I can't think of a time when it's not so bad, though..." he shrugged and looked down at the ground for a few minutes before looking back up, "Nimrod's a funny word..." he said with a toothy grin. It was a sort of afterthought... but nimrod was a pretty funny word... It just sounded funny. It looked funny too when you wrote it out... Really, there was no need for him to say this at all, and he could feel that loathing inside of him, just angry at every word he said. That was kind of funny too. It was also a bit scary... but it was pretty funny. Everything could be funny if you tried... or was that just his way of dealing with things? It did make things better, actually, so why not? Have a laugh, crack a smile, the world'll end eventually.
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