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Post by reese on Dec 21, 2008 16:00:49 GMT 10
 ( BEAU CHRISTIAN BOURDEAUX )i am flawed but i am cleaning up so well
i am seeing in me know the things you swore you saw yourself- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
-- Inspiration was a funny thing, you never knew just when it would smack you in the head and when it did you had to be ready for it because there was no way you would get a repeat performance just because you had missed the first one. Too bad for Beau today was anything but that kind of day. He had sat in his composition class with a frown because they had a performance coming up where they needed to present a piece they had written this year and he had nothing. Sure he had done some piano pieces here and there, but nothing was complete. And recently he had been fighting with a piece on his guitar that had been bothering him for the past couple of weeks. He had words and note scattered so through his head that he had barely been able to concentrate on anything else. But even as he put pen to paper he couldn't figure it out. Usually it came so effortlessly, but the past couple of months he had been struggling with anything. He wondered what it meant, knowing the last time he had this kind of issues with his music was right before he ran away from here to Italy and the haunting of his past. But nothing like that had happened recently, nothing close to that and he thanked whoever was watching over him for that fact. Cause he couldn't handle anything like that again.
-- So when he found himself hiding out at an all but abandoned tea house messing around with his guitar, blank sheet music, and lyrics he wasn't too surprised. There was one or two other people in the small shop and he didn't care seeing how they were so deeply involved in their conversations that it didn't matter if he was plucking notes. A couple of passing through people stopped to ask him what he was doing and he would kindly tell them he was working on a piece for class. The girls would smile and ask if they could hear but he would tell them it wasn't ready just yet. The guys would just nod, wish him luck, and keep walking. Hunching forward just a bit, he plucked out a couple strands of the song and wrote down the notes with his pencil. He lifted his head when he heard the door open and saw another two people walking out the door hand in hand. He was glad, that meant even fewer people to listen in as he tried to work out the kinks in all his music. Playing out what he had down on paper, he didn't bother worrying about the volume as he worked out the music. He knew the people working behind the counter at the moment and they loved when he played so he had nothing to worry about.
-- Pausing yet again, he wrote down a couple more lines he worked in before going back to playing. "as for now....hear the saddest songs....alone and wonder...how you're making out..." he mumbled to word he had figured out under his breath as he played. He wasn't paying attention to anyone around him and he didn't care if people found him annoying, all he wanted to do was get this melody out of his head. It was driving him slowly insane and he didn't think his mother would be too pleased if he yanked out all his perfectly messy bronze hair. That would be a shame, especially since it was one of his favorite features. "I'm missing your laugh, how did it break? and when did your eyes begin to look fake? I hope you're as happy as you're pretending," he sang and played as he continued to ignore everything going on around him. Times like these, it came in handy to have his mother be so close to the owner of a cafe. He liked that they allowed him to come and sit while working on his music, never caring if the other customers didn't like it. Beau never cared if they cared, but he did care if someone came up to him and said something. Usually it just pissed him off though.
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( STATUS ) finished
( RESERVED ) OPEN!
( WORDS ) 704
( NOTES ) song is 'screaming infidelities' by dashboard confessional....i own nothing LOL
( CLOTHES ) clicky
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Post by paradigmshift on Dec 22, 2008 13:58:28 GMT 10
Izzy wasn't a human when she wasn't dancing. At least, she didn't look like one.
Her face, like her eyes, was like a picture out-of-focus, with a complexion that took on the foreboding tint of Seattle's characteristic storm clouds. Healthy colour had drained out of her cheeks, and the redness of her lips and hair did little to brighten up her skin. Her body moved awkwardly, without a purpose, one foot lingering on the ground much longer than the other as she walked towards the counter. She looked brittle, ready to break in two at the slightest gust of wind. The dark circles under her eyes and the way she kept rubbing her forehead did little to break the illusion.
But quite frankly, Izzy felt like absolute and total shit. Perhaps even lower than that; she probably would go so far as to say she felt as though she were in the ninth layer of hell, though that would be a gross exaggeration. But anything that kept her from dancing, especially what should just be a cold and a turned ankle, was automatically branded as the worst possible punishment in the world. If ever asked, Izzy would proudly say that she was obsessed with her work. But obviously, as she realized now, obsession did have its downsides. Until now she had mostly forgotten that she didn't have much of a life outside of it.
How dare they make her stop? Her partner... her teacher... they told her to go home and "get some rest." Shouldn't she at least have a say in what she does with her own body? It's not as though they have the right to control her (though obviously they did have the right to lock her out of the rehearsal rooms, as she had unfortunately realized). She just wanted to be the best. That was all. And one had to push through the pain to win the game. And if it weren't for those stupid nosebleeds on top of everything, she bet her teacher would have let her keep practicing. Izzy just wanted to scream with frustration--perfect therapy for the furious soul--but she wouldn't give her partner the satisfaction of her anger. If he even got any satisfaction out of it.
Izzy leaned on the counter, her fingers leaving smudgy prints on the glass. She pointed to the double chocolate cheesecake and ordered chai tea with whole milk, extra sugar, and "nutmeg to the saturation point." She had to make two trips to keep from spilling her drink or dropping her food while she limped to her seat. Finally she was able to sit down at the small table in the corner of the shop, and let out a long sigh as she put her injured foot up on the chair in front of her.
She stared at the warm, tan-coloured liquid in the insulated glass she held between her fingers, and took a sip of the rich white foam. Izzy's breath rattled as she attempted to relax and let the warmth seep through her body, but it didn't seem to penetrate the wall of ice that had built up around her head and kept pushing, pushing, pushing on the insides of her eyes. She ended up downing it quickly, without tasting, without feeling it burn down her throat. One hand continued to grip the empty glass as though she were trying to break it with her fingers--the other forcibly massaged her forehead in an attempt to soothe the clangor in her brain. Every sound seemed amplified in this setting. The keys of the cash register rang like gunshots, the chairs screamed as they scraped across the floor, and guitar notes bored into her head like drills, clashing with the smooth jazz that filtered in softly from a speaker across the room.
Izzy ground her teeth together as the sounds multiplied on top of one another, pushing down on her head so hard she was afraid she'd split at the seams. Finally her will broke apart. She shoved half of the heavy dessert into her mouth, swallowed quickly, and angrily limped over to the man with the guitar. Two bright points of contempt at the corners of her mouth twisted her lips into a smile.
"Hell-o there," she spat her words through clenched teeth with unnecessary slowness and plopped down in the empty seat next to Beau. Her jaw loosened up as she continued to speak: "This is a little out of character for me. In fact, normally I would never approach a stranger, and I would be quite intent to observe the ways of others,"--here she chuckled in false gaiety--"but I felt like I ought to say something if only for my own sake." Her eyes, otherwise empty of expression, echoed the dark sentiment of insanity akin to the twisted smile on her face, and her voice kept an unnaturally even tone as she spoke, but her smile slowly disappeared. "I'm sure you're free to do whatever sort of soul-searching you wish to dig up the dirt underneath your fingernails as inspiration for the next conventional depressing song, but you'll notice that everyone else here is having their personal revelations quietly. So before I break at the seams with the compounded god-awfulness of your music that has violated my personal sanctuary, I would ask you to kindly stop, please, damn it, or to get some talent and lyrics with some real sincerity... something that has the possibility of being--how should I say this--enjoyed."
After a quick pause she added one last phrase just dripping with sarcasm: "Not to be rude, of course." Followed with an unsaid excuse for her behavior that she didn't bother mentioning: But I'm just pissed at the world today and you happen to make a perfect candidate for letting out anger.
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Post by reese on Dec 24, 2008 3:38:21 GMT 10
( BEAU CHRISTIAN BOURDEAUX )i am flawed but i am cleaning up so well
i am seeing in me know the things you swore you saw yourself- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
-- Having studied music nearly all his life, his mother starting him out on the piano when he was barely able to talk, he has been able to master just about anything he could touch. He was a genius on the piano by the time he was ten, brilliant on the guitar by age thirteen, and could even play the violin and cello by the time he graduated high school. There wasn't much in the way of music that he felt he couldn't do. Especially when he wanted to master it. His mother fawned all over him, his teachers adored him, and even his father knew he was talented. It wasn't hard to agree too, once you heard him just play you were mesmerized. Then once he opened his mouth and began using his voice? Well it was all over then. You were able to hear the soulful, deep, and passionate voice that he had. Because he spent so much time mastering his instruments he didn't spend much time on his vocals, so there was a raw quality to it but it was perfect. Because his playing was deep and always came from his heart, it only made sense that when he sung it was the same way. He had gone to a vocal coach who said they didn't want to train him and change the way he sounded. So Beau kept it at the it was and just went on with life.
-- Crystal clear green eyes narrowed on the girl who now stood before him speaking her mind. Seriously? He couldn't believe that she had actually come over to him and was speaking to him the way she was. No one ever did that, it was wrong. People adored the ground he walked on, not because he wanted them too but because that's just how it had always been. He was a pretty hot topic on campus for having only gone here for a year and then vanishing for his sophomore year. Not to mention the rumors that surrounded him from the whole Ana being murdered thing over a year and a half ago. Smirking defiantly, Beau began playing his guitar louder after sending the clerk behind the counter a wink. The girl knew him well enough to know how he responded in situations like these and he could feel the anger boiling up inside him. He couldn't believe that this girl would walk up to a perfect stranger and insult them. "So what's wrong? Did you break up with you boyfriend? Did he break up with you? Maybe it was a fight with your parents or something just as trivial. Although, whatever it is I don't really care," he stared right at her. He didn't care if it just pissed her off even more, but he wasn't going to back down and he sure as hell wasn't going to stop. "I was already here playing when you came in so if you have problems with it, you can take that oh so pleasant attitude," he said sarcastically, "And walk out the door. I've been given special allowance to play here and I will do it to my heart's content." He played a little softer as he talked, making sure she heard every annoyingly calm word that came from his lips. But as soon as he was done for the moment he picked up the volume just in hopes that it would piss her off even more.
-- Rare were the times someone was actually willing to come over to Beau and say something about his playing, incredibly rare. And never did people come over and insult him, especially those who knew him. His temper was one that wasn't something to be played with. He let loose freely on people as often as he saw fit. He liked the release. So this girl was apparently having a rough day and was taking it out on him. He could see it on her face that she needed to sleep, but he wouldn't point that out. Just because she insulted his talent didn't mean he would stoop so low as to insult the way she looked. He was a gentleman above all else and sure when he was provoked he would let go, but he knew the difference between right and wrong. "Oh and by the way, not to be rude," he repeated her words with a little more venom then she had said them, "I do believe you should spend a little more time considering what talent consist of. Just because it's not Britney Spears doesn't mean it's not good. But when one is so closed minded, you can only wonder if there's hope for their taste at all." Sure he didn't know if she liked pop music and he sure as hell didn't know if she actually thought he sucked the way she was saying, but he could hurl insults with the rest of them. "Now that I know your opinion why don't you run off to your table and have your drink alone and in silence. Because no matter what you say, I won't be stopping any time soon." He smiled smugly at her for a moment before focusing back on his guitar.
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( STATUS ) finished, sorry it took so long!
( RESERVED ) izzy!
( WORDS ) 874
( NOTES ) opening lyrics belong to 'vindicated' by dashboard confessional
( CLOTHES ) clicky
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Post by paradigmshift on Dec 24, 2008 8:02:12 GMT 10
  Izzy sat silently as Beau talked, making sure she didn't interrupt his monologue. A light smile sat gaily on her lips as she watched him intently, with eyes that seemed like they drunk in every word he spoke as though it were meaningful to her. She reclined in the chair next to him and positioned her swollen foot on the one across from her, leaning back dangerously far on the two back chair legs.
She hated to admit it, but he entertained her to no end. Not usually did people react to her much the same way that she confronted them--most often fights degenerated into a scream-fest at her mocking smile--and one of her strange fascinations was the inner workings of the human brain. The wiring of the brain which through some sort of tenuous, phantom threads puppeteers the human body…
“Actually, the reason that I’m not too happy today has nothing to do with anyone else, especially a man. I don’t allow people of your gender to get my goat,” she added as an afterthought. Izzy sat forward on her chair, and the two legs that had risen up into the air came down with a startling crash. “No, you see today I was just diagnosed with Ebola. I’ve got about a week to live before I keel over, slough my gut, and start bleeding out of every orifice. It’s a pretty gruesome sight, actually,” she told him with an intent stare and a face so serene that her words might as well have been true.
“What I really should be asking, is: ‘What the hell is wrong with you?’ I mean, you’re sitting here strumming a guitar with all the arrogance in the world, acting like you’ve never heard a criticism of your musical ability. I guess this should be a refreshing experience for you, then. That handsome head of yours looks like it’s getting way too big for your neck. But I digress.”
Izzy displayed her teeth once more in a cruel gesture resembling a smile, trying to ignore the pounding in her head that made her vision swim. She shot him a sideways glance and continued.
“I know what talent is. I’m surrounded by it all the time. I’m a military brat who has traveled the world and lived in places you probably can’t even pronounce. And I would venture to say even that bitch Britney Spears you bring up has much more originality than you do in your songs. Your sad lyrics don’t even put an original spin on misfortune, and we hear enough about misfortune in our day and age. I wouldn’t ever want to listen to—or dance to, for that matter—any trite rendition of your inner misery. What happened to you? You break up with your girlfriend? Girlfriend break up with you? ‘Maybe it was a fight with your parents or something just as trivial,’” she repeated his words in a mocking tone, unable to keep laughter from bubbling up into her lips despite the ache in her head. “I mean, it must take a lot to be ‘alone and wondering,’ like I haven’t heard that before,” she closed sarcastically. Izzy swiveled around in her seat to get a good look at Beau. Her steely blue eyes bored into his, as though she were trying to find some sort of a fissure in his skull, a weakness to exploit. She narrowed her eyes and looked away with a half-smile and a laugh.
“So You call me closed-minded, and I call you closed-talented. You don’t explore the possibilities—you stick with your limited conception of genius.” She turned back to face him once more and pointed to his chest. “If you succeed in reality, you’ll appeal to a small array of teenage girls who cut themselves and paste pictures of you all over their black bedrooms. You won’t be a legend—you’ll be doomed to be forgotten once your demographic ages. Because there’s something about treading new ground, about soaring over conventions, about breaking down the walls of our culture that is just unforgettable. But you don’t have the talent to get off the ground. But if you don’t want to be remembered throughout history as someone great, then you’ll easily fulfill your dreams,” she added sprightly. As she smiled, she felt something drip down onto the top of her lip. With a puzzled look on her face, she touched the skin underneath her nose—her finger came back red. She winced at the sight and wrinkled her nose in disgust, murmuring something obscene under her breath.
“Uh oh. It’s starting,” she muttered sarcastically. “Looks like I’ll slough my gut next.” Her eyes looked slightly troubled as she leaned forward and pinched the bridge of her nose. She dizzily reached for the napkins, but they were too far away. “Uh, could you hand me that please?” Then she realized the absurdity of her request; she had just insulted this stranger… continually. Okay, new game plan. “I mean, you wouldn’t want me to bleed on your guitar, right?” she added. She then gestured to her bloated ankle with exaggerated helplessness. “And I can’t really get up very easily with this swollen log.”
[[Sorry it's not very good...]]
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Post by reese on Dec 30, 2008 6:31:39 GMT 10
( BEAU CHRISTIAN BOURDEAUX )i am flawed but i am cleaning up so well
i am seeing in me know the things you swore you saw yourself- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
-- She was amusing, really fucking amusing and he had no idea why. She should be pissing him off right about then, and truthfully she did piss him off some, but for the most part she was just amusing. He wanted to laugh in her face, but not laugh at her because he was making fun of her. Just laugh. He couldn't actually remember the last time he had really let loose and laughed. And then when she started telling him the untrue story about being diagnosed with Ebola, he couldn't help but laugh. More like a chuckle, but a laugh all the same. Raising a single eyebrow, he continued to laugh as she continued to turn bitch to him. It was so amusing and it really shouldn't be. "I'll keep that in mind. Do you think my head looks awkward against my neck right now? Maybe it's time for a hair cut since you seem to think my head is getting too big. Perhaps if I cut my hair you might think differently. It does make my head appear to be a bit larger then it actually is." He paused and looked down at his bag. "Or I have a cap in my bag. I could put that on to show you that indeed my head isn't as large as you seem to think it is." He was teasing her and having a great time doing so. One thing he could tell was she probably was in no mood to be teased which meant she would either throw more insults out at him or slap him. At least that's what the average female would do. She had already proven to be anything but average.
-- "You know you're assuming a lot here, right?" Beau asked with a raised eyebrow. "You're assuming that I'll be doing this the rest of my life." Little did this female know that he had a father who was pressuring him daily about taking over the 'family business'. "And you're also assuming that even if I did do this for the rest of my life, that I want to become a performer." If he could ever get his father off his back, he had no intention of becoming some famous artist or a member of some band. He only wanted to compose. He wanted to write for orchestras across the country, he wanted to hear his music played in New York City, Paris, Rome, London, and the list went on. "You should really think before you come up and try and insult someone, because in all honesty a four year old could do better then you have. Telling me that I'll never get off the ground in a world that I have no intention of even being a part of isn't too perceptive." He rolled his eyes as he looked back down to his guitar and strummed a few chords that weren't from the song he had been playing earlier. It was a softer melody that he had been working on just to pass the time, something for himself and no one else. It reflected the pain he had carried around with him over the past year and a half. Glancing back up at the girl who had come over to insult him, his smirk turned into a frown when he spotted the blood coming from her nose. Well that sure as hell wasn't good, was it?
-- And in a brief and irritating moment, the old Beau whom had been shut away for over a year, came bursting out and demanding to take control for a bit. Concern etched it's way onto his features and he immediately grabbed her some napkins. "Here," he handed them over without a second thought. "Do you need anything else? Let me get you some water." He jumped to his feet, leaned his guitar against the table, and headed over to the counter. "Emily, might I get a cup of water from you?" He asked, glancing over at the girl who's name he still had yet to learn. "And a bag of ice, if it's not too much of a bother." He waited for all of two minutes before he was heading back over to the girl as he wrapped the bag of ice in a towel they had given him. Setting the cup of water down, Beau leaned over her leg and looked at it closely. "You shouldn't have been walking on this. What the hell did you do?" He questioned. His uncle from his father's side was a doctor and he had picked up a thing or two over the years due to being a bit rough as a kid and getting hurt frequently. Glancing up at her face for a moment with a raised eyebrow, he silently asked if she would mind if he put the bag of ice onto her ankle. He wasn't going to force her to be treated, it wasn't his ankle. Maybe she wanted to pain. She certainly seemed to like to be in a sour mood. "Are you alright? Do you need a hospital? I have my car right outside."
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( STATUS ) finished and crappy, sorry i suck
( RESERVED ) izzy!
( WORDS ) 857
( NOTES ) opening lyrics belong to 'vindicated' by dashboard confessional
( CLOTHES ) clicky
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Post by paradigmshift on Dec 30, 2008 15:22:11 GMT 10
  Just like the canals of Mars and the great barrier reef
I come to you beyond belief[/b]
[/font] [/right][/size] For a moment Izzy couldn't help being puzzled. This boy seemed to have the strangest emotional cycles; when she first started talking he seemed to think it was sincerely funny; it might have irked her if it weren't so strange... such a change from his previous behavior. Before he just seemed angry, but now he was using dry humor; now he seemed more comfortable, like they were joking old friends. And then, all of a sudden, he returned back to his sharp responses. But it was just subtle changes, not like her friend Salvador when he was on his "man periods." Of course, she couldn't really appreciate the psychology behind it when her nose started bleeding... really bleeding.
Izzy stopped staring at her red fingers long enough to notice that Beau had thrown a handful of napkins her way and had left to ask for a cup of water and some ice. Her brow furrowed as she leaned forward, pinching the bridge of her nose with long, too pale fingers. She wiped her other hand on napkin lying on the table with a grimace; she hated the shocking color of real blood, the sharp rusty smell that so quickly permeated the air, the metallic taste that just coated one's tongue and never really left... Every aspect of it just disgusted her. It wasn't as though she feared it--no, she didn't have any irrational phobias; it was just the thought that her life force was draining out of her body that shot up a blood-red emergency flag in her head. Her body was the one thing she thought she could control, but she couldn't stop the flow of blood... and she didn't even know why it was happening in the first place. Among many other things, she absolutely hated not being in control. It made her anxious when she couldn't determine the outcome, when she was wrong. Admittedly she had been a little wrong from the beginning of this day, when her scant observations on the young man returning with a bag of ice were more than just a little off base. She could admit that. Perhaps not to his face, but she could admit it to herself.
She didn't look up as he sat down, concentrating on keeping her eyes closed and her thoughts as blank as possible. Perhaps if she didn't acknowledge the existence of this entire situation, it would just go away... like a bad daydream. Of course, Izzy should know by now that one can't survive when living in a delusion. And Beau's words reminded her of the reality of the situation.
"You shouldn't have been walking on this. What the hell did you do?"
She opened her eyes and looked at him, her hand still clamped onto her nose tightly. With a light chuckle and a quick glance at her bruised and swollen ankle, she explained: "My dance partner and I were doing a lift at the edge of the stage, for a west coast swing routine. As I was flipping over his shoulders, he dropped me--" she paused for a second, her face scrunched at the pain of the memory, and then continued, "--off the stage. I landed the wrong way on my ankle and tore the ligament." She looked at the ice, and took it gratefully with a short, but sincere, "Thanks."
"It's not that bad anymore... I mean, it happened yesterday. It just kind of... throbs..." Her words broke off as she tried to position the ice so that it wouldn't fall off her swollen ankle. Even though she had sustained the injury awhile ago, the ice still helped to dull the continual pain. When Beau asked her if she needed to go to the hospital, she refused with a light smile.
"Nah, I'm fine. I know my body more than anyone, and I'm sure I'm fine." She couldn't say exactly what was going on, but she assumed she had just caught some kind of a virus... and that was making her feel so horrible. At least the crippling headache had dulled a little, and her mind didn't feel like it was in a compression chamber. In fact, she was feeling much better, oddly. But the blood continued to flow out of her nose like a river.
"God damn it," she cursed quietly, grabbing another wad of napkins. "All of a sudden I've been getting these really bad nosebleeds... I've never had it before. It just started last month. I thought maybe it was just the cold air and dry skin, but..." her voice trailed off as she waved away whatever she was thinking with her free hand. "Whatever." Izzy sighed, resigned, and leaned back in her chair. "You don't need to worry about me. I haven't exactly been nice to you, remember? Even though apparently a four-year-old could insult better than I. Anyways, uhm--"
At that moment she realized that she didn't know his name. "Oh. I guess I should introduce myself. Salvage some civility, if I can..." she rolled her eyes. "I'm Izzy. Izzy Jecault. I'd offer you my hand, but it's kind of--well--bloody. But you're free to shake it if you'd like to catch Ebola too." She let out a long breath and studied the bloody napkins for a second, eyes brooding. "Okay, I don't usually do this, but..." she struggled for the words a moment, "sorry that I was so rude earlier. My professor locked me out of my studio, so I was just pissed. I mean, you were right. It was something trivial, and I just felt like taking it out on someone. I didn't really expect an emo boy like you to be... well, nice. I haven't had good experiences with men. So, sorry."
Thank god that was over. One apology was one too many for her. She hated having to take back what she said and admit she was wrong. It just wasn't Izzy.
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