NOVEMBER STARR
CHILDREN'S LITERATURE
BARRIE UNIVERSITY FRESHMAN
OWL
MANY ADVENTURES OF WINNIE THE POOH
AWAKENED
and all of the crying you wouldn't understand; you just let him cry, make a man out of him
Posts: 87
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Post by NOVEMBER STARR on May 9, 2010 22:15:05 GMT -5
November stared at the milk sitting across the table from her and sighed. Her head was laying on the table, her butt pushed as far back as the bench would allow. Her right arm stretched past the milk until her fingertips, had they not been bent, could have easily grasped the other edge of the table as her left arm dangled below her. A bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch sat near her head, though nothing blocked the milk from view. With a heavy sigh, she sat up, stretched, and grabbed the milk to pour into her breakfast.
There was no way she could get back to sleep, she knew, though she truly resented the fact. Class didn't start for twenty minutes, yet here she was, eating breakfast. She'd only gotten about two or three hours of sleep, and she knew that if she tried to sleep again she wouldn't wake up for at least another three. She was NOT a morning person, and the mere thought of waking and not having to rush not to be late to her class irked her very much.
November yawned. She'd been doing that a lot. It seemed she'd been getting less and less sleep lately, though she often took naps in the afternoon. Her sleeping habits had been getting much worse than they had ever been, and she never seemed to be awake when the sun was out unless she had to be. It got really bad over the weekends, and she hated trying to remind herself to go to sleep earlier on Sunday. She swore to herself that she'd take night classes when she got into college.
But for now, she was stuck in the lousy school cafeteria, eating a lousy breakfast with the people who actually enjoyed waking at this dreadful hour.
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Post by hbghost on May 10, 2010 17:01:39 GMT -5
Apparently, someone else wasn't much of an early bird, either. At the other end of the table, a young man in particular was fast asleep on the table, salivating onto various sheets of paper that were scattered before him. Only minutes earlier, Eric had walked nearly zombie-like from the breakfast line to the table, and upon sitting down, he instantly fell facefirst into his food and the music papers that were scattered about the end of the table, some of them falling onto the floor.
Perhaps he shouldn't have spent all of last night making major changes to a section of his composition. He'd only gotten two hours of sleep the previous night, if not only one. The music was very important to him, as was memorizing lines for the upcoming school production. If he was stuck on a certain part of his composition, he shifted his attention to the scriptbook beside the sheets of music, the only object unharmed by the scattered mass of paper on his desk.
But here, he wasn't running lines or thinking of ideas to put in his infamous musical piece. Eric was, instead, dead asleep on the table, his face in his toast and his saliva nearly running down the tray. Oh, what a wonderful life a composer had...
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Post by BRANDON JOHNSON on May 10, 2010 19:38:42 GMT -5
Euch. Brandon had been dreadfully honking last night.
And twasn’t allergies or a virus either, which would’ve simply cheesed him off. Twas that useless knob of a History teacher who’d kept him awake till fourty-five past on some blooming history paper! One’d have to be absolutely barmy to justify that rubbish. Still, twasn’t anything he could do about it, he supposed. The poor lass was probably bladdered to the brim. Couldn’t really blame her for trying to job her do.
Brandon eyed his rolls. Not again. Twas this bloody uping mix of words. He really needed to wrap his arse around it and put his terms in the right order. Twasn’t attractive in the slightest, he figured, and made him seem like an awfully posh git. Ah well. In any case he’d been up late the previous eve, and had probably managed to botch the job up in any case.
But on the bright side, at least dawn had come at last. Brandon moved through the dining hall, searching through the labyrinth of tables for an empty place to sit. He wasn’t winging, that was for sure. Instead of starting the day all shirty and completely zonked, he felt almost energized. Oh, how he did love the early morning.
Twas something about the birds, he supposed, the way they leaped from tree to tree like tiny little rabbits, chirping their beautiful songs no matter the weather or wind. Or maybe twas the sun shining down upon the grass and forming a beautiful mirror of the flecks of dew sprinkled ‘cross the posh, manicured lawn. Something about mornings made Brandon wish they’d never leave.
Tickety-boo, an open seat! Brandon dashed over and pounced upon it happily, slamming his tray upon the plastic of the tabletop. “Top of the morning, chaps!” he greeted heartily, a smile plastered across his face. “Tis a beautiful day this April morn, no?”
He then glimpsed the girl sitting across from him, who looked as if she were about to collapse from exhaustion. Poor lass. “Long night, eh?” he inquired. “Awake on the wrong bed of the side?”
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Post by blahblahbertha on May 11, 2010 20:32:19 GMT -5
Jeanie wandered through the large room carrying her small breakfast tray, her eyes widened in amazement at how many people there were. She felt a little dizzy when the thought occurred to her that this school- this CAFETERIA- probably had more people in it than her hometown. She had woken up happy and energetic, but now she was just nervous and jumbled. Except for on the streets of New York, this was the most people she had ever seen in one place at one time.
As her eyes scanned the cafeteria for a place to sit, they fell upon a young man fast asleep in his food. Next to him were a grumpy looking girl and a chirper boy. Papers were scattered everywhere, and the first guy she had seen was slobbering on them. Walking over shyly, just to see what was on the papers, she noticed that they were music sheets.
She wondered if the boy himself had written them. Jeanie had taken oboe in middle school, but decided to quit when the highschool homework load hit. If he had written them, he had worked really hard on them. And now they were getting ruined by his drool.
Cupping her hand, she shook him gently by the shoulder. Jeanie really didn't want to wake him; he looked quite tired (come to think of it, the girl across who was lethargically eating looked pretty wiped out, too) but she didn't want to clean up the slobbery mess of someone she didn't even know.
"Um... your music sheets are... um... getting ruined," She whispered, usually not at quite a loss for words. Then again, she was usually not around more than about fifty people, give or take a few, for a social gathering.
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Post by hbghost on May 12, 2010 15:09:50 GMT -5
"Nyuh?" Eric grumbled as he slowly sat up, instinctly wiping the saliva from his chin. He looked down on the tray to see if his mask had fallen off, and when he realized it had, he instinctly raised his right hand to his face while with his left eye, he scanned his ruined music.
"It was...? Oh, no, now I'll have to write that all over again," Eric groaned, using his left hand to gather the ruined sheets together while his right hand was still covering the side of his face where the growth was. "I should've had the mind to set the food aside before I fell asleep, because naturally, when one's face is in their food, they tend to salivate... Oh, no, and I spent hours last night writing that..."
Eric frowned as he examined the smeared staff and notes, realizing that they were still barely legible. He took a moment to think of what he had really gotten out of the night, before he realized that he had taken the time to practice his lines for the production as well, and he knew them by heart.
At least his mental script wouldn't get smeared by his drool.
"I'm sorry for appearing that much of a... slob," he stated to the girl who had woken him up. "I'm not usually like this, I swear it... it's just that I don't do all-nighters often unless... well, I'm really focused on writing," he started to blabber, before he cut himself off, thinking that if he spoke any more, he would continue forever and bore the poor girl...
And yet, despite his casual approach, he never let his hand down from his face, only allowing an opening between his middle and ring fingers to see through.
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Post by blahblahbertha on May 12, 2010 20:53:40 GMT -5
"It was...? Oh, no, now I'll have to write that all over again,"
Jeanette winced. "Lovely. I had meant for my waking you up to save the music. I might as well have let you go on getting that obviously well-needed rest," She huffed. Jeanie could NOT BELIEVE IT. Her attempts to help a fellow student had failed. His hard work was ruined anyways.
"I'm sorry for appearing that much of a... slob,"
"I'm not usually like this, I swear it... it's just that I don't do all-nighters often unless... "
Pondering what to say, Jeanie thought about replying that his drool had been nasty, but thought better of it. His sleeping state had been a bit gross, but he seemed like a fairly decent human being despite, and there was no point in offending him. Replying to his other comment instead, she mused, "I don't think my parents ever let me do an all-nighter," thinking of all the things other people had likely done that she hadn't.
"well, I'm really focused on writing,"
"What kinds of writing? I mean, obviously you write music," she gestured at the still-moist, scattered papers, "But do you write anything else? I like to write; mostly strange stories where random people seem to run through clear-cut plots, and there is some ironic twist. Or sometimes I write little, romantic stories that don't really have endings, but mostly I like the ironic plots."
It had not escaped her attention the way he covered the right side of the face so cautiously. What was he hiding? Images of horrible accidents and crazy fights causing some terrible mar filtered through her imagination, but she brushed them away quickly. It would do nobody any good for her to start making wild presumptions.
Jeanie realized with a start, that she was still standing. It was fairly awkward, her standing and having a conversation with this strange young man about music and, although she didn't like to think it, drool. Sitting would be less awkward, but she didn't feel she could do so naturally, without disrupting whatever hirarchy had been created here.
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Post by hbghost on May 13, 2010 14:49:55 GMT -5
"Lovely. I had meant for my waking you up to save the music. I might as well have let you go on getting that obviously well-needed rest,"
Eric winced.
"Well... at least I can still read it, however partially..." he stated, squinting to look at the soaked music before excusing himself to turn away from Jeanette and put his mask back on without her seeing the growth. Once the mask was secure, he then turned back toward Jeanette.
"Sorry about that," he replied sheepishly. "I'm just... a little self-conscious when it comes to... my face. You've probably heard all about me and the half-face stories, although... most of them that I've heard are pretty exaggerated..." he chuckled nervously, before attempting to switch the topic.
"I don't think my parents ever let me do an all-nighter,"
"Neither would mine, actually," Eric replied, chuckling while he adjusted his mask. "But... yeah, I rarely get so carried away in my music that the time passes by so quickly and I get tired all of a sudden right in the middle of a rather exhillerating fortissimo part... and then I look back and it's five in the morning, yet I get so little done, it's almost... yeah." Eric sighed. His drowsiness got the best of him sometimes, and he couldn't help but mix his speech up a bit.
"What kinds of writing? I mean, obviously you write music,"
"But do you write anything else? I like to write; mostly strange stories where random people seem to run through clear-cut plots, and there is some ironic twist. Or sometimes I write little, romantic stories that don't really have endings, but mostly I like the ironic plots."
Eric listened intently to what Jeanette had to say.
"No, just music. I really don't have a muse for anything else, to tell the truth. I'm a creative person, yes, but... just not in any other field but music. I'm more of an actor, myself... and, well, a singer..." Eric shrugged. "You'd probably expect someone like me to make the basketball team or something, but I've never really had the athletic ability for sports. Takes too much time and effort that I could be using to do something constructive."
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NOVEMBER STARR
CHILDREN'S LITERATURE
BARRIE UNIVERSITY FRESHMAN
OWL
MANY ADVENTURES OF WINNIE THE POOH
AWAKENED
and all of the crying you wouldn't understand; you just let him cry, make a man out of him
Posts: 87
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Post by NOVEMBER STARR on May 13, 2010 21:52:34 GMT -5
November slowly sighed and took a bite of her cereal. Might as well have what little energy she could get now, but she simply groaned after forcing her arm to move for a second bite, and dropped the spoon in the bowl. "Ugggggggh," was all she could say, her head almost falling into her breakfast, much like the boy on the other end of the table, who was now drooling all over his papers. She vaguely wondered if it would be worth the trouble of waking the boy up, but then she remembered how much she hated being woken up, and how the boy looked like he'd had an ever longer night than November, most likely working on those now mostly ruined papers. She sighed, then yawned, turning back to her food after deciding it wasn't worth the trouble.
God, she was tired. She hadn't even bothered putting her hair up in a bun, so it was supposed to be wavily hanging past her shoulders. It would've if not for the fact that it was frizzy, and pieces were sticking up everywhere. She didn't even bother to change from the drawstring pajama pants, blue with white polka dots and black tank top she'd slept in. She was sure she was a sight to see, and that just made her sigh again. She hadn't even bothered to look in the mirror before going out in public. That was unlike her. She tended to live for possible first impressions. She finally took her second bite and drank what was left of the milk still in the carton.
“Top of the morning, chaps! Tis a beautiful day this April morn, no?”
Long night, eh? Awake on the wrong bed of the side?”
What. The. Hell. Was. That. Noise.
"..... Who says 'tis' anymore?" was all her exhausted mind could come up with to answer him, only after about a minute of staring at him in dazed disbelief. Who the hell would be insane enough to talk to her when she was like this!? Apparently this poor soul was. "Uh... yeah..." she continued to answer, shaking her head and rubbing her eyes in an attempt to confirm that someone was truly speaking to her, and she hadn't just spoken to some illusion her mind had planted in front of her. But no, he was really there, and it seemed another early riser had decided to wake up the boy of her own kind. "Better her than me..." she mumbled, turning back to the boy. "So, stranger. Why talk to possibly the crabbiest-looking person in the room?" November asked, raising an eyebrow as she waited for a response.
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Post by BRANDON JOHNSON on May 15, 2010 15:29:17 GMT -5
Brandon glanced around the table at the flock of drips, all of whom had arrived to join them at the table within the past minute or so. Oh, jolly good fun! T’was going to be a rather lovely breakfast, so long as Brandon didn’t cock it up. He’d been doing that rather frequently as of late: these American lads just didn’t seem to see eye to eye with him. Ah well. Ends well that all’s well, as Brandon’s father had always said. Or was it “all’s well that ends well?” That was like more it.
Across from him sat a twee lass who seemed a tad mental, though Brandon wasn’t one to judge others. Twas a dreadfully posh do to thing, he thought. She looked utterly zonked, thought Brandon, watching her yawn and eye her rubs every so often. Well someone’s full of beans, he thought to himself. Perhaps she’d just had a quite eventful eve: twas a concept Brandon himself was no stranger to.
"So, stranger. Why talk to possibly the crabbiest-looking person in the room?"
“Crabbiest?” Brandon raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t familiar with such a word, still, he hazarded a guess. “Codswallop! I don’t think you look like a crab, miss, and you don’t seem like the type to, er, hobble around on eight legs, and, er, well, quite useless knobs, crabs are. Still, I suppose it’s in the beholder of the eye.”
Brandon’s eyes examined the table. Among its numerous occupants were a young, dark lass who seemed quite friendly as tell as Brandon could far, and a boy who seemed oddly immersed in a pile of what seemed to be music. Ah, music. Those melodious tones and immaculate cadences just brought joy to Brandon’s ears. Oh, how Brandon yearned for those screeching squeals of a Brit on the bagpipes. Still, he’d taken to the trumpet since arriving here at Baum, a quite majestic and respectable instrument, if he did say so himself.
“Do you enjoy the bagpipes, good sir?” he asked the boy with the music cheerfully. Perhaps he’d turn out to be a decent lad in any respect.
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Post by hbghost on May 15, 2010 15:55:29 GMT -5
((^ omg the history teacher just made a new friend. ^-^
Viktor would love Brandon.))
“Do you enjoy the bagpipes, good sir?”
Eric adjusted his mask as soon as he heard the other boy's voice, and then he turned toward him.
"Not really, but I do prefer the organ. It does make a bagpipe sound sometimes, though, if you tune it to the right settings... or, maybe, untune it, since it's already tuned to the sound of an organ... well, whatever. But I think I'm capable of writing for bagpipe if I knew how to play..." Eric stated, and then he winced. He'd started babbling again, of course, and the other boy was likely going to leave him alone. He didn't want that.
Instead, he kept silent, looking over the music that had spread out across the table and starting to gather it all up into a pile. Eric, while he did this, attempted to reorganize the pages so they would be in the correct order, but his mind was still fuzzy and he often got numbers mixed up.
Fidgeting with the strings of his mask, Eric turned toward the boy who had addressed him when he was finished.
"So... what about you? Bagpipes your instrument of choice?" he asked him.
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Post by blahblahbertha on May 16, 2010 16:29:16 GMT -5
"I'm just... a little self-conscious when it comes to... my face. You've probably heard all about me and the half-face stories, although... most of them that I've heard are pretty exaggerated..."
Wincing a little at his comment, Jeanie wondered if her wild thoughts had really been that visible in her expression. They weren't nice anyway, and what the heck was the point of jumping to such radical conclusions? Anyways, she thought, he probably was just doing the routine defense. Goodness, was he already putting up barriers? Who CARED what anyone else thought of your odd eccentricities? They were what made you who you were. Instead of voicing her exact thoughts, she merely said, "I haven't been at Baum too long, so I haven't really heard too much gossip." She pursed her lips a little in distaste for gossip, judging, and all that other annoying stuff that just smeared who people really were. "Not that I'd listen anyways," she added as a needed afterthought.
The chirper boy addressed the lethargic girl, who really looked irked now. He kept mixing his words up, and apparently didn't know what crabby meant. Jeanie rudely amicably interjected into their conversation, "Crabby means upset, irked, irratated, annoyed, generally unhappy and unsociable at the moment. It doesn't mean that she looks like a crab; it's an emotion, not an adjective for looks. " She said it fairly quickly, and wondered if they could understand her through her thick twang. "Just so you know," she tacked on awkwardly.
Gradually, the conversation changed until the chirper boy was talking to the music-writer, asking him about bag pipes. Organs? Bag pipes? Again, there it was. Music-writer-boy was cutting himself off again, holding back. Her head naturally cocked to the side just a little, not even noticeably, as she wondered what else he was going to say, what else he had wanted to say. Turning to the crabby girl, as self-described, she quietly asked, "Late night? Do they serve coffee, or at least something with caffiene? I could grab you some, if you wanted. " She lasped into silence, knowing silence could be as good, if not better (especially in this case) than speech. A soft half-smile floated onto her face, Jeanie's silent way of saying that no oral response was necessary. Not that people who didn't know her could often read her facial expressions.
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Post by BRANDON JOHNSON on Jun 22, 2010 14:58:33 GMT -5
 oh what a beautiful morning [/color] oh what a beautiful day I’ve got a beautiful feelingEverying’s going my way! [/center] "Not really, but I do prefer the organ. It does make a bagpipe sound sometimes, though, if you tune it to the right settings... or, maybe, untune it, since it's already tuned to the sound of an organ... well, whatever. But I think I'm capable of writing for bagpipe if I knew how to play..."
Brandon grinned as he listened to the poor lad’s ramblings. Well wasn’t that simply smashing! Brandon could tell that this wanker, while seeming a wee bit mental, certainly was quite the bees knees.
“Well that’s quite lovely!” grinned Brandon, brushing a lock of hair from his face and outstretching his hand. “I’m nuts as chuffed to meet you.” He paused for a moment, reconsidering. “Chuffed as nuts, more like. I am quite sorry. Tis such a drag, remembering the correct order of words. They just seem to enjoy rearranging themselves don’t they?” He chuckled. “But no matter. My name is Brandon. Brandon Johnson. Forgive me for seeming a useless knob, I’m just so bloody zonked at this morning of the hour. And what, pray tell, is your name?”
“So...what about you? Bagpipes your instrument of choice?”
Brandon was full of beans, face radiating excitement. “But of course? However did you guess?” He closed his eyes and smiled to himself. “I do just love the beautiful tones of a proper Brit and his beautiful bagpipes. Ear to my musics, that it truly is. Quite lovely, quite lovely indeed.”
Brandon tucked into a rather posh-looking green apple. Twasn’t even seven thirty yet, and already Brandon was feeling on world of the top. Ah, wasn’t life just splendid?
270 here
Notes: If this thread’s dead, I’m just gonna re-use this post.
Credit: meggert of caution 2.0 |
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