Made of Metaphors (Siobhan, Tuesday, AR)

[CASPAR CRANE]

Poetry. Yes. He’d been waiting for this moment for longer than he liked to admit.

Caspar Crane didn’t like to brag, but you had to admit that his poetry was quite something. Only two people in the world had ever read his poetry before: one was that twerpy twin brother of his, that one time that Caspar’s notebook had fallen on the floor from his bed, and Fuckface couldn’t resist poking his snooty little nose into it. The other was the teacher of some English elective he’d taken last semester. He wasn’t sure which English elective it was, since he hadn’t paid the class one minute of attention throughout the course of the term, but he did remember that he’d had to read her a poem out loud at some point. She’d given him an F. But Caspar tried not to let their unfounded opinions discourage him too much. He knew that he was a much too deep, intellectual, profound person for many people to understand, particularly people with such simplistic and one-dimensional minds as his brother and English teacher.

He’d seen a poster for an open-mic poetry slam outside his dorm the other day, and known instantly that he’d found his calling. Not only would he finally be able to share the hidden genius of his poetry with an audience literary enough to actually understand it, but the prize was a sum of…well, probably more money than he’d ever possessed in his life. Certainly more than enough to buy a decent piano. God, he was getting so tired of that plastic, consumerist bullshit keyboard.

He’d discussed the event with the three other members of whatever English class that had been who had seemed as disengaged as he had, and the four of them had planned the outing. And now, here they were, at the Rockefeller Center, watching the people mill around them with wide eyes. Seriously, the people crowding up to get close to the stage were the coolest people he’d ever seen. He spotted a girl wearing converse that stretched past her knees, a guy wearing a shirt that only covered the left half of his chest, oh man, that girl was completely naked, and just, wow. The people at this poetry slam were so cool and like, hip and edgy and new age. He was certain he’d fit in here.

”What do you guys think?” he called back to his three companions. ”The front, or the back? Or the middle?” He had no idea where the coolest, hippest place to sit was, and crossed his fingers that one of the other three might.

Continuing to take in this fucking beautiful scene, his lips began to recite the first poem that he planned on performing. He’d spent much of the previous night memorizing it.

”Your eyes are beautiful, just like flowers
And when we fuck, they give me magical powers
You are as beautiful as a tree
After it has been pollinated by a bee.”

He was going to kick some ass in this contest.

Tagz:Siobhan Tuesday angel rose
Wordz:508
Inspirationz: Tagz:jack and finn videos literally
Lyricz:Some Nights-fun.
Creditz: Tagz:by monica don’t steal plz
Notez:shit first post sorry but now we have a thread at least

[SIOBHAN NYLAN]

Siobhan wasn’t so sure at first, when the strange angry fellow hooked her into this outing. At least…she assumed he was angry. She could understand, there was a lot to be angry about. She had her third detention today for the refusal of wearing shoes. Walking across the grass between classes was calming, therapeutic, it grounded her. It was good for you. Despite it all, the idea of a poetry slam sounded good. Though…it sounded a bit vicious. The girl with the stringy blonde hair assured her that there was no actual violence, almost panicked by Siobhan’s doe eyes gathering tears.

It was after school that they decided to meet up, and she was excited to hear the stories, and the poetry. Namely Caspar—that was the angry fellow. He seemed to have a lot to get off his chest, so begrudgingly, Siobhan put her feet into sandals that never seemed to be warn, freshened up her signature vegan red lipstick (Thank you, Manic Panic), and met with the group to go to this poetry slam. Twisting the gold bangles on her arm, she walked alongside the others, a single stick of tobacco and weed hanging from her cherry red lips. Her skinny hand reached out to touch Caspar’s forearm, “Aren’t they beautiful?”

She asked in that wispy way of hers, looking at the same group that he was looking at.

Siobhan was dreamy, her eyes seemed to move lazily, and though her words were clearly pronounced—she always sounded like she was waking from a dream. A steady, easy calm. There never seemed to be much of an influx to her voice, though this might be a good thing. With the way her skirt hung off her hips—it seemed as though a loud sound might cause the frail looking girl to shatter into a million pieces. Her hand lifted from Caspar’s wrist, her touch soft enough that one might wonder if she really had touched them. “Look…over there, Caspar.”[/color] Siobhan breathed, her skinny arm pointed towards four chairs, close enough to the stage that they could get a view, but still off to the corner that they weren’t in complete attention.

Taking a step, the girl tripped, then paused. Siobhan lifted her skirt to look at her feet. Shoes were somewhat foreign to her, and she didn’t like it. It stunted her ability to walk. So after one more glance at the naked girl up front—Siobhan leaned against a chair and slid her delicate feet out of the shoes, before dropping her skirt again and moving towards the seat. Siobhan took a seat to the side, and folded her legs up onto the chair, her skirt hanging like a patchwork drapery as she dropped her shoes onto the ground and folded her hands in her lap. Twisting in her seat, she smiled at the dark haired boy and his somewhat jittery friend. “Good luck, if you are entering.” She said in her willowy way, before turning back around to look at the stage. Could she get under those lights, in front of the microphone. The stage was small, maybe four or five people could fit onto It comfortably. Curiously, her long fingers ran through the unmanageable mane of fire that tumbled down her spine and shoulders. Could she do it?

She didn’t prepare anything like Caspar had, or the girl with the blonde hair that was nervously whispering to her friend, gesturing at a small book in her hands. She turned those large green eyes onto Caspar, looking at his face in that special way like she was trying to see inside of him, instead of the face next to her. “Do you think I should try it, Caspar?” She blinked slowly, and tilted her head, maintaining that somewhat dreamy look. He was out to win it, and despite this supposed to be a fun outing—Angel-Rose and Tuesday were his competition. And the last thing she would want to do was have the genius in their midst hate her for competing against him. Her lips wobbled slightly, before she sucked in her lower lip. No—she didn’t want her friend to hate her, and she didn’t want to be disliked. But the lights were curious, and she wondered if her hair would look like fire beneath them.
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outfit: Here!