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Post by autumn rachel moreau on Apr 12, 2013 9:16:11 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image:url(http://i141.photobucket.com/albums/r71/maggiesrpstuff/BACKGROUNDS/fk5qwnjpg.png); width: 457px; padding-top: 30; padding-bottom: 30; -moz-border-radius: 35 35 35 35; -webkit-border-radius: 35 35 35 35;]hi » THESE DREAMS, Autumn woke with a start. She thought she was late to class, but, as it turns out, she didn't even have class today. She sank back into her bed in relief. Well, she may as well do something worthwhile today. She was done with all of her projects and papers and she finally had time to herself. Considering this was a rarity, she was determined to do whatever she wanted today. She got dressed, pulling on something a bit more subtle and but summery. Her hair was bright enough by itself, she didn't need to wear bright clothes to stand out. It was a gorgeous day and there was no way she was wasting it. Though days like these seem to come and go in Dirge, she felt like she needed to take advantage of them. But she did have forever here. And forever was a long time.
And because forever really was quite a long time, she may as well spend her time in the art museum - because she really could spend forever in there. Autumn wasn't much of an artist herself; she did paint a little bit, trying to imitate some artists. But she felt that to be an original artist, she had to have a good sense of who she was as a person. And her mind was too muddled and messed up for her to even begin to try to produce original art. She didn't know who she was. Sometimes she thought she knew, but most of the time, she just couldn't put her finger on it. And for awhile she tried to find herself; but it was difficult. She tried everything for music to theater. And those parts stuck with her, but she still didn't feel like she knew who she was. She felt like she only had the bits and pieces, like a puzzle that was incomplete. After awhile she figured eventually she'll find who she was. Hopefully it will come to her. Curiosity was one of Autumn's dominant traits, which actually lead to her death, but she hadn't thought much about it before.
Autumn sighed. Unlike most days, she just wanted to be quiet. Not necessarily alone, but just quiet. And the museum was perfect for that. Plenty of people would be there so she wouldn't be alone. But at the same time, she wouldn't have to talk to anyone. In her mind it was ingenious. And it wasn't like she didn't like socializing - in fact, she loved it. But sometimes Autumn needed time and space to herself to figure things out and keep her brain from being overworked. So Autumn made her way to the museum, enjoying the nice summer air. She stretched a bit. She hoped she could draw some inspiration from the museum, because lately, her work wasn't coming out so great. Nevertheless, she kept trying. Eventually she'd produce something satisfactory, as long as she kept at it.
As soon as Autumn got to the museum, she went strait to the Van Gogh section. Autumn always felt guilty for liking Van Gogh; a lot of people liked him just because they knew who he was. Sometimes when she said she liked Van Gogh, people just rolled their eyes as if to say, 'Of course.' But she really did love his work. He lived a life of pain, and yet somehow, such beautiful art came out of it. And in some ways, Autumn felt like she could relate. Maybe her art wasn't as beautiful and inspirational, but Van Gogh gave her hope - maybe her own pains and struggles would finally amount to something.
Autumn wandered around the Van Gogh section until she came across her favorite: Starry Night. She loved space, stars, and alternate universes. The way he painted it showed the sky as it was: forever shifting and changing. Not just one shade of blue, but many shades, all twisted and intertwined. "C'est très magnifique," Autumn said under her breath.
UNDER MY PILLOW. words; 669 tagged; #wren #elemental notes; van gogh is my spirit animal. also my french is just okay. > o > OUTFIT |
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Post by wren vega kingsley on Apr 14, 2013 15:51:28 GMT -5
s e r i e s o f u n f o r t u n a t e e v e n t s prevents the senses from feeling defenseless
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,10,true][atrb=style,background-image: url('http://i53.photobucket.com/albums/g79/Juliart/background_black.jpg');,true][cs=2] DOESN'T HAVE TO MEAN THAT I'M WRONG | | [atrb=width,240] a light yawn filtered through wren's wide open mouth as he walked slowly along the sidewalk, paying no heed to the other pedestrians. his eyes were glued to the concrete that stretched out before him. he was remembering his primary school days of trying with all his might not to step on any of the cracks in the pavement in fear of hurting his mom. step on a crack, break your mother's back." he and his mates would sing, all laughing at each other when one went of his way to avoid the cracks. in reality, they were all equally terrified.
a smirk played on the english boy's lips and he lifted his eyes from the sidewalk. he found himself right outside an art museum. huh. he didn't know this was here. he smiled. with a gleeful swing in his step, the professor made his way in the building, pushing the revolving glass door until he was able to walk into the cool air and the slightly stale but clean, disinfected scent that gave away an art museum.
he was quite happy to enter into the atmosphere. museums were always kept at a low temperature, which was a welcome change to the summer weather. wren had never liked summer. it was too hot. in his hometown, summer was just as rainy as spring, fall, and winter. how he missed that weather.
usually, at this time of day, wren would be sleeping. quite soundly, might i add. however, the lack of blinds in his new house made it impossible to sleep past 9. which was going to get annoying. the boy had always been a big sleeper. he was one of those kids that slept past first and second hours, finally got to school, and then promptly fell asleep again in class. and now he was teaching students. which meant he actually had to be in class on time. but, quite honestly, he hadn't been very successful in that area.
blinking to adjust to the change in light, the angel made his way through the exhibits, first monet, second degas, and third van gogh. art had always put him in a better mood. when he was younger, he would run to the little museum that was two blocks away from his childhood home whenever he felt stressed or angry or sad. the instant he walked into the home-turned-museum, happiness would fill the boy's insides. since then, he had always adored art museums.
he was about to move onto the next when he noticed a cute redhead staring at starry night with obvious enjoyment. "c'est très magnifique," the girl murmured, and the corners of wren's mouth twitched. ah. a fellow french-speaker.
he took two steps toward the girl, stopping a foot or so away. close enough to be able to admire the same painting, but far enough away to keep his bubble intact.
"belle, n'est-ce pas?" he spoke in french that had been perfected after many years of studying the language. however, hints of his english accent weaved within the words, making it sound both a little more cultured and a little more ridiculous simultaneously.
he flashed her a sideways grin and then reached behind him to scratch the tendon that connected his back and his wing muscle together. it always seemed to itch.
| [atrb=width,100]tagged ,autumn/mia notes ,sorry this took me so long xD and your french is fine! outfit |
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Post by autumn rachel moreau on Apr 14, 2013 21:48:55 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image:url(http://i141.photobucket.com/albums/r71/maggiesrpstuff/BACKGROUNDS/fk5qwnjpg.png); width: 457px; padding-top: 30; padding-bottom: 30; -moz-border-radius: 35 35 35 35; -webkit-border-radius: 35 35 35 35;]hi » THESE DREAMS, "Belle, n'est-ce pas?" Autumn almost jumped with surprise. 1) She didn't think anyone had heard her, 2) she didn't think anyone would speak to her in French. The last time she spoke French was when she was living. And even then, she hadn't spoken French often; she only spoke French with her parents. That being said, she preferred not to speak to her parents at all. She was a bit rusty, but she couldn't help but smile. She was rather happy to speak French again; it almost felt nostalgic for her.
Autumn turned to face the stranger that had spoken to her. He was grinning, and she grinned right back. He seemed friendly enough. Definitely older than her. She looked at him for a second or two while she thought of something to say. "Oui. J'adore Van Gogh, il a été très talentueux. Ses tableaux sont exceptionnel," she said, turning back to the painting. She really did love it. aThe painting made her feel calmer somehow. Plus it reminded her of the alternate universes she loved so much. Autumn turned back to the stranger. "Je m'appelle Autumn. Et toi?" Autumn felt it was safe to assume he spoke French. If he didn't he wouldn't have understood her in the first place, nor would he have replied in French.
Speaking French did really make Autumn feel nostalgic. It reminded her of the better days. When she was younger and her parents were happier. When they really did love each other and there was no fighting. The days when her parents used to take her to the amusement park or aquarium, sometimes even the art museum; and they would stay for hours. Those were the days Autumn treasured most. Because everything seemed okay. Everything in Autumn's life seemed perfect and she thought it would never change. It was a childish hope, but who could blame her? She didn't know reality then. Autumn thought her family would always be this happy and they'd always take family trips together, and nothing would ever hurt her. Autumn saw those memories as the start of what could have been. The life that she could have had. And she kept those memories of those days near to her heart.
But those were also times that would never come back. Too much had changed since then. Her parents said she'd grown out of amusement parks and aquariums. It was time to move onto more serious things. Eventually, even the trips to the art museum stopped. Then they moved because her father lost his job. And everything went downhill. Eventually, he started drinking. Then the beating started. And Autumn never thought to get help. She always thought it would stop, or that maybe her mother would finally tell him to stop. But she was wrong. Maybe her friend did her a favor by murdering her.
Autumn blinked and almost sighed. Now wasn't the time to feel nostalgic. There was no point. It just upset her. She was far away from everything that could hurt her on Earth. There was no reason to be afraid now that she was in Dirge. No one could harm her. At least not anyone she feared on Earth.
UNDER MY PILLOW. words; 551 tagged; #wren #elemental notes; Sorry this isn't great! </3 OUTFIT |
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Post by wren vega kingsley on Apr 15, 2013 11:22:39 GMT -5
s e r i e s o f u n f o r t u n a t e e v e n t s prevents the senses from feeling defenseless
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,10,true][atrb=style,background-image: url('http://i53.photobucket.com/albums/g79/Juliart/background_black.jpg');,true][cs=2] DOESN'T HAVE TO MEAN THAT I'M WRONG | | [atrb=width,240] wren stared up at the painting with an enjoying smile, his head quirked slightly to the side as he took in the paintings qualities and detail. what he wouldn't give to have been able to meet the artist. van gogh had always intrigued him, ever sense his art teacher in primary school had had a lesson on the man. when they reached the part of his life where he chopped his own ear off, many of his classmates had looked disgusted and made the crazy sign by circling their ear with their finger. wren had just been even more awed by the historical figure. it took some major guts to be able to cut your own ear off. self-administered pain wasn't unheard of. but to the degree of cutting of one of your own body parts? that warranted some major respect from the eight-year-old wren.
"oui. j'adore van gogh, il a été très talentueux. ses tableaux sont exceptionnel," she continued, wren nodding along in agreement. van gogh had always been one of his favorite artists, but he never declared an absolute favorite. after months of trying to decide, twelve-year-old wren finally announced that art museums were his favorite. he simply couldn't choose between them, so he choose all of them.
"en effet," he murmured quietly, grinning in the midst of his words.
"je m'appelle autumn. et toi?" the girl, autumn, introduced herself, facing him. he tilted his head slightly so he could return her stare.
"wren," he replied. "c'est un plaisir." and it really was a pleasure. autumn seemed to be a nice enough girl. she appeared to be quite a bit younger than wren, and maybe he should have introduced himself as professor, but that didn't really matter anymore. besides, what would be the point in that?
the french language was a magnificent one in the mind of wren kingsley. it was full of beautiful dialect, sweet words, and it had a flow that made it quite easy for him to speak. in his schooling, students were able to choose between french or spanish to learn. after sampling some of both, he found a passion for the french. his french teacher made the subject even more enjoyable. she was a petite little thing, right out of university. she was short, sweet, and absolutely adorable. to be honest, wren had had a crush on her from his first year in secondary school - aged twelve. it was a cute, innocent little crush, but one that would last until he would graduate.
| [atrb=width,100]tagged ,autumn/mia notes ,your posts are great!<3 outfit |
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Post by autumn rachel moreau on Apr 20, 2013 14:56:45 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image:url(http://i141.photobucket.com/albums/r71/maggiesrpstuff/BACKGROUNDS/fk5qwnjpg.png); width: 457px; padding-top: 30; padding-bottom: 30; -moz-border-radius: 35 35 35 35; -webkit-border-radius: 35 35 35 35;]hi » THESE DREAMS,
"En effet," he replied. Autumn couldn't help it - she giggled and bit her pinky. It was a weird habit she had acquired over time; she tended to do it when she was happy. Like now. She was glad the stranger had approached her. Even if she wasn't particularly planning to talk to anybody, suddenly she had changed her mind. This guy seemed nice, and clearly, knew what he was talking about when it came to art. Okay, maybe she was being a bit biased, but he liked Van Gogh. Vincent Van Gogh. The man who lived off of his brother's money, and when given a choice, would buy paint over food. That took commitment. So maybe people who liked Van Gogh liked those qualities. Or maybe they just found his art pleasing to look at. And maybe that's how the stranger felt. But whatever the case, the guy next to her seemed nice enough.
When he tilted his head slightly, she tilted her head too, grinning at him. "Wren," he replied, "C'est un plaisir." Autumn nodded and with a smile did a tiny curtsy, "Enchanté, Wren." Wren. She rather liked the name. It reminded her of one of her favorites birds - the wren. It had a beautiful singing voice. Or at least, that's what Autumn thought. She used to have this little bird house outside of her window. For awhile, nothing inhabited it. But then a wren moved in. Autumn liked waking up to its singing. Eventually it found a mate. Then there were baby birds. Autumn actually named all of them. And so the process continued, and the wren and its children took turns inhabiting the little birdhouse every year. Until one year, they just didn't come back. Autumn was sad about it, but soon other bird inhabited the birdhouse and she felt a little less lonely.
Autumn also thought French was really such a beautiful and poetic language. The words flowed so smoothly, and the simplest things sounded beautiful. Like enchanté. It was a simple word, usually exchanged when meeting another, yet it sounded like something more. "Enchanted". Which, was technically what it was translated to, but honestly in this context, it was more like "pleased to meet you". There was just something that was very… Charming, about the language. It was pleasing to the ears.
After hearing him speak a bit more, she began to pick up on his French - he had a slight accent from another language. She assumed French wasn't his first language; it was a popular course choice for high schools and colleges, so she wouldn't be surprised if he had learned French. Considering she was already using the informal way of speaking, she just continued, "Parles-tu anglais? Tu parles francais avec un petit peu d'un accent." Autumn cringed at her own sentence. She had to admit, she wasn't sure if she was even grammatically correct. French had faded from her mind almost completely. She only spoke in short phrases to herself around the dorm.
UNDER MY PILLOW. words; 669 tagged; #wren #elemental notes; thank you! <3 I love wren oh my god! and weird pinky habit looks like this OUTFIT; click |
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