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Oct. 24th, 2006

im on ur table


(no subject)

[ Antisocial Behavior: Lindsay rejects the party life and reminsces about the one who got away.

Meanwhile, the mun collapses in a heap of exhaustion. ]

Oct. 21st, 2006



(no subject)

[ In which our heroine, Laura, is introduced, while her creator procrastinates. Badly.

Warnings for alcohol abuse. ]

Oct. 20th, 2006



NYC: St. Mark's Place

Hoping to soothe her weary mind, Isabella decided to walk the streets in search of some new jewelry. Or shoes. She smiled as she remembered the conversation with Peter about shoes.

The various tattoo and piercing places interested her, but not enough that she'd actually enter one.

She stopped to pause at a table that held a collection of interesting bracelets. She chewed on her nails. She smiled half smiles at people she recognized from her classes. Pausing for a moment, she slipped her sunglasses onto her nose. There. She felt better about shoe shopping with glamorous sunglasses.

[OOC: I know you're out there, people! There's more New Yorkers than Peter running around. Someone bite? Pretty please?]

Oct. 17th, 2006

just linds


LA: At some random restaurant.

Sometimes a girl just wants a cheeseburger.

But where can you find a hamburger in Los Angeles, fitness capital of the world (in Lindsay's opinion)? Do you wander into McDonald's and risk the ridicule of your famous friends? Do you saunter incognito into Burger King, hoping no other guilty soul sees through your sunglasses?

Why, no! You walk boldly into a chain restaurant that shamelessly serves the cheesiest of the cheesy, the fattest of the fat, the deepest of the fried. Oh, yes, she'll regret this later--an extra hour of exercise--but for now, she's treating herself well.

Oct. 15th, 2006



Experimental Poetry at Epstein Books (not really)

This is just
a minimalist post
with no structure
no meter
no rhyme
just Peter
(I lied about the rhyme)
who is sitting in the cafe
of Epstein books
contemplating his cup of coffee.


[ As I'm saying...everywhere...I will, hopefully, have internet on Monday, so I should be able to tag regularly then--and if not, there is always the school computers if I remember to bring my student ID. ]

Oct. 7th, 2006



NY: Epstein Books, early evening.

Isabella nibbled on one of her manicured nails as she clicked on the article in the New York Times. A paper cup filled with tea sat steaming next to her laptop. She felt anxiety as she moved her cursor over to the article about the increased appearances of Converts in the city.

Convert. The word made her slightly ill. She couldn't help remembering the feeling of staring at her twin, then making her disappear by pulling her back inside. It meant she was one of Them.

She sighed as she looked around at the unfamiliar settings. Sure, cafes weren't that distinctive. There's always that moist quality in the air, the whir of the grinder, the hiss of the espresso machine. However, there was a different quality about Epstein's cafe. Isabella chose to come here on a Saturday night, instead of her usual plans, going dancing or hanging out in her usual cafe with friends. She didn't feel like dealing with her friends right now.

She rested her chin in her hand as she read more and more articles about Converts.

[OOC: First post, anyone can come up and talk to her. -facepalms- If it's lame, forgive me. Heh.]

Oct. 6th, 2006

captioned aoife


(no subject)

From: smartypants00@gmail.com
To: redcrossenick@gmail.com

Subject: Hi, Nick!

Hello, Nick.

It's Aoife Flannery, we met in the Guggenheim, and you gave me your card. I don't have anything to suggest, but I have a new laptop, and a new email account, and I wanted to email some-one to try it out.

How are things going?


Oct. 3rd, 2006



LA: The end of the day

Bryan left the hosptial late in the evening, after getting a reprimand from Lorraine for his lateness. '"I don't wanna hafta give ya the menial labours, Bryan,"' she had said, through her Bronx accent. '"But if yer late again it's gonna end up bein' yer permanent job."'

He shifted his backpack, where his uniform was currently stowed, and dodged a woman jogging down the street. 'I can't seem t'stop running into people today,' he thought, remembering the altercations that had taken place earlier in the day. When they were compared, the run-in with the prick doctor had been better than his run-in with Henry. A small shudder went through his body at the memory of what Henry had done.

'Gonna need a very long shower t'night,' he thought. To be fair, he did like Henry...when he wasn't being weird as hell or perverse. He resolved to put it out of his mind for the day, though he made a mental note to be more cautious around Henry.

After about ten more minutes of walking, he arrived at his apartment building. He grabbed his mail out of the box and went upstairs and inside his apartment, number 231.

Once inside, he threw his backpack down and sat down on the couch in the dark, his eyes flicking over to the lights outside in the darkness, listening to the sounds of the traffic passing by on the street below.

At that moment, he realised how alone he actually was. Sure he knew people here but none he could call his mates. If his wife was still alive, he wouldn't even be here. He'd be home in England, with his mates, going out to a pub for the evening.

'You have to get over it,' a voice told him. 'It's been four years. You have to get over it.' He had tried, had been trying for years, but something wouldn't let him. For some reason or another, he wasn't able to do it.

'Just another thing I've failed at,' he thought, standing up. The digital letters of the clock on his DVD player told him that it was almost 11. 'Time for a shower, I think.'

(OOC: Anyone who wants to play may do so!)

Oct. 2nd, 2006


Post Post-Show Drinks... [Outside Snafu bar on E 47th St, New York City]

For all that the place had gotten rave reviews from a few of the other performers, the place had proved a waste of time. The waitstaff was dull and not nearly so nice to look at as the dancer had told him they were and the drinks were weak and badly made. How the fuck do you fuck up a Bourbon Manhattan? He'd wandered up into what was usually a VIP section but here, it just looked to be an upper balcony area and a badly planned one at that. The noise filtered up easily, offering no release from the chatter and music below which left Nick rubbing as his temples in irritation. He should have just stuck to Sir Harry's, but he'd been looking for some place new, a place where they didn't know him.

"Why the fuck did I think coming to a place called 'Snafu' was a good idea?"

He leaves enough for the three drinks he'd ordered and a nice tip before standing and walking out. He'd head back to Sir Harry's, which wasn't too far to walk, even this late.

Oct. 1st, 2006

captioned aoife


New York, various locations.

[[Aoife and Marylou go shopping. Marylou is 'mugged'. Aoife is suspicious. Aren't they just the most adorable thing ever?]]

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