|
Post by ROWENA AUDREY BENNETT on Jan 2, 2012 20:43:13 GMT -5
"Whenever you get the urge to drink, smoke, do anything that will hurt you... find something else. Something positive." Her therapist's words sounded deep and meaningful but Rowena merely frowned at the man. It was a hell of a lot easier for someone else to tell her that she should be doing positive things when everything in her life usually turned out to be negative. She was not so apathetic that she didn't ever enjoy herself but moments of bliss were certainly not as common as this prick seemed to suggest. "Positive?" The word rolled off her tongue, accent still clear and fluid. "Like what?" Despite the fact that she didn't agree with the man, Rowena had been trying her best to give him the benefit of the doubt. He'd already helped her in her efforts to put on a few pounds and reverse the effects of the eating disorder, bit by bit. He'd given her his cellphone number and told her to call him whenever she was thinking about reverting back to her old ways. He'd done a lot for her. Sometimes she hated to admit it. Ro didn't like relying on others but it had been for the best. "Well, what do you enjoy doing?"
Once upon a time, that would have been a very difficult question for her. When she'd been deep in the throes of her addiction she'd never been able to care much about anything. She cared about the drugs and the booze, she cared about not being fat, but that had been it. She had given up on her art and her designs and her modelling. Then Syria had died and that hadn't helped—or maybe it had. Her sister's death had spurred her into making this change. Much as she loathed the fact that it had taken her death to do it, Syria's loss had nudged her toward doing better. Now the answers came easier. "Art," she said, slowly. "Fashion. And..." She hadn't really told him much about her modelling before because she was ashamed of what a mess she'd made of herself and knew that no agency would take her unless she straightened out about. "And modelling," insisted the Thunder decisively. "I like that, too." A soft smile touched her features for a moment. The therapist smiled back. "Well, the next time you want to light up, find one of those things and occupy yourself."
So she did. Despite knowing how bad the drugs and the smoking and the drinking were, Rowena thought about them often. She could not catch a whiff of cigarette smoke without wanting to light one up or hear someone talking about a party without thinking about all the drugs that could usually be found at such a place. She was sitting on a couch in the Thunder dormitories and painting her nails a soft shade of pink when the urge hit her, the overpowering desire to have a smoke. She'd never realised just how much she craved nicotine until she tried to go without it. She'd always thought the hard drugs were the worst of her addictions but it turned out the smoking was just as bad. The drinking was manageable. Though her therapist didn't really believe her, she only drank to forget. She didn't need it, she just wanted it. And she wanted this right now, wanted it so much that she had half a mind to phone Altair and ask her if she had any. Something positive, she thought, and instead got out her fabrics and sewing kit from underneath her bed in the girls dormitories. She was distracted enough that she pricked her fingers a few times getting started, but once she'd found a steady rhythm she was able to fall into the pattern quite easily. She was still thinking about the smoking, of course, but now she was concentrating on perfecting the seams as well.
|
|
|
Post by samson on Jan 3, 2012 16:08:59 GMT -5
Samson looked at his phone, and rolled his eyes. Beatrice was calling. It was clear that she simply wanted to talk at him and so a response wouldn’t matter, otherwise she’d have texted. Otherwise she was in a dickish mood. He hit answer and she was immediately off. ”Water everywhere, stupid infernal pipe, I cannot believe that they won’t come out until Monday. What else are they doing, it’s their job to fix pipes? Is there some kind of pipe emergency in the Vatican that needs attending to? I mean really?” The boy waited to hear exactly why this involved him, but she seemed very intent on her tirade at the moment, and there was nothing he could do save for sit on the bed in his dorm, turning around the Hummel figure that the woman who was now ranting in his ear had gotten him for Christmas. He didn’t like Hummels, they were tacky and kind of scary, but she seemed to think that his love for antiques and other interesting knick knacks to include the tiny figurines. He didn’t tell her that such was not the case. ”…And I sprinkled some Jasmine over the water.” At this point, it would have been nice to interrupt Beatrice and ask what the hell she thought sprinkling flowers over the water would accomplish, but he did not have this capability. That was how she usually trapped him—there was no way too possibly respond short of hanging up on her.
”I mean, I’m a Water elemental, but this is too much. We have expensive things, here, don’t they know! Never in all my years of owning this place have I ever encountered this problem, and now… Has someone give you the malocchio recently?” She paused as if waiting for an answer, and Samson rolled his eyes as he ran a hand through his hair. Like the audio version of Dora, he thought, by now growing exasperated with the lack of explanation as to why she needed to call him at school for this. He liked boarding, because that meant getting sleep and escaping the woman’s antics and séances. He loved her, but she could be unbearable. Most of the time…all the time. ”Anyway, I need you to help me clean up when you get home, everything is just a mess.” He hung up after that, wishing he’d had kept track of time to see how long the conversation had been. Ninety percent rant, ten percent actual substance—that was Beatrice’s method. He laid back down on his bed, one foot hanging off the edge as he placed the figure on his stomach. There was always the urge to take a nap after speaking to Beatrice.
Instead of falling asleep, he decided he might as well find something to hold his interest, lest he be forced to head home and face a flooded shop. His shirt wasn’t too wrinkled, but he always seemed to have the presence of being disheveled. It was the hair. Samson never had a desire to get a buzz cut as Beatrice always suggested, and couldn’t even be bother with such a thing. Walking out into the common room, he scratched his stomach under his shirt and looked around. He saw Rowena Bennett…doing something. Sewing? He didn’t know the girl too well and therefore didn’t know anything about her hobbies, but he figured that he might as well get a little more acquainted. He might not give the impression of being a very friendly guy, but he did put effort into conversation when need be. Samson snapped his fingers to get her attention, something that would normally be considered room. He waved and then pointed to what she was doing, an inquisitive look on his face as he sat down on one of the chairs, posture relaxed.
|
|
|
Post by ROWENA AUDREY BENNETT on Jan 3, 2012 19:56:06 GMT -5
So intent was she on her working that Rowena did not notice Samson enter the room—did not notice him at all until he decided to snap his fingers and get her attention. The sudden sound in the otherwise silent room caused her to jump a little, pricking her finger on the sewing needle yet again. She glanced at the forming drop of blood on her finger as if mildly interested by it and then looked upward to see the cause of the disturbance. Her bright blue gaze found a Thunder elemental who she knew by name but was not all that well acquainted with, but upon recognising him she felt a lot less offended by the disruption. It wasn't like Samson was capable of the general 'hello' that proceeded conversations in most places. She lifted her injured hand and returned the wave with a small smile before sucking the blood from the end of her finger and making a face at the salty tang. Stupid finger slips. She wasn't even clumsy. At least, she didn't think she was. Ro had always prided herself on her steady hands when sewing and how easily she'd once been able to thread needles but then again, it was years and several addictions later. Things changed. She didn't always take that into account. The wave had not been in sarcasm to emphasise how silent he was, and this was proved a moment later when she added a, "Hey Sam." She liked his company. Call it selfish, but she enjoyed the fact he was quiet. She was not a very talkative person herself and so she was grateful for it.
Noticing that he'd pointed to her work with an expression that she took to be one of curiosity, she said, "It's a design I'm trying out, a dress." Rowena glanced around her until she found the book of sketches, which was currently opened to a pencil sketch of the very design she now slaved over. There seemed to be little resemblance thus far between the silky plum-coloured material and the roughly drawn lines but she had only just started. She figured it would turn out nicely in the end. Ro picked up the book and held it out to Samson so that he could see what it was before returning to her steady rhythm of before. She was not intending to ignore Samson but was also not planning on halting her activities. Ro liked it when she could comfortably and quietly co-exist with another person without much being expected of her. It was part of the reason she'd been so standoffish when she'd first came to the Academy. Transfer students, especially triplets from a foreign country, had been a subject of interest for a short while. People had asked questions about her accent and about Britain and she'd felt very harassed by it, just wanting her drugs and her sisters. It was all that had mattered back then.
Not now. Now she was actually glad for the company, glad that she had both a distraction in the form of sewing and an actual person whom she could talk to (or talk at, if you wanted to be literal) in the meantime. It could not take the cravings away indefinitely and her movements were still a bit stiff thanks to tension but it at least provided some relief. "I never told you I designed things, did I?" The question was light and matter-of-fact, voiced as she realised it. She did not add anything else onto it and wasn't even really expecting much of an answer, especially since it was Sam. "I made a lot of my own stuff." There was almost a pride in her tone. Rowena knew she didn't have a whole lot to be proud of, certainly wasn't going to make an amazing future for herself, but she was at least proud of her art and her fashion. She plucked at the jacket she wore over a few layered shirts, indicating that it had been something she'd made herself. She liked the material because it was warm without being too itchy or suffocating. She finally cast her gaze back up to meet his again as she inquired, "What are—were—you up to?" She was honestly curious, seeing as she did not have anything against him. Ro wasn't exactly compassionate but she wasn't entirely unfriendly. Just out for her own good above all else. "It's a bit boring out here." She gestured around the room vaguely, indicating the dorms in general.
|
|
|
Post by samson on Jan 5, 2012 16:09:01 GMT -5
His lips twitched into a could-be smile when Rowena greeted him. A long time ago, there were times when he would be envious when someone could reply to his silent greetings so easily, but that was only immediately after he’d been taken from his home and his old life and was forced to adjust to both the change in environment and the changes in himself. He wouldn’t lie and say that it was easy coming to terms with the fact that he’d lost both his parents and the ability to speak—all wounds took time to heal. However, he didn’t feel any jealousy toward others who could speak, not a trace of bitterness for the fact that most took it for granted. If he spent his entire life about being bitter over things that couldn’t be changed, random acts of God, then he’d be a rather pathetic guy. Sam took the book from the girl and looked at it. Noticing that she had gone back to working on this dress of hers, he decided he’d not try for conversation and merely just scanned the pages of the book. Of course, he never had an interest in fashion. Beatrice enjoyed her own idea of fashion, and he had a locked chest full of capes and pantaloons and outfits that he never wanted to be dressed up in again. He stuck to jeans and any form of shirt that didn’t have ruffles, even though the woman was sorely disappointed in the fact that he didn’t even dress up for Halloween anymore. Apparently he was boring. Samson was fine with that.
She spoke again, and he closed the book, shaking his head at the question. Knowing that he couldn’t very well respond easily to her through body language—and he was nice enough that he wouldn’t do that to someone who was not a bother to him—he pulled out his phone and texted away. Over the years, he’d become dexterous enough that it didn’t take very long for him to spit out a decent sized text. ”Can I model it when you’re done?” he asked, his face completely straight. Due to the absurdity of the statement, humor was apparent, even though it didn’t carry through on his usually indifferent features. He deleted those words and filled in the blank space once again. ”How long have you been doing it?” Rowena seemed to be interested in it, so he figured that she would like to talk about something like that. Even though he wasn’t a very talkative person, he would be fine with filling someone in about his interests and hobbies. He had the capacity to be a nice guy, especially when it wouldn’t benefit him to be a dick. That was especially true with the ladies. He supposed it was because both his mother and Beatrice had drilled it into him that women should be treated right. Of course, he showed his respect through merciless teasing.
When the blond asked what he’d been doing, he sighed, scratched the back of his head. God, he did not want to go home and deal with a furious Beatrice. Not only would he be stuck doing most of the work—he was the slave boy, it was a job requirement—but he’d have to listen to her flip her shit. ”Pipes burst at home. Place flooded. Biding time before I have to clean it up.” Even though he was pretty quick with the typing, he also took to subtracting words that he didn’t feel necessary from the sentences he typed out. As long as he got his point across, he was fine. Ironically, he didn’t usually use chat speak or any acronyms—it wasn’t in his interests to butcher the English language. ”I’d rather be here than waist-deep in water with my mother screaming at me.” Beatrice wasn’t really his mother but Ro didn’t know who she was, and ‘adoptive mother’ sounded weird. He never took to calling her ‘mom’ so it was just Beatrice or Bea all the time. It wasn’t because he didn’t think of her like a mother—it was because somehow it would feel like replacing his real mother, and that had been weird for him. He’d been calling her Beatrice for so long, it would be weird to consider calling her anything else. After clearing the screen again, he typed, ”Dress not keeping you entertained?” It showed something that he was bothering to make conversation—it showed that he actually liked Rowena enough to bother.
|
|
|
Post by ROWENA AUDREY BENNETT on Jan 5, 2012 19:07:55 GMT -5
Rowena did not mind that he was flipping through the book, else she would not have passed it over to him. She was someone who had no shame nor any lack of confidence when it came to her work. Syria had always told her she was good at artwork and so that had stuck with her. If her sister thought she was competent then why would she favour the opinion of someone else? That was how Ro looked at things, anyway. It was a surprisingly positive view on things for a girl who could otherwise be very apathetic and glum. She was only down about some things. Like Syr's death. That didn't have many pros, after all. She didn't cry about it any more but that didn't mean it was not sad. It would always be sad, death didn't leave. The Thunder elemental laughed when she read the text, quite amused by his humour. She'd heard things about American (and so, she assumed, Canadian too) humour not being as rich as that in good old England but she didn't always find that to be the case. It was the person, not the country, that made the jokes what they were. "You'd look very attractive in it, so I'd have to say yes." She wished she'd been able to reply as serious and composed as Samson had asked but she'd spoiled that at the start by the laughter. "On and off since I was little," she said. "I stopped for a while but I figured now's a good a time as any to pick it back up." She remembered when she was a child and she used to always make little alterations to the things her mother would force her to wear. Reaching the age where she could dress herself had been a large accomplishment at the time.
She grimaced at the idea of a busted pipe, remembering a time when the apartment had gotten a leak in the ceiling thanks to a busted pipe. The constant drip, drip, dripping had driven her so mad that she'd opted to stay in the dormitories until the super intendent finally got up off of his ass and showed up to fix it. Granted, she knew it was an old building that had a tone of problems and that the man was possibly swamped as it was but she still had it in her head that he was a lazy asshole. "That's awful," she said, wrinkling her nose. "I've only got my sister to worry about. Twice the yelling and none of the wrinkles mum had." The joke was clear in her voice. There had once been a time when Rowena had been completely serious and unable to handle humour. It felt nice to put that behind her. Laughter was a good thing—though she had not laughed as she'd said her piece. "D'you got any Waters as friends?" Her mind went to her sister but it produced only a slight tug rather than a wave of sadness. "Or is it not the water that's the problem?" She didn't realise that Samson's mother, Beatrice, was a Water element. Nor did she take into account that the shop would be a mess now even if it was dried, in all likelihood.
"Waist deep? Fucking hell. Don't even think a Water'd find that easy." Her earlier statement seemed a lot less valid. Plus, a lot of that depended on whether or not the pipe was still broken. She figured it would be a kind of wasted effort to continuously use your powers to drain the water if it just kept filling back up again. Poor bastard. "Don't envy you the chance. I'll be a willing distraction 'till you've gotta get that done." She felt less sympathy for him than she perhaps should have, and even less than she was probably expressing, but it was only her nature. She was not exactly the best friend to have. At least she wasn't being a bitch about it. She wasn't used to having people to befriend, after all. It had always just been her and Altair and Syria. Triplets against the rest of the world. And then there were two. One of whom had a job and needed to keep a roof over both their heads. I need a job. I'd like to model again. "Sort of," she shrugged. "My fingers are a bit sore 'cause of the amount of times I've stabbed the bloody needle into them an' I'm dying for a smoke but it's better than nothin' I guess." She would be liking it a lot better if not for the nicotine cravings. "What sorta things d'you like doing?" she wondered curiously, glancing at him.
|
|
|
Post by samson on Jan 6, 2012 19:33:01 GMT -5
Even though it was strange for someone like him, he did enjoy making people laugh. He didn’t know why. He just liked watching people’s reactions in general. A lot of his time was spent observing and not interacting. It was easier than trying to get along with people all the time. He was sure his Thunder comrades could relate. ”It’s a good thing for future careers. Fashion people make a lot of money.” ‘Fashion people’ was the term he used because he was ignorant of any industry lingo. Not like he planned on being a designer or anything, after all, and he’d never taken much of an interest in it. Not because of the fact that he was a boy and clothes were for girls and ewww, cooties—it was because he just never had true exposure to it, even if he may have been interested. He was interested in many things, honestly, so saying anything else would be untrue. The idea of a busted piper didn’t seem to please Ro, and his lips flicked upward into a ghost of a smile. He knew of her sister, but made no comment about it. ”Sometimes I wish I could switch places with my mother. Don’t know what she’d do if she couldn’t talk. Probably write in all caps.” It was a testament to how far he’d come to terms with his disability that he could joke about it like that. Some people were made uncomfortable by it, but he didn’t see Rowena as the type. If he was fine with it, he didn’t know why others couldn’t be. It’s not like he mourned the loss of his means of communication every day, even though there were sometimes he wished he could have a voice and give his thumbs a break.
When she asked if he had any Water friends, he nodded slightly. ”Mom is one. I don’t know what she plans to do other than have a conniption.” He didn’t mean to say that the woman was incompetent, just that she was more focused on her rage at the moment and she tended to enjoy overreacting. In his head, he made a joke about women, but didn’t think it would be wise to share with the Thunder girl. He as polite and mannerly—that was Beatrice’s fault. See, not completely incompetent. She’d had a handful in dealing with him, when one considered that he was orphaned and muted at a young age, but she’d done well. Samson hadn’t been a wild child or anything, but he could only guess what his teachers told the woman at meetings. That he kept to himself, didn’t give much of an effort to get along with his peers, didn’t participate in class. Of course, Beatrice took that in stride, and he could imagine she may have gotten angry with the teachers for claims like that, maybe told them off. They knew about his condition and his situation, and those teachers most likely thought that it was a challenge that could easily be conquered. Other than those concerns, he’d been a good kid, and so Beatrice didn’t see any reason to scold or lecture him on that manner. He bet she knew he’d heal all on his own, and he did. However, it wasn’t all on his own. If he didn’t have Beatrice, if he’d been put in a home, that healing may have never happened. ”Don’t know exactly what happened,” he texted, continued, ”Apparently no one’s coming out soon.” He could definitely understand the woman’s rage about that, and thought back to her comment on the Vatican and smirked.
Of course, Samson was exaggerating about the depth of the water. Actually, he didn’t know. He didn’t think that Beatrice had mentioned just how flooded the place was, or maybe he just zoned out at that part. It was clear that the Water elemental hadn’t been enjoying it however, and that actually amused her quite a bit. ”Thanks. I hope you can dance or something. Maybe juggle?” Even though he was kidding, it would be good entertainment. But the dress thing and the fact that she was a designer of sorts was actually pretty interesting to him. That’s how it was with anyone who had a talent—being in their presence made you feel special by association. He didn’t have any real talents, after all. He wasn’t exceptional at sports, he was good academically, but there wasn’t really anything else he was good at that would make people want to talk to him. Some seemed to be drawn to the fact that he was mute, but that wasn’t a talent. ”Jeez, that doesn’t sound fun,” he wrote out, squinting his eyes as he looked at her fingers. ”You sound more like a sweatshop worker than a designer.” If it caused pain like that, he’d probably give it up, but he understood that it was a passion for the girl. You just didn’t give up your passion. As for him? ”Texting.” He smirked before clearing the screen and taking her seriously. ”Collecting antiques. I know, I’m hella interesting, please, no questions.” He always felt like a freak when he admitted to his little hobby, but then again, he worked in an occult shop—nothing was weird for him anymore. ”Working, too. It’s nice.”
|
|
|
Post by ROWENA AUDREY BENNETT on Jan 7, 2012 14:06:39 GMT -5
Fashion people—Rowena smiled at the both the term and the thought. "Never thought of it that way," she mused, going into a contemplative silence for a moment. Ro didn't think about the future a whole lot. She'd never really thought herself to have much of a future seeing how she had been killing herself with a combination of addictions and no real will to live. She hadn't been suicidal but she supposed her lack of caring for herself and her well-being had made her as good as. It could just as easily have been she or Altair who'd taken that fatal overdose. Now that she was getting better, Rowena realised that she was actually going to need to do something once she was out of school. She didn't want to be a parasite to Altair for too much longer. Her sister was the only person in the world she actually cared about and sometimes the Thunder girl acknowledged and felt remorse for how much she took from her. Altair made her money in a strip club and she was forced to share it between the two of them because Ro had been too fucked up to get back into modelling. The girl had never called her out on it but she noticed. "Think I could do that?" she asked, glancing at him curiously so that she could read whatever it was that he texted out or catch any sort of nod or gesture. She didn't really rely too much on the opinions of other people to fuel her desires but she was curious to know what Sam thought. She liked Samson even though she wasn't too friendly. It was a Thunder thing. She fit right in.
Samson's sense of humour really seemed to work well for her and she gave a quiet and light laugh when he joked about his mother. She did not know that he was talking about his adoptive mother. It wouldn't have mattered to her either way—being adopted did not change much about a person, did it? Ro was ignorant to that kind of thing. Her own parents had practically abandoned she and her sisters and they'd been related by blood so she didn't have much to go on anyway. "Then she'd be yelling at you all the time," remarked the Thunder. Caps really did look like yelling. The letters just looked so large and obnoxious compared to the puny lowercase. "Oh, she is? Huh." Rowena found herself stumped by the thought and went silent again as she considered it. Why would a Water elemental have trouble then? Samson continued and it made a little more sense to her then, reinforcing her earlier idea that there was little point to a constant cleanup if it wasn't being fixed right away. Plus there were the mortals to be considered. Sometimes she hated the whole secrecy thing. It seemed stupid to her. If they were so tough, why couldn't they just overthrow the mortals? She knew there weren't many of them but it seemed more productive than hiding all the time. Still, she obeyed the rules. "Fuckin' repairs never happen when they're supposed to," she said in obvious distaste. "Ceiling could be caving in and they'd still tell ya they they're too fucking busy." She clearly had no respect for anyone working repairs or the like.
She smirked. "As a matter of fact, I can dance. If only just a little." Though Rowena understood that Samson was mostly joking around her answer had been factual. She wasn't very good at academics like maths and English but she was really good with the arts. Acting, dancing, modelling, fashion—they were passions to her. Dancing had been something she'd taken up to try and get the strength back in her body which she'd abused for so long as well as restore her previous grace. She needed to regain pride and confidence in order to be able to strut down a catwalk like she once could. And it was working. Ro didn't feel as self conscious as she had before. She didn't think she'd ever be as proud as her sister but that was fine with her. "I'll get over it," she shrugged. "It's a bloody nuisance for the time being, though." She was confident she could get herself back to her previous level but it was going to take a while. Ro wasn't very patient and so this frustrated her. She hated waiting for things. "Antiques?" she repeated, despite the fact that he'd said something about no questions. "Like... old furniture and that?" In her experience it was mostly old people that collected old stuff. Good old days and all that. "Why's that?" she wondered about his work. "What d'you even do?"
|
|
|
Post by samson on Jan 8, 2012 12:02:27 GMT -5
Samson didn’t put too much thought toward his future. He wasn’t too concerned about it, and his outlook on everything was to just go with the flow. After all, he didn’t have anything to worry about right now. He was working with Beatrice, and their business was doing well enough that they could avoid poverty. He knew he was going to college, because he was aiming to be as skilled as possible when it came to his element. As for the details—well, he’d work that out when the time came. He just knew that he was going to keep working at the shop in all likelihood, and hopefully Harley would still be around in the years to come. He never really had a girlfriend who he thought about the future with, but Harley was the girl he’d been with the longest, it was only natural to factor her into his life to come. All he knew was that he was only seventeen and there was time to come. ”Judging by your sketches and everything, I’d say yes. It’s also about the people you know. Got any connections?” It was almost always about the people you know when it came to the work force. Connections helped even more than experience, which was the sad case when someone more qualified for something is skipped over for someone who simply knows more people. Nepotism may be illegal, but it still exists, and it may not even be family. Just people who know everyone.
He raised his eyebrows and nodded to show that’s exactly what he meant by typing in all caps. She wasn’t an angry person by default, simply easily excited. By everything. He didn’t even know if it would be a good thing for her to lose her voice. That was really her means of communication, he didn’t think she’d be able to handle it. He was able to adjust more easily than an adult probably would, because he was so young. For someone who’d spent thirty years communicating with the world through one mean, it’s understandable that it might not be as easy to adjust. It almost sounded like she had a bone to pick with repairmen. Sam didn’t mind quite as much as Beatrice. Of course, he was always chill with anything that happened. There was rarely a time when he actually got angry. Such a thing was rare. Even when he did get angry, it didn’t show anyway. ”Well at least we know what plumbers are doing. Eating shrooms and defeating evil, giant turtles.” For him, it was weird to consider the fact that Mario was a plumber, when you consider the one thing he doesn’t do is fix pipes. He goes down them into other worlds, but he doesn’t actually work on them. Or maybe he does, and the games are just an Italian plumbers acid trip. Or maybe he’s just thinking too much into a simple joke. Either way, repairs weren’t happening soon and he wondered what Beatrice would be doing when he decided to go home.
He nodded at her response. Samson wasn’t about to put her to work dancing, and so the words didn’t really mean much to him. Not that he was a dick and didn’t care, just that it was some information not really necessary to him. He wasn’t very talkative, and even though he was open to sharing things about himself, he didn’t see the point of really telling others certain things. Which is why he didn’t really know how to talk about his thing with antiques. It wasn’t something interesting to others, at least he didn’t think so, and so he didn’t understand why Rowena would even care. He nodded again when she asked after it being old furniture and the like, and then shrugged when she asked. Deciding that he thought of a reasonable enough explanation, he texted, ”I don’t even really know. I was just raised by people who liked strange things.” His parents had some odd interests that would seem like stupidity to others, and Beatrice…well, Beatrice liked a lot of strange things. He couldn’t really explain why he liked why he liked. He was sure that when asked, people who collected stamps wouldn’t be able to explain. Or maybe he thought that because he saw that as weird. ”I work at an occult shop that my mother owns. It’s where we live, actually. I’m mainly the errand boy.” Beatrice was fond of calling him her slave, but he was treated much better than that.
|
|
|
Post by ROWENA AUDREY BENNETT on Jan 9, 2012 12:03:29 GMT -5
Though Rowena had never really worked any other sort of career, modelling had practically showcased the 'it's not what you know, it's who you know' stereotype. Rookies could get a lot farther with an agent than they could if they just launched themselves into the business and struggled to keep up. Back then she'd not been modelling for the cash, she'd been doing it because she found it fun and it was something that had brought her sisters together again. It had been something for bonding that had backfired so horribly it hurt to think about. She pushed away that thought and shook her head, not seeming as disturbed on the surface as she had been in her own mind. "Not here, not in Canada," she replied. She could perhaps have explained that she came from England but Rowena knew Samson was not so thick that he couldn't tell she was a foreigner by her accent. Besides, she was a transfer student. They were usually from different countries. There were the rare few that had just started late for one reason or another but most of them had enrolled late because they lived so far away from the Academy to begin with. Sometimes she wondered how life might have been different if she and her sisters had came to the Academy when their powers had first surfaced but Ro decided there was no use dwelling on it. Wishes were useless. She chuckled at Samson's remark on plumbers, actually understanding the joke. "Poor bastards have a hard life. Imagine crawling about in sewers all day for the sake of some bitch that's just gonna get herself kidnapped all over again." She'd never quite understood the concept or reasoning behind the Mario games but Rowena was not ignorant of childhood classics.
He didn't really have much of an explanation for his hobby and Rowena was fine with that, nodding when he gave her his answer. She couldn't explain a lot of things she'd done in her life. Drugs, for example. She knew how she'd started and knew that she'd not been able to stop at first because of the feeling it gave her but she couldn't explain why it had taken the death of her sister to breath some new life into her fight against them. She knew that she liked fashion but didn't really know why it interested her, it just did. Not everything had an explanation and Rowena didn't necessarily want it to. She was cool with leaving a lot of things undefined. As long as they weren't detrimental to her she didn't mind if they made little sense. Samson's collecting definitely wasn't putting the Thunder elemental in any danger so she just accepted it for what it was. "That's useful," she remarked. Ro wondered what it was like to be employed in a family business. She almost envied him the chance but then shrugged it off. She'd get back into modelling. She didn't need family for that. "I don't think I've ever seen it—whereabouts in town is it?" She didn't go around the Hollow a whole lot and so it didn't shock her that she'd skipped past the shop. Even if she had seen it she probably wouldn't have gone in. It didn't repulse her like it did some but it also had never been a fascination so it was possible she'd walked right past it and simply taken no notice. Still, if one of her friends worked there she'd be interested to know where it was.
It was still weird to consider having friends. She didn't feel all that empathetic or close to a whole lot of people, even though that she talked to and liked such as Samson. She also didn't feel that it would hurt her terribly if she stopped talking with them for extended periods of time. She hadn't been in contact with several of her 'friends' from the previous year in a little while. It didn't bug her. She liked Samson's company at present, though, and so she didn't lapse into a silence. Thunders weren't all that sociable but she also wasn't so rude that she'd sit there and ignore him. Rowena's hands worked deftly in front of her, having fallen back into their earlier rhythm. Her fingertips were still a bit sore but she was pricking them a lot less—she could still talk while she worked, and so she said, "So what's been happening with you, lately? I mean, apart from busted pipes." Ro flashed a hint of a joking smile. Despite not being the friendliest she still enjoyed company and kidding around. It was strange. She wouldn't mind if someone disappeared from her life (provided it wasn't Altair) but she also liked their company while they were still around. "Haven't really spoke to you much." It was an observation and not an accusation—they weren't the best of buddies, so it wasn't surprising. Plus, it was a common thing in their element.
|
|
|
Post by samson on Jan 9, 2012 18:45:13 GMT -5
It was very hard to miss that Rowena was from Britain—well, as long as you heard her speak. Blond hair and blue eyes wasn’t truly identifiable as British, but her accent was. Of course, he didn’t know of her life back wherever she came from. Didn’t even know what part of Great Britain she was from. He wasn’t familiar with different dialects and the such, so he couldn’t tell off the bat. So it was understandable that she wouldn’t know anyone here in Canada. He tried to remember when the twins first transferred, and her was pretty sure he had a close date, even though he couldn’t pinpoint it. It was a little hard to forget. ”Maybe you should make some.” It was a suggestion, a simple line against the white screen, but he was sure she probably would have thought of this. That is, if she was seriously considering going back into modeling. He didn’t know, he couldn’t get inside her head. But her interest was obvious, even though he wasn’t aware of it before today. There was never the chance. He shrugged, his easy posture suggesting his humor when his face couldn’t. ”Apparently they’re making a lot of money. Gold coins. And hey, good health care too.” If only one-ups existed in the real world, where there were know giant, plumber-eating turtles and creepy…ghost things.
It didn’t surprise him too much that Rowena didn’t know about the shop or where it was. Most people assumed it was in Chinatown, since that’s where most would find strange little shops like Beatrice’s. But who knew, maybe Ro had an interest in the occult and just hadn’t stumbled across the squat little building that was actually much bigger on the inside. There actually was a Chinese restaurant nearby, which he included when he texted out his answer. ”It’s downtown, near a Chinese place and a hair salon.” A hair salon that he believed was a front for drug deals, but he didn’t add that in. He just liked to amuse himself by creating lives for people that lived around him, especially when he was bored. It actually happened a lot. Maybe he needed to get more hobbies. Like fashion. No, he’d never be good with fashion, according to Beatrice. ”My mom would like me to bring in business by telling you about everything we sell, but I like to rebel against my status as a walking billboard.” He tried it once or twice, then he felt kind of like a loon, and people really didn’t enjoy it. Beatrice had ads in the paper and on the Internet and in a lot of spaces she could get her hands on. It cost money, but she managed it well.
Samson did his usual ‘play with the phone until its needed because it’s a hassle to keep taking it out of my pocket otherwise’ game, but his attention was still on Rowena. He sometimes entertained thoughts of a machine that could communicate what he was thinking to other people, and then thought of how he wouldn’t like some of his thoughts to be out there for everyone to hear. He enjoyed privacy. ”Just got back with my girlfriend, trying to keep away from my psycho ex. You know, the usual.” He rolled his eyes to show that he was exasperated by this and didn’t enjoy being embroiled in such lady problems. He wasn’t one of the douchebags who bragged about it, and complained about his psycho exes, because Jolene literally was psycho. She had issues, so he wasn’t going to go too hard into the bashing. Still, he couldn’t help the bitterness he felt toward the girl who’d damaged his relationship so bad and for so long. He didn’t pass all the blame onto her, he was well aware of the shit he’d done, but she played a big part. She was the instigator. ”How about you?” It seemed he learned something new every day, which included her passion for fashion—oh dear, that sounded bad in his head so he didn’t dare text it out—and he wondered what else was going on there. His lips shaped into an almost-smile as he continued to type. ”That’s because I’ve purposely been avoiding contact with you. I ruined that for myself, it seems.”
|
|
|
Post by ROWENA AUDREY BENNETT on Jan 12, 2012 14:51:47 GMT -5
Rowena simply nodded in response to his comment. She did intend to try and force her way back into the modelling community and that meant getting to know the people who had access to it. The blonde had absolutely no idea where to start looking and didn't even know if there were any modelling outlets in the Hollow but she wasn't going to just sit around on her ass and give up after that. She often wondered if Altair wanted to get back into it or if the Fire elemental had dropped it for good. After all, it had been modelling that caused a lot of their problems. Life caused the rest—life and now a dead sister. "Floating gold coins," she added, snorting a little in contempt. Though she understood that it was just a game that wasn't meant to be taken seriously, sometimes she wondered what the hell the developers had been smoking. She remembered a few bad hallucinations she'd had when she'd shot up with mixed drugs and wouldn't wish that experience on anyone. One of the worst had left her cowering in the closet with a butterknife clutched protectively in her shaking hand. Not that it would have done much if the horrors she'd been imagining were real. "I think I might know the area," said Ro with a thoughtful frown. She knew about the hair salons, at least, because she tried her best to look good and when bad hair days victimised her, she used the salons as her saviour. "I've been to that salon a few times. Maybe I'll check it out next time I'm in the area." She might not have been interested in the occult but she was curious about where Samson lived and worked.
Ro did not actively keep up with gossip and so while she'd heard brief snatches of conversation involving Harley and Samson, she hadn't paid it much mind. She was thus a little surprised to hear the words 'psycho ex'. Is he serious? She couldn't often tell with some people, especially the Thunders. "Which one's Harley?" she asked, because she knew of their names together but did not know which one was the psychotic ex-girlfriend and which one was the actual girl. "I remember they talked about that for a bit. Didn't listen to them much, though." 'They' were just people in general—groups in the common room, the mess hall, the corridors between classes. People talked all the time. You could hardly have your privacy in this school. Fortunately for Samson, Rowena's knowledge on the alliances was somewhat limited. She didn't know what element Harley was in and wouldn't have known she was a traitor to their side even if she had, so her interest was purely out of curiosity. Ro was loyal to Thunder, however, despite how vague her involvements were. She liked the way she fit in with them without having to try too hard for acceptance. She wouldn't have done good in an element like Fire, where everyone acted as a solid unit. She was solitary and liked, sometimes, to be left alone. She respected her element for that.
She didn't mind the return question. Though she did not have enough of an ego to openly enjoy talking about herself, she also wasn't what you could call closed-off. "Apart from killing my fingertips?" She smiled a little at the joke. "Been trying to keep my grades up and avoid detention. They really seem to like giving those out around here." She hadn't cared much about the school at first and so she'd sneered every time she was forced to sit in the detention hall for an hour or two 'thinking about what she'd done wrong'. Now she was realising that college wasn't just going to open itself up to her—she'd need to work for it. The thought was a little daunting but she really wanted to take a fashion and design major. She also looked up to her sister, Altair, because the girl was doing better than she was at the moment. If someone who was as much of a trouble maker as Altair could manage it, Ro didn't see why she should be any different. "Nothing quite as dramatic as you, I'm afraid," she said, shrugging. "Never bothered with relationships myself." She'd tried once or twice but she didn't care enough about other people for the most part. Altair was the only person she'd give up anything for and her romantic partners had taken note of that. "I'm so repulsive that you purposely avoid me? My, I'm flattered," she chuckled.
|
|