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Post by lili3 on Sept 23, 2011 23:29:09 GMT -5
Lazy days.. Pyson hated lazy days, he always felt the need to be doing something rather then just sitting around. He'd been pacing around the wind common room for the better part of about thirty minutes now and he only just realized he was walking around with this blank expression like an idiot. He quickly pulled himself to a halt and flopped down on one of the many comfy couches that littered the room. What to do. He sighed lightly and let his eyes wander around the room, silently spying on the different groups of people hanging around. It didn't hold his attention for very long though, he needed something more.. well just more. And then it hit him, he hadn't gone out to play at all this week. He shook his head as he stood up, he'd been getting so lax with his discipline to practice. He really had to stop doing that.
He walked the short distance down the hall to his dorm room, he had to make sure he looked presentable before he went out into the rest of the school. He opened the door and walked inside, scanned the room quickly for Ged-- who was no where to be seen, and made his way into the bathroom. Always had to look his best. He checked his hair-- which he'd chosen just to wear straight and natural today and that his eye liner was still in the crisp line it was in when he applied it this morning. He chuckled lightly to himself, always made him laugh when he thought of the looks people gave him for being a man who wore make up. Not that he cared. Pleased enough with his appearance he grabbed a white blazer out of his closet to go over the red and white floral pattern shirt he was wearing and walked out the door. Now to find a piano.
Normally he would have just played at the piano that usually sat in the lobby, but they had moved it this past week and now he wasn't sure where he'd be able to play. Rather then just asking someone, one of the staff perhaps, where he could have found a piano he decided to just wander around till he spotted one-- not like he didn't have time to kill anyway. First he went to the lobby in hopes that maybe they'd put the white baby grand he'd grown to love back in its place, but alas, it was still missing. No sense in going to any of the other main places, the library, mess hall or anywhere like that, surely there wouldn't be one there. So he decided to walk along the halls designated for classes, it was a Saturday so most all of them were empty. He came across one with a closed door, slowly he peeked through the small window and spotted two students firmly locked in what looked like a very steamy kiss. He smiled a little and fought the urge to knock on the door then duck away, just to make them jump. No, he wouldn't be mean today, so instead he just continued his search.
Finally, the last place he looked, he found the music room. Of all the classrooms at the academy this had to be his favorite. The walls were padded for sound proofing and the ceiling was high and vaulted for the acoustics. He walked inside, leaving the door open behind him. He stood in the middle of the room and looked up to the ceiling and its little painted on music notes. "Hello!" he called out to no one, only his own echo answered him back. He smiled when he looked back down and spotted his baby grand. Slowly he walked over to it and sat down on the bench, he ran his hands over the key cover before gently sliding it back to reveal the polished ivories. He closed his eyes and wiggled his fingers, limbering them up then resting them lightly on the keys-- pausing for a moment, before he allowed his hands to sweep up then down the keys for a flawless major scale, and then the minor. The piano had just been tuned and it sounded amazing, even better then it had in the lobby, which he hadn't thought was possible. After playing the scales a few times to warm up his hands he thought on what he wished to play. Then from memory he began with the 1812 Overture by Tchaikovsky, always one of his favorite pieces. He loved how slow it began and how much power built into it before the end. Slowly as the piece began to roll out of the baby grand he allowed himself to slip into the music and just play, completely forgetting that he'd left the door open and that he was now flooding the halls with the sound as well.
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Post by ROWENA AUDREY BENNETT on Sept 24, 2011 12:12:04 GMT -5
[As she just started with designing again, I figure this could be the thread where he finds OUT that she does it xD]
The absence of Syria couldn't be ignored forever. Every time someone said her name in the hallways, every time they approached the Thunder girl to offer their condolences... she just wanted to slip away into the walls and not have to deal with it any more. She didn't want their sympathy. Rowena was not someone who normally had a lot of rage--that was Altair's job--but she couldn't help snapping at several people that tried to insist that they 'understood' how she was feeling. No one could understand this! They didn't get what it was like to have such an important and vital part of yourself ripped away just because she had taken a little too much. She had made a mistake, like all people make mistakes, and she had suddenly just stopped existing. Worst of all, Ro knew that it was partially her fault. She had known something was wrong with Syria and she'd never tried to help her through it. No, nobody would ever understand how she felt. The Thunder elementals had pretty much learned not to bring the subject up around her. Her reactions varied--sometimes she cried, sometimes she reacted violently, sometimes she said nothing at all. Sometimes she would accept the words with nothing more than a dull nod, not believing them but not wanting anyone to continue speaking, either. She just wanted to be left alone.
The old sketchbook caught her off guard. She had been reaching into her closet to get something when a box had slipped sideways off the top shelf, the weakly-taped top bursting open and expelling a number of things onto the ground. Expensive coloured, shading and sketch pencils--they were the only thing she'd ever really cared enough about to spend the most money on and go over the top. A few bits of random fabric in colourful and attractive fabric. A sewing kit. And last of all, having fallen open to a page full of lines and jotted notes, a sketchbook. On closer inspection it was quite clear that these were sort of like design maps--this particular one was for a dress and a matching jacket. Rowena didn't realise that she was crying until a drop of moisture splashed onto the page, and she hastily moved to wipe her eyes before she destroyed more of the drawings. She had forgotten about this. It was her work, her designs from... oh, it must have been years ago. "Syria always loved my artwork, my designs," she remembered aloud, her voice scarcely managing a breathy whisper. She picked up the book as gently as if it had been an injured bird. "She always--" The girl could not finish. It didn't really matter, as she was alone in the dormitory, but it didn't matter. Syria had always regretted that her sister had stopped her art in favour of ruining her life.
She spent the next couple of hours lying in bed with the sketches open in front of her, flipping through them and reminiscing. How young and naive she had been! She knew that back then she'd never have guessed the mess that she was going to become. "I'll fix it for you, baby," she told the air around her. She was not mad--Rowena didn't believe that her dead sister could talk back to her. She just needed the vocalised assurance in order to motivate herself. "I'll get better like I promised I would." She let out another choked sob. She wished that she could be as strong as Altair, that these stupid emotions would stop ruling everything. Rowena had always prided herself in being very stubborn and unemotional. She never cried, and now she found herself in tears all of the time. There were no drugs to numb the feelings. The girl looked down at her arms, marked with tiny pinpricks that, her counsellor assured her, would heal with time. "You're lucky you chose to stop when you did," he'd said with disapproval. Lucky. This had reduced her to tears again, of course. ("See how lucky you feel when your sister turns up dead!") She didn't know how long this period of being an emotional wreck would last, but she certainly hoped that it would fade soon.
Eventually she managed to stop crying, but she brought the sketches with her as she wandered the halls aimlessly. She didn't know what she was doing, where she was going. She didn't know anything right now. It wasn't until she heard the sounds of piano that she found herself subconsciously changing direction and walking toward it. Syria always loved the piano, Rowena recalled. Surprisingly, it made her feel a little better, rather than worse. It was comforting, in a way. She was drawn to it--right until she reached the classroom door. Ro was surprised to find that she recognised the musician as a Wind elemental called Pyson, and her lips twitched a little. She felt less less an intruder now. "That was very good," she said as she entered, sitting down on the desk and looking at him. "My sister--" No. She couldn't talk about Syria right yet. Surely he had heard--Syria's death was common knowledge around the school now. Rowena shook her head and tried to gather herself, taking a deep breath. "How long have you played?" she asked, grasping at straws to try and distract herself. She really didn't look too hot at the moment. Her eyes were still a little red from hours of crying and her hair had seen better days. The polish on her nails was chipped and they were practically digging into the cover of the sketchbook, she held it so tight. It was her life line.
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Post by lili3 on Sept 25, 2011 14:37:37 GMT -5
Pyson loved this song, it was absolutely one of his favorites ever composed. He closed his eyes and allowed all the pent up emotion in the quiet wind student to flow from his fingertips and out onto the ivory to produce the most amazing sound. The deep cords and sweeping harmony floated out from the baby grand flawlessly and out into the halls as well. He'd only just finished the last movement, his hands still resting on the keys, when he heard a voice behind him. He gasped a little and turned to look, startled that someone had been listening to him play. But then he saw who it was, someone he recognized, he felt a little relieved. He knew very well he was exceptional at playing piano, but most of the time he didn't really like to have an audience.
"Oh hey Ro-" A small smile found its way over Pyson's lips as he turned around on the piano bench to face Rowena and began to greet her, though at the mention of her sister it quickly faded. He knew full well what had happened to the her and he also knew how much it had wrecked poor Rowena. If anyone could sympathize with losing family it was him, and he knew better then to push the subject. He looked her over, her eyes were red and swollen and the girl that was usually very well put together as far as her outward appearance looked somewhat like a wreck. A look of concern crossed his pretty face even though he didn't voice it, not wanting to press a painful issue-- and he was thankful when she changed the subject. How long had he been playing? He had to stop and think for a minute. "Um.. a few years I guess" He smiled a little wand ran his hand through his hair, one of those shy 'I don't know' gestures.
He honestly didn't know what to say to the thunder girl, usually Py was the last one at a loss for words, but this time he definatly was.
He wasn't used to seeing her like this, usually she was strong like her sister, though a bit more inviting to people. Or at least to him. His eyes wandered around the room searching for something, anything he could use to change the subject and lighten the mood. But everything he seemed to look at was music related-- go figure they were in a music room.. But then he spotted the book in her arms, the one she was clinging to for dear life. "Whats in the notebook?" He asked finally, only hoping that subject wasn't too touchy as well.
[ick all over the place post, i blame the rain >_>]
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Post by ROWENA AUDREY BENNETT on Sept 25, 2011 18:35:30 GMT -5
Rowena managed a soft sort of half-smile when Pyson greeted her. "Hey, Py," she returned softly. Her switch in personality and demeanour was probably most alarming for everyone that had known her before. Ro had always been the irritable, closed-off stoic before. She had never smiled, never laughed, never really talked much about anything unless it was to her sisters. But now with one of those sisters gone she was being forced to accept that they weren't the only ones in the world. She had to learn to cope with other people, and she also had to learn how to cope with emotion--something she hadn't done in ages. She'd let the drugs numb it all for her and so it was hard to understand how to stop the tears or how to force a smile. Instead, she just went with instinct. "Sorry," she said with a sort of weak laugh when she cut herself off. "It's... it's still hard." She dabbed with her sleeve at the corner of her eye. Don't start crying again, she thought fiercely. She hated showing weakness in front of other people but lately she didn't really get to choose when the waterworks stopped and started. They did so of their own accord.
She gave a soft start of surprise when Pyson indicated the notebook. She'd been so focused on trying to change the subject that she had forgotten she was clutching it so tightly to her chest. Loosening her grip, she said, "This old thing? It's... just sketches and stuff." Her tone was evasive and she reverted her brilliant blue eyes away from him as they shimmered momentarily with the ghosts of new tears. She hated the fact that everything brought up tough subjects lately. She couldn't even really blame other people for invoking her sadness because it was just so easy to do that you'd need to just shut your mouth and stay out of her way if you wanted to avoid doing so. Besides, Pyson was... was he a friend? Rowena wasn't really sure if anyone considered her their friend or just some girl that hung around every so often. It wasn't some self-loathing part of her that thought no one could love her, she just really wasn't sure. She'd never had a lot of friends. Her sisters had been all she needed. Ro supposed that Altair could go on being her rock as usual, but now she had a new longing for companionship that she'd never really had before. She didn't want to spend the rest of her life without talking to anyone. It wouldn't be fair.
Deciding that she would give Py a better answer than she did, Rowena gave an apologetic look and sat down close to him. "They're design sketches," she reaffirmed, and hesitantly passed the book to him. Taking a deep breath to prepare herself for what she was going to say, she managed, "Syria used to support me, but I haven't... I haven't designed anything in a while." She remembered how it had upset her sister that she'd stopped drawing and designing. At the time, however, Rowena had just acted like she didn't even care. She wished, now, that she had paid more attention to the Water triplet--that she'd made thousands of designs and some of them just for Syr. She wished that she had paid more attention to the youngest triplets problems and that she hadn't let it go so far. I guess I'm the youngest now, aren't I? But this thought was immediately met with another. No. Syr's just... she doesn't just... she's still the youngest, she's not... She couldn't form a coherent thought. She tried once again to focus on Py. "It's just... an old hobby of mine, I guess."
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Post by lili3 on Sept 29, 2011 19:28:28 GMT -5
A small frown found it's way over Py's lips when he saw the thunder girl start to tear up. In truth he hated to see her suffer so much, he knew what that loss felt like, though he'd not gotten to spend near the time with his parent that she had her sister. He pulled a silk hanky out of his coat pocket-- he was classy like that, and handed it over to her to use if she needed it and just nodded in reply to her statement of the obvious. He turned his chocolate brown eyes on her, absent of contacts for once, a little hint of that pain she felt lingering behind them. "No need for sorries." He offered a small smile and wished there was something he could do to help her forget, even for a few minutes.
He glanced back down to the notebook when she brought it up. Sketches? His curiosity poked at him to ask her what sort of sketches were hidden in the pages of the rather old looking notebook. He caught the expression on her face and watched as her eyes began to glisten again. Last thing he wanted to do was make her cry more, so he held off on his questions and waited to see if she'd open the topic for conversation herself. Pyson really hated situations like this, he felt completely useless sitting infront of this girl who he didn't even really know all that well and watching her suffer. There were only a few things he was good at, music, dancing, and academics-- none of which were very helpful at the moment. The only thing he could think to do was turn back to the ivories and hope that a mildly cheery waltz might lighten the mood. So once again he wiggled his fingers to limber them up and placed them down to play. The melody poured softly out of the baby grand with the same thoughtless ease as the bold Tchaikovsky piece had.
But when she moved over to sit next to him he paused his playing to give her his full attention. He looked down at the notebook again then back up to her with a slightly wider smile when she mentioned design sketches. He was absolutely in love with fashion but unfortunately for him he hadn't been blessed with hands for drawing. He listened closely as Ro explained herself a little more, the fact that over her sister she'd stopped drawing-- that in itself made him sad. He hated to see someone with talent not use it. "Very interesting hobby" He replied finally, a tone of genuine interest in his smooth voice. "I've always been sort of a fan of fashion" He smiled a little and popped the collar on the white blazer jokingly, hoping to get a little smile out of her. "How long have you been designing?" He turned the question she'd asked him moments ago about his playing back on her now, interested in learning a little more about the mysterious Rowena.
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Post by ROWENA AUDREY BENNETT on Oct 3, 2011 21:52:44 GMT -5
"Thanks," Ro said softly, accepting the handkerchief. As much as Pyson hated sitting there and being able to do nothing to help her, Rowena was a little resentful toward herself for dumping her emotional baggage onto someone she barely knew. Not only because it was hard on him, but because she was a proud person that didn't like to rely too heavily on others or to let them share in her pain, however directly or indirectly. It had been immensely difficult for her to face the idea of allowing counsellors and sponsors and the like to aid her in getting over her addictions--both to drugs, bulimia... to self destruction in general. In the end, she believed that it was her understanding that Altair couldn't handle it all on her own that made her seek outside help. Much as she appreciated her triplet's aide in these dark times, Ro knew that she had her own shit to be getting on with. So she'd asked for other help. Pyson, however, he didn't know about all her problems. He didn't deserve to be sitting there and watching as even the most innocent thing brought her to tears. She understood somewhere in the back of her mind that the emotions were ridiculous and misplaced, but she also knew that there was nothing, at the moment, she could do. Time would heal all wounds, and she just wished that time would hurry the fuck up already.
She didn't resent him for going back to the piano playing--in fact, it helped slightly. She used to love listening to Syria playing just as much as the girl had professed her love for Rowena's drawing, and even though it wasn't her doppelgänger sitting at the piano and brushing her fingers, exactly like Ro's own, across the keys... if she didn't focus on that and she just listened, she found that she was able to breath a little easier. Dabbing at her eyes, she was glad when no fresh tears replaced those that she'd dried away. She was grateful, even if she didn't vocalise it aloud, for Pyson's quiet sort of understanding. At least he wasn't trying to make her talk about it like some people did. They seemed to live under the illusion that talking about it would make it better. The only way to really make this better, however, was to bring Syria back from beyond the grave. As this couldn't happen, she'd just need to rely on her own inner strength to get through it. "Your playing really is beautiful." She had already said something to this effect, but this time she left out the mention of her sister. She wanted the compliment to stand on its own--she really did think that Pyson was quite good at it and she didn't want to imply that she only thought so because her sister had enjoyed the piano.
He seemed intrigued by her love of design, and she wasn't sure whether she was ready for this level of interest in something she'd given up quite yet. She cursed herself internally as her chest felt tight, but this time she sucked in a breath and sucked it up. No, she wouldn't start bawling just because this poor guy was showing a genuine interest in something of hers. Syria would probably have rolled her eyes if she saw how emotional I am. The thought was almost amusing, but she couldn't bring herself to laugh at it. "Have you?" It surprised her slightly--it was mostly women who were the fans, or gay men. But she'd met a couple straight ones down the line and as she didn't know Py well, she didn't want to go jumping to conclusions. "We've got something in common, I guess." And her lips did twitch into an unexpected smile when he popped his collar. It was silly, and silly was what she needed right now. She needed to cheer up. Wallowing in the depths of despair was not a nice way to live. "Since I was very young, though only seriously after I became a model and had some experience with the sorts of clothes I'd be working with." It didn't phase her to admit that she had a past in modelling. She wasn't too ashamed of that bit of her past. Besides, she didn't see why she shouldn't say it--it was relevant to conversation. "You can take a look, if you'd like."
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