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Post by THADDEA ARYN MELANTHA on Sept 21, 2012 22:43:28 GMT -5
take a walk downstairs She was quite satisfied really, but she was always satisfied upon the completion of laundry. She found it therapeutic, the repeated motions were a comfort to her – yet entirely justifiable. She couldn’t simply leave the task unfinished, nor could she do it sloppily. She didn’t dawdle in her, nor did she linger over simple steps. But she enjoyed each small step, enjoyed the quiet efficiency with which she worked. There was a very specific process. She always did at least three loads, depending on colors. Every item, big and small, was iron. She didn’t care what it was – if it was humanly possible to iron it, it would be ironed. There wouldn’t be a single crease if she could help it. Each piece would be carefully folded, and sorted into a pile depending on the type of clothings. Pants and legwear were in one pile, shirt and tops in another. Another was for pajamas and sleepwear, another for underclothing. Anything that didn’t belong in one of those piles was assigned its own special pile. She didn’t like her piles to mix. She found such careless mixing of clothing to be disorganized, a sure sign of a careless person in nature.
Then of course, the pieces were also arranged by color. She didn’t put them in “raindbow order”. Such a thing was infantile and entirely nonsensical. They were arranged in lights and darks. There was no sense mixing them all together. A closet had to have an appealing look to it, something that spoke to the owner. Having finished her ironing, folding, and sorting, Thaddea began carrying her piles from their small laundry room to the dining room. Upon the table were two large baskets. Both were plain white, inconspicuous. Front and center on each was a plain black label. One read “Roth” and the other read “Melantha”. She had briefly considered using their first names, but had found the notion entirely too informal. Labeling his basket as “Thomas” suggested some intimacy, some close relationship which they certainly did not share. They were two adults juxtaposed under the circumstances of convenience. Nothing more and nothing less. Thaddea began arranging the piles within the baskets. The baskets were large enough that the multiple piles were quite distinct. Her final touch was to place careful labels upon each pile. They were simple, black lettering as was everything else. Pants. Shirts. Undergarments. Sleepwear. She straightened the labels, now quite content with a job well done. She picked up her own basket, careful not to disturb any of the clothing within.
Her footsteps were silent as she walked into her own bedroom. She began unpacking her clothing, putting each item exactly in its place. She did, indeed, have an exact place for everything. The majority of her drawers, cubbies, or other such storage areas had small labels decreeing what it was that could be found in each. There was almost nothing she loved more than labels. She’d been secretly ecstatically delighted at having discovered the home label maker at a local office supply store. She’d brought it home a few days ago, and got to work immediately. Thomas’ basket she left on the dining room table. He would notice it eventually and return it to his room. At least, that was what she expected him to do. It was the source of all the brand new labels on nearly everything in the Roth/Melantha household. She’d even gone through the kitchen, labeling cabinets. It had been a great source of satisfaction and pleasure for her. It was also one she was hoping Thomas would reply to with some degree of reasonability. He could be so dramatic.
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Post by THOMAS LULA ROTH on Sept 22, 2012 21:54:29 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: transparent, width: 400px; height: 300px;] hey ! been trying to meet you. mmm hey! must be a devil between us. or whores in my head. whores at my door. whores in my bed. but hey! where have you been? if you go i will surely die. we're chained, we're chained, we're chained. "uh," said the man to the lady. "uh," said the lady to the man she adored and the whores like a choir. go uh all night, and mary ain't you tired of this? uh is the sound that the mother makes when the baby breaks. we're chained, we're chained, we're chained.
Tom knew the thoughts going through his friend's brain as he informed the man of the living situation he'd found himself in. The grin said it all. ”So you living with a chick?” The grin broadened. ”You banging her?” Tom gave him a quizzical look. He couldn't blame the guy for what he thought. Most people probably figured that that was what went on behind closed doors. Because Thaddea was a woman, and he was a man, and therefore they had to be fucking. Nothing could ever be platonic. Especially when that woman was hot. ”Oh yeah, all the time,” Tom said dryly. He didn't want to bang her, even, because he still didn't even really know her. He respected her, though, as much as she freaked him out. The woman was just so...organized. In a completely determined, one-track-mind way. He'd never met anyone like that, and living with her was a whole new experience. Though he knew it was good for him. He just was not good at house ownership. His two cats would like to agree with that.
He shifted his position on his buddy's couch, taking his phone out and checking the time. He figured he should be getting home soon. The couch probably had a permanent indent of his ass as he spent his day off watching Wes Anderson movies with Roger. It was his idea of a well-spent afternoon. He hadn't even gotten high. He was very careful about that now, especially because of the list that Thaddea had written up. At first he'd laughed, but then it frightened him a little, realizing she was serious and wondering just how serious she would get. What would the woman do to him if he broke those rules of hers? It frightened him to even think about that. She was scary to him. ”All right, I better go man.” He stood from the couch, tapping the feet Roger had rested on his automan. Roger grinned and waggled his eyebrows. ”Yeah, you better.” Tom just blinked and shook his head. Thaddea was also a co-worker and he was a professional sort of man. He didn't have any intentions of banging her, especially because he had a feeling it wouldn't end well.
Tom drove home with a strange sort of fear, like he would be arriving to her re-painting the house or something extreme like that. What he did find was interesting, to say the least. He kicked off his shoes at the front door, walking into the kitchen to find a basket of laundry on the table. He looked at it to find it labeled 'Roth', the same sort of label that he could see on the cabinets. Lo and behold, he could see his clothes, seemingly organized with meticulous precision. His first instinct was to laugh, before he realized how weird this was. He'd lived with a woman before, but Hanna had never been so...organized. That's what he liked to categorize it as. Shrugging off his jacket, he placed it on the back of a chair before going to look for the person he knew was responsible. He knocked on the door of her bedroom, taking a guess that she might be in there. "Thaddea, is there any reason why my laundry and cabinets are labelled? And why my laundry is on the table, for that matter." He didn't sound upset, because he wasn't. The man was just very curious as to the random placement of his clothes. She just expected her to put it in her room. Hell, he hadn't even expected her to do the laundry, his own having been piling up for weeks now. He only did it when he was down to his last shirt.
tag: thaddea <3 . notes: oh thad . outfit: nice shirt and pants.
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Post by THADDEA ARYN MELANTHA on Sept 25, 2012 22:27:31 GMT -5
take a walk downstairs Before having bought the labeler, she’d left Thomas to his own devices. She couldn’t honestly care less what he did with his belongings. As long as they were reasonably well-kept, not in her way, she ignored anything that smelled or looked of him. They were roommates, yes, coworkers, yes, but not really friends. There was no common ground, no desire on Thaddea’s part to actually put the effort into forming a relationship. She’d been content to treat the house as her own, Thomas as a ghost – as she assumed he saw her in return. She wouldn’t be insulted if he did. She’d seen the piles of laundry in his room, haphazard and utterly disgusting to her eye. He’d leave it until he was down to the last pair of socks, the bare bones of his closet. The entire thing turned her stomach. She couldn’t imagine doing laundry with such infrequency. Like with everything else, Thaddea had a strict schedule. Wednesday’s at 4:30 began an hour set aside each week for her own laundry. She planned exactly what she wore, which clothing she used. If she wore her best dress on Wednesday, then needed it again on Sunday– well the laundry wouldn’t be done! So she would have to choose what was more important.
Some people might have suggested simply moving her laundry day, in such a case. But Thaddea wasn’t about to disrupt her whole schedule, to throw her entire way of life out the window so she could clean a single garment ahead of time. No it was utterly nonsensical. She didn’t make a sound as these thoughts coursed through her head. She was laying each piece of clothing in it’s place, one by one. Within her drawers there were dividers, to keep the clothing from falling or intermixing with each other. A small basket for each color of sock, another for her underwear, an entire set of rows in which she carefully aligned her bras. Each piece of clothing was handled individually, set just so. When she finished, she stepped back, closing the drawers. She was really quite happy with herself. There was no better feeling than having completed one’s laundry. She exited her room, closing the door quietly behind her. She carried her basket on her hip, tucking it away in its little niche in the laundry room. She made her way to the kitchen, pausing in the dining room. Thomas’ basket stood untouched, as it likely would for however long it took him to get home.
A small part of her knew that even when he did come home, he wouldn’t take as much care with his laundry as she had. A part of her suddenly longed to put it away for him, maybe to clean up while she was at it. She forced herself to turn away, threading through the kitchen. She picked out a few ingredients which she would be using later to make their dinner. Then, with an effort to ignore Mr. Roth’s basket of laundry, she returned to her room. This time was allotted for pleasure reading. She picked up a biography on Queen Elizabeth I. In Thaddea’s opinion, the woman had very near achieved perfection – very near, but not quite. She’d brought England into its Golden Age, but she’d had flaws, certain things that had stopped her from attaining what Thaddea herself was determined to have. She flipped through the pages until she heard the door open. She didn’t bother to greet him, instead remaining in her room. But her sense were attune to him. She could tell the minute he noticed the basket, the pause in his step, followed by the soft knock on her door. She set her book carefully to the side, rising to open the door and address him. “It is all for convenience, Thomas.” She never used nicknames, even the way she said his name had a formal rigid ring to it. “The house was inefficient, the time in which you attend to tasks is an outright laughable matter.” She watched him frankly, finding her words entirely logical and in many senses – “normal”. “You’ll quickly grow accustomed, I’m sure.”
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Post by THOMAS LULA ROTH on Sept 26, 2012 18:36:49 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: transparent, width: 400px; height: 300px;] hey ! been trying to meet you. mmm hey! must be a devil between us. or whores in my head. whores at my door. whores in my bed. but hey! where have you been? if you go i will surely die. we're chained, we're chained, we're chained. "uh," said the man to the lady. "uh," said the lady to the man she adored and the whores like a choir. go uh all night, and mary ain't you tired of this? uh is the sound that the mother makes when the baby breaks. we're chained, we're chained, we're chained.
Tom was beginning to see that he was the exact opposite of Thad. He had never been very slovenly, but he did put certain things off. It was why he deprived himself of sleep sometimes, having put work off so long that he did a lot of things last minute. He was a lot more responsible with things he actually cared about, like writing his lectures and watching his movies. His passions ate up most of his time, so laundry was one of the things that often had to wait. Clearly Thaddea did not live by the same rules as him. When he deemed it appropriate and opened the door after she told him that it was for convenience. He'd apparently interrupted her reading, and felt apologetic, not that he'd actually say so. Seemed a little silly to, especially since he didn't know whether or not it would go appreciated by her. She was a difficult woman to read, and so he was trying his best not to do anyting wrong lest he step on a landmine and set her off. Therefore, in case she had just vaccuumed her room or something like that, he kept by the door, his hand over the knob as if he would turn and leave any second.
He replied after a moment, nodding his head. So maybe it was an insult to his pride to talk about the way he ran his house, but he let the slide because he was trying to avoid a fight with his new housemate. ”Definitely...definitely makes sense.” So it was a little bit weird, everyone had their quirks. He really liked couches and he had a rubber duck collection in the bathroom. He liked to take baths. And he also had a great love of math. Tom couldn't exactly judge people on their weirdness. ”And hey, I have a job and therefore less time to get things done,” he said, though it wasn't the greatest of excuses since she too had a job. The same job, actually, being a professor at the Academy. ”Now that I have you, though, seems I won't have to worry too much.” Realizing how that may have sounded he coughed, shakign his head. ”Not that I uh...that's all your here for, to be my maid or something.” He didn't want her to think he was that way, because he didn't. She needed a place to stay, he needed a housemate, it was a fiscal decision. It had just been an added benefit that she was so anal. ”Anyway, I can definitely acclimate.” He was a lax sort of guy...most of the time. He had certain triggers, but one of them didn't involve someone doing nice things for him. That was actually pretty nice in his mind.
He hesitated for a moment wondering if he should leave her to her book. She definitely seemed like the kind of woman who didn't like to be bothered all that much, as if it would ruin some kind of schedule she had set up. The man wondered if she really did have a schedule for everything, if she planned out every second of the day. He couldn't understand rigorous people like that. He let things come as they did, and didn't try to squeeze too much into the day. That caused stress, and he didn't deal too well with that. Keeping his hand on the doorknob, he used the other to scratch the back of his head. ”So uh...do you have any other changes you've made around the house? Just so I can be prepared.” Damn, Thaddea was intidimidating. He was a hardass in the classroom and he could be quite intimidating himself, especially when someone set him off, but she was just like on a whole other level. He respected that, at least. He wasn't the kind of guy who met a woman like her and immediately labeled her a bitch because of how she acted or behaved. The idea of calling any woman that was kind of sickening and demeaning. Always one to treat human beings right, the only times he'd ever called anyone that was in jest. And it was with Rin if not his sister. The former was a soulless ginger so it was acceptable, and he'd always had his sibling rivalry with the latter.
tag: thaddea <3 . notes: oh thad . outfit: nice shirt and pants.
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Post by THADDEA ARYN MELANTHA on Sept 28, 2012 11:13:01 GMT -5
take a walk downstairs She was in a moment of extreme shock. She had in all realistic expectations, thought he would express some displeasure. She had expected it, but been unable to avoid doing the things she so desired to do. They were her compulsions. To have not done them, well at the moment it simply wasn’t possible. So she’d steeled herself for the argument, for his displeasure. She’d expected some mocking, a request that she take down the labels and desist from handling his clothing. And she would have argued, cooly and logically, for why her system should stay. She had expected a rift in their already slightly awkward relationship. But she’d known she would have to sacrifice for her lifestyle, for her safety. Friendships were something she had sacrificed ten times over, and would continue to do. The consequences – the inability to perform her rituals, to do things according to her schedule, the little tidbits people would discover – well those were absolute out of the question. Such a thing, they could literally get her killed – should Zachary find her. She had no doubt that should her husband find her alive and well, she would leave with much more than a scar along her back. He wasn’t find of rebellious women, not in any way.
But Thomas, well she couldn’t even describe what he had done. She was silent for a long moment, her surprise clear on her face. After the surprise, came a flow of warmth. He would let her systems stay. He would live with them. Perhaps he even appreciated them. They’d earned her mockery, wary glanced. She had kept a finger on the line she was reading, but suddenly her book was in no way important. She closed it, setting it gently to the side. She hadn’t even bothered to mark the page, to glance at the number or chapter she had paused on. She was consumed with her utter shock and a strong warm feeling. It was a combination of many things – appreciation, gratitude, a little bit of joy. She shifted, rising from her position on her bed. She had changed from her more formal dress for the Academy into something slightly more informal – namely jeans and a nice sweater. She was barefoot (she had a peculiar dislike of socks). Thomas was a good deal taller than herself, though she didn’t much mind. Slowly, her features were warming, a slow wary warmth, but a change nonetheless. It was difficult to see, quiet, but she was slightly less rigid.
Her lips twitched, just a small twitch, a little turn. It wasn’t a full smile, nothing near a grin, but it had a distinctly pleased look to it. She’d never in her wildest imagination thought he would be so accepting, so willing to adjust. She gestured to her room. “I’ve labeled my entire space, though have left yours untouched.” She looked around, obviously proud of the neat labels on all her drawers and such. “I will touch nothing within your room unless you make it apparent as something you would wish.” She would actually wildly enjoy going through his room – cleaning, putting everything in a place. She could buy little baskets and boxes so everything had its place. And she would color code everything, make sure it all matched. She moved towards the door, slipping past him into the majority of the house. Their clothing brushed, just barely, as she passed. She moved towards the kitchen, gesturing towards the multiple cabinets. “Most everything else has been left alone, but knowing where everything is will certainly be useful when I make dinner.” She paused, “I believe the only other thing within the house is the bookshelves, those have been labeled by genre and alphabetized.” She moved into the kitchen, towards the refrigerator. She’d picked up food that afternoon. Originally, she’d intended to make a stew. She’d had no reason to take his opinion into account, he would either eat or make himself something different. But now, well she was a little more inclined to do something nice for once. She pulled out some steaks, having heard him mention earlier to a buddy on the phone that he was “aching for some meat”. She set them in the sink to thaw. “I thought we’d have steaks tonight, dinner at 7:30.” Her voice was still somewhat curt, professional. But with a slightly softer edge. It wasn’t a hug or a smile or a thank you, but it was what she had.
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Post by THOMAS LULA ROTH on Oct 1, 2012 0:28:31 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: transparent, width: 400px; height: 300px;] hey ! been trying to meet you. mmm hey! must be a devil between us. or whores in my head. whores at my door. whores in my bed. but hey! where have you been? if you go i will surely die. we're chained, we're chained, we're chained. "uh," said the man to the lady. "uh," said the lady to the man she adored and the whores like a choir. go uh all night, and mary ain't you tired of this? uh is the sound that the mother makes when the baby breaks. we're chained, we're chained, we're chained.
Tom understood systems to some extent. He was a mathematician, the subject incredibly rigid. There may have been multiple ways to solve a problem, but there was only one true result. He supposed it related to the two of them. He did things on his own time, in a disorganized and lackadaisical way, while Thaddea had a methodical way with the world. In the end, they both got what they need to get done. Well, maybe her more so than him. He would be fine with leaving certain things to the next day, could sleep easily with knowledge that there was things from days ago that were supposed to get done still waiting to be done. He got the feeling that she would be restless should something not be completely. He didn't attach it to OCD yet, hadn't realized that these were actually rituals of hers. He simply believed her to be a perfectionist, one of the first he'd actually gotten to know on a personal level. How personal was their relationship, though? They weren't exactly the best of friends. Simply co-workers who found this to be the easiest way for them to live.
He did hope that she didn't find him increasingly lazy or anything like that. The man cared about what others thought, especially the woman that he was living with. He sought to impress, but Thaddea was getting a front row seat to some of his dirtiest secrets. And by dirty, the fact that he couldn't take care of a house all his own. The reason he'd even bought a house was the fact that he felt it was time for him to get one at his age of thirty-two. He'd been living in a studio apartment for a while, and he needed a change of place. He'd gotten that place immediately coming out of college, after getting his PhD. Now he had two cats and a woman living with him. It was a definite improvement, even though the woman wasn't his wife, or even his girlfriend, but simply an acquaintance. It was certainly all right by him, though, to live this way. No matter how many questions he got from friends and strangers alike. He'd deal with those, they were easy to handle. Though sometimes he was tempted to say that yes, they were romantically involved because he knew that people would be impressed by his catch.
Tom watched as she stood, hands position on each side of the door frame. He smiled back down at her, not realizing that he had surprised her with his easy acceptance of her way of life. When he thought about it, her perfectionism was endearing in a sense. Even the way she spoke was free of contractions and entirely too formal for the setting. "You can actually go right ahead and do what you want, I don't have any particular way things are supposed to be." His pens could either be on the floor or on his nightstand, either way they were in his room and he knew they were there. That was fine. The man moved out of her way so she could pass, though with a little friction, and he followed after her. He lifted his eyebrows when she continued to explain that she had organized everything in the kitchen they stood in and went on to explain the bookshelves. "Alphabetized? Huh. Gotta say that it's more intuitive than the Dewey Decimal System." That coming from a hardcore mathematician. In any case, he believed that there was something he needed to say to her. "Thank you." While it might not have been out of the kindness of her heart but simply the way she operated, she still felt that he should thank her for really tidying up the place.
His eyes brightened when she mentioned steak. He hadn't had steak in a long while, mostly because he didn't like the time to prepare it. He was more of a Hamburger Helper kind of guy. "Steak sounds great actually," Tom told her, a hint of a laugh in his voice. Even with how much of a hardass he seemed in class, his manner of speaking was entirely less formal than hers. He had never been exceptionally good with words, anyway. "How was your day, anyway. I mean, aside from the whole organizing deal. What time did you get home?" He'd spent the entire day with his buddy, so he hadn't any idea what she'd been up to, aside from the whole organizing deal.
tag: thaddea <3 . notes: oh thad . outfit: nice shirt and pants.
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Post by THADDEA ARYN MELANTHA on Oct 1, 2012 15:25:38 GMT -5
take a walk downstairs She hadn’t made the connection to OCD yet herself. Well perhaps subconsciously she had. Some of her peers definitely had. They whispered it behind hands. But a conscious part of her refused to admit it. OCD was, by nature, a flaw – a weakness. Such a thing would make her pursuit of perfection impossible, illogical even. The entire pursuit was powered by her OCD, but how could she really understand that? Her rituals, her schedules, were what kept her calm and functioning. They kept the terror at bay. They kept her from pacing every hour and asking herself – what if today’s the day he finds me? Because that’s what it was all about, at heart. Zachary Rothschild was the root of it all. He always would be. No matter what she changed her name to, where she lived, who she lived with – she was still Phaedra Rothschild, wife of Zachary Rothschild. But that didn’t need to come up, ever. And without some basis of reference, why would anyone ever check? As far as the world knew, Mrs. Rothschild had died three years earlier. And Thaddea had sprung into existence. But the logic, the side that reasoned out why Zachary would never come looking for her, it did nothing to assuage her fears. The only things that kept her going were her rituals.
But that wasn’t a matter for today, for right now. Thaddea was unusually cheerful, brightened by Thomas’ reaction. She’d never yet encountered any degree of support, or even acceptance. Such a reaction spurred her positive feelings towards him, quieted the voice inside of her that warned her not to create personal relationships. They were a thing she’d been avoiding for years, simply so she could avoid the questions that came with it. But for the moment, she forgot all of this. And she was entirely oblivious to what people said about herself and Thomas. She refrained from even mentioning her living arrangements. Thomas’ friends knew, but not many others. Thaddea wasn’t exactly the sharing type. But if the issue had come up, well Thaddea wouldn’t have hesitated to come to the man’s defense. Anyone who gave her free reign in a house not her own, well it warmed her robotic little heart. At his words, well she couldn’t help herself. Her hands clapped together, just once, her fingers clasping each other excitedly. She was already imagining all the little boxes she would buy, a little cup for his pens and pencils too – for his nightstand.
There was a genuine, small tentative smile on her lips now. And she blushed at her untoward expression of anticipation. Her fingers were already itching to grab her labeler, to attack the adventure that would be Thomas’ room. But she would wait. She glanced away quickly, embarrassed by her reaction. She cleared her throat, busying herself with grabbing this and that out of the kitchen cabinets. Eventually she cleared her throat. “Thank you.” It was rare that Thaddea did such a thing (she often found it unnecessary). But this was entirely necessary. He was facilitating her OCD of course, which wouldn’t help her in the long run, but neither of them truly knew that. She was overwhelmingly pleased – both with herself and with Thomas. She’d never had the experience of having something express satisfaction with her organization, or thank her for it. She found it a good feeling, one she wanted to continue. He was slowly becoming Thomas, becoming familiar. She smiled at his joke. She didn’t quite laugh, but she was close. “I’ve always found the Dewey Decimal System highly illogical.” She shook her head, amused with the mere idea.
She gestured to a stool on the opposite side of the kitchen counter. Another woman might have playfully shooed the man out of the kitchen while she worked, but Thaddea was not that kind of woman. She washed her hand, proceeding to cut various vegetables for their dinner. She watched her hands, feeling suddenly intimidated – too intimidated to look up at Thomas while she worked. She did look up, with some degree of surprise, when he asked about her day. It wasn’t often she got asked such a question, most avoided her – which was the way she had liked it. She took a moment to consider the question. Her day had been exactly as any other, aside from the organizing. She looked back down at the vegetables, the warm cheeriness not quite starting to wear off. “My day was good precisely because of the organizing.” The time question, well she felt slightly awkward. She got home at exactly the same time every single day – her schedule was organized that day. “I returned home at 4:17 PM.” She shifted, scooping the cut vegetables into a bowl. “What did you do all day?” That was the expected return question, wasn’t it?
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Post by THOMAS LULA ROTH on Oct 12, 2012 1:59:32 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: transparent, width: 400px; height: 300px;] hey ! been trying to meet you. mmm hey! must be a devil between us. or whores in my head. whores at my door. whores in my bed. but hey! where have you been? if you go i will surely die. we're chained, we're chained, we're chained. "uh," said the man to the lady. "uh," said the lady to the man she adored and the whores like a choir. go uh all night, and mary ain't you tired of this? uh is the sound that the mother makes when the baby breaks. we're chained, we're chained, we're chained.
Tom was trying to do his best as welcoming housemate. He couldn't say that this was his static and general personality. There were more than just his smiles and his pleasantness. In class he was different, when he was passionate he was different, and he supposed that it was the same for every being. But for the woman he was sharing his home -- could it really be a home for him when he had spent such little time in it? -- he was willing to keep himself completely open and accepting of any quirks. And he really did appreciate them, especially when they assisted him in things like house cleaning. He really wasn't keen on that, he'd truly abandoned cleaning when leaving his parents' house. Besides, his spaces never stayed clean for long. He paid more attention to other things than the state of his home. Maybe their opposite personalities and way of life were for the best. They balanced each other out, yin and yang. It worked so perfectly for him, at least. He wondered, though, what else this experience would bring for him. It had been so long since he'd shared his life with someone else. Not since Hanna, and that brought back uncomfortable memories and he'd rather not dwell. He tried not to think of his relationship baggage much.
It was heart-warming to see her so flattered, though. He was doing something right, though he wondered if Thaddea would eventually grow tired of him and key the side of his car. Maybe that would be too extreme for her. She didn't seem like she would want to key a car. When she spoke again, he was once again stricken by the stark formality. He didn't think he would ever get used to it, but that didn't mean he had a problem with it. New opportunities, new experiences. Tom may not have been able to say he was completely open to new things -- he stuck with the staunch form of mathematics, unchanging and regular. But in life he tended to treat things the opposite. "Of course you would," he said with the smile tugging at his lips. "I've always been fond. Mathematician's judgement." Anything with numbers was highly logical to him. He loved them, he was a child playing with them half the time. He couldn't help his passions, and anyone to disagree with him on them were readying themselves for a fight.
The professor happily took a seat on the stool near her, and watched as she went to work, hopefully we wouldn't be too overbearing. For a moment he thought back to Hanna and how she'd once elbowed him in the neck because he'd be hovering while she was in the kitchen. He arched an eyebrow to show he was listening to her once he'd emerged from the memory. He rested an elbow on the counter, his chin propped up with his hand. She explained that the organization had been good for her, which he figured. And then an accurate time of when she returned home. "Sounds like a wonderful day," he said with that smile still on his face. Thad went on to ask about his day and he sighed. "Hung out with my buddy and watched Wes Anderson films. After grading some papers." He was always on top of his work, despite all the other pitfalls in the habits of his personal life. He enjoyed his work, so of course he would be on top of everything. "Do you know Wes Anderson?" Tom figured that it would be a good jumping point to get to know her more from. Films. Pretty general and good topic for conversation.
tag: thaddea <3 . notes: oh thad . outfit: nice shirt and pants.
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Post by THADDEA ARYN MELANTHA on Oct 15, 2012 15:33:36 GMT -5
take a walk downstairs She moved flawlessly, in the kitchen especially. The kitchen was a familiar place to her, one she moved in with fluidity and ease. In her years as a child, growing up, her mother had stressed a woman’s mastery of cooking. Her lips twitched, thinking of her traditionalistic Greek mother. She believed that the ability to cook made a woman more attractive to a man, that she should have mastery – expertise. She’d grown up learning to cook every dish known to man. And these skills had in fact been a necessity when she had eventually been married. Zachary had been traditionalistic in his own way, though a far less pleasing way than her mother. He’d expected a woman to remain in her place, and her place was in the home. Thaddea had learned to keep her mouth shut, to anticipate what her husband wanted, and to have his dinner hot, ready and on the table at 7:30 sharp. Moving now brought back a mix of emotions – the joy of learning to cook with her mother, and her terror of her husband. Her fingers paused, lingering over a pan as she lost herself briefly in memories. A moment later she was moving again, shuffling pots and pans.
She nodded, slightly surprised. She was actually enjoying the quiet hum of Thomas’ voice in the background as she worked. She wanted him to keep talking. She didn’t have much to say, but she enjoyed listening. It seemed home-y, something so different. The last time she had lived with anyone, it had been Zachary. And every afternoon, when he came home from work, her fear would begin. She’d walked on eggshells, aiming only to please him. The sound of his voice used to frighten her. For months, any man’s voice had frightened her. But Thomas, sitting on his stool, chin in his hand, was somehow comforting. It was rhythmic, as if he expected nothing from her. It was a unique feeling, as everyone always wanted something from her – usually she was broken by her own expectations. She glanced up from the risotto she had begun to stir. She blinked at him. “Of course I would?” Her tone was as rigid and formal as ever, but there was a slight smile on her lips. She was confused, but strangely pleased by his words. Did he truly think to know her well enough to make such a judgment? And, even more interesting, how did he see her?
She truly didn’t mind him hovering, she enjoyed his company. Usually she enjoyed no company but her own. But he was calm, quiet, soothing. She rummaged in the refrigerator, pulling out a small bag of mushrooms. She had thought to sauté some, perhaps add a few to the risotto. She pulled out a cutting board and a pairing knife. She set the board and knife before him, the mushrooms at his side. She didn’t order him, didn’t ask. But perhaps, if he had something to do, he would stay longer – keep her company. She’d heard such things were “social” and “community-building”. He mentioned Wes Anderson and she smiled again. Wes Anderson. She’d watched the films as a child, more often as a teenager. She’d seen them each dozens of times, mostly because Alisander had loved them so. The two had watched them together, over and over and over again. When he couldn’t sleep, he snuck in, and she’d put on the movie. They’d huddle on her bed, under quilts and with pillows, and take turns quoting the lines. But she didn’t say all of this. Instead she nodded. “I’ve seen every one of his films. I could quote every line of Fantastic Mr. Fox if you asked me to.” She still had that barely-a-smile tilt to her lips.
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Post by THOMAS LULA ROTH on Oct 17, 2012 21:16:38 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: transparent, width: 400px; height: 300px;] hey ! been trying to meet you. mmm hey! must be a devil between us. or whores in my head. whores at my door. whores in my bed. but hey! where have you been? if you go i will surely die. we're chained, we're chained, we're chained. "uh," said the man to the lady. "uh," said the lady to the man she adored and the whores like a choir. go uh all night, and mary ain't you tired of this? uh is the sound that the mother makes when the baby breaks. we're chained, we're chained, we're chained.
Tom had never truly been in an abusive relationship. He'd had some bad girlfriends. Not many, but some, and none of them had ever acted violently toward him. Other things were considered types of abuse -- being controlling, threatening, anything that made someone else afraid in a relationship -- but he hadn't experienced those either. And he was glad. The cheating had been bad, the fact that he'd been betrayed by the two most important people in his life. While people believed that men could not be abused because they were supposed to be the big, macho guys, anyone who had the intent to harm could abuse their partner. It was sickening to him, and so he would have found Thad's situation entirely too disturbing, too sad. How would he react to knowing about the man in her life that had broken her? Because honestly, if someone asked Tom, he didn't think she was broken. She was a wonderful woman and anyone who said otherwise was clearly out of their mind.
The professor was just very glad to have this semblance of domestic life. Thad had a quiet charm about her, something he appreciated. He was a man of many emotions that could be triggered any time -- he didn't hold back or restrain himself for the benefit of others. And the fact that she was so carefully reserved astounded him, interested him. Tom wanted to know more about her. He couldn't help but feel she was entirely adorable in asking the question. Tom didn't think she'd have gotten it a lot with her prim and proper personality, but she really was cute in some ways. But the sexy overpowered that most of the time. Not that he would actually say it, because that would be crossing many lines at once. He grinned at her with his good humor sketched across his face. "Yeah. I mean, you seem like the type that does things your own way. You have your own idea how everything should be." That was the idea he had about her, at least, and whether it was right or wrong he'd be glad to just get another piece of information about her. He would be living with her, he wanted to know more about the woman he had entered his life as barely a stranger.
The words that made their way to his heart was the fact that she'd seen all of Wes Anderson's films. He had many interests and hobbies and things he liked. He had a collection of rubber duckies, he really liked couches, and gelato had to be his favorite food. And any of these shared interests just made him click instantly with other people. He didn't really think he shared any interests with Rin, but their friendship was pretty odd all things considered. As for Logan and Christina and Avery, they were all people he just enjoyed talking to and being around since they were so interesting. But Thaddea had earned a special place in his heart at that moment. "I think we were meant to meet and live together, because Wes Anderson is my favorite." He stated it matter-of-factly, because it was true. He wasn't big into cinema, but he had his preferences in that area. "It would be a little weird to ask you randomly, but maybe we should just reenact the entire movie. What other kinds of movies do you watch?" It wasn't hard to tell at all that he was curious, that he wanted to fill up as much time as possible in waiting for the preparation of dinner to find out more about Thaddea Melantha.
tag: thaddea <3 . notes: oh thad . outfit: nice shirt and pants.
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Post by THADDEA ARYN MELANTHA on Oct 17, 2012 22:44:00 GMT -5
take a walk downstairs He’d wanted a baby. It was why she had left, had decided once and for all to escape. He’d wanted a child, multiple children. He would lie in bed at night, and rest his palm on her belly. And he’d smile this satisfied smile, and whisper to himself about the son he would raise. It was always that “he” would raise, never “we”. It was like she was simply the vessel, empty and waiting for him to impregnate. She couldn’t have risked birth control, or any other sort of contraceptive. He would have found it. And surgery, as much as she’d considered it, was impossible. He controlled all the expenses. He would have seen the bill, the charge. And his fury would have been unmatched. And each morning, when he left for work, she would flee to the privacy of her bathroom, filled with a cold gripping terror. She would hold the test with shaking fingers, the occasional tear in her eye. She’d breath in deep as she forced herself to read the results, then breathe a sigh of relief as it came up negative – again, and again and again. But there was always that possibility, that inevitability. It would come, her child, their child. And then she’d be stuck, well and truly trapped.
But she didn’t allow these thoughts, these memories, to pervade her consciousness as she stood chopping vegetables for Thomas. She didn’t allow herself to remember buying that handful of tests, even after she escaped. She wouldn’t allow herself to remember continuing to test, every morning for a month, just to make sure, just to know that she was rid of him – every part of him. She concentrated on Thomas, the smooth nimbleness of his fingers, his reassuring smile. She didn’t know what it was he was trying to reassure, what reason he had to look so gentle, but he looked it all the same. But of course, if she had known what he was thinking, that he would have ever used the words “adorable” or “cute” or “sexy” to describe her – well she would have dropped her knife. Her rigidness, the perfection, it was a defense as much as anything else. It kept her organized, in control, but also kept others away. Because it always started with words like “cute”. That’s how it had begun with Zachary. But it never ended that way. No, far too often it ended with jagged scars and newspaper stories.
She looked up, her lips twitching towards that almost-smile once more. She liked his description, accurate yet with kindness in it. Like it was something to be admired, instead of loathed as so many others did. Her lips parted, as if she would speak, but she pressed them quickly and firmly together. Her first response had been to say “because I know how everything should be”. But she held herself back, held back that rigid insistence. Instead, she spoke differently, an airiness infecting her rigid formality as she spoke. “Most would call that domineering or controlling.” And indeed, those were frequently what she was called – not that she had ever much minded. She scooped the vegetables into the risotto, stirring in a rhythmic motion as he spoke. Wes Anderson. She couldn’t help but think that this was a scene from one of his movies, a homey heart-warming kind of scene. Meant to meet. Meant to live together. They used to say that she and Zachary were meant to be. Was anything “meant” at all? She simply nodded her head, forcing that almost-smile. Instead, she concentrated on his question. She’d always liked whatever Alisander did, and he what she. She smiled to herself, fond memories surfacing. “The Princess Bride,” She paused. She’d always been something of a closet romantic, even after such a horrible experience. She continued, with a true, if small, smile. “And The Dark Knight trilogy.”
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Post by THOMAS LULA ROTH on Oct 18, 2012 13:45:36 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: transparent, width: 400px; height: 300px;] hey ! been trying to meet you. mmm hey! must be a devil between us. or whores in my head. whores at my door. whores in my bed. but hey! where have you been? if you go i will surely die. we're chained, we're chained, we're chained. "uh," said the man to the lady. "uh," said the lady to the man she adored and the whores like a choir. go uh all night, and mary ain't you tired of this? uh is the sound that the mother makes when the baby breaks. we're chained, we're chained, we're chained.
The only time that Tom was unerringly rigid was in the classroom. His students considered him a hardass, and that's because he was. He took his subject very seriously, possibly more serious than he should have. He was sure more than a few college kids disliked him because of that. Of course, he could joke around sometimes, but if his students laughed he was right back to being serious, often throwing them off. He never did it intentionally, as some of them might suspect. It wasn't a farce, it was just how his personality went, and he couldn't help how he acted in either the classroom or in his personal life, with other professors and teachers and people that he associated with. He didn't know Thaddea's style, but he had a feeling that oddly enough it was similar to his own. Though, as expected, she was most likely much more rigid than him. It was amazing how he could be so lax sitting in the kitchen with her while being incredibly unrelenting in the classroom. He was one of those professors that gave out homework every night. How else could he make sure that the kids were getting it? He didn't want anyone to bullshit through his class.
While he lived in academia, and he felt comfortable there, he also had a life outside of it. Tom also wondered about Thad's personal life, her hobbies and interests. What did she want out of life, was she comfortable in academia? Did she truly enjoy history, like he enjoyed calculus? He could go on forever and ever about his subject, and it would be wise for Thaddea not to ask about it otherwise he would talk her ear off. And he was very unsure about whether or not she would appreciate it. He smiled again at her words, shaking his head. "Trust me, I've been with my fair share of domineering women, you're like a puppy dog." Looking for an example, he finally came up with an ex and chuckled under his breath. "A went out with a girl in college that organized my receipts in alphabetical order." It definitely wasn't the worse ex, not at all. It was a relationship that had ended well enough for the both of them. He could talk about those other ex-girlfriends he had, but he could not talk about the big one. Anyone who knew him understood that soft spot.
Plus, there was also the fact that he had the biggest badass in the world for his sister. He was secretly dreading when Thad would meet her, because it was inevitable that Farrah would come over for a visit. He turned his thoughts to that, watching as a ghost of a smile came over her lips. She really should smile more often, it was nice and he didn't think he saw it a lot. He laughed at her answer. "It has been years since I've watched that. And I went to see The Dark Knight Rises with my friend, but that ended up kind of bad." He shook his head and said, "I spend a lot of time watching movies, as a matter of fact. I might actually have The Princess Bride somewhere..." It might have been in his room, which she hadn't touched yet. He was disorganized enough that he couldn't even remember where his DVDs were. Well, it wasn't that bad. He certainly wasn't as messy as some of his friends were, because it was like they intentionally made messes. It just so happened that he didn't have the time to do things like that. He didn't only teach, but he stayed after a lot and tutored and his life truly revolved around academia.
tag: thaddea <3 . notes: oh thad . outfit: nice shirt and pants.
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Post by THADDEA ARYN MELANTHA on Oct 18, 2012 22:54:52 GMT -5
take a walk downstairs She didn’t quite understand his comparison. On the one hand, dogs were loud dirty entirely unpleasant animals. They were generally obnoxious and clingy. Not to mention many of them had a nasty habit of destroying furniture and other valuables. They licked or chewed near everything in sight. And puppies were even worse, as they were entirely untrained. They were liable to whine or urinate in various unwanted places. So was his comment, by reason of association, an insult? Was he implying that she was both messy and unreasonably attached? This, to her knowledge, seemed a very poor judgment as she would have said she was the exact opposite. But perhaps, conversely, it had been meant as a compliment. According to the wide amount of greeting cards and pictures considered “cute”, puppies were highly valued. Her lips twitched. Why, for heaven’s sakes, was she considering this so carefully? She hadn’t made a habit of doing so before. She let comments role over her, replied when necessary. She was a machine, working for herself. The opinions of others, unless directly affecting her pursuits, had never had any significant meaning to her. And yet here she was, chopping chives, and questioning whether being likened to a puppy was a compliment or a glaring insult. What had the world come to?
Yet when he continued, naming a girl who had apparently organized his receipts, she cracked another smile. She even let out a breath that could have been considered an almost laugh. She shook her head, mostly to herself. In her mind, this girlfriend of his had been entirely incompetent. Indeed, as far as she understood, Thomas had thought the same thing. She smiled that barely-a-smile at him. “Everyone knows that receipts should be organized by date received.” She shook her head, continuing her chopping. It had not occurred to her that his point was simply that the receipts had been organized. In her mind, the point was that they had been organized incorrectly. She scooped the chives into a bowl, along with some other spices and such she intended to use for the seasoning of their steaks. As she did so, she began cleaning some of her utensils. While the steaks cooked, she would have a few spare minutes. Without a word, she strode from the kitchen purposefully. She vanished into her room, moving with that practiced intent rigidness. She emerged a moment later, her new labeler in her fingers.
She returned to the kitchen, and set about labeling the cabinets. This, she saw, as a perfectly legitimate task to accomplish in her free moments. She started with the cabinets, assessing what they held. Some dishes she took out, shaking her head slightly as she did so. What were coffee cups doing in with the dinner plates? She organized carefully – plates by size and purpose, cups by quality, cabinets by the specific dishes they held. Each cabinet door received her neat little label. And each shelf held two or three such as “Tea Plates” beneath a neat stack of saucers. She continued their conversation as she worked, only glancing over her shoulder once or twice to cast furtive looks his direction. She had to acknowledge, in her stubbornly clinical way, he was pleasing to look at. She brightened up as he mentioned owning a copy of The Princess Bride. She hadn’t seen the movie in years, and just the thought made her heart ache with loneliness and grief. Yet it was also a comfort, a sense of familiarity. She smiled slightly. “I’m sure I’ll locate it during my home organization.” Home. She’d just called this home. She couldn’t help but wonder when it had stopped being simply a house. But she didn’t stray on this thought for long, preferring to imagine all the labels she would bestow in Thomas’ tornado of a room.
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Post by THOMAS LULA ROTH on Oct 19, 2012 15:33:56 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: transparent, width: 400px; height: 300px;] hey ! been trying to meet you. mmm hey! must be a devil between us. or whores in my head. whores at my door. whores in my bed. but hey! where have you been? if you go i will surely die. we're chained, we're chained, we're chained. "uh," said the man to the lady. "uh," said the lady to the man she adored and the whores like a choir. go uh all night, and mary ain't you tired of this? uh is the sound that the mother makes when the baby breaks. we're chained, we're chained, we're chained.
Tom liked some aspects of a mechanical organized life, sure, but that was in his subject. He had always appreciated it mathematics because there was always one distinct answer. Or two or three, but they were always the same. There was a right and a wrong. It appealed to him more than history, he could never stay focused in that class, or English for that matter. It was frustrating when a teacher asked him to find hidden meanings in things that he didn't believe had any meanings whatsoever. Sometimes the author just wanted a bench to be red, it had no rhyme or reason. There was rhyme and reason behind math, however, there was a method, specifics. So while he did not live his life like Thad, he had an appreciation for the rigidity and methodical focus she had. If only he could apply his academic beliefs to his every day life, he might have been able to attract a mate easier. Thinking as if he were a lion, he figured that a clean den was a good way to get a lioness to bang him. That's how nature worked, right?
When Thaddea smiled and responded, with an answer that should have been predictable by now but really was not, he spread his arms wide. She was really just the tip of it, but everyone had their stories about bad exes. Most people liked to swap them over a beer or two, men and women both. Though ironically, not a very good topic of conversation for dates. No one new liked to hear about who came before them or how many exes you had. "I tried to tell her, but then she said that Sesame Street taught her that the alphabet is the way to go." That was, of course, a joke. He had never actually said anything about it. This was pre-Hanna though, things might have changed had this happened post that one ex. "I had to break up with her right then and there." His jokes could perhaps be misconstrued as being serious sometimes, but he figured that people would be able to tell from the absurdity of his words.
The man preoccupied himself again by watching her prepare dinner, watched her careful movements and figured that she might have had a system. Who knew? He understood there were certain things that should be followed when it came to dinner, things that had to do with manners and salad forks and dinner forks. He wasn't rich enough to have ever been worried about that. Though it was funny, considering he had gone to boarding school. That was what the Academy was, after all, and even though he lived in the area he had actually boarded there with his siblings. "I bet," he said lowly, laughing a little bit. She would probably be good at finding things he believed he'd lost a while ago. He hadn't been living here for long, so that was certainly saying something. "Oh yeah, thanks for the house rules you put up, I was wondering how many ladies I can bring back to the bachelor pad." It was one of those instances that his humor might have been mistaken for seriousness if not for the little smirk on his lips.
tag: thaddea <3 . notes: oh thad . outfit: nice shirt and pants.
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Post by THADDEA ARYN MELANTHA on Oct 23, 2012 15:50:45 GMT -5
take a walk downstairs She’d never watched Sesame Street as a child. But it wasn’t because she had been deprived or abused or poor or any such thing. She hadn’t even been under the influence of her OCD as a child. Rather, quite simply, she’d aged quickly. She’d spent a majority of her childhood in Greece. And though they had TV of course, Sesame Street hadn’t been a particularly popular show. All her childhood TV had been in Greek, been Greek actors and Greek ideas. By the time her family had picked up and moved to Canada, she’d been far too old to hold any interest in Sesame Street. Alisander had been young enough, just barely. Occasionally she could remember the theme song sounding out from the living room on occasion. But she’d never gotten the characters straight – that blue thing that never ate properly, the mutant chicken, and that creepy red gender-less thing. But that wasn’t truly the point, now was it?
As for the absurdity of his words, well it didn’t exactly occur to her to take them as anything but serious. It should have and perhaps in another life, it would have. But it didn’t, not today at least. And as for dating, well her experience truly was limited. She’d dated Zachary, on the advice of her mother. And then, with the consent of both families, it had been arranged for her to marry him. There had only ever been Zachary. Thaddea had never expected to date like other girls her age. She knew her families traditions, and accepted them happily. But looking back, hearing Thomas talk and laugh about dates gone wrong, she began to wonder what could have happened. But that wasn’t a thought to linger on, to allow true access to her mind. She stirred the mushrooms into the risotto, a rhythmic motion. Her wooden spoon went around and around and around. Simultaneously, she slapped the two steaks into the pan. They sizzled, sending up a whoosh of scented air. She had seasoned them carefully – subconsciously exactly the way Zachary had liked them.
She prodded at the steaks, flipping them occasionally as she stirred the risotto. Dinner would be ready any moment, and this little conversation would end – or so she expected. She froze for a moment, suddenly remembering that she hadn’t set the table. She’d allowed herself to be distracted. Her heart beat in a panic, imagining Zachary’s fury if he came to dinner without the table set. It took her a moment to register, to remember that Zachary wasn’t there. He was far away. It was just Thomas. And she doubted he would even care I the table was set. She relaxed, slowly, but still retained a bit of her rigidness. She had allowed a strange sort of silence to fall between them. She cleared her throat, just as he spoke again, referencing her house rules. At first she wondered whether he mocked her, but there was that little reassuring smile on his lips. She smiled, obviously pleased. “I’m glad we’re in agreement on the subject of the parameters of behavior and expectations.” She lifted her face rapidly, scouring his face. She had NO desire for strange women to be wandering through her home. But he was smiling, and she allowed herself to relax. No uncouth woman would come wandering in and pick at her perfect labels or reorganize her shelves. She turned off the stove, serving him up the bigger of the steaks and a heaping portion of risotto. She pushed the plate towards him, along with a set of utensils and a napkin. She served herself, before coming around to perch at the counter with him. Without having realized it – without having even thought of it – she had long since passed the allotted time for preparing dinner. The schedule had been disrupted.
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