TRI Me {Semper&Gryph&Death}

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Death
Career Tribute

509 POSTS
Pronouns: they/them
last seen Feb 13, 2023 21:20:51 GMT -5

Just because you're trash doesn't mean you can't do great things. It's a garbage can, not a cannot.

TRI Me {Semper&Gryph&Death} Jan 6, 2015 22:09:28 GMT -5

Post by Death on Jan 6, 2015 22:09:28 GMT -5

r a r i t y h a w k i n g
d a u g h t e r - s i s t e r - a c t r e s s

    Every day is a new one.
    But is it really? Should we count by days? Or perhaps we should count by weeks. Perhaps years?
    Or, perhaps, we could count by the lifetime. From the time we're born, until the time we die, nothing is renewed.
    Perhaps this is the correct thinking, no? That we have no new chances-- no fresh starts. Looking at a victor of our Hunger Games would tell you as much.
    The past prefers to cling like a bloodstain. Time might be a detergent, but it's a poor one that can never truly make the deepest of marks fade.
    Bleach? Bleach is death to the colors of your life. Would we really and truly be willing to sacrifice completely who we were, who we are and who we could become in order to wipe away our pasts?
    I can only speak for myself, but I would say no. Because this life-- where I can know for certainty where my bread is buttered, where I truly have no cares or worries in the world-- is a sweet one. For me.
    My thoughts have taken a strange turn, I realize as I open my eyes to the clear sky. It's almost the light-blue color of a peacock feather. With the sun straight above my head, it's a blinding sight and I have to close my eyes again.
    I prop my hand against my forehead, shielding my eyes a bit from the sun. The light is bright, but no longer stunning.
The wind tugs at the strands of curly hair that peek out from under my beanie. The rest lies
pressed against the fraying towel I brought with me to lay against.
Normally, I would prefer to have had a few clouds overhead. They, at least, would keep my mind from wandering into philosophical territory.
What was I thinking about before?
Oh. Yeah. Grounded from the piano.
Again.
It's not my fault I didn't have time yesterday to make my training schedule! They kept me up until three at one of their parties and I didn't get to bed until four. No way am I waking up at five so I can head to the gym!
Sleep is just as important a training regimen as the actual work-out part. You can't get stronger without it!
But, nope. It's always my fault. "You could've just stayed up with your sister and gone with her. She never misses a morning at the training center!"
Well good for Artemis, but I'm not her! I don't want to be in the Hunger Games. I don't want to volunteer. I just want to sing and play my piano and act. Why can't they just respect that?
It's making me angry just thinking about it. Why should it even matter.
I sigh, close my eyes and cover them once more with my arm to shut out the light.
Maybe I could shut out the world, too, while I was at it.

semper Gryphon

Last Edit: Jan 6, 2015 22:11:38 GMT -5 by Death

Gryphon
Career Tribute

503 POSTS

Pronouns: He/Him
last seen Aug 31, 2020 22:24:24 GMT -5

heading to cloud nine

TRI Me {Semper&Gryph&Death} Jan 8, 2015 1:07:34 GMT -5

Post by Gryphon on Jan 8, 2015 1:07:34 GMT -5

A l e x a n d r i t e . R o s e

The rose that girl gave me was tucked into the insides of my scarf as I continued to stare blankly at the empty pages of my writing journal. I let out a sigh. Why do I bother? Why do I keep trying?

I thought that the fresh air, the surroundings of nature, just being away from that damned shop was going to get my creative juices flowing slowly at the very most. At least I would have a couple words scribbled here and there amongst the lines. But no, nothing.

The air current brings my coarse waves of hair to life as I groan out of frustration and slam the journal closed, hurling it onto the earth a few feet away. I was sitting under a tree, my knees up to my chest as I begin to wrap my arms around them. I bring my eyelids together and listen to the occasional tweet of a bird, the heavy rustling of the leaves, the rush of the wind.

I was upset the past couple of days. Now I don't really feel anything. Dad's still locked up in his half-empty bedroom, half of my notebook still remains to be filled with nothing, I've given up on trying to repair my fragile glass heart. What's done is done. He took mom away from us, and that's that. When it comes to change, things don't usually revert back to how they used to be.

Desire suddenly begins to bloom within my being. ...Love? Not the platonic kind, not the one you feel for your family. ...Maybe finding someone will help fill this now empty gap in my life? I've...I've never really wanted it, considering how I can make things awkward and myself look pathetic when it comes to conversations. Besides, I had mom and dad anyway so I was satisfied with my contact with other people. But...dad's drifted off to his own world of emotional suffering, and...she's gone...so perhaps this kind of love will help me move forward?

I should probably just let it happen on its own though. I shouldn't force it. But if I want this, I'm going to have to start learning how to actually talk to other people. Even if I have to make pauses in the middle of my sentences to re-choose my words and how I piece them together carefully, it's better than humiliating and keeping to myself when I'm not around my parents or are amongst other company with them.

I exhale once again, this time deeply. The chill of the wind feels nice. A yawn escapes my lips. I could stay like this forever. Just escape reality and feel gusts cool my exposed skin as I allow my head to fall forward...without the neck cramps of course. I don't have to worry about my father's well-being, I don't have to worry about looking for another passion or end up having to resort to Career training because mom was the reason I love drawing nothing but letters. I don't have to worry about what's going to happen to the perfume shop, I don't have to worry about if we have to find a new house to live in if it ends up having to close down. I don't have to worry about allowing other people to come into my life to fill the hole that mom left. I don't have to worry about wanting to feel this new kind of love so I can just keep going. I don't have to worry about anything. I don't...I don't have to...

...I-I don't...

Last Edit: Jan 8, 2015 1:15:27 GMT -5 by Gryphon

Made by the lovely moon(stone) <3

semper
Retired Staff

2,354 POSTS
last seen Jan 1, 2014 0:57:11 GMT -5

TRI Me {Semper&Gryph&Death} Jan 12, 2015 15:22:00 GMT -5

Post by semper on Jan 12, 2015 15:22:00 GMT -5

Lieutenant DiNiro Richter

I didn’t find very much treasure last night. Usually with the new graves, the deceased’s remaining family members will put at least one rather valuable item in the casket, but all I found were a few coins. Nothing much, though it’s definitely something; it’s more than I had yesterday, and maybe I’ll buy a fresh loaf of bread for myself and Grandmother. She’s becoming far too old to maneuver around the kitchen effectively without hurting herself and it worries me. Lately I’ve been the one who cooks and cleans around the shop, dusting off all of our taxidermies and organizing tools and chemicals. Her memory is fading as well, and she often calls me by my grandfather’s name and mentions events that happened before I was even born. Poor Grandmother. I’m sure a warm loaf of bread will bring some joy for her today.

My feet are dragging along the path and the shovel is resting heavily on my shoulder. Digging up graves is exhausting when it’s just me and Brig’s not there, and it’s even more frustrating when the rewards are so little. Brig would be disappointed in me for not finding some other form of income; the few coins that are now clinking in my pocket are not enough to help keep the taxidermy shop afloat. I need to do more, and that’s why I’ve started trying to make those…. darker taxidermies—the other reason that I was also looking through the fresh graves. Recently deceased corpses are a prime pick, and so long as I can get the skin soaking in a certain chemical mixture before it’s been in the ground too long, it can stay soft enough to be put onto a mount.

I’ve not sold any of those taxidermies, and, honestly, I’m pretty scared to give them away. The only two I’ve created have been stored in a closet for some time now. No one knows they’re there and I’m just waiting for the proper time to show my brother. I don’t think he’ll take too kindly to it, actually. No one really will. It’s just a taboo thing that I’m utilizing in order to prove myself and maybe even sell to someone with a twisted mind that’d be willing to pay a hefty buck for it. I think Brig will be expecting something with muttation parts, obviously, but I hope he’ll come around to my creations.

That’s a long shot, though. Still, I can hope. He’s been absent for quite some time now and it’s my job to keep things running smoothly, so there’s no time to waste getting back home. Grandmother is probably worried—assuming she remembers that she’s not the only one that lives there again.

A quick stop at the bakery and I use up most of the coins on a warm loaf of bread. I’m not even out of the shop before I tear a chunk off the end and shove it into my mouth, relishing the soft texture and unimaginably delicious taste. It’s a juggle for me to readjust the shovel so that I can easily get to the bread again. The loaf has to at least make it home but I continue to munch on little pieces, heading toward home.

((bah i apologize for this terrible post, i haven't used lou in ages </3 ))