//THIS WON'T STOP UNTIL I SAY SO// (Summer)

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//THIS WON'T STOP UNTIL I SAY SO// (Summer) Jun 14, 2011 21:38:50 GMT -5

Post by peanutpie on Jun 14, 2011 21:38:50 GMT -5

[shadow=grey,left,300]Vella.Sugare.

[/b][/shadow]
YOU ARE A HANDFUL OF ROSES[/COLOR][/FONT]

JUST THORNS IN A CHEAP BOUQUET[/center]

Vella had never been one to understate herself after something. She'd always forgive and forget, shrug her shoulders and mind her own business. The day after she was released from the detention center was an overcast one, and even though it was spring, the district had a slight sprinkling of rain all over it, leaving the pavement pockmarked with drops of percipitation. The temp was roughly above seventy, and Vella swore that if it was raining, it should be freezing cold outside so she could light a candle inside her apartment to make the whole scene even more theatrical. But no. It was too warm for a candle inside, especially when the lights were indeed on. And this was her thought process as she stared out of the third story window of Glazier Street in the first district.

The apartment was small, only three dank rooms with sparse lighting and dark, hardwood floors. The rooms were usually dust-ridden, and filled to the brim with little, useless things that Vella really wouldn't need ever again. A hat from a modeling photo shoot, two ink pens thrown haphazardly onto a desk and a gold chain that was thrown around the curtains, as if it was meant to hold their silken fabrics together. But no, it was more a minor accessory to the ecclectic look of the room, but it still looked fashionable in some shape and form. Like the breezy lampshades and pink, old flanel sheets that sat on a mattress with no bedframe. The whole scene showed what you might give up for drugs, and Vella had given up much. Of course, she was oblivious to this fact, and leaned against the wall, holding a glove in one hand and an opium pen in the other.

For a drug addict, Vella believed that she kept her appearance well enough together. Outside of the random items she had probably grabbed haphazardly from the floor or sidetable, she looked like a normal district person. Sure, a little less flashily dressed, but normal noneless. Pink lipstick on her lips, blonde hair fashionably curled around her doll-like face. Light beige eyeshadow on her eyelids, and mascara covering the eyelashes thickly. Blush was applied slightly to her cheekbones, and a straw hat was perched on the top of her head. A black and white polka-dotted dress of some variety was on her body, but she was only vaguely aware of it as she had put on black sandals and a silver bracelet. She looked quite solemn, but behind the boredom in her face there was something different. She wanted to go sprawl out in the wooden house she found in the older part of the district and let the opium smoke roar.

But she was relativley impatient, tapping her bitten fingernails against the wooden window edging. Her steel-blue eyes looked upon the street one last time before setting down the white glove on the edge of the window and walking across the room, rustling through the drawer of her nightstand, which was full of emty glass bottles of home-made opium (she'd bought it, of course) and so many assorted pieces of jewelry it wasn't funny. Being a model wasn't fun when it came to the clutter, but nor was being a drug addict. Vella finally grapsed her pale left hand around a jar that seemed to have enough of the substance in it. Shifting it in the bottle, she poured some into the smoking stick and lit it slightly, letting the vile-smelling smoke fill the room with a swoosh.

The minute the smoke absorbed into her lungs, she felt relieved. It was nice to have something to comfort you in lonliness, and it was a quite happy taste to her, the slick and oiliness of made her smile at the slight satisfaction of how indeed, opium satisfied her very much. Running a hand through her hair, she blinked, feeling more relaxed as she let her hand muscles stretch as she laid against her mattress. Her eyes absorbed the ceilings patterns, and she was quite close to wanting to fall asleep, but she had an opium pen poised in her hand, and the smell of opium made her nose wrinkle. It was the one thing that she didn't like about it, it made her smell a little off, but she usually doused the smell with perfume to cover it up.

Laying on that mattress for a good so-many minutes, she finally decided to get up, instead of sleeping off the smoke. She was usually unhappy when she slept it off, but her head was a little loud at that moment. She laughed at the thought of actually not being happy when she was high. No, not high. That was too much of a... drug addict form. Vella really didn't think she was addicted, it was more something she was very fond of. Of course, she might have heard about the health effects of it, and whatever. But still.

Vella paced across the room, and with a douse of floral perfume from another photo shoot, grabbed a green coat from the coat hanger and put it on, opening the door and slamming it shut behind her, not caring to lock it. Nothing of value was in there, outside of clothing (which meant nothing to her) and a few things of opium. Nothing huge. So, she didn't care to lock a door.

Down Glazier street Vella went, her eyes observing each little brick she saw, her mind observing these things. It was simplicity in it's best, a girl who was observing the little things. From an outsiders perspective, they might of thought she was an artistic person, perhaps a fashion designer from the capitol trying to get something done with architecture. Outside of that, they might think she was curious. Hell, some people might even know she was high, but nobody pulled her over to lecture her, so she assumed she was safe enough. She finally turned a corner, onto a street she knew only vaguely. It was with the big building with the children who were being trained for the games.

Trained. Vella recalled when she was a child in district eight, one of her first memories, her father scowling at the television screen in the three-room apartment she shared with her older brother, mother and father. She had been... four? She knew that her father had been unhappy, and was unhappy because of training. Training. Everyone knew about it, but it was an unspoken thing. But at the moment, Vella honestly didn't mind it. She found it to be one of those things that "If it works it works, if it's broke its perfect" things, the games. And so, by skewing the odds, it made it better. Of course, it could be her district-one current mindset, but she didn't mind it that much. Even as an eight year old. She shrugged her shoulders at the building before she saw a pouring of people her age out of the building.

Boys and girls, all of them teenagers of some sort. Vella observed them with a careful eye, before walking around the mass of children, attempting to seperate herself from the rest of them. Of course, she liked people to some sort, but she felt like she would be disregarded amongst them. Because a model? Who had to work for a living? A shame. She knew most of these people had richer families, and while she could keep herself fed, she still lived in a third-story apartment on Glazier street. She looked up at the building before casting her eyes to the ground in a hurried manner, and striding through the crowd with a smirk on her face. Bumping shoulders with someone, she looked up with an expression that said something like "Sorry." before she looked forward, and in a chiming voice said what the look said. "Sorry!"

[/size][/justify][/color]

WC: 1,319
MUSE: Just the way I'm Not- All Time Low
OUTFIT: hurr
OTHER: She. Wouldn't. Shut. Up.[/COLOR][/FONT]

Last Edit: Jun 15, 2011 20:47:27 GMT -5 by peanutpie

summer.love
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last seen Nov 18, 2011 20:27:34 GMT -5

//THIS WON'T STOP UNTIL I SAY SO// (Summer) Jun 17, 2011 14:07:35 GMT -5

Post by summer.love on Jun 17, 2011 14:07:35 GMT -5

Looslic had been in training for about 13 years now, and it was never the same. You could tell that he loved what he did and how much he hurt people. He was confident about what he was doing to others and often thought about volunteering. This year would be his year, to volunteer that is. He looked at his next opponent. A 16 year old wielding a sword. This fight wasn't in his favor, but Looslic was stronger and faster according to the charts that hung on the wall of the building. He smiled and continued chatting with his Career friends while the current fight was going on.

They talked about their most recent night out and how everyone of them managed to pick up a girl. The party was a wild one, but Looslic didn't know the person who threw it. One of his friends did though, and it was a jackpot for any whores dream. All the girls drunk and practically throwing off their clothes. As soon as the 6 guys were about to get into the juicy parts of the night, the fight before Looslic's ended.

Looslic groaned and stood up, knowing it was his turn to take a chance at this. He scowled while looking at his opponent who was polishing his sword as if he knew he was going to win. Looslic headed over to where his trident was hanging on a rack, and grabbed it. The three pronged, steel tipped trident was a beauty. His parents paid a ton for it and Looslic took good care of it. It was his most prized possession, but he knew that if he ever got the chance to volunteer, then he would most likely never get to see it again. What was he thinking? He would see it again when he got the chance to volunteer.

As soon as he was called, he headed up to the mat to try and beat some sense into this kid. They were about even on the charts, so that's why they had to fight, and also why Looslic had to win. He sighed and readied himself to fight the 16 year old. As soon as they set the two off to attempt to kill each other until at least one was injured pretty badly.

Looslic remembered that this kid was pretty well known for his temper and his sheer size. He stood about 2 inches above Looslic and his muscles were pretty obvious compared to Looslic's, but Looslic was faster than this... fatty. Looslic smirked at this thought and dodged as the kid charged at him, starting something pretty dangerous.

-Time skip ><-

By the end of the 20 minute or so fight, they trainers ended it and sent the two boys to the infirmary. Looslic scowled when he saw the results of the fight. A tie. The kid moved up a slot just below Looslic and Looslic stayed the same. As soon as Looslic's cuts were treated, he headed out.

He checked that his trident had been cleaned for him as usual, then went to leave the place for the day. Nobody questioned him as he entered the lobby to head out. Upon exiting the door, he saw a rather pretty girl with blonde hair and less of the usual make up that he saw on a regular basis from the girls in training. Any less than what the girls had in training was extremely unusual due to the fact that girls were hardly aloud to wear make up inside the facility.

He made his way down the steps, and intentionally brushed her shoulder get her attention to him. Upon hearing her fragile voice, he replied, "Nah, it's cool. My fault anyway." He gave his classic boyish smile that could practically draw any girl in.

((Sorry I time skipped, I can't roleplay out fights very well. >< And sorry that I can't match your post, I can't write that much. D:))

peanutpie

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//THIS WON'T STOP UNTIL I SAY SO// (Summer) Jun 18, 2011 3:47:10 GMT -5

Post by peanutpie on Jun 18, 2011 3:47:10 GMT -5

[shadow=grey,left,300]Vella.Sugare.

[/b][/shadow]
LOCK ME IN THE STREET IN THE MIDDLE OF WINTER[/COLOR][/FONT]

MY FROSTBITE HEART SAYS TRY TO FORGET HER.[/center]

Vella had always thought that people her age were frivilous. They always did things that weren't really needed. Like, for example, when Vella had first came to the district, a suitcase in hand and she saw a few kids toting around the same suitcase for an overnight trip. Those were all of the posessions that capitol had given her for the beggining of her modeling career. The pink suitcase had been her favorite thing for a long time after, though she had always been curious why certain people packed so much in a bag. Of course, she knew that the capitol wasn't going to give her huge amounts of clothing when she was a twelve year old ready to finish up what basic schooling she'd need and then jump into the modeling profession. She really did understand this as a kid, but when people her own age did frivilous things, it still reminded her of the slight insanity she had wittnessed as a district eight "immigrant" (though she was more of a mail-order model) and how she recalled it.

Rolling her eyes at the memory, she turned on the heel of her shoe, and looked at the person for a second. A guy, of course. She could tell he was probably a fairly wealthy guy, just from being in a training center. He was... built. That was the only thing that the scrawny Vella could really think of. Built, and rather dark, compared to her paper-white skin and her blonde hair that was hidden behind a hat. Her eyes looked at the dark eyes of the person, who was roughly her height. She must of been an inch shorter, but they were fairly close in height, which made her look directly in her eyes when she turned around. Blinking, she carefully turned on the heel again before hearing words being spoken.

She couldn't comprehend them at first, but as she began to walk again, she finally made sense of them after it. "Nah, it's cool. My fault anyway." She snickered at herself, and for no reason, really. Her mind was still a bit scrambled by the opium from earlier, and she honestly wanted some more right then. It'd mean having to dash away from wherever she was or taking out the small bottle she had stored in a honey-yellow purse and putting it in an opium pen at that moment. She pondered this for a moment, her mind considering all the options. Vella Sugare, could, of course, let her chipped nails dip into the purse and pull out the jar of opium or she could try to engage in a conversation with someone who really didn't care if she smelled like cheap perfume and drugs.

She honestly felt like people avoided her because of this. Usually, those were the two smells that covered her entire body, and it sucked for her, because even the designers she worked with scoffed after she got out of a dress and she was standing there like an idiot in the middle of a dressing room, trying to find the clothes she had worn earlier that day, before she had the said photo shoot for a magazine. And the designer would stand there, looking at the dress and sniffing with a slightly iffed expression, wondering what the hell the dress smelled like. Vella would give them a very blatant wording if they were to ask "What do you think? Opium and perfume. Oh yeah, and drug dealer. Best smell on earth" At least, mentally. Verbally, Vella wouldn't speak a word like that, especially to the people that hired her for things, and pretty much kept her life going.

And her obsession with drugs going. Yes, that was her main motivation, really. If she didn't have the designers, she didn't have money, if she didn't have money, she didn't have drugs. So, she relied on the designers for nearly everything important to her, well, except for her hair. Her hair was fairly important to her, and it was free. And everything else was going to rely on the designers, so she was going to have to treat them with respect at one point. She would, she promised herself. Never a harsh word to them. For the opium. For the possible future of her sanity. Hell, Vella was sure that if she kept her attitude up, she could get more, the higher quality stuff that people not like Maddy sold.

Oh, how Vella hated her drug dealer. Maddy, a scrawny, old man with a disposition to try to sexually irritate Vella, and get her to do new drugs (the former that irritated her, and the latter that she didn't mind) though no other drugs had stuck with Vella. The only one that she had found even mildly happyfying was black tar heroin, and even though you had to inject it, Vella learned it was made of the same stuff as opium, and she tolerated it, she assumed. Of course, if they were out of opium (which happened every month or so) Vella sucked it up, ordered some black tar heroin and some "sanitary" needles, and hightailed her way to try to get the right vein injected. But usually, she kept baby food jars of poppy fruit, midnight oil, opium. Whatever she called it on that day.

She turned back around to look at the guy again, rolling her eyes and clenching her teeth. She was relaxed, and no where near anxious, but clenching her teeth was a nasty habit from when she was a child. With a smirk, she looked at the guy, who was trying to smile in an impressive way. You know, the all-american, bad-boy-gone-good look that seemed to give off the sense of confidence, arrogance and at the same time, and even the sense of.... Something Vella couldn't detect in her own haze of high.

Vella tried to think of something to say in return, but it was one of those awkward moments that always screwed people over in movies and stuff. Vella, always liking to watch things with intent, had seen a movie once. A capitolite movie, a remaking of a certain hunger games that had striking characters, apparently. It was unrealistic as it got, but Vella had noticed the amount of cliches in the movie, intricatley woven into the "basic" plotline of the 12th games. Vella had hated the thing, and directly after the movie, had went outside to have more of the opium she loved so very much. That was back when she cared about inside her apartment. Two years ago, she thought. She was fifteen when she watched the tacky remake of a hunger games. That was it. Now, she couldn't care less. Pursing her lips, Vella looked at the guy another time, before rolling her eyes and trying to mumble something intelligent sounding in the slurring of opium-high.

She blinked her eyelids, and finally said with a voice that she tried to make sound like she was sober. "Seriously? Because I thought it was mine..."

[/b] Vella trailed off before finally finding some form of social butterfly within her heart (buried deep, deep down and probably intensified by the opium) and smiled. "I'm Vella."[/b] She rolled her eyes at herself and wasn't sure where to continue her odd-shaped sentences.
[/color][/blockquote][/size][/justify]

WC: 1,219
MUSE: That Girl- All Time Low
OUTFIT: hurr
OTHER: 'Tis fine. ^^ And I usually hit the same amount of words you do in my other characters, Vella is just like... "BLAHBLAHBLAH." [/COLOR][/FONT]

Last Edit: Jun 18, 2011 3:52:09 GMT -5 by peanutpie

summer.love
Seam Resident

8 POSTS
last seen Nov 18, 2011 20:27:34 GMT -5

//THIS WON'T STOP UNTIL I SAY SO// (Summer) Jun 18, 2011 20:08:17 GMT -5

Post by summer.love on Jun 18, 2011 20:08:17 GMT -5

Looslic sort of laughed when Vella trailed off from her own statement, but anyone who knew him would know it was just a well disguised smirk. He looked at the girl and her size in comparison to himself. She wasn't much shorter, but she was rather small everywhere else. He looked at the girl with much amusement as she tried to sound smart even though she looked a bit like an air head, maybe even high. It had been a fad around District 1 for a while now, but not many people seemed addicted. It was only for looks, but this girl seemed more off than the people who followed the fad. She seemed... genuine.

He stood at least a foot away from the girl and still had his smile across his lips. He knew that his lips would be touching this girls lips for tonight. They almost always did. Almost? What was he thinking, of course they did. He looked over the girl again; she seemed out of it, but then again, mostly everyone was. The girl constantly rolled her eyes and it annoyed Looslic a bit, but he hid the annoyance from shining through his eyes. Looslic knew he was rather arrogant and a bit of a jackass, but it never bothered him at all.

He remembered this one girl that saw through him like she's had one too many boyfriends and completely blocked Looslic out. He actually kept trying to impress the girl, and in the end, she was his for the night. He wasn't all that drunk that night and had left almost immediately after she fell asleep. About 2 months later, he saw the girl again, sober this time and she sure did remember him. He walked by her on the street and had tried to avoid her at all costs, but she didn't let him slip by at all. She literally beat the crap out of him on the street and he let her, he always let a girl beat the crap out of him because not only did not believe in hitting a girl, he believed he sometimes was a bit of a douche to some of the girls. He never resisted the hits.

That was about 4 months ago now and Looslic still didn't forget her, it just wasn't his thing to forget a night. There had only been probably 4 times he had gotten so drunk he had forgotten a night since he dumped Denel. He also made sure he remembered because he liked to remember each girl's flaws and talents. Again, it was just his thing.

Looslic brought his mind back to the girl after drifting off into his own head for a minute. The girl was definitely the opposite of Looslic, and rather trashy compared to his own expensive clothing. He looked at the girls eyes and they seemed tired, if not already asleep to him. Looslic listened to her soft voice say her name and stated his own, "The name's Looslic." He kept his flashy and seductive smile still there and wasn't going to let it go until she was his for the night, well afternoon.

peanutpie

guest

//THIS WON'T STOP UNTIL I SAY SO// (Summer) Jun 18, 2011 22:30:21 GMT -5

Post by peanutpie on Jun 18, 2011 22:30:21 GMT -5

[shadow=grey,left,300]Vella.Sugare.

[/b][/shadow]
YOU MAKE ME FEEL LIKE A BAD JOKE[/COLOR][/FONT]

WALK A TIGHTROPE TO HOLD ONTO YOU.[/center]

As a child, Vella was the kid with scraped knees constantly. She had observed other children from afar, not really putting herself into social situations unless nessecary. She had always placed herself away from the other kids because she didn't blend in with them. In the eighth district, children tended to have medium complexions and brown hair, unlike her overly pale coloring. And some people had even told her she looked like a doll, in a way that obviously was meant to scar the poor girl for life. But, she wouldn't talk to other children after that comment. She kind of just observed from afar, watching them with her blue eyes. She had really never regained confidence from this, and was still apphrehensive from anything that involved large crowds of people. Of course, when she wasn't high. When she was on something, she was obviously a recluse, someone who really needed to go to her corner and do nothing but write in her notebook and talk to her ghosts. (You know, they hadn't been showing up that much recently...)

Vella broke from her childhood memory of steaming factories and inky notebooks to the slick reality of bodies around her. There were at least twenty people her age around her, all conversing and walking, and were all much more impressive than herself. They all had intriguing hair colors and types, not the sad, towheaded, and somewhat limp of herself. All of them were built or toned, and Vella wondered how that happened. She knew she was scrawny, and fairly pathetic when it came to anything athletic. And she knew she had a good reason to envy these people: they hadn't ridden their bodies with drugs to keep them calm around people. They didn't have to stay extrodinarily thin to please the capitolites fashion ads. They had much more rights than she did, and she knew that she had the right to be envious of them. And they all seemed energized, something she hadn't felt in a long time.

Holding one hand in the other, she looked to the side to see a passing of a redheaded girl and a blonde boy, who were joking loudly with eachother. They were both relativley normal looking for district one, and she envied them. With lean, toned bodies, Vella felt like a pale stick compared to the people around here. Insecurity flooded her cheeks, and they turned a slight pink color before she laughed a little bit at herself and ran her fingers through her hair. Her hair was rather thin, something she hated very much about it. She wanted to make a dash for it, since it seemed like the opium was running off of its highest high, and she was trapped amongst dozens of people around her, something she'd rather not be in.

Anxiousness ran down her skin, and she shifted uncomfortably, trying to get herself into the mindset of talking to someone without running away or passing out in terror. She tried to think of it in a good way. She had done it with Mahogany before. She'd talked to Mahogany. Blinking twice, she tried to think of something else to assure her that she'd be fine, and not insulted. Because being insulted would utterly suck. She was too wound up from a childhood memory, think of what it could do as a teenager. Major angst, she was sure. More drugs, more money, and she'd probably lose her job due to more drugs. She'd be hauled away to the detention center, to wither away to a person with withdrawl issues and hallucenations about being a prostitute. Glory, Vella realized she was screwed up. Not in a bad way, but that she depended so much on opium... but it wasn't an addiction, she assured herself.

She was not addicted to opium. She was not. She was simply its friend. She was friends with it. Friends. She smoothed out her skirt with her chalky white hands and looked at the fabric. Polka dots, something she thought had been an intriguing pattern, especially with her sandals. She adored shoes of all kinds, and sandals were her favorite spring time shoe because of how nice they were to put onto your feet and just enjoy them. They were comfortable, and were apparently appropriate for the modeling industry to be wearing, so she took every oppurtunity to wear a pair of sandals. She especially adored the black ones she was wearing on that day, which made her feet look bigger than they actually were, which was something she knew was good, because it was all about porportions when it came to looking decent.

If you had small feet, like she did, she looked like she was going to fall over at any moment in anything but the shoes that she was wearing. She hated her feet because of their size, with their veins poking out even more noticably when they were small looking. Now, they looked the perfect size and the veins were restrained by the beautiful strapping of the sandals. The straps were covered by little golden stones, and took away from the overall ugliness of her feet. And hell, who even liked their feet? Vella pondered this for a second, letting her mind wander to the architecture of the buildings another time. The training gym in particular was quite pretty. It had a high roof with bricks laid in a swirling pattern on the wall. Or maybe it was just Vella's high wearing off. She shook her head, removing her hand from her hair and placing it by her side.

Apparently the tan-skinned, dark haired, dark-eyed guys name was Looslic. Vella thought it was an odd thing for a name, but she shouldn't be talking. Her name was just as uncommon as his, if not, more so. But she liked her name, and this Looslics name sounded harsh and like it was ground to the bone. Like someone was throwing bitter coffee grounds on top of an average name, making it more acidic and theatrical. Vella mentally reminded herself that everybody had a name for a reason, and maybe it was a kind of fabric or something. And she didn't like being tormented about her "doll face" when she was young, so she would keep her mouth shut about the name thing. And maybe it was a nickname.

Vella remembered nicknames from when she was in her current district for about a month. She had been training for photo quality at that time, and they wanted to give Vella a name that sounded more catchy than Vella Sugare. Because Vella sounded too syrupy and sugare (pronounced shu-gharr, even though everyone said shug-ger constantly. No matter how much she reminded them, they still said sugar, and it irritated Vella so very much) and they had tried to assign her something more.. normal. Glamour? No, too generic. THey had tried to get multiple different kinds of names for her, but finally they had given up on the search and kept her name the seemingly awful Vella. The capitol designers shuddered everytime they heard her name, she was sure, but she took decent enough pictures, so they tolerated the name and the girls fear of people and all of the little things that c ame with Vella. At least she wasn't a diva.

Vella saw the guy smile again, the type of charming, arrogant smile that he had donned earlier. It confused her immensley, and then it slightly clicked. Was he trying to impress her? Vella didn't think anybody would be smiling like that unless something hilarious just happened and it didn't impact them, they were trying to impress someone or they were about to kill you. She didn't see a weapon, and she was sure that nothing bad was happeneing with her. She blinked and looked at him again, her blue eyes in slight confusion. She wasn't nevous, just more... wondering what he was smiling about. Vella had always wondered about things, and this was not an exception to be taken lightly. Pressing her tounge to her cheek, she tried to mutter something between her teeth. "Well, that's a unique name. But who should I be judging? Not me, definatley not me. But... yeah." Vella said nervously, because when she didn't know things, especially slowly coming down from a high, was not good with her.