this is just the {prologue} // glee auditions

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this is just the {prologue} // glee auditions Dec 2, 2011 1:50:45 GMT -5

Post by Deleted on Dec 2, 2011 1:50:45 GMT -5

jace vincent wheaton

THE WORD IS OUT THIS TOWN CAN HARDLY BREATHE

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when air is filled with dust and dying dreams[/color][/size]

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--The

[/size] last bell signaling the end of the school day was always a much more joyful thing to me than it was for most people it meant freedom it meant drumming until the world slowed down and i was too tired to play anymore it meant not having to be quiet or sit still or wither under teachers' glares even though I've never met a self-respecting teenager who would rather be sitting in a classroom than doing something else (although Ophelia seems to adore sitting front row center in Speks' English class which makes me question her self-worth just the tiniest bit). But today it's different, today the dull tone that erupts from a nest of crackles and pops in the tinny speakers on the wall of every class room in Thirteen's secondary school triggers more anticipation than it's given me since I was here as a student rather than a teacher.

Ten minutes until auditions.

True, a less-than-full sign up sheet (and even then there were fake names - didn't make me mad, though, I've written my share of Dixie Normous's and I.P. Freelee's in my time) and a less-than-warm reception from anyone over the age of eighteen (what kind of malarkey are you putting into these kids' heads, Wheaton? They're doing poorly enough on their exams without running off to sing or dance or whatever it is you're cooking up after school every day!) had initially been enough to make me question whether or not a glee club was what this subterranean hellhole of a district really needed, but in addition to being a spaz really my world just moves faster than everyone else's and everything blurs together until it's a colorful explosion of sensory overload and apparently that means there's something wrong with me I'm also stubborn as all get out and it was going to take more than the same glares I've put up with for my whole life or something silly like a lack of interest dissuade me.

Speaking of glares, the collective one I get when I dash into the teacher's lounge to grab a pile of papers and my drum sticks I'd walked off earlier and forgotten i ended up losing track of time and realized that i was late and didn't realize i'd left them until i reached for the sticks and they weren't there is powerful enough that I swear I can feel scorch marks burning their way into any exposed flesh. Of course no one here gets it, with their math and science and all of those things I was never good at clouding their minds to something that could actually do these kids some good. Art is hard to come by when you live in a uniform totalitarian cave, and I guess I'm the only one who seems to think that fact is a downright shame. No, I'm filling the heads of our youth with utter nonsense, making more work for the rest of the stiff-spine authority figures who will have to sort the hoodlums out and knock the rhythms out of their heads (like they tried and tried to do to me until they realized I was a hopeless case). To all of the assembled "educators" here in this room that smells like old, watered-down coffee and paper hot off the copier, I am committing an unforgivable sin.

I shoot them all the biggest, sunniest smile I can muster, picking up the papers and waltzing out of the place whistling merrily. You can only blame so much on the ADHD, and I've always been a rebellious little shit no matter how many pills they tried to give me.

"Hello, hello, hello, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the first annual District Thirteen Secondary School glee club auditions!" A smaller audience than I would have liked, only five kids, three boys and two girls, but at least there were some who cared enough to show up. It's a start. A fragile, tentative start, but a start. So maybe I was a little late walking back into the music room i got sidetracked in the hallway by a million things and accidentally wandered off in the wrong direction to greet the... audition-ees? Auditioners? Glee club hopefuls, at any rate. But it appears that the gang's all here, so I toss the stack of papers on top of the horificaly messy surface of my desk and start fiddling with one of the drum sticks, twirling it absentmindedly i just always have to move or it feels like everything gets too fast and the world floods my lungs and i drown in the rush as I walk back to stand in front of the small group, grinning like an idiot.

"Now, some of you may already know me if you have me for class." A widened smile for Abril and Isabella, both of whom I've been around for long enough to know they have a considerable amount of talent, and then I turn to the others, who aren't so familiar. "And for those of you that haven't experienced the joy of the music curriculum yet, I'm Mr. Wheaton. I also answer to Jace, Teach, or 'hey you with the face.' I'm not picky."

I can never get over how odd it feels, standing in front of kids that I'm only two or three years older than at the most and talking like I'm some sort of authority figure. It was much harder at first, taking a leadership role when I'd been shoved to the back of the line my whole life, but now i feel like when i teach that i'm finally doing something right and it's the best feeling in the world it's gotten to be second-nature over time, commanding attention and trying to keep things lively in a way that I always wished my own teachers had. Still twirling the drum stick, I scoot aside a pile of papers (there are a million of them, I don't know how they multiply so fast) on the desk and sit there, surveying each one of them in turn: Abril, all eager energy and a thirst to prove herself that's never quenched. Isabella, always ready to smile and with such a huge voice in that tiny body that she could shock the hell out of anyone that's never heard her sing before. And then the boys, none of whom I know. One is smartly-dressed and groomed to perfection, although he looks painfully shy, all hunched in on himself like he doesn't think he should be here. The other two seem much more extroverted, both good-looking and seemingly good-natured, one dark-haired and one blonde. Five kids. Well, we've got to start somewhere.

"You guys are all here because you want to sing. Well, either that or you got the wrong location for the chess club meeting, which is down the hall." Another smile, but I'm secretly hoping that no one gets up and leaves. "Anyway, the audition process is simple. You guys had access to the music archives all week to pick your audition soundtrack. You'll come up, say your name and what you're singing, pop the soundtrack in that stereo over there, and well... you'll sing. I would say that's all there is to it, but it's really not as simple as 'just singing.' Some of you are musicians, and you'll know what I'm talking about when I say that music can move people in ways you'd never imagined. You performing music can make people laugh, it can make them cry, it can shake their freaking souls, and I don't care who you are, that's a pretty badass thing to be able to do. So basically what I'm telling you to do on this audition is give it your all. Let the music take over, it'll know what to do. This is as much about how much you can connect with your piece as it is your vocal talent, which we can always work to improve. You can't work on emotional connection, it just has to be there."

A pause for me to catch my breath and let all the word-vomit sink in i have all these words and they trip and stumble over one another to be heard and sometimes i just can't stop before I'm looking at each one of them again, wondering if this thing is actually going to get off the ground. "All right, I'm not putting you guys on the spot and making you sing before you're ready. Any brave volunteers want to go first?"

A hand goes up and I smile, waving its owner forward. It's a start.[/justify][/blockquote][/blockquote]

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WORDCOUNT 1425 words
TAGGED all glee clubbers assigned to this tread
LYRICS BY the cab
NOTES you guys have a week to post your first post and then three days after the person before you in the posting order makes their post. don't post on time and i drop you from the thread. no exceptions.
CREDIT TO ohemgee callie ?! of caution 2.0!

Last Edit: Dec 2, 2011 3:19:07 GMT -5 by Deleted

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this is just the {prologue} // glee auditions Dec 2, 2011 22:21:37 GMT -5

Post by skylarversion2 on Dec 2, 2011 22:21:37 GMT -5

wecouldbethebest

It beats loudly but inconsistent, like a deranged metronome, infecting me with an anxiety. A hint of sweat at my hairline and the pain in my toe from the encounter I had with my door last night are the only two things that separate reality from my nightmarish imagination.

The artificial floor is the only thing that keeps me off the ground. That, and the disgusting thought of how many feet have touched it. Depositing the waste they've picked up with each step, dragging on a cycle that everyone is too stupid to realize. My parents know that anything but perfection in our housing unit's layout isn't acceptable to me. I can only imagine the reaction I'd cause, the disturbance I'd stir, if I were to come in contact with the floor with any part of my skin. If I drop a pencil, someone else is getting it. (I would run to my home and I'd shower, regardless if it was my time or not. I'd rather take pain than illness.)

The bell that signaled it was more of a monster than it'd ever been before. And it's not that I'm not confident - I am - but the thought of an audition is scary. I've never had to audition for anything. People have overheard me sing and so that became my reputation. I got whatever singing role I wanted as long as it was realistic, and I always made sure they were. There's always been a secret ingredient to them that I'm allergic to, but it's time to make a remedy.

I have a messenger bag to carry my schooling utensils around in. Its leather straps have worn down in certain places so that it almost notches to my shoulder. In a pouch on the inside are multiple sheets of music, all with scribbles and fringed edges and dynamic markings under certain notes. Enunciate clearly!! I remember studying music, it was fascinating. I'd try to put music I'd heard lately to the terms I was learning, and while everyone stuck with their nasally techniques, I devoted myself to producing a better tone.

There's something about my voice that's unnatural even to me. But, as the saying goes, everything great started somewhere. That's how it goes, right? No one else in my family is even musically inclined, but I am music. Or at least, I'd like to think I am. But I'm not, I'm part of it. I love it and it loves me, we are together.

----

The plastic of the chairs isn't something comforting, but I've begun to realize that the situation isn't nearly as scary as I thought it was. All of the tales I'd heard of auditions-gone-wrong were fading. It's not that I'm not scared, and it's not that I don't have my doubts - because I do - but I know I'm fine. Out of the 6 people that have showed up (which, in my opinion, is quite pitiful, but it's still more than I expected), I sit on one of the outside chairs while a few look more enthusiastic than they should and the other guys... Sam. He's beautiful.

I know exactly what he's saying when he's talking about the music archives. I had a song in mind as soon as I saw the sign up sheet, imagining some sort of wonderland as I spent an extra amount of time styling my name. I feel bad -- I don't relate to the song much, but I don't want to go all out. Going all out at the beginning leaves little room for improvement.

There's too many words to describe the thoughts, but somehow, when Mr. Wheaton lets out, "Any brave volunteers want to go first?", I lift my hand and let out a smile.

I grab the tape out of the bottom of my messenger bag and rub it for good luck. It's not a good luck charm, it never has been. but it seemed like it fit.

The eyes of the others and Mr. Wheaton are on me, I can feel them, but I'm not as nervous as I was. The anticipation is always the worst. I wonder why. Is it because everything is happening at that moment so you're not worry about what will happen? Maybe your brain is having to register what's present, and there's always something else to register and analyze, so there's nothing to think forward to. I take it as a performance to a parent's friend, or one of my friends, or a shower session.

"Hey, I'm... I'm Day. Day Brenson?" It's not that saying my name was a question, but the inflection that I made didn't really match the tone I was carrying before hand. "I'll be singing Thinking of You."

I pop in the tape and my finger presses the play button. I hear the quiet rumble of the tape player and I prepare myself, letting out a low hmmmmm.

The first word slips out and the rest is history. Comparisons are easily done once you've had a taste of perfection.

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this is just the {prologue} // glee auditions Dec 2, 2011 22:44:58 GMT -5

Post by gamemaker kelsier on Dec 2, 2011 22:44:58 GMT -5

Talking
Doing
Deep Thought
Singing
Hearing

It's always best to walk through the school corridors like you have a purpose, because then nobody messes with you. What you have to do is walk really fast, with your head forward and your arms swinging. Oh, but never with your head down, that's a sign of weakness. See, after growing up here, I know how to act, know how to pretend like everyone else does. It's not so hard once you learn how because then people stop coming at you like a magnet. When you walk with your head down, it's as if you walk with a little sign blinking over you, saying 'I'm a vulnerable little twat.' Trust me, it never works to hide because then people just want to hurt you more. And you should trust me, I'm pretty practiced with the whole thing.

So that's what I was doing on my way to the music room after the final bell, trying to avoid that kid who always squirts his juice at me. You wouldn't believe how hard it is to get the grape colour out of your uniform, or even the smell. Then there is the guy with the greasy hair who likes to spit at my head, as his tall form walks by. Apparently I'm the perfect height. Not to mention the girls who snicker at me, laughing probably just because they are so jealous of my obvious star quality. Yes, I do put up with a lot at this school, but it'll all be worth it one day when I am a Capitolite starlet. I tell myself often about how much people would adore me there, and never dare to spit at me or call me names. Sometimes it really helps, and sometimes I really believe myself. That is, until I'm busy trying to pull the latest wad of stickiness out of my hair.

I march into the room, satisfied to see that no one is here yet, meaning I have the advantage. I have a few moments to collect myself, do singing and breathing exercises, anything to warm and enhance my voice for this audition. I want to blow everyone's socks off, and show them that my voice is their champion. No one deserves this more than me, I chant to myself like a mantra, over and over. And I know it's true. No one works as hard as me for my dreams. I've given up everything, any dreams of friendship, everything for this, and I want it so badly that I can almost taste it. I think it would taste like the thing my dad made once out of sugar and cocoa, silky smooth on the tongue and sweet going down.

I take a seat, in the first row and centre. My knees are together, but my toes point so I have a lap to rest my hands in. I'm eager, so nervous but excited. I know I have the talent for this, and I know for a fact that my voice is incredible, but it doesn't stop the butterflies from climbing up my walls. People begin to trickle in, and I smile tentatively at each of them, but don't expect a smile in return. There's less people than I would have hoped for, but that's okay, because that just means that there's more room for me to shine. I take a moment to straighten my gray skirt, and brush back my bangs. For some reason, I'm beginning to feel self conscious as Amity walks in. She's so beautiful with her big round eyes, that I feel like a field mouse beside her. But I like to think that maybe, I am beautiful too?

Minutes go by as we all quietly wait for Mr. Wheaton, the District's music teacher. My favourite teacher as well. His plusses were that he was great at drumming, he didn't make anything boring, and his eyes were the most beautiful shade of blue to ever be seen. His minuses were that he got sidetracked a lot. But sometimes I really like that about him teacher. He never ever made fun of me when he was still a student either, and for that reason, he's right up there with my two gay dads. Sometimes I even pretend that he is a friend. So silly, I knew. But when you are by yourself you think up the silliest things. I listen to him ramble on, noticing the way he never really stops moving, waiting for him to ask for the first auditioner. I am ready for the question, my hand waving up into the air like a lone flower I had seen once the one and only time I've been outside. But a boy goes before me, but that's okay, I'm fine with being second.

He sings Katy Perry, and has a voice to die for. Immediately, I'm approving him for male lead, yes I think he'll sound quite nice singing duets with me. He's not bad looking either, and he knows his notes. It's husky and raw, and I love it. Oh yes, he's definitely a good choice. Of course, a voice has to be good to stand next to mine. I can barely wait for him to finish however, and am finding myself impatiently waiting as he croons out his song. It's funny because the message of it is almost exactly like mine, and I can't help wondering if he is simply singing or telling the story of his life.

Of course I have thought about this for weeks. I decided to go with a song that I know well so that I can be excellent at it. I lick my lips, taking one last deep breath, as I announce myself. "Hello, I am Abril Hemmings, and I will be singing 'On My Own'" I wait a moment to get into character, as a girl who loves a boy that will never love her back. And of course I feel it everyday of my existence, as I walk down the hallways and see Him. Just standing there against his locker, talking to a friend, and how he doesn't even see my as I walk by him because I am probably ten inches shorter than him. But I can't help wishing he'd see me the way that I see him. So that's why when I drop the first note out of my mouth like a plum seed, I bury it with passion.

OOC: Listen

I sit down on top of the grand piano, and reach down to play the first few notes. "On my own, pretending he's beside me, all alone I walk with him till morning." And I know right away that i have it. That I started this song exactly right. Because there is that feeling in the back of my heart that just knows that this time I am stupendous. It's that feeling I call perfect notes, when you hit those pure moments, where it's just you and the song. I can't help looking around the room as I sing, moving around, caressing the piano like I know the greats might have performed it on stage. I dance through the song, hitting each note like I put it there myself and it feels real. It feels right, like maybe if I can sing like this I do have a soul. That maybe one day he will be beside me, instead of her, even as the song tells me it's fruitless to chase him.

But love isn't like that, I know. It's meant to be unreturned, because otherwise I might be happy right now, singing a happy song instead of singing something so sad. It's terrible to be a teenager sometimes because I'm so chalk full of hormones that I don't even know where to place them. That's why every emotion gets turned into song. It's also probably why people hate me. I'm just so good because I sing with passion, and of course the fact that I can hit about three octaves. It's why people hate me, they are just jealous.

My voice grows with the music, as it builds inside me, and I am at peace, hitting the last notes, "I love him, I love him, I love him, but only on my own." I let it die slowly, like the flame of a candle I lit once. I watched the long stem slowly wither down to a nub as the hours flew by, until the candle wick was so down in it's little melted hole of wax that it put itself out, the slow suicide of a candle. That's what I want to sound like. And I hope I have achieved it as I let the passion take me, and I shut my eyes against tears that threaten, knowing that I look like a child, but I don't care because to me, that is called being a real live human being, and I am proud to call myself one.

Last Edit: Dec 2, 2011 22:54:59 GMT -5 by gamemaker kelsier

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Matt
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woah man

this is just the {prologue} // glee auditions Dec 4, 2011 1:19:05 GMT -5

Post by Matt on Dec 4, 2011 1:19:05 GMT -5

"Maybe", performed by AMITY RENEE GERBER

Tap. Tap. Tap. The sound of Amity's pen against the wooden desk echoed through the silent classroom of reading teenagers. Amity was too distracted to pick up her copy of the old pre-dark days novel. She was going over the lyrics to her audition piece over and over and over again in her head, plotting out every facial expression, every movement, every fake tear. She had rehearsed the audition multiple times, until it sounded flawless. When Amity first heard the song, she took note of the young adolescent's vastly untrained voice, and how amazing her mature chords would sound marvelous in comparison. Secondly, she listened to the lyrics, and noticed it was about adoption. Perfect! It related perfectly to Amity's made up history (she refused to ever use the word fake, as to her it sounded derogatory and offensive). She had this audition in the bag.

When the final bell of the day rang, Amity was the first student out of their seat. Hastily making her way to the front of the room, Amity plopped an apple onto her teacher's desk, commenting "Because I think you're fabulous!" and rushing out the door. As she was walking, she came across two others loitering the halls, who were well known as a few of the popular bad boys around the district. She flashed a grin at the two of them. "Hey, boys. What's up? Did you hear about the glee club auditions? You two should so try out, it'd be uber fun!" The guys glanced at each other, snickering and nodding their heads in agreement.

"So you'll do it? That's great! I hope you two don't mind it, but I just want to let you know that I'll be getting most if not all of the solos and you two better be content with-" Amity was cut short as the boys grabbed her arms and spit chewed up ice onto her face. She gasped from the cold and the surprise, shaking as they laughed and let go of her arms, running down the hallway. The saliva filled slush trailed down her cheeks, the drops crashing down on the school sector floor. "That was great guys, awesome. You two really know how to crack a joke!" Amity's toothy smile turned into a sullen frown, as she scurried into the nearest restroom, her makeup bag already in hand.

She spent a good five minutes scrubbing her cheeks, disinfecting it to her best ability. Her applied a new layer of eyeliner to her tear welled eyes, trying to take the attention away from her red puffy eyes by putting on an even brighter red lipstick. Amity was an expert at covering up her emotions, and so she knew exactly what to do. Stop it, Gerber, stop it right now! Save the waterworks for your audition. Use it to your advantage. Putting away the tube of lipstick and eyeliner, Amity twirled her hair, grinning at herself in the mirror. She was perfect. Nobody had any reason to dislike her, she was normal now! Those boys were just jerks, and were just messing around with her, because that's what friends do, right?

By the time Amity made it to the audition room, she realized she had missed Mr. Wheaton's undoubtedly sappy speech about not being too discouraged if they didn't get any solos at the very beginning. He obviously recognized her from something, and knew of her tremendous talent. He was already preparing to console those inferior to her, how sweet. "Wait! Before we begin, I would like to properly introduce myself to those of you I don't know, but know me, of course. My name is Amity Renee Gerber, and you most likely recognize me. I'm that girl who sits with the popular kids at the lunch, the girl who tries her very hardest to make friends, and the girl who uses her inhumanly awesome talent to put smiles on your tragic little faces!"

The first one to go was a boy, who she seemed to remember being the kid her friends would always snicker about, calling him names that she was far too kind to even say out loud. His voice wasn't too shabby, but her seemed to be pitchy in some places. It's probably because the song was originally sung by a girl, but even then, his voice was far inferior to Amity's. He might get a solo once or twice, maybe even a duet with the Gerber girl herself. Amity scowled on the inside as Abril Hemmings took the stage. God, she was annoying! She was always walking around like she was some superstar, when everyone at school knew that title belonged to Amity. Abril was merely a wannabe in her eyes. She sang a song about pretending to have a boyfriend, which Amity believed to be the closest to a relationship she would ever have. With a large grin on her face, and stood up and clapped when the song was finished. "Abril, you are just so talented! But, I think it's my turn to show this club how to sing a ballad."

With a confident stride, Amity made her way up to the front of the room. "Before I begin, I would just like to say a few words, if that's alright with you, Mr. Wheaton. When I first heard this song, I thought to myself, 'Wow, Amity! This girl's untrained, adolescent voice will make yours sound even better!" On my next play of the song, I listened carefully to the lyrics, and found yet another reason as to why it would be the perfect song for me to sing for this occasion. No spoilers, but this song struck home to me, and I can relate. So, without further ado." Amity walked over to the CD player, putting her CD in and pressing play.

There was a fifteen second musical interlude, and Amity smiled at her audience as she waited for her cue. When it came, she took a deep breath, and began. "Maybe far away, or maybe far away. He may be pouring her coffee, she may be straightening her tie." During this, Amity twirled around, making eye contact with every single on of them. She continued this cycle, making an array of facial expression as she sang each line. Finally, she came to one of her favorite parts in the song. "Betcha they're good, why shouldn't they be? They're only mistake, was giving up me!" As she sang "me", she let the note soar, her eyes closed as she mustered as much power as she could do effectively sing the lyric.

This was the time to make their hearts melt. This was the time to start the waterworks. She thought back to the day she was called weird. She thought back to the day when her brothers said they hated what she had become, and didn't want to speak with her again. She thought back to earlier, when the boys spit the ice in her face. The trauma. The embarrassment. The ridicule. The sense of ostracism. The laughs.

Bingo.

She let the tears fall from her face as the song ended. And to be honest, she wasn't even crying about her embarrassment anymore. It was all an act. Everything Amity Gerber ever did was an act. And every day, she lost herself more and more.

And it didn't even scare her to think that she may never find herself again.

Last Edit: Dec 8, 2011 22:11:25 GMT -5 by Matt

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hi um\????

this is just the {prologue} // glee auditions Dec 4, 2011 8:18:45 GMT -5

Post by Tattletale on Dec 4, 2011 8:18:45 GMT -5

.// isabella camelia contessa

I wasn't known to have the best concentration at all, Isabella thought to herself as she stared mindlessly at her Chemistry teacher's thin, narrow yet long and almost indecipherable penmanship on the blackboard (why do they call it blackboard when it's clearly green, a dark, dark green?) but lowered her gaze on her open notebook that imprinted the rounded, loopy scrawl that her hand produced. But that's okay. I'm not one with a perfect penmanship. No one has; but everybody is unique in their own way. Why should you try being someone else when you're already yourself?

[/color] With her head steadily planted and her chin on her cupped hands, she took a small, quick peek at the person beside her. He was just like everyone else, following whoever was it or popular[/color] at the moment. Funny how we avoid the 'it' during our tag games before when we were children and now we follow them now that we're grown up. "This union of two different atoms caused the..." Isabella let her mind block out the voice of her teacher, who was droning on and on about atoms and chemicals and just why can't she make it a lot more interesting, like Mr. Wheaton?[/color] She smiled absently at the thought of her music teacher. She had an awful schoolgirl crush on him, and she had a hunch that he knows because, well, she wasn't that good at all in hiding her feelings.

RRRRRIIIIIIIIINNNNNNGGGGGG!!!!!!!!![/color]

That was the final bell for this day, and without second thought, her classmates stood up, picked up their things, dumped it in their bags and headed out for the door, maybe drop a polite 'bye' at their teacher if they're feeling nice or pitiful. But Isabella always said pleasantries towards everyone just because she wants to. She packed up her things and stopped to say goodbye to her teacher and headed out for the door. Isabella had only one thing in mind this afternoon, and that was the glee club's auditions. Mr. Wheaton had mentioned about making a glee club during one of his lectures (how she loved how he constantly drifts from one topic to another!) and holding up auditions, which was happening today. Isabella signed up right away, scrawling her name with her large, feminine handwriting on the first line of the audition sheet once it had been put up on the bulletin board. It didn't matter that the rest of the names that followed were most likely to be offensive and immature (although she does admit to giggling at a few of them) and didn't exist. She readjusted her grip on the strap of her bag, which contained the tape of her chosen song. It was a 'mash-up' of two songs that originated even before the Dark Days, and sounded beautifully upbeat and had required for a high vocal range, just perfect for her. It was Halo/Walking on Sunshine by Glee[/url]. She stopped herself before chuckling at the coincidental name, until she remembered: nothing ever happens coincidentally.

She reached the glee club room to see everyone already sitting down, some of them practicing some notes and some just staring blankly into space. They were sadly quite fewer than she expected, and frowned at the thought of Mr. Whea―Jace, who was always so kind and helpful and absolutely wonderful[/color] to ~~her~~ everyone, probably discouraged by the number of hopefuls. But he's always so upbeat and smiling. He'll make the best out of everything.[/color] It took her a while to notice before she saw a girl with eyes different[/color] from everyone flashed her a smile, and she couldn't help but smile back. I like people who smile. It makes me think that they're happy and everyone's happy and everything is okay.[/color] She took a vacant seat, and sat still and proper until Jace came in. She smiled as he mentioned her name, and listened as three people sang before her. They all sang wonderfully, each with their own style and unique voices. The first guy, Day, sang a sweet, sad song and so did the second girl. The second girl. Abril―Abril Hemmings.[/color] Perhaps maybe it was her voice, or the way that she performed with such reassurance[/color] that made her sink a little bit further into her chair. But she discreetly took a deep breath and thought to herself, Come on. You can do this. Don't be intimidated. Don't be.[/color] The third girl, Amity, also sang as well. Isabella sat there on her chair, with her eyes smiling but her lips firmly together, until it was finally her turn to go ahead and show everyone what you're made of.[/color]

Isabella walked towards the center, and faced her audience and hopefully, future Glee Club members. She took a deep breath and placed on her best smile. "Hello, everyone! My name is Isabella Camelia Contessa, and I am here to sing a song by a very, very old television show called 'Glee'," She took a quick peek at Jace, and continued. "a mash-up of two songs called Halo and Walking on Sunshine." She walked over to the tape player and placed her chosen tape, and pressed play. She squared her shoulders, and firmed up her spine even more, and lengthened her neck. Perfect posture leads to a perfect pitch.[/color] "Ooooh," Isabella harmonized, starting off the song.

Remember those walls I built
Well, baby they're tumbling down
They didn't even put up a fight
They didn't even make a sound
It's like I've been awakened

The increasing of the tempo from the beginning, which she could clearly identify that was accompanied majorly by drums, made her move her fingers, tapping them along the beat on her thigh, and her feet. But she did it moderately, that it didn't distract them from the main attraction, her voice. This continued on and on, until the feeling of intimidation and the slight nervousness finally disappeared into thin air and she was just enjoying herself.[/color] After a few verses, it was finally time for the grand finale, the only she has been waiting for.

I can feel your halo
I can see your halo
I can feel your halo
I can see your halo

This was it. This was the line made her choose this song in the first place. The reason why for the first time ever, she missed perfecting that Latin quiz by a mere one point, just because she had spent all of her free time inside her room, locked up and miraculously ignoring the petals for once, all to hit and perfect[/color] that divine note. She took a dramatic pause, all to prepare for the best thing to happen yet.

HALO!

I did it![/color] Isabella ended with a satisfied smile. This was it. She had reach the immaculate high G note and delivered it perfectly. All those time devoted to perfecting it... paid off.[/color] This moment was special for her. It didn't sound squeaky or nasal or "Ms. Contessa, please throw out that dying cat immediately. Animals are prohibited in District Thirteen."[/color] No. She was no dying cat. She was perfect[/color].

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

Last Edit: Dec 13, 2011 4:55:48 GMT -5 by Tattletale

I. THE WILD YOUTH

gamemaker kelsier
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“And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good.” - steinbeck

this is just the {prologue} // glee auditions Dec 4, 2011 23:34:23 GMT -5

Post by gamemaker kelsier on Dec 4, 2011 23:34:23 GMT -5

Talking
Doing
Singing
Impressions

the clock is ticking away his life, and he's sitting there watching it from the back of the class. He's supposed to be writing something about the history of District Thirteen or something, but he's given up, after a kid leaned over and asked him why his name was suddenly 'Awmises' instead of Samwise, and he had thrown his pencil on the desk in disdain. He must be more nervous about the auditions than he thought, seeing as he couldn't even write down the one thing that he knew how to. For the millionth time during the past two weeks he'd been conscious, he found himself searching with his eyes for a window before remembering that there were none in this forsaken place. If you wanted sunlight, you had to go all the way outside for it, and they didn't trust him at all yet, so that was a no go.

The scratching of pencils was furious around him as other teenagers were bent over their desks, writing. He stuck out like a sore thumb, leaning back in his chair, six foot five form stretched out to the maximum. He was gazing intently at the sheet of paper in front of him now, trying to pretend like he was actually bothering to think about the topic. He hadn't done any homework for seven years now, and he knew that he wasn't meant for this, for sitting in an underground hidey hole somewhere. He was meant to be spending long afternoons in the grass, laying under a tree, chopping wood, feeling the satisfaction of watching a pine fall, and then carefully planting a new one. If there was anything he missed more than his parents it was the smell of pine, dirt, and sunshine. Not even the familiar weight of the leather pouch around his neck saved him from it.

Finally the bell rang, and he stood up quickly, pushing all his books into a book bag, and high tailing it out the door as soon as possible. He was wearing the uniform grey pants, but for a top he wore a simple, white v-neck t-shirt, unwilling to conform so quickly to the uniform. They seemed lenient with him, the scar on his side still not fully healed. In fact, he could feel it pulling, and the sound that came with it, of slicing flesh, and he had to wince. He knew he was safe now, but a year takes a long time to forget about. The last weeks of the journey were so hazy that he was still trying to recall them, let alone forget them. It didn't really help either that he didn't really fit in here. Folks here spoke differently, and he had a noticeable accent. His voice was really low in comparison to most as well, and it was difficult, a lot of the time.

He mostly just wanted to try and fit in so that he could forget about all the things that had happened, the nights spent awake in fear of his sister or brother being taken away in the night. How he hadn't really had a single night of straight sleep since being here, always being woken up by one of his siblings, or the latest installments to his bad dreams. With a sigh, he stored his books in the lovker assigned to him, and then wove his way between the students, not finding it too hard to find his way because he was pretty much taller than everyone here. Seriously, it was as if because of the lack of sunlight the kids in this place had forgotten how to grow. Finally, he was able to find the music room, last to enter and sit down. There were a few other kids there, and right away he noted that of course he was the tallest.

the teacher entered about a minute after him, and once he saw his eyes, he couldn't help staring. They were simply beautiful, so light and deep it felt like you were falling when you looked at him, and it took him a second to realize he was staring before he looked down, only half listening to his words, wondering how someone could have such unearthly eyes. He waited quietly, hands absentmindedly strumming an old, yellowed guitar found beside the seat he was in, as if someone had just abandoned it. Which was sad, that wasn't a good way to treat an instrument at all. Sudden;y he's wishing that he had thought to bring his own guitar to this audition, but this one will do quite nicely as well. He's still fiddling when a guy gets up to sing, and doesn't look up until he starts crooning.

It was pulling at him, pulling him in as he sat there, hands still bent in the tuning process, but unmovable for once as he listened to the voice of this guy. It was beautiful, and he felt himself being drawn in as he listened, the word mixed with just the right amount of passion and technicality that it would have knocked him off of his feet if he weren't already sitting down. He was smaller than Sam, but almost more defined than him, as if someone had taken the paper man from a small kid and carefully cut the lines themselves. The beautiful voice came out of the most handsome guy Sam had ever seen, and he was completely blown away, almost sad when he finished the song and sat back down. He stared for a moment longer before returning to the tuning of the guitar. The other voices were all very talented, and he hadn't expected the strength from the small dark haired girl who played the piano, but boy had she brung it.

When he saw that everyone else had gone, with a sigh he stood up, swinging the strap of the guitar over his head. He chastised himself, realizing that he shouldn't have waited to go. He wouldn't have if he had known that everyone else was just so amazing. Pretty much all power houses. But he smiled confidently at the other kids, and the teacher in the room anyway, wrapping his left hand around the neck of guitar, and leaving the right to rest on the other end. He felt almost as if it was now or never, and this wasn't a moment he could step back on. So he opened his mouth, and introduced himself to the completely brand new people in the room, who might ask about his strange accent, or notice his tanned skin. Maybe they would ask why he even bothered to come here.

"Uh, hi! I'm Sam, and...I don't like green eggs and ham!" Corny, he knew, that would bother him later. "Anyway, I'll be singing Cough Syrup by Young the Giant." He had only chosen the song a week before, but he liked it without even listening to the lyrics, and when he finally did he liked it even more. Especially the guitar bit, he loved a well written song even more if the music behind it was well written as well. So, looking up from his guitar, and flashing a quick smile, he began. "Life's too short to even care at all, woh oh oh..." Before he knew it, he was throwing himself into the song, reaching behind the lyrics and grasping at what it meant to him, how to him, fortune meant the sun, and how he spent every minute of every torturous hour spent here, trying to remember the taste of it on his skin.

Last Edit: Dec 4, 2011 23:38:04 GMT -5 by gamemaker kelsier

compendium / avriel
clown car / pietro
2022 tracker / 2023 tracker / 2024 tracker

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this is just the {prologue} // glee auditions Dec 10, 2011 1:12:39 GMT -5

Post by Deleted on Dec 10, 2011 1:12:39 GMT -5

jace vincent wheaton

SWEAR TO SHAKE IT UP IF YOU SWEAR TO LISTEN

[/size][/font]
oh we're still so young and desperate for attention[/color][/size]

-------------------------------------------------------------------- [/center]

[main;82ABA7]
[speech;297D95]
[emphasis;A0D4A4]
[adhd;278064]
[other;EEE7D5]

--The

[/size] first volunteer comes forward, and I'm a bit surprised that it isn't Abril (she's so determined to shine in a place where any visible light is put out as quickly and brutally as possible and I guess I can put up with her... quirks because we share common ground if only on that front). Even more surprisingly, Day. Day Brenson? has one hell of a voice, something rich and warm that wraps the room in flawless timbre and holds us all in thrall even after the last notes fade into the stale, over-filtered air of the underground. There's a smattering of polite applause as he takes his seat, and I offer up a smile in his direction. "Really, really nice job. Good work! The rest of you guys have quite an act to follow."

Not unexpectedly, Abril's the next one up, the picture of confidence as she states her name and piece. And she has every reason to be confident, I know that much from watching her in class and hearing what she can do with a voice that sounds like siren song and can silence a room to hushed awe with only the smallest of effort. In truth, she was one of the first ones I asked to audition. Sure, she's a bit tightly wound but i'm one to talk about being tightly wound when every cell in my body is a coiled spring waiting to snap because motion is as important to me as breathing and more than a little bit melodramatic, but she's a hard worker and that's the kind of people we need to make this thing work. The song she sings isn't one I've heard before, but she absolutely rocks it (as much as you can rock a show tune, but I digress), leaving the room in a few moments of stunned silence after she's finished. Or maybe they're just not clapping because it's Abril. I don't know. I'm not that well acquainted with her, but I do know that she catches a lot of crap from people for one reason or another, and I'm more than well-acquainted with that somewhere between childhood and adolescence i stopped being popular and started being that weird kid and i'm not sure why but it was horrible and i counted down the days to graduation from the first day of my freshman year particular part of high school.

"Awesome, Abril! See, guys, this is what I'm talking about with emotional connection. Abril really put herself in the place of -"

"Abril, you are just so talented! But, I think it's my turn to show this club how to sing a ballad." I'm cut off mid-sentence by a dark-eyed girl who fits more words in a second than I thought was humanly possible for anyone but me. It takes a second for me to place her as the one who had walked in late and introduced herself very loudly to everyone else, and I'm so thrown off by her blatant put-down of Abril and simultaneous interruption usually it isn't even possible to interrupt me because i'm talking too fast and too caught up in the rush to let anyone get a word in edgewise of what I was saying that I lapse into rare silence, expression dumbfounded and eyes owlish as she all but shoves me out of the way (she's almost as tall as me but that doesn't really take much) in her eagerness to address her audience. "Before I begin, I would just like to say a few words, if that's alright with you, Mr. Wheaton."

"Well, actually we're on kind of a tight schedule, so if you could -"

"When I first heard this song, I thought to myself, 'Wow, Amity! This girl's untrained, adolescent voice will make yours sound even better!" On my next play of the song, I listened carefully to the lyrics, and found yet another reason as to why it would be the perfect song for me to sing for this occasion. No spoilers, but this song struck home to me, and I can relate. So, without further ado."

She has so many words, and it strikes me in a burst of recognition as the opening notes of her song (what is it with girls and show tunes?) flow from the stereo speakers that this must be exactly how I come across to other people. Apart from making me want to cringe at the idea that people find me that... abrasive, it makes me wonder if Miss Amity Renee Gerber might have ADHD as well. I've never met someone else who could talk that much and pings around like she does, and even though she hasn't made the the best first impression i can never make good first impressions because i get distracted halfway through and there's too much going on and maybe people think i'm a spaz because that's just what i am I still clap when she's finished with her song. She overdid it a bit in my opinion, but the prospect of maybe finding a friend who understands what it's like to live in this constant whirlwind of colorsightsound is more than enough to merit a white lie. "That was... interesting, Amity. You're really talented, and um... well, you really got into the song. Okay, next?"

Amity's followed up by Isabella, who I already know is going to ace her audition because she's been working on it in class for ages and asking for opinions every five seconds. And ace it she does, hitting flawless high notes and drawing power from somewhere inside her tiny frame to fuel a voice that could belong to someone three times her size. With only one audition left to go, I'm starting to feel considerably more optimistic about this whole glee club thing even despite the lackluster turnout. Every kid that's gotten up here has been insanely talented, and I'd take quality over quantity any day.

"Excellent, Isabella. See, I told you you'd nail that high G if you worked on it. All right, and finally we have...?"

Sam, who apparently doesn't like green eggs and ham (is that a real food? Gross) is incredibly tall even compared to someone who isn't a five-foot-eight midget like myself, with eyes like storm clouds and a telltale bronze tone to his skin that screams new kid fresh from the Topside. If that isn't enough to draw my attention then his voice certainly is, something angelic and unexpected, smooth and low and just completely beautiful that makes me wish my talents lay somewhere other than in sticks and snares i guess i can sing but i've never been anything special and i'm more than a little self-conscious with everything but drumming so i don't think anyone but ophelia's ever even heard me sing and i certainly can't hold a candle to these kids. His voice is the kind you can lose yourself in, the exact same way I can get lost in beats so intricate they set my veins aflame, and it takes me about thirty seconds after the song ends to realize that the room is silent.

"...Woah. I mean, woah. Rock on, man," I grin, having to reach up to be able to give Sam a congratulatory pat on the back in the process of walking over to my desk and picking up the stack of papers I walked in with. "Well, congrats. You're all in. You guys are the very first musical ensemble this district's ever seen. Badass, right? And since we're the first group of our kind, I thought it'd be cool for the club to be called New Chords on the Block, New Chords for short. Yes, it's tacky. It's incredibly lame. And that's why it's awesome."

It doesn't take too long to distribute the rehearsal schedules that I asked Devyn to write up for me she's always been an expert with how things relate to time even though she swears she's always late for this or that and i knew if i made the schedule it would be a disaster along with stapled packets of sheet music. The song itself is easy and I arranged it so it would have some nice supporting harmonies, but it's the video file I found with it in the archives that really made a lightbulb go on over my head. After all, we might as well start things off on a high note. "Okay, so we meet in here every day after school for an hour. We'll do work on sectionals Monday and Tuesday with the boys and girls separately, we'll do a combined rehearsal Wednesday, work on choreography if there is any on Thursday, and put it all together for a performance on Friday. Sound good?"

I look down at one of the schedules in my hand, wondering if we can actually whip this into shape in a week. Well, I guess we're about to find out. "Since he was the first volunteer to come up and audition, I think Day should have the solo on this." A brief smile for the dark-haired by and then I'm back to addressing the whole group. "Um, other things you should know... There's no 'official' choreography on this song, because I'm in the process of trying to get one of my students who's a dancer to join and do the choreography for our stuff in the future. Trust me, you guys don't want to see me try to dance. That said, no rehearsal Thursday. Make sure you're practicing in your spare time; if you're having problems swing by any time and I'll do my best to help you out. Oh, and one more thing."

I think back to the video file in the music archives, and a smile that's not without a large dose of mischief spreads across my face. "When we perform on Friday, come to rehearsal wearing white. All white."[/justify][/blockquote][/blockquote]

--------------------------------------------------------------------

WORDCOUNT 1645 words
TAGGED day brenson; subsequent glee clubbers
LYRICS BY panic! at the disco
NOTES time limit is three days after this post for day's post to go up. it's up to you guys whether you want to fast-forward to friday or actually rp out the rehearsal process. up to skylar, really since he's the next one to post.
CREDIT TO ohemgee callie ?! of caution 2.0!

Last Edit: Dec 10, 2011 15:21:54 GMT -5 by Deleted

skylarversion2

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this is just the {prologue} // glee auditions Dec 11, 2011 15:28:36 GMT -5

Post by skylarversion2 on Dec 11, 2011 15:28:36 GMT -5

There's theories to what makes people feel best, but I know the truth. Music. And although compliments aren't normally channeled through music, most music has lyrics, right? And lyrics are words. So, in a sense, words are the way to make people feel best. Compliments = Words = Happy Day. Most of the time, at least.

There's different media that compliments can travel through, though. A mass applause - even if it's quiet - speaks volumes.

-----------

My room (if you could call it that, it's more of an over-sized cubicle with a bed) is spotless. There's nothing much in it, a white chest of drawers that contains my clothes (alphabetically arranged, accessories on top, followed by jeans, etc.), a white chair (though the fabric is soft. Microfiber, I think it's called), and my bed. There's a mirror on the wall with a panel of 3 light-bulbs above it, and I used it to get dressed, but there's no real significance to it. I don't stay in my room much. Just enough to get a good night's sleep and make sure everything is where it needs to be, complete with a wipe down of a solution-soaked cloth (save for the bed, I just make sure I wash the sheets daily).

I nearly always have my messenger bag, but not today. I'd left it at home, if that's what it's to be called, which meant I'd left my hand-sanitizer. And without it, every other beat of my heart is heavier than the one prior. Which ultimately means that I feel like I'm dying without it. Ripred knows there's a bajillion germs floating around, each and every one with a fatal intent. Call me crazy but I'll be laughing when the germs learn to communicate with each other. Everyone else'll be sick and I'll be just as clean as I ever was. I'm a walking sanitation unit, sterilized heart and skin.

My feet are quick and even though my heart's beats are heavy, they're as fast as they've ever been. Not because I'm nervous to sing - because I don't have my bag. I need that bag I need that bag I need that bag I need it bad. And as I open the door to the choir room (my heart's just been so fast that I guess it's made my other body parts that way too, I'm first to the room), there's a sea of white and my eyes widen at the sight. I would say I nearly collapsed but I didn't, I did collapse. In a hurried panic I let out a girly sort of squeal and jump up. I can feel my cheeks flush red and I feel so dirtyuglybadgross that I can't bear it. But they'll be here soon, no time to panic.

It's as I make my way to center of the room that I realize it. The white jumpsuit I'm wearing. I blend in, save for my hair and my skin and the shadow I cast, but the buckets and glasses and brushes of technicolor paint makes me nearly faint.

-------

I'm more anxious than I've ever been but I have to fight through it. True musical geniuses don't let problems get in there way, they use it to their advantage. Get out, germs.

"The lips that slip are the lips that press and the lips that leak seem to know you best."

I'll scream when the paint is thrown. And I know it will be. But I won't be throwing it, no.

gamemaker kelsier
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Pronouns: they/them
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“And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good.” - steinbeck

this is just the {prologue} // glee auditions Dec 11, 2011 21:37:00 GMT -5

Post by gamemaker kelsier on Dec 11, 2011 21:37:00 GMT -5

Talking
Doing
Deep Thought
Singing
Hearing

I can't stop my heart from jumping about sporadically in the aftermath of my performance, the way that it's silent for a moment as if for that moment they really do see me as special. But then the feeling ends and I know that they probably aren't just clapping because they hate me. Sometimes I can feel it radiating off of the people around me, especially when I speak or do anything. It's as if they hate everything about me, every choice I've made. So I know, I can tell that it's pure hate, not awe. Until that slow clap begins, I was doing all right, I would be able to take it as awe. But she had to stand up and do that slow clap, and make everything about her again. If there is one thing I hate, it's competition, especially when I know that I am far better.

There's something about her that brings out the very worst in me. Her snide looks, the way she's so obviously fake, like a plastic doll one might receive at Christmas here if they were lucky. She talks down to everyone and makes them feel like they are less, but they are drawn to her for it, like sheep off to slaughter. I hate the way that she speaks to me, "I'll show you how to really sing a ballad." And as I sit down in my seat, a smile pasted on my face, and my legs bent to the side, I think of all the ways to silently kill her. Oh, I know that even thinking something like that is bad, and it fills me with disgust for myself. But I honestly don't think that there is anyone I hate more than her. Except for maybe that pretty blonde, the one that turned everyone against me. My dads told me that people avoided me because I shine too bright.

They also told me that sometimes you have to forgive and pity the little people that would like nothing more than to bring you down. So I calm myself, and I listen to Amity as she finally shuts up and begins to sing. She's singing a song about how hard it is to be an orphan, and suddenly I am filled with toxins, about how she must have felt to know that she was adopted, and she never really knew her real parents. I think about how hard it must be to be seen as so gorgeous but to be hurting so deeply inside. And I can even see that e're similar, because we both have something that is considered odd about us. And I'm wishing that I wasn't visualizing her death in my head because I don't even want to kill her, especially when she hasn't done very much to me.

Luckily for her, I don't point out that neither of our songs were ballads, both were from old musicals while a ballad is more written to be poetry. It's because I'm nice, and I try and care about how people feel. I know that a lot of the time I don't hit that right on the nail, but I do try. So I politely clap when she finishes, a soft smile painting my face bright, but I don't say anything to her. In fact, I keep my lips firmly pressed shut so that no words of hatred slip out. I don't know what I did to her, but I think that maybe her obvious disdain for me is called for, in some way, and I don't want to ask for more. I just wish I knew how to deal with the struggle inside over her beauty, and the way she treats me. I wish I knew how to quell the anger I usually keep in timid reserve.

Isabella is next, and I have heard her sing over and over. She seems to usually be neutral to me, and she also smiled back at me when she entered. It made me happy. I listen, and every second that I should be feeling worried about my future in solos here, I get happier and happier. There is something about her voice that makes it hard to frown, and I know that she's a true performer, of the heart, like me. So when she finishes, I clap loud and clear, and nod at her in my excitement with her song. I wonder with a sudden rush of nervousness if I could be her friend, if maybe because we are in this club together, we might bond. At the same time, I know that it's silly to hope for anything like that, because I'm me, the odd little Abril Hemmings.

Sam is tall and handsome, maybe a foot taller than me, and I find him odd. Not odd like me, but odd because I know he's new, in the way he walks, and moves, how he seems to walk as if he's moving through trees, each step careful and planned, but done without any hesitance. But the way he seems to favor one side, how he is moving gingerly suggests something else. I'm quite good at reading people. It's quite easy when all you can do is people watch, but I can't read him. But his voice is deep, and rough, yet soothing and smooth, as if he were spreading something through the room. I find myself humming along quietly to his song, and I can tell that he doesn't sing much to other people, but that doesn't make him uncomfortable about it. It just makes him who he is.

So there is a thrum that attacks me when Mr. Wheaton says that we have all made it. I can't help it, I knew that there was no way I wouldn't get in, because say what you want about me, but I have confidence, but still, it's nice to hear it out loud. We're now the New Chords. We are, all of us, we are a whole, and I am apart of it. It's satisfying, and I can't stop the grin from spreading itself over my face wven if I wanted to. So take the papers he gives out, and my face only falls a little bit when he gives the first solo to Day. I know that there will be many more songs, even as that voice in side of me calls out like a siren song calling me to arms, MINE.

Before I can act on the feelings, I hurry out of the room, a smile plastered still even as I move to my locker and feel it's coldness on my hand. I turn the dial, and open it expertly, even as a small pile of carefully collected district Thirteen dust let's it'self fall all over my blouse. I stare for a moment, as giggle snark up around me, but instead of saying anything, I simply sigh and dust it off, not letting it ruin my day. I'm used to it anyhow, this monthly ritual, I should have been expecting it. My fault for not remembering and stepping to the side. I take out the books needed for home, and shut my locker again, not bothering to clean up the mess left. I'm too happy about having a club to hopefully belong in that I don't even mind much.

- - - -

So I choose my white dress with the lace on the bottom and the top. I mostly get the castoff clothes that no one wants, but it suites me because I can't understand why no one would want them. I think they are lovely and they suit me. This is one of my favourite dresses, and I think that it's suitable for the first song to be sung in the class. I hurry to the choir room when the bell rings, excitement digging through me at the thought of how we were going to perform. It's like a constant heartbeat and sigh inside my head, the tide of my thoughts turning over a leaf every time I thought about it. I couldn't even stop looking at the clock today during class because I was so very excited. I push through the choir door, pulling my long hair up into an artist's bun as I do so, not seeing the open bucket of paint until I step in it.

In horror, I pull my now completely bright red foot and shoe out, and as I do, I notice that the whole room is surrounded in buckets of these paints. Day is already there, and I try and brush slick liquid off of my foot furiously as the other club members slip in, turning beat red in embarrassment. Still, as Day starts singing, and I get ready for my part to begin, a smile still manages to ind it's self beginning to pull my lips up. Soon enough I reckon that everyone will have pain all over them, and although I know that I will feel sorrow for my dress, I think that this might be a very good time to throw paint at people. Literally, I think I almost care about it more than the song. It's like a sand fight, but instead of throwing grit we will be throwing paint! So when I join in, my lips are actually pulled up into a real smile as feral animistic excitement takes over, and i reach down to grab a bucket full of yellow.

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hi um\????

this is just the {prologue} // glee auditions Dec 12, 2011 7:27:15 GMT -5

Post by Tattletale on Dec 12, 2011 7:27:15 GMT -5

.// isabella camelia contessa

Isabella walked to her seat with the feeling of triumph lingering all over her body, making her stomach feel warm. She had no interest in upstaging anyone (especially not when they've got voices so beautiful in each of their own way), but proving what she can do and knowing that all the hard work payed off was enough to light up her entire day. She frankly didn't care about anyone at all ― whether they did wonderful or horrible. I am no one to judge them.

[/color] The next one, the last but most certainly not the least, was up. He had a guitar from the music room in hand, and fidgeted consciously her heels once she realized that he was tall. Really[/color] tall. Maybe as tall as the trees that grows on the land above us. Does its branches touch the sky? I've heard birds make their homes in there, and birds are creatures of the heavens. Of course they would choose nothing less than something which tried to touch the skies.[/color] She glanced down at her feet, which without her platform of a footwear would only reveal how short she was (not that she appeared any much taller than she would want)[/color] and had to bit her lip from the inside to stop that obvious frown that would be clearly visible. Maybe that's why I'm underground. Because I'm too short? I will never be a tree. I will never have birds contemplating me to become their homes and that's because I'm too short. The right-hand corner of her lips tugged slightly higher to make of what she could assume was a sad smirk that wasn't for anyone but her. Yet she could feel her own gaze staring intently at the gold-like hair that rested on top of the towering figure in front of her. Could birds make a home there?[/color] She wondered, although with jealousy that was because of the fact that she was vertically challenged.

"Uh, hi! I'm Sam, and I don't like green eggs and ham!" Sam began to speak, as he introduced himself as Sam and openly declared that he doesn't like green eggs and ham. Her eyebrows perked up when she noticed the familiarity in his words. It took her a moment to figure it out, leaving a small, yet strangely amused smile on her face. Dr. Seuss.[/color] She remembered those times spent cooped up in the back room of the library, filled with dusty, old books that ranged from classic literature pieces to the illustrated books targeted to the younger audience. She found a set of children's poem books and it was decorated with whimsical drawings and eccentric rhyming words. Sam-I-Am likes green eggs and ham![/color]

He begins to strum the guitar, similar to the guy who went first. The way he moved his wrist and effortlessly brushed his fingers against the strings made her once again realized that most of them knows how to play at least one instrument present in this room, while she only has her voice as an instrument. Doesn't matter[/color], she reassured herself. She may only 'play' an invisible instrument, but she had spent the rest of her life honing it. Quality over quantity.[/color] Sam presented a song that she wasn't familiar with, and it wasn't her type of music either, but just went along and enjoyed the show. He had a nice voice, but she's only saying that since she believes that everyone here knows how to sing. She's met a few people who couldn't sing out a tune if it meant their lives and some who were just completely off-key (to whom she politely asked if they had their eye on public-speaking or maybe even pottery)[/color], but surely no one would attempt to humiliate themselves by auditioning to a musical[/color] club, wouldn't they?

She applauded Sam after, and listened intently as Jace took the stage over. He gladly announced that everyone was in, and she felt a sense of recognition shower her, but only smiled rather than spewing out excessive words of affection to that certain guy in front of her. "And since we're the first group of our kind, I thought it'd be cool for the club to be called New Chords on the Block, New Chords for short," she heard Jace say. New Chords. We're the New Chords.[/color] She set free a smile, not even bothering to keep it in in the first place. She was part of something wonderful, and the District Thirteen citizens weren't expecting something this "amazing,"[/color] in Jace's words. They were to perform a full song as a group on Friday, to which they would practice first by group ― Monday for boys and Tuesday for girls ― and finally as a whole on Thursday. He distributed the sheet music, and Isabella took it eagerly, also noticing the crazy amount of papers that Jace was carrying every single day that seemed to grow more and more as time progressed. The song was, once again, unfamiliar but she'll make it work. There wasn't anything unlike devoting your time and effort that will lead you to success and accomplishment.[/color] She would know. It may contradict in regarding her other subjects' grades, but languages and music was a completely different thing.

"Come to rehearsal wearing white. All white." Isabella was sure that Jace had something up his sleeve by the tone of his voice and the mere look of mischievousness that was more than visible on his face. But she dismissed it, and wandered off to the contents of her closet. Surely there was something white around there somewhere...[/color]

The day breezed by and she lay on her bed, holding a Latin book dangerously on the verge of slipping from her fingers. Her eyes glanced around her room, until it landed on her minuscule wardrobe that was actually a measly cabinet that held all her clothing apparels. She placed the book on her bed and crawled over to her cabinet, which wasn't that energy-consuming when all 'rooms' in District Thirteen had parallel walls that you could touch when you stretch your arms. Most of the clothing pieces she owned were dresses, and it didn't took long before she found an immaculately clean white dress. It had a square neck and thin straps and had little eyelet stitches at the hem. It was one of her best and kept it safely away so it would stay nice and clean until Friday comes.

The next day came, and she was walking down the narrow corridors of lockers. It was twenty minutes before first period officially begins, but everyone was lounging around their lockers and talking among their friends. Isabella was never among the popular ones, nor the outcasts, but along the middle. She had no enemies that she could think of, and would rather have it that way. She thought of no reason why anyone would talk about her, but this time she could feel eyes digging down her back. Isabella finally had to look behind her, to find out what was wrong. But the eyes of the girls who were huddling in that little corner immediately averted their eyes and so she continued her way on her next class. Is there a stain on my back?[/color] She reached behind her, trying to feel maybe a wet spot but there was none. With furrowed eyebrows, she continued walking.

Thursday came around slower than she thought it would be. But I'm glad it's here. Today we would practice that song.[/color] Her classes weren't coming by any faster, so she vowed to keep her mind straight and focused until it was time to head to the music room. But it was honestly hard when you've got random lyric bits of the song swarming around in your head. The final bell rang, and she beelined as fast as she can towards the music room. It was one short practice, but she had fun by singing out with her fellow female club members. She tried to put her own twist to it, but found it hard to stick to the original song when she just wanted to belt out. But Jace's constant warnings kept her at bay, until she finally learned to balance between the original song and giving her own spin. She walked out of the room with a satisfied smile, until a guy who was never really the nicest one said, "Hey shorty, having fun singing your little heart out in that freak show over there?" Isabella could walk faster away from him, but nothing could ever hide that disbelief and hurt in her eyes. Take a deep breath. ~~He called me little.~~ Come on. ~~Well, I am little, but―~~ Ignore them. ~~Did he just call New Chords a freak show?~~ Walk away.[/color]

She had her chosen white dress, white flats and her hair braided down to the side. Isabella chose to leave her bag in her room right after the last class for today ended, since they were just going to perform a song anyway. As she neared the music room, she couldn't help but feel a smile coming on, but pressed her lips together. As she held the doorknob tight, she took a deep breath. Open it in one. Two. Three. She held her breath and open it to see a wave of blue paint coming to crash towards her. Her eyes went from wide open to tightly shut in a split second as she realized that there was no escaping the wave of pigment. It splashed all over her and she could hear a laugh. She looked down at herself, now fully covered with blue paint. Her white dress was no longer white, but blue on the front and a few splatters on the back. She gasped in disbelief, but her smiling eyes and arms high up in joy couldn't be wrong. Day and Abril were already inside, and they were singing their parts while throwing paint. She readied herself again when Abril threw yellow paint at her and could only grin. Time to sing,[/color] she thought to herself as she picked up paint to throw at whoever's coming in next.[/color][/justify][/blockquote][/size]

Last Edit: Dec 13, 2011 7:04:25 GMT -5 by Tattletale

I. THE WILD YOUTH

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this is just the {prologue} // glee auditions Dec 18, 2011 23:44:28 GMT -5

Post by Matt on Dec 18, 2011 23:44:28 GMT -5

"Bounce", performed by DAY BRENSON & THE GLEE CAST (pt 1)

The week before the first rehearsal was excruciatingly long and dull. Other than going over her harmonies and self choreographed dance moves over and over and over again, Amity really had nothing to do. She dropped out of her art class so that she could join Jace's music class, hoping to further strengthen her bond with her glee club instructor. Of course, Amity's friends asked her why she would ever think about taking a music class, to which she replied, cheerfully, "It's an easy A. Art is just too demanding, there's barely any work to music." Amity didn't know how she would keep the glee club away from her friends much longer, but she would try to hide it, and she was already forming excuses explaining why she was in the music room.

When Thursday finally came, Amity cheerfully plopped to her closet and peeked inside, searching for the perfect outfit to wear. It had to be entirely white, which was most likely a metaphor for Amity's voice being like that of an angel. After picking out the perfect outfit [x x], Amity scurried through the hallways to the glee room. As she stepped inside, the first thing she noticed was the plastic on the walls. How tacky! Secondly, she saw that big tubs of paint scattered the floor. And finally, she noticed Abril Hemmings, standing there in her boring outfit, which flattered her boring hair and boring personality very well.

With a devilish smirk, Amity picked up a paint brush. This was going to be fun.

[ooc: short, generic post is bad. Oh wellz, she wasn't speaking to me.]

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“And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good.” - steinbeck

this is just the {prologue} // glee auditions Dec 20, 2011 2:10:26 GMT -5

Post by gamemaker kelsier on Dec 20, 2011 2:10:26 GMT -5

Talking
Doing
Singing
Impressions

He left rehearsal that day with the tug of a smile on his lips, books held loosely in one hand on his side, the other hand tucked into his pants. He's not going to lie, the name seems kind of corny, but the rest of the people in the class seem pretty damned talented, let alone nice. Well, at least they all had strong personalities. In Amity's case, a very strong personality indeed. He found himself humming the song that Day had sung, the soft huskiness of his voice winding it's way through his head. A spark of remembrance lights up in him as he thinks about where he's seen him before. Maybe in his math class, where Sam had once again just sat doing nothing. He remembered thinking that the guy was a bit odd in the way everything looked immaculate. But the memory slips away as he drifts off to go and collect his siblings from a different part of the small school.

- - - -

The shirt that he carefully lays out the night before isn't exactly white. It's the whitest thing he owns so far, with three quarter sleeves and thin, blue stripes starting just under the slope of his shoulders. He'll pair it with some rolled up jeans and white tennis shoes and hope that it's alright. Sam wakes up at five am the day of the first performance, and goes for a jog around the district, tennis shoes slapping against the smooth concrete as the sane people in the district continue to sleep around him. It's dark still, the lights not on yet, but even though he's only been here a few weeks, he can find his way around easily enough. He doesn't know why exactly, but he can't stop running, too much pent up energy after running everyday for so long, wasted in the weeks of being bedridden. Maybe it's the fact that he still doesn't feel completely at home here, and any moment they might need to be ready to go again. He can't let his siblings down again and get wounded or be in poor health after all.

Whatever the reason, and whatever it is, it's the only thing keeping him exactly sane, or as sane as he can be while still letting his mother and father's mangled bodies weave through his mind, and the face of a mutt linger. Samwise allows himself a twenty minute shower in the communal bath and shower areas, a low bass hum lining the lyrics of the songs he sings, reverberating themselves back to him in the tiled room. The hard smattering of water hitting his body works as a beat, echoing around as it hits the tiled ground. It's the closest thing to the sound of rain here, and Sam shuts his eyes for a second, the smell of the way the grass and trees always smelled after a first rain trying to reach him, but it's as if he forgot the lyrics to their tune, and it does not quite reach his nose. After toweling himself off, he begins the slow walk to the Gamgee's allotted cubicle type house, reaching his fingers up almost absentmindedly to touch the figurines of his parents that stand on the door frame's interior.

Then it's time to rouse Stevie and Stacy and get them dressed, give them breakfast, and then get himself some breakfast. When Stevie looks at his finished plate in despondent hunger, Sam gives him his eggs, and when Stacy calls a shrill, "Not fair!" his bacon goes to her. It doesn't matter much to Sam because he doesn't normally like eating breakfast anyway, and his siblings still so skinny from the last year need it more than him. With that, they go to school, looping around to get scanned and their daily schedule stamped on. Sam's already has the allotted Glee club time on it, and then afterwards he has to go to his Entrance Therapist again, so she can try and 'get his nightmares out of his head.' He understands that the lady is trying to help, but nevertheless it's an annoying meeting, with not a lot getting fixed. Not that Sam needs fixing, because he's great.

After dropping the siblings off, Sam goes to all the classes that he has to go to, noting the presence of Day in his math class, just as he thought. He studied him with renewed interest, the song weaving it's way in and out again through and around Sam's head. Day would often stop his work to make sure his books were carefully placed, or shift the paper he was writing on. He seemed very careful, immaculate and tidy. Sam figured there was nothing wrong with that, everyone had their things. He still had a pretty damned nice face, and quite a nice body. One that Sam could probably hold nicely against him. Even though Sam was unsure of if he ever would. It wasn't that he was confused. He knew he like boys. But back and District Seven, it had been a lot easier just to pretend to like girls, and he had never come out to his parents. He always thought there would be time to. No one probably expected it from him either. He was too tall right? Too much of a Prince Charming. He had been called that nickname more than once in his life.

The final bell rings after long, grueling hours of sitting there and doing nothing in class, once again. His History teacher had them colour a map of Panem today, not that he could label it. He did like the fact though that he could tell where each District was positioned just by his colour, and spent some extra time drawing in his probable route to District Thirteen, and then drawing in very small pine trees. A good class then. English hadn't been quite as torturous as normal either, because the teacher had set up an old looking piece of equipment and put some Shakespeare on the wall with it. Sam finally got to find out what the hell 'Hamlet' was all about. He didn't feel quite so dumb as students struggled over the strange syllables in the very old English. Speech was an area where he actually managed to excel, and he found himself explaining most of the film to the person beside him.

But finally, he reaches the choir room, the door already open, and song bursting out. Turning swiftly in, he wasn't prepared for the flying colours that came at him from all three Glee girls, turning him three different shades at once. He was just in time to lift his binder to cover his face, the result being a very colourful Sam body, with a perfectly fine head, every hair where it should be. He stood in stunned silence for a moment, and then laughed, throwing back his head with a gleam in his eye. He joined in with his part of the song, the male harmony part, which was lower, and therefore something he could sing quite nicely. A paint war had began, yet some unspoken rule left them alone from Day, who stood almost shaking in the room, voice bright and loud, but body language saying something different.

Something clicked in Sam, and in the other boy, he saw fear, the way Stevie used to be at night in the woods, the night closing in on them. And the boy would whisper in his ear, "I'm afraid...." so Sam would wrap his arms around Stevie and hold him tight, not knowing how to protect him. Sam stepped forward, only three feet away from Day, and almost in slow motion, paint flew towards him, from the left. So Sam did the only logical thing that he could do, and dove in front of the wave of soaking paint. It hit like a slap, light blue, like the sky colour going all over him. It must have been a full bucket. As it hits him, he stops singing, concentration making multitasking too difficult. This one does hit his face, and he can feel it hit his hair and cover his shut eyelids. He doesn't know if he's successful in saving the brunette, but he's glad to have at least tried. He doesn't know what it is about him, that makes Sam want to at least try.

Last Edit: Dec 20, 2011 2:15:07 GMT -5 by gamemaker kelsier

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this is just the {prologue} // glee auditions Dec 23, 2011 3:07:40 GMT -5

Post by Deleted on Dec 23, 2011 3:07:40 GMT -5

jace vincent wheaton

BUT OUR HEARTS ALL BEAT FOR THE DIEHARDS

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so long live the car-crash hearts[/color][/size]

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[main;82ABA7]
[speech;297D95]
[emphasis;A0D4A4]
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[other;EEE7D5]

--The

[/size] story behind how I got the paint is an interesting one, actually. Or at least I think it's interesting. Things like the legality of the whole affair (or lack thereof) and the possible disciplinary board meeting I could get hauled into if the wrong people find out are all boring semantics because really i never think about something i just do it and sometimes that leads to regret but i can never stop long enough to consider it that swirl all but forgotten in the hyperactive haze that pings off the walls of my mind in all times and places as I tape the plastic into place that turns the music room into a world of white.

It had required stealth and subtlety, neither of which I would have considered myself to be particularly good at. And in truth, I probably just got lucky; there were a million things that could have gone wrong last night as I sat up for hours after lights out and waited until I was certain Mom and Devyn were asleep, finally sneaking out and stealing down the labyrinthine halls of the district until I came upon a supply closet. From there it was a matter of picking the lock - and to think that I actually learned something by hanging out with "the wrong crowd" in high school - and stuffing every painting supply I could lay my hands on into an old backpack I'd found acting as a dust bunny habitat under my bed, hanging cans off my arms when the satchel was full and then booking it to the music room under cover of the shadows cast by the dimmed nighttime safety lights and praying to every force in the universe that I wasn't making enough noise to be noticed.

"So yeah, basically I was pretty much a badass ninja, working my stealthy magic in the dead of night," I call over my shoulder, wobbling dangerously on the top of the desk I'm perched on in an effort to make my damnably short limbs long enough to tape plastic to the ceiling, finishing up the recount of the Great Paint Escapade to Moriah, one of my music students who agreed to stay after class and help me set up the room in exchange for extra credit. She rolls her eyes, popping the lid off the last can of paint before hopping up on the desk beside me and taping the last piece of plastic into place.

"I'm going to say 'I told you so' when you get dragged in front of the Disciplinary Committee for this," Moriah mumbles, jumping down from the desk and swinging her backpack over her shoulder, stopping in the doorframe and looking at the room's total transformation. "You have got to be the weirdest teacher ever."

I grin widely as she turns and heads down the hall. "I'll take that as a compliment. Thanks for the help."

The look on Day's face when he walks in can only be described as priceless, eyes wide with a little something that could be a flash of apprehension shooting across his features as the music starts and his voice follows. I'm immediately glad that I picked him for the lead on this one; his voice has something rich and almost plaintive to it that lights the melody aflame and accents every beat with a flawless precision that I could never replicate if I tried well maybe i could if i was drumming because that's the only thing i'm really good at but watching them makes me wish that i could sing because i feel like everything that's so hard for me to say might be a bit easier carried on a melody but there's something wrong with the picture that I can't quite place until it clicks in my head. The song's halfway done, and the paint remains untouched. Well, we'll just have to do something about that, now won't we?

The paint trails in blue splatters across the dropcloth on the floor when I pull the brush out of the bucket closest to my feet, weighing it contemplatively in my hand as the door creaks open. Then with a lightning fast motion everything i do is always so much faster than the world wants it to be and i can never understand why people think that's such a bad thing of a wrist snapped with all the precision that comes with years of perfecting drum rolls and accented beats, the stream of paint is suspended eerily in the air for a fraction of a second before it hits Miss Isabella Contessa full in the face. I should probably find a tissue somewhere to give her. I should probably apologize for ruining her dress. I should probably try to stop laughing.

But I don't.

It's the shot heard round the world, so to speak, and within seconds the air is a multicolored spectrum of flying pigment that spatters across walls and bodies and coats each harmony in a brilliant bloom of color. The shock that comes when the first splash of paint hits me is something that brings the world into icy clarity for a few moments, sunshine-yellow dripping much colder than I expected from the ends of my hair and flowing in a brightbright river over the fabric of my shirt. Somewhere behind me, I hear Abril's shriek of laughter. Reds like fire, greens as verdant as the pictures of grass in the science textbooks, blues that are the same ultramarine shade as widened orbs with genuine laughter gleaming behind them for the first time in what feels like forever - in a few measures' time, I am a living canvas. And even though I'm supposed to be sitting down somewhere and calmly watching the performance like the good director I'm supposed to be, there's something like freedom that hums in my veins and I can't help but sing along. Even though it's soft and uncertain and everything that's the antithesis of my usual earsplitting vibrancy i always feel like all this paint splashed up against a sea of white and everyone feels like i'm ruining the purity of it when i just like to think that i'm adding a little color my voice mixes almost unnoticeably in with theirs, quiet, careful tenor thrumming a soft harmony through the multi-hued air. Bounce back to me, you don't need this...

It happens in slow motion from the moment I pick up the bucket nearest to me, sending a wave of light blue soaring in the direction of Day, who by some miracle remains the only person in the room untouched by the waves of color. And then Sam comes out of nowhere, tall frame the more i look at him the more he reminds me of a tree because he's tall and solid and steady and really just everything i'm not absorbing the impact to the point where he's nothing but a faceless form draped in azure as the final chords of the song ring out across the color-soaked room.

For a few moments, there is nothing but the sound of paint dripping in damp splats over the surface of the plastic. I look around at the pigment-smeared faces that fill the room, and even though the action makes a dollop of green flow from somewhere in my hair and all over one side of my face, I throw my head back and absolutely cackle, clapping slowly before I reach up to wipe the paint from my face with a hand that only serves to smear a stripe of yellow over the pre-existing colors.

"All right, I could go all philosophical on you guys, say how I planned this whole thing out to show how you're the paint, how the district needs the color you guys bring or else everything is white and boring." A smile, stained hands shoved into the pockets of pants that will never be wearable again as I lean against the plastic-covered surface of my desk. "But that would be a lie. I just wanted to have a paint fight. All right, everyone have a nice weekend, see you Monday."[/justify][/blockquote][/blockquote]

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WORDCOUNT 1353 words
TAGGED nobody!
LYRICS BY fall out boy
NOTES you guys can do one more round of posts to wrap up if you wish. if not, well, that's the thread! i'll have the info for the next group thread up after i get back to school on january 2nd. until then, side-thread it up!
CREDIT TO ohemgee callie ?! of caution 2.0!