Post by bruno yorke on Jul 27, 2008 22:18:58 GMT -5
*
[/size]Cause I'm comin' home,
I'm comin' home,
*[/size] rudiments - - - - - [/blockquote][/right]
hello, the name's, bruno marcellus yorke
but people tend to call me, n/a
I turned , twenty
on , november 17th
so that means I've been attending , ucla
when the days over i like me some , girls
[/color][/font][/size]I've seen a palace in London,
I've seen a castle in Wales,
*[/size] skin deep - - - - - [/blockquote][/right]
[/i][/size][/color][/ul][/font]
well, my hair is, dirty blonde
and I love my eyes, they're, azure
and my skin colors this really cool, very, very, very lightly tanned
mainly because I'm , of german descent
I measure up to , 5 ' 7 ''
no Seattle Sutton's for me ! the scale says , 131 lbs.
but it's kind of cool that I have , a scar on the inside of his right palm
and my style blows yours away , reasonably relaxed, yet always manages to become expensive
so over - all ,
but people say I look like , tom guiness-taylor
[/blockquote]
[/size]but I'd rather wake up beside you
and breathe that ol' familiar smell,
*[/size] personage - - - - - [/blockquote][/right]
[/i][/size][/color] because, i'm not afraid to speak my mind
I love,
but I really despise,
I personally think I'm pretty good at,
though I should really work on ,
people tend to tell me I'm ,
bright[/font] because, of my exceptional grades
congenial[/font] because, i'm a pretty friendly guy to be around [/ul][/font]
but basically, I'm ,
[/blockquote]
[/size]I never thought you could leave me,
I figured I was the one ,
*[/size] background story - - - - - [/blockquote][/right]
[/b]? [/ul]
I came from, rhinecliff, new york
well my father .. ,
coming in at , fifty two years old
he supported us by , being a successful lawyer
all in all, he's pretty , loyal and fair, albeit overbearing.[/ul]
onto my mother ,
coming in at , fifty four years old
she helped too, by , teaching at a university level
in the end she's quite , temperamental and strict, although very caring for her children.[/ul]
and then they had kids ,
then it was time for my own ,
and my one and only pet(s) ,
-
the love life ,
& the good and the bad,
[/blockquote]
[/size]but I understand your sadness so
I guess I should just hold my tongue ,
*[/size] all about you - - - - - [/blockquote][/right]
[/size] hello, I'm leon[/color]. I play bruno yorke[/color] and his playmates, ---[/color]. I myself have seen sixteen [/color]summers and I plan to see a lot more, living the good life up in eastern[/color]. I've been in this part of town for two years [/color], so I know the area pretty well. oh! and did I mention that ads[/color] told me about this island resort? he/she's a gorgeous thing. stalk me? well, my aim is meh[/color], my msn's you can ask[/color], and my email's blah[/color], . but, of course, you can always PM me. au revior !"[/size]
*
Philippe walked between strangers with a stagger. His vision was blurry, every vibrant color and fractured light distorted. He wasn't sure how he'd managed to find himself in the bustle of people, dodging agilely between every arm he passed, being sure not to get too close... not enough to touch. The last thing he remembered was the sand, the endless stretch of golden sand that he'd found himself asleep in. But there had been people then, and the sun had been a speck on the horizon, not the obnoxious globe in the center of the sky. He swiped a hand across his forehead, clearing the skin of sweat. The loose, heather gray tank top with a deep v-neck he'd been wearing for two days in a row now was doing nothing to subside the growing heat from crawling across his skin. He stumbled to the right, finding solace in a deserted alleyway. He sat atop a parked Vespa, resting his palms on his knees. His checkered shorts, which stopped just above his kneecaps, hung loose and airy against his legs. Each breath that passed his trembling lips was haggard and raspy. He just needed to catch his breath... just needed to breathe and remember.
The vision rushed through his head like an estranged memory, as though it had been something he'd attempted to subconsciously block out. He could see people older than him, lounging around a small fire on the beach. His head was resting on the lap of a girl, a girl he'd never seen before last night. Her long, thin fingers ran through his hair as her lips moved in sync with the others. Their voices chanted the lyrics to the Marseillaise, each note dripping with their laughter. He was smiling, he remembered, wisps of smoke from the fire dancing in the dark blue, early morning air. They'd repeated the anthem at least a dozen times already, but that was of no importance. The girl brought a line of cocaine to his nose, and he sniffed. She had the reddest hair he'd ever seen.
And then there was sunlight. Nothing but sunlight and sand, and a police baton being stabbed into his ribcage. He awoke with a jolt, and as a plump, middle-aged man clad in a tan police uniform attempted to chastise him, Philippe realized he was alone again. The embers of the fire sweltered in the middle, fading into the sand just as he was. A dull pain reverberated through his brain as he listened to the man scold him in rapid French, pointing from the scattered bottles of alcohol to the street nearby, indicating that he had no place here. But Philippe already knew that. He hadn't had a place anywhere for quite some time. He could still hear the preaching voice of his aunt in the back of his head as he hoisted himself from the sand, "I want you to make friends on this trip, Philippe. It's a perfectly good opportunity to meet your new classmates. Be sociable!" Sociable didn't even begin to describe the way he'd been acting thus far. He hadn't spent a night alone.
Then there was the market, and the mall, and he was on the Vespa, his breathing slower. He ran a hand through his hair, leaning back against the cool, stone wall. Philippe's eyebrows arched curiously as he felt an unfamiliar weight in his back pocket. He let a slender hand reach around, pulling from the fabric a flask that he'd never seen before. He let his fingers trace the engraving of a hibiscus that lay on the front of it, a smile pulling at his lips. Unscrewing the cap, he took a swig from the unknown substance, letting the sour taste of vodka seep down his throat. There wasn't much left, but it was enough. Slipping it back into his pocket, he stood from the vehicle, following the alleyway out into an open expanse. A fountain stood boldly in the center, tourists and locals alike lounging beside the lapping water. Philippe stepped forward, sauntering toward the fountain leisurely. If anything, it was a nice distraction. Perhaps he could find himself in good company.
But as his eyes scanned passerby, his gaze instead fell upon a girl sitting idly on the ledge of the fountain. While everyone else seemed to already be speaking frantically about something or another, she sat alone. Flaxen hair fell down her shoulders, her own stare mesmerizing. But there was something in her eyes... something that Philippe couldn't quite place. And then he felt his legs moving forward in her direction, and he couldn't stop himself. He had to speak to her, no matter how short-lived the conversation would most likely turn out to be. As he reached her side, he spoke quietly, "Est-ce que je peux asseoir ici?"
The vision rushed through his head like an estranged memory, as though it had been something he'd attempted to subconsciously block out. He could see people older than him, lounging around a small fire on the beach. His head was resting on the lap of a girl, a girl he'd never seen before last night. Her long, thin fingers ran through his hair as her lips moved in sync with the others. Their voices chanted the lyrics to the Marseillaise, each note dripping with their laughter. He was smiling, he remembered, wisps of smoke from the fire dancing in the dark blue, early morning air. They'd repeated the anthem at least a dozen times already, but that was of no importance. The girl brought a line of cocaine to his nose, and he sniffed. She had the reddest hair he'd ever seen.
And then there was sunlight. Nothing but sunlight and sand, and a police baton being stabbed into his ribcage. He awoke with a jolt, and as a plump, middle-aged man clad in a tan police uniform attempted to chastise him, Philippe realized he was alone again. The embers of the fire sweltered in the middle, fading into the sand just as he was. A dull pain reverberated through his brain as he listened to the man scold him in rapid French, pointing from the scattered bottles of alcohol to the street nearby, indicating that he had no place here. But Philippe already knew that. He hadn't had a place anywhere for quite some time. He could still hear the preaching voice of his aunt in the back of his head as he hoisted himself from the sand, "I want you to make friends on this trip, Philippe. It's a perfectly good opportunity to meet your new classmates. Be sociable!" Sociable didn't even begin to describe the way he'd been acting thus far. He hadn't spent a night alone.
Then there was the market, and the mall, and he was on the Vespa, his breathing slower. He ran a hand through his hair, leaning back against the cool, stone wall. Philippe's eyebrows arched curiously as he felt an unfamiliar weight in his back pocket. He let a slender hand reach around, pulling from the fabric a flask that he'd never seen before. He let his fingers trace the engraving of a hibiscus that lay on the front of it, a smile pulling at his lips. Unscrewing the cap, he took a swig from the unknown substance, letting the sour taste of vodka seep down his throat. There wasn't much left, but it was enough. Slipping it back into his pocket, he stood from the vehicle, following the alleyway out into an open expanse. A fountain stood boldly in the center, tourists and locals alike lounging beside the lapping water. Philippe stepped forward, sauntering toward the fountain leisurely. If anything, it was a nice distraction. Perhaps he could find himself in good company.
But as his eyes scanned passerby, his gaze instead fell upon a girl sitting idly on the ledge of the fountain. While everyone else seemed to already be speaking frantically about something or another, she sat alone. Flaxen hair fell down her shoulders, her own stare mesmerizing. But there was something in her eyes... something that Philippe couldn't quite place. And then he felt his legs moving forward in her direction, and he couldn't stop himself. He had to speak to her, no matter how short-lived the conversation would most likely turn out to be. As he reached her side, he spoke quietly, "Est-ce que je peux asseoir ici?"
[/blockquote]
