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Post by Aoimoto Tsurara on Aug 7, 2009 0:51:35 GMT -5
"The atmosphere was hot and sticky. He started up at her from where he sat. His face covered by the haze of the cigarette smoke that lingered in the air, and shadows of her long gorgeous blond hair.
The young woman rubbed the butt of her gun as she watched him rise up from his chair and stair her down with those deep blue eyes...
Tsurara stopped walking. She had this Chinese urban mystery romance novel buzzing in her head all night and she was determined to get as much of it down on paper before the day was out. "Humm...” She scratched the back of her head with the back end of her pencil. “Maybe not deep eyes... that doesn't sound right..." she started walking again. At this point she was chewing on her eraser. Her mind focused on nothing else but the scene in her head. "Humm? What would sound better... what the word I want to use... AH! Yes, Dark!" She erased the word "deep" and replaced it immediately. "Much better flow with that..." she continued writing.
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Post by Chitose Miyako on Aug 7, 2009 19:33:48 GMT -5
[/b] was golden in all meanings of the word. It was golden, because one Chitose Miyako was in a fairly good mood, feeling rather golden. As well, the autumn day reflected her good feelings. The trees were alight with leaves that looked like they’d been painted to appear like flames—red, yellow, orange—all glowing as the midday sun passed through their translucent bodies. The sun too, was golden. Miyako enjoyed the bright warmth of the day. All of the warm colors set up against the cool gray-blue backdrop of the autumn sky, made her skin tingle with a happiness she usually associated with her childhood. It almost made her want a piece of licorice or some other small bit of candy, until the memory of the sugar and her stomach’s upset came rushing back. As those memories returned, Miyako felt any want for sweets dissolve. Sweets were dangerous little things, just waiting to make a little girl too sick to her stomach to stand it. Miyako’s nose wrinkled, and she shook the thoughts away. As her honey-blonde hair danced around her head, a wild halo tinted orange from the light-passing through the tree overhead, a leaf wafted by catching her attention. It was a small leaf; the edges were dried and crinkled, folded inward. The color? Brilliant sunshine yellow with spots of yellow-green that had yet to change, and the dried, cracked parts were red-orange, browned at the very edges. Reaching out with a hand covered in a white arm-warmer, her fingernails painted bright pink and pale green, Miyako caught the leaf. It felt weightless in her grasp, weightless and dry. Little bits got caught in the alpaca yarn of her gloves, and she knew her father would scold her for getting such pristine white gloves dirty but at the moment she could not find the energy to care. She’d pick out the little specks later. Holding the leaf in one hand, she reached into her canvas satchel, extracting a medium sized leather-bound diary. Using the same hand that was holding it, Miyako flipped it open to the middle, the pages were cream-white and there were little crimson flowers printed on the corner of each page. Resting the book on her lower arm, she balanced it, placing the leaf she’d nabbed from the wind onto the page. Closing the book, Miyako could hear the dried plant crackle as the edges were broken, and she knew the dust from it would coat the bottom of her bag, but she would clean it out later. She liked the leaf; yellow was a nice soothing color. It wasn’t violent like red, or morose like blue. Yellow was yellow, cheerful and, the particular yellow of the leaf, was not too much so—it wasn’t the blinding color she saw some girls wearing, during the summer past, on the beach. Slipping the book back into her bag, the weight pulling on her shoulder as gravity tugged on it, Miyako smiled. It was not something most people would find to be a real treasure, and some days Miyako wouldn’t even value the little leaf, but it was just one of those golden autumn days. Adjusting her bag against her hip, Miyako continued her journey through the park, feet creating a symphony of crackling leaves and click-clacks against the little stones she kicked. The clouds were rolling in and Miyako wondered if it would rain. Turning down the path, she noticed another girl, mumbling to herself. She seemed to be writing. "Konnichiwa." She paused, watching another leaf dance past. "Are you writing something?" She couldn't help but be a little curious, perhaps it was the niceness of the day, but all of the manners she should have seemed to wash away as the breeze passed over her. [/ul][/color] |
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Post by Aoimoto Tsurara on Aug 8, 2009 18:18:29 GMT -5
Tsurara jumped, and dropped her pencil when she heard a voice. She turned around to see another girl approaching her. "Oh, were you talking to me?" she whipped strand of her gender colored hair from her face. She gave the girl a friendly smile. "Sorry, about that I get carried away with my writing." She looked around feeling a little strange. She scratched the back of her head while laughing nervously. I need to start using a different conditioner on my hair. This scalp itching is getting annoying...
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Post by Chitose Miyako on Aug 8, 2009 21:23:46 GMT -5
[/b] Rather than let her body posture respond to her sheepish words, Miyako stood with the grace and poise of a ballerina (though she had never danced like that in her life, nor did she want to). Her sideways smile beguiled her body’s perfectly posed stance, and instead that little downward droop spoke of her uncertainty in speaking to the fire-haired female. The other girl did not look much older than herself, Miyako thought as she tipped her head only the slightest bit to the left. She wondered why she hadn’t seen her before; perhaps they went to school together? “Oh, it’s alright. Everyone gets carried away once and awhile.” Miyako thought sardonically that she was getting carried away approaching this other woman, she shouldn’t have spoken to her, just carried on her walk—left the poor girl alone, she did not need someone breaking up her creative process. “Ah,” she paused, words caught in her throat, when she threw out her hand. “I’m Chitose Miyako.” [/color][/ul] |
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Post by Aoimoto Tsurara on Aug 12, 2009 13:24:49 GMT -5
Tsurara giggled. "Oh that’s not the case with me. I'm told I get carried away all the time. My minds always geared into my next story or article." She smiled when the young girl stretched out her hand and gave her name. Tsurara was very sure that she had made a new friend at this moment, in fact, she was certain.
The winds started to pick up. The sweat smell of rain carried in the air. Tsurara’s green eyes shifted, as a few flying leaves blew past her. Huh?.. I thought the forecast said it was gonna be a nice day... but then again maybe I should have looked on line instead of relying on the radio.
She shook Miyako’s hand. "My name’s Aoimoto, Tsurara. I'm a writer. I write mystery novels… also romance..." There was a small moment of awkward silence. "... but mostly mystery novels... what type of interests do you have?"
The winds really starting blowing, and a few drops of rain fell. Aoimoto looked up at the sky. The dark gray rain clouds that had been hovering in the distance had gathered over the two. "Oh dear!" she said in a tight voice, as a flash of lighting lit of the sky above the two, then struck one the trees next to them. Moments later the rain started pouring. Tsurara quickly took Miyako's and urged her to follow her over to the near by gazebo.
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Post by Chitose Miyako on Aug 16, 2009 21:02:01 GMT -5
[/b] The blonde frowned. ”Well, I suppose I enjoy playing guitar… Electric, that is. My mom is really into punk music, y’see.” [/ul][/color] |
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Post by Aoimoto Tsurara on Aug 20, 2009 12:57:13 GMT -5
Tsurara's green eyes lit up. Her smile widened. "Oh that is wonderful! I love all kinds of music! I used to be a lyricist for a rock band. It was fun..." she said. There was another awkward silence moment, as young red head recalled how she accidentally blew the lead singers music studio up by tripping over the amp-cords, and knocking coffee all over the base system. She laughed a little regretfully. And here I am to this day wondering why they don't call me anymore...
"So what school do you go to?" she asked.
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Post by Chitose Miyako on Aug 25, 2009 22:20:48 GMT -5
"Just the public high school." Miyako replied offhandedly, thinking more about her guitar sitting alone at home than her schooling. Her father would have been disappointed to know her thoughts; though, possibly secretly proud of his musically-inclined daughter. Her mother would be thrilled to hear she'd been thinking about her guitar.
Pulling her mind out of the recesses of thought, Miyako popped back into reality, and listened to the girl talk about her past as a songwriter. How fun, the girl mused, that job would be. Miyako mostly wasted her time playing out complicated riffs and stretching her fingers to making obscenely hard chords. "Used to be? Do you write for anyone else now? I suppose writing music is quite a bit different than writing prose or articles though. Did you enjoy it when you did it?"
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Post by Aoimoto Tsurara on Aug 27, 2009 18:14:08 GMT -5
"I go to the public high school too. I’m the head of the high school news paper. The English literature club." she replied. She sat down on the bench and stretched out her arms. Her smile grew even wider upon hearing the question about writing music lyrics. "Oh! Writing songs are fun. I enjoyed every minute of it." she replied. I even though I was only hired to do one album because I fried their studio.... She really please with the fact that she was actually have a conversation with someone and it was longer then just a few minutes. Usually rain or not anyone would have ditched her.
She jumped up when she realized the wet spot on the bench had finally socked through her skirt. "Ack, drat! Now my butts all wet!" she frowned. "Why do these things always happen to me? Did I do something bad in a past life or something?!" she exclaimed.
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Post by Chitose Miyako on Sept 6, 2009 10:45:22 GMT -5
"The newspaper?" Miyako supposed she should be impressed, but she had never really been overly fond of writing (unless it was in her journal, but those thoughts were special and private). Her father would have loved it if she was into journalistic pursuits. It was more appropriate than her electric guitar. However, she couldn't find herself even the slightest bit interested in reporting on the daily lives of her fellow students or their silly sporting events.
And then the girl went on about how writing music was fun. Miyako wondered if she'd purely been a lyricist. It would be rather unfair if she had the ability to write well and write music for all sorts of instruments well, as well. Lots of wells, Miyako thought to herself with a smirk, better not fall in. She wanted to laugh, but then Tsurara was talking again and this time it was--
ABOUT HER BUTT? Miyako felt her face quickly pale and flush, turning away she frowned. Why do those things happen to her? Why did Miyako have to listen to it? It was distressing thinking about another person's behind. "Uhhh...."
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