Kote

[ ♕ ] - c o l l i d e. // smoke & gasoline.

Hopefully! I'm all excited to read it. Cannot wait. I know how it is getting all unexpectedly busy and all. Lately that seems to be the way of things, I think I have some time, and then something comes up, or something happens, and bam... busy again. I can't remember the last time I caught a break.

[ ♕ ] - c o l l i d e. // smoke & gasoline.

I'm updating Cadian's look. did a small edit on the image on my cellphone, but not overly sure about it. I wish I had an image editing program on my computer, but I rarely have time with it. I'm thinking of trying to do a nameplate, so that the character header on posts doesn't look so choppy and disproportioned.

[ ♕ ] - c o l l i d e. // smoke & gasoline.

Heya doll!

That is fantastic news! I'm all a bundle of anticipation now. I can't wait to read it. I'm hoping that the return to the written word means that things are getting better on your end. I'm totally stoked about getting back into this.

It all feels like a change. A new act in the story. The setting and major players are well introduced, so now we move.

A new chapter, a new song: 45 - Shinedown.

-=Circus of the Dawn=-

Alexander Gabriel Gray
Eighteen /\ Comp Sci Major /\ Black Belt /\Dreamer

---

She played music, to express the mood. He felt he understood what she was trying to do, though he didn’t know the songs. He strained to understand the lyrics, but it was something he had never been good at. Music and vocals, they always seemed to blur for him, the voice becoming just another instrument, and sometimes, his mind had difficulty picking it out from the melodies, the actual instruments of strings, and wood, and brass. This was her method of communication, her way of saying what it was she couldn’t put into words, or so he viewed the music. So he chose to read into it.

It made sense to him. Music was such a part of her life, such a part of who she was, that communication through music was perhaps as potent and powerful as the real thing. He was thinking of a way to answer, even as she stared at him, sipping her water, as though waiting for some response. He was investing in the message, listening to the lyrics, trying to find out just what to say in retort. In the moment, he felt inferior, incapable of this level of communication. Everything felt like it didn’t quite add up. Songs popped into his mind, the words, what he had moments before considered beautiful and touching, fell flat of what he wanted to say, what he couldn’t bring himself to say. She was hurt, it was plain, there in the music, there in the color of her eyes, in the way they danced shyly away, the way she resisted him, treated him with anger, cold detachment. It was years of hurt, festering. The exact thing he had been afraid of all those nights lying awake, wishing he had the ability to take back those words, wishing he had the courage to write her a letter.

Finally, he just stared at her, letting his mind clear, letting go of his expectations for this meeting, letting go of what he wants, what he hopes, what he demands of himself, and lets the music fall into his mind. It was a game he remembered them playing during childhood, what song does this remind you of. Music had been so long a part of their lives, this just felt right, somehow. “I got it,” He spoke, a soft whispered voice, as he gestured for a minute’s patience, and following her lead, stood up from the table, moved to the mp3 jukebox. The library was expansive, but thankfully alphabetized. He selected the artist, the track, and returned to the table after depositing his money.

“Did you have a busy day?” He inquired, as the acoustic guitar started to strum. The Civil War’s Poison and Wine was the song that came to mind, and odd song. It always seemed to be about pride getting in the way of truth for him. “I taught a couple of classes at the Dojo, picked up my books at the library. “ He offered, the music carrying the bulk of the conversation, while the small talk, an attempt to break the tension, to let the words linger, the souls breathe each other, while doing something other than staring. “It’s about pride,” He offered, the song’s lyrics leaving him feeling somewhat unsure of his message, “at least, that’s how I see it. My biggest fault was my pride. It got in my way.”

Abandoned Souls (Full for now)

James Edward Miller III

Twenty Nine /\ Hopeless /\ Nurse /\ Broken
_{"Feel the wind blow, and the skies fade to black.
Feel my eyes close, there's no turning back.
And the waves break the shore, wash the footsteps from the sand.
I'm frozen in the spot where I once held your hand"}

---

James looked around the room as he entered, keeping a distance from the others. The questions of why they were there, what this was all about, why he had bothered coming in the first place, had been rolling in the back of his mind. He hadn’t even thought to question before arriving. The need to know was what brought him. Why did they bother sending him a card? How did they know? Why did they care? What exactly was going on here?

In truth, James didn’t care about any of the others. He looked each of them over in turn, slowly, one at a time, drawing conclusions and discarding them all within the confines of a few seconds, after only a few moments glances. Half starved youths, broken glances and dirty clothes. They were dredges, like him, broken individuals summoned here for something. It wasn’t going to be pleasant. They were the forgotten minority. The rest of the world rushed around in their cars, drifting on their clouds up on high, without problems or significant stressors in their lives, while they fought to simply survive between sunrises. Nobody cared what happened to them, not even themselves. He couldn’t bring himself to invest, not when he had his own problems to deal with, not when his own pains were so fresh, so vivid in his mind that they blocked all else.

Then were was the paranoia. Why were they there? What could they possibly want with them? A group of misfits, societal rejects that nobody would miss? The kind of people often experimented upon. Why gather such a group together? Something in the back of his mind told James that he didn’t want to know what this was all about. Something told James that he didn’t need to know. Self preservation stiffened his back, as he entered the room, refusing to go more than a step to the side of the door, ignoring all offer of drink, refusing all manner of food.

He closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath, fought the voices that crawled up into the back of his mind, whispering things to him, telling him to step back out of the door, get back in his car. Why had he come? What was it he was looking for here? He had a job. He didn’t need anything beyond what he had. But they sent a card. They knew about his kid. Why did they know about his kid? In the United States, thousands of kids day a year, some in more horrific ways, but surely there was plenty of accidents that would render his situation not so uncommon that he need be summoned, singled out. They wanted something from him. He was sure of it. They wanted something bad enough to roll out this red carpet.

He felt Cedar’s eyes on his, but James didn’t catch her gaze. He looked back at her, refusing to meet eye to eye. Perhaps she searched his face, and he stared to a spot over her shoulder, allowing enough of her into his vision to notice her, without looking directly at her. She was a surprise, something that spoke to another part of him, stirring another section of his psyche that immediately threw her form free of its confining clothing, laid her amongst a section of soft silks, and contorted her face into what his mind imagined would be a pleasured twist.

His eyes broke, sliding away from the woman, the images in his mind melting away with them, consumed by their own heat, as he slid his gaze to the younger man, vocally searching for answers. He would draw attention to himself, perhaps put himself in the forefront of whatever is going to happen. James wasn’t foolish enough to go demanding things of anyone capable of drawing such a gathering together, of providing such a spread, or knowing what it is they know. Especially demanding information. Information was a precious commodity these days. Might as well demand your weight in coins, or some other such nonsense. The vocalizations made him uneasy. The wait made him uneasy. Again, as though to restore the burning images to perfection in his mind, he drew his gaze back across Cedar, his blunt eyes meeting with hers for a fraction of a second, before he turned, stepped back out the door they had entered in.

-=Circus of the Dawn=-

Alexander Gabriel Gray
Eighteen /\ Comp Sci Major /\ Black Belt /\Dreamer

---

She arrived. At first glance of her coming through the door, he instantly forgot his preoccupation with the lapse in time, focused himself on her, and instantly found the exercise more anxiety provoking than he had anticipated. He had understood there would be some anxiety, some difficulty with pushing through the years of separation, and remembrance.. Apologizes weren’t easy for him. They never had been. It wasn’t easy for him to accept how horrible he had acted, even at such young an age, and admit fault for it. It was hard enough with him choking on his own reluctance, his own inabilities, more so because at first glance of her, his tongue went dry, his heartbeat sped, and his stomach began to perform flips.

She was striking, and he wasn’t prepared for it.

She came closer, and he felt his breath leaving him. Hypoxic was an idea that crossed his mind, though in truth, he was getting enough air. She cluttered the mind, made difficult any other action of the brain other than recording every millisecond of the walk from the door to the table. Every blink of her eyes, step of her legs, sway of her… her words forced his mind to attention, drew his eyes up to look into hers as he quickly got up to his feet. He wasn’t one to be sitting in the presence of a woman – a bit old worldly, but that’s how his mother raised him. He’d have gone to pull out her chair if he thought he could have gotten away with it, not out of some desire to be gentlemanly, sadly that impulse had a secondary motive; to be closer. Light, when did he start thinking that way?

“It’s ok. I hadn’t really noticed,” he spoke, motioning to the chair opposite him for her to sit, inwardly praying that his anxiety wasn’t clearly visible. He pray the nervousness that burned in his bones like fire wasn’t visible in his eyes, or the motion of his hand, in the way he took his seat again. He took a deep breath, plastered a smile to his face that he couldn’t help from looking all to genuine, all to pleased. “I’m just glad you made it. I’ve been wanting to do something like this for a while,” he said, praying that she’d not bring up the idea of him having looked her up before they were thrown together as they were. Hopefully, she could accept a little bit of embellishment, for the sake of making amends.

He thought better of that the moment he said it. Lies were not the way to start things off. The truth. If he wanted to make amends, he owed her nothing more than the truth. Her eyes told him as much, as he looked into them, feeling his soul stir in their gaze, like she could see right through him, into his mind, into his thoughts. It was uncomfortable, and he wanted to do nothing so much in his life in that moment as he wanted to look away, hide. He couldn’t do this… He had to do this. Christ, why was this so damned difficult.

“Truth, I was too scared to do it before now. Too afraid that you’d say no, or not show up,” he spoke,. “Truth, I’ve wanted to apologize for how I acted years before now. The next day, but my family moved that night. I hadn’t known.” The truth, a beginning. A beginning that was going to have to linger a moment, as the waitress, seeing the new addition to the table, came up to them, to address Cailey.

“Drinking anything, hon," she asked.

[ ♕ ] - c o l l i d e. // smoke & gasoline.

I had forgotten it a while, but recently remembered... I love when that happens. Rediscovery leads to great hype.

[ ♕ ] - c o l l i d e. // smoke & gasoline.

"Hello, I'm your martyr, will you be my gangster
Can you feel my trigger hand, moving further down your back
When you hide, hide inside that body
But just remember that when I touch you
The more you shake, the more you give away" -Cold, Evans Blue

Abandoned Souls (Full for now)

Forgetfulness is a sign of a lack of coffee....

[ ♕ ] - c o l l i d e. // smoke & gasoline.

Make no promises! NO regrets. I can absolutely guarantee you, Cadian will not slip. He's a very well established character for me. Those notebooks I talked about, I was writing about him, and he's been around a while now. So don't feel like you have to. I would love to read it if you do, but if you can't its cool. I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that it's worth the wait.