[color=lightGray] [center] [img] https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/4c2f4fde-516f-4be9-baf9-114cdf32f107.jpg [/img] [color=Olive][h1]James Edward Miller III[/h1][/color] Twenty Nine /\ Hopeless /\ Nurse /\ Broken [sub]"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"[/sub] [hr] [/center] The road was long, far too long to simply walk. The drive had given him time to think. The weather had given him the inclination to. There was something about stormy weather, about a sky full of thick, dark clouds, that made his soul stir and his mind turn into itself for occupation, instead of continuing its ever outward search. Things that were best left settled crept up into his mind. Specters of the past dance before the low beams of his headlights, ephemeral glimpses of his wife and kid, smiling back at him. Haunting images of her crystalline blue eyes, so warm and alive with joy, and that youthful fire that had consumed him all those years ago. Memories that normally he didn’t let surface. Memories he couldn’t control. The distance rumble of thunder, the lack of dying sunlight, or the distance scent of rain on the wind, always seemed to bring to mind that which he tried so desperately to keep subdued. She had loved the rain, loved stormy nights. Because of her, he hated them. He turned the radio on in order to push away the revenants. A soft, velveteen voice flowed gently from the speakers, accompanied by a little guitar, some strings, perhaps a piano. The melody was slow, beautiful. The voice blended into the instrumentals as though just another part of the band, another string or perhaps a touch of brass to the voice. The words didn’t matter, it was tone and emotion, the quality of voice that made the song so powerful, so soul searching. James opened his mouth without knowing it, his own velvet voice, a rich baritone, joined in with the familiar notes. There was a time when James was regarded quite the vocalist. High School had him known as something of a successful singer, popular amongst the band geeks and choir students alike, ignored by the rest of the school. He hadn’t cared. Band introduced him to Taylor… Choir only afforded him more time with her. His talent… it had only been a happy accident. He had everything a boy in high school could want. He had personality, was considered attractive by the girls, was athletic, and he was intelligent. He could have been popular, made a run for that coveted spot running things, but he was in choir, he was in band. He was with Taylor. His destination loomed ahead. A few cars already in front of the house as the pulled up in the blue Toyota. He sat a moment, watching the pair standing on the porch of the old house, ignoring the landscape, or the house itself. It was the people he was most interested in, the people who alarmed him the most, that excited him the most. He turned the key, trying several times to turn it before realizing that he had to press in and turn before it would come free. He pocketed the single key into his pocket, and stepped out of the car, gently closing the door behind him. Anxiety drummed away the memories, and dried his eyes of tears that hadn’t fallen. Butterflies turned in his stomach, signs of anxiousness and unease that he vowed he wouldn’t let show. He steeled himself as he approached, watching both individuals. The man seemed younger than himself, lacking the broadness of body that the mid to late twenties often brought to the male form. As James often did when approaching someone new, he weighed the man against perceived threats in his mind. Not that he was violent, or hostile, or even remotely leaning towards any form of aggression, but his mind often made determinations on whether or not he thought he could handle a physical confrontation, if it ever would come to it. The vast majority of times, it proved a futile exercise that he half heartedly engaged in, but still the quirk persisted, and he drew the conclusion before he could even think about it. It was habit, or was it nature? He wasn’t quite sure. The woman was pretty, with soft appearing skin and long, smooth hair. She looked somehow familiar, somehow very strange and new, and produced in him an intense and stark sense of self. It was as though she were staring right at him, though he hadn’t so much as seen a hint of the color of her eyes. He was pretty sure she hadn’t even noticed him yet, and yet he felt so self aware. Uncomfortably so, excitingly so. James’s eyes broke from her to look at the watch at his wrist, checking the time. It was still three to the hour, and they were standing outside the building, waiting for the exact moment when the time came around. Promptly, the letter had said… the letter. Quickly James padded his pockets, finding the only bulge in them belonging to the single key of the car. Quickly he rounded on his heels, walked the few steps back to his car, and unlocked the door. The manila folder lay in the passenger seat, the invitation within. He started to bring the whole packet, but stopped, and withdrew just the invitation, leaving the birthday card inside the envelope. He didn’t know what the reaction would be to see those bubbled letters again. The door closed, the car’s alarms system engaged this time, giving a single honk of the horn in response to his press of the button on the key’s fob. The distraction was enough to calm his nerves, to let him breathe unhindered, to give him nerve enough to walk bold and confident up the steps to join the others, to join the young man, to see the color of her eyes. [color=Olive]“Hey,”[/color] he breathed in greeting, not knowing what else to say. [color=Olive]“You get one too?”[/color] He said, motioning with the invitation in his hand. [/color]