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Thread: good weather for airstrikes.

  1. #1
    Inactive Member secondhand_stars's Avatar
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    <center>The whole world a blur
    But you are standing

    Soaked
    Completely drenched
    No rubber boots
    Running in us
    Want to erupt from a shell

    Wind in
    And outdoor smell of your hair
    I hit as fast as I could
    With my nose

    Hopping into puddles
    Completely drenched
    Soaked
    With no boots on

    And I get nosebleed
    But I always get up

    Hoppipolla - Sigur Ros


    stellan 1

    Stellan Marek</center>

  2. #2
    Inactive Member secondhand_stars's Avatar
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    Part One.
    Full Name: Stellan Ash Marek.
    Goes by: Stellan.
    Current location: Manhattan, New York City, New York.
    Occupation: Installationist, student at Parson's School of Design.
    Current age: Twenty-four.
    Date of birth: January 1.
    Birthplace: Amsterdam, the Netherlands.
    Name(s), and occupation(s) of parent(s):
    Dr. Isabel Ash - hematologist.
    Olek Marek - painter.

    Name(s), and occupation(s) of sibling(s):
    None.

    Height: 6'4"
    Weight: 157
    Hair color: Brown.
    Eye color: Blue.
    Left-, right-handed, or ambidextrous: Ambidextrous.
    Heritage/Nationality: Italian, English, a bit of this and a bit of that.
    Religion: Lapsed Catholic -- lapsed care of Mother, Catholic care of Papa.
    Education:
    Homeschooled from ages 6-17.
    The Rhode Island School of Design; Providence, RI.(2001-2002)
    Parson's School of Design; New York, New York. (2006- Present.)

    Marital status: Single.
    Children: None.

    Part Two.
    Likes: travel; ping-pong; foods bought and sold from street vendor carts; cigarettes; glass, concrete, and stone; cupcakes; little girl dinosaurs; normalcy; dingy pubs; trains and sailboats.
    Dislikes: large dogs; waking up early in the morning; doctor's appointments; empty apartments; nosebleeds.
    Phobias: Hemorrhage.

    Part Three: Do you...
    Smoke: Yes.
    Cuss: Rarely, if so.
    Sing well: I've never thought of it.
    Sing in the shower: No, I wash myself.
    Talk to yourself: When I lose things, sometimes.
    Believe in yourself: Of course. I exist.
    Play an instrument: Piano.
    Want to go to college?: Am in college.
    Want to get married?: I've never thought of it.
    Want to have children?: No. I can't.
    Think you're a health freak?: Yes, but in a different meaning of the phrase.
    Get along with your parents?: My mother and I can be at ends sometimes, but Papa and I get along always. In general, yes.
    Get along with your siblings?: I don't have any.

    Part Four: Favorites:
    Food: Street vendor hot dogs with the works, in theory.
    Drink: Water or orange juice.
    Color: Blue.
    Album: The Beach Boys - Pet Sounds or Hunky Dory - David Bowie.
    Shoes: Converse All Stars, black and low-top. Though I tell Aunt Lucy I like the shoes that she gave me the other day. They pinch at the heels a little, but are very expensive.
    Candy: Jelly beans. They come in every flavor. Even dirt.
    Animal: The little birds that hop on the sidewalk outside my building. They have no fear.
    TV Show: I only seem to catch old television shows like Rhoda and Taxi or infomercials. Orange Glo is amazing! It will take out any stain.
    Movie: Woody Allen is funny. I like his work. Or Jan Svankmajer's Alice.
    Song: Life on Mars? - David Bowie. It's such an epic song with the piano crashing everywhere and strings rushing in.
    Girl's name: Lucy.
    Boy's name: Ulysses. Henry. Nico. I don't know.
    Vegetable: Eggplant. They're so alien-looking.
    Fruit: Apples.

  3. #3
    Inactive Member secondhand_stars's Avatar
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    The espresso machine was the heart of the coffee shop. Steam whirled from wands and rattled inside tin milk holders. An air pocket made the entire machine screech and for a brief moment, the sound broke through the loose chatter around him. He sat hunched over one of the many round tables with shoulders arched high and a pencil rapping against his sketchpad. A half finished portrait, made wrong by the unreliable bank of his memory, had his subject with a mouth a shade too big in its preliminary sketch and brow bone jutting. He was primitive in this light. Gone was what was true: an immaculate wardrobe, expressive features, and a low, laughing voice. Lead idly shaded the spot just beneath his nose as a fold of notebook paper interrupted his work. It had been savagely ripped from spiral rings. Bits of paper confetti sprinkled his sketchbook from the half-fold. Stellan blinked at the note and then to the tables around him. He opened the note furtively, as if he were in homeroom and in danger of its contents being read aloud.

    Better than he thinks he is.

    The handwriting was only vaguely familiar. It was a cramped cursive with slashes for dots. He recognized it after a moment as Zoe?s and grinned wide.

    Zoe was a barista at the shop and a familiar surly smear against the backdrop of the bustling bar area. He had never seen her out of her black apron. Her hair was shorn aggressively to expose the pale skin of her scalp. She could have been pretty, he supposed, but that was not her intention. Two rings hooked through her bottom lip and gave her an unintentional bulldog look. An under bite, he remembered it being called. She was his seer; a strange, perceptive girl.

    Stellan angled back to peer around him, but there was no sight of her. The others in their black aprons were unremarkable. They were students like him, mostly, with the few older vagrants who had overstayed their minimum wage stay. Turning back in, he came face to face with her midsection. Her apron had been tossed atop both sketchbook and note. Neither was important, it seemed. He looked up, only half-recognizing her out of the integral piece of her wardrobe. A tiny silver hook winked from her belly button. He pointed to it.

    ?Did that hurt??

    Zoe laughed and collapsed down into the open seat in front of him. One foot wove through the jungle of legs, both boy and table, and propped up onto the seat alongside him. He stared at the scuffed toe of her boot and found himself unable to read the sound. ?Yes. Very much so,? she answered finally before her head tipped low. Eyes craned from their acute angle to catch his. ?Am I right??

    Stellan nodded.

  4. #4
    Inactive Member sister_saviour's Avatar
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    They met on the steps of St. Vincent's Cathedral like strangers. Antoine sat next to Stellan with his blocky sunglasses protecting bloodshot eyes and a cup of coffee in his hand. Neither spoke for a long time as Stellan slurped from a cardboard box of orange juice and Antoine scalded his tongue on the bitter coffee.

    "How was Ryan Roundtree?" Stellan finally asked, if only because there was no point to greetings and the silence made conversation desirable. He glanced over to Antoine and surveyed the man's rumpled clothes and messy hair. He looked like an angel that had tumbled down from his cloud only to hit the ground. Hard. He was paler than normal. His lips looked chapped. Stellan frowned and took another sip of his orange juice.

    "Fine. He flooded my bathroom."

    "Oh?"

    "Yes. You'd think a man would know how to close the shower curtain by the age of twenty. My downstairs neighbours were furious. I guess their kitchen table is right above my shower mat," he snickered. Thumb rolled against the plastic flap of his coffee lid and a low, hollow sound emitted. "Patch things up with the Professor?"

    Stellan groaned and the sound transcended pain into amusement. He snickered and folded over the slant of his thighs. Arms hugged his shins and chin buried into knobby knees. "Yes," he said. "Over and over again."

    "I don't know what you see in him. He's so --" Antoine lifted his nose in the air, sniffing demurely. There was no description for Gabriel Rainer. He didn't allow one. The man was like teflon. Nothing ever stuck. He was the severe design professor who could have lived off his good looks, but didn't. He had his own firm, but taught for some odd compulsion. He was a drunk. Nothing seemed to make sense. Stellan frowned and shook his head at the other man. "No, really. He's a total snob. No fun. What do you two do all the time? Talk about buildings?"

    "He's not a snob! He's just, delicate. I don't know. He's many things. It is hard to describe Gabriel, but he is a good man. He is kind to animals and has a dog. We eat and fuck and talk like normal people."

    "I did not mean to offend! I merely meant that he is strange to me, that is all."

    "He's wonderful," Stellan sighed as he steepled his chin back between knees again and stared out over the steps below. Pigeons picked at the cracks in the cement blocks and flew away from loud street sounds. "We had a very strange night last night."

    "I can imagine."

    "I think he is in love with me," Stellan snickered.

    Antoine stared at the younger man for a long moment and shook his head slowly as if the words had come in a language he didn't know. In a way, they did. Antoine was a professor of aesthetics. He dealt in ideals. He believed in beauty and rapture. He did not believe in love.

    "When we had sex last night, it was very -- overwhelming to me. I felt very nervous all of the sudden. I was hot and then cold, like the flu. I just kept looking at him and the feeling felt bigger."

    He folded over and pretended to retch out of his morning coffee. It was a playful tease, quickly followed up with a grin that did no harm and the shake of his head. Stellan yelped out a laugh and buried his face into his hands. "It's stupid sounding," the young artist admitted. "I feel silly now."

    "Don't feel silly. You're young. It's supposed to feel like that, I guess. I do not know."

    "He's going to Italy with me."

    "Oui? Top secret, don't tell the department-right?"

    Stellan nodded. "Total secret. Two months in Italy with him and Lloyd?"

    "Lloyd?" Now things interested Antoine. He perked and lifted dark eyebrows at Stellan. "Another man?"

    "An old Golden retriever." He said, relishing the wrinkle of the other man's features in dismissal of the idea. "His dog. I told you, he is a good man and he is --"

    "Very kind to animals," Antoine chimed in to finish the description. A hand lifted out to rumple through Stellan's hair in a brotherly shove of fingers against his scalp. "Perhaps you are the one in love, not Gabriel."

    Stellan just laughed.

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