Post by dawson ray seider on Oct 31, 2008 22:45:36 GMT -5
`go shake it DAWSON !
`yes, yes girl, you know it's true. the only thing on my mind is you..
age; 15. but it's better to round to 16.
rp experience; erm. two years, let's say.
how you found us; hah. boredom in a new state-surfing madenn academy affiliates.
contact; PM. email-kneelfordiehl@live.com
orrr. aim-kneelfordiehl. i know. my screen names are original. ^-^
other charries; nada here.
other; i like peanut butter. >_<. and err. i like girls? =D [-hopes application is okay-]
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`where the hell is my chiffon.
`i can't seem to get myself into motion.
`i can't seem to get myself into motion.
but it's okay everyone calls me; seider, cider, sonny. [prefers dawson over nicknames]
i popped outta my mom's bajingo; August 2nd, 1988.
actually i'm some sort of; leo.
this place was such a shit hole; aurora, texas.
ah, so like paradisefor me; aurora, texas.
i don't look it but i'm actually; mix of portuguese, italian, and french.
it's just the way the wind blows; straight.
baddest bitch all up and through here; fifth year, music.
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`designers, look out for andrae.
`tim gunn and andrae at the red lobster.
`tim gunn and andrae at the red lobster.
you know i could just swim in those; hazel.
does the carpet match the drapes; black/brown.
i wish i could lose like three pounds; 170 pounds.
she looks like a freakin giraffe; five feet eleven.
and then i got one on my ass; on his left arm, a tattoo expressing the sadness he felt about an old break-up. lately, dawson's been regretting it, and is contemplating removal.
they always seem to notice my; his eyes, unusually bright against his dark features.
you'll never see me without my;
dawson has a dark look about him, known to brood at random moments, which is when he is usually writing lyrics in his mind. a smile graces his face every once in a while, usually when he's around that one special girl. his hair, he prefers to keep relatively short, not wanting to be bothered with the hassle that long hair shows. dawson cares about his appearance, self-conscious of who will be watching him, as he wants to be a musician. he keeps his body well-toned, and his teeth clean, to flaunt around the ladies. it's his eyes that will most usually get you, capturing your attention with even the slightest glance in his direction. They hone you down, and his solid stare can make even the most stubborn girl blush. his height is one that towers over most people, which is one thing that bothers him slightly. usually, when around others, he will try to crouch down, in an attempt to feel more comfortable, instead of hovering above in the air. And his hands, ragged from the hours spent practicing his acoustic, are long, perfect for strumming and reaching the chords that he lives to play.
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`it's a m0therfucking walk off.
`looks like barefoot appalachain lil' abner barbie.
`looks like barefoot appalachain lil' abner barbie.
- smiles.
- blushes.
- music.
- guitars.
- drums.
- laid-back people.
- chocolate chip cookies.
- sticky notes.
- winks.
- lyrics.
- a crowd of people.
- the sound of rain against the window.
- a certain girl.
i'm about to get wickety-wack all over;
- glares.
- people who take offense at the smallest things.
- meaningless music.
- when people end their sentences with a question mark.
- being confused.
- when his tongue gets stuck to the roof of his mouth.
- lost picks.
- snobs.
- bullies.
- those who tease.
- those who make her upset.
it's like my signature kinda thing;
- composing music.
- the ability to care for nearly everyone.
- the flawless way he can lie to people.
- his powers of persuasion.
- modesty, he doesn't accept compliments very well.
- good listener, the person you would vent to.
-musician, he's skilled with instruments.
oh god not this again, i so suck;
- his politeness, it's very hard for him to be rude.
- distraction, he's easily distracted.
- anger, easily pissed off.
- pessimistic, he looks on the bad side more than the good.
- unwilling, he can't let go.
it's like children of the corn but worse;
- clowns.
- not getting the 'right girl'.
- drains.
- getting stage fright.
- awkward silences.
- being a bad kisser.
- falling off a building.
you know one day i'm going to;
Dawson only has two goals in life. The first one is to become an accomplished musician, one that is respected throughout the music business, without selling out to the 'man', and making sure that acoustic music gets its say in life. He wants to exile the so-called techno 'music', if you could even call it that. He finds that type of 'music' an insult to the things he's been working on since he was a little boy. The second goal he has in life is to kiss this one girl he's had his eye on at school. Hopefully, this is a short-term goal that will be accomplished soon.
it's just this weird innate thing;
Every time Dawson gets excited about any small thing, he starts to tap rapidly on whatever is closest to him, whether it be a table or a person. It's his quirk, that helps the nervousness or the excitement out of his system, which sometimes leads to him smacking strangers. Also, he can never sit completely still, so some part of Dawson is always in motion. When he's sitting, it's usually his leg jiggling, standing, it's usually his whole body, keeping beat to his internal song. Also, he loves to name things-inanimate objects, that is. when he grows attached to an object, you will usually hear him call it by a name, instead of saying 'it'. for instance, he named his guitar 'savannah'.
some things just make me scream;
- a girl's blush.
- blue eyes.
- curly hair.
- a confident smile.
- when a girl can sing, or play an instrument.
- girls cussing.
- eye contact.
that is the most digusting thing ever;
- low self-esteem.
- bitten fingernails.
- lowered eyes.
- big egos.
- sluts.
- girls who end sentences with question marks.
you best remember this bitch;
dawson is the type of person who, when given the choice, will sit back and observe, instead of joining in the conversation. he marvels at watching people interact with each other, something that actually doesn't bore him, like most things do. he has a pretty short attention span, and has to keep on moving, lest he get bored. despite his short attention span, he can listen to people's problems without getting bored, for he gets fascinated by people's stories, and what they go through in life. to him, it's all just one big story, and dawson loves fairy tales. it's also that fact that he genuinely cares about the problems people vent out to him-that's just dawson. he cares for most anything.
lying is something dawson has gotten used to over the years. whether it's to his friends, to comfort them in their time of need, or to his parents, to go meet a girl at a club, it's just something that dawson does easily nowadays. only those really close to him can tell if he lies or not, and still then, most of the time, he gets away with the lie. dawson tries not to rely much on it though, since it lays down on his conscience. instead, he relies on his powers of persuasion to get people to bend to his will. it's something that just comes with him-most people just trust dawson, and will do anything he asks without a doubt.
his anger is something a bit hard to contain. it is hard to get him pissed off, but when you do, it's hard to avoid. he will lash out his anger all at once, which will leave you depressed dawson knows all the right words to make you feel bad, and if you make him mad, he will use them. he is also very pessimistic, and believes that the wrong will always happen to him, and that nothing good can, or will, happen. but if something good does happen, he will start to look up a bit. it is hard for dawson to let go of anything he loves, whether it be a guitar, or a girl. he will not let it out of his grasp unless forced.[/size][/ul]
`lighten up it's just fashion.
`daniel, you're almost completely on the floor.
`daniel, you're almost completely on the floor.
mother- janie anne seider, 48, housewife.
father- daniel art seider, 52, naval recruiter, rank E8
it's cause you were dropped as a child;
only child is dawson.
that's what i'll look like when i'm old;
both grandparents passed away.
you know the different kind of uncle;
uncle, father's side - johnny carmichael seider, 45.
uncle, father's side - anthony james seider, 54.
and the one that looks like a rat;
daughter of johnny - annie rae seider, 16.
son of anthony - anthony jr. daniel seider, 18
pretty freakin sure we're not related;
yea they used to eat my shoelaces;
one dog, left at home, named boots. click
it's like hell but only faster;
set the scene. the setting takes place in aurora, texas, in a quaint two story house. two bath, two bed, it's a modest home, perfect for a new family. moving inside, we meet a 28 year old pregnant woman, left alone at home by her husband with only the next door neighbor, amy hurley, to assist her. her name is janie, and she is nine months pregnant, due on the tenth of august. her husband, daniel, is off in kansas, having left july 15, to recruit young men to join the United States Navy. it upset janie to see him go, but as much as she begged and pleaded, daniel still left, stating that his number one obligation is to the US, and he wouldn't stay just for her. tears were shed after his leave, but soon, they stopped. lying to herself, janie was convinced that daniel loved her, and that this was all just a joke. and so, she took control, asking her kind neighbor to stay with her at nights, to take care of her.
august 1st, 1988. 10:24 PM. restless, janie gets up from her bed, intending to take a walk around the neighborhood, and release her mind from thoughts of daniel. all is fine, until about half-way through her walk. her water breaks, and all hell breaks loose. uttering a scream, she wakens one of her neighbors, a man named dawson montgomery. running outside, he takes one look at her, and runs back inside. calling 911, he takes her to his car, and tries to calm her down, despite the panic he feels. staying with her, they both count the moments until the ambulance arrives, minutes that felt like days.
the birth. lasting six hours, finally, the baby was born on august 2nd, 1988. time: 4:18 AM. he came into the world bawling, and immediately, janie fell in love with him. thanking dawson warmly for staying with her throughout the whole birthing process, janie then turns to the helping nurse. her first demand-she needs a phone. dialing her husband's cell phone number, which she knows by heart, she gets him live, something rare, for daniel rarely answers the phone. excitedly, she tells him the news- she has given birth, the baby was a bit premature, but healthy. his gruff voice yells at her for waking him up-doesn't she know that he's a busy man, and that he needs his sleep? quietly, janie takes the verbal abuse, uttering silent apologies again and again. then, daniel demands for the gender, janie squeaks out a quick answer. "he's a boy." daniel responds with "good", before hanging up on his beloved wife. cradling the phone in her hands, janie begins to sob quietly, distraught. dawson, bewildered, tries to comfort her, which only ends up with his lips meeting hers. embarrassed, he rushes out of there, confused about what just happened. then, for first time in a while, janie truly smiles, asking for her baby. when asked what his name was, she replies with, "dawson. dawson ray seider."
fast-forward fourteen years later. for most of his life, dawson has been left alone with only his mother for company in the quaint, two story house. this is a satisfying life for dawson, through his eyes. his father, the rare occasions he comes home, treats dawson as if he is a new enrollee in the naval boot camps daniel used to run. waking his only son up at the crack of dawn, he ruthlessly trains dawson, intending to shape him up into his protegee, the next great navy chief. showing no compassion, daniel yells and taunts dawson, leading dawson to slowly hate his own father. soon, dawson begins to mark his calendars as so: black marker surrounds the days his father is to come home, happy faces on the days he doesn't.
but still, janie still holds love for daniel, only seeing the man she fell in love with, instead of the harsh man that treats his family like shit. lonely, janie begins thrust all her love that she holds onto dawson, her semi-replacement for her always-absent husband. smothered, he looks for something that he can do alone, something his mother can't force herself into. music. seeing the guitar for the first time, dawson falls in love. he has to learn how to play it, make beautiful sounds with just the tampering of a single string. saving up his meager allowance, soon, dawson buys himself a simple acoustic. a bit run-down, it still works, and that alone is enough to satisfy him. soon, he begins to lock himself in his room for hours at a time, trying to teach himself the secrets of the guitar. as time passes, it soon becomes evident that dawson is a genius with it, playing the guitar, named Savannah, as if it was attached to himself. he knows every part of her as well as he does himself-it's his first true love. of course, his father disapproves of his son playing instruments-it's a girl thing, to him, and daniel tries to stop him from doing this. insistent, dawson continues with it in secret-the guitar is his passion, and nothing can stop him from following it.
soon, he begins to play for an audience. it's apparent that he loves the crowds, seeing how relaxed he is in front of them. eager to pursue a career in this direction, he applies for this school, darmon academy. dawson realizes the distance it creates, texas to maryland, which leaves him with a bittersweet feeling. happy that, if he gets in, he'll be farther away from his father, dawson works hard on his application. hearing of his acceptance, he celebrates joyfully, until, with a crash, realization dawns on him. leaving for this school means not only leaving his father, but his mother too. and so, he is torn. leave the one woman he has ever felt really dedicated to, or stay, and never follow his dream? after contemplating with his mind, he decides to leave, half-heartedly. to this day, he keeps steady correspondence with janie, and visits often. but only on the days when his father is gone. currently, it is his fifth year at the school, where he majors in music. playing the guitar is his main focus, but he tinkers with other instruments in his spare time.
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`i'm not your usual uncle nick.
`look at my wickety-wack trim. i mean, really.
`look at my wickety-wack trim. i mean, really.
i don't know what it means, something with; fifth year, music
it's six am in the morning middle of winter;
you must be smelling your own crotch;
Oct 24, 2008 16:53:03 GMT -5 @declan said:
Flexing his hand in an experimental test, Declan stared objectively at it, silently willing the pain to go away. Sighing to himself, he lied his hand absentmindedly onto the dog's side, who, by some miracle, didn't run away. Glancing at the sky, he quietly enjoyed the fall weather. It really was a good day today, something very, very rare in the smoggy city that was New York. Carefully, he stroked the dog's fur, which was surprisingly soft, in a repetitious motion. Screw it. In a split decision, Declan decided to skip the rest of the afternoon's classes-they were useless to him anyways. Math, history, he didn't give a flying shit about them. Art was the only thing that mattered slightly, the only class he enjoyed just a bit. There, he could goof off, draw whatever he liked, and get rewarded for it, instead of the usual reprimanding Declan received. So, with that decision made, Declan fluffed his pack, making sure his sketchbook was safe inside, and laid it under his head. It was nap time.
A voice. Blinking twice, his eyes shot open, trying to figure out who the hell was disturbing his rest. Wearing a scowl on his face, Declan glanced around, words already forming in his head to yell, to undermine the person who had the nerve to speak. Until he realized that it was a girl. Focusing on her face, Declan realized that it was photographer girl. Danielle Stevens. Junior, she hung around the art kids at school. She was someone Declan often watched, for the sole reason that she was a good model for him. And she was talking to Declan. Thinking back, he tried to remember her query, and how to answer without seeming like an idiot. Was he okay...had something bad happened to him? Oh yes, the dog. Looking back at his hand, he made a fist towards Danielle, and nodded. "Oh yeah. I'm okay. Just scared the dog a bit, but as you can see, it's all good now."
Glancing back over at her, Declan felt the awkward silence slowly fill the air. Damn. He was no conversational wizard-by far, he was quite the opposite. One of the many reasons that he had few friends, other than the plain facts that he didn't like most people, was that Declan was at a loss with the whole talking thing. When chatting with those he didn't know, there was hardly a sentence that came out of his lips that didn't include him blushing or stuttering. The problem usually went away after Declan got to know the person, but all his first expressions were usually horrible. And he didn't want it to be that way with Danielle. Nervous, Declan reached out for the dog, intending to calm himself by stroking the fur, but instead, found himself groping the air. Turning his head to look for the dog, Declan caught a glimpse of it, already feet away from them. Wow. That stupid dog did exactly what he wanted to do-run away. Except now, Declan could see no way to escape, without offending Danielle. And she hasn't given him a reason to be rude. Yet.
Okay. Declan couldn't stand it. He had to say something, anything. It was too...quiet for him to be comfortable. Running his eyes over her again and again, he looked for something to say, or do, anything to get rid of the awkwardness that filled him, and probably filled her too. Yes! Her camera. That could work. Gesturing over to the camera she held, Declan tugged his hair nervously, and quietly asked, "Hey. T-that's a nice camera. Is that what brings you to the park today?" Nice. It seemed like a good conversation starter, and he only stuttered once. It was basically un-noticeable. Maybe this time, it would be different for him.
[ahh. short. =/ sorry anti.]
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guess what?
and the winner is... of white pages made this not you
steal you die. header and subheader quotes from project runway and rene fris.
no redistribution without credit or a link posted in the correct thread
at the above website. do not change anything
[/font]and the winner is... of white pages made this not you
steal you die. header and subheader quotes from project runway and rene fris.
no redistribution without credit or a link posted in the correct thread
at the above website. do not change anything
