AMANDA SMITH
Civilian  
UCLA HISTORY MAJOR
Posts: 21
MINI INFO - GENDER: Female
MINI INFO - D.O.B.: 01 JUNE 1991
MINI INFO - OCCUPATION: UCLA History Major
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Post by AMANDA SMITH on Feb 16, 2013 17:47:34 GMT -8
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #333333; padding: 5px; width: 210px, bTable][style=opacity: 0.7; background-color: #494949; padding: 4px;] [/style][style=font-family: Helvetica Neue; color: #cacaca; font-size: 25px; letter-spacing: 7px; text-align: center; font-weight: 100!important;]WHAT IS THIS FEELING?[/style] [style=background-color: #494949; padding: 5px; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 10px; color: #cacaca; text-align: justify;]Time Stamp: 25 April 2012; Wednesday evening at about 6:00PM
Although Amanda rather liked to consider herself someone that was good at distancing herself from people and trends in general, she had to admit that those hipsters did get one thing right; sitting in a cafe with a good cup of tea was a great feeling. It was especially nice because it was later in the evening and most people had gone home for the day leaving few other university students and employess in the tiny building to quietly sit and study. Though the cafe was still half full of people, many of them were busy studying or relaxing quietly in the dim peaceful atsmophere. This not only meant that the brunnette was able to sit down and read undisturbed, but it also meant that for once, Amanda was distracted and happy enough to not have murderous intentions directed towards half the people in her presence.
At the present, Amanda herself was curled up in one of the cushiony armchairs that were scattered around the cafe. On the table next to her was a mug of her favorite oolong tea and two other books. One she had finished earlier this evening and the other was for when she finished the one she had on hand. The young undergraduate smiled to herself in contentment. Being able to sit down with good books while being served tea was something she could get used to. Happily, Amanda decided that she might stay until closing time. There was not anything else for her to do today, anyway. Her father was overseas on a business trip and all her friends were busy somewhere else. Sitting here was the best option at the moment.
Sadly, the quietness of the relaxing cafe was broken when several more people walked in. Amanda did not know them nor did she wish to with the way they were behaving. Their rowdiness and loud voices disrupted the silence and left Amanda feeling irritated. Honestly, if they wanted to go be loud somewhere, do it outside or at a nightclub of some sort. Amanda turned away from them and tried to go back to concentrating on her book. Several more people walked into the cafe but Amanda did not notice. It was not until someone sat in the seat across from her's did she actually look up. She certainly hoped that this person was not going to be loud and obnoxious or she was going to have to start planning murders again.
[/style][style=font-family: Helvetica Neue; color: #cacaca; font-size: 25px; letter-spacing: 5px; text-align: center; font-weight: 100!important;]IT'S SO PURE, SO STRONG![/style] |
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Post by lucius on Feb 17, 2013 21:41:15 GMT -8
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[classy=sidestuff]word 625[/classy]
[classy=sidestuff]date 25/4/2012; Wed@6:04PM[/classy]
[classy=sidestuff]note hope you don't mind! ; D[/classy]
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[/style] | [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,bTable][atrb=style, width:350px; -moz-border-radius: 20 20 20 20px; border-radius: 20 20 20 20px; background: #F7F6E4; background-image: url('http://i191.photobucket.com/albums/z14/BlackReprieve/bg2_zps34522fd6.png'); background-repeat: no-repeat; background-position: right bottom; padding: 0 15 15 15px;][newclass=titlez]font-size: 25px; font-family: impact; color: #2b2b2b; line-height: 20px; float: left; -moz-transition: 0.7s; -webkit-transition: 0.7s; -o-transition: 0.7s; [/newclass][newclass=titlez:hover]color: #E3262D; -moz-transition: 1s; -webkit-transition: 1s; -o-transition: 1s; [/newclass]
[classy=titlez]here i stand with dirty white lies[/classy]
[style=width: 300px; font-face: arial; font-size: 10px; line-height: 6px; color: #55424c; float: right; text-align: left; margin-bottom: 10px;]with a thousand lies and a good disguise, hit him right between the eyes, hit him right between the eyes; you can walk away with nothing more to say, see the lightning in your eyes, see them running for their lives[/style]
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On Wednesday afternoon, when work had finally come to a standstill, Lucy King took his notebooks to the café to dream about ways to kill men.
Warfare and bloodshed, and it was John Steinback’s opinion that warfare was a symptom of mankind’s failure as a thinking animal. Lucy could not disagree. Lucy also thought that warfare was a necessarily foregone conclusion, because most of mankind could nary lay claim to being thinking animals. Yes, some people were born from thought, and yes, others were born from headaches, but most of humanity was doomed to thoughtlessness until their very last breaths. It was a pity, really, because in the absence of thought, a life was a very boring thing.
Warfare and bloodshed and the necessity of it all in the context of giving birth to a sound political structure—and this was the topic of Lucy’s current project. Progress had been difficult and messy, slow as an inching snail leaving a trail of slime, compared to the man’s usual pace. There was an issue of funding and backing first—too controversial, some said, too much, too extreme, not exactly politically correct—and when that had been resolved, there was the issue of finding the correct partners and this had not been entirely settled, and then the only copy of a book that Lucy had been eyeing for his research was checked out of the library and renewed three fucking times, and the dour frustration that gnawed at his bones was like a muzzled wolf starved for six days, just waiting to be released.
Unlucky as usual. Or so life went.
So it was with a stiff-handed hold on the yoke of his temper that Lucy strode, very purposefully, towards the only place in this godforsaken world that had tea just the way he liked it. (Earl Grey, with three and a quarter cubes of sugar and three teaspoons of milk, a cinnamon stick on the side and a slice of lemon if you have it.) His steps were heavy, shined leather cursing the concrete ground into sound submission. When he had arrived, what else would he find but a half-packed shop and a group of loud scoundrels at the door, with only maybe six brain cells to share between the group, judging by the contents of their conversation?
A half-snort of a laugh held back in his throat, and Lucy inspected the place for a faraway spot where he could sit in peace. No, no, no, maybe. The process of elimination churned out a half-passable solution.
And ahh—
It was the book on the tiny coffee table before the girl that caught his eye first, before he noted that she was far enough from the loudmouth brats and that she was drinking tea, which was always important in some inexplicable way. But it was the book. Mostly the book. The very book he wanted—no, he needed, and she just so happened to have it piled up very neatly on the top of her little pile of two.
(How many people usually use that kind of bloody-violent-historical-study for casual reading anyways?)
Well then and why not?. He sauntered over and plunked himself down at the stranger-little-girl’s table, taking the chair opposite her, his back stiff as a board, unwilling to plunge back into the comfort of the soft cushions for no reason at all. When he spoke with his soft velvet voice, it was with his body leaned forward, one hand touching the smooth greenness of the book cover, and excited unblinking eyes that did not quite match the attempt at a reassuring smile dragging across his lips.
“I’ve been looking for this one--what’ll it cost to sell me this?” [/style]
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AMANDA SMITH
Civilian
UCLA HISTORY MAJOR
Posts: 21
MINI INFO - GENDER: Female
MINI INFO - D.O.B.: 01 JUNE 1991
MINI INFO - OCCUPATION: UCLA History Major
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Post by AMANDA SMITH on Feb 18, 2013 18:12:55 GMT -8
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #333333; padding: 5px; width: 210px, bTable][style=opacity: 0.7; background-color: #494949; padding: 4px;][/style] [style=font-family: Helvetica Neue; color: #cacaca; font-size: 25px; letter-spacing: 7px; text-align: center; font-weight: 100!important;]WHAT IS THIS FEELING?[/style] [style=background-color: #494949; padding: 5px; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 10px; color: #cacaca; text-align: justify;]
Amanda spared the man a glance before looking back down at the book currently in her hands. She did not know him nor did he did not look the type to be with the group of immature hooligans that had recently walked through the door. Therefore he did not present any sort of interest to her whatsoever and she wanted to continue reading her book. She was about to continue her learning about coming of the apocalypse when out of the corner of her eye she spotted the man extend a hand and touch her pile of books. She was about to speak out and demand that he cease molesting her property when he spoke first. Apparently it was unnecessary to say anything of the sort because he obviously knew that they belonged to her. Still, his demeanor and his question made Amanda wary. Even if he was not annoying and brutish some humans, there was something off about his behavior that she did not appreciate. It was times like these that made her wish she had better social skills and could read people better.
After making note of what page she was on, Amanda placed the book down on her lap so she could direct her attention at the stranger. It was still too early to decide whether she should remain indifferent towards him or if she should be figuring out the best ways to torture him to death. Instead, she decided that it would be best to be civil. She knew enough than to be rude in public; her father had taught her that much at least. But if worse comes to worse, it was back to the planning board where she vented her frustration and boredom by planning murders. She already knew how she would hide the body too – by burying a dead animal over the body, police would have believed that the search dogs were led to a false positive. It was interesting idea and Amanda would have loved to test it out.
”And why, may I ask, do you wish to purchase my copy of Germany Must Perish?”
The book they were referring to was Amanda’s personal copy that she had only acquired a few days earlier. The book itself was a relatively short but incredibly provocative read. Its contents were highly controversial and Amanda had difficulty getting a copy of the out of print book for her library in the first place. Talking about the genocide and the annihilation of a country and its people was not something that was published very often anymore. Also, the book was published during and relevant to World War II and she did love learning about that war. As a result, the girl had very little desire to part with such a book. Not to mention, the book was next on her list of to-read. There was no way she was going to part with it until she had at least finished it.
”I am sorry, but I am afraid I cannot sell you this book when I have not even read it yet. If you need a copy of it, I believe the library has a copy of it for you to borrow. Why not try there?” Amanda kept her voice calm and cool. She felt happy with her response. She was polite and and even suggested an alternative to buying the book from her. Val would certainly be proud of her for acting so civilly towards people not in their circle of friends.
Amanda hoped that this conversation was over because once it was, she blissfully return to doing what she loved most in the world; reading about fantastical lands undergoing death and destruction.
[/style][style=font-family: Helvetica Neue; color: #cacaca; font-size: 25px; letter-spacing: 5px; text-align: center; font-weight: 100!important;]IT'S SO PURE, SO STRONG![/style] |
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Post by lucius on Feb 20, 2013 1:12:47 GMT -8
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[classy=sidestuff]word 417[/classy]
[classy=sidestuff]date --[/classy]
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[classy=titlez]here i stand with dirty white lies[/classy]
[style=width: 300px; font-face: arial; font-size: 10px; line-height: 6px; color: #55424c; float: right; text-align: left; margin-bottom: 10px;]with a thousand lies and a good disguise, hit him right between the eyes, hit him right between the eyes; you can walk away with nothing more to say, see the lightning in your eyes, see them running for their lives[/style]
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The refusal was coldly polite and politely succinct and struck a chord. An eyebrow rose. He paused in his actions, and drew back to better survey his companion. Out of habit, his lips pursed into a loped smile, his fingers began to steeple across the arms of the chair, and he thought.
How interesting, he thought.
This was, perhaps, how Lucy would have refused someone had he not been too prone to a tad bit of dramatics every now and then. Having one’s own methods were turned against oneself was decidedly Not a Good Feeling, all capitals intended. In hindsight, he supposed he should not be surprised. Those whom he had deigned to speak to in the past had rarely gone his way without some coercing, and some had never gone his way at all, and yet he had approached this one in the aftermath of his own frustration, all leftover tendrils of annoyance clearly weaving their spider-silk webs of control upon his words and deeds.
Hn. He supposed he should have been reasonable in the first place to earn any other response. His actions so far might have been a little overboard. And yet.
Yet Lucius King was Lucius King, and reasonability was something he never dared, never wanted, never needed to claim ownership to. It was one thing to be methodical and logical and genius for the sake of work. He loved his work. It was another altogether to maintain the level of care about people. There were less than a handful of humans he was interested in. Plus, it was so much more interesting, so exceedingly more entertaining, when he was unreasonable and showed it, because it drove those around him bat-shit crazy.
And he wanted the book.
“I could have borrowed it from the library,” he agreed, lightly, fingers dancing up and down the arms of the chair. “Unfortunately, it’s not in circulation. Doesn’t look as it will be in circulation again for a fairly long time.”
And just the thought of that incensed him a little—what right did anyone have to hinder his papers, his research, his theories, his life? But his rage was cold, and departed as suddenly as it came.
He continued, a little too calmly, a little too politely. “This is for a rather important project with the politics department. We need the section on eugenics. And the data in the appendix. You’ll be well compensated.” A pause. “And is this appropriate reading material for... someone your age?”
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AMANDA SMITH
Civilian
UCLA HISTORY MAJOR
Posts: 21
MINI INFO - GENDER: Female
MINI INFO - D.O.B.: 01 JUNE 1991
MINI INFO - OCCUPATION: UCLA History Major
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Post by AMANDA SMITH on Feb 23, 2013 16:23:27 GMT -8
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #333333; padding: 5px; width: 210px, bTable][style=opacity: 0.7; background-color: #494949; padding: 4px;][/style] [style=font-family: Helvetica Neue; color: #cacaca; font-size: 25px; letter-spacing: 7px; text-align: center; font-weight: 100!important;]WHAT IS THIS FEELING?[/style] [style=background-color: #494949; padding: 5px; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 10px; color: #cacaca; text-align: justify;] In what she regarded as a very disappointing turn of events, the strange man did not leave but instead leaned back in his seat in order to continue the conversation with her. Amanda would never be able to understand what compelled him to do this but then again, she never really did understand most of the human race. If the people she met were not completely insane, they were just complete idiots that really had no place reproducing and contributing to the overpopulation of the world. There were exceptions to this, of course, but those people were few and far in between and rarely graced Amanda with their presence. As a result, the young woman was usually left having to deal with the insufferable morons that made up the majority of the human race. Therefore, unless proven otherwise, Amanda deems it safe to assume that this person before her is also a moron.
The man was polite, at least. She would give him that. However, his demeanor still put her slightly on edge. He reminded her of someone, and though she could not put her finger on it, she knew well enough to be wary. She would be damned if she allowed her apprehension to show though.
Amanda calmly listened to the man’s reasoning but she was not at all amused. So what if the book was out of circulation at the library and he had a research project? It was her book. No one, and she meant no one, came between her and her reading material. It just simply did not happen.
”Well sir, I am sorry to hear that this book is out of circulation at the library but this is a book from my personal collection. And, like I said before, I have not yet read it and therefore am unwilling to part with it. I am sorry that but cannot help you in your endeavors.”
Amanda had planned on rejecting him and ignoring him for the rest of his time here. Otherwise, she planned on finishing her tea and leaving the location and all of the blasted idiots behind. However, last part of his sentence caught Amanda’s attention. Was he truly going to use her appearance against her? She may be young but he did not seem much older than she was either. She was reading books like these years ago. Amanda firmly believed that age was not a just cause for censorship of books. His condescension would not be with impunity.
Amanda kept her voice calm but she was annoyed. There was no doubt about that. ”And what would you prefer someone my age read? Sappy, young adult, romance novels? Or perhaps you believe that the tabloids and gossip magazines would be a more suitable choice for someone like me. And besides, you do not appear much older than myself. If I cannot read it because of my age, perhaps I should pass the book to someone older and wiser than the both of us. Someone that can appreciate the wisdom it contains.”
[/style][style=font-family: Helvetica Neue; color: #cacaca; font-size: 25px; letter-spacing: 5px; text-align: center; font-weight: 100!important;]IT'S SO PURE, SO STRONG![/style] |
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Post by lucius on Feb 25, 2013 19:05:03 GMT -8
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[classy=titlez]here i stand with dirty white lies[/classy]
[style=width: 300px; font-face: arial; font-size: 10px; line-height: 6px; color: #55424c; float: right; text-align: left; margin-bottom: 10px;]with a thousand lies and a good disguise, hit him right between the eyes, hit him right between the eyes; you can walk away with nothing more to say, see the lightning in your eyes, see them running for their lives[/style]
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Lucius King knew how to pick his battles.
He rarely picked his battles wisely, and he did not always pick to win. There were times when he knew above and beyond doubt that his chosen paths would not turn out prettily in all the pretty little ways. And yet. Yet, he would throw himself into his decisions with the wanton abandonment and raucous giggles, unholy light splendent in his eyes as though possessed, and utterly, utterly unrepentant. Jesus—brother, brother mine—was a case in point, and Lucy would gladly play the Lucifer for his Jesus-not-brother.
Lucius King knew how to pick his battles, and more often than not, the man picked his fights for entertainment.
But the current situation was, ostensibly, not entertaining enough.
Suddenly, the armchair felt a tad too soft, a tad too uncomfortable. Suddenly, the café felt a tad too warm, a tad too busy. Sitting across a girl a handful of years younger while negotiating, or not negotiating, for a nifty little book and getting rejected twice was a hard pill stuck in the center of his throat. Was he too forward? He was too forward. But so was she, and there seemed little point in being round-about now.
So he sank back into the uncomfortable chair, head back and looking, just looking at her with half-hooded eyes. Silence stretched out, expanding to fill out every nuance and corner. Around them, voices lulled and pulled like rolling waves, distant and foreign and thrumming to an unheard beat.
And silence. And silence while he simply stared.
“My apologies if you’re offended,” he allowed after a stretch, all soothing coos and murmured condolences, a voice so mild to roll with the lies. I’m not sorry, he thought. This was the way the world worked, where lips went sorry, sorry, sorry while the heart thumped damn, damn, damn, but I’m not sorry at all.
“I didn’t mean to offend, of course.” But he did mean it. There was no fun in cool detachedness. Not his nor hers. “You have every right to read it. It’s just… not regular reading for most.”
He was trying to pick his battles. He was trying to make peace. Or maybe he wasn’t. Maybe an argument felt like too much work at the moment, however fun it would be anytime else. As a human being, Lucy knew he was missing a screw or two. Or three. The man was self-aware enough to know, but not self-conscious enough to care.
“Would you mind if I borrowed it right now then? To read here?” The question slipped past his lips light as a feather. His chin tilted towards the book still in her hands. “I’ll… return it when you finish your other.”
And maybe he would even do it.
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AMANDA SMITH
Civilian
UCLA HISTORY MAJOR
Posts: 21
MINI INFO - GENDER: Female
MINI INFO - D.O.B.: 01 JUNE 1991
MINI INFO - OCCUPATION: UCLA History Major
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Post by AMANDA SMITH on Mar 1, 2013 21:30:57 GMT -8
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #333333; padding: 5px; width: 210px, bTable] Silence followed her words and Amanda was beginning to feel a bit uncomfortable under the blank stare of the stranger. She half expected one of them (namely him) to leave so that they could continue their lives in peace. After several moments of silence and tense staring - because Amanda was never one to back down against those that offended her - the man opened his mouth to speak.
Amanda listened to the man’s apologies. He claimed that he did not mean to offend her (she did not really believe that considering the words he had chosen) but his words had certainly touched a nerve. She did not appreciate being belittled just because she was younger and a woman. But, once she rejected him yet again, he was suddenly laying down his previous arguments in order to appease her. Why? He had seemed so confident just a moment before. Where had all that previous arrogance and condescension gone? She had not anticipated him to give up so easily. In fact, her bluff had been more angry and forceful than she had intended and if anything she expected him to have seen through it easily. With the way that she protected this book and all the effort she had put into acquiring it in the first place, did he honestly believe that she would be willing to give it to a stranger just because they were older and "wiser"? When it worked, much to her surprise, Amanda decided that she needed to rethink her strategy when confronting this strange person. No matter what the case, either he believed her bluff or he truly was desperate for the book and was willing to apologize in order to acquire it.
And now she had options.
She could choose the option that seemed most tempting to her: she could reject him a third time and then leave the coffee shop now that her peace had been destroyed and cruelly crushed to pieces. Or, she could do what she was sure Val would have liked her to do. She could do the kind thing and lend the book to the man to read. There was no harm in doing such a thing. There was no loss for either because she got to keep the book and he got the information that he wanted. The only thing that she was really losing was the right to be the first person to read the book. It would bother her but that was the price she paid for trying to get along with society.
The only thing that she needed to be worried about was the possibility that he would take off with her precious reading material.
Amanda glanced at the book then turned back to eye the man. The probability that he would take off with it was high, but for once Amanda decided to give someone the benefit of the doubt.
"Here," Amanda begrudgingly held the book out to him. "At least tell me your name if you're going to be borrowing my book."
Yes, she would loan him the book. However, if she screwed her over, she would hunt him down until he returned it. He could give her a fake name for all she cared, but really, how difficult would it be to hunt down some arrogant asshole in the politics- nevermind. It was too late to take back the book now. She sincerely hoped that she was wrong or this was going to result in an incredible headache.
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