Post by PROMETHEA IEVAN on Jun 6, 2009 0:04:44 GMT -5
Promethea's world tasted of cigarettes and charcoal dreams.
At least in the auditorium, the stench of rotting lungs and burning tar could leave her. Though the musty air in the auditorium, still reeking of swear and the breaths of a million lips long since left, didn't feel like an improvement to the girl.
Her weapon was a mechanical pencil, though since the lines upon her sketchbook page spoke of a study, she really should have been using charcoals. But they were stowed away in her desk drawer, way back up in her Dorm Room at the moment, and Promethea decided they could rest there. She didn't really feel like getting up from her fabulous spot at the highest row of seats in the auditorium.
Her many-ringed hand glided across the page, drawing patient lines, a foundation greedy for detail. The auditorium unfolded across the page, intersections and arches, dust and scuffs.
Promethea uncrossed and crossed her baggy black jean clad legs, shaking her striped blond and black hair from her eyes. She craned her neck for a closer look at a particular spot in the auditorium. Her pale eyes, bright blue from the light, jumped from her drawing to the auditorium eccentrically.
Serenity might be a word for how she felt, but serenity is being square. Though some could argue that serenity= (va)2+b, if v=serenity, a=satisfaction, and b=sexual compatibility.
Promethea was alone and therefore not questioning toward her emotions. She felt the misery, a beast clawing at her ribcage, daring her to scream, to blink, to assassinate--but it was controllable. She had known the pain for so long it was like an awful hollow friend, not contributing to the conversation but still there, bothersome and for some reason frustrating.
Since school had started, so this was the first time in a rather long time that she had been able to be alone with her thoughts. She used her left hand for that, thank you very much. The lines didn't draw themselves!
However, she was surely a thread away from a complete mental breakdown. One of her own. The Empath couldn't tell if she was having the girl who sat next to her's tears well up in her eyes, or if it was the boy across the room's, or (though very unlikely) her own.
Promethea loathed this power with the very core or her being. She had long ago given up on sanity.
Around this time, Promethea's concentration stumbled. Her little bubble of almost calm disappeared with a puff of smoke.
Promethea became aware of somone else in the auditorium
She froze in her seat, hearing them only because every sound was amplified in this nearly hollow auditorium. She wondered if they could hear her stomach drop of her veins fill with frustration.
A statue, her eyes remained upon her paper, not daring or even caring to look at the intruder.
Donttalkdontsayanythingdontsayanythingtomeplease was all she could think, and she could only hope they weren't carrying any serious emotional baggage. That would just have to be added to the list of Things That Ruined Her Day. Promethea didn't think she could add another person's troubles atop her own.
Her gaze traveled to the person, blueish eyes swiveling in their direction, daring them to take a step closer and see what would happen.
At least in the auditorium, the stench of rotting lungs and burning tar could leave her. Though the musty air in the auditorium, still reeking of swear and the breaths of a million lips long since left, didn't feel like an improvement to the girl.
Her weapon was a mechanical pencil, though since the lines upon her sketchbook page spoke of a study, she really should have been using charcoals. But they were stowed away in her desk drawer, way back up in her Dorm Room at the moment, and Promethea decided they could rest there. She didn't really feel like getting up from her fabulous spot at the highest row of seats in the auditorium.
Her many-ringed hand glided across the page, drawing patient lines, a foundation greedy for detail. The auditorium unfolded across the page, intersections and arches, dust and scuffs.
Promethea uncrossed and crossed her baggy black jean clad legs, shaking her striped blond and black hair from her eyes. She craned her neck for a closer look at a particular spot in the auditorium. Her pale eyes, bright blue from the light, jumped from her drawing to the auditorium eccentrically.
Serenity might be a word for how she felt, but serenity is being square. Though some could argue that serenity= (va)2+b, if v=serenity, a=satisfaction, and b=sexual compatibility.
Promethea was alone and therefore not questioning toward her emotions. She felt the misery, a beast clawing at her ribcage, daring her to scream, to blink, to assassinate--but it was controllable. She had known the pain for so long it was like an awful hollow friend, not contributing to the conversation but still there, bothersome and for some reason frustrating.
Since school had started, so this was the first time in a rather long time that she had been able to be alone with her thoughts. She used her left hand for that, thank you very much. The lines didn't draw themselves!
However, she was surely a thread away from a complete mental breakdown. One of her own. The Empath couldn't tell if she was having the girl who sat next to her's tears well up in her eyes, or if it was the boy across the room's, or (though very unlikely) her own.
Promethea loathed this power with the very core or her being. She had long ago given up on sanity.
Around this time, Promethea's concentration stumbled. Her little bubble of almost calm disappeared with a puff of smoke.
Promethea became aware of somone else in the auditorium
She froze in her seat, hearing them only because every sound was amplified in this nearly hollow auditorium. She wondered if they could hear her stomach drop of her veins fill with frustration.
A statue, her eyes remained upon her paper, not daring or even caring to look at the intruder.
Donttalkdontsayanythingdontsayanythingtomeplease was all she could think, and she could only hope they weren't carrying any serious emotional baggage. That would just have to be added to the list of Things That Ruined Her Day. Promethea didn't think she could add another person's troubles atop her own.
Her gaze traveled to the person, blueish eyes swiveling in their direction, daring them to take a step closer and see what would happen.
