* know your enemy , « Thread Started on May 21, 2009, 2:18pm »
JUST ANOTHER DAY in the wonderful life of Tristan Nathaniel Taylor, though it was a rarity last night, for Charles and Carolyn had BOTH been home. It had been a special occasion, so the entire family went for a midnight hunt, something that Tristan quite frankly had missed the thrill of, but no matter, all good things must come to an end, right? Not to mention that even though he had gone, he had only chased, he had not fed. What need was there? He didn't like it as much as his brother and sisters did. They enjoyed indulging in the thrill, whereas Tristan, he did not so much as like to think of it. Knowing of the life he was taking, even if it was something as minor as a small deer, frantic between his palms, as hard as steel and so easy to crush, like a pencil snapping for a human. Ah yes, humans.
Such a simple existence, yet they had no idea, were not even aware of all that was happening, falling around them. Their entire world that they held so highly in their hearts as pride, was nothing but a mere falsity. In all honesty, they were nothing but prey to creatures who had lived for more years than they had ever existed. Tristan shook his head, rolling his eyes, not concerned about missing the road; it was slow, even in his car, which went nearly as fast as him, but not quite there yet. Perhaps a few more miles per hour and technology would some day meet the same capacities he held as a vampire.
Yes, an existence that was not existent. If only that were true. The human race might be a bit safer than it is these days. Unfortunately, the truth is such an unsatisfying bliss for everyone, isn't it? So hard for so many to face. Tristan had to face it, as his entire family had, and yet he still found it hard: what he was. He fought it with every vein in his perfectly sculpted body, and yet he still couldn't make up his mind. Wouldn't it be easier to accept what he was? All because he was too afraid to take a life that was so insignificant compared to his own existence? No, that was not the way Charles thought, and it never would be as far as Tristan was concerned. His eyes, black as night, focused on the road flying beneath his tires, seeing every speck of dirt that went beneath their black depths.
When he looked up again, the parking lot of Venescence High came zooming into view. He gave a resigned sigh, knowing he would have to face the same ongoing lectures, but his family was already here, gathered around his sister's car. His brother was there, naturally making a scene, but Tristan just rolled his eyes before skidding smoothly, flawlessly into the parking space just beside them. "About time you got here!" his brother cried, aiming a punch towards his car before Tristan was there in seconds, holding back his fist. "Asshole," he said, before punching him in the chest, hard enough to make him give a little 'umph' of lost air. Pretty satisfying, seeing as he prided himself on being the strongest in the family. HE may be strongest, but Tristan was fastest.
It was only then that Tristan scooted over, casually sitting on the front end of his Porsche, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. Yes, there was not going to be anything out of the ordinary today, just the usual at the lunch table. It was the middle of spring, so it shouldn't be too much longer before school was out, not that there was too much more to do either way. More hunts? Perhaps...Tristan couldn't stop feeding himself forever. His father was practically a whiny little girl when it came to his feeding habits, not getting strong enough, yadda yadda. He heard some giggling from a few girls, but ignored the familiar buzz in the back of his head, telling him that the onset of their dreams were about to set in. He didn't need to see THAT over again, thank you.
Joined: Mar 2009 Gender: Female Posts: 35 Karma: 1
Re: * know your enemy , « Reply #1 on May 22, 2009, 1:47am »
thread template by CANTER. of CAUTION 2.0!
As if mornings in high school weren't bad enough, today marked the beginning of Genevieve's third official week at Venesence High School, a completely different high school from the one she had attended for the past three years of her academic high school life. She had been doing just about everything to avoid waking up from her pleasant dream of God knows what, trying to block out the annoying chirping of her alarm clock, an "ever so gracious" gift from her newly claimed father. But, it hadn't worked, and in the end she had to sit up and smack it as hard as she could with her palm.
Unfortunately, the clock didn't break so she still got a rather unfortunate view of the time. Shit, she had to be at school in literally forty five minutes, and she was still in bed with her hair a mess and in last night's pajamas. She scrambled out of bed, staring out the window desperately as she peeled off her clothes. Her father had already left for Seattle for a new day's work, so that meant that Gen would have to get ready alone in an empty house, for the third week in a row, as well. Her shower was short but effective, almost like her herself, and she was already half-way done blow drying her hair by the time she had toweled off and headed into her closet.
Genevieve's mind flashed back to her first official day as a student at the school. That morning, she had been awake well before the buzzing of her alarm clock - which, one of these days I swear was going to fly out the window and onto an unsuspecting neighbor - hell, she probably had been awake even before the roosters and the early morning television programming people. She hadn't known what to wear; she had spent the last few years of her life at a private school on a scholarship, and now it was goodbye plaid skirts and prayers in between classes and hello Venescence Beach...the almost exactly opposite of what she had described earlier. Now, she knew what to expect, if not vaguely. Where to sit for lunch on the days that she made it down to the cafeteria, what not to wear and what to wear, the general basics of high school.
One of the major bonuses of living with Daddy dearest was the old beat up Chevy impala that he had fixed up just for her. it was slightly old compared to some of the cars being driven around town today - it was 2006 model - but at least it was a mode of transportation that didn't run underground or boast passengers that claimed cardboard boxes on the street their homes. She managed to find the keys underneath a pile of unopened bills and other mail including an invitation to her cousin's communion next month and a few stacked coupons her Grandmother had set and found her car keys. Gen grunted quietly to herself, wishing that she had listened to her clock in enough time to get down and at least grab some coffee before she left.
But, no such luck - if she was going to be there on time, Genevieve had to leave and she had to leave then. She pulled slowly and cautiously out of the neighborhood, relaxing as she continued the slowly growing more and more familiar route to the high school, humming along to the worn Coldplay CD blaring through the speakers. Not wanting to make a spectacle of herself when she turned into the high school, she turned the volume down way low and rolled up the windows. Gen's hands searched her face and quickly grabbed the sunglasses off self-consciously, slipping them into her purse and giving herself one final look in the mirror, deciding that it was then or never, she hopped out and locked the door behind her.
Unlike a certain character that we know who on her first day of high school received all of the attention, Gen was no news. Thankfully for her, that was; she was already so nervous about coming to this school, the last thing she needed was say...her picture on the front page of the school newspaper or something to that extent. Thankfully, no such thing had had happened to her yet, but she was always on the lookout for an opportunity to slip into the shadows a little bit more. Strange girl, huh? Her heels clicked against the worn tar and pavement, a sigh following the sound as she her weak arms tried to balance five or six text books in them at once; and she was actually doing a damn good job, or at least she put on a good show doing whatever she was attempting to do.
In typical Genevieve fashion, her heel took a wrong twist and she came toppling forwards, her small body weight causing the books the fling out in every which direction and her legs and elbows meeting the ground with a painful smack. The pain registered first - of falling almost face first but more like knee and elbow first onto a rock hard solid pavement, and then after she felt her eyes sting with salty tears and the feeling of worry if blood had started to gash - don't worry, it didn't! - the embarrassment registered. And boy, did it register; falling hard in front of your new high school was not exactly something that you lived down, did you? Thankfully for Gen, most of the students had already headed off to their classes.
Genevieve was just about to breathe a sigh of relief when she felt a presence standing over her. Slowly but carefully, her eyes worked up his charcoal black jeans, resting on his muscular torso and arms and legs. Her eyes darted up towards his collar blone, her eyes scanning and recognizing every perfect, flawless detail. She couldn't tear her eyes away from his handsome face, her eyebrows surely knitted into some kind of look of confusion of wondering how someone so gorgeous truly even existed. What she really wanted to know was...was this guy such a douche bag that he couldn't help a girl up when she fell?
Without grabbing onto anyone or anything awkwardly, she managed to hoist herself up onto the heels off her high heels and start to collect her books. She cleared her throat when the books were collected in her arms, a nervous butterfly effect feeling in her stomach as she stared curiously at the boy. "I took a pretty hard spill," She stupidly blurted out. "Did I fall on you?" Gen asked like he could be hurt, but even to her untrained eye he looked like a complete brick house, not going to lie. "I'm...Genevieve." She told him, finally deciding to give him her name, as well.
notes! whoa i'm sorry Dx so tired word-count! 1,142 outfit!how to say goodbye tagged! tristan (eva <3) status! finished
Re: * know your enemy , « Reply #2 on May 22, 2009, 8:39am »
NEVER BEFORE HAD ANY FANTASIES of the frail human mind allowed Tristan to become attuned to the female presence; there was a time, yes, when he was foolish and young and did in fact toy with a few hearts here and there, but never before had he gone as far as half this high school had. To think that even Venescence, a small town, could have so many impregnated young ladies was astounding to him. They claimed he LOVED them, he would stay by their side, and yet for Tristan, he knew the truth. He knew exactly the horrors their "lovers" were imagining, just before they headed for the hills. Honestly, you can't expect a guy to take responsibility. It's not in their nature; humans are irresponsable, hormonal, and unable to face reality as easily as most others.
No, not a single girl could possibly bring his attention, no matter how much they flirted or daydreamed or badgered him tirelessly. After just a small amount of patience, girls grew tired of one project and decided only to move on to the next. It was a quality Tristan held that his brother loathed in him, and one that he frequently used. His brother was determined to find him a girl, and yet Tristan, though his efforts were rather valiant, turned from them all. Girls were not his life, as most human boys found their thoughts to be centrally focused on. No, Tristan's life was one of thought, one of leaning on the hoods of cars and listening to lengthy, repeated and unchanging lectures year after passing year. Venescence just so happened to be the venue this time around. In four or five years they'd have to move again, another place to find residence in.
Then he heard something. Behind him, his brother gave a long, low whistle, and Tristan didn't have to read his mind to know what he was looking at. Tristan sighed; he was the one with the girlfriend and he was the one looking over the females. Still, Tristan followed his gaze, just waiting to prove him wrong...
Ok, so she was pretty attractive. He never said his brother didn't have taste. She had to be new; she was trying far too hard to impress people, when she could have come here merely in a tee shirt and jeans and been just fine. Yet no, she walked through the parking lot from a Chevy Impala - really? - as if she were on a mission, her eyes slightly downward behind her sunglasses, her hair tossing only gently at the breeze that billowed through the tender strands. She was...striking, holding a presence around her that, no matter what you tried to do, could not be left unnoticed. It was unfamiliar, and quite an annoying quality to Tristan, and his mind was suddenly battered with far too many fantasies, an endless torrent that Tristan gritted his teeth against, clutching his nose between his fingers as if deep in a headache. But upon her entrance, it was not her body or her "nice ass" that suddenly had him on edge, no.
It was that smell. Something he had NEVER, in his wildest dreams even come to imagine. Liquid fire suddenly poured down his throat and he nearly choked it was so thick, a burning, fiery torch that had been plunged deep into his esophagus in a place that could only be quenched by thirst. He couldn't see, couldn't breathe, he only knew one thing: feed. He was thirsty, and she was a giant lemonade, two inches from his grasp and so easy to capture. A low, impenetrable growl to human ears escaped him, so low even his family didn't here. His lips drew back as his tongue ran over his teeth, feeling the venom on edge, and he saw what he wanted to do. All it would take was a casual glance down an alleyway and a wink, and she would follow him. There he'd take from her all that she contained, that blissful seduction she so unawarely held. What he wanted to do was unbearable; he wanted to kill her and he could no longer think of her as a person, but a source of the most heavenly source of blood he'd ever before "smelled" in his life.
Keep walking for Christ's sakes, he thought, and at last, the family, particularly his twin sister, noticed. "Tristan, what---?" she said. But Tristan didn't even hear her. He didn't hear the fantasy images of her backside shooting behind his eyelids, no, his eyes saw nothing but her, every pulse of her veins, every shallow, cowishly slow movement she made. Yet she did not obey him; instead, he saw it even before she did, the small rock that caught on her foot, and then she plunged straight downward, hitting the pavement. NO! he screamed to his mind, silencing the other mess of thoughts as he found him leaping from his car, nearly denting the new hood inside, but it was quickly repaired by his brother with a small knock to the side of it. He went far too fast, but he was there, above her, in the most vulnerable and easy position...
It will be quick. Go ahead, feed. Tristan was salivating now; he could feel the inside of his mouth growing hot, wet, no longer satiated by his own saliva. The close proximity was unbearable; all he had to do was ask her to the back, even claim to show her around before taking her. Yet when she looked up at last, her eyes roaming, it was deer eyes he saw. Gorgeous, brown eyes of a fawn, a fawn that was prancing and tripping its way right into the grasp of the biggest wolf in the forest. But somehow, someway, he resisted. He could NOT do this; he forced his thoughts to Charles, Carolyn, how much he would ruin and all over a stupid GIRL! His lip twitched, his jaw strained, and he did not reach forward to help her up, even though he should. His eyes, instead, gazed at her with the most intense loathing he could possibly muster, their black depths hard, cold, unfeeling.
His lip twitched, flexing his jaw only slightly before his fists clenched instead at his sides, his fingers digging into his palms. And her voice...well was it so wrong that this reincarnated devil had the most alluring voice he had ever heard. Like a Soprano singer with just a hint of Alto. Nearly as perfect as it gets for any human. Damn her to the deepest pit of hell from whenst she came! Finally, he forced his lips to part...ah! That sting, it was unbearable, as if he were breathing in the desert! "You should really watch where you walk; wouldn't want you getting hurt on your first day." Tristan did not inhale through his nose, not in the slightest. A suddenly vivid picture of him making out with her flashed into his scope of mind and he nearly choked. Ha, to even IMAGINE kissing that?!
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- - - tagged, genevieve phoenix ! (miss emily) - - - clothes,can't be everyday! - - - words, 1,196 - - - muse, i'm not okay (i promise) , famous last words - my chemical romance , forever - papa roach - - - credit, design of EVA, do NOT steal! - - - ooc, O.o ok, my posts return to bedtime stories. :P
Joined: Mar 2009 Gender: Female Posts: 35 Karma: 1
Re: * know your enemy , « Reply #3 on May 27, 2009, 7:57am »
thread template by CANTER. of CAUTION 2.0!
In all honesty, Genevieve had never in her life tried to be something that she knew she wasn't. She had witnessed girls put on facades, try to put on an act and appear to be something that they really weren't. It frustrated Gen to no end, she didn't try to be anything - and yet people always labeled her as a fake or a prep. Mostly because she had spent most of her life in a plaid skirt going to a school where in between classes they said a prayer and their sexual education classes had some kind of religious undertone and they received purity rings instead of condoms or packets on birth control.
This was a whole new world for Genevieve - she didn't know that there were vampires and werewolves and every other sort of creature you could think of lurking in the background, who could possibly guess that unless they witnessed it? But, just the general interaction of teenage girls and boys was enough to keep Genevieve in the background, witnessing it like someone might watch the animal planet channel on television. At her old school, Genevieve was what you may call a wild soul - she didn't answer to anyone, and attended parties right up until her almost date rape scare.
Here, people overlooked her as another girl with loads of money (if they only knew, she was practically scraping together every odd end she could to just help her Dad pay the bills) and paid no attention to her. That was, until the conversation at the lunch table thinned and they needed something else to direct their anger and general teenage angst at. Genevieve seemed to be a perfect target for that. Being hated by her peers was almost worse than being completely ignored, seeing as that about a whopping zero of them had made any attempt to get to know her, let alone help her get used to the school.
As if Genevieve wasn't turned off enough by this school and absolutely confused, she was even more confused by this mysterious Tristan boy. Her high school mentor that had been assigned to her for the first five day school week had blushed profusely when Genevieve asked who that group was. Marjorie, the girl, had had no problem pointing out the various cliques before - the band geeks, the jocks, and just about any other teenage stereotype you can think of. They disgusted Genevieve, they had this air around them that was so secluded, so exclusive, she wondered why they didn't just homeschool themselves.
Genevieve had barely spoken three sentences in a row at this school, and here she was practically spazing at the poor boy. He may have not given Genevieve the best first impression when she had first seen him, but at this point she was just hoping that she didn't break any of his bones. Her overactive imagination conjured up a not so pretty image of her sitting next to him in a hospital while his family handed over piles of legal documents for her to sign. Of course, Genevieve was a tiny girl to begin with and her slaps barely left a red mark on anyone's skin, so tripping over a muscular, burly guy like Tristan probably felt like a feather floating against his cheek, surely not enough strength to break any bones.
Still, she felt a blush cover her smooth, mostly pale flesh. Here she was, trying to avoid any kind of interaction with the kids she went to school with, and now she had just made a fool of herself and tripped over the most gorgeous one of them all. Genevieve's game plan for high school was simple. She didn't need the parties like she had back home, she didn't need the tight knit group of friends who drank peach schnapps with her and shopped at Barney's while she cleverly sighed and said that her Dad had cut her off after her thousand dollar Gucci spree last night. Still, Genevieve had been a compulsive liar back home - they had liked her for what money they thought she had.
This was supposed to be her time to start over, but Genevieve had no want to. She wanted to get the grades and go to college and forget about these horrendous years. But maybe, just maybe, she would find a friend in Tristan - she felt how lost he was, as if somehow he didn't fit into that whole popular scene, either. Genevieve didn't want a boyfriend, didn't want to fall head over heels for anyone, let alone someone like Tristan - they could be friends, right? Genevieve waited for him to show any sign of compassion - ask her if she was alright, blame himself, ask her if she wanted him to carry her books back to her locker - any act of chivalry that the finely groomed men back home would offer.
And yet, nothing was uttered from him. Well, that was a lie because soon his vicious words sliced through the air and it felt like he was directing them straight at her. She felt verbal knives and daggers slice open her flesh, and like the dumb broad she was, she stood there for the smallest of seconds. Genevieve may have been a good few feet shorter than him and obviously about half the size, maybe even half of a half smaller than him, but the glare she gave him was enough to be the equal of a punch thrown by Mike Tyson himself. "I'll watch where I walk when you get your dick out of your mouth," She muttered under her breath, sourly stomping away towards the school.
Just as though she was back at her first day of school, Genevieve had to stop just about every few feet as she dug the map out of her back pocket, staring at the map, trying to study it and then stomping off towards her locker. She managed to get her books into the correct positions and then head off to her first class, English. Genevieve had always been quite fond of the Language Arts subject itself and she was thrilled to see that it was the first on her schedule. She received her copy of Romeo and Juliet and got assigned to a table, sitting down at the empty location. Now, only to see who would sit next to her...
notes! whoa i'm sorry Dx so tired word-count! 1,067 words outfit!how to say goodbye tagged! tristan (eva <3) status! finished
Re: * know your enemy , « Reply #4 on May 29, 2009, 7:49pm »
WHAT WAS HAPPENING HERE, NOW, was something Tristan had never before encountered: thickly uncharted waters he had unconditionally leaped into. He had heard of it only briefly, once, from his brother, and he knew what his brother had done. It had been his first and final human kill, and at the time, Tristan had been...horrified by it. What he had watched his brother do, and how viciously he had done it. How he had gone straight towards this human without a thought or care in the world, and since then, Tristan had always wondered how on earth, what could have possibly compelled his brother to do it. To just kill without mercy. Now, and only now, did Tristan truly and completely understand. This urge, was not in the slightest bit an urge, it was a need. A crushing, desperate, starved need for something he had long prolonged, something he was convincing himself he deserved.
He had never before wanted something this badly; his very life was the only thing that stood before this penetrating desire to give himself the thickest and most fluid form of refreshment Tristan had ever had. His stomach growled, it growled, merely by the sight of her. His throat felt as if he had opened his mouth in the middle of a sandstorm, leaving it dry, devoid of anything but tasteless sand. He could feel his saliva building up inside his mouth, his teeth tingling, and her smell...it was intoxicating, so unrealistic it couldn't be real. He felt himself close his eyes, inhaling her scent, and his stomach did a flip inside of him; he dared himself to open his eyes, only to see her still, this beauty, this mirage of his mind that could not exist. This demon from the darkest parts of hell that was here to ruin him. To make him cascade into the resentment of everything he had come here to develop: his family.
His irritability was inevitable, and he expected her rebuff; she was new, and he had no right to treat her as such, and yet he did. He had every single damn right to. Not for his own sake, but for hers, dammit! All it would take was a casual hand, to reach forward and take her after him. He knew he had that quality, that ability with his prey, to make them follow him. He had nearly done it once before, with a girl who had smelled rather good - until now, of course - and he, who had stupidly deprived himself of some kind of feed. Now he was regretting it more than ever, his mind in a frenzy, like a shark placed in front of a massive carcass that he found he could not touch. It was infuriating, and he shuddered as he held himself back, forcing himself not to think of her, of killing her, of taking that sweet-smelling substance into his mouth, of snapping her neck and ending it. She was new, no one would remember her, she was just his, all his...
FAMILY! he screamed at himself, picturing the faces behind him who were all curled in shock, eyes fixated on him, he knew. They knew something must be up; why didn't they damn well get him out of here, then?! Eventually his ears picked up her faint, weakened words, and it came at last, her rebuff. He was positive he deserved that, and provided no comeback; what in the hell was he supposed to say? "Sorry, I just really want to kill you right now because you smell good?" Yeah, that would go over well. No, he was stiff, his jaw clenched, his hands curled into fists so tight he could break steel if he so desired. No, instead he just offered her the tiniest fraction of his best-fit smile, while he held himself back, itching to simply touch her neck, to feel for that pulse and painlessly extinguish it...
He flinched at it, and at last turned on his feet and walked away, his gait unknowingly flawless and rather fast for a normal human rate, but no matter, the last thing he was concerned about was his speed. He found as he got further away it was easier, yet the memory of her scent was distinctly imprinted on the inside of his mind. He knew he would never be able to forget it. He returned to the side of his car, breathing hard, eyes erratic, wild, ferile. "Tristan, what?--" He flashed her a desperate look, the sister he so loved. "Just DON'T let me near her again, alright?" he ordered, unhinging his jaw enough to talk with that flawlessly silky voice, husky and pained. Agonized.
The bell rang, which was a relief, yet Tristan threw his fist into the side of the car door, leaving a bit of an imprint on accident. Cursing, he quickly fixed it before shoving his hands into his pockets, throwing his backpack across his back and rushing inside the school. His heart was still pounding with adrenaline, and every time he inhaled he could still feel the aftermath of the burning in his throat. He gasped aloud, but said nothing more as he glided swiftly down the hallway towards English, thankful at least this might provide a bit more fo a scent distraction...only to find that as soon as he stepped through the door, her scent stunned his mind so hard again that it took everything he had not to streak from the room again in a blur of motion. His eyes stung at the sight of her as his throat filled again, boiling magma inside of his body rushing up to his lips now. He held his breath once more, hoping to God this would help before, seeing that she was seated precisely in his seat, rushed to the instructor, Mrs. Prutt, a much older lady than the appropriate age for teaching, but no matter. Pray to God he could sway her!
"Mrs. Prutt, might I be able to sit by the window today? It is such a nice day out, after all," he crooned, his black eyes focusing on the older woman, whose eyelashes batted for a moment. Huh, must have gotten dust in her eye. Then she got a curious expression as she trained her eyes towards the window. "It's an overcast day, Tristan, at least until sunset. Every day is like that." She paused, as if trying to recall something she had just forgotten. A brief fantasy of someone who was looking at the seat of his jeans forced Tristan to instead lean back against her desk. "Besides, we have a partners project to start and I know that the new student, Miss...Genevieve...would be more than happy to meet one of our nicest students, right?" Tristan skipped over the internal long and agonizing groan that emitted from his chest. He didn't have the ABILITY to be nice to her, not today! Not ANY day!
Still, perhaps if he finished this project for them, then he'd be able to be done with her. Unconciously, he turned his head over his shoulder towards her, and his eyes were hostile. He had to do this, he had to be strong enough to withstand the temptations of some simpleton girl. She would NOT be the one to ruin his life for him! He walked as slowly as he could manage over towards the seat across from her, furthest one at the table, and sat down. His eyes didn't so much as blink in her direction as he held her gaze, leaning back in his chair and planting his feet in the floor to force himself to stay there. The burning was even worse now, but he had to handle it, he had to. He did not have the option of killing her. Yet the funniest part of it all?
He was working most at trying not to appear as if he hated her, this girl. Genevieve. Her name, it continued repeating itself in his head, over and over, like a song. As if he longed to hear it again and again. And for whatever reason, he did not...want her to hate him. He didn't. She was new, and he wanted her to feel welcome, even though she had turned into the biggest nightmare of his life. So he turned his gaze down towards his hands, where his nails were digging into his palms, and worked at loosening them just the slightest bit. His hair fell in his eyes just a bit, letting shadows dance across his pale skin. He was neither mean nor resentful, yet oh how he wanted her gone. As of now, she was only his worst and largest threat. Nothing more, nothing less. Inhale....exhale. Ignore the most violent and undescribable images that dance across your mind, and particularly not the dream ones, either.
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- - - tagged, genevieve phoenix ! (miss emily) - - - clothes,can't be everyday! - - - words, 1, 495 - - - muse, fallin' apart - all-american rejects , let me go - three doors down - - - credit, design of EVA, do NOT steal! - - - ooc, COMPLETED! not too bad if i do say so myself, but no matter, i'm sure your post will be better! lol, poor tris! -hugs-
Joined: Mar 2009 Gender: Female Posts: 35 Karma: 1
Re: * know your enemy , « Reply #5 on Jun 1, 2009, 11:31am »
thread template by CANTER. of CAUTION 2.0!
Although it may have come off as shocking, Genevieve was not a fool. She didn't have to get a degree in rocket science to understand that her life in New York had been nothing short of a lie. Everything about her had been fake then, plastered and created by the people that she had surrounded herself with for whatever reason. They had set standards that no one human being could get, not even the exclusive group could meet their own standards at every moment. For fear of being abandoned, of having that sickly lonesome feeling that she was no stranger to anymore in the pit of her stomach, she fabricated herself, turned her own soul into something that she knew she wasn't till she couldn't decipher the difference between Their Genevieve and Real Genevieve.
Still, it was hard to not miss it. As Genevieve's father had explained to her time and time again as he drove her home for the airport that first awkward time she had landed from the JFK airport, change was awkward. Maybe change was awkward, but it was also hurtful, depressing, completely able to turn one of the most confident and witty girls you may know into a trembling mess. She had to be grateful to be away from those boys though, and the depressing thoughts swirling in her mind about her Mother's murder. If she had been given the chance to go back - to have her old life back, would she take it? The pain of the almost horrific event that had occurred at her last party ever with that circle, the slicing horror of finding out about her mother's death...it was not enough to want those feelings back, for all of the designer clothing and tight knit friendship circles in the world.
Many a time had Genevieve ran into gorgeous men, and men that had wanted nothing more than to lure her to their hotel suites and do every kind of imaginable thing to her. With her fake identification card, she and her friends would sneak into exclusive bars and clubs, getting propositioned by just about every man with the ability to see. Genevieve had seen it all - horny college fraternity boys on a retreat from their pathetic schools with tuitions paid for by mommy and daddy, lesbian women that seemed to be hell bent on turning Gen into "one of them"...just about everything. The most disgusting had been the taken men, the ones with girlfriends anxiously waiting at home for calls or worse, the men with platinum wedding bands gleaming on their fingers.
What gave the male gender the right to disrespect women like that? Genevieve had been looked at like a piece of meat for far too long - guys looked at her and created dirty and sleezy scenarios in their minds and women were so jealous at the attention that she got and detested that they started rumors about her. The best were the ones claiming that she was a slut - when the only form of sexual contact Genevieve had ever had was the slimy hands of the boys that attempted to steal her virtue against her well, boys that she had trusted, boys that she had called friends. She had let them into her heart, into her mind, hell even a few of them into her house - they had picked her up from school when she wanted to skip, brought her chicken soup when she had the flu, and other general best friend stuff.
And they had tried to take the one thing that she had refused to give up from her, they had tried to turn her into one of the gyrating, horny, sex-starved women that paraded around New York City's it circle that were passed around like hors d'ouevers at the fancy parties they went to. Genevieve knew herself well enough to not get involved in those things, but that still didn't keep the boys' minds from thinking that every woman's number in their cell phone was an instant booty call, their own real life blow up doll that they could casually fuck like it was a kiss on the cheek. Genevieve had been so oblivious, so blind to it back then - but now she had escaped it, and somehow part of her mind was screaming that Tristan was just another one of those boys.
Still, part of her knew that that was just another form of bullshit. The naive boys that called themselves men back home walked around as if they owned the place, as if the entire world should bow down and pray to them for fruitful lives and not Adonai himself. They licked and kissed their mirrors, groomed themselves till they were mistaken for poodles, and had wicked smiles that could lure in the most prude of girls. As Genevieve tried to assess Tristan as she sat in the uncomfortable chair in the classroom, she realized none of those things applied to Tristan. He didn't seem shallow or full of himself, it was more like he was brooding...misunderstood. An emo kid without the Hawthorne Heights album or the slash marks on the wrist.
Speaking of slash marks, Genevieve realized the scars on the inside of her forearm might be exposed to the public, and she slowly turned them over. At this point, poor Gen was just waiting for the day to get worse. The horrible, crude thing that had slipped out of her mouth just made her seem even more slutty and immature and dumb - traits that she was sure she did not possess. Maybe dharma would find her today and sit a smelly, obese kid next to her...or maybe a nerdy, perverted boy that stared at her chest the entire hour and not at his copy of William Shakespeare's "Romeo & Juliet." Silently, she hoped for something awful to happen, just to clear her conscience - giving her something else to think about than her telling Tristan Taylor to take his dick out of his mouth.
Genevieve's eyes focused downward, staring at the black tabletop that was in front of her. The smell of new pencils and teenagers over spraying themselves with perfume and cologne filled her nose, causing her to feel even more uncomfortable and out of place. The rhythmic shuffling of feet, the slamming of books down onto the table, the teacher chatting away with a student involving a bad grade - it was all too overwhelming for Genevieve. A mini panic attack was dismissed as a student approached her - a boy to be exact, with shaggy brown hair styled (or should I say un-styled...the bedhead look is definitely in) in a skater fashion with puppy dog brown eyes, skater-esque jeans and a DC shirt. Genevieve froze; not a stranger to the snickering of his friends across the room.
"Hey babe," He said with a wink, his eyes obviously traveling down her slender body to see her toned figure. She grew even more self conscious, trying to mask the blush forming on her eyes, but instead shifting her body somewhat away from him so that she wasn't showing him her whole body, not that she had been trying to attract him before. In all honesty, she had barely thought about what she was wearing - this attire would be considered casual, or even less than casual back home. Make mental note to self; you're not in New York City anymore. "Hello," Genevieve greeted him, clearing her throat. "So, I have a question for you. Is your daddy a farmer?" He asked, his eyes dazzling with that stupid sexual teenage boy look.
Genevieve crossed one slender leg over the other, her eyes fleeting to the door for a moment to see Tristan enter. Her heart raced for whatever reason she couldn't really pinpoint, the blush deepening on her features. She was about to prepare herself in case he came her way, but then she got distracted by the nagging boy who had made himself comfortable next to her. "What?" She raised her eyebrows, not having the right guard up to realize what was coming. A sly smile crossed his face, as if he had suddenly energized himself knowing that she didn't know the punch line of what he was going to say. "'Cause you sure know how to raise a cock!" He snickered, about to wrap his arm around her shoulders when they both felt someone staring at them.
Looking up, the boy obviously made contact with Tristan (or at least his muscular chest, seeing as that he was at the perfect eye level for that) and he couldn't scurry out of his chair fast enough. Genevieve stared at Tristan for a long moment, almost as if thanking him discreetly for what he had unknowingly saved her from. "Hi," She greeted him, moving her chair slightly to the left so that she could allow him more room to sit down. Genevieve focused on the cover of the book, trying hard to ignore him. "I...think I might owe you an apology." She told under her breath, thankful for her hair falling into her eyes so that he couldn't see the blush on her fair features.
Her eyes scanned over the rubric, a yawn accidentally escaping from her lips. She had this book memorized forwards and backwards, barely even shedding a tear at the end of the book. "I think it's pretty amateur compared to his other work," She commented, gesturing down to the book between them, twirling her hair nervously. "I don't know why they still make us read it - and yet we barely touch on Homer. At least we're not reading Dracula." She said with a small chuckle, realizing she had reveled more of herself than planned. "What do you think?" notes! (: word-count! 1,625 words outfit!how to say goodbye tagged! tristan (eva <3) status! finished
Re: * know your enemy , « Reply #6 on Jun 2, 2009, 8:40pm »
PHYSICAL TORTURE WAS NOTHING compared to this, this torture of which had no exact measure, no ability to be percieved in the mind as good or bad. Pain was nothing but nerves telling you something; this? This was complete and utter desire, no options to turn these nerves off required. He was driven, completely driven, and had no ways of turning the car around, racing away in a cloud of dust. He was trapped, and now moreso than ever. Not only were the forces of nature powered against him, driving him into the deepest and darkest hole in the ground they could possibly find, now he was being buried, falling underneath the cascade of something as unimportant and minor as the influence of his high school teachers this year. Of course he had no right to blame her, this foolish human, for the scent that was driving his senses haywire, making his head pound as if it had a heartbeat once again.
Every movement he made was strained, and he did his best to ignore the utter burning on the inside of his throat, as if someone were jabbing a fireplace poker down his throat, again and again, going deeper with each step he took closer to her. This demon from some other kind of hell much worse than the real place. Hell on earth had never been so true until this moment. His eyes turned towards her, and for a moment, they were not soft, expressing only the absolute anger he was feeling, the ferile will and desire to kill her. Instead, he worked at his jaw, loosening his gaze up as best he could as he turned away from Mrs. Harris. As slowly as he could manage while still feeling as if he was moving, he approached her, wincing against the stinging sensation in his throat; even his eyes burned when he opened them this close.
However, he found that as he approached the only available seat at her table, there was instead a boy already there, and pushing it rather close to her mind you. Tristan nearly threw up when a violating and unnecessary dream intervened upon his previous thoughts, but was at least thankful for a distraction against the agony he was in, or how his mind was plotting thickly on how to possibly get her alone in this crowded classroom. He'd have to end the life of the teacher first, and then while everyone ran to rush for help, he'd beckon Genevieve with one finger, lead her from the room with a short smile and a wink. That was all it would take; a smile and a wink. Just two motions of his body to end this horrifying and intense pain.
But upon seeing this man, and hearing exactly what he had to say, a new kind of pain invaded in his mind: fury. Absolute fury at this misfit, druggie, useless piece of boy. The girl was NEW here, and her life was in danger whilst his was perfectly protected from Tristan and the rest of his family. It won't be for long, Tristan thought to himself, and though Genevieve couldn't possibly have heard, his lips parted and a low, panther-like snarl emitted from deep within his chest. The boy must have heard, but whether he had or not, he nearly leaped from the chair as Tristan approached. Unsure of the justification behind his actions, he simply continued to his seat, keeping his eyes down and his hair unconciously accenting the gorgeous ocher they displayed.
He sat down quickly and hoped she didn't notice how he pushed his chair away from its previous position to as far as the table might allow. He clenched his hands together beneath the edge of the table, inhaling only through his nose when absolutely necessary, but at least his eyes only glared at the table. Because he didn't WANT to repulse her as he knew he should, and it was stupid of him. When she spoke, he forced himself to part his lips, to taste the fire once more, though he tried to communicate moreso with his body as he shrugged his masculine shoulders. "Quite the contrary," Tristan murmured, but he did not offer up another apology. He wanted to, but he simply couldn't. It was hard enough talking while this close to her; far too close for him.
Hearing her give herself moreso to him, this boy who had done nothing for her in the parking lot, was astounding to Tristan. So inhuman. Humans did not return nice favors to those who were equally mean to him; it was more than fascinating, it was a miracle. Tristan did not show this outward revelation, however, as she spoke again, and for the first time while in her presence, he gave a small half smirk. "I suppose you've read a bit of his work, yes?" Tristan continued before looking down again, recooperating himself. What was wrong with him? As if she wasn't tempting enough! "Shakespeare loves to accentuate upon emotion, particularly in Romeo and Juliet. I just think it is rather pointless for him to put notions of these emotions into our heads when hardly anyone ever comes to live and experience them." It was the honest sincerity from Tristan that rose now, and his eyes met hers only briefly before he turned them away again, his mind going to back to thinking of different scenarios in which he could lead her from the room.
But then Tristan couldn't help but give a small, light-hearted smirk. "Oh yes, God forbid we may put our noses into that trash," he said, his voice flawlessly silky against his will.
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- - - tagged, genevieve phoenix ! (miss emily) - - - clothes,can't be everyday! - - - words, 925 - - - muse, let me go - three doors down - - - credit, design of EVA, do NOT steal! - - - ooc, so far, i ADORE these two! lol.
Joined: Mar 2009 Gender: Female Posts: 35 Karma: 1
Re: * know your enemy , « Reply #7 on Jun 8, 2009, 4:54pm »
thread template by CANTER. of CAUTION 2.0!
There was no doubt in Genevieve's mind that Tristan was one of thee most intimidating and handsome men that she had ever met in her entire life. Maybe the old Genevieve would've fallen right into Tristan's ploy -- vampire or not. Not anymore...his looks were nice to the eyes, and especially pleasant paired with his rather enticing scent and fluid, smooth motions. But, that wasn't what interested Gen about Tristan -- it was more the way he spoke, like he knew so many amazing stories and had lived to see so many interesting tales. Of course, Genevieve was the queen of reading into things. He really could be just another cocky bastard out to get some action from any horny, confused teenage girl that would give it up.
It truly was sad how cynical the poor girl was, but really, how could she not be? She had barely started her period a few years ago, let alone even graduated high school yet. She had tasted the most deadliest drugs that had killed more people than they had helped. Drank so much in one evening that she had woken up with no recollection of the night before at all. Kissed so many men that her lips felt trashy and dirty no matter how many times she scrubbed them. And on top of all of that, she had barely been able to ever be herself -- fuck, did she even know who she really was? No, but that wasn't too different than any other teenager, or thing in the world, really. The loss of her mother had been the icing on the cake but -- really, she kept going every day. People truly didn't give her enough credit.
The incident with the boy made her fists clench together, though she didn't dare scream or make a scene. What a low form of scum, what a boy he was to say that to her. She straightened out her shirt on her bare shoulders, wishing that the teacher would open the window already. With just a few weeks already spent in Venescance, she had learned that although the town was nestled on the coast, there was no way in hell they were ever going to get a classic beach day. What she would give for just one more night in the city, wandering around by herself, cutting corners expertly as she searched for some form of entertainment. The nights where she was Genevieve, not "Genny." Where she felt comfortable almost strangely like -- how she felt around Tristan.
Obviously, the speed at which he pushed his chair away was much too fast for her to be able to see. I mean, she was only human right? No pun intended. Her eyes fooled her, obviously not nearly as sharp as Tristan's vampiric senses. Oh, what fools they were -- keeping secrets from each other. Surely neither of them knew that in just a short amount of time they would go from partners in Language Arts to the creators of an undying passionate love that would last through the centuries. She studied the new found space between them and sighed, crossing a leg over the other. He acted like she smelled, like she hadn't showered in ages when she was sure they could both smell the Versace perfume doused on her skin.
"Oh yeah?" She asked with a small smile, nestling into her chair a little more. Was it a thing of pride that he couldn't say sorry? God, those kind of people would get her Miu Miu knock off heel go stomping right onto their foot. But, something about Tristan screamed an honest, misunderstood soul to her -- like he had so much pain in him, but all she wanted to do was help him, make him feel better. She sighed quietly and rubbed her temples with her finger tips as he situated himself, rubbing her lips together nervously. How was this going to work? Obviously, he seemed pretty intelligent from the way that he held himself -- so she at least wouldn't be doing it by herself. Not that she really minded -- what kind of crazy mind blowing solo activities was she going to miss out on?
Genevieve had never in her entire life given anyone her full attention. When someone was talking to her, her mind was always floating to and fro -- thinking about her Friday night plans, how she was going to get money to buy that Calvin Klein dress for the charity ball, worrying if her Dad was going to come make her visit him in his dingy apartment in Brooklyn -- never really completely and fully on the conversation. And yet, she surprised probably both of them by giving him her full attention when he was speaking, and very eloquently I may add, about the Shakespeare plays they had both thread. Genevieve crossed one slender leg over the other, a small smirk playing up her fair features as he spoke.
She leaned her chin against her propped up arm, letting it fall against her palm as she stared over at him, her other hand occupied with fidgeting with the pen in her hand. What did I tell you? Her mind was always going a million miles an hour. "Sounds like someone's a little cynical about love," She retorted ever so playfully, though she hoped he didn't think of her as a hypocrite. Of course love didn't exist -- it was nothing more than a chemical, lust sort of feeling. It was all mating and reproducing and sex and disappointment. So what? You tied yourself to one person for forty years, pop out a few children and you die. No thank you -- that life might work for other people, but not for Genevieve Winter Phoenix. She wanted, she needed, no she craved the something more that she knew was out there.
Of course, Gen might believe in love -- but she would never allow herself to fall into the silly puppy love. She wanted real love, firework love, mindblowing, breath taking passion and love. With whom? She had never found someone that she would even consider wanting to see every morning when she woke up, and strangely -- the man in her dreams all along so closely resembled Tristan. Yes, in personality and speech and everything else, but in a way -- appearance too. No, he was exactly like the boy she had been dreaming about. But, how could she have dreamed about him? Until she had moved to Venescance, she had never even seen the boy before.
She let out a smooth giggle at his words and then turned her attention back to the teacher who instructed that they could go outside and work, since it was so close to a beautiful day. She smiled and gathered their books, walking out the door with a grin on her face. She didn't want to spend the entire day cooped up inside of the school, even though she had just been out there -- and made a complete fool of herself. Genevieve settled into the grassy hill somewhat of a distance away from the other groups -- she knew that no one was really going to work, but who cared? She sighed and let her head fall back as she propped herself up on her elbows, patting the spot next to her for Tristan.
notes! aww i love them :] word-count! 1,230 words outfit!how to say goodbye tagged! tristan (eva <3) status! finished
Re: * know your enemy , « Reply #8 on Jun 21, 2009, 6:25pm »
TO SAY TRISTAN WAS CYNICAL was to say that the grass is green; the two were interchangeable. One of his favorite topics to criticize was, in fact, love. Why? Perhaps it was because when you constantly see the fantasies of your fellow peers as far as sexual activity, you know better than anyone that guys think of only one thing, while girls simply drool and feed into it all. Or maybe it was because love was the top priority of nearly every human being in this world, and for no reason in particular, Tristan didn't find it nearly as important. His patience was stimying to most people, and he found that many thought of him as standoffish because he chose not to date, when that was hardly the case by any stretch of the imagination. No, Tristan did not date because he was waiting for the right one; he didn't want to waste his time, his devotion on a girl who was only interested in the sexual parts of love. Did he believe love existed?
Yes. Just not the same love as described in classic works such as Shakespeare. So when Genevieve spoke of his cynicism, Tristan did not take it as an offensive, even though he probably should have. Even though he certainly should have used it as a reason to distance himself from her, to take out his anger and free himself of this torture beyond imagining. But instead, a part of him upon which he had never set his eyes on was speaking, coming forward, and before he could stop it, a small smirk slipped across his face, one that revealed teeth that could easily have glittered. "I believe that love exists, just not the kind that exists in fiction." He paused, inhaling thickly, finding an irritating itch in his lungs if he didn't and nearly hissing against the stining agony of it. How he struggled for words! When had he decided this? "The depth of devotion is what is missing now. Chivalry, persay," he said, shrugging his shoulders gently with that small, effortless smirk again, one long unused.
Only then did he realize he could find himself talking to her, this new girl, quite often just like this. Even though his hand was clutching at his seat to keep him still, and a part of his mind was debating when to attack the body of their teacher, he found himself...captivated by her. The smallest of notions, the tiniest of words, the way her fingers drummed nervously against her pencil. And before he could even realize it, his hand reached forward and stilled it with his. No doubt she would feel the seeping cold, yet he didn't care. He could just as easily crush that hand, yet he covered it as if it were naught but a small bird, frail in his palm. "Nervous?" he asked, flashing his teeth full on now, in a deathly and glittery smile. She should be.
How rare it was to earn a day outside, yet by the looks of Mrs. Harris's dreams about what her husband may or may not be doing at the bar every night, they all needed a bit of fresh air. Tristan was more than eager to rid himself of this despised room, and rushed to the door as soon as they were dismissed, distancing himself from her, this object of his attacking intentions. In and out he breathed, trying to take in the free air...yet there she was once again, brushing past him in the hallway. Only too easy, wasn't it? All it took on her part was a flush of her hair, a thick blush on her cheeks, and he'd have all the more reason to kill her. Still, he followed close behind, and as soon as the rest of the class was gone, he sent his fist reeling into a nearby locker, leaving a massive, volleyball-sized dent. He stared at it for a moment, sighed, and then yanked it open, pushing it back outside, reaffixiating it as if there had never been a dent at all.
As soon as he got outside, his eyes skirted the sky, and found there was no sun. Not yet, anyway. That was a relief and a burden at the same time; it would have given him a reason to leave school early. Yet why should he? Why should he leave because he couldn't handle the alluring sensuality of a scent? In nothing but a girl who'd done nothing but moved here? Tristan held his breath once again, and though she'd acknowledged a spot beside her, he avoided it, though not as much as he probably should. He left a good half body between them as he sat down, resting his elbows on his knees before finding that his eyes, unconciously, had wandered to her. If only he were like Leo...mindreading might come in handy here, instead of seeing what the boy behind her was considering doing to her that night. He cast a glare over his shoulder, silencing the dream instantly, and instead showing him getting run over by a taxi cab. Tristan snickered but said nothing aloud, and effortlessly, as if to further annoy the boy, turned back towards the girl. Genevieve. "So what brings you to Venescence?"
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- - - tagged, genevieve phoenix ! (miss emily) - - - clothes,can't be everyday! - - - words, 895 - - - muse, know your enemy - green day , decode - paramore - - - credit, design of EVA, do NOT steal! - - - ooc, CRAP, but after a swim meet. so sorry !
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