Ah, the first post...the popping of my journal's proverbial cherry. And so quickly after its creation... ah well, some things simply need be done. I don't know that I necessarily have something horribly important to say here, merely that I am going to post, and get the first one over and done with. It always needs to happen at some point, yes?
Ugh. I'm so tired. I haven't slept yet, and I have practice tonight. I should get at least a couple hours of sleep in, before I take a shower and head over there. So I can function. I don't want to miss another meeting; last practice I was on vacation, and quite literally out of the state. This time it would merely be my screwy sleeping pattern calling. And though I don't feel very good, I'm going to at least see how I'm holding up by seven, or seven thirty. If I'm not feeling better by then, I'll go ahead and e-mail the people in charge. Gah. I really need to start sleeping more regularly, because this is getting out of hand. If/when I get a job, this won't be feasable any longer.
My computer is horrendously slow right now. I'm trying to download updates for Windows, and so everything is going so very slowly. Any and all browsers are all but decrepit, moving at a snail's pace, while even my media player seems to need to pause every few moments before starting back up again.
Livejournal is yelling at me for not proving that this is my journal, but they never emailed me, so its rather hard to go to the email, and then click on the proper link. Bah. I'll figure something out. Maybe its just the horrible lag and amount of work I'm putting my computer through at the moment. Lord knows it hasn't been happy with me lately.
A bit of writing, for my role playing character. I was proud of it; I haven't played in a while, and this makes me feel confident that I'm not as rusty as I thought I was.
Here's a basic rundown of my character, and how I see her to be:
Tabitha is nothing if not under her own code of self control. Everything she does is completed with a measure of calm, of absolute lack of emotion. Cold? No, she isn't cold. There is no freeze, no sudden temperature drop when she enters the room. Truly, she is warmth; bright, vibrant, merely contained. Rarely does she release the chains of self-constraint long enough to truly shine, but the potential for so much is there; and the truth of that is also displayed in the best of motions. She never overdoes anything, instead slips past the radars, and finds her own way to personal glory - she doesn't need others to pat her on the back. No, she can merely know, within her own mind, that she has done a good job on something. And then she'll start something else new. At the same time though, she has deep fascinations and intellects that are rarely broached by the motions of day to day living. So many things in this society are overlooked by people hyped up on the act of finding the next best thing, or on hunting down the hottest young man or woman to screw. Tabitha rarely looked to the future in such a respect. Most of her time, indeed, was spent looking at the past, or in searching out the most morbid of knowledge itself: her fascination lay in death. Not just in the ending of a human life, but all around, utter death of everything around her. She dabbled in many things that most people, nay, most women wouldn't even think to touch in this day and age, simply because they fascinated her. It wasn't to get into the spotlight; it wasn't to rebel; it wasn't to fit into any particular theme or group. She did it because it intrigued her, because it brought her pleasure. Poison was her favorite, the way it could both heal and ruin, the way it could stop a life in moments, or in a month of Sundays. Tabby is both lost in times long past, and fully endeared into the world as we know it - she couldn't live without technology, and yet scorns many of its uses all in the same breath; and yet she manages to stay away from becoming a hypocrite or cliche all in the way she does it. How? She has her own bit of class, her own charisma that keeps it from getting old.
Here's a generalized post, one simply made to get myself back into the swing of things:
.:. When you're miserable, I just want you to know... how happy I am. Languid in boredom's shackles. Fermentation of plots and planning rimmed the depths of a Mensa worthy mind, dulled in vague motions by the bit of wine and absinthe - a glass a piece - she'd had that day. Seated within the parlor of her business / home, sprawled along the line of a chaise lounge, Tabitha felt she might as well have been utterly weighted down by valium, as mellow as she felt. Slowly, her hand rose, lengthy fingers spread out so that she could get a full, pore-expounding look at her palm. For a moment, as her hand moved into her line of sight, it was almost as if her entire hand blurred with the motion. Turning her head away, letting eyes fall closed with the motion, Tabitha took a careful breath. Lack of sleep combined with the heavy narcotics of the emerald drug and the red wine, all added to one very affected woman. Curve of lashes against the apples of pale cheeks were felt, mascara laden lids seemingly too heavy to lift once more. Hand, still suspended in air, moved so that pads of fingers pressed gently to the curvature of her forehead... and there she felt a bit of relief. Full, darkly painted mouth opened a fraction to allow a breath inward, lungs filtering the crisp, barely scented air and processing it, sending oxygen to her brain and firing a bit of life and energy into her flagging body. Those few others who were in the room with her paid no mind, a blurred bustle of motion and movements. As the owner of the shop, she was surprisingly unnecessary at the moment. Those within were all confidantes, whom she trusted to move about as they would. If they caused a problem, well... she could take care of things quite well with only a heartbeat of thought. Feeling a gnawing pain in her stomach, Tabitha groaned inwardly. Lack of food was also detrimental to her ability to handle the liquer, making her certain that she was further gone than she had previously thought. Tongue tip eased forward, to taste at the rounded portion of her lower lip, lightly tapping it and moistening the flesh, only for eyes to once more open, sight returned to her with a slight lurch of vertigo. The wash of colors though made it worth it. The renewal of life, however bland, rushing back to optical nerves, splintered and twisted around so that she might be able to partake of the room about her. Crinoline sounded a choked protest to the motion she made next, sitting up and lightly rumpling her skirts under her. Raven-winged cloth was smoothed back into place, lengthy limbs coated in fishnet stretching out before her. Heavy soles of shoes were situated onto the floor in flattened motion, whilst knees pressed tightly together and toes pointed toward their fellows. An elbow nestled itself to her bared lower thighs, and she cradled the elfin point of her chin, watching everything as she caught her wits about herself once more. .:.
And here... is a basic physical description. I could have gone on, but I was rambling enough already:
.:. There were several ways to describe Tabitha, but the easiest was summed up in one word. Striking. No matter her temperament, she had the type of features that, when she walked into a room, people simply noticed. Her charisma was not just in her personality and the way she set herself for others to see, but also in her appearance. Her skin was entirely too pale, proof that she rarely, if ever, ventured out of doors for any length of time. It always looked as pure and white as freshly fallen snow... or freshly cut cocaine powder. Her usual choice of black clothing did little to take away from this appearance, accenting it in the best of manners, adding to her pallor without making her look sickly; this coloration wasn't pasty, or patchy... no, it was a full shading of her body in the crisp color. Hair color changed on a whim, though it was most often sable, or a similarly dark shade. Sometimes it would follow colors that were hard to find on the spectrum, with titles on their bottles such as "Deadly Nightshade" or "Indigo Death", or others it would be bleached and then dyed in an intentionally patchy pattern, done for a reason usually, though sometimes done simply for the sake of doing it like that. Often she kept the mass of tendrils up in some fashion, easing it from her face so that she would have full view of the world, to look it in the eye unflinching. Twists and coils of elaborate fashion looped it back and away as her current fashion statement, drawing it in an almost Greco-Roman style away, sweeping the heavy mass of slick, straight onyx back and away, coiling on itself only to fall loosely down. Eyelids were painted in a striking, yet understated motion, shadow heaviest at the outside corners, fading toward nothingness toward the corners of her eyes. Kohl limned the lids in a near heavy Egyptian state, though it matched the powder used to coat the skin, heavy at the outer edges, fading to nonexistance once more inward. Above right eye rode a gleam, a small hoop of silver, just barely piercing through the brow, cutting across the thin swath of darkness. Features were otherwise bare, until one spotted the curvature of mouth. This was painted in simplistic fashion, and yet it was striking; blood red, vibrant and crimson, making it appear that she'd just finished consuming something quite rare and juicy, gleamed in shimmering glory at full pout, silent query as to why meal was taken away before she was finished. Down past chin, to the slender throat that was glorified by a simple spiked choker, the metal protruding from leather a mere half inch in protrusion. Down once more, to the taffeta coated shoulders, black in coloration of material, of course. Grip of onyx material, down over the upper curves of full mounds, only for the line of material to be ruined by a deep indigo corset, grasping and cinching at waist, conforming her into a cookie cutter imagery. Naturally gifted with an hourglass figure, aided by whale boning and constrictive fabric, she held herself in definite glory. Full skirts flooded under the waist line of the corset, also in the black taffeta and layered underneath with crinoline to add to the volume, sweeping around her legs. The dress was almost Victorian era meets goth "culture", a curious blend that somehow went together. Sleeves were fitted the entire length of slender limbs, leading down to moonstone bracelets and bare fingers, nails manicured and capped in gleaming midnight lacquer, shining and given that "wet" look and gleam for added visual ambiance. Feet were perched upon old fashioned boots that were added to in modern tendancies for height and thick soles, adding three inches to her already nice height. Even stilled, lacking motion, she was a deleterious doll, one whom wouldn't be missed in a crowd. No matter what, her inherant appearance was eye catching, a draw of visual delights to savor even the most critical person's appetite.:.
And there we go. A taste of my writing. Like it? Don't like it? Helpful criticisms or flaming critiques? I welcome all of it. Feel free to reply, let me know that someone is actually interested in this other than me.