Kote

Abandoned Souls (Full for now)

James Edward Miller III

Twenty Nine /\ Hopeless /\ Nurse /\ Broken
_{"Feel the wind blow, and the skies fade to black.
Feel my eyes close, there's no turning back.
And the waves break the shore, wash the footsteps from the sand.
I'm frozen in the spot where I once held your hand"}

---

The road was long, far too long to simply walk.

The drive had given him time to think. The weather had given him the inclination to. There was something about stormy weather, about a sky full of thick, dark clouds, that made his soul stir and his mind turn into itself for occupation, instead of continuing its ever outward search. Things that were best left settled crept up into his mind. Specters of the past dance before the low beams of his headlights, ephemeral glimpses of his wife and kid, smiling back at him. Haunting images of her crystalline blue eyes, so warm and alive with joy, and that youthful fire that had consumed him all those years ago. Memories that normally he didn’t let surface. Memories he couldn’t control. The distance rumble of thunder, the lack of dying sunlight, or the distance scent of rain on the wind, always seemed to bring to mind that which he tried so desperately to keep subdued. She had loved the rain, loved stormy nights.

Because of her, he hated them.

He turned the radio on in order to push away the revenants. A soft, velveteen voice flowed gently from the speakers, accompanied by a little guitar, some strings, perhaps a piano. The melody was slow, beautiful. The voice blended into the instrumentals as though just another part of the band, another string or perhaps a touch of brass to the voice. The words didn’t matter, it was tone and emotion, the quality of voice that made the song so powerful, so soul searching. James opened his mouth without knowing it, his own velvet voice, a rich baritone, joined in with the familiar notes. There was a time when James was regarded quite the vocalist. High School had him known as something of a successful singer, popular amongst the band geeks and choir students alike, ignored by the rest of the school. He hadn’t cared. Band introduced him to Taylor… Choir only afforded him more time with her. His talent… it had only been a happy accident. He had everything a boy in high school could want. He had personality, was considered attractive by the girls, was athletic, and he was intelligent. He could have been popular, made a run for that coveted spot running things, but he was in choir, he was in band. He was with Taylor.

His destination loomed ahead. A few cars already in front of the house as the pulled up in the blue Toyota. He sat a moment, watching the pair standing on the porch of the old house, ignoring the landscape, or the house itself. It was the people he was most interested in, the people who alarmed him the most, that excited him the most. He turned the key, trying several times to turn it before realizing that he had to press in and turn before it would come free. He pocketed the single key into his pocket, and stepped out of the car, gently closing the door behind him. Anxiety drummed away the memories, and dried his eyes of tears that hadn’t fallen. Butterflies turned in his stomach, signs of anxiousness and unease that he vowed he wouldn’t let show. He steeled himself as he approached, watching both individuals.

The man seemed younger than himself, lacking the broadness of body that the mid to late twenties often brought to the male form. As James often did when approaching someone new, he weighed the man against perceived threats in his mind. Not that he was violent, or hostile, or even remotely leaning towards any form of aggression, but his mind often made determinations on whether or not he thought he could handle a physical confrontation, if it ever would come to it. The vast majority of times, it proved a futile exercise that he half heartedly engaged in, but still the quirk persisted, and he drew the conclusion before he could even think about it. It was habit, or was it nature? He wasn’t quite sure.
The woman was pretty, with soft appearing skin and long, smooth hair. She looked somehow familiar, somehow very strange and new, and produced in him an intense and stark sense of self. It was as though she were staring right at him, though he hadn’t so much as seen a hint of the color of her eyes. He was pretty sure she hadn’t even noticed him yet, and yet he felt so self aware. Uncomfortably so, excitingly so.

James’s eyes broke from her to look at the watch at his wrist, checking the time. It was still three to the hour, and they were standing outside the building, waiting for the exact moment when the time came around. Promptly, the letter had said… the letter. Quickly James padded his pockets, finding the only bulge in them belonging to the single key of the car. Quickly he rounded on his heels, walked the few steps back to his car, and unlocked the door. The manila folder lay in the passenger seat, the invitation within. He started to bring the whole packet, but stopped, and withdrew just the invitation, leaving the birthday card inside the envelope. He didn’t know what the reaction would be to see those bubbled letters again.

The door closed, the car’s alarms system engaged this time, giving a single honk of the horn in response to his press of the button on the key’s fob. The distraction was enough to calm his nerves, to let him breathe unhindered, to give him nerve enough to walk bold and confident up the steps to join the others, to join the young man, to see the color of her eyes.

“Hey,” he breathed in greeting, not knowing what else to say. “You get one too?” He said, motioning with the invitation in his hand.

Abandoned Souls (Full for now)

Player Name: Kote
Character Name: James Edward Miller III
Age: 29
Gender: Male
Occupation: Nurse – Mental Health (Hopeless)

Brief History:
It’s a little thing called wanting and having it all… or he did, up until five years ago, when his wife and infant son were killed in a motor vehicle collision with a drunk driver. After that, things never corrected themselves. His life has been stream of inpatient stays, followed by periods of stability, always landing him in another period of decompensation. Most immediately, he’s been thriving, as much as one can under such circumstances. He’s been working under probationary terms at the local mental health clinic for a few months now. Things are going well. He shows up to work, handles his superiors well. They believe he’s fine. They see hope for him. But they don’t know he doesn’t take his medication. They don’t know he spends his free time alone, in his home, watching old home movies, going through pictures on his computer. They don’t see that for him, there is no light at the end of this tunnel.

How did your letter arrive and with what item:
He was at work. He was cleaning out a room, changing a bed sheet when the delivery man came in behind him. He called his name, and gave no introduction of own, but just handed him a plain manila envelope, clasped and taped shut. He told James not to open it until he got home that night. Compliant, James did as instructed. He sat himself down to a dinner of ramen noodles, and orange juice, and cut the tape holding the envelope closed with a steak knife. Inside was the invitation, all official looking on thick, white paper, and a Hallmark card. He began to shake as he read it, hot tears fell down his face. “Happy 5th Birthday.”

Portrait:

Abandoned Souls (Full for now)

-is working on CS now-

-=Circus of the Dawn=-

Alexander Gabriel Gray
Eighteen /\ Comp Sci Major /\ Black Belt /\Dreamer

---

---

And there it was, that last ray of hope left inside the box. Why else would she volunteer the information about the Diner still being opened if she wasn’t open to the idea of reconciliation? At least, that was the thoughts that brought about the smile that touched into his eyes just a second before he broke away from her suspicious gaze. She was right to be suspicious, he did have an agenda, and though he hadn’t stood before her door and told her that she was going to forgive him, and that he was going to fix this, that’s what he felt. Negativity be damned, he was going to fix this., now that he had the chance.

“Awesome, then I’ll see you at 7, my treat,” he spoke with a slight tilt to his head as though his body understood the question there that tone and delivery didn’t give rise to. “I’d stick around and bother you some more, but I’ve got to get to gettin’. I still need to drop by the bookstore, and… why am I telling you this.. sorry.” He smiled, feeling the awkwardness creeping up into him, as though he were trying too hard to keep a reign on himself, or project a positive vibe, or simply ignore the difficulty that had apparently built up between them over the years. It was obvious he was trying. It was all too painfully obvious he had an agenda, and exactly what it was blazed as apparent as the sun burned in the sky. He knew he wasn’t being smooth, or coy, or incredibly creative. He was being honest… perhaps with a little exaggeration mingled in, but still honest.

It’s amazing how uncomfortable honesty can be.

Finally he simply chuckled, and excused himself as he retreated. So he wasn’t all that graceful in the moment, and he hadn’t thought out beyond the invitation. Perhaps he needed an exit strategy, or perhaps it would have been fine had she not looked up at him with those eyes of hers. That was the moment he totally lost it. The moment that he felt incredibly anxious, nervous, inferior, and yet somehow so at home. It was like looking into the past… looking into eyes that have been lost to him for years. Obviously, he couldn’t just stare, though every fiber in his being had wanted to do nothing else.

So he was kicking himself, mentally, as he walked out of the apartment, and down the hall towards the stairs.

~ ~ ~
Six thirty found Gabe sitting in the diner, a cup of coffee steaming on the table before him. The back corner booth, as far away from everyone as he could find, so that they could talk about having to be concerned with ease dropping ears. He changed after practice at the Dojo. A pair of jean shorts, and a solid green tee. Nothing flashy, nothing exciting, but they were more comfortable, more relaxed. His hair was combed an hour ago, but the old habit of running his hands through it in nigh anxiety situations, or low, still held as strong today as it always has, and what was once picture perfect hair, now bore signs of the passage of his fingertips. Idle, he sipped the coffee, as his mind drew to the present that which time has failed to dull. He wanted to discuss it, wanted to recall it, to have all the information at the ready. It was how his mind worked. He dipped his finger tips in his coffee, placed them on the tabletop, and began to draw small circles.

And the jukebox turned.

Gabriel blinked, drew his eyes up to the jukebox, his mind keying into the song. A favorite of his, released a few years ago. He hummed the chorus, the song already in full swing. It was odd how the world seemed to set sound tracks to things. How music touched him, seemed to fit into his life like pieces of him found along the way. Wait a minute little back porch lady.. Wait a minute little back porch lady, I’m in love. His eyes looked down, his voice whispering the lyrics of the song. On the table, it’s surface was covered in small circles, hundreds of them, in streaks of creamy brown.

His eyes shot to the clock… six fifty seven. He wiped the table’s surface with a napkin from the dispenser at the table, picked up his coffee cup and took a sip. It was cold. Perhaps he had only zoned. Become too focused on his thoughts, to focused on the music. His imagine at getting the best of him. It was nothing. He wasn’t a kid anymore.

It was nothing…

[ ♕ ] - c o l l i d e. // smoke & gasoline.

I did receive the message, thank you for that. I'm sorry things have driven you into this, and I wish there was something I could do to help. I'm flattered to by your compliments, and just wanted to say that I'll consider the play on pause until such time as you're capable of returning to it, or to something new if we lose the characters in the mean time. Until then, I'll be around if you can pop in from time to time just to say hey.

Till then!

-=Circus of the Dawn=-

Circus of the Dawn

Voices whisper amongst the shadows, talking about the nightlife among the tents. Fanciful stories brought to life by youthful innocence and ignorant zeal. Who could believe the stories? The jugglers never miss, the tight rope walkers never stumble. The magician is a true master of illusion, while the strong man carries all over his broad shoulders. There is a fortuneteller who knows not only your future, but your past as well, and when she sings the soul weeps. They say the Circus is lost things, forgotten things. Who can believe it? And the worst of it, the most unbelievable of all, the ring leader himself…

Two characters set off one night to bring some excitement into their lives. Their lives are typical, uneventful, except for those concerns and cares we all face everyday. They want free of their selves for a night, as we all have at one point or another. They come to Mary's Diner, a small, out of the way diner in Alavance, GA, a small town a few hours drive from their hometown, only to discover from the owner there is a carnival in town. The Circus of the Dawn.

Interested, they decided to check it out. At first, they enjoyed it, lived up the nightlife. From the Ferris wheel, the world seemed so far away, their problems so insignificant. Before they knew it, it was time to leave, the circus was closing… dawn was coming.

Trapped in a nightmare, now they long to escape, but is it too late? Can they find a way out, or does the ring master have a few new souls to add to his collection.

-=Circus of the Dawn=-

Chapter 1: Barely Breathing

---

---

Gabe lay on his back, guitar crossing his abdomen, fingers absent mindedly strumming against the strings to no particular melody or in no particular time. Random cords, almost perfectly executed, resonate, lasting, but without thought or movement. He has spent the last hour or so just lying there, watching the pain peel as they say, and listening to her practice through the walls. He can’t stop thinking about the total randomness, of this situation. A clerical error transformed him from Alexander to Alexandria, and landed him and her into the same apartment. Total randomness, or perhaps divine providence? That is, if you believe in that kind of thing.

As memories surfaced, the strumming changed. It was funny how his mind operated, applying soundtracks to events that didn’t have them. Karate tournaments were often remembered with an accompaniment of Duel of the Fates, or Kungfu Fighting, depending on his mood or the theme of the memory. His second girlfriend often brought up the song She Fucking Hates Me, by Puddle of Mudd, as it played on the radio when he was driving away after breaking up with her. Memories of Cailey, the sad ones, the happy ones, sitting with her on the peer fishing, or stomping through mud puddles, running through the rain, they always brought up Duncan Sheik’s Barely Breathing. Odd, considering the song came out long after they were parted, they never heard it together, never played while they were in the same room, yet something about it caught to her memory, adhered itself to long open wounds like a Band-Aid.. Even now, as his eyes watch ephemeral images of their younger selves swinging together in the rain down at Jackson park, drenched and laughing, his fingers strummed the cords in slow, steady melody.

The hours drift.

Night came and went. A peaceful night. A night spent in remembrance. He must have relived every minute of his childhood his mind could muster, including that horrible day in the sixth grade, where in front of Jimmy, Kyle and the lot, he told her he didn’t want to see her anymore. ‘We aren’t friends’, he had said. Words he would rip away if he could, stuff back into the crook of nothingness they had been born of, and let the moment pass. Gladly, would he chose to suffer the ridicule of those three, if it meant preserving their friendship. Even knowing they’d soon split anyways, perhaps it would have made yesterday’s reunion something of a joyous event, and not a painfully ripped bandage that instead of revealing a closed wound, showed how it festered over the years. Or perhaps, he simply focused too much on it. Perhaps she didn’t even remember?

But then why was yesterday so awkward between them both?

He woke to his alarm, feeling renewed, refreshed, which didn’t make any sense as he slept only a few spare hours between dawn and the start of his day. He showered and dressed quickly, without ceremony or delay. A pair of blue jeans, brown suspenders, a tee, and a button down over it, with his brown bucket hat to cover his shaggy head, and in socked feet he come to stand before her bedroom door. He debated knocking, grew nervous about the idea of waking her up, and counseled himself about how stupid he was being. He could do a kata in front of three well trained masters of his art without hesitation or concern, but when the thought came to bringing himself to rapping on the door, to facing the worst mistake of his young life, he found he was all knotted up inside. The prospect is chilling, and the butterflies died and formed a cold stone in the pit of his stomach as his fingers rapped the wooden door, and he called her name.

“Cailey?”

There was a noise, but muffled and soft through the door. He wasn’t sure if it was a hold on, or a go the hell away, or some mid-sleep groan, a hushed curse, maybe. The moments that passed crawled, and three times he closed his eyes for what seemed like forever to steady himself, though, probably was for more like seconds than forevers. Still, the door was closed. “I’m sorry to bother you, I just thought that we should catch up. I’ve got to work today, till noon, but I thought it’d be nice if we could meet up afterwards. I know it’s a bit of a drive, but how about that place back home on main, Mary’s Diner. If it’s still there I mean. If not, we can find something else.”

He was barely breathing… and yet he smiled as the song played itself in the back of his mind.

“Cailey?”

Advanced Roleplayer Wanted.

Interest Check

Hello All.

I’m looking for a single partner in which to create a science fiction themed roleplay. I realize that this is a very broad and general topic, so I’d like some input from my partner on what we’d like to involve, and what we shouldn’t. I’m looking for someone with advanced to near advanced writing skills, someone who is willing to aid me in creatively constructing our settings, locations, and play plots.

The Labyrinth

Terror fills the darkness of the Labyrinth. We don't know how we got here, or the why of it all. We don't know who is behind it. It's rather senseless. We know there are others, because every once in a while, we hear them scream. Horrible screams. Something lives in the darkness, hunting. We know our only means for survival is escape.

I'm looking for someone advanced level or higher to play this game. We will start off waking in the labyrinth, with no recollection of how we got there. We can discuss themes and genre as we go over the finer points of things.

A character sheet will be required.

A post sample will be greatly appreciated.

Circus of the Dawn

Voices whisper amongst the shadows, talking about the nightlife among the tents. Fanciful stories brought to life by youthful innocence and ignorant zeal. Who could believe the stories? The jugglers never miss, the tight rope walkers never stumble. The magician is a true master of illusion, while the strong man carries all over his broad shoulders. There is a fortuneteller who knows not only your future, but your past as well, and when she sings the soul weeps. They say the Circus is lost things, forgotten things. Who can believe it? And the worst of it, the most unbelievable of all, the ring leader himself…

Two characters set off one night to bring some excitement into their lives. Their lives are typical, uneventful, except for those concerns and cares we all face everyday. They want free of their selves for a night, as we all have at one point or another. They come to Mary's Diner, a small, out of the way diner in Alavance, GA, a small town a few hours drive from their hometown, only to discover from the owner there is a carnival in town. The Circus of the Dawn.

Interested, they decided to check it out. At first, they enjoyed it, lived up the nightlife. From the Ferris wheel, the world seemed so far away, their problems so insignificant. Before they knew it, it was time to leave, the circus was closing… dawn was coming.

Trapped in a nightmare, now they long to escape, but is it too late? Can they find a way out, or does the ring master have a few new souls to add to his collection.

Star Trek Millennium

They call me Forester…

Donovan Lycian Forester. Grandson to Admiral Forester. Son to Madame Ambassador Forester. They look at me, and they see that name, my name. Donovan should be priceless. Donovan should be correct. Donovan doesn’t need any guidance, after all, he is a Forester. They look to me for answers when the big questions come up. They follow me, when leaderless, but I am not a leader of men.

Forester…

If the name were a tangible object, I’d ram it down the throat of the next who branded me with its weight. I am Forester. Its written in my records, on all my bags. I’m programmed to respond to it. I’m expected…

The wind swirled, a loud roaring was given life above him, flipping the page of Donovan’s journal, rolling it over on itself. As though expecting what was happening, his wrist gave a flip of the book, to sling the cover closed over the flowing script of his writing. The front cover moved in compliance but became hung half way through its arc, as a blue shaft of light filtered down over them, holding him and all matter within it still, confined. Transport was only a blink, a momentary lapse of time, a break that seemed, to Donovan, to be instantaneous.

“There you are,” the voice carried with it a tone of relief as a woman with a touch of natural gray in her hair made over to him, leaving the shuttle craft to steer and pilot itself away from the ranch homestead the Forester’s called their own in old Montana. Open arms were outstretched, which Donovan succeeded in ducking from, sliding himself wordlessly into the pilot’s chair, immediately taking the shuttle craft off of automatic pilot.

“You’re so distrustful of technology,” Maliquin’s voice was gentle, soft. Ambassador Maliquin Forester turned where she had been left standing, watching with weighted gaze the form of her son sitting at the controls of the shuttle craft. Well, he was as much her son as any actually could be. He did have Forester blood in him, even if he didn’t want to acknowledge it, though the boy’s mother was far more dominant in his genetic structure: the way his lips curled when he smiled, the shape and flow of his facial features, even the color of his eyes, a breath-taking azure unknown to genetics until her son was born. Yes, her son, no matter how hard of a time he was having adjusting to it all, he was her son. Seventeen years didn’t simply vanish into thin air because a family secret was let out of the bag. After all, she had raised him, been there when he scraped his knees, and spent endless hours rocking the crying babe in those quiet nights.

“And you are too trusting of it,” Donovan retorted, keeping his eyes forward, watching the trees leaving the view as the shuttle craft lifted up towards the heavens, away from the landscape. Only when they broke into the cloud cover did Donovan level their path.

“It has sensors, very sophisticated ones,” His mother responded with a touch of humor in her voice.

“And if the data anomalies? What if the programmer was inept? Some random failure of mathematics to derive at a response intelligible by the computer, and we end up flying into a mountain,” Donovan retorted.

“Only if it leapt in front of us,” Maliquin responded, shaking her head, moving to sit in the co-pilot’s chair beside Donovan, reaching over, and ignoring his protests, re-engaging the autopilot. “Come on now, your going to Starfleet Academy.. do you want to spend your last free hours dodging jumping mountains, or would you rather talk about other things.”

Donovan noted her humor, her attempts to lighten his mood. In truth, he had been brooding these past few weeks, after finding out that mother wasn’t mother at all, but a guardian appointed to him. He felt he had a right to be a tad bit touchy these days, after all, it wasn’t her world that was just flipped upside down less than a month before Starfleet would turn it inside out for him. After a life of stability, he was a little drunk with how fast things went from normal to unrecognizable.

“I don’t want to talk about that,” He spoke, leveling his gaze on his mother.

“Ok, well, then, how about Savannah?”

“Or that,” Donovan spoke through a grimace, shaking his head. “If you want silence, just keep it up. I’ll go back to tuning you out and listening to the stabilizers. I’m sure they’re out of alignment.”

“Fine, fine,” Maliquin said through a grin, feeling some payback from her efforts as she noticed a touch of a smirk meet the corners of his mouth. So she hadn’t lost him totally. “Have you thought of a concentration to declare?”

The smirk fell from Donovan’s face. He stood before the replicator, turning to let his eyes level upon his mother once more. “I’m a Forester, do you think they’ll allow me to declare medicine and live a life of normalcy?”

“Well, they won’t meet you at the landing padd with cadet pips and a command profile, if that’s what your concerned about,” his mother stated, “although, you do have an admiral’s blood in you.”

“I have the blood of a traitor, and a tyrant in me,” he spoke calmly, “My father wasn’t as gracious and revered as your version of him…”

She continued talking, but Donovan stopped listening. He ordered himself some coffee: cream, sugar, terran coffee, and moved to the bench against the port side of the shuttle craft, sitting in silence.

+ + + +

He was dressed in a cadet’s uniform, the blue of Starfleet medical adorning and highlighting the white of his Cadet’s uniform, as he stood amongst a sea of green, red, orange, edged cadets. Donovan has been at the academy long enough now to know that those around him were placed under his watchful eye, assigned to his flight, and though he were only a cadet, though he was still in training, not even a doctor yet, he was responsible for signs, symptoms, for knowledge and advice. Academy government stated it would be no different on board a starship, so why should the academy be different. They wanted the experience of medical cadets to ready them for ship life…

But Donovan didn’t concern himself with it much. If they acted like fools, he’d let them act as fools. If they broke a bone, then he’d send for an orderly or a Marine to carry them to the medic station to get the bone fixed. He preferred to spend his time in more admirable pursuits: anatomy.

Perhaps there was some Forester in him after all. His grandfather was notorious for his gallivanting, and some family reputations he had to protect, after all, but he wasn’t as nonchalant about it as Michael had been. Donovan was a flirt, very good natured about it, and he was clear that he wanted nothing more than some fun. He didn’t lead them on, didn’t draw women into his lair, convince them of some eternal feelings of devotion only to prove incapable of maintaining due to some past scars. Donovan knew himself incapable of maintaining. Donovan knew himself scarred, broken goods, so he abstained from anything beyond lust and physicality.

The corridors of Starfleet Academy cleared as the next moments ticked by, and the next rounds of classes began. The sound of his footsteps echoed down the corridor, silent, as polished boot resounded against tiled floors. The sounds drummed into normalcy, his thoughts returned to him, and for a few moments he was contemplating the next few days free of classes and obligations, the weekend was loaming ahead, full of possibility. Laughter broke the normalcy of sound, melodious laughter that pulled his mind away from plans and daydreams, and back into the corridor.

The sound was coming from around the corner, an embodied voice, laughing, somewhere around the corner. It sounded happy, thrilled, a quality of sound that Donovan had never quiet heard before, a level of joy and happiness that Donovan had never experience, nor been in the presence of before. There was something pure, honest about it, something that drew Donovan’s steps to a stop, as he stood in silence listening.

Star Trek Millennium

- - - - - -