[Alyx's Scrapbook] Des Réflections Banales

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The player scrapbooks forum is literally a place for writers to warm-up, brainstorm, keep little scraps of notes, or just post things to encourage themselves and each other. Each player can feel free to create their own thread - one per account - and use them accordingly.

[Alyx's Scrapbook] Des Réflections Banales

Postby Gossamer on July 4th, 2012, 6:33 pm

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I Love Your Scrap

Its my favorite on the site so far. I've never had a problem reading the font and I've enjoyed the insights into your life. Half the time I want to laugh and cry with you and the other half I want to pick you up and give you some encouragement. Anyhow... thanks for sharing all this. I do read it and love it. :)
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I love you guys <3

Postby Alyx Bronwyn on July 4th, 2012, 8:37 pm


Aww, Jen. <3

I've been sitting here staring, trying to figure out how to respond to this. I'm glad my words have touched someone, in however small a way. I legitimately didn't expect anyone to sit through that waterfall of text. I just needed to work through all the psychobabble that had consumed my brain after everything recently. I thank you deeply for giving that much time to me. <3

I hereby dub thee Jennica the Kindly Wise, Lover of the Mundane Musings. You shall forever be known as this while posting in this thread. So say I, creator! (There's that God Complex shining through xD)
“Literature adds to reality; it does not simply describe it. It enriches the necessary competencies that daily life requires and provides; and in this respect, it irrigates the deserts that our lives have already become.”
-C. S. Lewis


“The difficulty of literature is not to write, but to write what you mean; not to affect your reader, but to affect him precisely as you wish.”
-Robert Louis Stevenson
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[Alyx's Scrapbook] Des Réflections Banales

Postby Nij on July 4th, 2012, 8:45 pm

I love the scrap, too! Even though I don't know what the title says...Something about reflections and maybe bananas?

-wrong, very wrong about the bananas especially.-

All's well.
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[Alyx's Scrapbook] Des Réflections Banales

Postby Phoenix on July 4th, 2012, 11:59 pm

No no, not banana's silly.


Bengal Tigers.

Oh look, I got a shout out up there! *Jumps around and waves for the camera*

Anywho, Everything going to turn out fine, hun. I know it doesn't seem like it but I have been in a position similar to you and while scary now, you're going to look back at this later and breath a sigh of relief and be stronger for it.

You'll figure out what you want to do. I'm older than you (AND MY BIRTHDAY IS SEPTEMBER 18TH!) and I still don't know what I am going to do. You'll figure it out, there is no need to force yourself into something.
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[Alyx's Scrapbook] Des Réflections Banales

Postby Seven Xu on July 5th, 2012, 9:17 pm

Allo, Québécois!

Nice to see another Canadian aboot. Did I just say that?
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[Alyx's Scrapbook] Des Réflections Banales

Postby Alyx Bronwyn on July 5th, 2012, 9:39 pm


Haha, hé! J'suis ravi de faire ta connaissance! There can never be enough Canadians aboot. <3

Thanks so much for the words of encouragement, Jules. It means a lot to me. I love you guys, everyone here is so nice and awesomesauce. As for the medical thing... it's always been my biggest dream, it really has. I was just too afraid to attempt that career tract (confidence issues, fear of failure, blah blah and did I mention blah), so when I realized I could exploit my musical talents, I fell into it as a backup. I think I've finally found the courage to throw myself at the medical tract, though. <3
“Literature adds to reality; it does not simply describe it. It enriches the necessary competencies that daily life requires and provides; and in this respect, it irrigates the deserts that our lives have already become.”
-C. S. Lewis


“The difficulty of literature is not to write, but to write what you mean; not to affect your reader, but to affect him precisely as you wish.”
-Robert Louis Stevenson
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[Alyx's Scrapbook] Des Réflections Banales

Postby Nij on July 7th, 2012, 9:34 am

I have a Canadian penpal.

And I kinda live close to Canada.

Kinda.
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[Alyx's Scrapbook] Des Réflections Banales

Postby Alyx Bronwyn on July 8th, 2012, 4:39 am


Haha how close is kinda close? xD

Also, general update: scaling back on a project or two due to things in the lovely world of Real Life trying their damndest to suffocate me. Going to focus on threading with other PC's right now.

Speaking of which, Nij - sorry for the wait; I was trying to get one other person to join my current thread in WR because they showed interest back when I posted in the character registry, but they have yet to respond and seem to have otherwise lost interest SO... I shall reply tonight or tomorrow and get the flow going with me, you, and Vaas as the main contributors. Jules did mention possibly throwing Aidara in (I think it was Aidara...?) but I have a funny feeling she's a bit too swamped to take on anything else. So yeah, we'll get moving presently.

Hm, random quote of the day: The real hero is always a hero by mistake; he dreams of being an honest coward like everybody else. (Umberto Eco)
“Literature adds to reality; it does not simply describe it. It enriches the necessary competencies that daily life requires and provides; and in this respect, it irrigates the deserts that our lives have already become.”
-C. S. Lewis


“The difficulty of literature is not to write, but to write what you mean; not to affect your reader, but to affect him precisely as you wish.”
-Robert Louis Stevenson
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Stardust Wakening Ch. 1

Postby Alyx Bronwyn on July 8th, 2012, 5:48 am

Stardust Wakening
*~*A Tale of Two Hearts*~*
[The Sanseneon Median]

Part One: Cobarde

Chapter One: El Chico Nuévo



“T'escribo desde la distancia; no busco tu perdón...”

The voice was light, but tense; rich and full of emotion.

“Entiendo que no entiendas nada... porque me fui sin mas, sin decirte adiós...”

Or perhaps it was full of a rather played-up sort of melodrama.

“No fui capaz...”

The hallways rang with the young man's song as he strolled along, the telltale white cords of an iPod's headphones hanging from what could only be assumed to be his ears, which were hidden in his well-kept mane of scruffy, jet-black hair. A messenger-style bag hung over his right shoulder, the iPod's cord vanishing beneath the white canvas flap. He was an altogether well-styled young man; black Toms, dark and appropriately damaged Express jeans, and a crisp white hoodie bearing the flag of Spain across the upper back completed his wardrobe.

“...de tenerte a solas, cara a cara, y contarte toda, toda la verd- oi!”

His singing ended on a rather perturbed note upon feeling the headphones yanked right out of his ears. He opened his eyes and realized that he was face-to-bosom with a very tall, very fragrant, and very stern woman. Pressing his lips into a thin line, he inclined his gaze to her stony face, lined as it was by years of frowning down at those shorter than herself. (It didn't help that he wasn't exactly the tallest guy in the school, either.)

“¿Qu'está haciendo, señor López-Ramírez?”

Señora Smith, the introductory Spanish teacher. Her accent was thick and Mexican, and never failed to get on the young man's nerves. He knew it was culturally appropriate, considering this was America, and Spain was on the other side of the world, but he just hated hearing the “z's” in his name hissed out like that. It just wasn't right. As such, he categorically refused to speak to the woman in Spanish.

“Well, I was singing my favorite song, until about five seconds ago, Miss Smiss.” Turning the end of her name into a hiss was his own personal touch. She never seemed to have figured out why he was doing it. His voice was naturally inflected with a light, delicate Spanish accent, having only been in America for three years, but he didn't have any trouble pronouncing anything the English language had thrown at him so far.

“No. En realidad, you were listening to an MP3 player-”

“iPod, actually.”

“-and it has formally been confiscated!”

Here there was a pregnant pause. The young man took a step back and nodded to her hand, which was held up triumphantly in the air between them. Dangling from her trembling fingers was indeed the clean, white cord... but at neither end of the cord was there attached the implied electronic device.

“Was I, though?” He countered, a sly smirk twisting his thin, handsome face. “Don't you know it's a fashion statement to wear headphones that aren't attached to anything?”

This little comeback was met with a furious sort of internal struggle, evidenced by the strange and vaguely seizure-like contortions which had claimed the old woman's scowl. She turned on her heel with a huff and marched back into her classroom, slamming the door behind her.

“Puta tonta,” he muttered to himself, resuming his stroll up the hall. He knew his iPod was still securely in his backpack; it was now just a matter of getting the headphones back. A small feat, really; this was one Spaniard who knew his way around. He decided that his headphones would be back in his possession by the end of lunch - come hell, high water, or a referral to the dean. An arrogant smile now upon his lips, he rounded the corner at the end of the hall and headed out into the courtyard, kicking the double-doors open before him with all the vigor and flair he could muster – and nearly smashing the metal doors into a crowd of freshmen huddled nearby. A brief mutter was the only apology offered to the disgruntled assemblage as he kept along on his way, eyes fixed upon a point across the grounds.

In the center of the school's courtyard was a concrete fountain – the main gathering point for several different crowds, depending on the time of day. If it weren't a crisp, late-October morning, the fountain may even have been flowing. As it were, it was little more than a raised effigy of green-stained concrete, with the school's motto – “Ever paved is the way forward in the hearts and minds of the young” – engraved around the border. Every morning, during the half-hour between the gates opening and first period commencing, a certain handful of people could be found at the fountain. One amongst them noticed the Spanish whirlwind coming through the grounds and broke away to meet him.

“Miguel...?” This young man called, his voice inflected with a sense of knowing concern. Met with no response, he waited for the other to come closer before continuing. “What's got your thong riding high this morning?”

“Just that dumb Spanish teacher bitch, Lucas,” he replied, strolling past the taller guy without a second glance. “She took my headphones. For now.” He marched up to the fountain and flung himself onto the stone ledge that surrounded it, used more as a bench than anything by the general populace of the school. He crossed both his arms and legs with a huff and proceeded to sit and stew rather visibly, staring up into Lucas's face with a strange expression on his own.

A beat passed, and Lucas sighed, stepping closer to Miguel and those from the crowd that had turned to greet him.

“And something tells me you want me to do something about it,” he stated flatly, rolling his sky-blue eyes to the overcast heavens and crossing his arms in imitation of his friend. While Lucas was easily a full head taller than Miguel – at the very least – he was also of a much calmer air; he sometimes found himself feeling just a few inches tall in comparison to the little fireball, when he got on a tirade.

“You're damn right I want you to do something about it! You have her third period. ¿Sí o no?”

“Sí,” Lucas sighed, sitting himself next to Miguel and slouching forward. “But I don't exactly have much sway with her. She's a cranky old bitch who-”

“Lucas, you are her best student,” Miguel interrupted, throwing his hand up to silence the other in a furious gesture. “You will think of something.”

“Miguel!” His voice was almost pleading, now; he uncrossed his arms and spread them wide in wonder. “I don't see how that's gonna get your pretty little headphones back.” A note of sarcasm entered his voice, and didn't go unnoticed by any of those listening in. One girl with long, well-kept hair the color of maple syrup chuckled to herself and turned away, as though she already knew what was coming next.

“Oh, what was that, sir?” Miguel demanded, hopping to his feet and jabbing a finger in Lucas's chest. “Is that jealousy I hear? Someone wishes he had an iPod all for his own?”

“Oh, come off it, you little queen. And it's 'an iPod of your own,' not for your own. Learn your English!”

Miguel's only response to this was to flick his wrist and settle back down on the fountain, muttering something in such rapid Spanish, Lucas couldn't even hope to pick out a single word. As Miguel plunged into his bag to search for whatever could possibly hold his attention, Lucas allowed his mind to wander. It was a big day, at least for him. He'd been so lost in thought earlier that morning that he'd actually put in the wrong ear rings – these were gauged a couple degrees smaller than the blue ones he'd been wearing, and as such, felt uncomfortably loose in his ears. His hair was done properly, though – straight and crisp, except for his bangs, which flirted about with his dark eyebrows and revealed the smooth skin of his forehead. He'd also picked a simple but elegant wardrobe for the day: a gunmetal-grey knit sweater clung to his thin, lanky body, a crisp white collar protruding from the shallow v-neck; black slacks hugged his narrow waist and spilled delicately over a pair of well-polished black shoes. He stuck out a bit from the general crowd, but that was hardly anything unusual.

Lucas took a glance at his watch, and let out a slight sigh, before rising to his feet and stretching with a small yawn.

“I think I'm gonna head on in, Miguel,” he said quietly. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he flashed a smile at his still-stewing friend, who looked back up at him with a brow quirked.

“This early? ¿Por qué?”

“I'm gonna get my bass tuned and polished and such before I come play with you guys,” he responded matter-of-factly, looking away to hide the slightest blush that crept to his light-skinned cheeks.

“Oh! That's right! You're coming to chorus today!” Miguel's entire facade of annoyance was dropped in a flash; he clapped his hands together excitedly and seemed to jump in place, without even budging from his seat on the stone. “That's so exciting! Ah! I can't wait!”

“Ya know, your acthent comes out more when you get 'exthited,'” Lucas mocked with a chuckling lisp, turning on his heel and strolling away, a hail of probably insulting Spanish raining down upon him. Now that no one from the group could see him, he allowed himself a broad, sunny smile. 'What would I do without that little shit? I wonder...'

It was a fairly long walk through the grounds; the fountain was almost the geometric center of the entire campus, and Lucas's current destination was in the far southeast corner. In a few months, it would be a fairly nice walk, as all the Craig Myrtles along the walkways bloomed. The school was set up in a long rectangular shape, with all the administrative offices, cafeteria, and the assembly hall situated in the northern building; twin two-story classroom buildings ran the length of the campus on either side, leading to the gymnasiums, theater, and arts buildings at the south end. Lying beyond the west wing were the track and field areas; parking lots surrounded the north and east wings. The south wing was pretty much just... there, really; the backside of the theater building was framed by the mixed foliage that marked this edge of miles and miles of government-protected woodlands. It was a common joke amongst students that the government would burn the forest to the ground if they had any clue what kids did back there.

As Lucas neared the arts building, he heard it. The first one of the day.

“Fag.”

It was a simple, dry whisper, uttered by the lips of some faceless guy as they passed each other, Lucas having to dart to the side to avoid the other kid's shoulder. Nothing but a voiceless breath of air; one sharp, punctuated syllable. Yet this tiny word had all the effects of an atomic bomb on a pristine meadow; Lucas's smile broke, his brows fell, and his eyes seemed to darken, lowered to the ground. He felt the wind go out of his sails, and his pace slowed as he came to the heavy exterior door he used every morning. Laying his right hand on the cold aluminum handle, he heaved a great sigh; they were getting an early start today, for sure. A beat passed in which he seemed to intensely study the concrete step upon which he stood; in reality, his eyes were dull and unfocused, their gaze lost somewhere in the depths of his own psyche. A moment later, he pulled the door open and slipped inside, pulling it softly shut behind him.

Today was supposed to be such a good day.


Author's Note: This is just a snippet of the first chapter of something I started writing a few months back. I shall post more of it as I feel like it. Or if people decide they like it, I'll work on it more often. At the moment, it's just a time passer when my mind is too muddled to do anything else. xD
“Literature adds to reality; it does not simply describe it. It enriches the necessary competencies that daily life requires and provides; and in this respect, it irrigates the deserts that our lives have already become.”
-C. S. Lewis


“The difficulty of literature is not to write, but to write what you mean; not to affect your reader, but to affect him precisely as you wish.”
-Robert Louis Stevenson
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Blahhhhh.

Postby Alyx Bronwyn on July 10th, 2012, 4:42 pm


So, just had my car towed to a shop to fix it. Two hundred fifty dollars, not nearly as bad as it could have been. But I just don't have the money and won't until next week. Just like I won't have the money to pay the recently screwed-up payment on my student loans (which wasn't my fault... it's a long, aggravating story). That's a good... *does math* ...$688. Dear gods. That's well over half my monthly income. Which is going to be hacked this month because I've spent so much time out of work and in the hospital.

Shenanigans! >.<

However, I have made a couple positive steps forward for myself. I have an appointment with a PA tomorrow, to prep me for meeting with her supervising physician when he returns from vacation. It's about bloody time, too; the doctor I've been seeing just wouldn't pay any attention to the words coming out of my mouth. I was showing obvious signs of aggravation of my syringomyelia, and he was prescribing me muscle relaxers. When I would tell him that the muscle relaxers were not helping my neurological systems (parasthesias and the like), he would just raise the bloody dosage. He wanted me taking 36mg a day of tizanidine. 12mg of the damn things would have me so "zonked" I could hardly function. When he raised it to 24mg, I spent most of my days sleeping. I gave myself three weeks to acclimate before finally taking the full 36mg, and I literally couldn't wake up after each dose. It was bloody ridiculous. So, against medical advice, I stopped the treatment and left his foul practice. I was unable to function at work, and was always lethargic to the point of mild sedation. It was unsafe for me to drive. And the bastard wouldn't listen. What else was I to do?

But I've gotten myself in with a place run by an Internist. They're the best docs for adults out there, in my humble and mildly biased opinion. So I'm looking forward to finally getting things back on track, treatment-wise. Maybe this doctor will actually order the tests I need instead of just tout away the obvious signs of exacerbation of a known existing condition. Funny, you'd think that would be the standard practice, eh?

What the quack I've been seeing didn't realize is that he couldn't talk his way around me. He literally just wanted to push his special little pills - I've a feeling his private practice was funded by whatever pharmaceutical conglomerate it is that makes tizanidine. I would be more surprised, in fact, to find out this wasn't the case.

Incompetent, malpracticing twit.

Anyways, I'm back up to the hospital to sit with gran a bit today. They're evidently going to try waking her up a bit in the next couple days. It's been deemed she's not a candidate for OHS, and probably won't be for quite some time. So, the decided course of treatment is palliative care to get her back comfortably on her feet, and wait around for her body to recover from this incident enough that she can be deemed capable of undergoing the surgery. She's got a long, painful road ahead of her. It's incredibly selfish to say, but I just want to hear her voice again. >.<
“Literature adds to reality; it does not simply describe it. It enriches the necessary competencies that daily life requires and provides; and in this respect, it irrigates the deserts that our lives have already become.”
-C. S. Lewis


“The difficulty of literature is not to write, but to write what you mean; not to affect your reader, but to affect him precisely as you wish.”
-Robert Louis Stevenson
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~je deviens moi~
 
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Joined roleplay: June 20th, 2012, 9:45 am
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