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Post by hollis lucille bennett on Jan 18, 2008 23:11:14 GMT -5
  the sea's wine red
this is the death of beauty
Hollis sat limply over a small table in the coffee shop. Silently stirring her coffee, she had an enormous hangover from the night before. It was one of those rare occasions when she ever binge drank. She drank of coruse but never that much! What was i thinking? 12 martinis? Oh come on! she mumbled to herself. And a memory from the night before came back to her. Hollis was sitting at the bar, the spinning stool was slippery and she was tring hard to keep on. She had a vodka martini in one hand and a cigar in the other. Yes a cigar. She had gotten it from a man walking by as she was about to step into the club. She had gone up to the silver haired man and said, Well hello. I belive you have something to give to me, he had looked puzzled and after a few seconds of silence he answered, Well I am not sure who you are, but what are you talking about? she had looked expectantly at him and plucked the cigar from his hand.
Why this of course! she said then continued as she inspected the smoking cigar. Very nice...Amarican made I see. She put it between her lips and drew in a breath. Oh yes quite nice, thanks! she kissed him of his cheek then slipped into the club with the cigar. Leaving the man looking quite confused wiithout his cigar and a lipstick mark on his cheek. He lowered his head muttering about todays youth and walked away. She shook her head of dark sexy messy hair in embarrisment. She had allready had five martinis befor she had gone in to the club that night. I dont even want to know what i did after the thirteenth! she said weakly to her self.
She raised her head and sat back to the wodden chair and lifted the coffee cup to her lips and took a sip. The dark liquid coursed through her warming her center and she opened her eyes alittle wider. They were startilingly bright, the many shades of blue shone as they caught the light. They stood out from her lovely plale features and her dark hair. She looked down for a second when she realised that she still had the miniture black sequined dress that showed off her black leggings. She had a slumpy target collection zip up light sweater on top and she look very out of place among the people as every move she made made the sequins on the dress shine with light. She looked amazing, but very out of place. She laughed silently to her self.
what i am wearing!
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Post by vincent rivera; on Jan 21, 2008 10:59:10 GMT -5
   lately, my insecurity has got me paralyzed
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -Getting off the subway, Vincent carried himself well as he made his way to a small coffee shop. It was raining, of course. But when was it not? Thankfully he had found his laptop case this morning. If he hadn't, the sleek laptop would certainly be a goner in the rain; even as light as it was. Only a slight drizzle. He had a solid case, not a cloth one, so it was very protective. It cost a couple hundred dollars, but that was the price to pay - quite literally. As long as it kept his "life" safe, it was very, very worth it.
His loafers were getting wet as he practically jogged to the coffee shop. Soon though, he reached it. A little bell rang as Vincent opened the door. Instantly, the air was warmer and drier. He was more appreciative of the latter aspect, though. Vincent found a seat at a small table and stole a glance around him. Nearest to him was a young girl. Just out of high school, maybe. Or not even yet. He noted how she dressed glamorously, but just looked a mess. Vincent smirked, guessing that she had a hangover. He remembered those days - though there weren't very many of them - they were very distinct. Distinct as a pretty horrible memory. Especially the nights he drank until he blacked it, or even passed out. Alcohol poisoning was a bitch.
He opened up his laptop and waited for it to load up. A worker at the coffee shop automatically brought over a hot turtle nut latte. Clearly, Vincent had been here before. Multiple times. He handed him the total amount and gave him a large tip. The crowd was thin, and mostly older people mixed in with a few preoccupied people, so Vincent wouldn't be expecting any intense autograph signings. He hoped no one would notice him, actually. Vincent liked to lay low mostly. But you never knew ; his latest book was on a rack near the magazines, and his picture and name were right on the front cover. Being only twenty-one, it was very exceptional for him to have a few books published already with one on the way. His editor was very proud of him, but Vincent currently had writer's block. The editor-writer relationship was rather stiff these days.
Speaking of which, Vincent really had to get back on track. This was where he had found the inspiration to write his first book. Maybe the waves would hit him again. It was the main reason why he had come here, prepared to write. Vincent opened up a new document on his laptop, and sat there, his fingers perched over the keyboard, waiting for the inspiration to hit him. He took a sip of latte when nothing came. He was stalling. Procrastinating. Everything he wrote lately sucked anyway. Maybe something would occur to help him write. Heh. Who was he kidding?
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Post by hollis lucille bennett on Jan 21, 2008 19:48:49 GMT -5
the sea's wine red
this is the death of beauty
Hollis woke up from her revery and looked around at the people in the coffee shop. They all looked relativly normal and important, people in suits talking on cell phones and with other people in suits. She jumply bit of the cornor of the almond biscoti she had gottten with the coffe and had resisted eating. But now she munched on it happly, she really loved biscoti! She shulmped in her chair and dipped the biscoti in the mug of coffee before her. And finnished the biscoti in one last huge bite. Mmmm. Biscoti! she had a small sastified smile on her face and drank the last of her coffee and her smile turned to a frown.
Empty, sad. she said into the cup and looked around for a waiter and said rather hleplessly, Um hey you there with the coffee. How about a refill? she said to a waitress in all black that walked right by her. Her mixed french and english accent made her voice very unique. She had lived in France since she was ten and had spoken only french, so that when she came to London her english was barely under standable. But as she got further in to highschool she developed a lovely french-engilsh accent. She loved it and sometimes spoke french just to remind her of the days with her grandparents.
Serveuse foutue stupide! Pourquoi biseautez ils prennent ma commande freaking! Merde sainte que le biscoti était merveilleux... she muttered under her breath. She looked up and spotted an older guy guy walk in and sit at a table close to her she smiled alittle the stoped as the waitress who had ignored her just a few minutes ago gave him a cup of coffee without him asking. 'What the hell? what dose it take to get a cup of coffee around here! That guy just walks in and he get a fresh cup as soon as he walked in. Ooooo! Mabey they are having an affair! Oh Hollis, stop it! You dont know that guy, turn the gossip meter off...' she thought bitterly and returned to staring at the empty coffee cup. She reluctantly raised the coffee cup to her stained red lips and tried dismaly to get any last drops of caffine from the red ceramic cup to her mouth, unsuccesfuly I might add! She set it back down grumply and continued muttering under her breath in french.
She looked up once more to find the guy happily drinking the coffee and typing, Aw, now he is just bating me! she said her voice little more then a whisper. And raised her voice so it would reach him at his table and said in a huff, UM, hé vous ! Comment l'enfer, sorry. But how the hell did you get these bimbos to serve you?! her nose was alittle crinkled and looked very cute. Or at least people said it did. Her bright blue eyes glinted with surpressed anger at the lack of caffine in her blood strem. She her eyes darted to the waitress that passed her with a sour look on her face before she returned her glare to the man. Her hair was in slightly messy tendrals alittle flattened aroung her plae fox like face.
what i am wearing!
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Post by vincent rivera; on Jan 22, 2008 15:48:44 GMT -5
lately, my insecurity has got me paralyzed
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
He cautiously typed a few words, he knew the sound of her voice, the feel of her skin against his That was stupid. Another love story, Vincent? Seriously... that is all you have written about. Lost love, found love, forbidden love. Give it up, Vince. You need new material. Vincent thought these words, but only because he knew his editor would be saying them. She would say, Vincent, very few authors get by with writing strictly love stories. Try a mystery, a suspense, some historical fiction. We all know you're good with love stories. Give us something different. Maybe even a love story with a twist... Vincent groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. Should he delete the words he just typed? It could turn into a beautiful story line, something magnificent. Vincent hit the save button, but didn't type anything else. He must have had twenty documents saved just like this one; one line. Maybe a paragraph if he got lucky.
He looked from his screen down to his pale hands. His fingers were naked, no ring in sight. A scar or two, maybe, from his dare devil stunts. But nothing besides that. Thus the reason he hated looking at his fingers. Particularly his left hand. Any of his friends could glance at their left hands and see a shiny ring. Friends? Maybe not so much anymore. They all seemed to have disappeared after they had gotten married. At nineteen, twenty, twenty-one. Most of them were all married. So where did Vincent fall? He didn't want marriage, but he wanted something. God, maybe he should write an autobiography. His life was full of mental suffering. The rich boy. He has so much .. yet so, so little.
...And that was lame in so, so many ways.
He probably looked pathetic. Wearing loafers, a white button up casual shirt, and dark blue jeans. No one would think he was successful. That he had, in fact, made something of himself. Followed his dreams, and got where he wanted to go. No. They would think he was a suffering artist. And in a few ways, he was. But he was the one who made himself suffer. He could never do anything for long. Type, think, love. Those things were short lived. Vincent was sure to go downhill from here. Three books. No more. Beginners luck, you could say.
Vincent snapped out of his thoughts as a girl said something to him. Ah, it was the glamorous girl, whom did not look so glamorous today. He stiffed a laugh, instead a smirk played on his thin pink lips. "No matter." He told her and raised his hand toward the waitress whom had given him his order earlier. "Marianne, this young lady would very much like some coffee." Marianne,smiled stiffly and walked over to the girl, ready to take her order. After she muttered her apologies, Vincent looked away from them. Instead, he put his head in his hands, messing up his hair even more, if that was possible.
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