Posts by Moomzee

✥ Thomas ✥ Elliot ✥ Myres ✥
27 Years Old

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"And as always, innocent like roller coasters.
Fatality is like ghosts in snow and you have no idea what you're up against
because I've seen what they look like.
Becoming perfect as if they were sterling silver chainsaws going cascading..."

All of this destruction was overwhelming for Thomas. Well, most things were at this point of time, shell shock was doing no good for him, yet still the young man fought to endure all the weight which lay on his shoulders. He was a shy man, very different from his extroverted workmates in his section, and whilst most soldiers had friends which supported them, Thomas had no one. He used to though; his brother worked beside him in the war. The two brothers were as perfect as peas and carrots. But when the troops were ordered to enter the Soviet-controlled zones via Latvia, the Russians began ambushing the beaches which the American troops attempted to cross. Thomas' brother never made it. Thomas' brother was such a brave man, and after the bombings, Thomas knew his brother wasn't coming back.

Thomas felt alone in his war after that. Sure he had been given a couple of condolences for his loss, but really, what did he expect? His general patted his shoulder and chortled carelessly, "It's the war, boy! This was inevitable!" But was it really? His brother was supposed to be successful, a very successful man. Even though he was four years younger than Thomas, he had already settled down with a wife, two children and a very perfect job in finance. He was supposed to be successful. But, as Thomas always reminded himself, he was now in this alone.

The young man trudged through the ruins of Lithuania, his eyebrows knitted together with a look of concentration as the scoured the place for survivors. This was an ambush attack, gorilla warfare, and by far Thomas' least favourite method of attack. After all, it never failed to remind him of what happened the first time he realised just how dangerous the gorilla warfare was. He was worried for the people of Lithuania, despite how most Americans viewed the innocent people. He could see a few of his colleagues already abusing their authority, kicking away half-dead bodies and yanking up others violently. Thomas didn't want to emulate the actions of those men, so he veered off, rifle in hand, and searched for survivors.

Sadly, he had gotten used to the sight of the dead and what they looked like, so he guiltily padded over them, continuing a tiresome search. Adjusting his helmet and holding his rifle to his chest tightly, he felt a lump rising in his throat. Thomas' surroundings were silent, dead and static. This part of the town was hit the worst, he figured as he noted the brutal attacks on the architecture and the destruction of the overall area. He soon lowered his eyes, watching as his boots brought up dust and tiny particles of debris. Maybe this place really had no survivors, he thought, and he raised his head to search for the rest of his team. He could vaguely hear their voices in the distance and he began to stalk after the sounds, making a short cut through a derelict building. It had almost been blown to pieces, he noticed as he walked through. It seemed so vacant and lonely... He wasn't expecting to see a person though.

In the corner of the room was a man, huddled and most definitely alive. Thomas could see the man sobbing from where he was standing, and a grimace contorted on his face before he rushed over. "Hey..." He rasped out softly as he knelt down in front of the man. "Shh... It's okay, I promise you. He continued as he fumbled for his first aid kit, unzipping it and searching for bandages. "My name is Thomas Myres and I'm here to save you..."

This was one of the only reasons why he liked being a soldier. He was a hero, and he wouldn't want to have it any other way.

✥ Thomas ✥ Elliot ✥ Armstrong ✥

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Thomas cocked an eyebrow questionably at the guy, beginning to feel his heart rate pick up a little. This was his new roommate. The man surely didn't seem too pleased, though, which worried Thomas profusely. "Sure." He rasped out very quietly, his gaze flickering down at his dog. Don't let her jump, he reminded himself before shuffling after him. He kind of misinterpreted the guy's awkward tone of voice. Was he really that disappointed about rooming with Thomas? He really didn't want to get on the guy's bad side; after all, this was his new roommate, so he followed him warily.

He began to grimace softly as he scrambled after him, much like a lost puppy. "I'm... Uh, I'm Thomas." He stated awkwardly in some sort of miserable attempt to try keep peace between the two of them. He could already feel the tension lingering in the air. But then again, Thomas was wary of most things. He had his eyes fixed on the ground, and only flickering his gaze up when he saw the dog barrelling straight towards him.

Very close to cursing, Thomas gasped and stumbled back, trying to control the excited dog. He never really had a problem with dogs (he in fact loved them, owning five of his own) but this wasn't his dog. This was a guide dog. He wasn't sure why he was concerned about this; it was probably more of the fact that the guy had fallen over the dog's leash. "Oh! It's fine, really..." He stammered out hurriedly, a look of worry sprawled across his face as he lifted up Roxy's leash, giving her an affectionate pat on the head. "Your dog's a real cheek." He then tried to lighten the mood by letting out a short but forced laugh, walking the dog back to him. Hesitantly, he placed a hand on the guy's shoulder and then returned to a look of seriousness. "Are you okay, though?... Sorry, I didn't see what happened."

Now Thomas really felt guilty. The least he could have done was try warn the man or something. But again, this was Thomas. He was too slow off the mark for his own good. He probably had the reaction time of a brick. He wasn't even joking when he thought that. Maybe bricks even had faster reaction times than Thomas, which really was worrying.

๑ נαsρεя ๑ мαℓαcнι ๑ εмεяsση ๑

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"Be humble for you are made of earth.
Be noble for you are made of stars."
- Serbian Proverb

Imagine a life where all you saw were the shades and tones of the earth, not the hue of its colours. Through your eyes it was as if you were attentively staring into an old television set; no colour, only black and white. An artist's greatest fear; the consternation of losing the core of their talent: colour. Without colour, how would Dali have painted the Persistence Of Memory? Or how would Matisse ever be able to paint the Still Life With A Magnolia? Jasper wouldn't know, he never had that problem when he painted.

It was a very rare case, the doctor told him. Only 1 person in 33,000 could possibly come into being having achromatopsia. But with his luck, something unfortunate would always happen to Jasper. He never knew what colour was, being born with a black and white vision, so he never understood what colour blindness was until his mother taught him.

At a young age of five, his mother tried to teach Jasper, and she held up two cards: A black card, and a white one. "You see this?" She told him, handing him the white card. "That is white." then she handed him the black, "And this is black, am I right?" Jasper quickly nodded his head, gazing down at the two cards. "And... Sweetheart, those are the only two hues you can see... Normal people see other hues like red, blue... Yellow..." She said with a hint of suffering in her voice. She'd never have a normal son, and it hurt her heart terribly. Jasper simply furrowed his eyebrows and objected meekly, "I see grey, too, mama."

After that, they never mentioned colours again. Jasper's father warned his brother not to tease Jasper for it because, at that time, it was embarrassing to see the world differently. Jasper found many things difficult; without colour, he could hardly differentiate items from one another. It was mostly a blur of black, greys and whites. He didn't have much coordination either. Trying to tell the distance of objects was very difficult for Jasper. He was a total muck up, he concluded when he first attended high school. He couldn't do anything right without messing up. Well, almost. If there was anything he was really good at, it'd most definitely be art.

Very ironic, yes? Probably, but it was a passion of his. He began at a young age, mingling colours amongst one another. He never knew what colours he was using, but he'd use it anyway. It created abstracted pieces, obviously. The colours were always incorrect. The sky was not red, the grass wasn't purple, but Jasper didn't know so he'd simply slap down aubergine oil paint down onto bottom of the canvas, flicking his paint brush delicately over the toile to create a grassy texture. He would remember that time he sat in the park with his little brother. The brothers were best friends, relaxing underneath the starry night. He intertwined his long fingers in the lush grass, gazing down at the array a greyness underneath him. He remembered the texture ever since. Silken, soft grass, as dainty as a feather yet so unkempt as a lion's mane. It was the beautiful uncut hair of graves, coarse in some places and silky in others. This sensation was something Jasper would remember forever. Something as simple as grass would linger in his memory forever.

That piece he painted was of the Eiffel tower. France, a very gorgeous place, Jasper thought. He'd always dreamed of living in Paris so he could see the tower with his own eyes. He wanted the classic lifestyle of a Frenchman: Living in a small, candlelit apartment; surrounded by the buzzing world of Paris; finding the Eiffel tower when he looked out the window. It was all Jasper dreamed of: Being an artist in Paris.

He probably was being overambitious though. He usually was. But, nevertheless, the dream lingered on, hanging desperately by a thread. After all, this was Jasper. The sarcastic yet tenacious and ambitious man who saw only in black and white. He saw the world differently in more than one manner, and Jasper learned that he wouldn't want to have it any other way.

***

It was a Monday morning, and school was only around the corner. Jasper would've had more than enough time to spare if he was not always sleeping through the damned drill of his alarm clock. A rushed Jasper was a bitter Jasper, and he completely disregarded his family as he sunk his teeth into a dry piece of toast hurriedly in some mad (and failed) attempt to try not be late for school. He didn't care if he ignored his family; his family could go kiss his ass as far as Jasper was concerned.

You see, Jasper fell out with his family years ago. They doubted him too many times, never really sure if he could go very far. After all, Jasper was a giant muck up. They wanted him to be more like his little brother, the one who'd grown into an alcoholic and would hook up with any girl he lay his eyes on. How about no. Jasper had more than enough respect for women, no way in hell was he going to treat one like his brother did. And sure Jasper drank liqueur, but he was never going overboard like his brother, and he was never binge drinking at parties. That was not Japs' lifestyle; that was his brother's.

He honestly could not understand why his parents disliked him so much. Was it because he loved art? Sure, maybe he was a giant klutz, but really was it him to blame? It wasn't his fault his vision was colourless and dreary. It didn't mean Jasper was dumb, though. He was very intelligent, in fact, but in a very sophisticated way. Was that the problem? Did they dislike that their son was well cultured? Or was it his spunky attitude? Honestly, Jasper didn't know and he couldn't care less. He had already felt disenchanted for so long, he was so willing to let the painful feeling pass.

Jasper soon left the house, his eyes fixed on the ground as he watched his shoes shuffle against the cold concrete. He was fitted in black skinny jeans and a navy blue vest, red leather jacket and a pair of converse with pink laces. He considered what to wear by the shades he saw in them. He liked the lightness of the pink shoelaces in comparison to the darkness of his plain shirt.

When he reached school, Jasper went straight for his locker. There, he had taken out his sketchbook. He'd left it at school accidentally over the weekend and he was so relieved to find it still safely stored away. Inside this book lay colourful, abstracted sketches of many things. Often, obscure landscapes or people, or monsters or circuses. The book overflowed with wonderful works of Jasper's imagination.

The boy shuffled down the hallway nonchalantly, his eyes locked on his shoes as he shuffled along. He really just wanted to get the lessons, and when he finally raised his head, he really did not expect to walk straight into someone.

Books went flying. People went flying. God d*ammit even Jasper's tranquillity went flying. He didn't realise the girl was so close. This was really a fine example of how terrible Jasper's awareness of his surroundings really was.

"Oh god! I'm so sorry!" He exclaimed hurriedly, not having enough time to react before she bolted off again. "Uh... Your beanie..." He trailed off, holding up the hat he had collected for her merely seconds before. Okay, so maybe she wanted him to keep it.

Ah, he was just kidding. Luckily, Jasper had gotten a slight glance of the girl before she scrambled away, so he figured maybe he could find her at lunch and return her beanie. After all, it was a pretty trendy cap. He wouldn't want her to have lost it forever.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, Jasper picked up his sketchbook and continued on his way to his first class. Math. Great. Jasper knew exactly what he was going to do during this period. He was most definitely going to draw.

Jasper took a seat at the back of the class, ignoring the odd glances from another student, and he slouched forwards, pulling the sketchbook to him. Then, flicking it open, he b...

Oh sh*t.

This wasn't his sketchbook.

✥ Thomas ✥ Elliot ✥ Armstrong ✥
27 Years Old

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Ooc: Ah, don't be sorry! I know the feeling; losing a post completely puts you off rewriting it. But it's okay ^^

Thomas' face contorted into a weak grimace; he knew the waiter would be displeased. Thomas had dug his own grave (In some case, that could really be meant literally. He did get hit by a car, after all, when he stepped into the road without looking both ways.) and he really wanted to climb out the dark abyss in inevitably dragged himself into. Thomas was internally yelling at himself for being such a nut case, but on the outside, he simply cracked a very coy, forced smile at the man.

"I most definitely do." He replied sardonically, his eyebrows knitting together as he leaned back and took another sip of his coffee. His mind went blank after that, rushing to try find something, anything, to use as an excuse.

"Well, actually..." He began, clearing his voice to try cover up his lie. "I was checking to see what was taking so long." Okay, maybe he appeared incredibly rude, but at least he didn't appear dead, quite literally. He felt his face go pale, though, which really wasn't much help, but nevertheless he thought it was probably better to lie than simply say, "Oh yes, I'm dead so that means I have every right listen in on the living!" So, whilst Thomas glanced up at the man sheepishly, he concluded that he was, quite frankly, an idiot.

Emerson, a sophisticated man he was. Sophisticated and arrogant to say the least. It was the New Years Party he had set up and he already was having the time of his life, being chatted up by random strangers and such. It was a good thing he was rich because his attitude was surely anything but nice. "Ah... I'd hate to decline... But no. Go away, please." He declared to a girl which he didn't even know, and annoyingly she decided to pester him with many questions. He let out a short laugh when she cowered away, and then his eyes scoured the party. His gaze then locked on someone he really did want to talk to. Oh, Aura, he thought. She seemed so perfect, for his brother that is. Em already had his eyes on somebody else. He stalked up behind her, resting a hand on her shoulder.

"Hello, love." He purred softly, baring a charming smile as he looked down at her. "How are you enjoying your time here?"

☢ elιaѕ ☢ ѕeвaѕтιan ☢ тorreѕ ☢

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[color=black]When the girl began squirming and fighting back, a provoked sneer grew on Elias' face and it only made his grip tighten as he crushed his fist angrily down on her wrist. Slinging the duffel bag's strap over his shoulder, he fished his free hand in his side pocket, "You really want to argue with the guy who’s got a gun in his pocket?” He then asked coldly with narrowed eyes.

"Well..." His voice trailed off, "I'm Eli and you're coming with me, Sweetheart." No way was she going to back-chat him, Elias thought as he violently tugged her along towards the door, pulling out his pistol once again.

Then, briefly glancing back at petrified civilians which were down on the ground, he sing-songed nonchalantly, “As soon as we leave, the police are going to come in here and save the day, so don’t do anything stupid like try to follow us. Nice meeting you all, and have a lovely day!” He chortled innocently, although it was quite sinister in itself, and then barbarically tugged at the girl's wrist, "Okay, kid." He huffed, pulling out the gun and holding it up to her throat. "Lets blow this popsicle stand."

Elias steered her out the door and straight into an alleyway, possessively holding onto her. "Listen here, love. It's very likely that I'm much stronger than you, so struggling will not make a difference, you hear me? Now, I'm taking you to my car and you're going to drive me straight out of town. Don't try anything, okay? I'm not afraid to hurt you." The man lectured as he strode down to a car, opening the driver's seat and leading her inside before going to his side of the car, gun in hand.

But then, realization seemed to dawn on the older man and slowly he flickered his eyes over to her, lowering his bandanna. "You know how to drive, right?"