Posts by sonderful.

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M/C (my character) is a nationally known actress, model, singer/songwriter and American Idol winner. For quite a few years, she's America's sweetheart. Everyone just adores her! Everyone wants to be her. Of course, as most celebrities, she has a certain limitation on things she's allowed to say and do out in public, and has a general description on how she's meant to act in the presence of others. She has a rather big problem with drinking, one that has yet to be addressed. So, after she says a few things she shouldn't have in front of the paparazzi after drinking an ample amount of alcohol, she becomes less loved and a bit more regarded with a mixture of bad feelings. Not good. Especially for her newly released album! So what do they do? They take Y/C (your character) and use them to get m/c the publicity she needs to regain honor to her name. Now, y/c is new to the industry, so their manager makes a deal with m/c's manager, deciding that he'll date her in order to gain fans. A win-win situation. However, m/c and y/c do not get along in real life at first. The both despise each other for one reason or another. After their 'dates' are done, they want nothing to do with one another, and they can't wait until the can 'break up' and be out of each other's hair. Now, after a few months of knowing each other, they slowly start to recognize that they both has their own personal issues to resolve, and somehow, they end up healing each other overcome their inner demons, and as time goes on, they begin to feel romantically towards one another. But just as this happens and they start to form a real relationship, their supposed to break up, and m/c is going to be going to New Zealand to film a new movie, while y/c while be going on his first tour.

Let's see how this goes!

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[same. The least people can do is tell me if they don't want to roleplay, but they just leave me hanging. It's getting annoying.]

Although the locals seemed pleasant enough, they were a little arrogant. Arrogance was a lot more bearable when the person was actually good at what they were gloating about. This particular group, however, was lucky that there was a wall keeping them distinctly separated from the real world, and while he hated to take their fantasy land and tear it to shreds, they honestly needed to have reality slap them in the face. If Braylon survived twenty-three years out there, why would he need a couple of loud-mouthed young adults and older teenagers to rescue him from a couple of walkers? So when the boy opened his mouth and asked if he was the one that little group of four saved, one can imagine the slight twinge of irritation that flickered inside of him. It was as if the other male knew that he'd slipped up, because he carried on, an outright stuttering mess as Braylon turned his head to narrow his eyes at him. The boy was scrawny, was the first thing he noted about the other. Braylon wasn't exactly huge himself, he hadn't eaten the past few days, but his body was toned from working hard outside of the walls his entire life. This kid looked as if he didn't have muscle nor fat slapped onto him. He probably never handled a gun in his life! The thought seemed so preposterous to him and yet, scrutinizing the lad, he was fairly certain that was the case.

After a few moments of silence, he regained his wits. He hadn't spoken to anyone in quite a while, so it took him a bit to register that yes, this guy was really talking to him. "I wasn't saved, although you all seem to think that I was." He ran his tongue over his dried lips. "I lived out there my whole life. I know how it works. I had a weapon, I was fine. Your group that saved me was so loud all the walkers came in for a big juicy feast. And you know who fought them off?" Braylon gestured back at himself with his thumb. His words were a little more scathingly harsh than me intended them to be, but with his culture shock, and the fact everyone made him out to be some Damsel in distress was greatly affecting his mood. He shocked his hands into his jean pockets and rolled his eyes. Then the boy...reached out to him with his hands. Confusion etched into his features as he narrowed his eyes at the lad's hand, still stretched out towards him. "Braylon." He grunted. "Does this mean something?" He thrust his hand forward as well, although he didn't take Ciel's hand. No one had ever tried to shake his hand before.

[I hope this is an okay starter. cx]

Many seem to think that fame is a luxurious and opulent lifestyle, one where all your desires are of the utmost importance to the people you surround yourself. In movies such lifestyles are often portrayed by someone who has a rather big head, one so large it makes you wonder just how on earth they manage to hold it up on their necks, and has never had to, or hasn't had to in a long while, do much of anything for themselves. This is not completely untrue, although if Anissa could have someone walk around and do everything she asked of them that would be like a dream come true, because that's exactly the kind of foolish thing she naively envisioned when she auditioned for American Idol. While singing was indeed one of her passions, like the silly little girl she had been, she would openly admit that she'd done it all in hopes of receiving fame. Ultimately, she'd achieved her goal, if anyone were to look at her social status now. She went from being one of the dorkiest girls in her school to being one of the most beloved young socialites in the industry, and if it weren't for a few profane slurs and a mass of oversensitive people, things would still be so. When she first started out, her social media followers went by the hundreds each day. It was one of her greatest achievements, and personally, she couldn't have been more proud of herself in that moment if she tried. The whole situation at that time had been surreal, getting signed to a record label, getting an agent and a management team that she once thought was at her beck and call. It wasn't until she was seventeen years old that she realized it was, perhaps, the other way around, and it was as if for the first time she realized she'd sold her soul to the devil to gain the attention of the media she'd been fighting her entire life. The very media that told young girls they were fat and bashed the opinions of others because opinions these days were the same as insults, apparently. It wasn't until then that she realized her media training had turned her into their little lapdog. She tweeted her own tweets (most times), but only so long as it followed the rules and guidelines set up for her. They taught how to respond to questions without actually giving an answer, things that were a "must" for her, because in this industry, while riches and material goods were all apart of the job description, freedom has never been, and that's exactly what she traded in for this all. So when she turned eighteen, the drinks were only supposed to be her silent way of rebelling and dealing with her ample amounts of stress. It took her mind off things and helped soothe her troubled thoughts until she couldn't remember why she'd been upset in the first place. Her coping mechanism quickly turned into a full fledged addiction, something that she needed rather than wanted, and that, all in all, is what caused her to land in such a precarious situation in the first place.

It'd not been all too long ago that her good and oldest friend, Vivienne, decided that they should go out and celebrate their twenty-first year on this earth by drinking large quantities of alcoholic beverages, although both their birthdays had already passed, who was Anissa to refuse such a tempting offer? She didn't remember the name of the club, and she certainly didn't remember what happened, although one thing she knew for sure was that she'd managed to make an *ss of herself that night, apparently slurring out insults aimed at other much beloved people, who still weren't ready to send a tweet to their obsessively devoted fans about how they "forgived" her for her mindless words. The young twenty-one year old hadn't meant anything by it, she'd been trashed and anyone with eyes could see that, but controversies shall be controversies, and she wished profusely that she'd had enough brains to keep her mouth shut and just get into the cab without stopping to announce all the apparently offensive opinions she harbored inside of her for quite some time now. Nonetheless, no one really saw it from her point of view. No one bothered to recognize her a celebrity whom, many before her, honestly needed some time out of the spotlight to regain herself and relax so biting her fingers off didn't seem so tempting anymore. Unfortunately, that's never been how it works. Even on "breaks", she still got swarmed by fans and paparazzi alike. Her career became her life and her life became public, although Anissa didn't quite know why it mattered so much to everyone what her religion was and how many people she's slept with.

As one can imagine, after targeting fellow celebs and making not-so-subtle comments on her opinion on things like being anti-vaccine or supporting gay rights, that should be fickle matters but were rather "serious controversies not to be commented on unless it is to endorse the popular opinion and achieve our goal in making you a shining star", as her manager Tom Rathmell said. If she had been thinking properly, she would not have said such things. She would have smiled and waved and been the good girl she's always been for her management team since she won American Idol six years ago. Her sales dropped immensely since then, and her new album was suffering greatly. Considering that all her other albums had been successes, it was a rather alarming when she uncovered the truth about the sales, or how the number of followers on twitter, for example, got a fraction smaller every day, instead of going up as she had gotten accustomed to. So, in order to ensure that her fame wasn't ended in social suicide, her manager came up with a pale, something she hadn't done in quite a bit, simply because she hadn't had to. They got her a new boyfriend, someone who was new to the industry but still well liked, something to take away the focus on her 'big mistake', as many of her 'friends' referred to it as. He was a Scottish bloke with nice auburn hair and porcelain skin, and possibly one of the longest names she's ever encountered in her entire life. They met in a few meetings before going out together in public, in busy areas where the papperazzi would take notice of them, or in more private areas where their managements hired photographers to get shots of them on their secret "dates". They played that game for a while before admitting to being a "couple" in an interview.

The man, Jamie, was alright she supposed, although she was fairly determined not to like him. Growing emotional attachments to someone temporary in her life was the quickest and easiest way to break her own heart, and while she needed him to reduce the negativity associated with her name, once sales got back up to a reasonable amount and the story became old news, they'd break up and probably wouldn't be seen one-on-one again. Vivienne jokingly told her that she shipped the two of them and was already counting on being her brides maid, which always made Anissa scoff. She needed people like Vivienne in her life, the kind that were so positively animated and beamish that the colors didn't seem so muted and gray, but had a little hint of the vibrancy they once emitted. Jamie had stayed over last night to make it seem like their relationship had reached that level of intimacy already, even though they've only just returned from their third...or fourth(?) date. They didn't share much interaction. Jamie was permitted to stay in the guest room while Anissa (seeing as this was her penthouse) got some whiskey from the freezer and...and...Eyes opening abruptly, she squinted them at the ceiling as sunlight filtered into the room, although stifled from the closed curtains, her eyes still felt like they were going to burn from the sockets, and the head splitting headache was already enough to make her want to curl up and die. Her covers only covered the lower half of her legs, and the sheets reeked with such a stench that her unsettled stomach clenched tightly. Sweat and vomit was not a good concoction of things. Anissa considered herself only lucky that she puked on the bedsheets without choking on it...which had once happened, luckily, her ex Willow had been with her. If not for her, would Anissa even still be here? It was no matter, however, since the experience had Willow recoiling and ending the relationship as soon as the twenty-one year old managed to recover from her near-death experience. She felt like she recently had a near death experience. A low, pitiful groan emitted from her dry, hoarse throat as she clenched her eyes shut to block out the visible light. She didn't know whether or not Jamie was still around, but she didn't care. Her main focus now was trying not to vomit all over again.

She inevitably failed.

Braylon was utterly confused by the customs of these people. They were impeccably strange, he decided. Not only did they have life easy, but they were obviously big on petty formalities, like this shaking hands. Outside of Tutum, no one quite bothered to shake his head, and that was mostly because they were usually trying to kill him, or because there just wasn't a need for such petty, pointless antics. When meeting someone new, it took a long time for Braylon to consider trusting them, normally because everyone was thinking about how they could survive off of one another, not protect each other like a family unit. It was a rarity that you met a genuinely friendly face. Everyone here seemed to be so, completely friendly and naive, but he was still somewhat startled by their...welcoming demeanor. If they just ushered everyone they came across into their home, it was a wonder how they had even survived this long at all without any trouble. Unless they've had trouble in the past, in which case, one would have suspected that they would have learned their lessons. It was no matter to him either way, these people were not his friends nor were they his kin. Therefore, if they caused their own destruction, what was it to him?

Braylon glanced down at his hand as he pulled it back to his side. He flexed his fingers, and then shoved it back into his pockets, narrowing his eyes once again at the petite lad before him. He was awkwardly straightforward with his questions, and he thought that he was bad with people! "Out there?" He pressed his lips together in a tight lip, then, he scoffed. "It's like the real world. Because that, out there, is the real world. It's like suffering, and death, and disappointment."

Braylon couldn't properly respond to the first response, taking into account he's never heard said rumors. Outside of Tutum, life wasn't as easy as some would hope. Idealistically, people would have banded together like the ones here to find a cure and save the world, however, that's not been the case. Braylon didn't think there was a cure. They were just walking corpses, sometimes he almost forgot, it wasn't something he often thought about unless he knew the person beforehand. Every single walker had once been a human being. Pursing his lips with a thoughtful expression, he finally just shrugged again. "Not to me." It was all he'd ever known, and he supposed he was desensitized to things like death and gore. For him, it'd always been about survival, not making friends, and while he did recognize how lowly the world has fallen since the good old days he used to hear about in his former groups, survival had become…relatively easy. All he had to do was kill the walkers without getting bit and avoid the people that would try and kill him to the best of his ability, or kill them first, if that's what it meant to survive. He glanced up at the sky rather than the boy. Whilst so much here seemed different, the sky was always the same. "You mean the ocean?" Braylon was snapped back into reality. "And forests? Yes, they're true. I lived in some woods beside the sea once, when I was young. It was one of the most peaceful places I've encountered, besides this, I guess. Then again, you can't put a wall around the entire ocean, I'm certain."

[thats fine! My reply isn't that good because I'm exhausted tbh. I don't think I'm acquainted with that, attack on Titan.]

Braylon couldn't quite find it within himself to be too distraught about the loss of time. He had no plans for once, besides find somewhere peaceful to rest and then go back to his new…home to eat. The houses in the area were exceptionally large, compared to the sort of dwelling he kept too, like tents and sleeping in the old, crumbling buildings of the abandoned, overrun cities and small towns. Most old houses he found were only a fraction of the size, and were usually easy to clear out when it came to walkers. He internally grimaced as he momentarily reflected on all the good people he lost to walked bites, among other things, and he felt his strong hatred for the undead wash over him like a wave, just as it had when his sister died and his mother disappeared, probably a walker somewhere herself, or a rotted corpse, if not the first option, which made him shiver with distaste. She didn't deserve to be apart of the undead…He sighed itched his forearm passively. Braylon didn't bother to pretend to be interested in everything the ignorant bloke questioned him about. "They are that big." He blinked. "If you're so curious, why don't you just go over the walls and look around?" He rolled his olive colored eyes.

Harry was surprised, to say the least, when he managed to scare Louis still, even though he hadn't been trying this time. The lanky lad managed to be quiet most of the time, unless he was tripping over something. It was a skill he perfected whilst he spent half his time invisible, using his abilities to spy on people because he'd always been a little noisy, admittedly, and dangerously curious. Harry threw his head back and burst into hysterics, clapping his hands together. "You are such a scaredy cat! …Get it? Because you turned into a kitten?" He snorted out another laugh at his own joke. God he was good. "Would a pet make you feel better?" He cooed.

Zayn had been about to pretend to be productive so he would still pass the class without putting much effort into it. Usually he spent the entire time watching the girls work out, especially one in particular, although he wouldn't admit to such things aloud. Telepathic students like Liam only really had to listen in on his thoughts to learn this, but Liam seemed to busy with his own stuff to care. Liam had telekinesis as well, although he struggled with that still. Zayn could only imagine how easy school for him must be--he could just read the teacher's thoughts, couldn't he? Zayn was so busy conversing with himself internally and "subtly" eyeing the females across the room to notice Niall's approach. By the time he had, it was too late to avoid collision. As soon as he got over his initial bewilderment, he realized he had never seemed this kid in his life. Must be new, he thought quietly. "Hey, are you alright?" Zayn asked, holding out a hand for him to take. "You took quite a fall there, huh, bub?"

Braylon couldn't help that his cheeks tinted scarlet in response to Casper's reply. He only ever had one boyfriend last year for a couple of months. The relationship had been great while it lasted, but in the end, they mutually decided that the relationship wasn't going any where, and they went their seperate ways. The two were distant, but on friendly terms nonetheless. He couldn't imagine Casper not being a good boyfriend, whether he dated a boy or girl, or someone agender, or anyone in between. He had a good heart. Braylon hadn't seen him act without good intentions yet, and he couldn't quite imagine Casper doing anything with malicious intent. It was far too weird to imagine. "You will be, too." Braylon assured with a smile. "You're too nice not to." His olive gaze flickered down to his hands for a minute. People seemed to have moved on from them now, which was honestly relieving. More students were milling about the hallways now, and some were even sitting on the ground and scribbling down quick last minute answers to homework assignments they forgot to do or were too lazy to. Mike was the great procrastinator in the world. He waited to do his homework (most of it) until the day before it was due, or in the actual class the day it was due. Braylon was the average student who did his work on time and did the best he could. He only had one C to work on, so he assumed he was doing an okay job this year. Braylon blinked out of his thoughts. "It starts at nine, I think. It'll probably be done at 10:30 or 11, I can't remember how long it is exactly though. Would you want me to pick you up, or would you meet me there?"

Nothing worthy of mentioning happened. Most of the people here were just like the scrawny boy, Ciel, that he encountered. In fact, the more he associated himself with those people and got acquainted with them, the more irritated Braylon felt himself get. Some of these people, a lot of them actually, had never explored outside of the walls. Even the "guards" stuck relatively close and had been pretty ignorant. The guards were still the best off. At least they tried to target them. The people who went out on "runs", or went out of the camp--the town--to find supplies that they couldn't grow or make here, like gasoline for the generators (which hadn't run out yet, possibly because most people that would think about taking it were no longer existent, especially outside the walls. Braylon had had the opportunity to take some before, but what use was gas to him? He thought water bottles were an amazing invention, he could carry water with him wherever he liked, canteens were helpful like that too. Electricity was a concept that only crossed his mind when he thought about his parents stories of the Old Ages, or the days past when the dead stayed dead, another idea completely foreign to him. For most of the day, Braylon had stuck to this small formation of trees next to the river near the south side of Tutum. It was peaceful there and reminded him of his true home. Seeing as he was supposed to start teaching here soon, he figured he might as well try and slip out as much as he could during his free time. He didn't want to get soft too. Not like these people were.

So after night had fallen and most everyone was asleep, Braylon managed to climb over the walls. They were high and sturdy, but if someone was bright enough, they'd realize that these walls were built as if they were begging to be climbed over. Perhaps it was made that way on purpose. If somehow someone dangerous or a horde of the undead got in, it was easy access out, since there was only one gate--easier to guard, he supposed. Or maybe he was overthinking it and this was just the design, for cosmetic reasons, just like their motives behind most things around these parts. His ivy green eyes scrutinized the area around his landing. Not many walkers were around the wall in the first place, only one or two, but nothing he couldn't handle. He was a bit worried some could be hiding out in the woods, but if it was necessary, he had a handgun he, admittedly, stole from the armory. Another flaw in the rules. He thought the people should be permitted guns if they wanted them, in order to protect themselves. He had almost thrown a tantrum when they'd taken his rifle. He was used to sleeping it and relying on it, so he had kept to carrying a knife around with him instead. People seemed wary of him because of it, and he was actually glad. Less people to bother him with their pettiness. He still had the knife too, since walkers were as attracted by sound as people were. It meant food to them. If he fired those shots, not only would it wake the people of Tutum, but it would attract any walkers around to hear it as well. It was meant to be used only in a moment of desperation.

Clinging onto the top of the wall, Braylon heaved himself up. After that, he threw his legs over and let himself drop. The initial fall made a shock travel up his legs that momentarily paralyzed him, but as soon as he regained his senses, he took out his knife and, with all the strength he could muster, broke through their skulls with the knife until he was certain their brains had been hit, and he used the same strength to pull the knife back out of the body and moved unto the next. Blood splattered on his cheeks and clothes, but he was used to being coated in blood. Thankfully he now has the luxury of more clothes to try on and a shower waiting for him back at the house he was…borrowing. He still didn't seem Tutum being his permanent home. He kept his knife gripped tightly in his hand for a while, glancing around quickly. He didn't hear the familiar groans of approaching walkers, nor was there any in sight, so he relaxed and put the knife away, and took off for the woods.

Harry was always told he made horrible puns and jokes, but he always thought he was hilarious, and therefore, usually ignored what others said about his attempts to tell a good, original joke. Louis seemed completely bemused as he answered, and that was verified to him as a true statement when Louis morphed into a large orange and black cat with powerful legs and sharp teeth and claws. He furrowed his eyebrows together and slowly let that sink in. What was Louis planning on doing? Was he going to eat him? Harry doubted it, but he wasn't taking any chances, so he disguised himself with his invisibility, mostly out of habit than anything else, and made a run for it, that is, until his body slammed into another and he fell. His invisibility faded, as if it had been startled out of him, and he glanced up at Zayn with a slack jaw. "Zayn?"

Zayn was so shocked that the young bloke he helped up turned into a tiger. He was distracted by the way he leapt around and hissed, so much so, that he hardly noticed anyone had bumped into him at all until he heard Harry's voice. Everyone seemed to be running into him today. Raising his eyebrows, Zayn crossed his arms over his chest. "Harry?"

"Zayn! Harry!" Liam glanced towards Louis, then to the said males, then to Niall, his eyebrows knitted together in concern. "Can everyone act their age please?"

[I'd like to apologize for the fact my replies have sucked and I haven't been super active. I'm working on schooling stuff regarding college, I've not been feeling well (I slept all day yesterday), I'm working on getting a pet duck and my birthday is coming up, so. Yep. I have more time this week so hopefully this is a much better reply than my previous two.]

Anissa made sure the conditioner was thoroughly lathered into her long mane of chestnut. A couple years back she had cut most of it off because she wanted to give herself a "nice, fresh new look", and attempted to bleach it so she could drastically change her shade of hair from a warm chestnut brown to a light platinum blonde. Halfway through the bleaching process, she ran out of bleach, because her hair turned out to be much thicker than she originally anticipated. So while it only barely reached past her collarbones at that point, half of her head ended up an odd hay colored yellow, with a not-so-subtle tint of orange, and the other half of her hair was natural and untouched. She had an interview planned the next day. Anissa, in the middle of a panic attack, cried until her mascara was no more than a black stream unattractively stained her cheeks. The next day, shes packed as much hair into a hat as she could, ran off to a salon, and had it all dyed back to the original color. She never attempted to dye it at home again. If she ever wanted to, she made sure to see a professional about it, but she never quite had the desire to relive the process, not at the moment. Her signature wavy locks were here to stay for a while more. Seeing as her hair was that unbelievably thick, and taking into account her hair had grown out at a quick rate so that it reached her shoulder blades, she packed a generous amount of both shampoo and conditioner into her hands when washing her hair, and she would admit that it took a good ten minutes to wash it alone when she wasn't lounging around in the tub most of the time. By the time she finished with her hair, the warmth in the water was sucked out and she had goosebumps traveling up and down her body, and not in a pleasant way either. Due to a unknown causes, she had a certain, peculiar circulatory condition called Raynauds Disease or Raynauds Phenomenon. When she got cold, stressed, or overheated, she lost the circulation in her toes and fingers, sometimes even the tip of her nose or ears too. It was basically hyperactive blood vessels. So the moment the water got cold, she quickly finished washing her hair and got out.

The air in her bathroom was thick with steam, which warmed the entire room and soothed the chill that made her fingers turn slightly paler than the rest of her body. Her toes were even more so, since her feet was always the most affected. She reached a hand in and unplugged the drain. Anissa stood there for a moment, listening to the gurgling of the drain as the soapy water eased its way down. When she was alone, it was usually a peaceful time of freedom to do whatever she wished, but it was also a time where she was left alone with her greatest enemy. Herself. It was a lot easier to get lost in thoughts of self-loathing when there wasn't anyone there to distract her. The small pouch in the bottom of her stomach looked no smaller to her now than it had a few months ago, and despite the fact that there wasn't much left inside to heave back up, there was a familiar itch in the back of her throat. Anissa hated purging. She remembered one time she kept sticking her fingers back in her throat, over and over until she was hacking up blood mingled with her own spit, and even then, she kept going, because that day, she'd been angry with herself, and she liked the way her throat screamed for mercy and her stomach didn't even have the strength to clench uncomfortably anymore. She just hovered over the toilet, dry heaving and sobbing all the while until she completely obliterated her voice. Her knuckles were starting to form scars from sticking her fingers back into her throat, and she knew it was no good for her voice, her throat or her teeth, or any part of her really, but when she had to eat in the presence of others, it was normally easier to vomit it back up instead of let it sit uncomfortably in her stomach. Not eating wasn't a struggle anymore. In fact, it took a lot of physical effort to swallow the food down. Her body had learned by now that even when she ate, the food wouldn't be allowed to sit inside of her stomach to digest for long. The moment she could excuse herself to the bathroom, she would. Which is why she emphasized taking a shower so gravely after meals. If she always took a shower after eating dinner, or lunch, or whatever it was that day, no one would be bothered when she turned the shower on, played her music on high, and stayed in there for a while. They'd think it was normal, and the likelihood of them hearing her gagging, even quietly, was sliced in half.

Anissa turned her thoughts to something completely different. She coughed a few times to clear away that itching to vomit in the back of her throat and then brushed her teeth. She hadn't planned what she was going to wear today, since she wasn't exactly intending on going out when she was completely hungover from too much whisky the night before, but she learned never to expect too much time alone. People seemed to think she needed constant company. While she didn't exactly hate the attention, she didn't strive for it the way she had when she was younger and a lot more eager to please. Nowadays she was just struggling to survive each day. Taking it one day at a time made it all more bearable. If she thought about all the concerts and tours as a whole, she probably wouldn't have survived her most recent one, which as said, ended a few months prior. And yet, ignoring that fact, her management was already planning her next tour for next year, and urging her to rest her voice plenty so she could start her newest album. She spent more days "out sick" this year than ever, since her bulimic tendencies were new on her list of problems, and so production on that was taking a lot longer than usual. She couldn't say that she was even trying to do her best anymore. They wanted this to be her best album yet, one where she showed of her impeccable range and the ease in which she could control her voice. They wanted her to show off the power behind it, yet the warmth and sweetness that was there as well. They wanted that so she could regain her lost fans and make many more. Anissa's greatest passion had always been for music, but she just didn't find herself enjoying the stuff she used to quite as much anymore. It all felt like a chore, like the love for what she did had been sucked out of her from too many publicity stunts, too many concerts, too many meets and greets without end or even a few months break so she could catch up on her sleep. Anissa was good at pretending, but her energy level was dwindling. Eventually, she wouldn't have the strength to pretend anymore.

As she walked out of her bathroom and headed into the master to find something comfortable to lounge in while she recovered, she noticed that her hands were somewhat itchy. Anissa was starting to come to the assumption that she may be allergic to something inside her new shampoo and conditioner, because while it helped her hair retain it's shine and bounce, for an hour or so after she bathed, her hands sometimes got this incurable itch right in the middle of her palms, and she would try her hardest to itch it away. Unfortunately, like the bottoms of ones feet, itching ones palms was futile. That didn't stop her from embedding her nails into the soft, moist flesh while she grabbed some sweat pants and a baggy t-shirt from her closet and tossing it onto her bed. She grabbed a new pair of underwear, something lacy from Victoria's Secret (which she modeled for a few years back for a little while before she decided recently that she was no longer confident enough in herself to prance around in nothing but underwear). She grabbed the matching bra as well and covered her body as quickly as she could, so she wouldn't have to see the fat or even something as simple as the disgustingly pale pink scar on her knee she got when she was nine or ten. She was running in the house with her siblings when she tripped and sliced her knee on one of the sharp corners in the wall and ended up with a few stitches. It wasn't supposed to scar, according to the doctor, but it did. The scar disappeared from her view when she slipped into her sweat pants and tied it on so that it would fit on her hips snugly. She felt a small twinge of pride when she realized that she sweatpants used to fit on her hips without a hitch, and now, even when tied they'd slip down lower than intended. At least she had the reassurance she was loosing weight, even though she didn't feel as if she were. She threw on her t-shirt as well, and then headed out of her room to lay on her couch and try to watch some TV.

Anissa grabbed her phone first from where it'd she'd placed it on her nightstand. There was, as usual, about a million updates on things like twitter, youtube, facebook...stuff she didn't usually care for. But, unlike usual, she had a voicemail--from Jamie, no less. She remembered hearing it ring, but she ignored it, seeing as she was actually in the middle of taking a bath, which did help her aching joints, although not the faint, sinking feeling that gushed throughout her being, nor did it ease away the hammering of her heart inside her chest. That was a normality for her now. To try and wait it out, she sat down on the couch and listened to the voicemail Jamie had left. Sometimes she had trouble deciphering exactly what he was saying, in person and on the phone, his accent was extremely thick, although she couldn't help but admire the sweet lilt of his voice. It was always so warm and gentle. It made speaking with him, even when the atmosphere was tense, a little more bearable. Anissa still didn't feel close to him in an emotional sense, and she certainly didn't view him as a friend, even if they had kept this routine up for a month-ish at this point. Goodness, she could hardly even remember how long it'd been sense the two had become acquainted.

Still, the idea of a party appealing to her. Especially if there would be alcohol involved in the package. Anissa didn't need to go out to drink, but drinking when surrounded by others proved to normally be more fun than drinking alone, washing away feelings of emptiness with a soft buzz instead. She paused whatever it was she'd turned on her television set and decided to try and give Jamie a ring and see if he'd answer. Jamie was kind, and he was a more talented author than she could ever dream to be, even though she used to write short stories all the time. She knew that it would never become a job for her. She didn't have the motivation to write an entire novel. She didn't have the patience for it, either. If she could, she'd have the entire story write and edit itself. Perhaps then she'd publish some of the many story ideas she had locked away inside her mind, although Jamie's stories would always put her own to shame. She'd read his book after she found out that she would be "dating" him, just to quench some of her curiosity. It was good, and she'd expressed that openly when asked about it. Anissa sighed and leaned back, closing her eyes gently as she awaited to hear Jamie's voice, if he weren't too busy to answer at the moment, that was.

"I know, Louis," Harry sighed in defeat. He'd known that Louis could see him, he learned that the day that Louis "accidentally" slapped him int he face with his tail when he was transparent, and he heard them mention something about "thermal vision", which he was pretty certain snakes had, or something. He could never sneak up on Liam either. He was, as mentioned, telepathic, and therefore, could "sense his presence" or hear his thoughts...or both, perhaps. Still, Harry couldn't believe that he'd forgotten that minor detail, and he was obviously mortified, even though he tried to feign indifference. "It's a habit, that's all! I can never sneak up on Liam either. S'not fair." Harry pouted, reaching out for someone to help him up. Zayn rolled his eyes and did exactly that. Invisibility was still relatively Harry's only power. He knew he had another, he just didn't have much control over it, since he only just discovered it yesterday, actually. Turns out, Harry can also create force fields, but whenever he tried, it never turned out quite right. It was then that he really noticed the blonde. "Oh, goodness. Hi. I didn't know there was going to be a new student."

Liam scoffed when Louis saluted him. They often teased him for his seriousness, but it wasn't as if he were completely uptight. He knew how to loosen up and have fun, he just liked to act with more maturity than his friends. He swore, Louis and Harry were still little children that needed to be guided along the right path, or else they may stray. Zayn was the quiet and brooding type, so he didn't cause as much trouble, but Louis seemed to be influencing him to the dark side, because sometimes, Zayn used his speed for things Liam didn't approve of--like taking test answers. And they always tried to conceal it from him. "Are you alright?" He had no idea why he was on the floor, but if he were new, it was best to be polite, unlike Harry's oblivious, blunt comment. He sent Harry a small glare. Did he have to talk as if the Irish one wasn't there? Zayn just sighed and shrugged.

"He's like Lou." The tan male supplied to the others. Liam nodded, and Harry just sighed, mumbling something about how everyone else had cool powers and all he could do was blend into the background when he felt like it, and even that didn't work against people like Louis and Liam. Liam's only response was to jab him in the ribs with his elbow to silence him.

Harry's eyes gleamed as he glanced down at the newest student in the school. Usually he'd hear rumors about new students before they arrived, but this time he'd been caught completely by surprise. "Niall, eh? 'M Harry. That's Zayn, Liam and--Louis, hey, where are you going?" He frowned, turning back to Louis as he began to back away. Louis was normally one of the most outgoing, while Harry was always warm and polite, although he was never quite good with first impressions, he always ended up embarrassing himself in some way or another. "We should show him around! Remember when I was the new kid?"

Liam nodded, rubbing his palms against his jeans, something he did when he was thinking. His eyebrows furrowed momentarily, and then he sighed. "I don't know Haz. Maybe you should. I really don't want do be caught slacking off--the teacher hates me!"

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[align=center][Mildly rushed at the end, sorry! Also sorry it took so long!]

Jackie Woodard had always been a dreamer. When he was young, he would spend most his restless nights sneaking outside of his elongated, one-story home to sit on their cement porch and stare up at the dark expanse of the night sky, decorated by a million sparkling jewels, whose distant and lonely light made his heart skip with excitement. His mother always expressed her fear of space because it made her feel small in a rather large universe, and for most people, the idea of being so tiny and helpless didn't sit well with him, but as for Jackie, it always made his fingertips buzz with this sort of rush. The type of excitement that made him feel like he could run around the entire world twenty times before the sun came up in only a few short hours. It intrigued him. He'd spend hours sitting out there, listening to the cricket's sings and occasionally he'd hear some owl's hooting or coyotes howling in the distance. The sky alone was so big, and the entire Earth, something that seemed so large to him, was so small compared to Jupiter, the Sun, the galaxy, and even more so, the entire universe put together. He had so many questions that no one ever quite seemed to know the answer too. How was the universe constantly expanding? What was it expanding into? How could it be infinite--how could anything be infinite? What was it like, away from this small rural town of Champlin? He wanted to explore and make his name known. In his mind, he was assured that one day, everyone would know the name of Jackie Woodard. Despite his curiosity pertaining to it, he was never interested in astronomy. His passion had always lied in the magic of words, and people often told him that he had such a way with words that he could easily make his dreams of being a well-known author come true. Even though he was mostly interested in creative writing, Jackie decided to major in literature in a college far away (just so he could finally know what lies beyond his hometown and Indiana altogether, as he's never strayed out of state much, besides the rare few family vacations). It'd open up a few job opportunities for him, and perhaps he'd manage to make an actual career out of it. His mother warned him that he should minor in english and major in something else, because writing was such a precarious career, but he never paid her advice any heed. If he couldn't make a career out of writing original novels, he could easily become a journalist or something of the sort, and assured her that he would be fine. His best friend of fourteen years, Becky Abernathy, eagerly agreed to apply to the same colleges in hopes they'd be accepted in the same one. Her chosen career was teaching. Teaching didn't pay well, but Becky had always had a special place in her heart for children. One can imagine that two's elation when they got accepted to a university in Los Angeles, a city that Jackie's dreamed of visiting since he was young, but never got the opportunity to see until that moment. After saving up for two years, the two friends traveled to Los Angeles and got themselves an apartment to share until they had enough to get their own. Not many people were concerned by it, considering Jackie was homosexual, and had openly stated so many times in his home town, completely unafraid of judgement, since there wasn't any, or much, to worry over. If anyone had a problem with his liking other males, they had kept their mouths shut. Jackie innocently assumed it was so everywhere. Of course he'd heard some stories about the horrible things that happened to gay people before, but most of those stories took place so long ago, he assumed that the judgement was almost as nonexistent as racism against black people was here in the little town of Champlin, Indiana! Until recent events, he never worried what others thought of him. But that had changed.

Two weeks ago, on their first night at their new school, they managed to overhear a few people chattering on about a frat party that night. The two eagerly decided to go. They'd meet new people, and possibly new friends as well. Jackie thought he had made new friends, until everyone (including Becky and himself) had gotten a little drunk, because of course alcohol was provided (much to the few high schoolers and younger college students glee). So a small group of boys and girls (mostly girls) decided to play spin the bottle. When Jackie was reluctant to kiss a girl named Amy Hart, he came clean about his sexuality, naively assuming that things were just as they were at home, and that no one would care too much about his straightforward confession. However, that wasn't the case. A lot of the group didn't seem to mind, but a few members of the football team and some other random students looked appalled, as if the idea would have never crossed their minds, and shouldn't cross anyone's minds, if they knew what was good for them! The way they stared at him mortified him. He may have been a little naive to the situation, but he wasn't an idiot. He'd known he'd screwed up. So Jackie immediately retreated to his and Becky's place and refused to show his face for several days. However, when classes started, he couldn't continue hiding, so he reemerged, silently praying to whatever creator there may be that the students would forget all about that humiliating night at the party. And of course, they hadn't. They taunted him and made jabs at him, some purposely tripped him, and one girl in particular, Anissa Dallas, seemed completely unimpressed. Apparently she was extremely popular, although he didn't know why, other than the fact that she was extremely gorgeous. Becky never seemed too keen on her, but when Anissa promised that she could make him popular, he eagerly agreed. He had to do something to fix the mess he'd created for himself! This was meant to be a grand adventure, and he'd messed it up. Jackie trusted her, and that was his second biggest mistake, although one he still had to admit to himself. In exchange for using his wits to help her with her homework she didn't understand (which mostly meant doing it for her), she would teach him how to be cool, popular, and most importantly, straight. She'd stressed the word when she said it, and that was the first time he realized that he was in the minority. Most people were hetrosexual, so why wasn't he, too? What was wrong with him?

Jackie lost his eagerness to learn as quickly as he'd ruined his reputation. In fact, Jackie didn't really have the motivation to do much anymore, and his interest in his passions, like writing and sketching and photography, had completely dissipated. He had to force out every word he typed for essays and homework. He had to force his once frequent smiles. Jackie felt so out of place, like he no longer belonged in the world, as if he should be ashamed, or not have been born, or something along those lines. Maybe it was because he heard such words occasionally uttered from student to student, and sometimes, if the person was brave, to his face. He'd flinch every time, externally grimace at the way they'd snare and poke fun at him. It wasn't fair. He hadn't asked to be born this way. All Jackie wanted was to make a difference in the world, to do something honorable before his time of death, and now he felt like he was stealing oxygen from those who mattered more than him...which was everyone else. Which leads up to his current whereabouts.

Jackie had sat in the theater, where the drama students practiced their plays, for several hours that day, because he thought he could somehow absorb the originality and creativity from the atmosphere to help with his homework and, perhaps, start working on his novel again, which he'd been writing for a couple months before he arrived in California. Of course, after spending so much time thinking until his brain felt like cramping up, he'd given up and, of course, had to go to the bathroom. What he hadn't expected was to accidentally--in his rush--bump right into one of the more popular students. He couldn't remember his name, funnily enough, but he knew that he had some sort of connection to a mutual "friend", Anissa. "I'm really sorry." Jackie winced. "I didn't even...see you...heh."