#lcrpgpara

[carwynodoherty]

001. Fog

[When looking through a foggy mirror you can barely make out the outline of your body; it's almost like the colours and shapes that make a human are temporarily bleeding out. We are blurry and indiscernible right after we cleanse ourselves from a day of monotony and false pretenses....]

The clock stuck midnight, initiating the start of a new day. For Carwyn it meant that he had less time allotted for him in the pub. Only two more hours before he would have to shimmy his way out. It wasn't that he was an avid drinker, or that he was accompanied by some friends, no, Carwyn was almost always sober and alone. Tonight he stumbled into the pub slyly named the Illusionist, in an attempt to escape the stark walls of his home. He planned to jot down some of the thoughts that he had that week. Most of it was a yammering monologue of his observations, which included the morning he almost shattered the bathroom mirror with his forehead. What stopped him was the reflection that mirrored his exact emotions: confusion and lack of identity.

Carwyn was a man of escapism. Often he sought out the refuge of places unknown, people he had never met, and adventures he would never find back at home. More often than not his running away landed him in a corner of a dimly lit establishment. Sometimes people would stare, wondering what things of importance was the young man frantically writing about. Usually the curiosity would die out before he was ever approached physically. In a way he was relieved, in others he was disappointed. Would he ever find that moment in time where he was completely enchanted by the essence of another?

[The bartender looks my way, though she does it so timidly. Her eyes never wander farther than the edge of the table. Maybe she feels that I won't notice, or than I can't sense her desire from such a far distance. I'd like to meet eyes but I'm sure I'd break away before she gets a good reading on me.]

The worn journal he was writing in had some history attached to it. But like any good origin story it was kept well hidden. In the binding there were signs of Celtic symbolism, and a single thread of white silk that held everything in place.  Carwyn longed to be well put together. He wanted to be a singular work with no loose ends to speak of. It wasn't perfection he sought out for. It was unity, clarity, a want to be whole. But he knew he was fallible and that there were far too many strands that couldn't be bound. He was incomplete.

[tomaszsymanski]

Something good | Bella & Tomasz

Tomasz smiled down at Bella, placing a gentle kiss on the top of her head. "Go get whatever you want." He said nodding over towards the kitchen, "Drink anything, I don't care. But if it's good, get me a glass." He added, with a head tilt, before turning around and walking into his bedroom. Truthfully, Tomasz wasn't exactly sure what had happened between the two of them, but he felt better that it had. Maybe it would be a reason for the both of them to open up more, tell each other more. Tomasz had always been a pretty quiet person, never told anyone much about his childhood, because it was never anything special, but he had a reason to tell Bella now.

Grabbing a pair of flannel pyjama pants, and an old t shirt, he stuffed them under his arm before walking back out to meet Bella in the kitchen. "Clothes, my lady." Tomasz said, bending over to present her the clothes, before standing back up with a grin. "Pick something good to drink?" Tomasz asked, as he leaned against the kitchen counter top.

[sunny-page]

Grinding Halt || Self-Para [CLOSED]

The metallic taste of blood spread over Sunny's tongue as he sat with his middle finger between his lips, sucking to the apply the needed pressure to stop the bleeding from the deep paper cut. At the same time, his brow was furrowed to an extreme as his eyes struggled to read through the remainder of the letters on the powder-pink card in his other hand. The card was perfumed and it made Sunny's nose annoyingly itchy. He was sitting on the leather couch, alone in his tattoo parlor, leaning forward with his elbows propped on his knees as he scowled at what he was making out to be a wedding invitation. A seven-month-late wedding invitation from his younger sister Agatha, to be exact. 

Together with their families, Agatha Rose Page & Adam Christopher Nugent invite you to their wedding...

"What the-" Sunny's words were interrupted by a sudden sneeze, followed by; "Shit!" Dropping the invitation onto the table Sunny suddenly rose to his feet, pushing a hand through his hair as he looked around the room, still scowling as if he was searching for an answer on the cement floor. He was filled to the brim with a mix of emotions: anger, jealousy, incredulity. Jealousy was a strange one. Though in the past he had never seen himself getting married, the news of his little sister's wedding had hit him like a truck barreling down a steep mountainside.

It was no secret that Sunny had always been somewhat oblivious to the "happy family" motif of American life, but he wasn't an idiot either. Aggie wasn't supposed to get married first. She was younger, still appearing in his head as the sixteen-year-old girl he'd left behind when he escaped to Europe twelve years prior. Sunny was the older brother. It should have been his wedding invitations going out to family and friends in the post. At this moment, the thirty-one-year old resented himself more than ever for being the reject he was. 

He wasn't sure what put him off more, the fact that Agatha was getting married, or the fact that he'd have to return home for the wedding. She was his little sister, and even though they hadn't held a proper conversation in roughly eight years, he couldn't bring himself to miss the event. But eight years was a long time. Eight for Agatha, two for Judith, and a few months for his parents who had called to wish him a happy birthday in January. The only member of his family who Sunny spoke to on a regular basis was the youngest of his sisters, Sylvie. The thought of returning home to these judgmental people and their unstable relationships caused a pernicious constricting in Sunny's chest.

Falling back against the sofa, the young man pushed his hands through his hair, tugging at the roots before dragging his hands down his face. He rubbed his eyes and his breaths began to come much too fast, his heart audibly pounding in his chest. Sunny winced, releasing a groan before drawing his leg back and delivering a blow with his foot to the opposite arm of the sofa in one sudden motion. A dull crack could be faintly heard as the wooden frame creaked in protest. "Fuck." The word sounded harsh as it rarely ever left his lips, and he spoke in a tone of defeat. 

[paulie-divita-blog]

Back to Black || Paulie Self-Para [CLOSED]

Renting an apartment across the street from a liquor shop and a pub was probably not the smartest decision on Paulie's part. She'd been lingering outside her apartment for nearly a half hour, her hand clutching her phone tightly inside her coat pocket. "You don't have to do this, Paulette... Go back inside, watch some cat videos, get over yourself..." Any passersby probably would have thought the young woman was completely out of her mind. Her hair was a mess and she had brown makeup streaks trailing down her face. She looked like a homeless person standing outside in the middle of the night in the light London rain, talking to no one but herself. "Go inside."

Apparently Paulie's feet had other plans, and she started across the street, not bothering to look both ways as she sloshed through puddles. The cold water began to seep through the fabric of her TOMS, but she hardly cared. The first thing in her mind as she crossed the street was her own grip that was increasing on her phone. Pick it up. Call Salem. Call anyone. You don't have to do this. "Shut up!" Her subconscious and her impulsive front stage mind seemed to be in a constant battle from the moment she left her apartment building. The closer she drew to the pub, the louder the voice in her head began to call. Salem was probably busy anyway. And he was happy. She didn't want to bring the stench of her problems into his vanilla-sweet happiness. He deserved a little lightness, and Paulie seemed to only bring shadows and clouds to anyone who stumbled into her life.

When she finally reached the pub, Paulie paused outside, looking up at the building in apprehension as if it was a rather large elephant and she feared being stomped on. You are absolutely pathetic. It's no wonder he left you. Paulie quickly shook the thoughts out of her head, releasing her grip on her phone so she could reach for the door handle. Pulling it open and taking a slow step inside, all of the noise and bustle of the bar seemed to drown out the nasty voice echoing in her head. As she approached the bar, she avoided eye contact with the bartender who surely looked extremely disdainful. It was like he was seeing into her soul. "Um... One shot of tequila. No- just... Just a vodka lemonade. Please." She propped herself up on a stool and pulled her phone from her pocket, holding down the lock button until the familiar "Power Off" option appeared. Without giving it a second thought. Paulie tapped the screen and watched as it eventually faded to black.

[a-slovenian-toast]

The Motions Keep My Heart Running. || Open

“Some people call my style of parenthood unethical. They say I expose my children to all of the terrible things in life, and I say nothing, for such people know nothing of the terrors I have seen.”

 ---

It was seven in the morning, it must have been, for the bed was shaking and two shrill voices were calling his name.

“Papa, papa, it’s time to get up,” cried the little girl, jumping up and down on the mattress, “It’s time for school!”

Slowly, blue-green optics opened to slits, observing the pair of rambunctious children that bounced about him. The sun was coming in through the blinds he had forgotten to close the night previous, and it was now that bars of light streamed into the bedroom. As Morning’s rosy fingers reached out across the cool air, the man sat up, offering the giggling children a half-awake smile that only proved he hadn’t received the best sleep. The tattoos across his pale skin shone bright in the gentle morning rays, and it was then that he removed himself from beneath the comfort of his sheets to prepare for what the day held.

Stiffly, he rose from the blankets, slipping bare feet onto the chilly, wooden floor. He made his way towards the windows, drawing up the blinds to allow the sun to flush the room with its warmth. The children had scurried from the bedroom now, but could still be heard down the hall, their little feet pattering against into kitchen. Stretching his arms over his head, a crack could be heard from one of his elbows, and a mutter of disapproval rumbled in the man’s throat as he brought himself to freshen up in the bathroom.

It was as if white had been the only color option when it came to furnishing the area, for almost everything was of such hue. Having turned on the faucet to run some warm water, the man wet his facecloth before applying some shaving cream. Steady hands and ocean colored optics worked together as the shaving process took place, and even when the sound of something breaking in the kitchen was heard, the man was somehow able to keep himself from shifting and cutting his face.

With said step complete, he then wandered down the hall and into the kitchen to investigate the noise. To his surprise, there seemed to be nothing out of place.

“I made Janni and I breakfast,” Ivana piped up as he entered, wavering her spoon out in front of her. She and her brother were sitting at the table in the middle of the room, each with a bowl of cereal before them. Despite not being yet dressed in anything but his boxers, the man took a seat with them, rubbing excess shaving cream from his chin. An exchange was shared between the girl and her father, who smiled with a much more cheerful grin than the previous one.

“You did a good job, my little zajec,” he commented, reaching across the table to ruffle her blonde locks, “Now you two finish up and get dressed. There’s no need to be late, especially on a Friday.”

“Friday!” the siblings cried in unison, abandoning their bowls at the table before stampeding off towards their bedroom. Their father cleaned up after them, putting the dishes in the dishwasher prior to heading to his own room to get ready for a day of work and much needed relaxation that would surely follow.

 ---

It was about another hour before the kids were dropped off at school, leaving their father to walk their bikes back to the flat. To say that the day was a warm one would have been a rather odd statement, especially to one who did not live in and understand London weather. Despite the fact that the sun was out and there was a chilly breeze that ruffled the fallen leaves only every few minutes, he wore a charcoal cardigan over his black t-shirt, along with black jeans that were quite tight and not typically worn by most men of his age. No matter. From between his lips hung a cigarette, which he would shift about with his teeth for his hands were currently occupied in guiding the children’s bikes along the sidewalk.

As he approached the steps to the building where his family’s flat was located, he allowed the cigarette to drop onto the concrete, which was then scuffed out with the heel of a rather worn looking Chuck Taylor and kicked into the nearby bushes. Taking a bike under each arm, he carried them inside and made his way up to the flat.

Once the flat’s door was opened there was a quick change of items. Bikes were exchanged for books, which were then stuffed into an old, leather knapsack, along with a notebook and fresh pack of cigarettes. Descending the interior steps, he exited from front door in a flourishing sort of manner, and a small smile found its way across his lips. Adjusting the plum colored beanie that he had pulled on earlier that morning in order to try and tame his rather unruly hair, the man set off towards the nearby café, knapsack full of sketching material slung over his shoulder.

[a-slovenian-toast]

Some Nights. || Open

It was a Monday, but with a crowd of such a size as tonight’s it was likely that one was to believe it was still the weekend. Whether it was due to the smell of sweat that hung in the air like some sort of damp fog, or the fact that every jersey-wearing man was soaked down to every last cell of his body in alcohol, it was clear that there was something extra special happening that Monday night.

Could one really qualify a football game as “extra special”?

Naturally.

Behind the counter stood the pub's owner, who was preoccupied with cleaning a glass. In fact, he had been tending to the same glass for the past twenty minutes, for his true focus had joined that of the men on the opposite side of the bar, all of whom were shouting at the mounted television near the back of the spacious room. It didn't matter if it was a goal or a foul, with every call, every pass, the crowd erupted with a mixture of excitement and disapproval. And he himself took part in the menial occurrence of mob mentality, expressing his own joy and displeasure when it seemed fit.

After replacing the now well-polished glass alongside the others, he leaned against the edge of the counter as if trying to get closer to the screen which was already little more than seven feet or so away. Blue-green optics followed the players as the television cameras panned across the pitch, and while he had a rather clear view, whatever the commentators had to report was lost behind the frequent uproar of the crowd. Long, pale fingers tapped against the wooden counter top in an almost anxious manner, only leaving the smooth surface to be thrust into the air in a fury of excitement at the scoring of a goal.

On the back of his jeans came a tug, which caused the man to put his celebratory actions on hold in order to tend to the "call". It was a young boy--his young boy--who was not much older than five, murmuring quietly about how he wanted to watch the match too.

Crouching down to be at eye level with the young lad, the pub owner ruffled the child's hair before hoisting him up and setting him on the outer edge of the counter. Leaning back across the surface now, the man turned to the boy with a soft smile one may not expect from the rather gloomy looking character.

"Joining the men now are we, Janni?" the man asked, brushing some loose hairs from the boy's face and back behind his ear. The child did not look at the sound of the query, but instead kept his gaze locked on the bright television screen, grinning and nodding frivolously.

Patting the lad on the head once more, the pub owner returned his eyes to the screen as well, smiling at the pleasant idea of his son wishing to spend time with him, even though it was while he was at work during such a hectic time of day.

[amelia-missoni]

A la claire fontaine // Open

Cold wind hit Lia's face as she walked out of her building. Sighing, she winded her old red scarf around her neck and fixed up the annoying bandage around her hand; the girl couldn't believe she still had to use it one more week, but the doctor had told her that if she wanted her hand to heal completely, she had to be patient and take care of herself. Bullshit, the girl had thought, but had offered him a polite smile just to assure that she was feeling alright and convince him that she didn't need to come back to the hospital anytime soon. Lia hated hospitals places so much. 

As she walked down the street, the girl looked around in search of something to distract herself with. One week locked in her flat and she was already going crazy; all she did was taking pills and look at old pictures of herself, which of course wasn't making her feel any better. She couldn't drive, she couldn't take pictures and she couldn't type correctly, but what hurt her the most was the fact that she couldn't even play her piano; which wasn't exactly a piano but an old keyboard she'd bought a few years ago.

The grey sky was already getting dark when Lia spotted a music store at the distance. Her heart beat painfully as she approached it and took a look inside through the glass, admiring the big black acoustic piano carefully placed in the middle of all the instruments. Without thinking it twice, she went in and looked around to see if someone else was inside the place, but there wasn't, and the girl smiled widely.

Walking up to the piano, she sat down on the bench in front of it and looked in awe at the keys. She recalled uncle David explaining her how many keys there were and the notes of the pretty song he and auntie Anna used to sing her to sleep. It wasn't every day that she came across a Piano like that one, Lia thought, so, placing one hand on the keyboard and cursing the hurt one, she looked for the correct note and pressed it gently, smiling as the noise filled the air.

"A la claire fontaine, m'en allant promene" the blonde hummed, hating the fact that it sounded incomplete since it needed two hands to be played. Still, she continued, unaware of the person looking at her with curious eyes.

[paulie-divita-blog]

Sunset Soon Forgotten || Open

Paulie swatted the late summer insects out of her face as she trekked through the park, a blanket and a book tucked under her arm. Looking to the West, she predicted that she still had at least an hour of daylight before the sun would drop beneath the horizon. She planned on using that precious hour to read along as far as she could into her novel. When she finally found a spot far away enough from the canoodling couples and screaming children, Paulie unfolded her blanket and shook it out, laying it down on the grass. She lowered herself down to her knees to smooth it out before she plopped down on her stomach, propping herself up on her elbows. 

Paulie had every single intention of reading her book then, but the handful of happy couples meandering through the park captured her attention instead. They all looked so content and just plain delighted to be alive. Paulie sighed, "Maybe dying along won't be too bad," she muttered to herself. "Of course it would probably be a hell of a lot easier if I didn't hate cats so much."