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Post by ana on Sept 30, 2006 12:46:47 GMT -5
It would be fairly easy to have Ana-Lucia in peoples flashbacks, given her job. I already have one survivor lined up for a pre crash meeting. Not telling you who that is yet though, you'll just have to wait and see If you think of a reason for a run in with the law, let me know I'll be happy to play it out
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Gwen Havers
Help Translate Rousseau's Maps
Ready to Fallplg%%Gwen, Shannon, Etana%%
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Post by Gwen Havers on Oct 12, 2006 20:59:35 GMT -5
A couple of Gwen's co-workers who'll be making future flashback appearances... Name: Hannah Occupation: Flight Attendant for Oceanic Airlines Birthplace: Prague, The Czech Republic Appearance: Name: Megan Occupation: Flight Attendant for Oceanic Airlines Birthplace: Savannah, GA Appearance:
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Gwen Havers
Help Translate Rousseau's Maps
Ready to Fallplg%%Gwen, Shannon, Etana%%
Posts: 2,010
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Post by Gwen Havers on Oct 12, 2006 21:43:44 GMT -5
***FLASHBACK***
Honolulu, Hawaii April 2004
She strolled barefoot down the wooden-plank walkway from the hotel, the sea breeze blowing her hair in all directions and filling her nostrils with the scent of saltwater. Dressed in boot-cut black pants and a sequined aqua halter top, strappy sandals dangling from one hand while the other hand gripped a strawberry daiquiri from the hotel bar. She stopped short when she saw the figure on the beach—the black spiky hair, the only slightly overweight frame in a white button-up shirt and jeans, drinking a beer and staring out at the sea.
She shouldn’t have really been surprised. After all, most of the flight crew who had lay-overs stayed at the same hotel. In fact, her fellow flight attendants Hannah and Megan were staying just a few rooms down and had browbeaten her into coming out with them that night. But she wanted some time on the beach first. Time to clear her head before it was filled with alcohol and cigarette smoke and inane conversation.
Apart from a few runners and a couple walking their dog, the beach was otherwise deserted. She could always turn around. The smart, professional thing to do would be to turn around.
“Mind if I join you?” she asked hesitantly, approaching him.
As he turned, a brief smile crossed Eric’s face. But then he looked gravely serious. “Uh, no, actually this is a private party. But if you were to come back, say, in a string bikini carrying another one of these,” he said, holding up the bottle, “then we can talk.”
“Right.” She nodded and bit her lip, considering. “Well, in that case, I’ll just find another beach. I hear the island’s full of them.”
“Wait, wait,” he said quickly as she began to turn away. “That was a joke. Little American humor. Maybe it doesn’t translate across the Pond.”
“Eric, I’ve lived in LA for the past decade.”
“Okay, well, still…it was a joke. Please, pull up a spot of beach,” he suggested.
She moved to stand beside him, the two of them sharing an awkward silence that was filled by the crashing waves.
“So,” he began, “what’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”
“Hiding, actually,” she admitted. “I’ve been threatened with potentially embarrassing acts of karaoke by Hannah and Megan, and I haven’t had nearly enough of these,” she said, holding up her strawberry daiquiri, “to even consider the possibility of singing in public.”
“I’m sure you have a lovely singing voice. I mean, you always make the safety announcements sound very intriguing and exciting.”
“Oh, yes. I’m sure if lighters were allowed on planes, everyone would be waving them at me,” she laughed.
“Nice to be on land again, huh?” he offered. “And Hawaiian sand, no less.”
“First time I’ve actually had a chance to enjoy it,” she confessed, somewhat sheepishly. “Usually I’m just changing planes.”
“Drinking in the picturesque beauty of Honolulu International.”
“Exactly.”
“This is better, though, right?”
“Oh, much better,” she agreed. She sat down on the sand, pulling her knees up to her chest and letting her crossed arms rest on them. Eric sat down as well, his eyes wandering over to the barking golden retriever as it splashed in the waves.
She followed his gaze, hazarding a guess at his thoughts. “Did you ever get your dog back?” she inquired. “From your ex-wife?”
His eyebrows flicked upward, surprised that she’d remembered. “Oh, yeah. I kept her waffle iron hostage until she turned him over.”
“He probably misses you right now.”
“I doubt it. Those ladies at the kennel spoil him. I get him home and he gives me this reproachful look, like ‘You don’t feed me steak and gravy every night. What’s the deal?’”
She laughed. “Well, I’m sure he’s always glad to see you when you come home.”
“Eh, it’s nice for somebody to be. So…that sister of yours still getting married?”
“Oh, yes. It’s amazing; she and my mother have finally found something they can totally and utterly agree on—throwing the most expensive, ostentatious wedding this side of Charles and Diana.”
“Spare no expense, huh?”
“I’m literally gobsmacked at the budget for this thing. Some third-world countries could run on this budget.”
“I’m guessing, huge white dress with obscenely long train, a bouquet of fresh orchids, some variation of salmon on the menu, a wedding cake at least five tiers tall, ice sculptures…”
“All of the above,” she nodded, taking a sip of her drink. “And the strangest one so far—she wants butterflies to be released at the end of the ceremony.”
“Butterflies? How does that work?”
“This company sends you frozen butterflies in little boxes to be distributed among the guests when they arrive. And supposedly they will have thawed out by the time the happy couple says ‘I do,’ and then everyone opens their boxes to release these lovely, colorful creatures into the sky. Nevermind that they’re not indigenous to the area or that most of the insects will have died in shipping.”
“That is craziness.”
“That is Helena,” she declared. She used the straw to swirl around the slushy red mixture in her glass, hazarding a sideways glance at him every now and then. “What was it like? Your wedding?”
“Um, pretty standard fare. No butterflies or ice sculptures. It was during the USC/UCLA game, I do remember that.”
Her eyes widened. “Don’t tell me you’re a Bruin.”
“True blue and gold, Miss Havers,” he declared. He began to sing the UCLA fight song, and she joined in.
“We are Sons of Westwood, And we hail the Blue and Gold; True to thee our hearts will be, Our love will not grow old.
Bruins roam the hills of Westwood, By the blue Pacific shore; And when they chance to see a man from USC, Ev’ry Bruin starts to roar.
U! (3 claps) C! (3 claps) L! (3 claps) A! (3 claps)
U-C-L-A! Fight! Fight! Fight!”
Concluding the song, they both collapsed into laughter, ignoring the curious looks of passersby.
“Wait,” Eric paused. “Aren’t you, like, betraying your British heritage by watching American football? How do you know the fight song?”
“Oh, I dated the special teams kicker my junior year,” she replied. “For about five seconds, then he moved on to a Poli Sci major. But don’t worry; if I ever get married, I will definitely check the football schedule beforehand,” she declared with an emphatic nod.
“Let me guess, you’ve got some cardboard box full of clippings and fabric samples and bridal magazines that you’ve been collecting for years. Probably had the whole thing planned out since you were five.”
“No, not at all,” she countered. “And how dare you accuse me of something so horribly girly?” She gasped in mock horror. “If I ever get married, I want something very low-key. Something that people can actually enjoy and not stress about.”
“So…a serene beach at sunset, kinda’ like this, just a few friends and family,” he surmised.
“Close. Drive-thru chapel in Vegas,” she said.
“That was totally gonna’ be my next guess. Seriously,” he insisted, taking a drink from his beer and looking out over the waves. “Some sunset, huh?”
“Best in the world. Or so it says in the brochure.” She took another sip of her daiquiri and marveled at the sky’s progression of color from gold to shades of pink and blue and purple and finally to a star-filled black.
“It’s one of the best I’ve seen,” he stated.
She turned back towards him, noticing that his eyes were on her. She smiled and looked away, nervously tucking her hair behind her ear—a futile gesture with the sea breeze whipping by. “So, Eric, I meant to—“
“Gwen!!” a female voice called from the walkway. She turned to see Hannah and Megan waiting for her and gesturing impatiently. “Get your arse in gear; we’re gonna’ miss Happy Hour!”
She gave Eric an apologetic look. “Duty calls,” she said, getting to her feet. “Sure you don’t want to join us? Ear plugs are on me.”
“Ah…no, you go. Have fun. Knock ‘em dead, kid. I’ll probably see you at breakfast tomorrow.”
“Stale bagels and cold cereal. It’s all glitz and glamour, idn’t it?”
“Indeed it is,” he said, nodding in agreement.
“Goodnight. Enjoy your sunset,” she said, throwing him one last smile before heading across the sand to where Hannah and Megan were waiting.
***END FLASHBACK***
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Post by Ethan Rom on Oct 13, 2006 11:33:45 GMT -5
A brilliant flashback, Kristi. Loved it very much.
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Gwen Havers
Help Translate Rousseau's Maps
Ready to Fallplg%%Gwen, Shannon, Etana%%
Posts: 2,010
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Post by Gwen Havers on Oct 15, 2006 12:14:36 GMT -5
Thank you, sir. And I think I'm about to make some enemies with this next one... Flashback triggered from here: abclost.proboards40.com/index.cgi?action=display&board=rpggame&thread=1156704114&page=27***FLASHBACK*** Gwen took her place at the podium, straightening the black shawl around her shivering shoulders. Clutching onto the podium's wooden sides as she placed the paper in front of her and looked up to see the gathered friends and family in the church. She cleared her throat and leaned slightly forward toward the microphone. “When Julian asked me to quote this poem at the service, I told him that he was being derivative and that no good ever came from a Hugh Grant film. He then reminded me that Four Weddings and a Funeral was my introduction to John Hannah, and thus I was forced to agree with him.” A faint scattering of grief-tinged laughter echoed around the stone walls. “I agreed to the requested recitation,” she continued, “with the minor caveat that I would not have to attempt a Scottish accent. So…” She glanced briefly at the gleaming wooden coffin just a few feet away and then focused on her paper again, reading aloud: Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone, Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone, Silence the pianos and with muffled drum Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead, Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public doves, Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West, My working week and my Sunday rest, My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one; Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun; Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood. For nothing now can ever come to any good.She picked up the paper and stepped away from the podium, walking carefully down the steps. When she passed the coffin, she let her hand rest on it. “Be seeing you, love,” she said softly. She took her seat again in the row with her family, her father placing his arm around her and pulling her close. She placed her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes, finally letting the tears for her departed brother fall freely. ***END FLASHBACK*** Return to the Island: abclost.proboards40.com/index.cgi?action=display&board=rpggame&thread=1156704114&page=27
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literaryfaery
Just Shot a Polar Bear
plg%%Grace Schaeffer%%
Posts: 263
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Post by literaryfaery on Oct 15, 2006 12:45:05 GMT -5
Awww, Julian! *sniff* That's so sad... it almost made me cry.
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Post by ana on Oct 16, 2006 19:13:57 GMT -5
You killed off your own bloody brother!?! I thought I was meant to be the heartless bitch? I do love reading your flashbacks, they're so vivid and funny (except that last one ). More please Gwendolyn.
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Post by JINX on Oct 16, 2006 21:34:28 GMT -5
I caught up on all your Flashback, i laughed right until the very end.
Killing someone can be hard, And killing your bother had to be hell...
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Gwen Havers
Help Translate Rousseau's Maps
Ready to Fallplg%%Gwen, Shannon, Etana%%
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Post by Gwen Havers on Oct 16, 2006 23:00:43 GMT -5
Oh, I have not yet begun to build the tragedy wall that is Gwen's backstory. These are just the first few bricks. Thanks for the feedback, guys. I promise the next one will be sunshine and goodness, bunnies and kittens. Now go harass Willo. I got nothiin' on his moroseness...
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Post by Hollywood Heidi on Oct 17, 2006 4:08:21 GMT -5
*knocks out Hannah & Megan and drags them out of sight, looks down at Gwen and Eric* Nope, nobody here! Sit back down and carry on. Your friend's cancelled... *sigh* I'm so sad we didn't get to see more Gwen/Eric. As for that most recent flashback, that was so very sad. *sniff* Poor Gwenybear.
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Post by Severin on Oct 17, 2006 10:07:52 GMT -5
Oh God, this flashback was just....oh God. It was so sad. Aw, poor Gwen.....the hell am I talking about, poor Julian!
He was such a great flashback character. Brilliant flashback, extremely well-written and it just came to life. I can imagine it so perfectly and clearly. #appl7xt#
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Gwen Havers
Help Translate Rousseau's Maps
Ready to Fallplg%%Gwen, Shannon, Etana%%
Posts: 2,010
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Post by Gwen Havers on Oct 26, 2006 14:35:17 GMT -5
A major player in the next series of Gwen's flashbacks... Name: Nathan Russert Occupation: Architect Birthplace: Baltimore, MD Appearance: Hey, what's he doing at that movie with Ana-Lucia and Sonny?
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Gwen Havers
Help Translate Rousseau's Maps
Ready to Fallplg%%Gwen, Shannon, Etana%%
Posts: 2,010
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Post by Gwen Havers on Oct 26, 2006 14:52:03 GMT -5
Flashback triggered here: abclost.proboards40.com/index.cgi?action=display&board=rpggame&thread=1161246418&page=18***FLASHBACK 1 OF 4*** Los Angeles, CA September 2003 Gwen tapped a pencil anxiously against the kitchen counter, staring at the newspaper’s crossword puzzle. “What’s an eight-letter word for ‘stuttering’?” “Hesitant,” Nathan answered, without even looking up from washing the dishes. She smiled up at him over the rim of her reading glasses. “Well done, love. You are aware I’m only using you for your mind, right?” she quipped, filling in the squares with letters. “It’s a cross that I must humbly bear,” he deadpanned, pausing from his rinsing to return the smile from across the counter. “So the firm has box seats to the opera this season. They’re doing Carmen next month, and Jenny said she wasn’t gonna’ use her tickets so…she thought we might want ‘em.” “But you hate opera.” “Granted, I’m not a huge fan of people singing for several hours in foreign languages,” he acknowledged. “But you like it. See, this is all about compromise.” “Ah, I see. I drag you to the opera, you drag me to a monster truck rally?” “It’s only fair.” “Well, then, the joke’s on you. Because I rather enjoy a good monster truck rally,” she countered. Then she furrowed her brow, studying him. “You’d really go? To the opera?” “If that’s what you wanted,” he agreed. “We could have dinner at that little Italian place you like, ride up to Griffith Observatory afterward, or down to Santa Monica Pier…” “Sounds good,” she muttered, her gaze again fixed on the crossword puzzle. “And then we can go huntin’ for rattlesnakes down in the Canyon,” he continued. “Yeah, sure.” He sighed and tossed the dishrag into the sink, leaning onto the counter. “Gwen, where are you?” She made it a point to focus her attention on him again. “What? What do you mean ‘where am I’? I’m right here. In your house, in your kitchen, in Laurel Canyon. Do you want latitude and longitude?” “Are you always this sarcastic before 9am?” “Sweetie, you already know the answer to that.” He shrugged and folded his arms across the chest. “You just seem more focused on 47 Down than anything I’ve said.” “I’m not.” “Then what did I just say?” “Something about snakes on a pier,” she stammered. He threw her a look and went back to washing dishes. “Aw, sweetie darling!” She jumped off the barstool and scurried around the counter to him, putting her hands aside his face and playfully smooshing up his cheeks. Which wasn’t an easy feat since he was a foot taller than her and as such, it required her to stand on tip-toe. “You know how I get when I’m jetlagged. But whatever part of my brain is still working, it’s completely focused on you.” She let her hands slide down his chest and pressed herself close to him. “Besides, I’m currently wearing one of your white dress shirts; ergo, I will win any and all arguments by default.” She smiled slyly. He looked down at her thoughtfully, then finally shook his head in defeat. “Oh, curse you and your feminine wiles.” “You love it,” she purred, giving him a quick kiss on the lips and then returning to her perch on the barstool. “So there was something I wanted to ask you,” he began, continuing to carefully place glasses in the strainer by the sink. “Shoot.” “Well, could you put down your coffee cup first?” “Why?” “I’m afraid you might do a spit-take and I don’t want to have to clean the counter again,” he explained. “Alright,” she agreed, setting the cup down. “We’ve been dating, what, three months now?” “More or less.” “And my folks are gonna’ be in town next month. I’d like for you to meet them, and vice versa.” “Um, wow, yeah. Let me check my schedule.” She retrieved the planning calendar from her purse and started flipping through pages. “It’s the week of the 13th.” “Oh, sorry, I’m on the Tokyo run that week,” she said sadly, after confirming it on the calendar. “What about your birthday? Won’t they be here for that in a few weeks?” “Gwen, my birthday was last month,” he corrected her, with a slight regret in his tone. “You were in Vancouver; we had to celebrate after you got back.” “Oh…right.” He shook his head resignedly. As if wondering why he’d even bothered to bring it up. He already knew what her answer would be. “Y’know what, don’t worry about it.” “I do want to meet them, Nathan. It’s just I’m gunning for that Pacific Rim promotion and I really need the flight time.” “There just never is a good time, is there?” he asked rhetorically. “What does that mean?” she retorted, the tension already starting to rise. They’d been having the same argument for weeks, just with slight changes in dialogue and location. She traveled a lot, and he was fine with that. At least, she thought so. But meeting the parents? It was a step she didn’t feel like taking just yet. “Just don’t worry about it. I need to get ready for work.” “But it’s Saturday,” she protested. “Yeah, but we’ve got a presentation to a major client on Monday. Robert’s stressing about it.” “But we were gonna’ go to the flea market, try to find a house-warming gift for your sister. Then maybe catch a double-feature at the Arclight. Wasn’t that the plan?” “Well, plans change. You’re used to that," he declared flatly, walking around to the other side of kitchen counter to face her. "We’ll do it next weekend.” “I’ll be in Austin then.” He sighed. “Look, we’ll work it out; we always do.” He kissed her forehead. “Stay here as long as you want, just don’t forget to lock up.” “Yeah…okay.” She sat there quietly as he disappeared into the bedroom, then she turned her attention back to the paper. 15 Across: Five-letter word for evasive… ***END FLASHBACK*** Return to the Island: abclost.proboards40.com/index.cgi?action=display&board=rpggame&thread=1161246418&page=18
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Gwen Havers
Help Translate Rousseau's Maps
Ready to Fallplg%%Gwen, Shannon, Etana%%
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Post by Gwen Havers on Oct 31, 2006 21:30:22 GMT -5
***FLASHBACK 2 OF 4***
Los Angeles, CA October 2003
The dulcet tones of Eva Cassidy’s Live at Blues Alley CD were broken momentarily by the clinking of silverware against plates. Gwen, Nathan and his parents continued on the conversation around the dinner table as everyone finished their meal.
“Well, we are so happy to have finally met you, Gwen,” his mother said. “We’d heard so much about you, but we just weren’t sure if you really existed.”
“Indeed, I am flesh and blood,” Gwen assured her.
“You really must come to visit us in Toronto one day.”
“Right, allow us to return the favor,” his father offered.
“I’d love that. I’ve never been to Toronto.”
“And with your bone structure, you and Nathan will give us some beautiful grandchildren,” his mother mused.
Gwen nearly choked on her merlot. “Perhaps that’s a bit hasty,” she laughed. “I mean, Nathan did tell you about my multiple counts of homicide against his plants, right? Really, if I can’t be trusted with a fern….”
“Oh, plants aren’t children. And you’ll be able to start fresh in a new home. This house won’t do at all. There’s not enough space and it’s too close to the city. You should look at Sherman Oaks,” his mother advised.
“But Nathan loves this house,” Gwen protested, looking to Nathan who was just staring at his plate.
“Yes, but once you two get married, this isn’t the right sort of place to start your lives together. And if you’re going to be home all day with the children, you want to be surrounded by supportive neighbors.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Well, once you two get married and start a family, you won’t be able to fly anymore. I mean, it’s a good job for someone your age in your current state, but a woman in her 30s with children couldn’t do it.”
Nathan finally spoke up. “Gwen loves her job, Mom,” he stated.
“I’m sure she does, but it’s not the proper job for a wife and mother. You said she had a communications degree. Couldn’t she go back to that sort of job?”
“I already did that sort of job. And there’s a reason that I left it,” Gwen said.
“What reason?” his mother demanded.
“My reason…” she began, then faltered. She didn’t want to talk about it, and she certainly didn’t feel like she owed this woman an explanation. “My reason is my business,” she said flatly.
“Well, if you’ve done it once, I don’t see why you couldn’t do it again. Being a wife and mother requires some sacrifice. You can’t be selfish.”
“No, no, I wouldn’t want to be selfish.” Gwen turned an icy glare on her boyfriend. “Nathan, why don’t you come and help me with dessert?”
She hastily got up from the table and proceeded into the kitchen. Nathan gave his mother an apologetic smile and pushed his chair away from the table to follow.
“Who am I?” Gwen asked, one hand on her hip and the other resting on the counter.
“What?”
“I’m not sure what version of me that you’ve been selling to your parents in your phone calls and emails and faxes. So why don’t you tell me, who am I?”
“They’re just trying to make conversation. They’re trying to get to know you. I don’t know why you’re upset.”
“They’re trying to send me back to the 1950s. And I don’t appreciate it, and if you really knew me, you’d know very well why I’m upset.”
“No, Gwen. Frankly, I don’t know you,” he declared, crossing his arms across his chest. “Every time that I try to get close to you, you shut down. You put up a wall, and then you tell me what you think I want to hear. And so that’s what I did with my parents—I told them what they wanted to hear.”
“The truth didn’t seem suitable?”
“Not really, no. But okay, if you really want, I’ll go in there and tell them that you’re evasive and you’re noncommittal and half the time, you’re not even here. Mentally or physically.”
He stepped closer to her. “And it’s not just the job, Gwen. I realize that’s your go-to excuse. But it’s your family and your…your ghosts that you don’t want to talk about. I’m tired of competing with them for your attention. So yeah, I exaggerated a little to my parents. Because they have this crazy idea that I should be with a woman who understands and values me, who actually treats me as a partner in our relationship.”
“Give me a break. They want a woman who’s willing to be barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen for the rest of her life. And that ain’t me, babe.”
“What about the other stuff? I guess that ain’t you, either, is it?”
She shook her head and went around him to the refrigerator, retrieving the styrofoam container of cannoli from her favorite Italian restaurant. “I can’t believe you’re going to push this issue right now, of all times,” she sighed.
“It’s as good a time as any. You tell me right now whether you think we have a future, Gwen. You’ve been pretending to be the perfect prospective daughter-in-law for almost two hours now; that’s gotta’ be a strain. And I want you to save your energy for your flight tomorrow.”
She paused to study his face. Sure, he’d been distant lately, anxious about work. But never outright malicious. “You’re being mean.”
He shrugged. “I call ‘em like I see ‘em. You get your head in the game, Gwen, or you take your things and go home. Because you just sitting on the bench isn’t helping either of us.”
She threw up her hands in frustration. “God, you and your sports metaphors. So this is it? 3rd and long, and I have to kick a field goal or lose the championship?”
“Something like that. So what’s it gonna’ be?”
“Sorry, I forgot my kicking shoes,” she replied. “Might as well take me out, coach, ‘cause I’m done. That girl that your parents want for you—that’s not me. That will never be me. And by the way, thanks so much for all the times you stood up for me tonight. I really appreciate it.”
“I can’t disagree with them when I think they’re right.”
“When did I suddenly become not good enough for you?”
“I didn’t really think about it until—“
“Until your mother opened your eyes to what an unreliable harlot I am,” she completed the sentence for him. “Right. You sad, sad wanker. I’ll see myself out.”
“Leave the knife in my back, take the cannoli,” he suggested.
“Sod off, Nathan!” she called back over her shoulder.
***END FLASHBACK***
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Benjamin Linus
Acceptance of Fate
What I said, and what I did, were not the sameplg%%Benjamin Linus %%
Posts: 155
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Post by Benjamin Linus on Nov 1, 2006 7:21:47 GMT -5
OK, Nathan' s parents may be the most terrifying villains in history. After dealing with them, Gwen doesn't have much to worry about on the island. And I already had the suspicion that Nathan was a complete bastard. My theory is confirmed.
Brilliant flashback, and disgusting people.
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Gwen Havers
Help Translate Rousseau's Maps
Ready to Fallplg%%Gwen, Shannon, Etana%%
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Post by Gwen Havers on Nov 4, 2006 0:52:55 GMT -5
...And Nathan just keeps getting more loveable.
***FLASHBACK 3 OF 4***
Los Angeles, CA (Gwen’s House) November 2003
“Is this my CD or yours?” Nathan asked.
“Uh…” She approached with a box of things from her kitchen and leaned over to look at the cover. “Yeah, that one’s yours.”
He nodded and tossed it into the box, which she handed over to him. A few moments of tense silence passed between them.
“So…” Gwen began hesitantly. “Did things work out? With the Hanso account?”
“Well, it’s between us and a couple of other firms. We think our estimate’s the best they’re gonna’ get, though.”
“That’s…that’s good. I know you’ve put a lot of work into it—“
“Gwen, what are you doing?” he cut her off.
“I’m being civil. I’m trying to be civil and inquire about the general status of your health and your job and your life. Am I not allowed to do that?”
“Do you honestly care about the general status of my health or job or life?” he demanded, to which she stayed silent. “Look, here’s the number where you can reach me, if you need to.” He wrote a number down on a post-it by the phone and handed it to her.
She merely glanced at the digits, until she realized they weren’t familiar. “Wait, this is a new number.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Yeah, it is. It’s not your home or work or your cell. And I know you didn’t get a new cell phone because you repeatedly tell me how pointless and costly and time-consuming such a thing would be.”
He sighed and went to pick up the box. “You’re being paranoid.”
“No, being paranoid would be worrying whether another woman’s voice is going to be on the other end of this number if I call it. Should I be worried about that?”
“Hey, newsflash, Gwen. You walked out. You don’t get to hold the moral high ground here. And my life—that’s something you don’t have to worry about anymore. You can be blissfully happy with your job and your life and me not interfering in your future plans. ‘Cause believe me, I’m not worried about your life anymore.”
She crossed her arms and looked up at the ceiling. “God, Nathan, what happened to us?” she asked sadly. “We used to be friends. We used to laugh, and talk, and…we were so happy. Weren’t we?”
“Yeah. Yeah, we were,” he said softly.
“And we can never go back to that?”
“Well, I think that’s up to you, Gwen.”
“What do you expect me to do?”
“Ask me to stay, beg me to reconsider, tell me you’ll do anything to make this work,” he suggested. “The things that you’re supposed to say when the person you supposedly love is walking out the door. Well?”
And again, she stayed silent.
“That’s what I thought. Goodbye, Gwen. Have a nice life.” He turned toward the door and then paused to remove a Los Angeles Dodgers mug from the box and place it on the kitchen counter. “You can keep that; I don’t need it.” And then he left, the door closing with a resounding thud.
She rubbed her arms as she slowly approached the mug. She picked it up gently and then flung it against the far wall, shattering it. Now sobbing, she sank to the floor.
***END FLASHBACK***
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Gwen Havers
Help Translate Rousseau's Maps
Ready to Fallplg%%Gwen, Shannon, Etana%%
Posts: 2,010
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Post by Gwen Havers on Nov 4, 2006 0:54:54 GMT -5
Name: Rachel Occupation: Owner of a Los Angeles art gallery Birthplace: Santa Fe, New Mexico Appearance:
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Gwen Havers
Help Translate Rousseau's Maps
Ready to Fallplg%%Gwen, Shannon, Etana%%
Posts: 2,010
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Post by Gwen Havers on Nov 4, 2006 1:03:44 GMT -5
((Props to Willo for recommending Cat Stevens' "Trouble" as musical accompaniment for this flashback. ) ***FLASHBACK 4 OF 4*** Later that day... Gwen stood outside the Spanish-style building on Sunset Boulevard, checking her watch again. Rachel was late, as usual. The sun was setting, and the post-work crowd at the Cat & Fiddle Pub was already starting to pick up. Soon the patio with its iron tables and chairs would be lit by the fairy lights in the trees and the candles on the tables. “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Rachel chanted as she approached up the sidewalk, her hands laden with bags. “I see someone’s been spending their paycheck at Amoeba again,” Gwen surmised. “Yes, but not futilely like you usually think,” she countered. “Met a really cute guy in the multi-region section. We started talking Black Books and Spaced and the conversation just escalated from there. Sorry I’m late.” “It’s okay,” she smiled weakly. “Let’s go inside. It’s a little too cold for the patio,” Rachel suggested, and Gwen followed obediently. Under the arched entryway, past the stone fountain, and toward the corner bar. The fireplace was lit and some Cat Stevens song was issuing from the jukebox. Trouble Oh trouble set me free I have seen your face And it's too much too much for me
Trouble Oh trouble can't you see You're eating my heart away And there's nothing much left of me“Two pints, one Stella and one Bass, please,” Rachel told the bartender. “Remind me why I’m here,” Gwen whined above the din of people. “Because I’m not going to let you become crazy spinster cat lady.” “Wha--? Who said anything about me becoming crazy spinster cat lady?” Rachel threw her a look as she took a seat on one of the vacant barstools. “It’s been over a month since you broke up with Nathan. You don’t leave the house anymore except to go to work, you spend entire weekends in your pajamas, you’re buying so much Haagen-Dasz that you might as well be a shareholder in the company, and I’m willing to bet you’re watching The Princess Bride every night.” “Not true,” Gwen protested, claiming a barstool of her own. “Some nights I alternate it with The Matrix. I like to pretend I’m Trinity, throwing a big knife right at his big Canadian forehead.” “See, that’s healthy. That is good post-breakup talk,” Rachel beamed, as the drinks were set before them and she handed her credit card over to the bartender. She took a drink of Stella and then fixed her gaze on her friend. “So what happened this time?” Gwen shook her head, sipping her drink. “Come on, tell me,” Rachel insisted. “Same thing that always happens,” Gwen shrugged. “I wasn’t around enough, I wasn’t invested in the relationship, blah blah emotionally distant cakes.” I've drunk your wine You have made your world mine So won't you be fair So won't you be fair
I don't want no more of you So won't you be kind to me Just let me go where I'll have to go there “Your job requires you to travel, and you love your job. I thought Nathan was cool with that.” “So did I. But apparently I took him for granted for too long, and he decided he’d had enough,” she explained, letting her eyes wander over the football banners and old photos that adorned the walls. “He got me, Rachel. He really got me. He dealt with all my neuroses and insecurities. He was the only man to make it past the second date in the past 2 years.” “Whatever. I always thought he wore too much green.” “You think George Clooney wears too much green.” “Well, it’s an unflattering color, except for maybe on Muppets,” Rachel proclaimed. She gave Gwen an apologetic smile while she picked at the label of her Stella with a fingernail. “So now you have to start over?” “Now I have to start over,” she sighed mournfully. “Bollocks! I don’t want to start over!” She groaned, laying her head down on the bar. Trouble Oh trouble move from me I have paid my debt Now won't you leave me in my misery
Trouble Oh trouble please be kind I don't want no fight And I haven't got a lot of time“Look, given the current divorce rate, there are more single guys added to the dating pool everyday. Your perfect man is out there.” “I already had the perfect man.” “Well, Nathan is gone now.” “I wasn’t talking about Nathan,” she said distantly, lifting her head back up. Only for a moment thinking of opening the door on painful memories she’d long since shut away, but then backing away just as quickly. “Anyway, we should establish ground rules for my venture back into the dating world. Rule number one, no more Canadians.” “Agreed, no more Canadians. In fact, forget all of North America,” Rachel suggested. “You grew up in Europe, right? So there’s all those countries over there. Plus Russia. All those places that end in –stan. And then there’s Asia. Australia. South America.” “Antarctica.” “What?” “Just completing your list of continents.” “Point is, your soulmate is out there. Climbing a mountain or building an orphanage or saving a kitten or something. And since you travel so much, you’re bound to bump into him eventually.” “Hopefully before I become crazy spinster cat lady,” she observed. Rachel’s expression turned serious again. “So tell me again why you called me at work, doing your best hysterical Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally impression?” Gwen winced inwardly. She’d felt so sad and pathetic making that call, but she really needed to see a friendly face. “Nathan came over today to get the last of his things,” she confided. “It was just…so painfully awkward. Divvying up our possessions, all logically and clinically.” “Okay, you must be drunk already ‘cause no sober person uses that many adverbs.” “Part of me wanted to beg him to stay, plead with him to reconsider. But the look on his face…it would have been useless. His mind was made up. I just don’t understand how things got so bad between us so fast.” “It all happened so suddenly? You didn’t see any signs?” “No.” “Gwen, I’ve known you since college. I know your patterns. The minute that a guy mentions the ‘c’ word, you start fidgeting, you get hives, you break out in a cold sweat. The world hasn’t seen such a Pavlovian response since…well, Pavlov.” “I know what you’re gonna’ say and I am not a commitment-phobe. It’s just that the timing isn’t right. It’s never been right. But when it is, I’ll know.” “Your problem is you want to be in love in a movie. There is no such thing as love at first sight, fireworks on the first kiss, Strauss playing in the background; all that stuff is bull. We live in friggin’ Hollywood, for Christ’s sake. It’s all an illusion. Real-life relationships take hard work and yes, commitment.” “You think I wasn’t working hard enough to keep Nathan around?” “You never work hard enough. You’re not prepared to, because frankly, your relationship with your job is so fulfilling that you don’t want anything else,” Rachel concluded. “And that’s fine. There’s nothing wrong with that. But you need to recognize it. Acknowledge it and embrace it.” “I’m well aware that I’m a workaholic. But that shouldn’t mean that I have to spend the rest of my life alone, should it?” “I think that you need to be okay with being alone. Otherwise, you won’t be fit to be with anybody else.” Gwen furrowed her brow in frustration. “Y’know, your whole Zen outlook is really annoying sometimes.” She ran a hand through her hair and inhaled deeply. “Okay, so, I’m a sassy singleton in the city. And maybe that’s how it should be.” “Damn straight,” Rachel nodded enthusiastically. “Still, I wish Nathan hadn’t taken all the Tarantino DVDs,” she sighed. “If ever there was a time I needed to see Uma Thurman wielding a katana…” ***END FLASHBACK***
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Post by JINX on Nov 4, 2006 1:39:16 GMT -5
I have never laughed so hard, in my life!! i love it Gwen all your flashbacks are Awsome. Nathan should have been on the plane, crashed right along with it. :-D hehe. But anyways, i feel bad for Gwen now, she won't be all alone forever. someone will come and sweep her off her feet. :-)
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Post by Severin on Nov 4, 2006 8:13:41 GMT -5
God, Nathan's such a bastard. Those are exceptionally well-done flashbacks, I loved reading them. And no more Canadians, ay?
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