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Post by Severin on Oct 1, 2007 4:28:56 GMT -5
Glad you liked, thank ye. And I'm totally not enacting my crushes in the RPG with people I have a crush on in real life. Julianne Moore, Lucy Davis, Helena Bonham Carter...although if Rose Byrne pops up in the future, I'll have no excuse.
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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 1, 2007 5:30:46 GMT -5
Hmm, lemme think, Greg Grunberg, Julian Rhind-Tutt...I certainly have no idea what you're talking about.
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Post by Severin on Oct 1, 2007 7:42:25 GMT -5
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Post by Severin on Nov 12, 2007 15:08:44 GMT -5
More knocking on the door. He sighed to himself. Debbie again, most likely. He didn’t understand why no one else understood that he clearly did not feel like talking.
Heavy bags had formed under his eyes, and he was getting very little sleep. Continuous nightmares for the past few nights, and more knocking on his door. He stood, crossed the room and opened the door to see Debbie’s optimistic face. He scratched at his beard, and looked at her expectantly without speaking.
“Hey, Sev,” she said brightly.
“Hello, Debbie. Can I help you?”
“Just wondering, if you’d like to come with me to the-“
“No.” he said abruptly. Debbie’s face fell.
“Y’know, you look like you could use a hug,” she said, quickly regaining her optimism again and moving in with open arms.
He stepped back quickly as if she’d lunged at him with a knife. “I don’t…hug,” he said lamely. “Sorry, I just…I…” He stammered for the right words, but he simply couldn’t find a good excuse for denying Debbie’s hug/knife attack.
Debbie’s face fell, and she seemed unable to bring herself back up to her usual cheeriness. “OK,” she said quietly. “I get it.”
Sev looked down, a little ashamed. “I’m gonna go” said Debbie, adding unenthusiastically, “Bye, bye, byee…”
He slowly closed the door on her, feeling terrible for his continued tactless rejection. He wasn’t even sure why he kept rejecting her. She was pretty, funny, charming, nice, and had no end of patience. And yet he was still here, swimming self-pity and alcohol. He just drank until he fell asleep, and then the nightmares came. Sometimes they were vivid and detailed, as if he was actually there. Other times, it was random blurs of images with a sick feeling.
It was getting worse. Sometimes they’d persist for a few seconds after he woke. Sometimes his daydreams became nightmares. He was starting to occupy his mind with anything other than stray thoughts, resulting in plenty of alcohol and TV. And he was quickly becoming afraid to go to sleep.
The knocking came again, and he rushed to the door, ready to apologize. He practically ripped it off the hinges. “Debbie-“
But it wasn’t. It was Emily, with a cigarette hanging limply between her lips and messy hair. She held a bottle of alcohol in one hand, and her eyes wandered down to his beard with slight disgust. “Jesus, you look like you need a hug. And a shave. And I’m not gonna help you with either.”
“I thought our conversation was over, Emily. I seem to remember kicking you out.”
“I seem to remember you being attractive with light stubble. I suppose we’ve both kissed our past goodbye, haven’t we?” She proceeded to walk in, tilting her head to get under his arm.
“Don’t you have somewhere else to be sarcastic?” asked Sev, shutting the door and resigning himself to the fact that she wasn’t leaving.
“Oh, please. I’m not local, I moved here with Fenton back when he was all charm and flowers and pick-up lines that ended with the word ‘jugglies’. I haven’t a single friend in this bloody town.” She flopped down on the sofa, taking a swig of her bottle. “Speaking of Fenton, he wasn’t particularly happy about his broken fingers. He kicked up a lot of fuss. He’s history now, though.”
“Well, good riddance. Meeting him once was enough to turn my stomach, I might give you a medal for sticking around.” He sat next to her, taking her bottle from her and drinking from it himself.
She cocked her head and stared at him. “You look bloody awful.”
“You said that already.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You said a variation of it at the door.”
“God, I just want to strap you down, shave you and cut your hair.” Emily yawned, and stretched out. “Don’t panic, by the way. I’ll be out of your needlessly long hair by tonight. I have my own place. I was just going crazy by myself.”
She took a quick glance around the apartment. “A problem you might not have. Or maybe you do, what with the leather trousers.”
He stifled a laugh. “I like these leather trousers.”
“You and Tom Jones.” Emily was silent for a moment, and then continued. “That girl Debbie, I spoke to coming up the stairs. She’s smitten with you.”
Uncertain why he was speaking so openly to someone who was, for all intents and purposes, a stranger, Severin just shrugged. “She wouldn’t want me if she really knew me. I’m not a good person.” He admitted.
Emily rolled her eyes. “You beat Fenton without flinching. You hid me from him. You didn’t accept thank you. You didn’t pretend to care, but I can tell you did. You cared then, and you care now.” She said. “What you need to do is get out there. Cheer up. Stop wasting your life.”
“You don’t know me, Emily.” He began. “You-“
“Oh, please. Every fool’s got a reason to feel sorry for himself. You’re just one of ‘em,” pointed out Emily. “In conclusion, you seriously need to reconsider that Debbie girl. There’s nothing wrong with her, or you.” As if to emphasize, she slapped him over the back of the head. “So turn that frown upside down.”
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