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Name: Lori (Lauryn) | Gender: female | Age: 28 | Posts: 2,020 | Roses: 2
Old 02-25-2010 at 09:08 PM
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Reese Cordova

She thought she might have seen it...yes! She'd actually managed to get him to smile. Even if he still seemed to refuse to look at her, making him smile was getting them somewhere, right? He hadn't said a word to her since she'd come over to his table which made Reese rather confused. She didn't really understand the concept of not speaking, but she supposed that body language and expressions were rather important too, though she would like to actually have a conversation with him.

"You should do that more...smile...you have a really great smile," she said softly, truly meaning it. His smile was wide and it lit up his whole face. It made him seem...not so shy, she guessed.

They sat in silence for a little while longer when Christian suddenly began moving rather quickly. He wolfed down the last of the cheesecake and chugged the last of the coffee (that she was certain was still rather hot). He looked rather flushed and hurried...almost like the crowded cafe was giving him a panic attack or something. She watched as he rose from his chair, leaving the cup and plate on the table. "Excuse me." he muttered quickly, the only thing he'd said to her at all that day, before quickly heading for the door. Reese had to wonder what was wrong.

She quickly went after him, catching up to him by the door. She reached out, gently grabbing his arm to stop him. "Christian, wait! Are you all right? You seemed rather anxious back there...is everything okay?" she asked with genuine concern, hoping he wasn't feeling sick or anything. "It wasn't anything I did, was it?" she asked meekly, wondering now if she might have offended or annoyed him somehow.


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Name: Hollie | Gender: Female | Posts: 2,814 | Roses: 215
Old 02-27-2010 at 03:32 PM
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Christian Lisle

Christian didn't like the way this girl made him feel. She was always so chirpy, while he was so serious. She made him feel happy when she was around, like it was alright to be silly. He didn't like that, he liked what he had. His life was organized and he had important goals to achieve which left no room for distraction. This girl was making his stay at the cafe go on for too long when he had better things to do, like rehearsals.

He hurried through the remainder of his cheesecake. He would of preferred to take his time and savour the taste, but he wanted to get out of here as soon as possible. He was feeling claustrophobic. He picked up his hot cup of coffee and drank the whole thing in a hurry. His drink was still rather hot and it burned his tongue, but he didn't show any reaction for the pain. He then got up from his chair, excusing himself as he made to leave the cafe. He wanted to go some place quiet where he could hear himself think, where he could just relax.

He was about to reach the exit, his arm outstretched as he reached for the doorknob to let himself out. But he was stopped by someone grabbing his arm from behind. He froze, not liking the feeling of being touched by a stranger at all but he didn't shrug free out of their grasp. He just turned his head to look at who it was that grabbed him, and saw that it was Reese. He wasn't scared of her, nor did he look displeased at her following him to the door. His face was expressionless.

"Christian, wait! Are you all right? You seemed rather anxious back there...is everything okay?" she asked, appearing to be genuinely concerned for him. He wondered why on earth would she care about his health, he wasn't sick. He just wanted to get out of here, that wasn't such a big deal was it?

"It wasn't anything I did, was it?" she asked meekly, her lowered voice made him think that she may be upset. He looked away from her, not wanting her to see him thinking. His eyes moved around quickly when he was in deep thought, looking around for anything to focus on other than the girl he had upset. Right now his eyes went straight for the exit. He let out a frustrated sigh and shook his head in reply to the girl. "Nothing's wrong." He answered in a quiet voice, never one to raise his voice. "I have somewhere I need to be." Yes, that was true. He needed to be in his dorm right now, alone.



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Name: Natalia | Gender: Female | Posts: 2,762 | Roses: 50
Old 05-05-2010 at 02:23 AM
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OCC: For Cara & Polaris
Cara Blaze Andovea


Upon the plastic square table lay what had to be hundreds of papers, maps and photo's of one person, a man, the man that seemed to have left without a trace, a man that had broken Cara's heart.

For weeks now she had not heard from her husband and the pain was becoming great, he had told her that he needed some time to himself Cara not thinking anything of it for he had always gone off by himself but in the past e had at lest stayed in contact.

Finding a babysitter for Skyla Cara had started to look for him, the Graveyard, the alley ways, the old run down mansion and a lot of other places but nothing turned up. She had asked Calvin if he had heard anything but like her even with his cop insight there was nothing.

Now she sat at La Cafe de Roses marking off the places she had been on the many maps and writing out a new plan her tears making the ink of her pen run, her eyes befalling a photo of her husband.

"Where are you?" She whispered taking the picture up within her fingers. "You said you'd never leave."


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Name: Kristen | Gender: Female | Age: 26 | Posts: 1,518 | Roses: 39
Old 06-10-2010 at 05:57 AM
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August and Scarlett.
Scarlett Beaumont

The sun was setting on a beautiful day in Paris. Scarlett however, had only admired it from her office window. Other than that she had been indoors with the other musicians practicing. She walked across the street, glancing back at the perfect sunset, her curls ruffled in the wind. She tried to tame them a bit. That's what she got for wearing her hair down. She sighed as she opened the door and heard the familiar chime of the cafe's bell as she entered. Alas, there was a line. She was never one to get a break. She combed her had back behind her ear in an annoyed manner.

It seemed everyone had the same idea as she when it came to getting their dinner. A nice, calm, quiet meal where she wasn't disturbed or asked to do anything. She tapped the toe of her stiletto slowly, then stopped. She would be the patient one. Even though patience wasn't a virtue she was fond of. She looked around, hoping their were plenty of seats open, and it seemed that there were. Maybe she'd get a spot by the window where she could let her mind wander without interruption. Her tired eyes drifted to the front of the line, and her lips pursed, but nothing more was done.


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Old 06-11-2010 at 06:22 AM
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August Zoller

Paris had lost its charm some time ago when he had visited in his youth. Of course, his failed audition at the opera house had left a bitter taste in his mouth the last time he was here - how many years ago? He didn't bother counting. He had experienced many successes after that point, which more than made up for that one particular failure. The past was the past, now. There was no changing it. At age 45, he knew this better than many. Feeling sorry for yourself did not create results. Hard work, determination - those were the keys to success. August smiled back on his days in Vienna, exploring, tasting, experimenting - not only with music, but with life in general, specifically women. At one point, he would have called his marriage to Bridget a mistake, but he knew better now. It was simply another experience. Since then, marriage had never been a prevalent idea in his mind.

So, standing in the middle of a Parisian Cafe, with nothing but time, August could not help dwelling on the past - his life at home and abroad. Yes, "the past was the past," but it seemed to preoccupy his thoughts a lot lately. He glanced out the window. The sun was beginning to set, giving the adjacent street an artistic settlement of dark, golden colors. He sighed, then looked forward, where the line was getting shorter and shorter with the passing minute. There was a sharp, but quiet tapping behind him and he glanced back, seeing an black, austere shoe tapping the ground. Impatient, hm? He looked forward again, the tapping toe already fading from his short-term memory.

Some minutes later - not very eventful - it was his turn. He ordered a simple coffee. He'd add the creme himself later. The usual routine: fake smile from the clerk, took his simple order, tapped in a few numbers on the machine, "that will be so-and-so euros, s'il vous plait." But this time, there was a problem. August reached into his pocket. Nothing. Other pocket. Same nothingness. Back pockets. August gave the cashier an apologetic smile and then patted his pockets. Where was his wallet? He had had it- August sighed in frustration. The counter of his aparment. "Je suis desole, mademoiselle. You may cancel my order," he said with a slight edge in his voice. His French was not perfect, but it was refined enough to carry on conversations with ease. He refrained from mouthing a curse in his native tongue. This was unusual for him. He had never forgotten his wallet before. Old age... August pursed his lips, then stepped out of the line. Ich habe ein alter Mann geworden.


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Name: Kristen | Gender: Female | Age: 26 | Posts: 1,518 | Roses: 39
Old 06-11-2010 at 08:38 PM
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Scarlett Beaumont

Scarlett yawned and looked at the time on her watch. It wasn't like she had to be anywhere, but she was always eyeing the time, and mostly how it kept getting away from her. She sighed, her feet hurt. She had been working in the office today as well at practices with the orchestra and well, heels weren't the best for running around in. Professionalism, wasn't it dead anyway? Yet Scarlett tried her best to single-handedly keep it alive. With her heels and black pencil skirt and green button down blouse, she was looking well for her age. She tried to keep herself in tip-top shape.

The man a person or two in front of her approached the register. She silently thanked the heavens, wanting to get off of her feet and eat some dinner. He ordered a black coffee, and then couldn't find his wallet. She felt sorry for him. She wasn't completely heartless, though sometimes it felt like she was. People avoided her like the plague lately. She wished for the company, though didn't mind being alone. It was less of a hassle than trying to keep up appearances.

It seemed that no one wanted to help him out, so she decided she might as well. She hurried to the front of the line, glares followed, but she didn't care." I've got it," She said with a smile in the direction of the cashier and the man. She also quickly ordered her meal as well. People began to grumble behind her, but she shot a glance in their direction, and they seemed to be okay with it." It's always good to help out your fellow man once in while, don't you think?" She said, trying to explain why she did it." Even if it is only a coffee," She said, handing it over to him, and taking her own food.


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Name: Erica | Gender: woman- hear me roar! | Posts: 2,032 | Roses: 181
Old 08-17-2010 at 07:30 PM
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 Post [27] »


Myron Bolitar

Women needed to use their cleavage space more.

Myron Bolitar stared at Madeleine's purse as if it had some sort of STD that was going to just magically jump out on him. Seriously. What was the use of these things? They hold stuff. Big woop-dee-friggin-doo. He could hold stuff too! Did that mean that Mad was going to carry him around? Not that, he wouldn't enjoy being his girlfriend's arm candy, (not that he wasn't already), but he just didn't understand why these objects grabbed the attention of women. Going back to his statement, women needed to use their cleavage space. Men- they had pockets. Women- they had storage space in their bras. He had seen his employees do it all the time! Sure, there was the argument that purses keep their belongings safe. Helloooo. Boobs. That was padding enough. So, this was getting out of hand. It wasn't that Myron desperately wanted to see women pull things out of their breasts, but he just had nothing to do but stare at this purse. Madeleine was wearing somewhat of a low cut shirt that day- so two and two together, right?

This had to be abuse. She got to trot along, and Myron had to... watch her purse. Seriously, this had to be like one of the steps to domestic violence.

"Christ..." He murmured, feeling slightly feminine with this thing just staring at him with it's pockets, and buckle thingys. It wasn't okay. This image that people were seeing, was not okay. Myron began flicking it across the table- wanting to get it as far as he possibly could from him. He stuck his tongue out in utter disgust, wiping his hand off his suit jacket, and leaning back against the chair- still watching for that suckers next move.

Myron's eyes flickered then to a gentleman that was sitting at the table across from him. Talk about awkward. It was always slightly uncomfortable when there were two people sitting at a table alone, facing one another. Especially, now. When Myron had just played Crodocile Hunter with a purse.

"I'm just gunna' throw this out there-" He said, breaking the conversation- pretty sure that the man had seen Myron's little spazz out. "That," He said, pointing to it. "thing is not mine. Just, um.. throwing it," He threw something invisible into the air, sinking slightly lower into his chair. "Throwing it out."

Not that Myron cared about what the man thought, but being called 'homosexual' at the mere age of eleven- he had done a lot of justifying in his life, and it became a reflex for him.


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Old 08-18-2010 at 01:39 AM
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Santiago Ortiz

Santiago wasn’t the most patient man in the world, but when the options were shopping or chilling in a café, his choice was clear. Well, almost clear. He could have right now been bantering with Rachel in some little boutique. That would have made trotting along after her in stores that Santiago was otherwise too macho to so much as look at worth it. Well… Almost. He had some dignity left and he was clinging fiercely to it. So far, the actress had gotten Santiago to try his hand at both cooking and laundry. Instead of his usual two seconds in front of the bathroom mirror, Santiago was spending a whole fifteen minutes trying desperately to style his hair and shave his usual five-o-clock shadow. His habit of wearing the same pair of jeans twice in a row was breaking in favor of looking good for the girl.

And they weren’t even together.

They had never kissed. They had never had sex. They weren’t dating and they certainly weren’t married. So that Santiago was taking the time to spruce up to impress her was almost humiliating. He wasn’t getting anything out of it. Until now, Santiago had always been a what’s-in-it-for-me kind of guy. If there wasn’t an incentive, wasn’t a reward… There wasn’t a point.

Until now.

So when he and Rachel reached the store, his stomach squirmed violently. She had been domesticating him for over a month now and his inner wild cat wanted out. So he did what any self respecting man did.

“I’ll wait for you at the café.”

Not the bar. Not the strip club. Not somewhere manly and tough. The café. Santiago was so thankful nobody he knew could see him sitting at his table looking positively anxious as he waited for Rachel to hurry it up. He should have just gone home instead. He looked around, hoping to find something mildly entertaining. A buxom waitress. A clumsy bus boy. A squabbling couple. Something. Anything.

When Santiago prayed for “anything” to distract him, though, the last thing he had hoped for was a man with a purse.

It was just so hard not to stare at the man at the table across from him, directly in his line of vision, making a spectacle of himself. Santiago did his best to avert his eyes, forcing himself to look out the window and thank God that he was not—and would never allow himself to be—that whipped. This was where Santiago drew the line: waiting a block away while Rachel did her shopping. Suddenly, Santiago felt better about his situation. He could leave at any time without being in the metaphorical doghouse. He could do as he pleased while he waited without worrying about some harpy of a girlfriend coming down on his head. Best of all, Santiago didn’t have to babysit some monstrosity of a bag. He was a free agent. Yes, suddenly, Santiago felt a lot better about his situation.

While many men would probably feel a wave of camaraderie—or at least sympathy—for the man across the way Santiago felt a mixture of amusement and derision for the poor *******. You had to be incredibly weak-willed to—

Thump.

Santiago looked away from the window and back to the man at the other table, seeing him push the purse across the table. His typical smirk played on Santiago’s lips. He couldn’t exactly blame the other man for wanting to get as far away from the bag as possible. Still, it seemed a little juvenile.

Not that Santiago was sure he would have handled the situation any better. He probably would have flat-out refused to babysit a woman’s purse. In fact, Santiago probably would have been incredibly sharp with whatever idiot mistook him for a purse holder. Even though… It was technically in his actual job description. But when Santiago collected purses and other belongings before a show, he did so quickly, professionally, and with mild exasperation that he had to do such menial tasks in order to do the important things. At least backstage, he had a safe to stash everything in so he didn’t have to be a human coat rack like the other man seemed to be.

Thump. Thump! THUMP!

Santiago continued to watch, smirk firmly in place as the stranger again pushed the purse away. Their eyes locked and Santiago realized he’d been caught staring. Instead of turning away, he raised a single eyebrow in mild interest.

"I'm just gunna' throw this out there-" the man said in American sounding English. "That," He said, pointing to it. "thing is not mine. Just, um.. throwing it," He threw something invisible into the air, sinking slightly lower into his chair. "Throwing it out."

“I figured so much,” Santiago said flatly. The smirk on his lips widened. He felt like the damned Cheshire Cat. “Your—“ Santiago paused as he searched for the term Rachel had taught him. “—girlfriend must be so thrilled to have such an obedient and helpful man.”

Santiago snorted and propped his head up onto his fist. Honestly he felt that the American man’s girlfriend ought to have invested in a Labrador Retriever if she wanted such blind faithfulness and obedience in a companion. Maybe she could even train a dog to carry the bag in its mouth and trot along after her willingly.
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Name: Erica | Gender: woman- hear me roar! | Posts: 2,032 | Roses: 181
Old 08-23-2010 at 07:57 AM
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 Post [29] »


Myron Bolitar

"I figured so much."

Sassy McSpaniard, widened his smirk, and his tone was all monotonely. (If that is not a word, Webster needs to jump on that **** asap) Rarely did Myron Bolitar ever feel mortified or embarrassed. Mostly, because, half of his life he had lived in his Gma's basement. Now, if we analyze that statement, we can break it down into two mortifying parts. Part I: Gma. It was a term, meaning, grandmother. To this day, Myron still called her that. Part II: Living in his grandma's basement for half of his life. No ripping of pants in public, spilling water on a woman's lap, or holding his girlfriend's purse in front of a staring Spanish stranger could top that.

“Your—“

Myron raised his eyebrows, looking over at him with amusement, as the man began mustering up for the term.

Cue Jeopardy music.

“—girlfriend must be so thrilled to have such an obedient and helpful man.”

Hmm, was it just his ears, or was this man playing a little bit dirty? It that were the case, then to quote that cliche' cheerleading movie, everyone has secretly watched at least twice- Bring it on.

"The fact that I have a girlfriend, doing girlfriend duties, is satisfying enough for me." Myron drawled with a grin, folding his hands in front of him, leaning into the table. "The time it took you to come up with the word, you think you would never have knew that they existed."

Ugh, if this man could take Bolitar sarcasm, and just shoot some witty spice back at him- would make this time awaiting for Madeleine to be so much better. It was difficult to find that in Paris, though. Still- it was safe to say these two stuck out in this Cafe'. That wasn't being racist either.

"Besides, these things are...kinda' cool-" He stated, flicking the purse, and jolting backward into the chair. He shrugged. "Indiana Jones wears one."


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Old 08-24-2010 at 01:20 AM
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OOC: Oh, come on, Erica! Indiana Jones is international! I looked it up! Santiago doesn't live in a cave! :D BIC:

Santiago Ortiz

Something perceptibly ignited in the American man’s eyes. Santiago braced himself for whatever can of worms he’d opened. He hadn’t exactly meant to invite conversation or even sarcastic banter. But Santiago had surely dealt with worse than some whipped American.

"The fact that I have a girlfriend, doing girlfriend duties, is satisfying enough for me," the stranger drawled in a lazy, sarcastic tone Santiago was all too familiar with. "The time it took you to come up with the word, you think you would never have knew that they existed."

Santiago’s lips twisted into a grudgingly amused grin. He couldn’t be bothered to be insulted by a stranger in some café.

"How many lovers have you had in your life?" Rachel asked, her voice soft, but clear above the din of Parisian traffic below.

“A lover is someone you can both love and lust for. Someone you want and need. And who returns the sentiment,” Santiago said with wistful fervor. “I can’t say that I’ve ever quite achieved that. But,” he said, a grin flicking onto his lips, but his eyes darkening and never once meeting it. “If you merely want to know how many ‘girlfriends’ I’ve had or how many women I’ve slept with, that is an entirely different matter.”


This American could keep his girlfriend and all the duties that came with it. Santiago was a free man. No ball and chain. No leash and collar. No wedding ring, no commitments. No purse. Santiago had spent his life enjoying the “perks” of having a girlfriend without the responsibility. He knew they existed, but felt no sting of envy… Or so he said. Santiago wasn’t about to contradict himself, but there were moments in the past few months that he almost wanted to reevaluate how he felt on the subjects of dating and love. His reason for even possibly reconsidering, though, was a block or so away, shopping. Santiago shook his head silently, his eyes rolling just a bit.

"Besides, these things are...kinda' cool-" the stranger continued, playing with the bag and shrugging. . "Indiana Jones wears one."

Santiago didn’t care who wore one. He wouldn’t be caught dead holding one of those things. He rose an unimpressed eyebrow.

“Indiana Jones also carried a whip. Is that in your girlfriend’s bag of tricks, too?” Santiago asked in an anything-but-innocent tone.
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