I'm terribly late on this, but check this out: Flatricide Pulgamitude. XD I have no idea what to think of it, but I'm laughing. And it's surprisingly addicting. XD I like walking around then erasing all traces of how I got somewhere. And falling. I love seeing the stuff other people came up with.
Life: School is going to be difficult again. I have a few classes that are looking like just busy work, and another 11 weeks of physics. :x
If I'm good at being diligent (which thus far I haven't really been), I'll be able to continue random story updates weekly though! So expect late posts, but posts nonetheless!
While I'm thinking of the posting schedule: I try to post Fridays, but since I suck at being punctual, just remember the posting time as Monday and there'll be a post up by then :) Thank you for reading! =^_^=
Revision: Today's post is a little odd. It's the same as this post, but below is the revised version, if you're interested. I decided to post this revision separately instead of just directly editing the original kinda just because even if the changes are few, I hope they make a difference. I've listed the revisions afterwards :)
WC: 1716
I don’t notice the world around me until I’ve been in a state of unintelligible self-pitying over my unrequited crush for almost 20 minutes. Clenching my fist around the pole I’m standing by, I look up from the stark plain tiled-pattern of the subway floor and banish my delusion of Ion. And when I stop imagining, someone real catches my gaze.
He’s sitting a few feet away and to the right from me, right next to the door. He’s fair haired, with bright hazel eyes that seemed to see through everything around him rather than at it. His hair is short, but for a long strand swept to the right side so that it falls in his eyes sometimes. The rest of him seems almost designedly simple: gray tee and a dark blue scarf over jeans and a navy-and-brown messenger bag. Even the small suitcase in front of him is a plain black with a bright blue ribbon tied to the handle.
At first I thought he was of average figure, a few inches short of 6 feet. But as I observe almost obsessively, I think his clothes drape over him a little too well. He raises a hand to brush his hair behind pierced but undecorated ears, and I glimpse a wrist and arm skinnier than even mine. His skin is a pale almond color, healthy, but it’s evident he doesn’t see a lot of sun. It contrasts the multicolored wristband around his wrist.
I take a small step forward and crane my head a little closer to see what the wristband says. The subway is crowded, but no one seems to be awake enough to mind a stranger creeping on a fellow stranger.
“Love Project 2014”. I wonder what that could mean. It would be maybe a minute for me to look up what this means. But I don’t take my eyes off him to check. Instead I continue to watch him, mesmerized, as though if I blink he will vanish, becoming just another strange body on the train.
He glances through the people in the subway car again, and pulls out a phone with a shrug. His phone is bright gold. It has a small decal of a orange-haired mermaid with a trident-sized needle and thread. I don’t recognize the character. Again, I ignore the temptation to look this up.
He taps the home button. Tap-taptap-tap. That’s his passcode. He hesitates. Swipe. Back swipe. Swipe again, tap. He waits. Then tap. He pauses, before swiping up. I watch, transfixed with the motion and slight twist of the pad of the thumb as it moves the page down and down. Swipe, swipe…swipe. He smiles, and tap. Then it is back to swiping. Another smile, followed by another tap. Swipe, swipe.
We pass what I reckon is half an hour like this, him just scrolling down the page of whatever application he has open—some kind of social networking, I figure. At one point he furrows his eyes, the edges drawing in a little with curiosity and his thin lips sucking in and twitching to one side. He decides he likes it, or something of the sort. The post is rewarded with a tap and he pauses to look at it again before continuing.
Then suddenly he chuckles, quietly, but audibly enough for me to hear through the quiet chatter on the train. It’s a light tenor sound, and the smile tugs the ends of his mouth and delicately thin eyebrows up. The message is responded to with a tap, but this one is aimed at the top of the screen—a text, I decide. He shifts his legs and weight, and pulls his other hand from where it was resting on the rail. His thumbs dart across the bottom of the screen.
I watch, fascinated, and find myself wondering who he is and what he’s like. What’s his name? Where is he going? What does he enjoy doing? I can tell he’s not antisocial because of the social networking application and the text, but beyond that, I can’t imagine.
“Next stop, Bryka Falls. All passengers departing at Bryka Falls, please prepare to exit.”
He looks up and he clicks his phone off, and stuffs it in his pocket. I panic a moment—is this his stop? I want to stop him—that entire hour, just spent watching?
“Wait,” I call out, reaching for his arm. My finger grazes his scarf before he realizes I’m talking to him. My voice is several octaves too high, and I’m trembling with nervousness. “Sorry, but I wanted to tell you. You’re cute.”
He’s utterly confused—and probably creeped out. His hand stops halfway in his bag and I realize he was just putting his phone away to get something else. Thoughts drain from my head. I didn’t need to stop him now. Not yet. Too late.
He gives me a bit of an awkward chuckle, and his eyebrows lift in disbelief. We both freeze and for that moment, there is nothing but the awkward connection I’ve created in the space between us. Then he smiles, and in an instant, all the anxiety about my actually speaking with him melts away. His eyes seem to vanish into small crescents. “Thanks,” he says. He holds out his hand. “Ethony.”
“Harper,” I reply, shaking his hand. I must be as red as a tomato by now. If I had frozen up before, my brain is now a confused blue screen, unable to process that he’s actually introducing himself. His fingers are long, thin, and almost delicately soft. Mine are rough from constant typing, and from working with wires and computers all day. That observation doesn’t help the tomato problem.
As I speculated, it’s not his stop, so I take the newly vacated seat next to him and we talk for a spell. His voice is the color of his phone, melodic and golden, bright but not feminine. His cadence is at ease, even if he’s talking to an absolute stranger. It puts me at ease too, and my voice returns to its usual pitch. Warmth floods back into my body. My brain defrosts and hums like a computer restarting.
“Where are you going, Harper?” he asks casually. I open my mouth to say I’d like to build video games, but realize that isn’t his question, and his question isn’t as creepy as I thought it was. We are, after all, on a train. It makes sense to be going somewhere.
“Argentum City,” I reply honestly. “I’m moving there with a few friends. You?”
“I’m going back to Kiveneal Springs for spring break.”
“Looking forward to a relaxing week off?”
“Two weeks,” he clarifies. “Yea. I’m looking forward to relaxing and getting some stuff done.” He laughs easily and suddenly I could see the weariness in the lines around his lines.
“Hanging out with friends?”
“Some,” he shrugs.
“What do you do for fun?”
He seems a little hesitant at first, but replies: “I design and make clothes. I’m into fashion.” He shrugs. “You?”
“I like making video games.”
“Making?”
“And playing. I do a little bit of programming, design and art.” I direct the conversation back to him. “What kind of clothes do you make?”
And so it goes on. We swap stories about our hobbies, and keep the conversation light and casual. It doesn’t go into feelings or thoughts; just profile information about each other. He’s so friendly, it covers up for my awkward introduction.
I don’t know what I can say without being intrusive, and I’m surprised that the conversation is natural. It doesn’t feel like I’m talking to a stranger I spent the last hour watching.
I can’t help but notice his expression change as we talk. When he’s engaged, his voice is energetic and entertained. I can easily hear the passion he has for his work. It’s inspiring, and it makes me feel the same about my gaming.
“I share a site with a few friends,” he mentions when I ask.
He writes it down for me: silverleafsketch.aqt. “My stuff is under Verulean.”
“Is that your last name?”
He laughs, and I can’t help but smile. “It’s a pun on my last name, Ver’Elhun. Is Harper really your first name?”
“It’s actually Tsubaki, or Bree.” I pause. I’ve never been able to explain this. “I-I don’t know which one I am, so…” He nods with understanding, saving me the awkwardness. I have no idea if he really knows, or how he would understand something like that, but I sigh in relief. He chuckles, and I smile. He’s so nonchalant that I’m almost comfortable.
But we’re on a train, and the attendant’s voice fatefully interrupts us. “Next stop, Kiveneal Springs. All passengers departing at Kiveneal Springs, please prepare to exit.”
“That’s my stop,” he tells me. He has his phone out again as other passengers push by us to leave. We swap goodbyes, and he leaves with a little smile and wave. Outside, he walks leisurely, pulling his rolling suitcase along in a way that belies his familiarity with the station and area.
“Last call for Argentum City.” I lean my head against the window and sigh a little, my breath fogging up the glass. I touch the glass with a finger, but I don’t know what to draw. My finger just hovers there, like the blinking cursor on the screen that patiently waits for me to type my next word.
“Next stop, Argentum CIty.” The subway is considerably fuller now, headed to a much more popular location: Argentum is the techmaturgical capital of the the country. I’m squished into the corner the boy— Ethony— had vacated. I was so awkward. But I suppose it doesn’t matter. And anyways…he’s gone now. I’ll never see him again. This is just a random meeting and we'll never have another contact again. Not unless chance meddles or—I sigh and silence my thoughts as though I were closing a window. That won’t happen. I resign myself to daydreaming about Ion.
An hour later, in the shuffled quiet of the subway, I hear rather than feel the vibration in my pocket. I reach for my phone.
Hi. Nice to meet you. :)
Revision notes:
Firstly, these revisions are possible because of Ashmac, the TATABox, and Forsaken. <3
- The two parts now take place on a subway train. I've edited part one directly, and part two changes are reflected in the edit.
- I added more setting as to where Harper and Ethony are positioned relative to each other.
- Harper's emotional reaction/ mental processes to Ethony talking to her is elaborated on.
- How Ethony finds Harper's social networking profile is less creepy now. Plus, she has the link to his website.
- .aqt was a random domain extension I thought of for aquis taerr (the country)
- Silver Leaf Sketch is a play off a roleplay that never took off: Black Rabbit Book.
- This was the profile I drew up for the roleplay above. It's horrible >.<"
I actually did ask someone I just met for their website address. A few months ago I ran into a cute guy at work and just starting talking to him afterwards. I found out the city he lived in and his website URL in a 10 minute conversation. It was pretty random, but he was so chill about it that I felt kinda at ease too. Unfortunately I don't have a transcript or even very accurate memories; that would have served wonderful reference in this scene. :P
Hope you enjoyed the revisions! I don't know what is up for next week, but it will most likely be another JULIET short. I still haven't really started on the Drive By fic. >.<"
Trains Part 1/ Trains Part 2/ P
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