Page: 1 2 3 4 5 6
ShilohPR
Blossoming
Global user
Location: Bostonia
Posts: 507
|
|
Reply | Quote
|
|
The 409; ch. 8 added 11/18/08
I decided I wanted to try my hand at a story written specifically for this board, so it's going to be an experiment for me. Written a little differently than I usually write... We'll see how it goes! Oh, and there's language, which I guess I'll have to get creative with on here...
The 409
Prologue
Why do stories always seem to begin with random encounters that later turn out to be not so random? I’ve spent a great deal of time thinking about this, and the conclusion that I’ve finally come to is that stories are actually a gross understatement of random chance meetings. After all, how many hundreds of people every week do we bump into on the Tube or in that corner café or in the old bookstore down the street that seems to just be screaming “Come inside and meet the love of your life within our romantically narrow aisles!” Yet these hundreds of random encounters are never documented because... because they don’t matter. They’re boring. They’re almost always meaningless. We rarely pay any attention to the man at the table behind us or the woman walking behind us on the street or the kid sitting with a bored grimace in the lobby of our apartment building.
But then I suppose it happens someday. You meet someone in some random location and don’t think much of it. They’re just another nameless nobody that you’ll never see again. Except this time you do. It only has to happen one time, and then even if you don’t realize it’s anything important –maybe it takes three, four times of seeing them before you begin to catch on– later you look back and think, “Hm. What were the chances of that? How odd...”
So random encounter number one. I’m standing on the plane, tugging my luggage out of the overhead compartment where the strap has wound itself around someone else’s bag and refuses to let go. Apparently they formed some sort of bond during flight, maybe a marriage ceremony took place, and now the two bags are madly in love and unwilling to part ways. I’m tugging and tugging, as is some guy standing right behind me with similar problems. Suddenly his bag comes rocketing out of the compartment and his elbow stabs me in the back of the head like a well-aimed punch. The instant I let go of my bag, it decides to leap down into my arms, but misses and crashes down on my face instead.
“Oh, God, I’m sorry,” the man cries, grabbing my arm as though this will alleviate the throbbing on both sides of my head.
I don’t even look at him, too busy glaring at my bag, and wave him off with my hand, “It’s no problem. The airplane gods aren’t on my side today. There’s nothing you can do to help that.” He laughs because I can be quite clever at times. I still don’t look at his face because what do I care who he is? We part ways and that’s that.
Random encounter number two, in which I still don’t see the man’s face but faintly recognize him due to his British accent. Not that British accents are any big phenomenon, especially not when you’re in Britain, but the voice sounded the same so I decided it simply must be the same man. At least in this instance I was right in my assumptions.
I’m sitting in a restaurant later that very same day with dear Izzy, whom I continue to call Izzy after a lifetime of her begging me not to. She hates the nickname, and I really don’t blame her; it’s hideous. We’re just sitting there in this unimportant Chinese restaurant that’s crammed into far too small a building so that all the tables are rubbing right up against each other. I suddenly have to go to the bathroom at the exact same moment that the man behind me does, or maybe he’s just leaving. Whatever the case, he stands just long enough before me that when I rise, his elbow clonks me on the top of the head horribly sharply.
“Sh*t!”
“Oh, God, I’m sorry,” he apologizes, grabbing my arm as though to steady me should I pass out from the impact. That seems to be his MO. Knock helpless girls over the head, then grab them by the arm and insist, “Oh, God, I’m sorry.”
I shake my head and wave him off, “No worries. I’m fine.” Not giving him a second look because I’m sure he’s embarrassed and I really don’t care anyways, I skirt past him and go to the bathroom.
Random encounter number three, and at this point I begin to catch on that something is a bit strange. It’s the next morning, which shows you how shady it is that I should have three random encounters with the very same man in less than two days. I’m strolling along in Hyde Park because I’m lost and all I need is a grocery store because the kitchen is completely empty when suddenly wham, there goes the elbow again. Perhaps if my nose hadn’t been buried in my cellphone, I would have noticed when the man in front of me suddenly stopped dead in the middle of the walkway to answer his cell phone. I’m telling you, the things are the tools of the devil. I happened to run into him just as he raised it to his ear, earning me a sharp elbow right in the cheek.
“Uhh-“
”Oh, God, I’m sorry,” the man gasped, pulling his phone down to gape at me. His voice again. It was the same frigging man!
This time I decided to get a good look at him. After almost knocking me out three times, I felt I had the right to at least see what the guy looked like.
He was awfully small, a narrow little guy with an ungodly amount of energy, even trying to stand still as he was. He had a head full of dark hair to match his olive skin, and to me he really looked more Italian than the fair-faced Brit I had stereotyped from the movies. I was nothing if not ignorant.
I pointed out, “That’s three times you’ve clonked me now. You’d better watch those elbows or you’re going to hit someone who isn’t quite as tough as I am and they’re going to go down.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll be more careful,” he promised. Then, with a grin and a nod, he turned and strolled off, apparently unconcerned about whatever concussion I was probably suffering due to his excessively sharp elbows.
I rolled my eyes, “What a douche.”
But hey, I was eighteen and loose in London for the first time. Not even a massive concussion could ruin my mood. So with a giddy smile, I continued my search for the frigging grocery store, ignoring the small voice in the back of my head pointing out, ‘Don’t you find it a bit odd... the same guy...’
Last edited by ShilohPR, 19/Nov/2008, 0:32
|
|
4/Jan/2007, 19:03
|
Send Email to ShilohPR
Send PM to ShilohPR
AIM
|
ShilohPR
Blossoming
Global user
Location: Bostonia
Posts: 507
|
|
Reply | Quote
|
|
Re: The 409
CHAPTER ONE
Joslyn sighed as she threw herself backwards onto the bed, “God, I’m glad I have rich friends.”
“We aren’t rich,” Dora, the woman whom Joslyn usually referred to as Izzy, insisted.
“Your moms and dads are rich, it’s close enough.”
“If we were that rich, there wouldn’t be four of us sharing a flat.”
Joslyn shrugged, “Why not? We each still get our own bedroom. This flat is huge. I thought we’d be, like, crammed all into one bedroom and have one little bathroom to share and all that. This is like a frigging house, though.”
Dora just stared at her for a moment, then shook her head, “You’re so American.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? You’re American, too.”
“I’m less American than you are.”
“I don’t see how being American is a bad thing,” Grant suddenly piped in from somewhere beneath the two large boxes balanced in his arms.
“You’re Irish,” Dora pointed out. “You’re supposed to hate everyone. Or maybe everyone’s supposed to hate you...”
“And you’re British; you’re supposed to be a total *****. Oh, wait...”
Joslyn laughed and took one of the boxes from Grant so he could see where he was going and set it on the floor amid the dozen or so other boxes staging a coup on the living room. Though Dora and their fourth flatmate Giordi had been in the flat for about two weeks now and had most of the furniture and decor set up, Grant had arrived two days before, and Joslyn just the day before, and so there was plenty still to unpack.
Giordi stepped through the door and dumped another two boxes on the floor before announcing, “Well I think the Irish, the Americans, and the British all suck and the Italians should rule the world.”
“You’re American.”
“I’m Italian.”
“Your parents are Italian.”
“Which makes me Italian.”
Joslyn shook her head, “No, it makes you Italian-American.”
“Shut up. Nobody asked you anyways,” he grumbled, kicking a box of her clothes before leaving the room. Joslyn and Dora laughed as the latter helped the former begin carting her boxes up the stairs to her bedroom, the corner one she had flipped Grant for and won.
Joslyn sighed at the appearance of her bedroom, “God, I love it here. Will you look at this bedroom? It’s by far the largest bedroom I’ve ever had.”
“That’s actually really sad because it’s not that big...”
“Well I think it’s fantastic,” Joslyn insisted, dropping the boxes on the mattress. She still needed to get her bedframe put together, since Dora and Giordi had left the bedrooms to be set up by their individual owners. As it was, her mattress dominated the floor while a chest of drawers would share the far wall with a bookshelf once it was put together, a desk perched beneath the largest front window, and a door leading into the bathroom she shared with Dora had absolute control of the fourth wall.
Most of Grant’s and Joslyn’s things had been shipped to Dora’s parents house about an hour and a half outside the city, and Dora and Grant had spent the morning packing up a moving truck with the nice collection of things taking up Mr. and Mrs. Rainwater’s garage. They had been very kind in offering the space, though, and didn’t seem too concerned about not having a garage for several weeks. The fact that they and Giordi’s parents had paid for most of the furniture in the flat was just another of the endless ways in which they were helping their only daughter venture out into the world. Actually, Dora had admitted to Joslyn late one night, they were ready to have her gone and had promised to help fund her way if she would just move out already. At twenty, Dora figured she still had a few good years left to live at home, but when Joslyn mentioned she wanted to move to London, and when Giordi mentioned he wanted to share a flat with them, and when Grant had mentioned if they were all living together, he didn’t want to be left out, it had been decided.
The only one in the house Joslyn had known before the past summer was Dora, but she, Dora, and Grant had spent a week together in France back in July. She knew he occasionally slipped into moody fits, but that wasn’t too bad –guy moody spells were so much better than girl moody spells. And then Giordi... Giordi who had picked her up at the airport and driven like a loon to impress her with his speed and reflexes. The longer she spent with him, she realized he really was every bit as arrogant and spoiled as Dora had warned. He seemed harmless, though, and even his arrogance could be amusing if you were clever enough to prick his pride every now and then. And Joslyn was nothing if not good at cleverly deflating egos.
Yes, Joslyn thought, the four of them would get along famously. It would be a wonderful year, or however long they all managed to put up with living under one roof together. The only thing missing was–
“Can we get a dog? Or a cat?” Dora asked when all the boxes had finally been unloaded and distributed to the correct sections of the house.
Giordi shook his head, “I’m not picking up dog **** and I definitely don’t want some cat curling up in bed with me at night.”
“What makes you think it would want to sleep with you?” Joslyn inquired pointedly.
“Because who wouldn’t want to sleep with me?” he demanded, instantly laughing at his cleverness. Joslyn rolled her eyes and raised her hand. Dora raised her hand. Even Grant raised his hand. “**** all of you,” he laughed.
Dora shook her head, “I think that’s what we just debated.”
“Personally, I’m all for a dog or cat,” Joslyn voiced. Though she wouldn’t classify herself a country girl by any means, her suburban upbringing had still given her home plenty of room to house an odd assortment of pets while growing up. She had never been in a house without at least two non-human companions and didn’t think that even living with a bunch of friends could make up for a rainy night snuggled up to read without a cat stretched across her lap.
“Well if that’s what the girls want...” Grant laughed and Joslyn smiled. So that’s how things were going to be. She and Dora were the girls; Grant and Giordi were the boys. Already they were slipping into their roles in this makeshift family.
“We’ll see,” Giordi consented. But he smiled at Joslyn and she knew she could get him to give in.
Grant settled himself on the couch behind Joslyn, not seeming too distraught when his added weighed forced her to roll back and lean against him as he asked, “Well so now what do we do?”
“We... live here.”
“Well Joslyn already went grocery shopping but she bought jack crap,” Giordi rolled his eyes.
Joslyn gasped, “Hey! Whatever I bought I had to carry with me, and I had to walk like ten miles to find a frigging grocery store.”
“Are you always so dramatic?” Giordi demanded.
Joslyn made a face at him and argued, “No. Only about thirty percent of the time. Forty percent of the time I’m making fun of everyone else for being too dramatic, and the remaining thirty I’m too laid back to care.” Giordi fell silent to see if he could catch her in her math, but she had divided up her percentages accurately, much to his disappointment. From what Dora had told him, Joslyn was a smart little thing, made no qualms about letting people know how smart she was, and he had taken this as a challenge to catch her in something.
“Isn’t there one just down the street that way?” Grant asked about the grocery store, pointing in the opposite direction from which Joslyn had spent her morning wandering. She sighed and threw her arms up in the air, demanding to know why no one had informed her of this.
“Well it doesn’t matter. I’m famished now, so how about we all go out and eat –it’ll be a celebration of our move-in. Then we can swing by the market and get actual sustenance for the house.”
“With what money? I’m seriously down to like twenty dollars,” Joslyn frowned.
Dora shook her head and laughed, “God, Joz... Thank God you have rich flatmates or I don’t know how you would survive...” Joslyn smiled because she knew it was true. But it was nice to be young and immature and spoiled.
|
|
5/Jan/2007, 2:20
|
Send Email to ShilohPR
Send PM to ShilohPR
AIM
|
ShilohPR
Blossoming
Global user
Location: Bostonia
Posts: 507
|
|
Reply | Quote
|
|
Re: The 409
Chapter One continued
With all the excitement of the move-in, it wasn’t until late that night that Joslyn finally had time to herself to begin unpacking her room, dumping the boxes out on the floor in order to refold everything and organize things in her drawers. Despite the chaos she had grown up in, or perhaps because of it, she had turned into quite the little neat-freak and actually had quite a bit of fun putting her room together just how she wanted it. It was too much to do for one night, of course, but she already had some grand ideas for painting the furniture and walls, what color bedding and drapes she wanted, and what posters or pictures would best fit where on the blank walls.
“Are you wound down yet?”
Joslyn glanced over her shoulder at Dora leaning in the doorway, her bathrobe wrapped tightly around her thin body.
She gave a sleepy smile and nodded, “Yeah. I feel like I ran a marathon today.”
“Probably jet lag mixed with all the excitement,” Dora nodded, stepping in to fall onto Joslyn’s mattress. “We’ll get your bed put together tomorrow, if you want.”
“Sure. I don’t think I’ll have any trouble sleeping on this tonight, though.”
Dora smiled and watched her slip the last few shirts into the shirt drawer, then patted the place beside her on the bed, “You know, Joz, I’m glad you’re here. You’ve always been my favorite cousin.”
“You’re just saying that because you have to live with me for at least the next year.”
“Maybe,” Dora laughed, slipping her arm around her younger cousin’s shoulders. “But this is going to be fun.”
Joslyn let her head fall to Dora’s shoulder as she agreed, “Of course it is, Izzy. We’re young and beautiful and we’ve got the world at our doorstep. What could possibly go wrong? Besides everything, I mean...” They both laughed at the cynicalness of it.
“Here’s to the stupidity of youth,” Dora announced, holding an imaginary glass in the air.
“May we make mistakes we’re ashamed to tell our children about in thirty years,” Joslyn added, clinking her own imaginary glass with it. They laughed and downed the invisible drinks.
After final hugs and good nights, Dora disappeared for her room and Joslyn finally changed and crawled into bed, the drastic time change and momentum of the day suddenly crashing down over her head.
“The stupidity of youth, indeed,” she sighed to herself with a small smile, then closed her eyes and was out before her head hit the pillow.
|
|
5/Jan/2007, 2:21
|
Send Email to ShilohPR
Send PM to ShilohPR
AIM
|
runawayangel04
Blooming
Global user
Location: sllywlkg w/ Rach dwn hlywdblvd
Posts: 6269
|
|
Reply | Quote
|
|
Re: The 409
Good start! I really liked it. The stupidity of youth is too much fun sometimes
lol
---  |
|
5/Jan/2007, 3:45
|
Send Email to runawayangel04
Send PM to runawayangel04
MSN
|
FaithVampireSlayer
Burgeoning
Global user
Location: on fellbeast
Posts: 254
|
|
Reply | Quote
|
|
Re: The 409
LOL!!! Theres more! YAY!!! hehehehehehe..I reviewed the prolgoue<sp?> on the site, it truly is very very funny...cant wait for more...update soon...
Namarie
Faith
---  |
|
5/Jan/2007, 17:10
|
Send Email to FaithVampireSlayer
Send PM to FaithVampireSlayer
AIM
MSN
Yahoo
Blog
|
ShilohPR
Blossoming
Global user
Location: Bostonia
Posts: 507
|
|
Reply | Quote
|
|
Re: The 409
Aw, thank you both. I'm glad you enjoyed the first parts. And Faith, thank you SO much for the e-mail. I'm sorry I was so confused, lol. I should have figured it out much sooner, but sometimes I'm a bit 
|
|
6/Jan/2007, 2:18
|
Send Email to ShilohPR
Send PM to ShilohPR
AIM
|
ShilohPR
Blossoming
Global user
Location: Bostonia
Posts: 507
|
|
Reply | Quote
|
|
Re: The 409
Chapter Two
“Orlando, take the trash out!”
Orlando craned his neck to look up at Samantha without moving any muscle not in his head as he whined, “Why do I always have to take out the trash?”
“Because I cook and clean and pay the rent.”
“Nooo,” Orlando retorted. He paused. “Ashley helps.”
“Oh, would you just take the trash out already?” Samantha gave an exasperated sigh. He could see by her smile she wasn’t really mad, though. He was her baby brother. She could never stay mad at him.
Orlando groaned and pushed himself up from the couch, wondering why Ashley couldn’t take the trash out. When it came down to it, though, Samantha actually asked very little of him for granting him a bedroom. He took the trash out. He had to keep the contents of his room from leaking out into the rest of the flat. He had to help pay for food and utilities, though since money rarely stayed long with him, big sister was constantly coming to the rescue and spotting him the money. He had moved in with her and another friend when he’d first come to London four years before, lived on his own for a while, then decided it was better with her. This thrilled their mum, and Sam probably didn’t mind much, either. It meant she didn’t have to take the trash out and there was someone to go looking after any strange noises that came in the night.
Samantha was bustling around the kitchen getting ready for work as Orlando hauled the bag of trash out of the can and tied the top. The rest of the bags were kept in the bin on the backporch, and Orlando slid the door open to grab the bin, pausing momentarily to glance out across the small courtyard they shared with the flat on the other side. Ashley had shared at dinner the night before that the last two residents of the house had arrived but she had only met the boy, some Italian **** with enough confidence to shatter a mirror. Orlando hadn’t met any of them, and Samantha had only met the first girl to move in, Isadora. Orlando spent as little time at home as possible, and when he was home, he just wanted to veg, not venture across the courtyard to make chums with their neighbors.
However, glancing across the courtyard now when music caught his ear, he saw one of the girls crouching on the floor of the living room, bobbing her head to the music as she crawled around some wooden project. He watched her a moment, smiling as she sang along with the music. He couldn’t hear her from all the way across the courtyard, but he could faintly see her lips moving, her bright red head almost blinding in the patch of sunlight sneaking through her open door. There was something familiar about her, though...
“Orlando, what are you– oh.” He turned to look at Samantha as she joined him in the doorway, following his gaze. “One of our new neighbors?” Orlando shrugged. “She’s a cutie. Why don’t you go say hello?”
Orlando snorted, “Thanks, but no thanks. I’m taking the trash out, remember?”
“Don’t be a smart ass. Take the trash out and then go say hello. I’ll even hold your hand if you want,” she teased. “But we need to meet our neighbors. You never know when we’re going to need a cup of sugar or a bag of popcorn or a big screen telly.”
“They have a big screen telly?” Orlando gasped and pouted when Samantha nodded. “That’s so unfair. Why can’t we get a big screen tele?”
“Save up your money, kid.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he rolled his eyes. Grabbing the bin and casting one final glance across the courtyard, he dragged the whole load out to the front curb with a grunt of disgust. How was it that three people managed to accumulate so much garbage in only a week?
When he returned, Sam was snatching her stuff up from the kitchen counter to head off to her job. She hit him playfully on the arm as she passed and order,
“Seriously, go meet the neighbor girl. Make some friends instead of sitting on the couch all day.”
“It’s my day off! I can’t relax for one day?”
“No, go make yourself useful,” Samantha ordered.
Orlando rolled his eyes, “You’re worse than Mum. Do you know that? You make Mum look like a laid back–“
”Good bye, Orlando. Make a good impression.” And with that, Samantha was gone, leaving Orlando alone in the flat except for Maude stretched out on the sofa. He was terribly tempted to join his beloved pooch for a day of sitting on his ass watching cartoons all day. While getting a soda from the fridge, though, his eyes wandered across the courtyard and he saw the neighbor girl again, still working intently on whatever it was she was working on, still singing along with the music.
“Fine, I’m going,” Orlando sighed. It was disgusting how much Samantha had always bossed him around, but it was even more disgusting how often he complied with her demands. Samantha couldn’t stay mad at her little brother and Orlando couldn’t stand up to his big sister.
Leaving the door open in case Maude wanted to follow –she didn’t– Orlando carried his soda with him across the courtyard and paused in the doorway, smiling when the woman didn’t notice him. Her back was to him, her tight jeans and black tank top tracing her curves most enticingly. Orlando had no qualms in admitting his appreciation and even tilted his head a little, smiling as he finally heard the voice of hers alongside that of Al Green.
The women shuffled around and picked the instructions up, then happened to see his legs over the top of the paper. Slowly her eyes trailed up until they reached his face, at which point she suddenly gasped,
“Oh God, I forgot my helmet! Stay back!”
“Wha– oh! I knew you looked familiar,” Orlando laughed, stepping back in amusement and nearly tripping on Maude in the process. Apparently she had decided something interesting was going on across the courtyard.
“You recognize me? So does that mean you’ve actually been targeting me?”
Orlando shook his head, “No, no, it’s sheer coincidence I’ve almost knocked you senseless what, three times now?”
“Yeah, coincidence,” the woman snorted. Her eyes turned away from him, though, as she tried to hold two wooden boards together and twist a screw in at the same time. This was impossible since she possessed only two arms, and the screw fell to the floor. The woman let out a frustrated growl and reached for the screw, but this meant the boards slipped.
Last edited by ShilohPR, 6/Jan/2007, 19:10
|
|
6/Jan/2007, 2:22
|
Send Email to ShilohPR
Send PM to ShilohPR
AIM
|
ShilohPR
Blossoming
Global user
Location: Bostonia
Posts: 507
|
|
Reply | Quote
|
|
Re: The 409
Chapter two continued...
“Would you like some help?”
“Do you promise not to knock me senseless?”
Orlando scratched his neck, “Ah... well, I can do my best.”
“Best not to, or best to...”
“Best not to,” he laughed. He took the next frustrated growl as an invitation in, and crouched down beside her, reaching out for the screwdriver.
The woman stared at him for a moment, then insisted, “I can screw perfectly fine, thank you.”
“Oh, I don’t know doubt that...”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” the woman laughed, throwing her head back to show her pearly teeth.
Orlando smiled for his own wittiness, glad to have made her laugh, then pointed out, “You have to put muscle behind it to make it go through the wood, though.”
The woman gave him a wide-eyed look, then smirked, “Hold the wood, please.” Orlando decided to let her fail on her own despite his warnings and held the wood. She gave the screw a sharp twist, raised her eyebrow at him, and then screwed it in, muttering, “Need muscle to screw... I could snap you like a twig.”
“Excuse me? I believe you’ve felt the punch I pack.”
“Yeah, and it hurt, but I’m still standing.”
It was Orlando’s turn to laugh as he insisted, “You don’t even know me and you’ve insulted my masculinity several times now.”
“You insulted my masculinity.”
“I... I’m sorry? I didn’t mean to insult your– well your femininity is nothing to joke about, obviously,” he offered, raising his eyebrows and making it obvious where his eyes trailed.
She rolled her eyes, “Please. Hold this one.” Orlando did so, watching her face closely, watching the way she bit her lips together in concentration.
Once the screw was in, Orlando asked, “So what are we making?”
“What? Can’t you tell? It’s a bookshelf!”
“Oh. Oh, right. Of course.” They locked eyes and paused for a silent moment, then both laughed.
“It’ll look fine when it’s finished.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
With two sets of hands, the project didn’t require much more time, and soon the two stepped back to smile with pride and admiration at their completed bookshelf.
“It looks great, doesn’t it?”
“It does,” Orlando nodded. “Since I helped. It would have looked like **** without me.”
The woman laughed, “Ego, much?”
“So, where do you want this? Even with your guns, I don’t think you can carry this thing on your own...”
“Upstairs in my room.”
Orlando froze, then glanced at the staircase across the room and repeated, “Upstairs?”
“Yep.”
“The second level?”
“No, the third. The second level is the boys’ rooms.”
“Are you kidding me?” Orlando gasped, throwing his hands up. “We have to carry this thing up two flights of stairs? Why didn’t you put it together in your room?”
She grinned, “What, is it too much for you?”
“Is it too much for you?”
She crouched down, leaned against the bookshelf to tip it up in order to slide her fingers beneath, then grinned up at him, “Well?”
“Watch out Maude,” Orlando order, gently kicking the dog back from where she sniffing at his feet. “Ready... and... lift.” With grunts of effort, they lifted the bookshelf and shuffled over to the stairs. Here they balanced it on their legs to momentarily catch their breath, then headed up the steps, Orlando going second to carry the brunt of the weight, though he didn’t mention this was why. From what he had heard of this woman so far, she probably would have insisted she go last, even if it ripped her arms off.
When they reached the second storey, a short rest was required. After they had both caught their breath, it was another lift on the count of three, then a quick shuffle down the hall, and soon the bookshelf was nestled into its new home between two windows.
“Beautiful.”
“So this is your bedroom. Man, I don’t even know your name and I’m already in,” Orlando mused, glancing around at the piles of clothing and half-emptied boxes and stacks of books and collections of bottles and odd trinkets.
“It’s usually much cleaner, but you’ll never know. Come on,” she ordered, shooing him from the room.
Orlando gave her an impish grin, “What? Never? No slumber parties or–“
”I don’t even know your name and you’re already inviting yourself over to spend the night at my house. You know what? Where did you even come from?” she demanded, stopping on the stairs quite suddenly and turning to face him.
With a loud laugh, Orlando apologized, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to skip that very important part... though you really shouldn’t invite perfect strangers into your living room. It’s not safe.”
She walked the rest of the way down the stairs, nodding, “Yeah, not with psychos like you walking around. What did you say your name was?”
“Orlando. Orlando Bloom.” She stared at the hand extended in front of her and the confident smirk on the face before her. When she raised her eyebrow, he added, “I share the courtyard with you. I live over there with–“
”Joslyn Montgomery,” she replied, shaking his hand. “Thanks for your help.”
Orlando nodded, then watched her as she stepped around him to clean up the tools and trash form their project, “Yeah, hey, no problem. What are neighbors for, right?”
“What day is trash day?” Joslyn suddenly asked, looking at the mountain of empty boxes and overflowing bags.
“Today. Truck comes at eleven.”
“Those suckers left me with all the trash,” she sighed, making a face. They had known it was trash day. They had lived in the flat for two weeks; they knew by now. Jerks.
Before she even asked, Orlando grabbed a bag, “Come on, we’ve got like twenty minutes.” He smiled for himself as he led the way to the curb, hearing the nagging he suffered from his sister to take the trash out. And here had volunteered! Samantha would roll her eyes if she heard of this, but then Samantha wasn’t a cute neighbor girl.
|
|
6/Jan/2007, 2:23
|
Send Email to ShilohPR
Send PM to ShilohPR
AIM
|
ShilohPR
Blossoming
Global user
Location: Bostonia
Posts: 507
|
|
Reply | Quote
|
|
Re: The 409
Hey londonfreak, thanks for the correction!! I fixed it immediately --and sent an e-poke to my Londoner friend who read this before I posted it and didn't think it fit to point that error out to me. I'm glad you caught it quickly, though, and saved me quite a bit of embarrassment, haha.
I'm glad you're enjoying it. This part of the story is before Orlando was famous, during his Guildhall days.
|
|
6/Jan/2007, 21:04
|
Send Email to ShilohPR
Send PM to ShilohPR
AIM
|
Add a reply
Page: 1 2 3 4 5 6
Powered by AkBBS 0.9.5b - Link to us
- Blogs
- Hall of Honour
- Chat
Click here to get your own free message board
|
You are not logged in (login)
Board's time is: 7/Jan/2009, 23:50
|
|
|
