Yes...I'm aware of the detached stare.
Disruption
Let's say you had a chance to tamper with the sickness that is fate. Escape the clutch that shrouds your darkest fears, conquer the inevitable. There's a moment — One so defining, illusive to the ignorant, manipulative to the weak. It's not at all out of the ordinary to find such a decisive moment in someone's life; In fact it's quite frequent. Only when you've had your time to think thoroughly about the situation, task, the objective that's presented to you. It's nearly like fate, but it's not. Neither is it destiny creating the destructive path that you have no say in. Simple. Very simple to the point where it's just you and a decision. Where you could follow the created fortune that's attuned to you, or stray away to one that's manifested from the deepest depths of your imagination. This is no career. It's a choice that defines you as a individual. You can either choose to be strong — Having the advantage of being able to decipher what it takes to dominate the minds of others to do your biding, or weak; The disadvantage of becoming a victim to the ones who created themselves to be the one of dominance. It's simple. Let the sadistic twist that has been dormant for most.
Break the seal that your fears are holding captivate. Unleash the potential that will lead to your supremacy, the strength that gives you the gift to tinker and fool others. Let yourself dissolve in the newly found factor. Have the beast of intelligence swallow every inch of your conscious. Don't follow the guidelines the higher demand wants you to. Redefine the definition of dominant. Become the very thing one unknowingly dreads most when they encounter you. Do what the gods have done. Watch the struggle when one tries to defy your hold, only to be taken over once again by your vice grip. Have them wither uncomfortably under your gaze, while in reality all they see is charm. Make sure they believe that your mind is set on them, give them the care and gentleness they crave, the attention drown them in your attention. Suffocate them with your affection. Send them the evil grins, and smiles they believe are only one of the purest human being alive. Make them understand that on the outside you're charming, generous, polite, sweet, while inside you're the sick, mutated, destructive, being they are made to serve.
Task: Generate a show so beautiful and dark.
Objective: Grab the world and dominate until you please, shake it to do your biding.
It's truly fascinating. To be able to look into the eyes of one and know that you hold a power so strong you couldn't bare to hesitate using when it comes to tampering with their minds. The gift has never been so clear and evident in the mind of the dark haired teen, until she's learned and seen first hand at what type of hold she can induce on anyone she pleases. It's a method of writing — One that can be channeled into a depth so deep that it can be a story told that captures the minds of many. The two are very similar yet there is a very key difference in the art of word schemes thrown into one. There is no need to take try and pick apart thousands of minds. In writing there could be nothing that is even remotely related to the audience, it's simple. Create something so tangible and imaginable no one could possibly question the morbid way you've twisted their thought process. Simple.
Directing is similar as well. The images you try to portray to the world does not need to be spectacular, and mixed with intricate pictures. Truth be told the big factor in perfecting the art of motion pictures, is how unique the way the scene is put together. It could possibly be a small room and two characters shifting their attention onto one another. It's how outstanding the chemistry the characters [Character] has with the story that is being told through body language, and facial expressions. There is nothing that could stand in the way between stardom and dominance of the world of arts, when you have the two properties shown and told in a way that the audience can do nothing but wither on their seats in wonder at the scenes bouncing around and toying with their brain.
Arms crossed and eyebrows knitted in concentration, she watches with perceptive eyes. Daring any of the adults watching the short film to make any sort of indication that the film was unworthy of a scholarship into the school. There was no need of a scholarship, yet if she wouldn't receive one she would be rather insulted they doubted her masterpiece. Within a few minutes it's over and all eyes are on her. Nodding with a look of indifference when she sees an uncertain quirk of a lip from a man with a moderate build, and dark brown near black graying hair and mustache she swallows the need to put him in place when he beams at her with shinning mirth.
"Brilliant. I have been informed that this is an original piece?" Jade nods as confirmation.
"It was pure and utterly ridiculously unique, and incredibly perfection and looked very similar to a vision I have seen—"
"Sikowits, the piece was amazing so please stop trying desperately to compare the film to one you've seen in one of your spoiled coconut visions."
It's a downside of the admiration that he rambles on about no question of her being accepted and riding on a full scholarship with benefits, though she can excuse his unwavering voice with his enthusiasm to get her into the school immediately. It takes exactly four minutes for him to excuse himself and the other three he was with speaking of some emergency with an odd student and bullies. She takes the rude exit in stride and promises herself that she will not let the abrupt interruption slip from her memory. Instead she takes in her surroundings and checks the 'black box' into her mind, and ventures out of the room and into the halls to map out the rest of the school. Instead of keeping up the facade she created to fit the vision of a near perfect student, she drops the well practiced smirk and does nothing to assure the uneasy students that were unlucky enough to be captured under her gaze.
Notting the intentional way that most of the teenagers she's passed have moved out of her pathway and continued to stare at her with distrustful eyes. She narrows the cold treatment down to her distant eyes and the way she walks with dominance, daring anyone to speak on the keen indifferent frown drawn onto her features. Perceptive eyes. She knows this from the countless meetings she's held with the counselor that she has been with her entire stay at the facility. To her knowledge the staff had been keen on verbally speaking their concerns that she will never be able to make it through a lifetime without being thrown to the side and becoming victim to weary stares, and alert postures telling her of their discomfort. It makes most wither and shrivel under the intensity of her stare. She doesn't believe that there is a problem with the conclusion, but it has been something her mother has hesitantly reminded her about before she entered the school.
The most tactical step would be to mask the vultures eye and continue on with the front she has been able to maintain since starting the research three years ago. The satisfying results are that she has indeed been able to fool the audience. It's dangerous to slip from character but she has wanted to leave a mark on the student body. It's when a teenage boy has accidentally been shoved into her and has the audacity to meet her gaze firmly does she reapply her character. A few blinks of confusion and flashes of discomfort splatters through his eyes before he is bowing his head and ducking away from her intense stare. She faintly hears a stream of empty apologies before he abruptly turns and tries to put needed distance between them.
Another seven steps before she rounds the corner in the main hall, her senses flare and she refrains from letting the frustration that has been building in the pit of her stomach release in the short moment it has taken for another student to be shoved into her. It takes a mere three silent beats and she can feel the hot liquid seeping into the well worn flannel. It's deep shade of red probably the most colorful clothing she has in her closet covering the black tank top that's now flooded with she assumes is coffee. Faintly she hears a hiss of apology, but she isn't positive because of the blaring ring flooding her mind. Her sight has been narrowed and neither of her eyes can register her surroundings. There's a motion she's confident only her keen senses could have noticed, and she can't stop herself from grasping the tanned hand hovering above her chest. It's quick and a fluid movement before she has a warm body pressed against the nearest lockers. Her eyes have adjusted now and she has a thin vision of brown.
With her mind clouded with images of harming the brown she sees, her fingers clutch the wrist she has captivate intentions of making the brown wither in pain. There's a flash of discomfort invading the brown, but she doesn't stop the vicious grasp, she craves more. To see the brown melt with a pain that has never shrouded them before, and she's near the line she wants to cross desperately—Low, near mute and her ears hardly pick up on the soft frequency, but she does, she always does. Her hands still and her senses have snapped into place. Her eyes sweep across prominent cheekbones, tanned skin with a hint of lighter shade, a pair of pink lips accompanied by a scarce gloss, and she peaks to the light brown hair, before skipping back to wide dark brown eyes littered with flecks of gold. She tries to detest the flicker of emotions passing through the brown irises as she analyzes the teen. It's the slightest hint of discomfort she can conclude; With much effort she tears her gaze away from the brunette, and to the few students that have stopped and watching the encounter with intentional stares. They turn away at her eyes, and once again she settles her attention to the brunette she has pinned. She cannot deny the fact that the girl is attractive.
"I'm sorry."
The voice is soft and the apology rolls off her tounge in a sickly smooth way, and she keeps the inflaming lungs at bay. Her eyes narrow, because she can spot someone easy to dominate a mile away. Silently releasing her hold on the brunette, Jade takes a solid step back her gaze firm — With concentration she searches the brown, evaluates the mind hidden, it's a tactical she's come prone to using; it the most effective. Using the intensity of her eyes in order to break down her next experiment, and for a moment she is close. There is a hard blink and an empty second before the brunette has transcribed her own stare into one Jade can no longer understand, and it makes her jaw clench with anger. Anger at herself for not being able to break the girl within a few minutes, anger at the lasting twenty seconds she counts and still no signs of her being able to decode the brunette. With the frustration lingering in her system Jade nods internally understanding she would not be able to gather information needed at the moment. She tilts her head instead and decides to renter the facade she has been able to create that seemed to please both her mother and the school principal.
Yet the smirk falters for a tangible moment, because there is a shuffle of discomfort and a soft huff in disapproval from the brunette. As though the girl could easily detect the false persona — Jade is off balance and it is not pleasant one bit, but she recovers from the set back with a permanent scowl.
"I was trying to study for the test I have in like five minutes, and my sister shoved her coffee in my hands before she ran off to stalk some guy. It's stupid of me really to even think of multitasking considering a lot of people have told me about being seriously clumsy—" Jade drags her eyes to the empty coffee cup, and open textbook settled on the floor between them. The girl is still mumbling incoherent sentences, and Jade blinks in irritation.
"I don't care."
Lots of words...Hardly aby dialogue. Sorry.
Write Ya Later ;)