I was going to make another OC story, but then I decided that "ehh. I want to do something different." So what I did was take the characters from the RP I'm in and make some drabbles of moments or scenes that I wanted to capture them in. Not all of them happened in the RP but I just wanted to capture the character and emotion of them. I think I failed though. There are only like...two that I like.
Some of these are in different styles so you'll see a few sections that change style and stuff.
But I hope you enjoy. :)
Jillessa Heronstair's Characters: Aria, Alex, Clarisse, Emily, Isadora
SilverJem5's Characters: Mason, Steff, Layla, Caspian
My Characters: Cole, Daemon, Aspen, Parker
~~Aria and Alex~~
She was never a fan of coffee.
So she had gotten tea instead but even then had she recoiled at the bitterness and pursed her lips like she was unhappy. Aria wasn't picky- at least not in the way her brother was, though he often forgot what he liked and disliked- so she decided to drink it anyway. Everything tasted bland over a stack of papers and the smell of ink hanging in the air like thick smog. She had grown used to it though.
And aside she set her mug and picked up her pen to fill in more lines. She scribbled across the paper hurriedly- neatly of course- and ignored the whines of her dogs as they scratched at the door. The air conditioner hummed. It was freezing. Her brother had come in to ask where his stele went and she shrugged, looking back and giving him a kind look. She was always kind. It was difficult not to be when everyone else was looking and judging. It wasn't that she minded but it was tiresome.
Alex sat down on the floor of her room and played with the dogs.
He laughed and said that they were little and were extraordinarily smart.
Aria had remembered a time when she had been little but never a time when she had been revered as 'extraordinarily smart'.
Because on paper, she knew, it was hard to see how people coped and no matter how much tears and blood she put into writing a piece or believed in a name or imagined in sentences of ink, no one would ever listen. And that in the end, it was only ever people who were able to inspire.
And that they were the ones with a voice that mimicked the words on paper.
But that wasn't her style.
So she smiled again at Alex and went back to the papers.
Writing.
Signing.
And when she was finally finished, her tea was still hot.
~~Mason~~
Books, Mason decided, were only useful if they had factual content.
There was some craze about fictional stories that caught him in confusion, as they offered no advice but how to ruin your life. They told of heroes and people who acted unbreakable on the outside, but were weak on the inside and crumpled just as easily. They told of those who hid from their real selves by putting on a visage. They told of people who were merely human. Humans were unpredictable. And breakable.
He hardly understood them.
That's why he liked facts and things that were permanent. Things that wouldn't change.
People around him had this unending belief that everyone- including him- had secrets on how they really were. The type of secrets that would make people say "I'm fine," when they really wanted to say, "I'm not okay." He couldn't relate. Not when guilt wasn't in his vocabulary and not when he said "I'm fine. Go away," and he meant it. Not when the face he showed reflected his real self and he was the same inside and out. And even though he was a master of characters, his true self would always come through.
But unlike the characters in books, he wasn't broken.
The cliche villain with the angst filled past.
He laughed at the idea and kept training like a machine with an infinite line of coding.
Repeating the process until he felt as if he were accomplished.
Caught in gears that never ceased to turn.
~~Steff and Cole~~
He wasn't mad.
She wasn't scared.
But they didn't dare move or say a word. He stared at the window past her and she held her hand on her braid as if she were comforted by it. He blinked once and she swallowed, the tension in the room rising by the minute. The room was too cold, goosebumps on her arms and his throat felt dry. Nothing in the room seemed real and they just continued to stare. It was uncomfortable. But they were silent and they didn't move.
She wasn't sure if she had said something wrong but he had stopped talking and, in turn, she had followed. He had been angry a minute before but she wouldn't address it. Not when the air seemed to hang in a heavy silence and the voices from outside the room had somehow faded into the distance until they were so soft, she thought she was imagining them.
He held his breath. He looked up slightly, but only with his eyes, following the lines in the fading room. He was sitting stiffly in his chair and didn't know what to say, for he didn't know what to say next. Time had frozen and they were left staring.
Just staring.
He wasn't sure what he felt but he knew he wasn't angry.
Maybe annoyed.
He remained expressionless and so did she. For a moment they caught each others glances and they looked like posing marble figures, almost still like a realistic scene filled with people who weren't capable of sentient feelings. She felt cold- empty almost- at the silence. And the world was somehow gone and all there was left was a tangible nothing that separated sound from reason.
And only when they heard receding footsteps from down the hall did they realize they had gone temporarily deaf.
~~Clarisse~~
For all Clarisse cared, she was immortal.
It had been hard to stop caring about her past but it had been easy to forget.
And so she picked a flower and twirled it in her fingertips.
She didn't know why she liked them so much.
But that thought was fleeting and she suddenly wished to remember her past. It was hard to love the flowers when everything was so mirk and dark and foggy. She laughed lightly and picked another flower. Clarisse hadn't a clue what brought it upon her but she wanted to be different. So she picked up her flowers, slung her bow over her shoulder, and danced away.
Fleetingly,
Into the trees,
She vowed to be,
Changed.
~~Daemon~~
Something was missing.
Daemon could feel it.
And he set his hand on the doorknob three times before backing up and looking up at the ceiling. He tapped his right foot, but never his left. Running a hand through his hair, he took a sigh and backed up again, glancing at his desk. It was still missing. He wasn't sure what he was missing but it felt like the world had suddenly been shaken from it's axis and it felt wrong. All wrong and he started to worry.
He started running his hand over everything in his room, hoping something would spark a memory. Touching each drawer in order, he started to look around frantically. Something was gone. Something...Something...And so he went over to his bed and looked at the bookshelf, opening every book except the fifth one. He never opened the fifth one.
He just...couldn't.
And he never touched the top of the bookshelf without his glove on and he could never look under the bed without unlocking his phone and then locking it again two times. The world was going to die. It felt like it was about to collapse and his head was filled with all these thoughts like a computer that a child had pressed too many buttons at once. But it was still missing. And so he tried to think about everything that he could have possibly forgotten about, but around all the commands and thoughts running through his head, everything was empty. Empty. Empty.
He said it out loud, three times, each time getting quieter. He didn't know why he said it like that but it just felt right.
And he clenched his hands into fists and dug his nails in palms.
So he paced the room from his desk to his bed. He never stepped on the cord running from his desk to the outlet. When he was like this, he just couldn't. And he brought his hands to his face and kept walking.
Something was missing.
Something was missing.
Something was missing.
He took a strangled breath and kicked the wall suddenly in frustration. It was a light kick but he looked down to make sure he hadn't broken anything.
On the floor was a book that had fallen.
He stooped down, picking it up and ran his hand over the cover before putting it into the third shelf on the far right of the bookshelf where it had been empty. Then he tapped it twice and stepped back. The world had straightened again and he collapsed on his bed in relief.
He felt ridiculous.
But everything was normal again.
~~Layla~~
She had protested at first.
People like him sickened her.
She had told him to shut up.
But he hadn't listened.
The first thing she had learned when she first became a werewolf was to hide her...unique ability from mundanes like it was something to be ashamed of. The second was that she had to control her temper. Layla never found herself with much of a temper but certain things ticked her off and she found herself stuck between an angry insult or walking away. At the moment, the former sounded the most enticing.
Trying to control her anger at the utterly vulgar mundane that kept talking about how girls were only good for easy jobs and for being easy, she opened her mouth to deliver a counter filled with her own very opinionated quotes, but instead found herself snapping and growling, tatters of clothes ringed around her. She had tried, really, to control the Change but it always seemed to have more of a say than she did. So she growled furiously at the mundane, who looked astonished, before running off and back to the Institute with reluctance, but mostly guilt at Changing in front of a mundane.
But then again, not really.
If there was one thing she really hated, it was the stereotyping and undermining of women. He deserved to know that she could kick ass just as good as every other guy out there, but she wasn't the fighting type. Not physical, anyway, as she didn't want to get into too much trouble with the Clave or have a sour reputation.
Not like all the people at the Institute who were like that.
She just wanted to be different.
And make a difference.
But unrealistic goals weren't expected from her by most and were disregarded by all, no matter how loud she spoke or who she spoke to.
And though she spoke of her own independence from stereotypes, everyone said that gags were made for women for a reason.
And it made her sick.
~~Emily~~
It had been all wrong.
Wrong.
And yet right.
And...
Once again Emily had confused herself. So she tightened her jacket around her shook her head against the wind. The streets didn't always seem so empty and cold but she found herself struggling against the chill and the emptiness that settled inside her like a hollow rock. At first, she tried to think why her relationships hadn't worked out ever once she had gone to the Institute- and before- and then a frightening thought filled her head and she wondered if it was her that was the problem.
The thought of her interests also filled her mind.
Quinn wasn't necessarily nice all the time, and certainly wasn't always truthful. So she wondered why she liked him. She wasn't sure if she liked him like that or was just confused. And then it became obvious why it hadn't worked between them.
He was a replacement.
Replacement for Khoi? The thought had echoed within her and she had tried to push it back, but it was clear that it was nearly true. They were similar, Khoi and Quinn, but she had never stopped thinking about the one who really seemed to care, even though she knew he didn't. She couldn't stop thinking about how he had been the one to teach her everything that she treasured and to teach her that she was actually special. He was the one who first said she was different and that he quirks weren't her flaws but her highlights. And the one who had done that for her certainly wasn't Quinn.
But he had cheated and lost her trust.
Over and over again, the same cycle repeated.
So she had replaced him with a duplicate.
But it was never the same and he was never special. Never special and never made her feel special like Khoi did. So she walked away from it and told herself she didn't need him. Either of them. And that she was better than them and that was what she truly believed.
Kind of.
~~aspen and Caspian~~
he was interesting:
cold, boring, warm, interesting. he was pure and yet not. and new playthings interested him.
He was annoying.
Touchy and all smug. He would act like he would everything when he was being stupid. He didn't know why he listened to him in the first place because he was all weird and...well, like a faerie. And he hated faeries like him.
he had been a jerk, he admitted, to the newcomer. he never liked girls with blonde hair but caspian wasn't a girl. not that he knew for sure...but he had decided to make him his knew favourite for a few months.
Extra attention from a stupid thing like Aspen was unnerving. He was nosy and stupid and smart and completely ridiculous at the same time. And he never failed to make an ordinary situation uncomfortable.
he wanted the darkness.
craved it like a drug.
and he wanted others to taste it to.
he wondered if that was the reason he wanted to recruit so many people. because then maybe they could relate.
He wanted to fit in.
His back hurt.
Scars.
They showed sometimes in his dreams and he wondered if he was mocked for it.
He envied others.
he hid in the darkness.
He didn't know if the Hunt was a fix.
ignorance in the darkness fixed everything.
Darkness, he learned, was comforting.
~~Isadora~~
Water.
Tides of it sloshing at her feet as she stepped into the sand.
She wondered what Xavier was doing and she dreamed that he was out, convincing people to join his cause. He was a leader like that. And she looked up to him, hoping he was everything he seemed to be. But she also feared that she wasn't good enough for him.
So she dreamed of a world where she was perfect enough for everyone even though her dreams were bittersweet.
They were perfect in their own way.
She smiled at the water and dipped a foot into it and quickly pulled back with a laugh.
It was cold. Cold like ice but she felt the warmth of the sun on her face. She imagined it like it was a sunset over perfectly blue waters. She had always been a dreamer. And so she fought the cold and stepped into the tides again. Looking out into the distance, she squinted to separate the colours of the blues, pinks, and oranges of the sky and she smiled, dreaming of sailboats.
Sometimes her dreams were simple.
~~Parker~~
Two hundred years.
Fifteen weeks.
Four days.
Ten hours.
Five minutes.
There would be a person who died.
They would be married for the first time. He would look in his early twenties though he was far beyond that. His wife wouldn't be with him, but she would be smart. Smart like the person he would first fall in love with but he had never gotten the chance to take it further beyond friendship and a test of a date. He wouldn't want to outlive her and watch her die as he lived on. So he would wait until right before his clock wound down to fall for someone, even if it meant breaking his own heart.
But he would find someone. They wouldn't be the same as the first person he found, but she was kind. They would travel to a lake with their adopted family. He would be on the pier, still looking like a teenager. He would hang his legs off the side of the wooden slates and look up at the sky and sigh in contentment.
But then the sky would change and there would be someone waiting. A faerie that he had wronged and they would be holding a knife.
He would try to talk.
Then he would run.
And then he would die.
They both would.
But that would only happen in two hundred years, fifteen weeks, four days, ten hours, and four minutes.
Three minutes.
Two minutes.
His timer kept counting and he dreaded the day he would die. If there was anything he didn't want, it would be to see when and where he would die but it was his power and he could hardly suppress it. Sometimes it hurt a little. And sometimes he wondered if he could change it. But he didn't want to mess with fate because this was the only way he could live to that age without killing more people on the way.
Two hundred years, fifteen weeks, four days, ten hours, and one minute.
He was scared.
~fin~
I'll add another chapter to this sometime...
Maybe.