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Post by Amy (In America - Busy atm) on Aug 2, 2011 18:46:17 GMT
{name:Poster#|#picture:0} The woodland and forest areas stretch over small hills, and climb up the tallest of mountains. Very few holiday makers venture off of the main paths, which the locals avoid, yet even they don't wander too far for fear of the unknown. [/b][/color]
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Post by Amy (In America - Busy atm) on Aug 11, 2011 22:55:01 GMT
{name:Rochelle#|#picture:1}Rochelle Thomas absently stumbled through thicket and undergrowth oblivious to everything other than the erratic beat of her heart, and the pressure of thoughts building against her guard. In fact, the only moment her surroundings were of any significance to her was when the tangles of brambles and sea of nettles malformed into a vacant and well-trodden path.
Cursing she eyed the path with loathing. Her aim today had been to avoid the main footpaths at all costs. After getting caught up in a tourist group being led by a guide Rochelle's already short fuse had flipped, and dangerously so. What had begun as a morning run in flimsy shorts, one of her dads old t-shirts and well-worn in trainers, had become of day of pacing, sprinting and weathering all manner of climates. Rochelle had no bearings on how far she'd gone, or even now, in the face of the engineered paving, just whereabouts she was. She was confident and comfortable in the knowledge that eventually she'd be home, in her empty echoing apartment. Yet knowing where she'd be in several hours didn't help her current predicament.
Racking her brains she was positive she'd not reached the peak, or at least if she had, she'd not ambled down the other side of the momentous hill. After her chain of thought led to her current position, Rochelle was certain that all she'd done was zig-zag through difficult and dangerous terrain scratching her bare legs red raw, being stung and bitten, and all to resolve problems that hardly seemed that pressing.
Unsteadily Rochelle stepped further onto the path, still partially shielded from view by towering trees. This brought her some small comfort, knowing that at only a seconds notice she could end this conforming to common sense and safety and pounce off into the jungle of green which she adored.
Checking for the umpteenth time Rochelle was positive the path in front of her was vacant, which brought her some relief. After all, she didn't think her pride could take being out-mapped by a group of tourists on a picnic. With her mind finally coming to a rest and her feet readying the beginnings of a walk, Rochelle was left further exasperated when something solid knocked her to the ground. She knew these woods too well to become victim to them.
"Watch where you're going!" She hissed with poison in her voice, even the bird's fell quiet. She'd known it was a human form that had collided with her back, hurling her onto the solid stony paving which had drawn blood from both her hands and knees. It was a feeling all too familiar to anyone who had a herd of younger hyperactive siblings.
A crowd didn't gather whispering apologies and pulling out their emergency first aid kits and so the red in her cheeks faded. If harm was going to come to her, she'd rather it be by someone as able at navigating as herself – though perhaps today wasn't a good example of that. A tall figure looming somewhere behind her chuckled slightly before getting back into its run and out of site, if not for her new injuries Rochelle was sure she'd hunt the person down and make them apologise, or at the very least level the playing field.
It took her a moment to realise that despite there being no interested parties of tourists, she was in the company of someone else. Before paying them a blind bit of notice she analysed her wounds, though oozing blood in steady streams none of the cuts and gashes were too deep.
"Hey," She said, her voice regaining its usual up-beat charm. "If that was your friend let him know his days are numbered."
Pushing herself from the floor with gritted teeth, she was certain that when she turned around, she'd be met with a face that might at the very least be vaguely familiar.
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Post by Laura on Aug 12, 2011 11:21:29 GMT
{name:Declan#|#picture:4}Declan trailed to a halt, laying a hand on a nearby tree, the other resting on his thigh as he leaned over in exertion. His breath came in shallow pants. He grappled with his water, eventually managing to untwist the cap, and downed half the remaining contents in one gulp. He'd felt like the world's greatest tool earlier, leaving the flat with a two-litre bottle of Highland Spring, but now he was glad he'd swallowed his pride. If it had been a 500ml one he'd brought, he'd most likely be passed out on the outskirts of town from by now. Sweat was pouring off him in pints, so much so that he looked like he'd been caught in a sudden downpour rather than been running for the duration of the morning. In some ways he wished it would rain - the air was humid enough that Declan felt as though he had been swimming as much as jogging. The atmosphere had eased as he'd left the town behind and entered the mountainous forest - the air had cooled as he gradually gained altitude - but it hadn't made much of a difference by that stage. He was well and truly feeling the strain now, having been running consistently for almost two hours, and he still had quite a ways to go. His breathing had eased and his heart rate'd lessened, so Declan was ready for the off again. Wiping his forehead with the sleeve of his hoodie and pushing back his slickened hair, he began to jog once more, bottle in tow. A disturbance in the surrounding woodland caught his attention. He slowed, enough that he could make out the rustling of something too large to be a rabbit in the undergrowth. He rolled to a halt, ears pricked, trying to locate the source of the sound. Normally he wouldn't have let anything break his stride when running, but he was hoping maybe a little naively that it might be a deer or something. Apparently they were common in the lower woodlands and Declan had kept an eye out for one, if only so that he'd have something to talk about next time he phoned home. Having pinpointed where the noise was stemming from, he crept over to the side of the trail, his action deliberately slowed, so if whatever was there was skittish he wouldn't scare the thing off before he'd got a chance to see it. He needn't have worried. After wading through the greenery, Declan discovered that there had indeed been something moving around in there, but that his quest to spot a deer would continue. A girl dressed similarly to himself lay spread out on the forest floor. "Hey, if that was your friend let him know his days are numbered." What friend, Declan thought. It was a statement of truth, laced only with mild bitterness. He'd made plenty of acquaintances in his time here, but few he could actually call friends. The girl gingerly picked herself, and even from behind he could see the stiffness in her actions, the wince that took over her face. There had been something oddly familiar about the girl's voice and as she turned to face him, Declan knew the spark of recognition in her blue eyes probably matched that in his own. "Rochelle... isn't it?" he said questioningly. Her name came to him before he'd remembered where he knew her from. Quickly he racked his brains. Given where he'd spent the majority of his waking hours since arriving in Lake Owensway, Declan had narrowed it down to three options. The restaurant? No... he'd worked in the kitchens then and he'd had little to no contact with the place's patrons. The ca- Yeah, that was it, he thought, the café he'd worked in for three months. He even had a vague memory of talking briefly to her there as he'd delivered her order, to the point of swapping names. He noticed the careful way the girl was moving, before his gaze came to rest on her hands. He saw that they were bloodied and covered with dirt. "You should probably clean those," he said abruptly, gesturing at her palms. Raising his bottle, he unscrewed it and made to pour the water over her hands - but caught himself just in time, looking at her expression for approval.
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Post by Amy (In America - Busy atm) on Aug 12, 2011 14:41:09 GMT
{name:Rochelle#|#picture:1}Rochelle, no stranger to confrontation, wasted no time in eyeing her acquaintance examining his every move and expression. He was slightly baffled at her threat to his friend, whom she figured was actually not any associate of this mans. However, he seemed sincere enough not to be a further danger to her, though a little disappointed to find that a stranger had been making such a racket. She herself had moved with absolute stealth through the woods on many occasions searching for elusive creatures, namely the infamous panthers that had been sighted for as long as she could remember. No one had ever been hurt, no pictures ever taken, and ever the sceptic she was positive it was probably someone's black-moggy prowling for a bit of supper. She'd felt the weight of disappointment when, on many of her hunts, she'd been giddy with excitement thinking it was only around the corner, to find a lost dog or a lost tourist and had to shoulder them to safety and familiarity.
When he muttered her name without much thought she found herself glaring at him inquisitively. Oddly enough, it was then she watched thoughts wash over him as he tried to locate her, and no doubt her silent but curious reaction had confirmed that she was indeed named Rochelle. She used those few seconds to truly absorb him, probing her mind for a place and time where she'd met a tall blonde stranger. She gave up almost immediately as the searing pain in her hands and knees flared to her brain. Before she could do anything about her wounds she found the man before her coming to her aid.
"You should probably clean those." She stood frozen for a moment while he stepped closer to her, water bottle extended to show his good intentions. Before he could reach her she'd stepped back, weighing up just what she was submitting to. It might not necessarily be water, she told herself, though, taking a glance at the man before her, laden from head to toe in sportswear and a coat of glistening sweat, there wasn't much else it could be.
"Yeah, that would be a good idea, well, it's that or infection." She half smiled, closing the gap she'd errected between them and gingerly offering up her battered and stinging hands, fingers twitching in pain. "This is going to sound awful, but I've got to ask, I recognise you, I'm just not sure where from, where did we meet?"
Working in the hotel provided Rochelle with a wealth of names and faces to remember, it simply exhausted her brain, and outside of work she was pretty oblivious to everything about people, aside from their voices, and the mans she recognised because it didn't hold the local accent – at least not quite. If he'd have been a guest at the hotel she'd have known him instantly. Having lived in the city her whole life, she realised she could have met him at any moment, though something about him felt fresh to her, perhaps the contrast and allure of hazel eyes against blonde hair.
"Declan?" she muttered to herself before he'd had chance to answer. That sounded right. That was it.
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Post by Laura on Aug 12, 2011 22:05:41 GMT
{name:Declan#|#picture:4}"Spot on," Declan confirmed, with a small nod. Rochelle had spoken softly, more to herself than to him, but with the relative silence of their surroundings, he had heard her mumble his name. However, given the slight confusion that had began to creep across her face, obviously she hadn't counted on him doing so. "It is Declan," he said with a ghost of a smile, before tilting his bottle slightly so that a slow, steady stream of water leaked over Rochelle's hands. He tried to be gentle about it, but nevertheless the girl winced as the liquid hit her injuries. The water, intermingled with blood and dirt, pooled in her cupped palms for just a second, before seeping over and dripping to the ground. Rochelle didn't make a sound, though from her furrowed brow and the way she was gnawing her lip Declan concluded her wounds stung quite a bit. Knowing the only relief he could offer was distraction, he answered her question. "I used to work at the Costa in town a few months ago. You must have went there for coffee a few times, because I'm sure we got chatting once. I guess you notice-" Declan swallowed and started again. "In this place, it's easy to get to know the regulars. With so many tourists, if you see a face more than twice, well, you take notice." He was mentally cringing at this stage. If Rochelle hadn't been creeped out about him recalling her name, she was certainly going to find how he'd remembered her face out of the few hundred he must have processed a week in that café unnerving. "I'm pretty good with names and faces though," he added off-handedly, trying to salvage the situation somewhat. Her hands were now relatively clean, although still very raw and sore looking. Declan pulled the bottle upright. As he'd spoken, he'd noticed that the grazes on her knees were just as bad, if not worst, than the one she'd sustained on her hands. "Your knees look pretty sore too. If you want, you can give them a rinse as well, though if you're happier doing that yourself then..." He trailed off with a mild shrug, before holding the bottle out to her. "How did you manage to do this to yourself anyway?"
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Post by Amy (In America - Busy atm) on Aug 13, 2011 0:16:46 GMT
{name:Rochelle#|#picture:1}Rochelle couldn't help but watch Declan's face as he tentatively allowed the water to pool in her hands. It hurt, there was no two ways about it, and as a result she felt her teeth clamp on her lower lip and her brow knit. When Declan's gaze returned to her face she did her best not to stare and naturally let her eyes fall to her hands, now barren of water, and gently flicked and waved them dry.
"Declan," she purred, tasting his name once more, it was a nice name to say. It definitely differed from the usual Thomas's, Edwards, Dan's, and so forth that she dealt with. She was almost upset with herself for not memorising such an attractive name, let alone the matching suitor. "It wouldn't be the coffee," she added, graciously taking the bottle from his outstretched arm. "But I'd queue all day for some of those cookies, especially the triple chocolate ones." She felt her lips curl and watched as Declan breathed a sigh of relief when she didn't bring up his fumbling of words despite her peeking curiosity. She was positive he was going to say something that might have been flattering yet worrying. Though, the truth of it was it didn't matter what he'd have said, she was more elated that she'd finally possibly cottoned on to someone of the male variety maybe having even the vaguest interest in her. It didn't ever happen to her. Any other day of the week, when she was relatively unscathed, she'd have most probably not noticed Declan's slip. As it was, her options were to pay vigorous attention to Declan in an attempt to divert from the pain, or succumb to her injuries and limp along home. She was willing to bet that the smile tugging at her lips and the slight blush in her cheeks served to tell him he'd not quite gotten away with it.
"I'm usually pretty good with names and faces," Rochelle continued before silence could even make a true appearance. "It's a habit of the job, guests warm to you better if you can tell Joe from John. I guess outside of work I just zone out a bit when it comes to people… not that I forgot you or anything, sometimes I just need a bit of prompting."
Looking from her knees, stained with trails of blood which was still flowing freely, and to the bottle in her hand, she was aware this wouldn't work stood up. For a moment she felt a wave of seriousness wash over her as she studied Declan and what possible threat he might truly be to her. Didn't kidnappers offer sweets? And here was Declan offering a welcome assistance and some minor first aid, it wasn't exactly well documented as to how murderers lured their pray in, but out in the middle of nowhere Rochelle was positive this would be a good tactic. She looked him over again, the word that sprung to mind was masculine, tall, broad, and athletic, he could take her, and she knew that. Given his kindness, and her state, she flopped to the floor and stretched out her legs. If he was really a threat – which she seriously did doubt – there'd be no getting away now.
"And," attitude was thick in her tone now. "I didn't do this to myself. It was a runner." She felt her irises trail from his feet to his face rage blazing behind her stare, blaming the runners as a whole rather than one individual. "I was stood here, I suppose it might be a blind spot to anyone coming this way, but I was looking the other way. The… uh… lovely guy ran at me, full force, and then left. And they said chivalry is dead."
The silence loomed awkwardly over them. She just couldn't help herself, staring at her knees while Declan stood tall in front of her, questions began to spill from her lips. She was preoccupied looking at the source of pain now, his voice would have to be enough to distract from it. "So, do you run out here much or just trying it out? And, where are you from? No offence, I just guess we might have crossed paths before if you'd have always been here."
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Post by Laura on Aug 13, 2011 14:47:11 GMT
{name:Declan#|#picture:4}Declan should have felt at ease but didn't, when Rochelle failed to remark on his earlier hesistation. It was hard to relax when she was scrutinising him throughly like he was a wild animal and she an eager zoologist. He listened to her as she talked about cookies and queues. Was it just his imagination - or was there a slight lilt to her voice that hadn't been there a minute ago? There might have been; but before Declan had time to wonder about it, Rochelle had flopped down on the ground and was pouring the remaining water over her knees. For a brief while she had scanned him furtively. but with the pain in her battered legs flaring up again, her attention had swivelled to those. The ire in her voice and eyes as she spoke of the guy who knocked her over surprised Declan. He was hardly shocked by the latter - to be fair, he'd almost plowed into a couple of hapless tourists himself earlier and had only just managed to swerve and avoid a casualty - but seeing the anger Rochelle harboured went against the vague impression he had of her. She'd seemed like a cheerful person, not the type to nurse a grudge. That said, if it was him in her position, he knew he'd at least consider tracking down his assailant and returning the favour. Her questions had thrown him a little. So far he hadn't really talked to anyone about himself, bar the odd boss, colleague or customer. Declan wasn't used to anyone taking an interest in him here in Lake Owensway and he was unsettled now that he was the main topic of conversation. What reassured him was the notion that Rochelle's sudden curiosity was probably fuelled by a need for distraction rather than genuine interest. "I run... a bit." This was awkward. He was going to end up with a crick in his necks like this, glancing down at her. Declan lowered himself to the ground and mirrored Rochelle's position, stretching his legs in front of him and resting his back against the sturdy trunk of a mature tree. He shouldn't make himself comfortable, knowing that it was going to be difficult enough to get up when his muscles were screaming for a shower and a long rest, those facilities currently numerous kilometres away. He decided though to relax now, and face the consequences later. "I probably don't as much as I should," he continued, once he had settled. "I'm getting out of shape." The somewhat cynical look that had appeared in Rochelle's eyes informed Declan that he probably had different standards of fitness to her. Or, probably more likely, that he obviously took too much pride in his physique. He had an urge to correct her, to tell her that no, he wasn't some body obsessed hulk who had a measuring tape stowed in his pocket and checked frequently whether his triceps had inflated another quarter inch. Declan didn't even go to the gym - it wasn't just that he couldn't afford it, but that he thought pumping weights or running on a treadmill couldn't substitute for a real active lifestyle. He abhorred the thought of steroids and stimulants, which took the toil out of bodybuilding. If you wanted to look like the Incredible Hulk, he thought, you should have to work for it. Declan cared little about his body's appearance or condition. He ran because he liked it. He played sport because it was his life's greatest passion. He wanted to keep fit because if he let himself go, he knew his ability to play, to run and to swim would be impaired. He couldn't even fathom finding the things that had always come so naturally to him a struggle. But Rochelle had asked a simple question and wouldn't appreciate a spirited defence of his fitness habits. "I might look into joining a cross-country club or running a marathon some day. Either that, or get up a little earlier and lace up the trainers." He looked over at her. Her knees were clean now; free of soil and leaves anyway. Blood was still beading from the deeper scrapes she'd acquired. The flush that had warmed Rochelle's cheeks earlier had faded, leaving a slight pallor to her sallow skin. Her eyes were very blue against the canvas of her face. He found himself looking into those striking eyes for a few helpless seconds, before blinking and looking away. "You... work in the hospitality industry?" he queried quickly, remembering the thread of an earlier topic. "I do too, kind of. If you call serving over priced pints to tourists hospitable."
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Post by Amy (In America - Busy atm) on Aug 14, 2011 22:53:37 GMT
{name:Rochelle#|#picture:1}Listening to Declan's voice was both a reassuring and soothing task for Rochelle as she began sourcing stones from the gashes on her knees with gritted teeth. After having initially only asked about Declan's life to provide some level of diversion, she was intrigued by her rising interest in him. This curiosity only grew as he relaxed on the carpet of mud and gravel next to her.
As he answered her questions without argument Rochelle hung on each word and nearly burst out in a fit of laughter when Declan accused himself of being out of shape. His stalwart frame was anything but, especially in comparison to her sinewy body which no amount of exercise seemed to have toned up… or so she told herself. The smile she was fighting back was almost about to win over when she turned from nursing her knees to see Declan silently debating saying something regarding his previous comment.
The moment was still bittersweet, or so a voice in her mind told her. Something about accepting the help of a stranger made her feel slightly weak. The guy who'd run off jeering at her pain was a true patriot of Lake Owensway, that was what she was used to, and what many of her classmates had grown up to become. It was unsurprising to see that she'd developed such a cynical view of the world and people in it when she was so very rarely exposed to a kind act which didn't merit some form of payment, and even in this case, she wasn't all too sure that there was anything Declan would want from her.
Rochelle allowed her hands to drop to the ground, scooping up small stones and began rolling them insecurely in her freshly scabbed-over palms while she waited for the sting to fade. For a moment she considered how she'd find her way home, would she be doggedly following Declan through the woods, or would they go their separate ways soon? Her eyes caught his while these questions circulated and the steady drum of his voice and his queries warmed her ears. She remained still as the night for a moment, studying his hazel irises before trailing to his golden hair and smiling sweetly.
"I work at Gregory Manor, it's a hotel and it’s the most beautiful building I've ever laid my eyes on." This was true. Rochelle's first sighting of the hotel as a child had left her breathless and declaring that she would one day reside there – which, in a way she did, though only from nine until five on weekdays or whenever there was a staff shortage. The interior had enthralled her just as much, with the walls adorned with hand-painted wall papers and original ornaments stood on every surface. "I love it, only it's not a forever thing. You know how it is, in these times you take what you get and I can't afford to be picky. I'm glad for the tourists though, mindless as they are, if they didn't merrily pay through the nose for everything I'm positive I'd be out of a job entirely."
Rochelle knew opportunities for work were hard to come by everywhere these days, and had been driven by anger for months when she returned to her home as an ambitious graduate, only to watch her friend's parents employ them in their own small or large businesses, and her own mother turn her down the position she'd worked so hard to be worthy of. Looking at Declan and listening to his words she was certain this was a hardship he was all too familiar with.
"Serving overpriced everything is practically a calling here," she said brightly, in spite of her negative thoughts. With eyes trained on Declan she decided it would be safe enough to probe for further information. "Have you lived here long... with your family or partner? I've been here since birth and… I don't know, something just keeps me here, and fairly content."
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Post by Laura on Aug 15, 2011 15:04:50 GMT
{name:Declan#|#picture:4}A frown spread across Declan's face as Rochelle posed her question. She seemed persistant in hearing about his situation, both before he arrived in Lake Owensway and now, having lived there for a while. He'd subsconsciously dodged her query the first time, asking a question himself, which Rochelle had graciously answered. He had felt rising relief as she talked about her own occupation and even a spark of interest when she'd vouched for the beauty of this Gregory Manor. Declan had always enjoyed sketching or photographing attractive and unusual buildings, while trying to identify the style of archetecture employed and the age of the structure. He found it hard to just admire a well-built home or building without analysing its structural strengths or flaws, but it was a quirk of his that he encouraged rather than restricted. He didn't want his love of architectural design to die, even though it was too late to save his dream of ever entering the business himself. He resolved to visit this hotel, sketch pad in tow, and spend a few happy hours studying and drawing it. He might even bump into Rochelle there... but Declan banished that notion before it became a fully-fledged thought. It seemed a bit weird, when the girl was sitting there beside him. It was the same girl that had him parked there humming and hawing to himself, without dealing with the issue at hand. Declan couldn't see any way of casually avoiding her question this time around, so Rochelle was going to notice his discomfort whether he answered it or not. It wasn't that he held his family and home life sacred, an topic that could never be broached. Relations with his parents and brothers were good, if typical, and he was anticipating the next time they would come visit or when he could make the trip home himself. It was the thoughts that accompanied those of his family that usually had Declan veering away from the subject. When he thought of them, he thought of his gruelling (if fun) years at college, the triumph he'd felt when he was handed the cert with his name on it... and how things had gone gradually downhill after that. He knew his predicament was similar to young people's throughout the country, but that didn't make it any easier to bear. It was one of the reasons Declan had gone for a jog; while running, his body overthrew his mind and for a blissful while, he'd been free from financial and personal worries. Until now, when a few words from a girl he'd found in the forest had opened up the vault and let those niggling pessimistic thoughts run riot in his brain. He'd been looking off into the trees as he considered his options and, having decided on a course of action, returned his gaze to Rochelle. She was playing around with the sharp pebbles and grit that gave texture to the forest floor, seemingly oblivious to his prolonged thinking, or indeed, his presence. He attempted a smile, only the slightest turn of his lips, as he spoke. ”I'm not from around here, as you've guessed. I moved in six months ago, looking for better work opportunities. I found them but... it's not much of a step up from what I left.” Rochelle was paying attention now, eyes and expression attentive. ”I grew up on a farm actually. My background is about as rural as it gets. I was driving a tractor before I was old enough to get proper lessons. It's... a big change for me, living in a city full-time. It's odd not being able to go back home at the werkends, which is why I try to get out of Lake Owensway as much as I can when I'm not working.” Declan's smile was more nostalgic than truly happy as he brought his story to a halt. ”My family are all back home, pretty much. Two of my brothers are still living with my parents. My eldest brother is married and lives about an hour away from them. That's my family. And,” Declan added, his smile definitely rueful at this stage, ”as for the partner, well... I guess I haven't met her yet.” And wasn't likely to meet her, he added silently to himself. He'd had a few girlfriends over the years, some more serious than others, but he knew he'd need one pretty tolerant and determined lady to take him on in his current state. Romance and even sex were far from his mind these days and what with work taking up chunks of his time, he was sure he'd be single for another while. Still, Declan thought as he glanced fleetingly at Rochelle, it was amazing who you'd meet when you weren't actively seeking a relationship, or even friendship. ”What's it like spending your life here?” he asked hoping his vocal cords might catch a break. ”I know that tourists have plenty to see and do here, but living here... the novelty wears off quickly. I take it your family is based in Lake Owensway...?” he questioned, curious about Rochelle's background after divulging his own.
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Post by Amy (In America - Busy atm) on Aug 16, 2011 18:38:57 GMT
{name:Rochelle#|#picture:1}Rochelle was astonished by how, with the help of a few words from Declan, she could feel anger bubbling, offense building and then calm settling all within seconds of one another. Her frustrations were evidently placed in the same areas as his, with work being lacklustre and the torment of being self-sufficient in the adult world. The idea of asking her parents for help these days was as welcome as a bullet to the brain, and she knew she'd probably rather take the latter. Her pride would be in tatters if she returned to her formidable parents and their intoxicating home, full of lies and forced smiles.
Her mother had been a bank manager most of Rochelle's life, and before that she'd travelled the world writing reviews of hotels, foreign foods and cultures and lived what she'd referred to as 'the high life'. When Rochelle was in her early teens her mother was made redundant, and given her father's comfortable salary, she'd decided to become a full time parent. It was in the years that followed that her mother encouraged Rochelle's photographic eye, and nursed her from strength to strength. When Rochelle was sixteen her mother set up a photography studio which proved a hit with everyone bar Rochelle, as the girls that were scouted, photographed and praised for being born beautiful were some of Rochelle's classmates or neighbours and developed some nasty and narcissistic qualities. Rochelle was never bothered that her mother didn't include her in these studio sessions as a helping hand or object of exquisiteness, though she was all ears when her mother promised her a place as a partner at the studio. The condition was that she go and get a degree in photography and when she came back grown up and knowledgeable they would share the responsibilities.
When Rochelle finished at University she came home to find that her room was now a gym, and the role she'd spent years studying for, and gathered quite the debt doing so, had gone to someone else two months before she'd graduated. The second her mother informed her she walked straight out of the door, suitcase in-tow and hadn't spoken to either parent since, though she did still see her younger siblings.
"Well, if it makes you feel any better, you're not the only one who had bigger hopes for themselves than minimum wage and maximum effort jobs." She looked ahead, Declan had been visibly distressed by her questions, well intentioned as they may have been, and she didn't want to spook him any further. "I don't know why you'd be so eager to leave this place," she added, her tone falling colder as she glanced at the handsome woodland unfolding before her. "It's enveloped by hills, mountains, lakes, rivers, streams and a beach not too far away. If you think the city centre could do with some improvements, then I agree, but I spend all the time I can out here, it can't be beaten."
Knowing she'd come off as defensive and unfriendly, Rochelle took a moment to clear her thoughts. She understood that it wasn't everyone's idea of a paradise or utopia, but it was hers, and she would fight for it whenever the need called, even if only when someone shunned it in conversation.
"Life here is easy." She was beaming now, thinking about how despite her problems and trials, she was relatively stress-free most of the time. "Something about it makes you feel untouchable. The tourists pay for that experience and spend a week doing ridiculous activities, and when you live here you just think that you'll be able to try that next week or month and never get around to it. You take it for granted a bit, but the novelty hasn't quite worn off yet." Unsure how to broach the subject Rochelle barely stopped for air before invading on Declan's love life, "As for the partner thing, if you're ever looking I have a few friends I could introduce you too, all far more perceptive and socially acceptable than myself. They're very pretty, actually have decent work prospects… and I'm actually pimping them out, what has my life come to?" Rochelle smiled, cringing.
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Post by Laura on Aug 22, 2011 9:09:13 GMT
{name:Declan#|#picture:4}Declan was confused by Rochelle's reaction, having watched silently as a variety of emotions invaded then deserted her features. He'd recognised most of them - understanding, ire, glacial nonchalance followed by abrupt cheerfulness, then cordiality - but he couldn't figure what he'd said that might have caused these. Whatever about that, the offer she'd made just now and perhaps expected him to accept had really knocked him for six. "Erm..." Declan uttered, very intelligently, as he felt a dull flush creep up his neck. "Thanks for the offer but..." But what, he thought to himself, as he picked at his hoodie's drawstrings. It was about time he got a social life. "...but you might want to warn your friends first about what they'd be letting themselves in for. I'm not even slightly perceptive; I'm a social caterpillar; the best job prospect I've had so far was being offered a managerial position in a Burger King... and I don't think I'm what you'd call pretty." He might have said it as a joke, but there was seriousness behind Declan's self portrayal. He was no catch and he was aware of it. From past experiences he knew that he was too quiet, too introspective and currently too bitter to be of much use in a relationship. Still, it was embarrassing that he'd only made a handful of acquaintances in his time in Lake Owensway - especially when his 'new in town' label had expired about two months ago. The opportunity of meeting new people, of making friends and having a laugh, was too good to pass up on. Declan shot a quick smile at Rochelle, toying with his words, wondering how to say them without coming across as cheesy, slimy or desperate. "I'll need to be able to get in contact with my pimp though, if she has a phone number... maybe she'd prefer to be called a matchmaker? I can't offer anything similar in return, but if you ever drop by Enigma, I might be able to slip you a free cocktail." He came up short, realising that it wasn't just that he wanted to return the favour - he wanted to see Rochelle again. There was something immensely personable about her, a quality Declan admired knowing it was one he didn't have, and a spark of vitality that was refreshing. She was interesting, he decided, certainly capable of surprising him. In fact, he really wondered if any of the friends Rochelle had mentioned could live up to the good impression she'd already made on him. Probably not, he concluded silently - yet if she'd been serious, Declan would most likely meet them anyway. There was never anything wrong with expanding your social circle. Besides, it would imply further contact with the girl sitting next to him on the forest floor; which couldn't be a bad thing in Declan's book.
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Post by Amy (In America - Busy atm) on Aug 22, 2011 10:39:11 GMT
{name:Rochelle#|#picture:1}Rochelle felt her lips curl when colour blossomed across Declan's face. His freshly dried up vocabulary was also a source of secret amusement. Though, the quality she most admired was his coyness as he politely searched for a way to decline the offer, almost doing so before he decided on considering just what it could mean for him. If his social life was as bleak as Rochelle's had been lately she understood his apprehension at the idea of meeting more strangers.
"Don't worry, I'll warn them. They'll hear the words six-foot, blonde, modest and handsome and I think they'll swarm over you and ditch me in a corner somewhere." Rochelle was usually pretty confrontational and typically honest, it wasn't a new thing for her thoughts to vacate her mouth long before she'd approved the sentences, yet, she felt herself blush the same cerise shade Declan had been only a moment before.
"Anyway," she said, trying to sweep her previous words under the rug, all too aware of Declan's hazel eyes boring into her. "You've got to get out and see the city; it might change your mind about the place a little more. It definitely looks better from the other side of the bar; though I think I will take you up on that sneaky cocktail." Despite Rochelle's distaste for the clubs, the idea of being sat at the bar next to Declan made it somehow seem bearable, even if it would be relatively silent while he worked his shift.
"Do you have your phone?" She asked, remembering with a sudden jolt that Declan had asked for her phone number, something very few people had ever dared to do. She was slightly baffled by her willingness to conform to this task, not to mention blindsided by the striking smile Declan shot her. Her mind whizzed way ahead of reality taunting her with impossible truths such as Declan wanting to meet her again, not her friends. It stung a little to think that she might have to watch her new acquaintance become intertwined with her friend's crazy worlds and abandon her in favour of the life the other girls led. After all, she had found him first, or rather he'd found her. She wasn't above playing that card. Still smiling, Rochelle tried not to let her expression turn sour as Declan seemed sold on the idea of meeting with her friends.
A last glance at her knees and palms let her know that the pain had subsided enough and the wounds had scabbed over enough that she could no longer justify sitting with Declan on the floor, or at least not for much longer. If he noticed that she was now in as good a state as she was going to get she might spook him, which she didn't want to do.
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Post by Laura on Aug 22, 2011 21:13:12 GMT
{name:Declan#|#picture:4}Declan felt his eyes widen as Rochelle's counter assessment of him tumbled from her lips. He knew he shouldn't be as flattered by it as he was, yet his pride had swelled happily at her words. It had been a while since any girl had paid him a compliment – a girl with all her wits about her, anyway – and his ego appreciated the boost. Of course, Rochelle was just trying to convince him that her friends would at least throw a sideways glance his way, should she introduce him to them. Yet Declan couldn't help but wonder, was that how she herself saw him? Perhaps, he allowed himself to believe, watching colour blossom under her skin as she quickly changed the subject. “Here,” he replied after she'd posed her question, pulling his brick-like mobile from the depths of his shorts pocket. “It's a Nokia dinosaur, but I can text and call off it. That's all I need.” Fumbling clumsily with its knobbly keypad, he unlocked the phone and held it out to Rochelle, his other hand raking idly through the leaves and soil on the ground. “It's easiest if you put your number in yourself, I suppose.” Declan saw a certain degree of hesitation on Rochelle's face as she plucked the hulk of plastic and metal from his palm, a wariness that he couldn't place or understand. As she proceeded to key in her contact details, he went off on a slight tangent, his attention diverted by what sounded like a herd of cattle trampling down the trail - cattle equipped with maps, cameras and a tour guide. It seemed as though another bus load of tourists had arrived. “I don't really mind the city,” he intoned softly as he peered through the undergrowth, spotting flashes of sunburnt legs, tacky Hawaiian shirts and cagoules, “I lived in a place similar to Lake Owensway when I was at college. It's fine I suppose. Positively nice, as far as big towns go. There's more than a few places I should get out and see at the weekends. I keep promising myself I will. I'm a country boy at heart though. When I'm on my days off... I don't want to be out pounding the pavements any more than I have to. I do enough of that during the week. I'd rather be out here, in the woods or down by the lakes, when I can afford to. But the city's not the greatest of all evils. Far from it.” He turned back to Rochelle, the tourists - and the brief diversion they'd created - having passed. “All done?” His companion nodded her consent and handed him the phone gingerly, the slightest tension hunching her shoulders. It took Declan a moment to make the connection between the cageyness with which Rochelle moved and the redness of her palms, but realisation eventually dawned along with rising horror. “I forgot about your hands!” he sputtered with a grimace, biting back the swear that probably would have stumbled out had he known her better. “I would have typed it in myself, if I hadn't- Sorry. How are they now? Your hands - and knees too, of course.”
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Post by Amy (In America - Busy atm) on Aug 22, 2011 22:27:41 GMT
{name:Rochelle#|#picture:1}As she flexed her palms to assess movement and pain levels Rochelle couldn't help but notice that Declan seemed considerably more at ease all of a sudden. She'd hoped he'd not paid much attention to her assessment of him, yet that now seemed like wishful thinking. Still, it tickled her to think that her slip could have had such a profound effect on a guy who was certainly in need of a few more positives in his day to day life and attitude toward himself.
"I think they're as good as they're going to get. Fingers crossed I don't add to the load… yunno, if I could cross them," she smiled at him gingerly. It wasn't apparent whether he'd caught her hesitation. Not only had typing the number in been trying physically, she had also been mentally second guessing herself and querying what she was doing handing out personal details willingly to a complete stranger.
"Anyway Country Boy, I figure it's time we get moving, or hobbling." Rochelle made a feeble and laughable attempt to get to her feet, her knees having gotten too contented lying flat against the cold earth. "I know the tourist route and next time we see them they'll be hurtling down this path like they've broken out of prison. You really don’t want to be a sitting duck when that happens."
For a brief moment there was a quaint and warm silence enveloping them as they both absorbed one another. Rochelle pondered whether Declan would ever bother contacting her. In her mind he was being gallant and kind, helping her in her hour of need, even going so far as to befriend her and open up. Yet, at the end of the long and turbulent day, he was male, and in her experience that was enough reason to doubt someone's decency and dependability.
Her next effort to stand upright was successful, though it left her wobbling and disorientated. She steadied herself glad to feel independent once more. Rochelle knew that she could run and charge through the leafy jungle before her like she usually did, still, she felt rejuvenated knowing she could navigate her way out of the woodland.
"Which way are you going?" she asked Declan innocently, with a slight tilt of her head and personable tone.
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Post by Laura on Aug 23, 2011 22:14:30 GMT
{name:Declan#|#picture:4}Declan got to his feet stiffly, his joints screaming out in protest - although his ascent was relatively graceful compared to Rochelle's. He'd stifled a smile the first time around, where she had pushed herself up, winced, before then flopping back down to the ground. Her following attempt was more successful, as she persevered through her discomfort and rose into a shaky standing position. His first instinct was to reach out a hand and steady her, but he resisted. In the back of his mind, there was a niggling reminder that he'd known Rochelle minutes rather than months, not counting their brief exchange in Costa. Perhaps she'd welcome his aid, perhaps she'd count it as a dire invasion of her personal space; but even though Declan was fairly certain she wouldn't flat out reject him, he decided as he normally did to take the safe, non-offensive route. He watched instead as Rochelle swayed on her feet, moving like a child's swing on a windy day, until she sought the support of the nearest tree trunk. Despite her unsteadiness, despite the pain she was bearing, Rochelle still managed to shoot Declan such a beguiling smile, that he found himself rather lost for words. In an effort to draw attention away from his speechlessness, he bent over to retrieve the mostly empty water bottle, lying horizontal on a bed of dead leaves. This earned him sufficient recovery time, so that by the time he drew up himself upright, Declan was pretty sure his reddened cheeks had faded, leaving only a healthy flush that could be attributed to the bracing mountain air. He felt as if he was fifteen again. Back to the time when he realised there were things other than membership to school sport teams that were worth pursuing: girls. He'd been awkward and gangly back then, all legs and arms; and whenever the current object of his affections had thrown a glance his way, he'd blushed and hastily busied himself with something else. Thankfully with years, experience and, in some cases, a bit of help from the local off-license, Declan had gotten over his shyness and become more laid back around females. Why things had regressed, he couldn't say. He could only put it down to a prolonged lack of contact with women, and with people in general. Scratching at his chin, Declan considered Rochelle's question. He could honestly say he wasn't sure where he was going. Funny that it was a question that could be answered on so many levels. He didn't know for certain where he was headed for right now. He could say the exact same thing about his life. Forcing himself to look into the amused blue eyes that were scrutinising him, Declan formulated an honest reply. "I don't really know. I think the plan was to run up the mountain, but right now all I'm capable of is walking home. I think I might pass out if I try anything more adventurous." He tightened his lips into a rueful smile. "Got too big for my boots. I thought I'd be able to take it on... but I think I'll admit defeat and go back the way I came. It's still a good walk back to my apartment, so my pride won't be too dented. What about you?"
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