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Post by TSUKINO NATSUMI on Jul 12, 2012 9:49:06 GMT -5
Silence. It was refreshing - like the calm before the storm. Natsumi was wasting her time, time her brother kept assuring her she didn't have, in this quiet place where any voice over a whisper was highly frowned upon. She liked art. She liked how it could make a statement without resorting to shouting or violence. She liked how it could silence a room with so little effort.
But mostly she liked the fact that no one from work would approach her here. There were no dark corners to hide behind, no crowds to conveniently blend in to - no, it was perfect. There were a few ways in which it could be more perfect, of course, such as if a certain someone were around; or even just if her brother was here, with something other than his shady business to think and talk about for once.
She sighed. Right in front of a rather romantic painting, the work of an expressionist, probably causing the few other people in that area of the gallery to think she was missing an absent lover, or something. No, no, just tired. Just contemplating, in her place of escape. But it seemed like her time of peace was just about over, because in the distance there seemed to be a commotion - loud voices, chatter, probably a school group or something. She couldn't catch a break. Not even in a place like this.
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Post by Baba Yuuma on Jul 16, 2012 17:26:49 GMT -5
Yuuma liked art. It was cool. But only when the art was good. Some people, like Picasso, were really crappy artists and didn't deserve to be famous! He had remembered once reading something about a Swedish guy that put dead houseflies on paper and sketched little arms and legs and things. It was weird. Pretty stupid if you ask him. But, his horror books were good sellers and lots of people liked them, so that made them sort of mainstream right? So didn't that make them normal? What was normal?
Yuuma read in the dictionary once that the definition of normal was "conforming to a standard; usual, typical, or expected." But that was only used as an adjective. He couldn't really remember the definition when used as a noun, but it was pretty similar. Information like that was pretty useless, he thought, but maybe some people used it to their advantage. Yuuma couldn't really imagine where that would be an advantage, but who cared? It wasn't significant, so why was he thinking about it? Good question! he praised himself.
A woman was looking at an expressionistic painting that Yuuma was planning to look at. Huh. She had dark hair and a very serious look to her. That seemed to be the type of people this place attracted. Wealthy citizens often came to gaze upon the art to impress others. It's stupid, Yuuma thought, that you would need to impress someone. That they need to be impressed. Shouldn't they be happy with who you are? Then again, most people Yuuma met didn't like him, and he didn't like them. Perhaps everyone just had incompatable personalities. It certainly wasn't his fault, it was just their fault. And the fault of the people who raised them.
((Yuuma comes off as so childish in the first paragraph with the way I wrote it...Or maybe I just come off as writing bad sentences. xD))
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Post by TSUKINO NATSUMI on Jul 18, 2012 8:05:42 GMT -5
A glance to her left, and she saw him; the teen. It was purely by chance that it happened - an involuntary reaction, looking in the direction from which unexpected noise had come. And it was because of that that she caught him staring at her. How rude! Children these days had no manners, none at all, especially the kinds that the city life attracted.
Natsumi was no stranger to men looking at her - boys usually assumed she was out of their league, and rightly so. She was out of everyone's league, but that didn't stop them staring. Oh, if her brother was here... but he wasn't, for once, and she'd just have to deal with this annoyance on her own. It's not like she didn't have enough practice; working at the bar like she did, she had become quite adept at shooting down boys on her own.
"Are you just there to stare?" She asked, her voice cold, stretching her neck slightly so she could look down on the boy. That blonde hair - probably bleached - was not cute at all. Nor was the way he so openly gawked at people. Manners! She kind of regretted choosing to go out in Western clothes today; if she had known she would have to actually talk to someone, she would have dressed up a bit more. "The art is on the walls." What was a kid like that doing in a place like this, anyway? It certainly didn't seem like his kind of haunt. While she knew some intellectual teens, they still had better things to do on their days off than wander around the galleries of the city.
Unless he was here on a date; but that seemed somewhat unlikely. What kind of man looks at another woman when he has one waiting for him? Well, still a boy, still horny, she supposed; it's not like they had any self control. No, that was still a few decades down the track for any man, unfortunately.
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Post by Baba Yuuma on Jul 21, 2012 13:58:47 GMT -5
As soon as the woman spoke, Yuuma liked her. She was absolutely horrid. He happened to be in a creative, fairly pleasant mood and, fortunately for the woman, wasn't about to murder her. Now, why would he like someone so horrid? Because it gave him inspiration. That was what he needed lately, his agitating editor had been sending agitated emails like such an agitating person would about how damn agitating it was that Yuuma didn't have any new ideas. But this horrid woman gave him ideas.
Perhaps a curt businesswoman, ordering a reluctant crew to dig up abandoned mines on an infamous mountain? Only interested in money, she tells them to suck it up and start working. However, strange nine-headed snakes appear, murdering the crew relentlessly. Eventually the only person on the mountain is the woman, until a traveler seemingly comes to her rescue. When they step outside their cabin to reach a car and escape their living hell, the beasts appear and kill the traveler! The businesswoman escapes back into the shelter, but eventually goes insane and commits suicide.
Now that was a story.
But Yuuma had to deal with the real world at the moment. "Why does the art have to be on the walls, if you can just look at someone and be inspired?" It was, of course, possible that the westernly-dressed woman would take this the wrong way - that he was flirting with her or something absurd like that. Yuuma had no need for women, no need for men, no need for anybody but himself. Those that got close were dead, of course by his own choice. One man had escaped his emotional purge, and that one person had been the source of half of Yuuma's issues. He didn't have much of a conscience, but the man had fooled Yuuma into loving him, but maybe it wasn't love. It is impossible to grow a conscience, so perhaps it was obsession. Yes that made sense -
No, stop thinking about it.
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Post by TSUKINO NATSUMI on Jul 24, 2012 8:50:30 GMT -5
She couldn't help but laugh at the boy's words. Really? Was that the best he could come up with? She'd heard better pick-up lines from the drunks at her club, and she had long thought they were the worst in the world. But you learned something new every day - and today that lesson was to never underestimate the naive stupidity of kids.
No, the real question here was why she was even bothering with him in the first place. Surely she could brush him off easily - Natsumi was a busy woman, after all. But she wasn't exactly keen to get back to that dull and dark and serious world of her work quite yet... perhaps this was her way of procrastinating?
"You'll have to try a bit harder than that, boy. Words like that make you no better than the artists whose 'uninspiring' works you're so adamantly ignoring." She turned her attention back to the painting. It really did have the most interesting interplay of colours; the light was captured exquisitely. She glanced at the nameplate, wondering vaguely how much it would cost to commission the artist.
Although something like the expressionistic work would clash horribly with the club's decor. She would be much better off looking for something more contemporary, stark, post-modern, something more... intellectually stimulating. But the stark cynicism of such works could get a tad boring; probably because they reminded her so much of herself.
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Post by Baba Yuuma on Jul 30, 2012 13:40:48 GMT -5
Yuuma snorted at the woman's reply. He wasn't interested in her, not in the least bit. "First off, I never said they were - what was that word - uninspiring. I simply said that looking at someone can be inspiring too." Now he really didn't like her. She was condescending and apparently arrogant, considering she just assumed that Yuuma was trying to hit on her. "Pig," he growled under his breath, not really caring if she heard or not. Honestly, he had no interest in her. She was, in fact, so uninteresting he didn't even really feel like killing her. That was when someone should know what a boring and terrible person they are.
Yuuma looked back at the art on the wall. It was swirling emotions, warm colors, something to do with love. Or romance. Or maybe just erotica. But either way, it was too happy for a piece of art for him to like it. Yuu was interested in darker pieces - ones representing death, doom, and destruction. Sadness. Anger, that was a good one too. Hatred. It reminded him all to much of how he despised the human race and all its people. Animals were of a higher class than the practically hairless two-legged monsters.
It would be interesting to look into Yuuma's memories to find out where his opinions came from - but perhaps nothing would be found there. Maybe all the explorer would find was blood and murder and his tears of joy as he cut, cut, cut. Red was his favorite color, so it might seem surprising that he didn't like the warmly colored painting. But since the emotions behind it were so...cheerful it lost any favor it might've had a chance to win. |
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Post by TSUKINO NATSUMI on Aug 4, 2012 7:33:23 GMT -5
Oh, he was too much. There was hurt in his words, or rather, a kind of defensiveness - he was getting fired up, which was just how she liked it. Keep the boys on edge, and it'd be smooth sailing. After all, they were flighty and over-emotional, listening to their impulses and not rationality. She'd hurt his ego, he'd strike back and pretend he was never interested. And of course he must have been at least a little interested in her, in who she was and what she was doing, because why else would he have approached her, stared at her in the first place?
"You need to remember a bit further back than three seconds, boy, and all the implications your words carry. Like I said, the art is on the walls." She was growing a bit tired of him. To be honest, her heart had never been fully in the conversation from the start. She would much rather be talking to someone else, some with a voice that had actually broken. Deep tones whispering to her at night, words lost under the murmuring of sheets as a hand reached out to turn her face to his, skin against skin, hot breath and even hotter lips...
She shook her head, feeling her face flush, embarrassed that she could think of such things out in broad daylight. She folded her arms, holding them tightly, fingers digging in to her sleeves, a reminder of where she was and to keep herself from getting carried away. Distracting herself. It's not like he'd be at home waiting for her, so she couldn't get her hopes up. Feeling a slip in composure, she glared at the teen as though he had somehow been able to see inside her head, and walked to the next painting, in a similar style but still markedly different, her heels clacking on the cold marble floor.
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Post by Baba Yuuma on Aug 10, 2012 18:55:37 GMT -5
This woman was annoying. She was a bitch, in other words. She was pissing Yuuma off, her assumptions that he would want to flirt with...that. A beast of a woman, Natsumi was absolutely horrid. Maybe he'd put her on his to-kill list. But...he didn't know her name. He hadn't quite memorized her face, Yuuma didn't want to make a mistake and kill the wrong person. It wouldn't be too bad, anyway, but it was always a pain in the ass when you realize you've killed the wrong guy and he's still roaming the streets screwing up peoples' lives.
Further back than three seconds, eh? Stupid, stupid woman. Disgusting pig. He watched as her face flushed - she was thinking about something. Well, obviously she was thinking about something. But this thought, or thoughts, made her face red, made her annoyed. Natsumi glared at him and stalked off, arms folded. Yuuma gave a smirk that stretched across his pale face. There was a way to get to her. That was always the fun part. Teasing your victims. Threatening their loved ones, getting them to throw their lives away for someone else - or at least they thought that's what they were doing. Silly, silly, humans. So weak, it was amusing.
The sound of her heels on the hard floor echoed, it wasn't a terribly annoying sound. There was a rhythym. A consistancy. Unchanging until the person tripped or stopped or changed their gait. The woman was now looking at another painting, somewhat resembling the piece Yuuma was standing in front of. She had the attitude of a businesswoman, probably a secretary or a worker for some upscale company. Yuuma didn't like businesswomen. They were so arrogant, thinking that because they could dress up in a suit and heels that they were something special. As if...they were someone. Someone important. Of course, more often than not they seemed to be paid to sit there and look pretty at a nice, clean desk. It was a good image for a company, it made sense, but it irritated Yuuma all the same.
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