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Nov 16, 2015 19:20:28 GMT -8
Tag me @sheep
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Post by Westley Walters-Kirkland on Sept 29, 2014 15:54:25 GMT -8
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Nov 16, 2015 19:20:28 GMT -8
Tag me @sheep
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Post by Westley Walters-Kirkland on Sept 27, 2014 22:10:28 GMT -8
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Nov 16, 2015 19:20:28 GMT -8
Tag me @sheep
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Post by Westley Walters-Kirkland on Sept 19, 2014 21:49:47 GMT -8
Wes wheezed, straining to keep himself calm as he continued to force himself to breathe. It was dull work, and seemed rather thankless in the scheme of things. He was breathing, it was the reason that he was conscious, but it just felt like he was mindlessly sucking down oxygen without really filling his lungs.
It had happened in the middle of a lecture, Wes simply sitting back in his seat as a faint pain pulsed in his chest. He had ignored it, quickly brushing it off as something strange but unimportant. Yet the pain gradually grew worse, and his chest began to tighten. His wheezing began to make itself clear to the rest of the class, and it took not even a minute for the teacher to take notice and step over to inquire what was wrong. From there it had been a quick trip to the office and into an ambulance, time flashing by his eyes as his mind grew faint.
When he had finally arrived his lips were blue, nostrils flared as he struggled to stay conscious. There was pain medication, examinations, and then at last desperation as the doctors realized like all of their predecessors that there was little to do but make him comfortable and hope for it to pass. So the boy lay quietly in bed, oxygen mask over his face as his eyes wearily drifted over the cheery paintings that lined the walls. No one had come with him nor had anyone arrived yet to visit him, and as little as he would like to admit it, the loneliness was far more painful than anything. He was tired, frightened, and wanted nothing more than to have some of his family fuss over him with pillows and hot tea.
For some reason the longer he brooded on it the worse it made him feel, and he welcomed the distraction of the pretty nurse approaching him. "...Hu-.." he tried, quickly giving up and covering his mishap with a soft wave, shaking his head to answer her question. Having given up on speaking he pointed to the clock, the time still early enough in the afternoon that office workers would still be stuck in their cubicles. It was a stretch, but he hoped that she would understand that he meant someone would come a little later. He wouldn't call Kyle just yet, the man had to work a little bit without running off to save him. Just yesterday he had dropped everything to get Kiwi his nebulizer after he had neglected to take his inhaler to school.
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Nov 16, 2015 19:20:28 GMT -8
Tag me @sheep
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Post by Westley Walters-Kirkland on Sept 14, 2014 21:41:00 GMT -8
Stuffy stuff, abandoned house you can see by the railroad tracks that I walk by when I head ot work.  In the far back you can see a silo  We have loaaaads of beer here.....because there's nothing else to do when it's -40  Riveeeeeeeeer  Downtoooooown  Old paper factory  Brick Dick, Big Dick, Most Phallic Watertower.  And...just so you understand what the hell is wrong with my city |
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Nov 16, 2015 19:20:28 GMT -8
Tag me @sheep
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Post by Westley Walters-Kirkland on Sept 13, 2014 19:38:44 GMT -8
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Nov 16, 2015 19:20:28 GMT -8
Tag me @sheep
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Post by Westley Walters-Kirkland on Sept 13, 2014 12:13:25 GMT -8
Aimless - Devoid of direction or purpose.
Anxious - Full of mental distress or uneasiness because of fear of danger or misfortune; greatly worried; solicitous.
Bad Habit - A revolting personal habit. Examples: picks nose, spits tobacco, drools, bad body odour.
Blunt - Characterized by directness in manner or speech; without subtlety or evasion. Frank, callous, insensitive, brusque.
Bold - In a bad sense, too forward; taking undue liberties; over assuming or confident; lacking proper modesty or restraint; rude; impudent. Abrupt, brazen, cheeky, brassy, audacious.
Hoity-toity- Given to flights of fancy; capricious; frivolous. Prone to giddy behaviour, flighty.
Impatient - Unable to wait patiently or tolerate delay; restless. Unable to endure irritation or opposition; intolerant.
Impish - Naughtily or annoyingly playful.
Meddlesome - Intrusive in a meddling or offensive manner, given to meddling; interfering.
Nosey - Given to prying into the affairs of others; snoopy. Offensively curious or inquisitive.
Phobic – They have a severe form of fear when it comes to this one thing. Examples: Dark, Spiders, Cats
Practical - Level-headed, efficient, and unspeculative. No-nonsense.
Smart Ass - Thinks they know it all, and in some ways they may, but they can be greatly annoying and difficult to deal with at times, especially in arguments.
Soft-hearted - Having softness or tenderness of heart that can lead them into trouble; susceptible of pity or other kindly affection. They cannot resist helping someone they see in trouble, suffering or in need, and often don’t think of the repercussions or situation before doing so.
Stubborn - Unreasonably, often perversely unyielding; bull-headed. Firmly resolved or determined; resolute.
Troublemaker - Someone who deliberately stirs up trouble, intentionally or unintentionally.
Unpredictable - Difficult to foretell or foresee, their actions are so chaotic it’s impossible to know what they are going to do next.
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Nov 16, 2015 19:20:28 GMT -8
Tag me @sheep
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Post by Westley Walters-Kirkland on Sept 6, 2014 20:57:45 GMT -8
So everyone seems to live in super different places!
And I think it would be uber cool if we all posted pictures of the different cities and neighborhoods we live in! Because there is so muuuuuuuuuuuch diversity and it would be interesting
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Nov 16, 2015 19:20:28 GMT -8
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Post by Westley Walters-Kirkland on Sept 6, 2014 20:48:54 GMT -8
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Nov 16, 2015 19:20:28 GMT -8
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Post by Westley Walters-Kirkland on Sept 4, 2014 23:02:18 GMT -8
"Home I think"
That was all Wes needed to hear to be sure that Kyle would be just fine, the elder was far more liberal in regards to healthcare than himself. And if he said he was fine he would damn be fine, when stubbornness runs in a family it runs irritatingly deep. They would curl up on the couch, and Kyle would tell him he smelled, and Wes would call him a few colorful names that sounded far less threatening in his soft tone than intended. Then they would just sit there lazily with their bellies filled and some prat jabbering on about animals on a television program Kyle liked. It would be lying to deny he liked nice little nights like that, where everything was as close to normal as it would ever be and Wes didn't let out a single cough.
He saw the way Kyle tensed every time he paused to catch his breath, and every time the slightest hack rose in his throat how his cousin's fingers itched to get the inhaler he carried with him. Kyle wasn't a worrier, he didn't sit at the table fretting over where Wes was, and if he was making friends, he knew far better than to waste his time with something so trivial. But...for some reason it was at the peaceful times like the current it weighed the most on his mind.
He wanted this to be about Kyle, Kyle being a hero, and Kyle looking so effortlessly cool. Even the slightest noise in his throat would shake off the focus, and the attention of his cousin with be turned onto him until they had once again forgotten. "Well then, someone's going to catch cold if we stay here, so better to hurry away." All the better to go home quickly for pineapple lumps, and he could sneak off quickly with Daffyd to have a little sick party if the lady was staying. They seemed to be previously acquainted and all, who was he to stand in the way of his cousin pulling.
So grudgingly he returned the gun, knowing better than to believe such a dull lie, but not questioning Kyle's motives for saying it. If he said it was alright he had no option other than to simply believe him, he trusted his judgement in most cases. "There, now home?" Honestly, he was feeling a little more fatigued than usual, and home sounded like the best place to be to sleep it off. It had been a hard week after all, nothing a good rest wouldn't cure.
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Nov 16, 2015 19:20:28 GMT -8
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Post by Westley Walters-Kirkland on Sept 3, 2014 7:50:31 GMT -8
Yeah, so whomever who has been following up with me has an idea of the holy hell my schedule looks like for this semester. I'm working 45 hours a week, and taking 18 credits, along with five big prop commissions I have to fill before Halloween. So I don't know what I'll be able to actually do in my nonexistent free time, but I'll try to keep on tabs with a post a character a month. Honestly I won't be here so much, just skype me to grab hold of me. And if anyone was wondering why I was being so horribly pushy about people posting for the last two months this is why.
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Nov 16, 2015 19:20:28 GMT -8
Tag me @sheep
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Post by Westley Walters-Kirkland on Aug 29, 2014 8:27:08 GMT -8
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Nov 16, 2015 19:20:28 GMT -8
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Post by Westley Walters-Kirkland on Aug 28, 2014 21:46:14 GMT -8
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Nov 16, 2015 19:20:28 GMT -8
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Post by Westley Walters-Kirkland on Aug 28, 2014 10:10:12 GMT -8
Wes had his usual simper plastered onto his face as he stepped into the hair slaughtering shop, schoolbag slung over his shoulder. Honestly, he had no love for the place in the slightest. The snip snips by his ears unnerved him greatly, and always caused him to instinctively lash out with his arms and hit whichever unfortunate person was offered up to cut his hair. There was only one place that would ever cut it cheaply, and at the age of seven he was banned for biting every hairstylist there.
His mother had taken up to cutting his own hair after that, and it was a horrible ordeal with bowls over his head and squirming wailing children. But there was nothing that would seem to make him sit still, not kisses nor promises of sweets. Haircuts became a hated family ordeal and it was his clever aunt who had thought up a solution.
His hair had grown shaggy, half cut in some parts from failed attempts over the year and she had immediately taken notice when they had come for Christmas. So she had made Kyle go fetch the antique shears he had hidden in his drawer and sat the child down to give him a talk.
"Why do sheep have to have their wool cut Wes?" the woman began, gently stroking his head to calm him down.
"Because they get hot" was his firm reply, trying to squirm away and escape off under the couch where he belonged with his little hoard of sweets he had nabbed from the cupboard.
"Do you like getting hot?" she asked, taking the shears from her son and motioning him to keep his slippery cousin seated. It was always horridly hard to catch him again once had slipped off.
A head shake was the child's reply, huffing his cheeks in utter indignation as Kyle lifted him up and trapped him in his lap.
"Are you going to be like those sheep on television? Who were so fluffy they fell over in the heat?"
Once again he shook his head and ceased his squirming, instead chewing on the sweet his cousin had given him to calm him down a little.
"So we'll need to cut your hair, you don't want to fall over because your hair is too heavy do you? You have to be older so you can be strong enough to have long hair, like Mummy and Auntie." The woman gave a firm nod to add adult truth to her words, his mother following suit. And with the fear of overheating and falling over the little Kiwi agreed, the dull snip of the shears far more calming that the rapid ripping that the scissors seemed to make. From then on it seemed that it was the only way he could ever manage his way through a haircut, even when he grew old enough to know better the scissors just irked him far too much.
But now his hair was once again growing far too long, and his attempt to shear it himself had gone terribly awry. So he had looked up some places in the phone book and hoped that they wouldn't think anything odd of his request.
"Hullo, I need a trim?" he asked the pretty blonde lady at the counter who had greeted him, lacing his fingers nervously behind his back as he stepped up closer.
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Nov 16, 2015 19:20:28 GMT -8
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Post by Westley Walters-Kirkland on Aug 9, 2014 1:19:55 GMT -8
He felt like he was splitting in two.
Each breath that had the unfortunate fate to force it's way through his chest pained him, a discomfort he hadn't experienced in a long while. His lungs felt stiff, as if they were carved from marble, and so brittle that they would shatter at the slightest touch. Then again, it felt like no matter how deep the breath he just couldn't get enough air to satisfy him. He knew he was far too anxious for his own good, it was even worse knowing there was nothing he could do about it but count his breaths as they came.
One...two...
Just like he was taught.
Breathe in, hold, release and relax himself for a moment before taking another.
One. Two. Staccato. Pull the bow back sharply, pause, than the shift in direction. A steady hand gave a clear unfaltering note, hesitation having no place in such a confident style of sound. For a moment he was a child again, sitting in the music room with a cello double his size pressed up against him. Rosin dust coated his slacks and stickied his fingers, the boy soothed by the quaint piney scent that hugged him close. He wanted to be back there, not chilled to the bone sitting on a bridge in the heart of Pommyland.
Honestly, where was Seamus's shame? The poor Kiwi was shivering, a bad taste in his mouth and nausea from whatever had knocked him out, and of course absolutely terrified. He wanted to cry, desperately wanted someone to come save him and hold him tight so he'd feel safe. Tears were hardly a solution in this situation, they brought shame not sympathy. He was helpless to do anything but focus on keeping his breathing steady, and even that he was rapidly loosing control of.
It was far easier to focus on little things like his numb fingers and chaffed wrists rather than the situation at hand. He didn't want to think about Vaughan, the one who seemed to be behind his whole involvement in this predicament. Honestly, he wasn't even able to find anything to be angry about. It just was...painful to be betrayed if that was what this had been in the first place. The Welshman had been so gentle, pulling him up into hugs and fussing over him to be sure that he was always feeling well. There was no way he could understand what had led him to do something like this to him, it was something he found himself unable to comprehend and far worse it was painful to even try.
Westley was still trapped in darkness, the colorful cast of voices that he had awoken to not ones that he could recall hearing prior. If there was anything he could say about himself that was proving useful in the situation it was his quick wit. The one with the thick accent was the mastermind behind it, or if not the brains he was the face. Some Irish bloke by the sound of it, he wouldn't have figured it out if the angered woman hadn't shouted out the identifying name. Secondly, Vaughan was there...somewhere...and whatever this event was he was to witness it was about to begin.
For a moment a warm breath brushed his neck as he felt his blindfold fiddled with and then fall away, revealing the stage he had been brought to watch. It was almost like a movie set, with the dramatic high of adrenaline and bloodshed soon to come. The antagonist was seeming to enjoy his part, the stance he took facing the elevators just annoying him. He was so sure of himself, everything Westley was not, this was a moment he seemed to want to savor and he had to ruin the memory no matter what would happen after.
He might have a runny nose, a spinning head, and happen to barely be able to hold himself up, but he was still as petty and vengeful as ever. Westley had to be like Kyle, if there was anyone who could grin fearlessly and piss everyone off their rockers it was that stupid Aussie. If he could muster up a little bit of that courage...maybe...it could accomplish at least something more than anything he could.
The Kiwi forced himself to sit up, continuing to count his breaths evenly as he gripped the armrests to hide the tremble in his numb fingertips. This was staccato too, words without any hesitation, a clear and steady tone.
"God...he looks bent from behind doesn't he?" the boy announced clearly, his lips curving up into a soft smile as he slipped behind a calm and collected mask. "Swish those hips at any nice rams lately Sheepshagged? Sure you whinged the first few goes, but a few good bonks in you were lining up with the rest of the ewes. Weren't ewe now?"
He took a deep breath to make sure he was still alright and wanted to keep going, to put it all out there the utter trash he was spewing made him quite a bit better. "I mean...it's probably not your fault to be honest Cuz, everyone on these blasted islands seem to have FITH Syndrome. Thick as pig shitte, the lot of you. Though even the Poms didn't want the Cat-lick Paddies it seems."
The grip on the armrests tightened as he dropped farther down the rabbit hole, hopefully the barb at the Irish hit home and broke his composure. It would be awkward if he was actually a Scottie or something and agreed with him. All he wanted was to break the man's composure, momentarily take the control away and leave him to flounder. Anything to put him on edge and take away an inkling of rational thinking to make his plan shatter to pieces.
He continued to smile, a fake composure the only thing that he had to use as leverage. A bluff, and a horrible one at that, but at least Kyle would be proud of how foul his mouth had gotten.
The kid didn't know anything about what was happening, nor why. The tension had been foreign to him and an ugly uneasy feeling seemed to have been coagulating in his gut like that time his mum had failed making Christmas pudding, so he just sliced it with a chainsaw. For a few moments he had been strong and sure of himself, yet now the tune had shifted and he fought to keep upright rather than slumped back. Spiccato overtook him, his heartbeat matching the unsteady notes that sounded in his head.
Now to breathe...
One. Two.
One. Two.
The smile stayed stiff on his face as he closed his eyes, preferring that sight to the dreary scene that was sure to grow ugly. All he had to do was remember to keep breathing and fight the nausea that returned with his weakness. The marmite and cheese sandwich Kyle had made for lunch was sure to come up, he could feel it rising up without a way for him to quell it. There wasn't a blessed thing he could do to stop the half digested mass from splattering over his lap, shattering the last bit of composure he had been clinging to for security.
His breath quickened, watery green gems widening in fear as it hitched for a moment and he gagged, bile dripping down his chin. The acrid taste seared into his tongue went unnoticed, the boy's shoulders twitching as his breathing spiraled far out of his control. His heart was so painful that it felt as if it was swelling up to burst like an overfilled balloon, joints aching, throat feeling so tight. At least he wouldn't cry, no matter what he wouldn't fall that far.
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Nov 16, 2015 19:20:28 GMT -8
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Post by Westley Walters-Kirkland on Aug 2, 2014 23:32:06 GMT -8
Wes tugged his arms inside his sweater and clasped them together over his stomach, shivering a little in the chill but not cold enough to abandon his night stroll. He had been studying for a while, family distracting him from his usual regimen of work, study, sleep, and repeat. Gradually he fell behind, and was grasping at straws to try to catch up before the end of the semester. There was no way that he could shave hours off of work, they were down to the bones already and instant noodles seemed to be making him sick at the mere sight. This left him with one option, lade night cramming and the scramble to stay awake for a few hours longer than usual.
The night chill sobered him up from his fatigued daze, and simply sitting in front of his window not being enough he had decided to take a walk, a horridly long walk through the city and on some buses to wherever his wanderlust took him. It was the lights that likely were the reason he was led off to Canary Wharf, something that could still hold his attention for hours on end.
There was no suspicion on his face as he wandered over towards the man that called him, curiosity lighting up his eyes as he surveyed the scene set before him. He was no expert on cars, his Mum didn't drive and he had never been behind a wheel before, yet the scent in the air was surely not one that was the norm. "Trouble?" he asked, slipping his arms out from his sleeves as he approached, "what do you need help with Sir?" The thought of compensation made his eyes light up, it was getting closer to Christmas and he desperately needed to get Kyle some sort of gift in time. Most importantly it had to be a perfect gift, one that would up anything the Australian gave. It wasn't like he needed to get his Mum another present, the one he had gotten her was already more than he could have ever hoped for. "What do you need me to do?"
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