annabella laputa ۶ so hostile past (ex_potent596) wrote in halcyon_halls, @ 2008-02-27 04:34:00 |
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Entry tags: | annabella, charlie |
Week Four: Friday
| who. | Annabella Laputa and anyone else | what. | While enjoying her new school at Halcyon Halls, Anya is intriuged to check out the club Heaven and Hell. Particuarly, Hell. | when. | April 26; 7:05 pm | where. | Heaven and Hell
Solace. Utter consolation. The distinctive ardor she strived for to convince herself she wasn't a freak that should be convicted into a circus sideshow for all to jive at her incoherent ability. She wasn't the sore thumb that stuck out in the crowd anymore. On the contrary, she wasn't even a blimp on the radar. Her keen analysis on other students validated just how normal she was. Blood that boiled in her skin was normal, comparing to werewolves who feared the fullmoon and vampires that refrained the inevitable bloodlust to suck their peers dry. An anchor of doubt had been uplifted. Hope sprang freely, fleeting in profound glory. She felt grateful, but under privileged. Her unique abilities no longer seemed unique. Unsatisfactory. A pigeon in a flock peacocks. No one noticed. She never mentioned exactly what she was, or more appropriately put, what she could do—though inclined to the Zephir house lead little to the imagination. She wasn't implanting falsity, but introvert closure to her background, but remaining an enigma to others inquisitive minds was entertaining. Her fascination was evident, and she wasn't fixated on shrouding her provocative reactions. It was easier for the others to react mellow, while most were heeded to the aspects of the supernatural world long enough to accommodate to the environment. She heard the school cater to any supernaturally inclined being, including telepathics, which ignited a suspicion on who exactly could read her mind. Though particularly brusque, she wasn't open on topics that applied to herself for rationales that remained evident. Trust. It was an attribute that a person needed to be worthy of. Thus, trustworthy. Rarely none had potential—or so Anya had concluded. Liars always existed, and even loyalty had it's faults. She was a hypocrite, thus herself was a fluent liar. So, how could others be trusted when she couldn't even trust herself. It was a common conception that rippled through her feeble mind, like a plague. it was a disease. The harmless virus—in a matter of speaking.
Humans were unreliable. Everyone was unreliable. Their unresponsive nature in a matter of serious crisis usually proceeds them. Authentic loyalty was seldom. She learned that the hard way. Her father was the most unreliable person to could critic. He'd spent majority of his time endorsing in work, rather then committing as a husband and a father. Rupert Laputa kiled her mother cause of it. Not in literal sense, and doctors would quickly deny her provocative retort—but he killed her. Giselle Laputa died of a broken heart that couldn't be mended after years of indecent neglect. While most fathers appointed impromptu outings to remind their wives how spontaneous and loving that could be, Rupert avoided showing any sign of love. Alas, it took a pale carcass laid lifeless on the floor for Rupert to finally care. Consistent banters of Anya's abrasive reaction inquired her feelings towards her deceased mother. For that, she despised him. She hadn't shed a tear for three years, true, but that didn't make her heartless. She repined from emotions as a way of coping with her anguish. Therapists repeatedly tried to analyze her, marking her as dysfunctional, or that her bipolar disorder was held accountable for her lack of emotions. They were wrong. All wrong. She had a heart, and wether a stalwart steel blockade that organ, it was still there. Living, beating, thumping. Characteristic traits shouldn't be confused with serious disorders. And it was her father's continuous trials of acts of challenges that lead her to emancipating herself at seventeen. She'd never been more grateful. And now, she felt more at home then she did in years. So, ironic. She felt as if she were Harry Potter being escorted to the blissful Hogwarts, where she no longer felt like an outcast. An outsider of society. In a matter speaking, she was. Halcyon Halls had witches, and many other creatures as well. It was more historic, and extravagant then what she read in those Harry Potter books. This was legitimate. It wasn't mindless idioms printed on expensive paper. It was real. Real as flesh and blood. She pinched herself to assure she wasn't dreaming—that she wouldn't awake in her bed constrained to her cotton sheets, bewildered by such a vivid dream.
Long, luxurious blonde hair streamed down her shoulders. While her neon green t-shirt with a monkey plastered across the front attracted plenty attention, her excessive use of multicolor bracelets that reached from her wrists to nearly her elbow would sharply be noted. Her denim jeans loosely held on her hips, revealing a discreet amount of midriff. While rubber soles of tattered, black converse shoes provided stealthy opportunity, she hadn't seized the task. Her strides wreaked of dominance, powerful in every movement, endorsed with adrenaline that was applied with incidentally. She had that habit of waling that usually strayed crowds from her path to avoid conflict—as if she'd endorse into piteous confrontations. How juvenile. She never understood why other deliberately sought to cause disturbance. Misdemeanors of society. Her pumped rapidly, riving inevitable anticipation which irked her. She wasn't impatient. It was a club. Heaven and Hell. The name was intriguing, but she attended several clubs. Perhaps it was the idea it was strictly for the supernaturally inclined, and thus run by it. it had to be much more interesting then any other brochure to other clubs. It promised a night of eventful adventures. She loved entertainment. It kept her occupied in her constant dilemmas. She couldn't of attended Halcyon Halls at a much more convenient time. Heaven and Hell was hosting a new band that was apparently brilliant. There was Spring fling coming up in May. This place was no way compared to her high school, nor any elite college campus. She had freedom here, despite the fact it was an island. She didn't have to worry about her father finding her here. He presumed she was in college, and in a way she was. She could of told him she was attending to a educational school for the supernatural, since he was keen to her ability, but she did have to keep the school in secrecy to humans—though she wouldn't have croaked even if she had the ultimatum.
Though catering to seasonal changes, the night held a chill in the air that made her regret not snatching herself a light jacket. The entire day had been cloudless, allowing adequate warmth in the atmosphere. She appreciated every bit of it, even though she was accustom to the weather in London, she had been informed winter plagued long here to blistering temperatures. She dully reminded herself to go shopping for winter clothes next weekend. Frankly, Anya was looking forward to winter. It was the perfect opportunity to witness snow for the first time. She was quite optimistic on the entire season, no matter how prolonged it was. There were many other things she looked forward to, wether she showed it or not. She hoped to become an experienced telekinetic—capable of shifting vehicles and dislodging lamp posts. She always felt very inexperienced, because how limited she was with her ability, but her teachers explained it was common for an untrained student. She figured as much. There wasn't much self-training she could emaculate herself when supplies were limited. Nevertheless, she needed relief. She was doubting wether an island could have much activities being stranded, and extracted from other notorious regions, but they proved her wrong. There were shopping centers and clubs. She was befuddled how this island could remain in secrecy—how it concealed itself from humanity. It's structure clearly indicated it had been around for centuries upon centuries. She was ridiculous to contradict their resources. They probably had spells to hide the place from the naked human eye. And they prevailed. As the school grew smaller behind her moving form, she was beginning to deliberate wether to actually leave the school—afraid it would vanished when she returned.
Heaven and Hell had been the topic of activities. It catered to introvert and extrovert demeanors alike, given to it's blunt name. Diplomatic potential. Hell conveniently, and defiantly predicted, was located on the first level. She was ordered to show identification, proving she was of legal age that she smugly represented. Her heart trembled, coherent to the beat of the music. She barely been in the place for five minutes and already it was her most prized activity. Crowds were thick, making it strenuous to weave through without grazing a shoulder against someone. She arrived in perfect timing to catch the first appearance of a new band permitted to showcase their tactful music. Her head bobbed in a frenzy as she pivoted forward, compelled to gain front stage visual.