PLOT

[emeline shumenko]

THE LOOK

The practise rooms weren't really incredibly occupied around this time. Right around dinner, maybe six o'clock. She'd lost track of time with the music. In a music room, she sat in the corner, looking the very smallest possible. She sang from that corner, and drew from it too. The day had been long, and she needed to unwind before beginning her essays and projects necessary. Her brain hurt just thinking of all the homework waiting for her at her dorm.

She straightened her back, resetting the sketchbook in her lap. Emeline's fingers worked diligently for a while, and then she sang more intensley for another while. For the moment, it was all about the music. Song of Purple Summer was sung heart-felt from her chest. It melodically flowed past her permenantly pale pink lips, just soaring across the music room. Her voice had a sort of innocence to it, and might not be as strong as others, but the vulnerability hiding beneath it drew in a listner.

Her fingers worked dilligently across the paper, an elegant gown sitting in it's tracks. She glanced up at the door, closed, before she continued with the song. "A song of purple summer, and all shall know the wonder... of purple summer..."

So this is what getting high felt like.

[James Caldwell]

James hummed to himself absentmindedly, tapping his pen to a beat only he knew and writing in the rattiest spiral notebook probably in the history of spiral notebooks. He was sitting outside rather than in his dorm room, where he had tons of homework waiting for him. But all he could do was procrastinate, which made no sense at all. Usually he was a star student, getting above average grades in everything except History, which was the bane of his existence. This week though it seemed he was preoccupied with his guitar. There were some times when he could go months without touching an instrument (outside of class, of course--the only problem with being a music major was the requirement that you make music), and then there were times, like now, when he was totally consumed in creating something. He had never actually learned to play guitar; he'd just kind of picked it up one day and messed around on it until he found something he liked. That's how he wrote music today, and it seemed to be the only real way to write music, at least from his perspective. Just mess around until you find something good. The fact that he was an auditory learner helped him in the area, since he'd never learned to officially read music.

It was starting to get dark, and cold out. During the day, the sun kept everything bearable, but once the moon was out, it could easily get into the thirties or below. So he had to find someplace warm and well-lit where he could continue with his song writing. The only problem with all of this was that he absolutely despised an audience of any kind. He was a shy person to begin with, so having people watch his creative process was a thought that almost scared him. Collecting his things, which included the guitar strapped to his back and his iPod, he set out to find someplace where he could quite literally hear himself think.

Since it was around dinner time and classes were long over, the campus was mostly dead, except for the dining hall and the dorms. He decided to head for the music rooms, since he spent most of his life there anyway, when he wasn't
in a core class or sleeping. He knew they would be empty, because no one was really that devoted enough to go to class when they could do things like go out or eat. If they were, then they usually had their own instruments in their rooms that they could mess around on.

He hadn't expected anyone to be behind the first door he opened. But, there she was, in the corner, singing to herself with a sketchpad in her lap. She actually had a good voice, but he knew she wasn't in the music program, because he knew everyone in the music program. He didn't know this girl. He could only assume that she was an artist because of the fat that she was drawing.

Oh, sorry. I didn't realize anyone was in here. He apologized. The reaction was a little delayed; he had been watching her for a minute, not in a perverted way, just studying what she was doing. He had a habit of people watching, and it just so happened that she had caught his attention for that moment.

[emeline shumenko]

THE LOOK

Emeline's eyes were a little distracted as she created the new gown. Passion turely poured into her lyrics. She'd changed songs, From The Song of Purple Summer to Blue Wind. Teh mourning in the song's state suited her voice well. And it just so happened that the dres she now created was based on the song.

Fabric dripped from her pencil, creating a long gown with a flowing skirt. Only one sleeve, sort ofa kimonosleeve feel. Concentrating on the colours for a second, her voice drifted from the air. The mourning notes shyed from her chords as a creative thread broke in her fingers. Wait a second, she lost it. The very emotion she had been trying to communicate with the dress, it was gone. Her eyebrows drew together as she tried to get it back, thjinking of a song. The sad little flicker of proper feelings danced for a split second, but quickly ran away again. Sighing softly, she let her arm go limp at her side in frustration.

"Blue wind gets so pained..." her voice tried one more time. It didn't work. However, she was interrupted by a stranger at the door. Suprised, embarassed, and scared eyes looked up at him. The innocence she somehow managed in that moment was overwhelming. Who knew a teenager could do it? Wasn't that type of purity saved for children and kittens?

"I'm sorry. I can. I mean. Do you need the practise room." She girl immediatly stood, fixing her outfit before she ruined it further. She avoided his eyes entirely, simply glancing between the door, his face, and her now closed sketchbook.