As Luck Would Have It

[November Rain]

Haha, I've no idea about the title; I hope it's editable should you want to change it… O.o lol


So, we know plot and etc. Will be posting characters then~ Give me a bit to post mine.


@UnknownRunner

 

[Lady Odyssey]

Name:


Michael Woods


Nickname(s):


Mike


Age:


Twenty


Gender:


Male


Personality:


Michael is a silent type of guy who keeps to himself, and doesn't talk much unless spoken to. He can be a bit awkward at times, but has been getting better over the past couple of years. Though he's bit of a loner, he doesn't mind hanging around a friend or two every now and then. Mike can be sarcastic around those he's comfortable with, but tries not to take it too far. He is stubborn and persistent. Once his mind is made up, he doesn't back down. He is anti-social most of the time, and doesn't enjoy parties or anything to do with crowds. He is thoughtful and observant. He can be clever, and over all, unpredictable. Mike can be sweet around his friends and family, and does his best to cheer people up. Michael has a loud mind, and tends to release his thoughts through writing and reading. He is naive, and holds onto hope when there is none to begin with. All in all, he's just another complicated guy trying to find himself out in the world.


Bio:


Michael Woods was born on July 16th, in the smack middle of summer and the heat along with it. He was born to a woman, but not much else is known about the woman who gave birth to him. She struggled with drug and alcohol addictions, and her son, quickly after being born, was taken away from her. He was immediately put into the state's foster system, and for quite some time he hopped from house to house as a child. By the time he was thirteen years old, he got adopted by a young couple. He moved to San Fransico with his new family, and got settled in quickly with the new school and his new life. Of course, he never really clicked with his parents, but they weren't so bad. They were young, loved him, and offered a place to call home. But he never felt like they were his parents. He never felt like the place he called home was, well, home. He wrestled with this throughout high school, and still does. He grew quiet during his first few high school years due to some mock of him being a 'foster', and he learned to keep his mouth shut. After graduating, he moved out on his own to Seattle, where he now attends college in hopes of becoming a high school English teacher, and works to keep the bills at bay.


Hobbies:


Hockey, writing, reading and running.


Likes:


Rain, summer, movies, driving, night-time, eating, video games.


Dislikes:


Winter, snow, mornings, tea, TV shows, procrastinating, wearing long-sleeved shirts, socializing, parties and large crowds.


Job(s):


Part-time job as a waiter at a local restaurant.


Misc. Info:


Mike has had insomnia ever since he was a child, and often does not sleep because of this.


He plays hockey when he has the chance, and loves the sport dearly.


Michael is in college for becoming a high school English teacher.
​

 

[November Rain]

"and I'm the kind of person who doesn't like inconsequential things like boys and near death experiences stop her"


Name: Sierra Avalon Fallon


Nickname(s): Ara/C


Age: 18


Gender: female


-=-


"focus like a laser, not a flashlight"


Personality: She never runs out of energy, or at least, that’s what it seems like. As a dancer, Ara loves activity, both social and physical. She specializes in Jazz and Ballet. Ara is a social butterfly, and loves meeting new people. Once you start a conversation with her, she'll keep chatting like nobody's business. Talkative and bubbly, it can seem like nothing ever gets her down, and that's usually how it is. She can be very serious at times, but will quickly snap out of it and return to her playful, impish self. She loves playing pranks on people, and despises people who take things too seriously. However, she tends to steamroll over people, especially the shy ones, and “can’t take a hint” at times. Ara is self confident, though occasionally overly so, giving her the appearance of being arrogant. Ara isn’t super book smart; she gets average grades, but focuses more on performing arts. With her dance, she's determined and focused, persistent. She’s always up for a good challenge, though sometimes her willpower loses out. Ara is fairly girly in the way she talks, acts, and dresses, but dance has also shaped her into some form of athlete, and she is stronger because of it. She doesn’t usually get mad or sad, but when she does, she does it in large quantities at a time, sporadically. So, when she’s mad, it’s big, but she doesn’t get mad often.


"and those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music"


Skills: making friends easily, dance


Flaws: she may talk too much, occasionally tactless, forgetful


Hobbies: dance, shopping, movie-hopping, reading, eating


-=-


"these are a few of my favorite things"


Likes: shoes, meeting new people, insects, waffles, the sun/warmth, big sweaters


Dislikes: people getting angry over minute things, or being fussy, driving, high heels


-=-


"my once upon a time"


History: she’s been dancing for as long as she can remember, though she didn’t start getting serious about it until recently. She dances competitively, though not as frequently as she’d like to. She has a close knit family, with a hardworking dad, a daydreamy, but typical mom, and a younger, adopted sister. Her older brother is nothing like her, and is very serious and hardworking; he’d like to go into the medical/science field.


"life begins after coffee"


Occupation: barista


-=-


"her proud eyes bespoke of fire, flames dancing into the night"

​

 

[November Rain]

The color silver was pretty, Sierra thought. She was sidetracked, caught by the glittering lights of the cafes and small shops neatly lining the street. Just moments ago she'd pushed past the tinkling door of the small coffee shop she worked at, at last finished with her shift. She had parked a little ways off from the shop (parking was horrendous, and the meters were overpriced anyways) and so presumed to walk her way down the block, casually window shopping as she did. Most stores were just about closing now, at seven in the evening, though the noisy, clattering restaurants were still open, the lines of people streaming out past their glass doors and front porch dining tables.


There was a slight breeze, but nothing cold enough to cause any real discomfort. Sierra turned left, happening upon the small backlot where she usually parked her car. It was a small, beat up little car, dented and scratched from years of working too hard. But she loved it all the same. It got her to work, to her apartment, and to school, and as far as she was concerned, those really were the only things she needed the car for. She patted its hood before opening the door and sitting down in the seat. She put the key in the ignition and started it, the old car protesting as she did so. The life of a college student, she thought dryly, pulling out of the parking lot and heading into the busy streets. It was terrible luck, really, to be getting off work just as everyone else was; she hated rush hour.

 

[Lady Odyssey]

Michael wiped his hands, shoulders bent downward from the long day, the soft fibers of the old towel drying the cold water off of his skin. He dropped the towel on the edge of the counter, his eyes skimming over the piles of dirty dishes and utensils. In the sink lay even more plates, some appearing to have been left dirty for a day or two. Silence filled the back kitchen, along with the occasional honk or screeching tires from outside the restaurant, out in the city. Seattle. He has been living here for almost a year and a half. It wasn't half bad, either. He liked it, sure, but he still hasn't grown fully accustomed to the city noises and green forests. He sighed, and reached for another dish to wash. Just one more pile, he told himself, over and over. And then he'd go home, sleep, wake up, and do it all over again.


Outside, the sky was fading into darkness. Shimmering stars appeared. Shops and stores all over Seattle began shutting down, more cars lining up the intersections as rush hour came about. He hated it, really. The traffic, the constant road-rage, all of it. It was too bad, too. He had to deal with it three times a week, and it still got on his nerves. Mike hung his apron up with the rest, grabbed the keys to the restaurant, and gently shut the door behind himself. He locked up, and took one last glance at the place. Over the past year or so, he had grown fond of it. It was a small little restaurant, yes, and it didn't get too much business on the weekdays, but he still liked the place. His coworkers weren't too annoying, and his boss wasn't too back-breaking. There wasn't really much he could complain about it, other than getting home late.


Michael turned the keys into the ignition, listening to the car rumble to life, the radio abruptly turning on, mid-song. He turned the volume down, put the Toyota in reverse, and backed out of the parking lot. Dark shadows were cast underneath his blue eyes as he began driving, weaving in and out of the jammed lanes. Exhaustion seeped deep into his bones, making his mind foggy. He gripped the steering wheel, shutting the radio off. It was getting more difficult to keep his eyes open each time he blinked. He bit his tongue, willing himself to stay awake. He had been up the entire past night, working late to earn a little more cash. He rubbed his eyes with one hand, stifling a yawn. It was going to be a long drive home, he could already tell. It was only about an hour, but it felt long enough when tired.


Somewhere in the middle of the journey home, he could feel sleep trying to pull him under. He snapped out of it a few times, startled. It was a good thing most of the traffic was gone by now. Michael tapped his fingers against the cold steering wheel, his eyes strained on the road ahead. Not a car in sight. He blinked, but never opened his eyes. He couldn't fight it any longer. He felt his head nod downwards as slumber pulled him under. His body went limp, motionless. His hands jerked the steering wheel. He opened his eyes, heart racing as he heard a car honk. He saw it. The car in the opposite lane, its bright head lights shining towards him. Then impact. Darkness consumed him.

 

[November Rain]

Sierra could swear backwards and forwards, sideways and diagonally, upside down and in a strait-jacket: She. Was. Not. Drunk. And she hadn't been drunk. She didn't drink. She hadn't drunk. She had been a good person! At least, she didn't drink unless she was with a friend. She could be responsible. And she knew she would never, ever drink on a weekday. Weekdays were reserved for work and school and homework. So if she wasn't drunk, then it would be the other driver who was drunk..? Her mind was fuzzy, and she could hardly think straight. The world had been right, if somewhat jammed, and seemed just like a typical Wednesday night.


And then the world had suddenly flashed a brilliant white, as if she had been on stage dancing. She couldn't comprehend what it was, mind too slow with the events from today and long since dinner-starved. And then it hit her, literally, amidst blares and honks, screeches and shouts. Sierra had no idea car crashes were so.. well, painful. Perhaps it had been a stupid thought. Cars certainly weren't soft. The world around her had went completely black, patterned with all sorts of colorful dots and stars dancing by her vision. It moved in slow motion, as if time had hit pause, and she really hadn't been in a car accident.


The crunch of glass and groan of metal had brought her back to reality. She didn't scream though. She hadn't had time to. The car had tipped over, but only once, and though the entire windshield looked like Arachne herself had spun gossamer threads into it, it held. Just barely, but it held.


Sierra was still conscious, aware of the throbbing in her head and much too warm, constricted feeling around her. She tried to move, but found she was much too tired to, and much too disoriented to be able to. Her head hurt and the world swam when she tilted it. So she stayed where she was, very much aware of the tense throbbing of her heartbeat in her fingers and the warm liquid running down her temple. She wasn't sure which it was: sweat or blood. And so she stayed, trapped in the ruined remains of her old, now-dead car, allowing her eyes to flicker shut as chaos, colored red, white, and blue, descended outside.

 

[Lady Odyssey]

Glass shattered, the pieces falling on him. The clashing on metal reached his ears as he gasped for air, panic and pain seizing him. The car alarm went off, loud and blaring. The airbags had inflated, cushioning his head. He didn't remember what had happened after impact. He couldn't move. He was pinned by his door, which had been crushed inward. Blood pooled on the floor. Michael couldn't move. It was getting harder to breathe, too. Dazed and confused, he tried keeping his eyes open long enough to see the damage. The windshield was gone. The hood was completely crushed, much like that of a soda can. It seemed surreal. He closed his eyes. The world was spinning. He didn't know which way was up or down any more. All his senses of orientation was gone in that moment as he slipped away into darkness once more, with one last groan.


Flashes of red, white and blue were outside the two wrecked cars. The lane had been shut down. Police officers roamed about the scene, trying to figure out what could have caused the accident. They haven't even identified the two drivers yet. An ambulance was on its way, he heard someone shout. More sirens blared. His head ached. Every bone of his did. He could of sworn he felt blood trickle from his arm, but he wasn't so sure. This could just be a bad dream for all he knew. Maybe he'd wake up at work, in the supply closet, or something. He hoped he would. But somewhere deep down, he knew this was real. This actually happened. The pain felt real. Too real, almost. It made him gasp for a single breath, which inflamed his ribs. Michael drifted in and out of concious, not sure what was real and what wasn't. It was all blurred. He couldn't make up his mind if it was real or not. Had he really hit his head that hard to when he didn't even know what was up and what was down? He must have.


Michael was being gently pulled out of the car, he realized. It felt as if he was floating, flying into the unknown. But in reality, he was being dragged out of the car through his right hand passenger door by a team of medics, being watched by police. They snapped a few pictures, and then he was in the ambulance, a oxygen mask strapped on his face as he lay on the small bed. Hands brushed against him, but he could barely feel them. He felt numb. He was thankful for it, really. Better to be numb than in pain. The medical staff set up an IV line, and jabbed a IV line in his right arm, stinging just for a moment. He could hear them faintly, talking about his condition and what he'd need once in the hospital. All he heard was possible broken ribs, maybe a broken arm, and a fractured bone in his leg. He realized that he could breathe more easily. He closed his eyes, not having the strength to fight the drugs any longer.

 

[November Rain]

Sometimes white was just too white. And for Sierra, white was almost always too white. It had to be paired with something else. Maybe a jean jacket. Or leather boots. Or a neon dance top. But she would never wear it by itself. It was too bold on it's own. And too easily stained. But she was covered in white. Blanketed in it. And it wasn't a nice white either. Not like powdery snow. No, it was a hospital white, very sterile and pale. She blinked up at the ceiling. The curtains to her right were drawn, so she had no way of knowing what time of day it was.


She only hoped she hadn't been in the hospital long. Medical bills were a pain to pay, even if she did have some semblance of insurance. Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. It hadn't been her fault.. perhaps she could get the other person to pay. Not all of it, of course, but maybe most of it. But that would depend on how well-off they were. But of course, she hoped he was okay too, even if he had been the initiate of the crash. The crash.. the memories that followed still left her ears ringing and head spinning. She couldn't remember all that had happened after the crash. She only recalled laying still for a few moments, unable to move before finally blacking out to the eerie lullaby of shouts and sirens.


There was a soft, incessant beeping beside her left ear as she lay still. Her senses and sense of alertness were slowly coming back, but much too slowly for her impatient mind, apparently already racing ahead. Her vision was still slightly fuzzy, but she could make out the faint outline of the heart monitor besides her. The jagged, steady stream etched the pattern of her throbbing pulse, and she was vaguely reminded of all the shows she'd seen on TV. There was another sound: a steady ticking, the source of a clock hanging on the wall opposite of her. So it was three. In the afternoon, or in the morning, she couldn't tell.


A soft click alerted her attention to the door, and with a soft knock, a nurse came in, clipboard in hand.

 

[November Rain]

Just posting to keep the thread active.


Will be resumed shortly.