Realistic or Modern ✧˖*°࿐ɪɴ ᴀ ʙᴏᴄᴄᴀ ᴀʟ ʟᴜᴘᴏ! -- in character

[Steve Jobs]

mail.google.com/mail/u/1/#inbox/

mail.google.com/mail/u/1/#inbox/fGGWvzXPMbsjzmjjcDPC

Dear [NAME],

The tenth annual Rascel Awards will be held this year on March 31st at the Chiara Corrente Center for the Performing Arts. It will be an engaging and empowering ceremony where we will be honoring actors, writers, and filmmakers who have made outstanding contributions in the Italian film industry. As a distinguished member of the academy, our staff invites you to participate in organizing this event under the supervision of Santiago Lollobrigida, one of the coordinators from the Rascel Awards Association.

To indicate your acceptance, please reply to this email and meet in the auditorium this Saturday at noon.

If you have any questions regarding the details, please feel free to contact me.

Warmest regards,

Lando Buzzanca
Recruiter & Human Resources
Rascel Awards Association

suia.edu/student-portal

day

March 1, 2023

location

Your computer

place of interest

Auditorium at the Chiara Corrente Center for the Performing Arts

mention

everyone!

tag

MisaMai Dicentra GammyWamzee laud -ferret- leviohsa @KayaWaya AreSneksSly

/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.

Spoiler: plain text version

Dear [NAME],

The tenth annual Rascel Awards will be held this year on March 31st at the Chiara Corrente Center for the Performing Arts. It will be an engaging and empowering ceremony where we will be honoring actors, writers, and filmmakers who have made outstanding contributions in the Italian film industry. As a distinguished member of the academy, our staff invites you to participate in organizing this event under the supervision of Santiago Lollobrigida, one of the coordinators from the Rascel Awards Association.

To indicate your acceptance, please reply to this email and meet in the auditorium this Saturday at noon.

If you have any questions regarding the details, please feel free to contact me.

Warmest regards,

Lando Buzzanca
Recruiter & Human Resources
Rascel Awards Association

---​

Day: March 1, 2023

Location: Your computer

Place of Interest: Auditorium at the Chiara Corrente Center for the Performing Arts

Mentions: Everyone!

 

[GammyWamzee]

Mihael had stared at the email for a long while as he sat at his computer, the room was dark, all but a desk lamp, as it was bad for his eyes to look at the computer in the dark. A click was heard in the otherwise silent room, slender fingers running across the keys as he quickly tapped out a response.
"Confirmed.

Thank you in advance,
Mihael Klaus."

A brief, and formal response. It was his typical demeanor, he had nothing else to say, so he didn't force the words out. There was no point, and truly, it wasted time. Closing the tab on his laptop. He closed it. Turning back towards the leather bound sketchbook that laid out on his desk. Numerous sketches laid out on the pages, thumbnail images before he produced an official sketch. Really, as he stared at the figure on the page, he couldn't help but feel that something was wrong, something was missing. An androgynous figure, with flowing ribbons, flowers sprouting at their feet, stars littering their arms and legs. But there was something missing, something he missed. He pursed his lips in frustration before delicately closing the sketchbook with a piece of cloth as a bookmark between the pages. Shutting off the lamp, he retired to bed. Frustrated.

On Saturday, Mihael walked into the auditorium. The first one there, at 11:30. Dressed nicely, as he typically was in a turtleneck and blazer with a pair of slacks. His glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. His hair combed through and pulled back slightly. Sitting down, his chose his spot deliberately. Most avoided sitting in the front rows, and the first row was typically reserved for important figures such as staff. So he sat in the second row on the left side of the auditorium, the second seat in from the left. A specific seating choice. So that those who also wanted to sit in the second row could access majority of it, and those who wanted a seat on the outside of isle had an open seat. The left, as he disliked the way the light hit him in the middle. And the left due to the fact that the closest bathroom to the auditorium was on the left wing of the hallway.

So with his delicately chosen seat in the auditorium Mihael did what he normally did, placing his hands in his lap, back and shoulder's straight, and he just stared ahead. Perhaps a bit too serious for being the only one in the room, but he didn't exactly have anything else to do but look at the way the dim auditorium lights hit the wooden stage and curtains.

 

[MisaMai]

Mr. Buzzanca

Thank you so much for you consideration in offering me this amazing opportunity. I hope to use this event as a learning opportunity and fully intend on using all imparted knowledge to the best of my ability in the future. I am enthusiastic to accept this invitation and look forward to all that the Rascal Awards has to offer.

Regards,
Melanie Jones-Meyer

____________________________

The email alert that pinged on the laptop earlier that week had prevented Mel from making a terrible mistake. She had been about to open the kitchen window light her manuscript on fire. The one she had been working on since the dream team had been formed. The one that was still completely handwritten and consisted of 7 notebooks and multiple file folders full of loose notes. The idea had all started on a napkin at a cafe and had spiraled from there. It was meant to be her Magnum Opus and she had almost lit it on fire. Instead, she had had the presence of mind to open the email and instead get distracted by thinking about how glamorous an event like this probably would be. Naturally, she had sent an email back directly and started searching for which gown she would wear (assuming it was a black tie event, which she was sure it was) and, as a result, Struwwelpeter got to live another day. Not that she was enthusiastic to work on the play, but at least she still had the materials if she changed her mind later.

So the notebooks had gone back under her bed and she had plunged into research regarding what to wear. Naturally, as Kei was the fashion expert and designer extraordinaire, he had been her primary source for research and, as she was currently saving her monthly allowance for a pair of shoes, she would have to either find something secondhand or revamp something she already had. She had managed to snag her step-dad’s Bedazzler before coming back to Rome from visiting her Dad’s back in Texas, but Kei managed to convince her that Bedazzling anything was a terrible idea. That hadn’t stopped her from going to town on a denim backpack, but she had left the dresses alone. Besides, there was still time to find something to wear. First things first, she needed to get those shoes. And, of course, there was the event on Saturday. But that could come after the shoes.

Friday night came and Mel found that she simply couldn’t sleep. She had put on a list of classical songs to try to clear her head but that hadn’t helped. It might have helped if she had remembered to take a few songs off of the playlist. She hadn’t. One of her favorite things to do at school had been to watch Emile practice. Even though she was mad at him she could still admit that he was a flawless dancer. There had been times he would stop in the middle of practice and insist he had done something wrong. Mel was still convinced he had never done anything wrong in his whole life. At least, as far as dance was concerned. He was absolutely flawless and mesmerizing to watch. As it turned out, however, classical music seemed like a great genre to dance to and Mel had added several of the songs to her own playlist over the years. They had always seemed like relaxing songs before. Now, they mostly served to piss her off.

After turning the music off and failing to fall asleep, she had decided to stay up instead, popping on her headphones and aggressively scrolling through her music. At first, she tried listening to the Waitress soundtrack but she started it on shuffle and the sad song came up first which made her want to cry. So she switched to heavy Dub-Step which only served to make her angry again. Clearly, the only thing she could do at that point was to hit shuffle on her master playlist, currently consisting of over 1000 sounds, until she found something inspiring. Eventually, she came to the Sailor Moon theme which she proceeded to listen to on repeat while she aggressively typed out the beginnings of a script which she titled Sailor Moon as written by William Shakespeare. This script would never see the light of day, but it served to distract her until the sun started to rise.

Since it was now 5 AM and there was literally no point in trying to sleep, Mel switched her music to her “Bad Bitch” playlist and proceeded to spend the next two hours in the kitchen, being as quiet as she could so as not to wake her roommate. In this time, she managed to prep food for dinner and make breakfast. Dinner would be lemon pepper marinated chicken (which she had aggressively beaten flat with a mallet while listening to Backstabber by Ke$ha) and asparagus with rice. Easy enough to prep and, if she set the rice cooker up right, the rice would be done by tonight. Apparently the rice cooker was super sophisticated and had a timer you could set to tell it when to start cooking. Mel still had no idea how it worked, but she pressed a few buttons and convinced herself she had done it right. After all that, she made omelets for herself and for Kei, possibly taking out a little too much aggression as she beat the eggs.

She knew she had more right being angry with herself than being angry with Emile. He had been the victim, in a way. She had started the lie, like she always did. She was a bad person, a liar, and a terrible friend. These were all facts Mel could live with and all things she could work on changing. None of this changed the fact that Emile could also be a massive dick when he wanted to be. He was arrogant and more than a little conceited and definitely a massive narcissist and had been a totally terrible friend and–

Liar

Ordinarily, she made an effort to make food look good. This morning was an exception. The omelets looked less like omelets and more like scrambled eggs by the end and the green onion looked like more of an afterthought than a garnish. Mel placed a plate on top of the second omelet and nibbled on hers as she cleaned up the kitchen. A clean kitchen was a happy kitchen, after all. Once all that was done it was 7:30 and clearly too early to be doing anything. Not that that mattered. It was Saturday and she had a very important thing to do. She needed to pick up shoes.

Oh, there was also that meeting to go to. But first things first. Shoes.

And maybe coffee.

"I know I said we would go to the thing together, but I’m picking something up so I’ll meet you there. Call me if you’re lonely. See you at noon.

Xoxo"

She wrote the note hastily on the back of an envelope and placed it next to the sad excuse for an omelet, Mel spent a good 30 minutes putting her face on, pinning up her hair, putting on the cutest thing she could find, and walking out the door. Only to come back 5 minutes later to grab her purse. She really needed to get better about that.

The shoes had prompted Mel to come up with a complete plan for the day. The plan wasn’t meant to start until 9, but starting at 8:15 just meant she had time to stop at the Café down the street and get a latte. It also meant she got some alone time out of the house. She was home alone sometimes but it never really felt like her own space. Being alone elsewhere was comfortable and really gave her time to breathe. She needed more alone time, after all. More time to think and meditate. She was beginning to feel comfortable with being alone-

Liar.

Ok, so, back to the plan. After her latte, all she needed to do was hop the buss over to Piazza di Spagna and then walk the two blocks over to the Gucci store. She could have had the shoes delivered to the apartment but the last thing she wanted was to have someone snatch the package and have her be out $1000. She didn’t have that kind of money to lose. She also didn’t have that kind of money to spend, but she could think about that later. The only thing was that the Gucci store didn’t open until 10, so she had to grab the shoes, make sure they fit, settle her payment (since she had them on hold and hadn’t paid yet), and then take the bus over to the campus. She was 90% sure the meeting was at the auditorium. And she fully intended to show up in the shoes.

When she saw the shoes in person, Mel let out an audible squeal. She didn’t mean to but, oh my God, they were just too perfect. They were so perfect. She had seen great shoes before, but nothing matched the cuteness that was this particular pair of sneakers and she was completely obsessed. She got so excited, in fact, that he southern accent slipped out full force and she was fairly certain her limited Italian was completely unintelligible at that point. As it turns out, a country drawl and the Italian language don’t mix very well. Mel tried her best not to let her accent slip as much as possible. Usually, she tried to speak with the confident vowels of a California girl, not the sloppy sounds of a nobody from Texas. When she got mad or excited, though, sometimes the accent just slipped out. Not that she minded when it slipped so much anymore. She was kind of proud of where she came from. Not many people at the school were from humble backgrounds like hers so she was starting to think that the accent set her apart-

Liar.

Mel hummed off tune to herself and took a picture of the full fit to send to Kei, shoes included.

"I got the shoes!!! C u soon"

She also sent the pic to Ana saying "shopping soon? New shoes!". Maybe they could hang out more soon...It was nice to have new friends and Ana didn't think she was a total demon yet. Maybe they would never think of Mel like the monster she was. Not that Mel was a monster. She just needed a fresh start, that's all.

She would just write something in her notebook and find a place outside to sit until he got there. It was perfect outside today, might as well not waste the weather. Besides, they were supposed to go together, and showing up early was so not her style. When she got to the school at 11:35, she found a spot just outside the building to sit and wait for Kei. He would know where to find her. The three of them used to hang out in this spot all the time.

 

[leviohsa]

click!

vi

scaramouche

location

auditorium entrance

outfit

interactions

Mel

tags

MisaMai

good morning...

Purple eyes stared down the screen of her iPhone,

the luminescent blue-white of Violetta's screen being the only source of light in the otherwise pitch-black bedroom of hers. She laid in her bed, decidedly getting rid of the pesky notifications on her phone. Not the most ideal way to spend a Friday night, but, she had a bad habit of letting her email, specifically, getting so bad that the amount of notifications were surpassing the thousands. The raven-haired woman groaned as she sifted through and deleted all of the messages, only to find an invitation that was sent to her this previous Monday, sent by Lando Buzzanca.

She blinked at the screen, making a face of disgust at the idea of having to not only organize this event, but attend it as well. Violetta couldn't be bothered to pretend to care about the students here when half of them were so two-faced and egotistical. Not to mention, they could not care less about her opinion of them. So, she hastily replied,


no thx.

Sent from iPhone


Maybe it was fate.. maybe she was destined to have terrible luck forever. Or, maybe, this staff member of the University simply happened to be awake at this ungodly hour of 3 AM. Either way, she got a response back in a matter of minutes,


Bold of you to assume that you of all students had a choice.
Attendance is mandatory. I expect you there tomorrow at noon.


Lando Buzzanca
Recruiter & Human Resources
Rascel Awards Association



What happened to the air of decorum? The politeness? Violetta couldn't help but laugh, noticing that even his "Warmest Regards" has been removed! She decided not to respond, knowing that thanks to her reputation, and habit of avoiding classes like the plague, it would seem that something voluntary for everyone else was nothing but a project, or a vouch for extra credit for herself. She rolled her eyes, turning over so that she could lean over towards her nightstand, plugging in her phone's charger and setting alarms before decidedly going to sleep.


++

The following morning was anything but glamorous for Vi. In fact, she woke up at 11:30 AM, hastily throwing on her typical baggy, oversized jeans and tattered tank top, paired with an oversized hoodie to help avoid freezing her ass off.

It didn't take long for her to do the usual routine involved in getting ready to be seen by society. Deodorant, brushing her teeth, contemplating her existence, etc. Regardless, she was out of the dorm by 11:40.

Perfect, enough time for a coffee. She thought to herself, knowing the campus had plenty of cafes on the way to the auditorium. After grabbing a hot vanilla latte, she calmly meandered her way to the entrance of the auditorium, strolling in at a timely 11:50. Honestly, they should be glad she even showed.

Looking around, she spotted a familiar face, Miss Mel. She smirked to herself, knowing that the fashionista was probably waiting for her precious Kei. Still holding her coffee, she walked over to the American, sitting beside her, noticing that Mel had been writing in her notebook.

"Dear Diary, today I have the utmost honor in organizing yet another award ceremony.. I wonder if Emile will be there?" She teased, knowing just how much the opinion of both him and Kei mattered to the girl beside her.

Violetta took a moment of pause, drinking from her cup before continuing, "Seriously, though.. what're you writing in there, hm?" A thin brow arched in curiosity, her purple gaze attempting to peer over and look for herself.

song title

♡coded by uxie♡

Spoiler: text only

Purple eyes stared down the screen of her iPhone, the luminescent blue-white of Violetta's screen being the only source of light in the otherwise pitch-black bedroom of hers. She laid in her bed, decidedly getting rid of the pesky notifications on her phone. Not the most ideal way to spend a Friday night, but, she had a bad habit of letting her email, specifically, getting so bad that the amount of notifications were surpassing the thousands. The raven-haired woman groaned as she sifted through and deleted all of the messages, only to find an invitation that was sent to her this previous Monday, sent by Lando Buzzanca.

She blinked at the screen, making a face of disgust at the idea of having to not only organize this event, but attend it as well. Violetta couldn't be bothered to pretend to care about the students here when half of them were so two-faced and egotistical. Not to mention, they could not care less about her opinion of them. So, she hastily replied,


no thx.

Sent from iPhone


Maybe it was fate.. maybe she was destined to have terrible luck forever. Or, maybe, this staff member of the University simply happened to be awake at this ungodly hour of 3 AM. Either way, she got a response back in a matter of minutes,


Bold of you to assume that you of all students had a choice.
Attendance is mandatory. I expect you there tomorrow at noon.


Lando Buzzanca
Recruiter & Human Resources
Rascel Awards Association



What happened to the air of decorum? The politeness? Violetta couldn't help but laugh, noticing that even his "Warmest Regards" has been removed! She decided not to respond, knowing that thanks to her reputation, and habit of avoiding classes like the plague, it would seem that something voluntary for everyone else was nothing but a project, or a vouch for extra credit for herself. She rolled her eyes, turning over so that she could lean over towards her nightstand, plugging in her phone's charger and setting alarms before decidedly going to sleep.


++

The following morning was anything but glamorous for Vi. In fact, she woke up at 11:30 AM, hastily throwing on her typical baggy, oversized jeans and tattered tank top, paired with an oversized hoodie to help avoid freezing her ass off.

It didn't take long for her to do the usual routine involved in getting ready to be seen by society. Deodorant, brushing her teeth, contemplating her existence, etc. Regardless, she was out of the dorm by 11:40.

Perfect, enough time for a coffee. She thought to herself, knowing the campus had plenty of cafes on the way to the auditorium. After grabbing a hot vanilla latte, she calmly meandered her way to the entrance of the auditorium, strolling in at a timely 11:50. Honestly, they should be glad she even showed.

Looking around, she spotted a familiar face, Miss Mel. She smirked to herself, knowing that the fashionista was probably waiting for her precious Kei. Still holding her coffee, she walked over to the American, sitting beside her, noticing that Mel had been writing in her notebook.

"Dear Diary, today I have the utmost honor in organizing yet another award ceremony.. I wonder if Emile will be there?" She teased, knowing just how much the opinion of both him and Kei mattered to the girl beside her.

Violetta took a moment of pause, drinking from her cup before continuing, "Seriously, though.. what're you writing in there, hm?" A thin brow arched in curiosity, her purple gaze attempting to peer over and look for herself.

 

[Steve Jobs]

The problem with being a film major was that work came in spurts rather than a steady stream. There would be two weeks of nothing more than a discussion post in each class and then two short films, a seven page paper, and a video essay due by the end of the month (and that was to say nothing about the group project due by the end of the semester). Were he more paranoid, he might have thought that the professors were conspiring against their students but instead he chose to believe that they assumed their respective class was the only one that mattered.

Granted, Leland's library of B roll made his life easier, but that didn't mean he could spin gold from wool. He still had no clue what the foundation of his video would be. He was still shaking off the heat of "The Secret Admissions of Italy's Elite" because as it turned out, legacy students didn't take kindly to him exposing how their parents babied them into acceptance letters. Even if had been a over a month since he'd taken down the video, there were still a handful of peers gunning for his head.

Still, he hadn't been blacklisted by the school and instead had been offered an opportunity to participate in one of Italy's most famous film award shows. He'd accepted with a little more joy than he was used to expressing in public (by which he meant around anyone) and replied with a polite "thank you" before continuing to wrestle with his jailbroken copy of Premiere.

By the time Leland woke up, it was 11:00 and his body was aching for carbs and caffeine, only one of which was actually provided to him. Forgoing punctuality in favor of coffee might have been a bit gauche but it was better for him to attend the meeting at his most alert.

Emile was nowhere to be found but it wasn't uncommon for the man to be off on his own adventure. Shooting him a quick Headed to the meeting. Coffee's in the French press if you haven't left yet text, Leland left the apartment.

His trek to the auditorium was shorter than he imagined, regrettably beating out both of his friends in favor of three people he didn't particularly enjoy. Between the liar, the witch, and the old money noble, hanging in the back seemed like a far wiser choice (at least until Emile and Zuhayr came arrived).

sandrone

leland.

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[laud]

Tick tick tick tap Tick tick tick tap

The rhythmic, muffled sound of feet connecting with the marley floor was a familiar and relaxing sound to Emile’s ears. This early in the morning, few people were around, but he could still hear other early birds moving about and warming up.

Emile’s days started at six, with a light jog around campus to wake up. In the past, he spent many a morning jogging through the streets of Rome near the school. It had felt adventurous, especially in the earliest days when he was completely new to the city, to watch it awaken and come alive from the streets. Back then, it had been economical to jog to his friends’ apartment and crash there until classes started. Now, he had no real reason to leave campus this early in the day, and it was more convenient to stay near his own apartment and classrooms.

Because Emile had decided to make today a rest day, he didn’t strictly need to go into the dance buildings. He was only slated for a thorough round of stretching; he just as easily could have stayed home. But he enjoyed his routine of heading into the practice rooms every morning (just as he enjoyed making freshmen nervous with his presence every morning. He couldn’t help it; they seemed to think that he’d personally throw them out of the academy if they loitered too long in the hallway).

His phone alarm sounded, and Emile dropped his arms to his sides. He couldn’t continue conditioning on a rest day, and he didn’t feel like going back to the apartment to wait, so he pulled a notebook out of his locker and he set himself up in a quiet corner of the department hall. After all, he couldn’t start anything he’d get too involved in; he had an important appointment with civil service.

It wasn’t something that he looked forward to attending. The current state of the Italian film industry had little to do with his interests, and Emile wasn’t exactly “planning committee” material. People didn’t like his “input”, and thought that he was “obnoxious and impossible to work with”. Besides which, he’d never met an association coordinator that he’d liked.

Even so, he’d written out a polite reply of acceptance and penciled in the time. Mostly, he’d done so once he realized that Leland and Zuha had both been invited, too. Even if the rest of the company was dull, Zuha could probably be relied upon to keep things interesting. Plus, Emile suspected (though it was difficult to say for sure) that Leland was actually interested in the event. He could play nice for a few afternoons, he had thought. It’d be time to take a break from his normal schedule, which wasn’t nothing.

Truly, Emile was busier than ever. Between the semester’s production (which still needed plenty of TLC before it was ready to see the light of day), normal schoolwork, and his senior project, the time Emile had left at university steadily ticked away. His binder full of notes – about his own progress, about the corps and the other soloists, about things he noticed in professional dancers – had grown into several, and he spent his free time scribbling away in the composition book designated for writing out choreography for his senior project – as he did now. Every day, he added and removed chunks of writing. Every day, it felt no closer to completion. Today, he read over most of yesterday's work and mercilessly crossed it out. But he felt like he was making progress, and it was satisfying work; the kind of independent creativity that couldn’t be achieved by following someone else’s direction.

Besides, Emile was confident, not delusional. Eventually, he would dance his last show, simply for the constraints of the aging body. When that time came, he didn’t intend on becoming complacent. He’d become an artistic director in a major company if he could play his cards right; then he’d really shake things up. He just had to get past this annoying little stint at university first.

Emile showered and changed at the practice rooms. He’d debated just wearing his normal fare - athletic leggings and a t-shirt - but decided in the end to opt for slacks and a button-up. By this time, the building was beginning to fill up, and Emile made his way past bleary-eyed ballerinas on his way out of the building. He received a text from Leland and sent a perfunctory reply.

By the time he reached the specified location, he was in a fairly good mood. He felt refreshed from his morning activities, confident that he was on-track with his schoolwork, and looking forward to seeing Leland and Zuha. The rest of the committee probably wouldn't be awful, either; it was unlikely that he’d know anyone else, at least.

(Besides Klaus, Emile thought. As the school’s golden boy, he’d almost certainly have been invited. And sitting on a planning committee seemed like something he would do. Maybe he’d even enjoy it.)

So it was optimistically that he approached the Chiara Corrente Center. And happened to glance off to one side; a familiar place. A familiar face. God fucking dammit.

Emile scoffed and walked past Melanie (and whomever she spent time with these days; he didn’t know and didn’t care) without a second glance. Of course she’d be here. It was almost too laughable to think that she would happen to be outside for unrelated reasons. After all, she was an accomplished member of her department in her own right; it made sense in a frustrating way.

He entered the auditorium to find that it was still mostly empty. But sure enough, as though summoned, the golden Klaus sat alone on one side.

Emile elected to ignore him too, for now, and walked toward Leland, instead.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” he said, in lieu of a greeting. “Thing 1 and his Highness both came out today. Who designed this damn program?”

 

[AreSneksSly]

Zuhayr Kaber
Location: Auditorium | Outfit: softie and purse | Mentions: Mihael, Emile, Leland, Vi
Tags: GammyWamzee laud Steve Jobs ​

Dreams.

Distant, fuzzy memories, crafted in a world unique to one’s own mind. Dreams were liquid, fluid things, easy to sink into, yet just as easy to slip out of. Embodiments of the subconscious, unchained by the standards of reality, constantly sliding between impossibility and simplicity. In dreams, your emotions were what shaped the world around you. It could shift and twist into whatever you so desired, whether it be a fantastical world or just a fantasy. Dreams were chaotic and they were beautiful.

It was in dreams that Zuha found himself drawing most of his inspiration from. It was not as though he despised the clean, accurate sketches he could create from real-life reference. But cleanliness, accuracy, it was all… unsatisfactory. He did not want to copy the human form. He did not want to take a picture. He wanted to take the viewer on a journey, to bring them somewhere strange and frightening, to rip from their bodies the very essence of feeling. Passion and fear and amazement, these were his goals as an artist. He was a hunter. Hearts were his prey.

This dream in particular was a good one. Zuhayr had already taught himself how to lucid dream after some frustrating moments of forgetfulness. Although waking immediately and sketching his dreams out had served him well for a few months, nothing beat living in the strange, slippery world itself. Perhaps he might’ve even had time to pick out a palette.

The dream this time was one of starlight and dust. He stood amongst planets, form melting away into the cosmos, motes of pure light drifting past his hair. Bursts of purples and greens spread over the dark blue blanket of sky. If he reached up, he might’ve even been able to catch a few before they popped.

Suddenly, lifting out of the universe came a strange, pink figure. Their skin scattered rays across everything, spreading a soft, comforting glow. Their hair fluttered in impossible winds, intertwining with the snaking trails of galaxies and comets.

Zuha cocked his head at the stranger, opened his mouth to speak, but found his voice trapped in his throat. He looked down, through the deep turquoise of his skin, and found a bubbling violet concoction sitting in his stomach. He opened his mouth yet again, and the mixture rose up through his body, past where his eyes could see.

Left speechless, the artist turned their attention back to the figure, whose blush pink body continued to waver and shift alongside the drifting astral bodies. Their head cocked as well, mirroring the artist earlier, as a dark line formed where their mouth was supposed to be. It lifted into a smile, a suggestion of an upward curve.

“Zuhayr,” they spoke gently. Their voice, like themselves, scattered through the universe, echoing endlessly. It was all at once familiar and yet not, a tone that Zuhayr had once heard but could not place, especially not with the distortion surrounding them.

‘Who are you,’ Zuha mouthed. He hoped his control over the dream would allow the figure to hear him.

“Wake up, Zuhayr,” they said. Whether they were ignoring him or not was a mystery. “You’ll miss it if you don’t.”

‘Miss what?’

Again, the figure smiled. “The big event.”


A crash and a headache. That was how Zuha had awoken that day.

Chocolate brown waves tangled into a nest, the artist groaned from his spot on the floor, neck bent at an awkward angle against his nightstand. Digging into his back were the solid curves of wooden paint brushes, a sensation his feet had become intimately familiar with over the course of his stay at SUIA.

To say their room was a walking hazard would be the understatement of the year. Pencils and paint tubes and brushes galore spilled across the floor like it was a piece of art itself. A mosaic of his tools, his weapons and his closest friends. A testament to the frenzied chaos that hummed beneath his consciousness.

Zuhayr groaned, kicking their legs into the air. They’d been in a groove, they’d been in a fucking groove, and now they were stuck and awake and horribly, horribly conscious of their own body.

Pulling himself up with the help of his table, he felt around for the sketchbook and pencil on the surface, yanking it down when he felt the brush of canvas over his fingertips. There, lying on the floor, he scribbled thumbnails with a wild fervor, eyes glazed with focus as he reached for the feeling he’d felt in that gorgeous dream and tried to recreate it as best he could.

Two pages of thumbnails and one full-page sketch later, Zuha finally managed to make a satisfactory piece. A figure’s essence seeped into the background, staring up at a tall, glowing blob, one that Zuha had painstakingly shaded into the impression of a person. It wasn’t perfect, not yet, but perhaps a few goes at the actual canvas would produce better results. They’d always been better with the brush anyways.

With a sigh of what could almost be called relief, Zuha threw their book to the side and let their pencil roll off to join its brethren. They’d look for it later. They’d remember.

Probably.

Speaking of remembering, that strange pink ghost-thing had mentioned something about an event. That sounded important. Not important enough for him to remember, but important enough for his subconscious to remind him of it, which meant it was important enough for him to write down somewhere.

You may ask why something that’s important enough to be written down wouldn’t be important enough to remember; Zuha’d reply that it’s none of your concern.

Reaching back up, he felt around for the smooth surface of his phone screen, proceeding to yank it down as he did with his sketchbook earlier. Through a half tired, half ‘not-really-caring-enough-to-hurry’ haze, he fumbled through his lockscreen then flicked his way over to the page where he kept his notes.

In black lettering and with a hazardous yellow background, the words ‘FILM AWARDS ORGANIZING THING - NOON’ flashed on screen.

Ah. So that was it.

When he’d first received the email, his immediate reaction had been to type a simple ‘no thanks.’ He wasn’t a film major. He wasn’t a planner. The only other possible reason he’d have been invited was because of Leland, which although mildly appreciated (and he did want to support his friend), it still drifted a bit too close to nepotism for his liking.

Still, waste not want not, as they say. If the organizers had thought him suitable-slash-unproblematic enough to invite, then he might as well take the chance to try it out. It was that mindset that’d carried him through his teenage years. It didn’t hurt to keep it going.


The Zuhayr Kaber that strode through the auditorium doors that day was a far cry from the unkempt mess that was the Zuhayr Kaber of this morning. Wearing a cotton-spun cardigan that hung loose over his petite frame and a jean skirt that squeezed his waist generously, a black cat purse with wide eyes stared out over the theater before him.

It was magnificent, he’d give them that. A wide, open hall, fluorescent yellow lights shining down from above. Balconies clung to the side walls, hanging over the rows upon rows of seating. The seats were a dark, plush red. Zuha poked them inquisitively. He was pleased to feel his finger sink deep into the cushioning.

Other than the background, the auditorium was sparsely populated. Only a few people from what he could see; not counting the ones that’d been sat outside, of course. (He’d purposefully avoided Violetta.) Even better, each face he saw was one he recognized and enjoyed the company of. Hael was further in the auditorium, off to the left and sat awkwardly one seat away from the edge. Zuhayr gave him a smile and a wave, despite being unsure if he could see it. He considered, briefly, walking over and taking the edge seat he’d left empty, then shook the thought away. The two of them could chat later. He’d come here to support Leland.

Walking over to his friends, he just managed to catch the tail end of Emile’s sentence. “The Rascel Awards Association,” he said plainly in reply, also in lieu of a greeting. “Did you not read the email, Emile?”

 

[Dicentra]

Kei Tatsuhiro

• aaaaaa
• aaaa

• .
• 
  

  incoming message!

  
  
  

  
  

  Mood Wtf is my life.
  
  Location Chiara Corrente Center for the Performing Arts.
  
  
  
  tag

  
  

  MisaMai
  laud
  leviohsa
  
  
  
  outfit

  
  
  
  

Hands, once posed and delicate, trembled with a storm of emotions. Fierce scribbling crashed like a wave of discontent against empty blank sheets. Formerly meticulous lines became an abstract dance of dissatisfaction, each stroke etching disappointment onto the parchment.

Genkei Tatsuhiro, known as Kei to a select few, was stuck with creative block for any potential fashion designs. But this wasn't a recent development. No, he's been like this for weeks. Ever since 'the argument'. With a frustrated click of his tongue, he slammed his pen down against the notebook, surrendering it to the lingering presence of his recurring failures. The rhythmic tick of a clock filled his room, a gentle reminder of time slipping away, as he remained seated, fixated on the scribbles he had drawn in lieu of art.

"This cannot go on." He mumbled to himself, lifting the pen up so that he could scroll through his previous pieces in hopes of some sort of inspiration. Yet, despite flipping through pages adorned with vibrant colors and harmonious patterns, creative insight remained unattainable. Defeated, he closed the notebook and reclined in his chair, gazing up at the ceiling.

His eyes eventually wandered, settling on a picture of him as a child alongside his parents when they were still together. His mother, a true legend of the modeling industry, and his father, a fashion designer who had no equal. How disappointed would they be to see how far their son had fallen over a single relationship? How upset would they be to know that he had submitted half-assed designs just to get the assignments completed? They had always pushed Kei to be the best he could be, even after their separation, and Kei's current pathetic work would devastate them. Nevertheless, no matter how hard he tried, he remained trapped within this creative block. All at once, he lost his friend, his crush, and his muse. He had lost Emile.

The ticking of his clock beckoned his attention once again, causing Kei to finally notice the time. 06:00. Too late to sleep, but too early to get ready for the event mentioned in the email that he ignored. So, he wandered around his shared apartment in hopes of finding Mel to distract his hectic mind. But alas, life was never kind to him he concluded, as he had noticed she was also gone. In place of her, was a rather deformed omlette with a short note next to it. The words that made him chuckle were to call her if he was lonely. She knew him all too well. But that would also mean she would know he is much too prideful to admit to his solitude, and that he wouldn't contact her for such a thing. Instead, he sat at the empty table, and ate his disfigured breakfast with a weak smile.

Eventually, it came time for the film ceremony. Although Kei, who had absolutely no involvement in the realm of filmmaking, held no personal interest in the event, he reluctantly consented to attend with the intention of forging connections. And so, he dressed in his semi-formal attire, and made his way to the reception.

While walking towards the award show venue, Kei pulled out a cigarette and placed it against his lips. As he ignited the flame from his pocket lighter, a soft glow illuminated his face for a moment, until soon he let out a exhalation of smoke, its shape dancing in the air in intricate patterns. This too was a distraction from the aching of his heart. After a few puffs, he made it to the performance center, and spotted Mel through the clouds of smoke. With a soft grin on his lips, he gave her a welcoming wave. But his smile soon fell the moment he noticed Violetta standing next to her. A sight like her left sore eyes, and he cursed under his breath hoping that things would not get worse. As expected, he inadvertently invited a jinx upon himself, for he soon caught sight of Emile's fleeting silhouette entering the performance center.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

 

[-ferret-]

I'll be in attendance!

Warmest Regards,
Anatolie S. Ignatiev

Ana sent the email. She needed to be at the auditorium in thirty minutes. She was not dressed.

It was a mad dash to wash her hair quickly and apply deodorant, from there she pulled on fairly comfortable warm-up clothing and a pair of sneakers and raced past other students and staff towards the auditorium. Earlier in the morning she'd already done a light jog, so speeding down sidewalks in ratty sneakers, her bag and hair flying behind her, was nothing.

That was until she tripped and fell face first into a bush. But it didn't deter her! She simply got back up and dusted herself off. Sure her white tights were torn on the right and the knee beneath was scraped. And maybe there were pieces of hair falling out of her bun along with leaves and sticks in it. And there was possibly dirt all over her clothes and face, but it wasn't important! She was late!

By the time she reached the auditorium she was sufficiently out of breath, heaving in large gulps of air as she raced in and spotted who she was looking for.

"Mihael!" She wheezed out, flopping into a seat next to him, putting her bag at her feet.

"I'm not too late am I?"