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Post by oliver michael marsden on Sept 3, 2011 19:01:30 GMT -5
  when the devil wants to dance with you ,YOU BETTER SAY NEVER[/color][/font] because a dance with the devil might last you forever[/color][/font] - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -[/color][/center][/color][/font]
the park was full of irritating people as oliver walked along the pathway, trying to find his spot. there was a specific branch nearby a specific tree that he always sat on, practicing with his guitar and maybe writing down a few notes. hence the heavy guitar case he was carrying around. it not only held his guitar but a small folder of music and one or two pencils, plus a small bag of his guitar picks.
he located the bench and collapsed, setting the case down at his feet. taking a quick look around, he pulled the guitar out and grabbed a dark blue pick. slowly, he plucked a few strings and listened carefully. so out of tune, but fixed easily enough.
it took another few minutes to get the guitar tuned and sounding halfway normal. when he was satisfied with the sound, oliver played a few chords and then began one of the songs he had written recently. fairly simple tune and pretty shallow, lyrics-wise. i don’t do that deep crap. not that anyone’s gonna read, anyway. been there, done that.
oliver smirked and started to hum along to his playing; no point in singing out here. this area was practically empty; that’s how he liked it. nobody to bother him, although his fame hadn’t become a problem yet. what fame? he couldn’t help but laugh. oh so superficial of him, but who cares? he was oliver marsden, he could laugh at his own jokes whenever he wanted to.
one day he’d be rich enough to pay people to laugh at them. though he wouldn’t need it. oliver already had a few fans around here, from playing at the small bars and clubs that would take local people. how original, local musician becomes world famous and realizes his dreams of making it big. hah.
he’d been sitting on the bench for maybe half an hour before he saw a woman approaching him. tall and eating disorder-thin, with long brown curls. he’d seen this girl several times before. she got lots of publicity, but her name escaped him. something weird, maybe with a z? probably not really her nam. personally, he didn’t care for her.
366 WORDSZAHARAA. TAGGEDeffort. OUTFITtemplate by LISA@GBBS, lyrics by immortal technique CREDITRAWRR! NOTES [/color][/font][/RIGHT] |
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Post by zahara mallory zuko on Sept 4, 2011 0:38:56 GMT -5
& & HELL yeah... i'mthemuthaf*ckingPRINCESS - - - - - - - - - Being famous definitely wasn’t a cup of tea. And it most definitely was not nearly as laid back as the press seemed to convince viewers it was. But then again there were hundreds of things the public didn’t realize, and Zahara was in no position or mood to complain. Today she was just plain pissed. She knew her team had been working their little asses off to create a new little celebrity couple, it had been over a year since her last one had broken off, but Zahara just wouldn’t have it. Things were just starting to get fun- running around the city half naked, leaving a smoking trail of havoc for her Rep to clean up- and now wasn’t the time to just smile for the cameras. Not that there wasn’t a lot of pictures involved.
Zahara Zuko was far from an idiot, she knew her team would do whatever the hell they wanted to- and she should just let them, since that was all she seemed to do. But the truth was Zee did know what was best for her career, her current path might not be following it, and painfully faking a whirlwind romance would achieve closer to nothing than a new beaux every week. So here she was, dirtying up her favorite Louboutin. Because nobody could fight with the people who were paid to run your life- including Zahara- and she knew she could end up with something shitty. And if she had to spend over eight months in a fake relationship, why shouldn’t she get to pick the lucky gent? Of course Zahara couldn’t just randomly make the decision; she had spent more than an hour working up her little scheme and had picked her little minion.
The familiar clack of her own heels on pavement leveled Zahara’s scattered brain. She was here, in some paparazzi free park and not exactly dressed for stealth. Obviously the earthy area was vacant, save the few hipsters who wouldn’t recognize Zee if she slapped them in the face- which she wasn’t above doing. It was a new kind of freedom without the cameras shoved up into her face, but the situation left no room to enjoy the sensation. Zahara had never really been a person for nature or outdoorness, animals and insects, or just plain enjoyment and happiness. And it was sort of putting her off, the fact that her selected candidate chose this backdrop willingly. But Zahara was here on a mission- she had done herself up specifically for this- and you can bet she was going through with it all.
The slight sound of guitar strums filled her ears, leading her to her contender- Oliver Marsden. An aspiring musician, good press for the both: and Zahara had heard he wasn’t afraid of a drink. Which of course she could mold to her advantage. She worked her way over to the man sitting on a dirty bench, with a large guitar. The music wasn’t bad, it just had never ever been anything to Zahara. She had seen it cure millions, and raise people to total success- but it was just noise to her. Other than the few classics and of course a playlist full of Madonna, Zahara wasn’t sure why Oliver had been her selection. It just had been one of her urges. And she wouldn’t be anything without her urges. Zahara strutted her way over to the bench and delicately sat down on the top. The dirt and grime wasn’t really her swag- but today was going to be fun, and fun trumped filth every time.
- - - - - - - - - tagged,,Oliverword count,,645notes,,clothing,, CLICKIElistening to,,the Tardis noisecredits,,BruizedAngel at CAUTION 2.0 [/i][/url][/right] |
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Post by oliver michael marsden on Sept 4, 2011 22:37:51 GMT -5
when the devil wants to dance with you ,YOU BETTER SAY NEVER [/color][/font] because a dance with the devil might last you forever[/color][/font] - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -[/color][/center][/color][/font]
“naw, is little zahara too good for the nasty, icky park bench?” oliver smirked. The woman was balanced on top of the bench, like she could fall over at any second and oliver had the strong impulse to push her over. nah, probably one of his stupider ideas…but oh, how appealing.
oliver put the guitar back in its case, dropping the pick back in its bag and closing the whole thing shut. zahara most likely had something to say and it had to be interesting if she was making the effort to find him. not that he particularly cared, unless it involved him getting some good publicity or playing somewhere other than a bar. something beneficial to himself.
“what are you doing here, anyway? wouldn’t expect you to be out here in the wilderness. you don’t strike me as an outdoorsy kind of girl,” he said. “and don’t tell me you just want to talk because nobody sits on benches like that and I don’t recall actually meeting you before.” oliver turned to face her more, his arm on the back of the bench and rested his head on his hand.
zahara looked so prissy sitting up there. like a little bit of the dirt would just kill her. or some bird crap…chewed up gum. okay, so the bench was pretty disgusting but you just had to watch where you sat down. not that big a deal. but he’d seen her on tv, even in a few interviews if he remembered correctly and she never seemed like the kind of person he’d spent too much time around. then again it was an improvement on the whole disney star thing.
hah. zahara as a disney star. it was hard to picture now but he could vaguely remember those days. not that he really watched the shows, he was too old for that shit and thank god had no children to watch them with. oh lord, those shows made him want to go get deliriously drunk. he should probably stop that. his poor liver, the thing was a trooper.
347 (ew short) WORDSzahara. TAGGEDmaybe later? OUTFITtemplate by LISA@GBBS, lyrics by immortal technique CREDITRAWRR! NOTES [/color][/font][/RIGHT] |
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Post by zahara mallory zuko on Sept 5, 2011 20:32:26 GMT -5
& & HELL yeah... i'mthemuthaf*ckingPRINCESS - - - - - - - - - As Zahara sat down on the bench, she noted the recognition in the man’s eyes. Of course he knew her! Who didn’t? Zahara Zuko was a household name; children had it plastered on their clothing, and adults couldn’t go five minutes without reading it on a gossip blog or in the tabloids. She was used to being recognized, it suited her, and paparazzi were never an issue. In fact Zahara had been known to laugh at those who hid from cameras and ignored questions. They were like failures at their own game. It wasn’t like fame and fortune just picked you, you obviously had a say in the goings on. And the shutterbugs wouldn’t hurt a fly- why would interrogation affect you when there was no one left to care for? Still, Zahara felt a slight ounce of self consciousness bubble up at the man adjacent to hers judgmental glance.
Zahara ignored his first comment, it was better to mask some temper than let him run off, screaming, into the hills. Oliver Marsden. The pleasure is all yours. She knew she was being utterly cheeky, but despite that Zahara stuck her hand out for him to kiss- hoping that she would earn some insight into him from this. You’d be surprised. I actually love nature, and bugs, and mud on my shoes. She couldn’t help smiling at her bitchy sarcasm, it wasn’t every day that someone sat there long enough for Zahara to finish her rant. But don’t mind me, no. I’m just here to listen- I’m a huge fan of your music. And I know for a fact, love songs about me are always hits! Okay, a bit forward, considering that she had never listened to his music in her life. But then again- fake it till you make it had always worked for Zahara.
The plan hadn’t consisted of pissing Oliver off. Well, if there had been a plan it probably wouldn’t have. Zahara had came into this with strict offensive intents. Meaning that maybe some acting might be involved- acting at being nice and sweet maybe. It would be a bit of a stretch, but the ever talented Zahara could manage it with ease; and of course it definitely would be fun. But spending all day, all week even, acting naïve and innocent just seemed like too much. Plus, Zahara had a proposal that was impossible to refuse. Well I mean that would be sweet of you- writing me a love song. And who knows. I’m sure Oprah would love to hear it- live on her show.
- - - - - - - - - tagged,,oliverword count,,442notes,, clothing,, CLICKIElistening to,,a little Lambertcredits,,BruizedAngel at CAUTION 2.0 [/i][/url][/right] |
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