*-- the rumors are flying

[asia4]

KIRAN SLADE

[/size][/color]

------------------------------------------------
WE'VE HIT BLACK ICE AND LOST CONTROL. WE'RE
SPINNING FASTER NOW. TELL ME, ARE WE FLYING NOW?
ARE WE FALLING TO THE GROUND? IF TOMORROW DOESN'T COME,
TELL ME, DID WE DIE FOR NOTHING?[/color]
- - - - - - - - - - - -[/center]

- - - SHE WAS ON

[/color] the cover of next month's Elle Magazine. Facinating. Now she could end her life happy. It is to be considered an accomplishment, is it not? Grazing the cover of a popular magazine before your eighteenth birthday? Ninety percent of the female population would be more than pleased. The remaining nine percent would be diving off cliffs, they're so happy. The single percent? Well, that is the modeling community. The point five percent of that is the models who are actually allowed to be on the cover of a magazine - the models who actually know what the fuck they're doing. Kiran Slade just so happened to be apart of that very small, very select crowd. She rarely flinched at the news she was chosen for a cover - it was old news. Yay. But, as she stood there holding the glossy magazine, it didn't even register. She had long become accustomed to seeing herself staring at her from the magazine stands and racks. She had been on more covers than she could count on two hands; it was more shocking not to be on some cover. Yet still...facinating. She was used to it. She didn't care. It was nothing new.

But, today, she did care. She happened to care a lot. It was the eight: the day next month's magazine issues are released. And there she was, striking on the cover of Elle Magazine. Again...facinating. The number of covers she'd had? The number of campaigns she was in? The number of runways she had walked on? The photoshoots and commercials, special appearances and editorials...she was a supermodel. Kiran Ivy Slade was supposed to be considered one of the top models currently working. She was seventeen years of age. She was a fucking legend. Or, she was supposed to be one. Six months ago, Kiran Slade had been a fucking legend. She was one of the world's top models, and definitely the youngest. Everyone recognized her from that ad, or from that cover. And here she was, standing in the middle of a small grocery store, holding the heavily-scented November 2007 issue of Elle Magazine. There she was, seducing the camera with her eyes, taunting you with that stilleto. An ugly expression was beginning to cloud her face. She cared, remember? She cared a lot. Elle. Was that actually supposed to be considered an accomplishment? She knew grandmothers who read that repugnant piece of 'literature' for tips on how to knit. Continuing to hold the shiny magazine in her hand, staring down into her patronizing eyes, Kiran breathed a repulsed sigh. She was on the cover of Elle Magazine. Elle Magazine. Okay. If she continued to repeat it to herself, silently, she would get used to the idea. She could accept she had fallen this far. She could. Just breath, sigh again, and tell yourself. Rinse and repeat until it sinks in and you don't want to scream at the useless pile of agent who had managed this. She cared. She cared a lot. She didn't want to care a lot - she shouldn't even care.

It wasn't even sudden. No. Kiran Slade's legend title had slowly been yanked out from under her - bit by bit, so she wouldn't catch on until it too late, much too late. Her runway appearances began to slow at the beginning. Then the begging photographers stopped calling her. Her campaign contracts were not renewed. Her cover line-ups dwindled until there was nothing left. Slowly but surely, Kiran had disappeared from the modeling world. The last thing she remembered shooting were a few shots for the Fall-Winter 2007 H&M catalog. Yes, she had accepted that. Sad, very sad. Super fucking model Kiran Slade was doing low-grade catalog work - commercial work. The death trap of modeling. The easy way out. The only thing that would take her. High fashion had always been difficult for Kiran, she knew that. Not that it had ever mattered. The healthy, curvaceous Australian model dominated the high fashion world because she knew she could. She could do anything. Now, they used a reprinted photograph from three months ago on a haphazard cover for Elle Magazine. She could accept that. Maybe.

Curling the long fingers of her left hand around one side of the magazine, she bit down on her bottom lip, narrowed her eyes. Why had she come here again? Oh yeah. For milk. Kiran Slade needed milk - she went to go get it by herself. Yes, she had fallen just that far. The small basket still being held in her right hand, seemingly weightless, was long forgotten when her eyes had flicked over to the magazine rack. Had her agent told her about this cover? Oh, probably. She never listened to him and his grey nose hairs anymore. She'd gotten the cover of US Vogue last January - you don't go back to being human after that. So, the answer would be yes, she did deserve to curl her tongue at the fact she got the cover of Elle Magazine. That should be left to the anorexic has-been; the wanna-be who should never even be given the chance. Not for fucking legends who have fallen right to hell and beyond. God fucking pathetic. Letting go of the handle of her basket, the cheap plastic crashed to the ground with an echoing thunder. Her carton of milk was now on its side, the contents of a band-aid box were no longer inside the box, and her bag of apples were surely bruised. Not that she cared. Now holding the magazine in both her hands, Kiran snarled at it silently. Like I said - god fucking pathetic. First, she was the weird, friendless bitch without any real friends. Then she was the struggling model who made herself throw-up. Now she was the one stalked by Scandal Slut for reasons no one actually knew. Now she was the has-been who should never have been given another chance. She should have regained her dignity and stopped trying long ago. She'd become the loner who was too fat to even fit in anymore.

Meet Kiran Slade: has-been bulimic model who was standing in the middle of a grocery store, her items rolling across the cheaply tiled floor. The same ugly expression on her face, she easily ripped the cover right from the magazine. Her seductive photograph floated toward the ground gracefully, landing right-side up. It continued to stare up at her, taunting her with her own eyes. Look what happened to you, supermodel. Better accept it. [/size][/blockquote][/font]STATUS,, complete.
LENGTH,, 1120 words.
TAGGED,, captain clare-cupcake !
TIME & PLACE,, october 8th, 2007; v-mart & go.
CLOTHING,, clicketh. hair back in a messy-bun.
NOTES,, zong, yay<3
CREDITS,, format and graphics to me.
lyrics to set your goals - "the fallen".

[Edmund "Charlie" Rose]

CHARLIE ROSE *


I LIKE THE FREE DAYS WITH NO EXPECTATIONS
I LIKE IT MY WAY WITH NO LIMITATION

- - - The thing about school was that it required work. and work was most definitely not charlie rose's thing. it was just such a big fat downer, and it took time away from all the other important things he had to accomplish from day to day... like spending money like nobody's business on itunes, lying around, annoying his sister and practicing his cello. honestly. who had time for work, let alone school related work? it killed his buzz and made him sad. especially all the stupid spanish homework he got. the professor was a total grammar nazi. seriously. it was alarming. charlie was frankly quite surprised he was passing the class because, even after taking spanish through four years of high school and one year of college and feeling as if very little of it had ever sunk in, the fact that he could actually speak spanish still weirded him out a little. not to mention all the aforementioned homework he was always being dealt for it. it was just plain loco. in fact, he would go so far as to say that the reason he was feeling like he had so much less free time lately was probably thirty to thirty-five percent the fault of his spanish class.

- - - After finishing a very large butt load of homework and studying for about an hour for his dumb spanish quiz that was coming up - god, being a responsible stupid was really, really not cool sometimes - charlie was left to decide what to do with the rest of his day. his first instinct was to futz around on his computer for a while, but that little dream of his was shot straight to hell by a random bout of pms afflicting his pc. after attempting to reason with it for about ten minutes, he decided to abadon the venture all together and took to wandering around the halls of the large rose mansion, his head filled with thoughts of how he really enjoyed being rich, even if it was just because his father had married a totally loaded daughter of a classic valk family. money was money. as long as he had access to plenty of it, he was cool. however, walking around boredly lost its appeal after a while, especially when cat threw a very heavy textbook at him when she grew tired of having him wandering randomly into her bedroom. eep. ever since her ex-boyfriend had come back into town, she was injuring him about three times more than normal. so, left unamused again, he had resorted to seeing what kind of music he could summon out of his cello for about an hour. then, you guessed it, he grew tired of that, too.

- - - He then meandered down into the spacious, modern kitchen of the house, where his step mother, rochelle, was doing some sort of paperwork. probably for her job. he really didn't care that much. he made small talk for a while until he realized he was probably peeving her off, even though she always maintained that she, though she by no means thought she'd be able to stand in for his mother, wanted him to know she'd always try and be there for him. she was always going off about stuff like that, actually. it annoyed to cat to no end, she was always complaining about her. so he decided to be nice and asked if he could help her out with anything around the house. which was something he did, like, four times a year. she gave him a grocery list and told him to head on down to v-mart and go. which made charlie glad he had volunteered, because oreos were on the list. the household had been completely out of oreos for months and he had been afflicted with major oreo cravings latley, but he had always been either too lazy or too uninspired to get up and go buy some on his own. so, in a way, it was kind of like... fate or... something. he had strolled happily out of the kitchen, pausing only to grab the keys to his car and grab a hundred out of his father's wallet. he was the man of the house, after all, it was only fitting that he pay for the household groceries. in fact, until charlie got his own place, which, though it would be nice, he didn't seem much of a point to because living at home was as convenient as his own apartment or condo would be, he did not intend to ever pay for groceries.

- - - The ride to v-mart and go was completely unremarkable. completely unremarkable, but okay all the same. once he arrived at the quaint little grocery store, he parked his car and headed inside and began collecting all the items he had been assigned. carrots, orange juice, eggs, potato chips, popsicles, yogurt, mint chocolate chip ice cream, oreos - yay! - , milk, tomatoes, spaghetti sauce, canned pears. there. that should about do it. no, wait. he needed more gum. gotta have gum. he began to push the cart around towards the checkout aisles, where all the delicious candy adn wonderful gum was kept. leaving the cart just outside the borders of checkout aisle three, he ventured in to grab two packs of juicy fruit gum and, suddenly craving various candies, two packs of reese's cups, a hersey bar, four milky ways and a three musketeers bar for cat. maybe delicious chocolate and nougat would distract her from her butt head ex-boyfriend. it was worth a shot at least. he headed back towards his cart and dumped his armload of candy into it, because register three was closed. and when he did so, he noticed a tall, creepishly good looking girl standing by the magazine racks, an elle magazine clutched in her hands. he had only had his eyes on her for about a second when she suddenly dropped her basket of items, creating a resounding clatter that made him flinch a bit. hmm. was there something about her elle magazine that was getting her goat? maybe. weird things like that made girls angry. charlie didn't pretend to understand it. then, as he watched, she tore the cover right off the magazine and let it fall to the floor, just like all the grocery store items she had evidently come here to purchase. hmm. ballsy. he looked at it, the glossy piece of paper lying on the tiled floor of the supermarket, for a moment and was surprised to realize that there was an uncanny resemblence between the girl on the magazine and the girl who had just defiled it. dude... it was more than uncanny. he was pretty sure it was the same person. hmm. wicked. "hey, you know, they make you pay for stuff when you do that," he said. "it's like totally lame and stuff, but those supermarket management types... they're like little nazis." he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the handle of his shopping cart. "soo, is that you?" he asked, gesturing to the sensual looking girl gazing up at them from the cover of the magazine on the floor.

[/font]

STATUS finished!
TAGGED kiran!
DATE october 8, 2007
ATTIRE here.
CREDITS lyrics by camera obscura, formatting & banner by me
NOTES wootwoot!![/blockquote]

[asia4]

KIRAN SLADE

[/size][/color]

------------------------------------------------
MY FALL IS THE SEASON. INHALE THE BULLSHIT.
MAKES MY SKIN ITCH, BUT IT GETS ME LIT. DON'T YOU
WISH THAT THE PIECES FIT. LIKE WHEN WE WERE KIDS?
THIS IS MY LOW, TO LIVE TO BE NUMB.[/color]
- - - - - - - - - - - -[/center]

- - - SHE DIDN'T EVEN

[/color] know why she was surprised anymore. Everything that go up must come down, right? Well, she mused, it must be her time to come falling down. No one stays as a top model forever unless your name is Heidi. And, well, people like Heidi. Kiran knew better than anyone she wasn't the most likeable of people. Not her problem. But, even so, the angry surrpise was continuing to bubble and boil underneath her insecure misery. She didn't know why. It just was. During that last several months, it had been obvious that her career was going to be ending. Her agent used the term "dry spot". But, really? She wasn't stupid, contrary to popular belief. Kiran knew that she had gotten lucky from the get-go - the level of her success, the quickness of it. To even entertain the thought that she could pick herself up again was ridiculous. When a model who should be doing Victoria Secret, but never does, hits a "dry spot", it is time to join the low-level world of commerical modeling or give-up and go home. She'd take the second choice. The only thing worse than falling down on a runway is to take the easy way out. Doing campaigns for Target and La Senza? Yes, be jealous of those untouchable supermodels. In her mind, she had accepted that. It was the rest of her that continued to be shocked and appalled. Like I said, she didn't know why. It just was. She was ready to accept it, but it simply was not happening.

This Elle cover, for example. True, it went against nature in how sickening it was. But, the fact remained there: she hadn't completely disappeared yet. Her career had been phasing itself out for nearly six months now. Couldn't it just fucking do it, already? Seriously. She hated waiting for the inevitable to finally happen. While it was a repulsive piece of magazine, no magazine editor is low-grade. Things are planned weeks before release. Someone had been entertaining the thought of having Kiran Slade on the cover of their magazine, even after the rumors of her "break" had started. At the beginning, she had convinced herself the sudden slow of work was due to her need of a break. You know, do normal teenager things. It happened all the time. Only, models generally refuse work, confirming that they are going to focus on life for awhile. She hadn't told anybody anything. Her agent, while in desperate need of a brain transplant, did nothing unless she demanded him to. He didn't hate her that much. So, yes, it was dragging itself on and on. Fuckers. She had long accepted the fact that her career was over, just because it wanted to be. No reason was ever given. To this very day, the motive behind this remained unanswered. Either no one knew, or they just weren't telling her. Wouldn't be the first time. But, the point was that it just would not quit. Everytime her career decided to make her even more miserable, it would. It would spit out another meager magazine cover, or maybe an editorial if it felt up to the task. We're speaking in terms that her career has a mind of its own - which is does. Do not question it. The magazine cover lying on the ground was evidence of that.

She had long given up questioning why her career did what it did. One day, she was taking polaroids in some shabby agency in Sydney, Australia; the next, she was shooting for an eight-page editorial in Allure. When that happens, you shut-up and let it happen. So, again - she had accepted it. Her mind was beginning to be okay with it. Her career, however, seemed determined to make her as insecure and hateful as it could. It was doing a damn good job. We all know Kiran Slade is a shallow, demanding elitist. Striking the cover of a B-list magazine is model-suicide, and everyone backstage at a Valentino show knows that.

She hadn't moved for several minutes. She just stood there, clutching the now-torn magazine, eyes glaring down at the Ralph Lauren advertisement on the first page. That should have been her. In those several minutes, she had been kicking herself, degrading herself into the ground even more. Why did her career insist on going until there was nothing left? Why did she even care? Why did she have to stop eating and starting throwing-up everything she did happen to eat? Why did all of this bullshit have to be happening? She was asking herself these questions over and over, never getting an answer. She knew that. It didn't matter. There was nothing to be done about it other than hate yourself for allowing such a thing to even happen. Narrowing her light eyes, hate flooding her pupils as the ad came back into focus, Kiran tightened her death-grip on the sides of the magazine. Running her thumb along the edge of the page, wrinkling the glossy paper, a bitter smirk twisted its way onto her otherwise pretty face. Eventually tearing the edges of the page through sheer pressure, she loosened her grip. More than anything, she wanted to shred every high fashion advertisement in that damn magazine. It should have been her on those pages, remaining unknown and untouchable. She shouldn't be the has-been on the cover, without any interview or editorial to accompany it.

Still, she glared down at the magazine. She didn't even know what she was glaring at anymore - just the magazine, and its fuck-faced world, in general. It was good enough. The people passing her, staring with arched eyebrows, didn't matter. The child that slipped on one of her bruised apples, who was crying into his mother's jacket, didn't matter. The open box of bandaids would help someone - the annoying mess of a child, or the apples. She didn't even like apples. Absentmindedly tearing at the other side of the Ralph Lauren ad, the fallen supermodel scoffed. This was stupid. Moving the toe of her boot forward, in full attempt to tear her own photo, she paused at an unexpected interruption. When you see a pretty, obviously angry teenage girl in a supermarket, you know to leave her alone. There are stupid people everywhere, I guess. She rolled her eyes, quickly stomping her foot onto the ground, narrowly missing the cover in question. "hey, you know, they make you pay for stuff when you do that." Moving her eyes from the torn magazine to the shaggy-haired stranger, she threw it into his filled shopping cart. Let's ignore the mass amount of unhealthy mess in there."Then you won't mind picking up the charge." Her accented voice hollow, Kiran looked up at him with the same blank expression she had been wearing most of the day. What did she care if someone hassled her for ripping up some low-grade magazine? The five bucks was more than worth it. She was on the cover, anyway. She had some sort of right to it, didn't she? Whatever. She didn't care anymore. "soo, is that you?" He was looking at the cover on the ground now. Kicking it away with her boot, watching it fly a few inches up in the air before coming to a rest, still face-up, a foot or two away. "It shouldn't be. It's a crime against photography." The same bitterness lacing her voice, she looked over to it, the same hatred filling her eyes again.[/size][/blockquote][/font]STATUS,, complete.
LENGTH,, 1297 words.
TAGGED,, captain clare-cupcake !
TIME & PLACE,, october 8th, 2007; v-mart & go.
CLOTHING,, clicketh. hair back in a messy-bun.
NOTES,, terrible post. but they're too epic<3
CREDITS,, format and graphics to me.
lyrics to zebrahead - "veils and visions".

[Edmund "Charlie" Rose]

CHARLIE ROSE *


I LIKE THE FREE DAYS WITH NO EXPECTATIONS
I LIKE IT MY WAY WITH NO LIMITATION

- - - For pretty much his entire life, or what he could remember of it at least, people had been telling charlie that he was an odd one. and, honestly, once he had fallen bored enough to care, he had been forced to concede that everyone was probably right. after all, he wasn't all hung up on the things all these 'normal' people were hung up on; what other people thought of him, not appearing unusual, caring too much about his image, what other people said about him.... but honestly, if those were the things normal people were obsessed about, he was really completely glad he wasn't one of them. because an existence where you worried about that kind of stuff seemed like a really bummer-ish one. who wanted that? sounded really effing boring if you asked him. not that he really wasted a lot of time pondering the merits of being a 'normal' person, because that wasn't his style. believe it or not, he had much, much better things to do. he was more the type who bobbed along, enjoying himself, doing whatever struck his little fancy whenever it struck his little fancy, without much of a thought towards anything else. and, seeing as he was one of those odd ones, it often meant that he wound up weirding people out. a lot. probably more than he was aware of, anyway, because he tended to either forget or not care that other people didn't know what exactly was going on inside of his head, seeing as he usually thought it was generally pretty obvious. he wasn't exactly a deep thinker, after all. didn't take a genuis to realize that. he struck up random conversations with random people he met in public because he felt like it. he made weird jokes (they were usually only weird to the people he was telling them to; he found them perfectly natural). he gave random opinions on insight. it wasn't really hard to see how most people usually found him to be a little much. cat was always more than willing to give him reminders about that. she was also always more than willing to list all his faults, annoying habits and how he should spend more time combing his hair and less time annoying the living daylights out of her. that was something nice about cat, she always had plenty of opinions on everything. if nothing else, they were a nice source of white noise to sooth him.

- - - Anyhow, take the gorgeous, but apparently angsty and very angry at a poor innocent magazine young woman standing before him. she was probably one of those people who would think he was a complete oddball crazy person. of course, he wouldn't give a hoot, but whatever. it wasn't his problem or anything, right? they could either have a conversation that was pleasant and amusing for the both of them, or she could be a meanie and charlie could be his usual chipper self. the latter option would probably wind up annoying her more than a pleasant conversation would, yeah? like he had said, he didn't give a hoot. he felt like talking, so he was going to talk. that was how he rolled.

- - - She was actually started to alarm him a little; she was being very vicious to that magazine and he couldn't imagine what it possibly could have done to her to have made her so mad. plus her spilled groceries were bound to cause a couple of fatalities soon, the manner in which they were strewn about was nothing short of haphazard. she looked up at him, daggers or something equally sharp and deadly in her eyes, and tossed the now battered and beleaguered periodical into his shopping cart, right on top of all his milky ways. "then you won't mind picking up the charge." maybe he would have if he were spending his own money, but this whole shopping trip was at his father's experience. so, damned if he cared. "okay, maybe just this once," he said with a shrug. "but let's not make a habit of this. i'm not made of money. just exceptionally good looking." his eyes widened a bit as she kicked the cover of the magazine, making her facec momentarily airborne before it settled back down. hmm. maybe she should look into investing in a punching bag or something to take care of her anger. he had been trying to convince cat to do so for a while now, actually. hell, maybe cat and this girl could get together and be sparring partners or something every once in a while. couldn't hurt, could it? "it shouldn't be. it's a crime against photography." "i wouldn't go that far," he said. "i think a crime against photography would probably have to involve, like, a hairless horse or something weird like that. but if you're on the cover of a magazine you probably know more about that kind of stuff than i do." he watched her almost warily, hoping that she wasn't going to kick something again, because he felt like talking to her, and it would probably seem creepy and weird if she got kicked out of the store and he followed her. oh hey, look at that there, he was showing some concern about whether or not he seemed like a scary stalker dude.

[/font]

STATUS finished!
TAGGED kiran!
DATE october 8, 2007
ATTIRE here.
CREDITS lyrics by camera obscura, formatting & banner by me
NOTES wow, really rambly.[/blockquote]

[asia4]

KIRAN SLADE

[/size][/color]

------------------------------------------------
HERE'S TO WHAT SEEMED SO CLEAR.
I CAN HAVE IT ALL, BUT STILL FEEL EMPTY. AND I'M
SO ACCOMPLISHED, BUT OH SO BROKEN. THIS EMPTY GLASS,
HERE'S TO WHAT WENT WRONG[/color]
- - - - - - - - - - - -[/center]

- - - THAT DAMN MAGAZINE

[/color] cover displayed everything Kiran hated. She hated seeing reprints as covers. She hated commerical modeling. She hated the November issue. She hated the magazine editors who told her she was too fat. She hated Elle Magazine. She hated that picture, that stilleto. She hated that photographer, the make-up artist, the costume designer. She hated all of it. She hated being Kiran fucking Slade - legendary supermodel. The seductive cover photo was everything Kiran had always wanted to be. And, here she was, hating every unliving fibre of it. When she was six or seven, all she could do was fantasize about how she would grace the cover of a magazine one day. Now, at seventeen, she was grazing the cover of numerous magazines. What? Did these editors really run out of other photographs to run as an overly used cover? But the fact remained true. The glossy and torn magazine cover was Kiran Slade's career wrapped up in a single photograph. And she hated it. Now that she was here, at the top of the mountain, she wanted nothing more than to go back down. Just sit there, halfway up the mountain. She could go back to not hating everything about Elle. She could be one of those runway girls who secretly hate on the girl who gets every cover, and then some. That had been her eight months ago. She was everything she used to hate about the entire god damn fashion scene.

She may have hated reprints, commerical models, November issues, magazine editors, Elle magazine and everything more. She may have even hated that photographer, make-up artist and costume designer. If you gave her enough time, she would probably start to hate the set designer and the poor fellow working the lighting, too. But let's not do that. But, at the end of the day, the thing Kiran hated the most was, well, Kiran. She didn't like herself anymore. True, she had always wanted to be the supermodel. Who doesn't? And true, she had secretly hated on the supermodels - but she still wanted to be them. Ever since she migrated to America, Valkyrie in general, she had become that supermodel. In Australia, everyone had known who she was. Duh. But everyone else could name ten models before her name came up. Not so much anymore. Half the time, people named Kiran Slade as one of the names they know best. She had officially reached the top of her game. Six months ago, there had been very little Kiran could have done to make herself even more successful as a model. Short of doing exclusive campaigns and saying bye-bye to the world of high fashion, there was nothing. Now that those six months were up, the hatred set in. Obviously. She had been at the top. She had fallen down from the top. She was allowed to be a little ticked, wasn't she? Well, she was.

You never would have known, would you? The entire time Kiran lived in Australia, when she was still friends with Bailey and Jade, she had been climbing that mountain to supermodel-ism. She had been happy then. Once she went global, for lack of a better term, everything had fallen apart. The moment Kiran stepped onto American soil, her career had sky-rocketed. Her agent used the term "the next level" a lot. She had turned into the snobby one, the one who rarely spoke to anyone else during the backstage of fashion shows. She had been convinced the others girls had been whispering cruel things about her this time. Well, she had done the same thing. It was then, deep down, she had began to hate everything. We all know what Kiran Slade is like. And we should all know she is an individual who thrives on having a social circle. Leave the whispered-about loners to the weird chicks in her social studies class. More than anything, she missed being one of those too-skinny runway models; the untouchable, slightly weird-looking editorial queens. It was damn lonely at the top. So lonely, in fact, that she hadn't even realized until she had moved past the 'at the top' phase and was rehashing her time in the 'fallen superstar' time block. Maybe she should move back to Australia, rewind things a little bit. Wishful thinking.

Another sigh escaped her lips. All her thoughts could concentrate on was this fallen career of hers. Why it died, what went wrong. Why she even wanted it back - that was the thought that was stubbornly snaking through the back of her mind. She wasn't bitter, she realized. She was just...angry. Pissed off and jealous, because she had reached the level she and the other girls used to mock. Then she plummeted deeper, becoming the girl even the supermodels could mock at the A-list events they got to attend. It fucking sucked. She hated it all. She wanted it to be over, had accepted the fact that it was over. But, at the same time, her career didn't want it to be over just yet. It all swirled around her head and it refused to stop. It just pissed her off more. Inhaling deeply, regaining herself, pushing those thoughts into the hole where she kept everything else, Kiran looked back up. The ice queen was back in control. As much as she could muster these days. Obviously miserable and depressed, yet not quite as sensitive about it. She still would have ripped that magazine, though. Turning her blue eyes to look at Charlie, they narrowed slightly as he spoke. ""but let's not make a habit of this. i'm not made of money. just exceptionally good looking. "Make a career of it then. There's a subscription option in the middle." An odd, certainly forced, aloofness leaking into her words, Kiran looked back down at the battered magazine. She fucking hated that thing. "i wouldn't go that far." She looked up again. As he went off on his little rant, her manicured eyebrows arched upward lightly. Honestly? People generally get the memo to leave her the hell alone. "That would just be a crime against nature," her words were soft as she continued to inspect Charlie closely. "I know no more than you do. That crime there is for you, mate. Buy yourself a few more copies. Just don't get anything repulsive on me." Picking up another issue of the magazine, she tossed it into the basket, contrasting with the tattered copy below it.

With that, she lightly shoved her half-empty basket with her boot again, sending it a fair few feet away from them, spilling the contents further. "Jester here will pick up any tab." Speaking loudly enough in an attempt to catch a worker's attention - who knows if she did? - Kiran gracefully spun on her heel and headed for the door. Gripping her Marc Jacob's bag tightly, she pushed the door open with her shoulder, and emerged out onto the empty sidewalk in front of the small grocery store. Let's not do that again, Slade.[/size][/blockquote][/font]STATUS,, complete.
LENGTH,, 1203 words.
TAGGED,, captain clare-cupcake !
TIME & PLACE,, october 8th, 2007; v-mart & go.
CLOTHING,, clicketh. hair back in a messy-bun.
NOTES,, our rambling makes us THIS epic xD
CREDITS,, format and graphics to me.
lyrics to october nites - "so accomplished, but so broken".

[Edmund "Charlie" Rose]

CHARLIE ROSE *


I LIKE THE FREE DAYS WITH NO EXPECTATIONS
I LIKE IT MY WAY WITH NO LIMITATION

- - - Charlie didn't get why so many people thought of grocery shopping as such a boring, menial chore. he found it immensely entertaining, when he wasn't preoccupied about something or feeling lazy. and, come on, this was charlie. since when did he get preoccupied? exactly. maybe once or twice a year, tops. as for the laziness thing... well, that was a bit more rampant than the feeling preoccupied thing, but that was more of an issue about summoning up the motivation to get up his butt and go somewhere rather than whether or not he actually enjoyed what he was going to do. anyhow. moving on now. what wasn't to love about a grocery store? it smelled good, it was full of yummy food, and all the different colored packaging covering the yummy food made the place nice and colorful. that was pretty much all it took to win charlie rose's heart, though free money was usually a surefire way to make some progress with that, too. he recalled fondly back to when he and cat were younger, while his father had still been on his stint in the traveling circus. they would wander innocently into the local supermarket of whatever dinky little town they were stationed in and grab two carts. then they would find a deserted aisle, free from the prying eyes of any employees, and an epic, manic cart race would ensue. they always got kicked out and always had to remimburse the store for any damaged merchandise, but since they didn't spend much time at all in one town at a time, it didn't much matter. it was always totally worth it, even though now, thinking back on it, charlie really had no idea what the actual point to the whole endeavor had been. the sheer kic-ass-ocity of it accounted for that, but still.

- - - Now this girl, standing in front of him on the tiled floor of v-mart and go, amidst scattered grocery like items and dismembered magazines, she didn't look like she embraced the winfulness of the grocery store atmosphere. in fact, she didn't look like she embraced much of anything at all. she seemed she was in such an austere state of sophistication that she couldn't allow for warm feelings for anything. except perhaps alcohol. then again, who had anything but warm feelings for alcohol? she didn't look like she had had a childhood, either. she looked like one of those people who had simply sprung into being exactly as they were and who were destined to stay exactly as they were either until they died or that long awaited apocolypse came around. it was probably just because she was one of those uber poised types of people with only a few emotional settings. "make a career of it then. there's a subscription option in the middle." yeah. he was pretty sure there was absolutely no way she had ever had an epic, manic cart race in a grocery store. pity, really. it was a wonderful, character building experience. he was about to open his mouth and say something chipper that was sure to annoy her, but before he could do so, something about the way she spoke hit him. oh em gee, oh em gee, oh em gee. she had an australian accent, she had an australian accent, she had a fucking australian accent, oh em gee. his day suddenly got a whole lot better.

- - - "That would just be a crime against nature. i know no more than you do. that crime there is for you, mate. buy yourself a few more copies. just don't get anything repulsive on me." hehe. he couldn't help but smile giddily. he loved aussie accents practically more than he loved life. it would probably be prudent for him to calm down a bit, though, because this girl definitely wasn't willing to slow their little conversation down just because her accent made him want to do a happy dance. he wasn't even really sure what she had just said... something about the gross hairless horse being gross. "i won't let you down, i promise," he said, though he wasn't completely sure about what he was promising... to try and not bee too repulsive, right? he could do that. he was brought back down to earth by the sound of her undoubtedly expensive boot colliding with her grocery basket. he had a feeling that if he hadn't grown up with cat, apparently random and cold hearted acts of violence and hostility would have thrown him a bit more off guard. "jester here will pick up any tab." ooh, jester. he liked the sound of that. he did not, however, like the sound of picking up a tab, especially since she had said it so that a store worker would hear and probably hold her to it. fiddlesticks. however, what she did next posed even more of a problem for him. she spun around with a grace you were either born with or failed epically at and flounced right out of the grocery store. damn it, she just had to make him seem like a weirdo stalker, didn't she?

- - - "H

[/color][/b]ey, hi there," charlie to the first person he saw as he turned around, which happened to be a skeptical looking old woman. "would you mind watching this for me? thanks." he was talking, of course, about his cart full of foodstuff items and he didn't wait for an answer before scuttling out the door after jack the magazine ripper. he didn't really care about the cart at this point. he'd find a way to make it through oreo deprivation. he was a survivor, after all. he quickened his pace a bit to catch up with her, and also to give her less time to realize what he was doing and try to escape. he drew even with her and situated himself in front of her a few paces. he tried to skid to a smooth, slick looking stop, but he wound up stumbling a bit and that ideal got shot straight to hell. ah, well. you couldn't have everything. "hi again," he said brightly. "i think we should talk some more. i like your accent."[/blockquote][/font]

STATUS finished!
TAGGED kiran!
DATE october 8, 2007
ATTIRE here.
CREDITS lyrics by camera obscura, formatting & banner by me
NOTES haha, he's acting like such a creeper. xD[/blockquote]

[asia4]

( KIRAN IVY SLADE )

OCTOBER 8TH, 2007. LATE AFTERNOON. V-MART & GO.

[/size]
-----------------------------------------------------------
here's to what seemed to clear ,
I CAN HAVE IT ALL, BUT STILL FEEL EMPTY. AND I'M SO
ACCOMPLISHED, BUT OH SO BROKEN. THIS EMPTY GLASS,
WHAT HAD HOPE IN. THIS IS TO WHAT WENT WRONG.
-----------------------------------------------------------[/color][/center]

- - - KIRAN SLADE HADN'T

[/b] had much of a childhood. she had one, sure. it just happened not to be the kind that was good. it was cliché, boring. she had the exact same life as every other upperclass australian child. mother is twenty years younger than father. father is successful businessman. mother is overly tanned, overly blonde trophy wife. father cheats on mother with younger, tanner, blonder assistants. mother pretends not to know by having weekly mani-pedis and using his credit card. children are supposed to be immune and use credit cards to numb the pain. rinse and repeat. it had been that way for kiran's entire childhood. up to this day, it was like that. except, today, her parents were attempting to "revitalize" their relationship with a marriage councelor and a lot of really loud, really graphic make-up sex. it was putrid. but no, she considered herself a portion of the population who did not have much of a childhood. the moment she was old enough to walk, she was brought along to suffocating dinners at the country club where the old people soaked up one another's richness. when she started attending school, she got lessons from her mother to sift out the poor, ugly, fat classmates and never speak to them again. it had snowballed from there. standing there, at age eighteen, kiran slade was the perfect result of a childhood that wasn't really there.

say what you will - she had everything. her family was damn wealthy, so that meant that she didn't need or want anything. true. she always had everything she ever wanted. if, in fact, such thoughts went unnoticed ( as you get older, they do ), all she had to do was go out and get it herself. on her thirteenth birthday, kiran had been present with her own shiny credit card. on her sixteenth, that had been upgraded to an american express black. there was absolutely no reason why she couldn't have anything she desired. however, that was today - when she had said 'fuck you' to her childhood long ago. during her years of living in australia, she had lived the high life. she had no problem admitting it. she had become accustomed to this untouchable world; everyone knew it. and, if you don't happen to be living in said untouchable world ( which you probably don't ), it's very easy to judge. ninety percent of the population would sell their loving grandmother's eyeballs for scientific research if it meant they could have fat bank accounts. they think everything is easier when you're wealthy. true. you can just hire a limo to take you away from your stupid, screaming, drunken family. say what you will - she had everything. it's true. kiran slade had everything. but that didn't meant she had a childhood. that wealth you would sell your granny for puts dollar signs in the way of acting like a parent. throw money at the kids and they'll shut up. if they're quiet, you don't care. that's how it is, isn't it?

okay, so. where are we? kiran slade considered herself privleged like tomorrow, and didn't have a childhood. sounds about right. but, really, hadn't she brought some of that upon herself? she allowed her mother to drag her along to those stupid talent agencies when she was twelve. she allowed people to poke and prod at her before they decided she could be a child model. she got to pretend to look cute in those repulsive david jones catalogs. it was when her modeling career really began that she lost the rest of her childhood. for the majority of her schooling, she had private tutors. the only people she ever interacted with were other models, photographers and those annoying fashion executives who told her how they were going to run her life. as she got older, it only got worse. she got to travel, act like a real model. one week in new york, the other in milan. then london. paris. madrid. it never stopped. while she suffered from rich kid disorder living with her family, she suffered from repressed child disorder when she became an independent model. it didn't even matter that she came from credit cards and town cars. every other girl she travelled around with suffered from the exact same thing. she got to stand and look untouchably gorgeous for a living - it definitely did not suck. and when she moved back to sydney to go to school full time, she had missed out on any remaining chance of a childhood. jump right into acting like the shallow, snobbish bitch her mother had taught her to be. she had perfected the act long ago. she never learned how to act like a child.

although i suppose that was obvious. seeing the teenage girl standing in the middle of a grocery store, hate dripping from each of her invisible pores, it didn't take much. you shouldn't be capable of that much insecurity and venom at such a young age. her agent told her that load of bullshit, too. "i won't let you down, i promise." he had a childhood. anyone that happy was living in the happy middle - away from poor, torturous 'wrong side of the tracks' boredum and the overly privledged trust fund babies who didn't know how to feel anything but money. fucking jealous. simply looking over at him, kiran scoffed lightly. shooting daggers at charlie as she wordlessly kicked her basket again, the failing model just wanted to go back home. it was stupid, even considering coming here. she'd locked herself in her room for a tad too long. it had been a good idea. no one could see her from there, and she didn't have to pretend to be happy outside of there. "sure you will." her accent thick with disdain as she was walking away from the entire messy scene, she spoke loudly enough to address charlie. not even waiting for a response, she pushed the door open with her shoulder and escaped the entire store out onto the empty street outside.

huffing loudly, the ex-supermodel hugged herself tightly. this was so fucking stupid. shaking her head, she tightly closed her eyes as salty tears welled up. like i said, fucking stupid. seeing herself on the cover of a magazine was making her sick with disgust. enough to want to cry those angry tears she had been denying for so long. she had accepted it. but she didn't want to. not at fucking all. kiran slade was a deadbeat. one of those has-beens who occasionally had covers from reprinted images. there wasn't an interview or an editorial in the elle magazine; just old outtakes that everyone had long forgotten about. remember when she had twenty fashion shows a week, and a new editorial twice a week? you quickly forgot about the ones from last week. fucking stupid. "hi again," now? ugh. opening her eyes and looking up, unexpetedly, to see charlie standing there, kiran narrowed her eyes. loosening her arms, she haphazardly wiped the smudged eyeliner from beneath her eyes. "i think we should talk some more. i like your accent." "then go and get your own," her voice was irritable, but she didn't attempt to move passed him. toying with her leather bracelets, she continued to look up at him. "and why, exactly, do you want to keep talking to me?" contempt lacing her words again, kiran raised her eyebrows at him.[/size][/font][/blockquote]STATUS,, complete.
TAGGED,, captain clare-cupcake !
LENGTH,, 1277 words.
CLOTHING,, clicketh. hair back in a messy-bun.
NOTES,, SO late</3
CREDITS,, format and graphics to me.
lyrics to october nites - "so accomplished, but so broken."[/size]

[Edmund "Charlie" Rose]

( EDMUND CHARLES ROSE )
V-MART & GO, OCTOBER 8, 2007, LATE AFTERNOON

i like the free days with no expectations
i like it my way with no limitations
. . . . . . .

it was pleasantly warm outside. california was choosing to not attack its residents with its trademark heat and humidity for once. it was a nice change. furthermore, the sun was shining from its perch in the cloudless blue sky. it was the kind of day that brought to mind the song "dear prudence" by the beatles. he could actually play that on his cello now, no joke. he had gotten the notes from this awesome website he had stumbled upon one day whilst surfing the web. it had a bunch of awesome songs like that translated into string sheet music and charlie pretty much regarded it as a sacred relic of sorts. but anyway. none of that was really relevant here, was it? it was a beautiful day, a beautiful, typical, void of any and all weather californian day. charlie had never really been the type of person whose mood was influenced by the weather, because he was really good with all the types of it that mother nature had to throw at him. warm and sunny was fine, made for a good beach day. cool and cloudy was fine as well, made for more interesting beach days. rainy was just plain dandy, who didn't love going out and making an idiot of themselves in the rain? snow was lovely, too, because it allowed for snow ball fights and sledding, two things that charlie was very fond of and found quite epic, thank you very much. it was all cool by him. so living in california did get a little monotonous on him weather wise, especially during the winter when he went through snow withdrawl, but all the same when he had stepped out of valkyrie's quaint little supermarket known as v-mart and go into the bright and cheerful sunshine, he had felt a small surge of contentment wash through him.

this had obviously not happened to the tall, statuesque young lady he had exited the v-mart for, however. for charlie could still sense anger and unadulterated hatred seeping from her, even as he had been "strolling" along behind her, attempting to catch up with her. she was actually reminding him of his sister when she was in one of her "pissed off at the whole damn world" moods, because when she was in one of those, she generally oozed contempt, fury, and hatred, too. and she was also generally apt to bite the head off of anyone who irritated her in the slightest, as well, and while charlie had not witnessed this australian chicka - who was apparently a model or something - do that to anyone as of yet, there was no way he was going to put it past her. he wasn't a blithering idiot or anything like that, after all.

she now had her arms wrapped around herself tightly and her eyes were closed. taking a moment to survey her quickly, charlie had to say that she definitely looked the part of one of those high fashion models. she was extremely thin, for example. to the point where, based only on that visiaul indication, the possibility that she had just walked out of a concentration camp didn't seem like it was all that much very unlikely. then he spoke and she opened her eyes again, looking anything but happy that he had "tagged along" outside with her. but charlie didn't really care; he was annoying like that. however, she then loosened her arms and swiped at the area beneath her eyes and charlie's attention was brought to the fact that she was very near tears. and immediately thereafter he decided that he was not going to let her out of his sight until she smiled. those words would probably strike most people at least a little bit odd seeing as they were concerning a complete stranger, but that was just charlie for you. he considered these kinds of things his civic duty. that and he just liked to make people laugh. but it was all good beacuse he was pretty good at it, wasn't he?

"then go and get your own," was her response to his statement about how he thought her accent was one of the most epic things to ever happen to valkyrie. he hadn't actually said that, true, because it was a bit too creeperish even for him, but he had meant it. because australian accents were just plain amazing. among the best accents out there, in his opinion. then again, pretty much any sort of accent except for american was pretty damn epic. the american ways of talking and pronouncing things was pretty boring... save for those northeastern accents, though, those were actually pretty awesome. "actually, i can do a pretty kicking yorkshire one," he said matter of factly. "the world is just a bunch o' focking shite." he did his very best to put as much yorkshire into the words as possible and it sounded pretty durn good, if you asked him. "see?" he smiled smugly and tucked his hands into the pockets of his pants. yeah. that was pretty much what happened when you tried to be rude to charlie rose. it rolled right off of him simply because he really did not care. and he wound up doing something weird, like showing off his yorkshire accent abilities. "and why, exactly, do you want to keep talking to me?" she asked, her voice a veritable cocktail of contempt. "i already told you," he said. "i like your accent. and i'm sure that you're a fascinating young woman." he paused. "i'm charlie. though i have to say i am considering adopting jester as a nickname. it's pretty cool."

. . . . . . .

status , finished.
tagged , kirlieee!
attire , here.
credits , lyrics: camera obscura. formatting: me.
notes , they are beyond epic already.

[asia4]

( KIRAN IVY SLADE )

OCTOBER 8TH, 2007. LATE AFTERNOON. V-MART & GO.

[/size]
-----------------------------------------------------------
here's to what seemed to clear ,
I CAN HAVE IT ALL, BUT STILL FEEL EMPTY. AND I'M SO
ACCOMPLISHED, BUT OH SO BROKEN. THIS EMPTY GLASS,
WHAT HAD HOPE IN. THIS IS TO WHAT WENT WRONG.
-----------------------------------------------------------[/color][/center]

- - - DEEP DOWN, SHE

[/b] was kicking herself for being a coward, for running away from everything. if you think about it, there is not one thing, a single damn thing, that kiran slade had completed. in months. all year. she would start something, something as contrived as going to the grocery store, and bail halfway through. things were just easier if she didn't have to face them. you know, why poke the sleeping dragon if the dragon doesn't want to be poked, anyway? in her mind, if she just let things be, she could wallow in her misery alone. everything was easier that way. it didn't take putting your insecurities on the line; you didn't have to face your vulnerability. running away was the simple answer - by running away, she was free to live in the dark, closed-off world she had created around herself. she had been doing it for months now. when she first became aware of her dying modeling career, she retreated into the background. her friendships suffered, her family life suffered; all because she made herself suffer. in all honesty, it was never supposed to happen like that. she was supposed to be able to fade back into oblivion, and everything else would remain the same. people here had their own lives to lead, what would they care if she was in the background from now on? of course, it didn't actually happen like that. she ran away, and everyone noticed. and, in most cases, they decided to continue let her run.

remember the bit when she was kicking herself? well, that was the exact reason. despite refusing to do a whole lot about her dark, unstable world of insecurity and vulernability, she was growing more and more aware of it. several months previous, no, she wasn't. it just made sense to drop into the background and never be heard from again. it snowballed from there. but now, when she was too insecure and moody to even go buy milk, it was just pathetic. pathetic and sad. since when did kiran fucking slade even consider having to go out and get milk? and now she was too damn self-concious to do even that. by now, she was indeed aware of how far she had fallen. she kicked herself for becoming so pathetic. she was one of those girls she used to taunt for sport. a part of her brain was being resilient: screaming at her to shut the hell up and just get a damn showcard for the spring/summer runway season. that was the part of her brain that was still herself, alive and kicking. no one can take down kiran slade without a fight. duh. everyone knows that. that little corner of her mind, buried deep under self-esteem issues and self-hatred, was kicking the rest of her. like, really?

but, it's all about the vicious circle, is it not? she was aware of these thoughts. she knew these thoughts were logical, were obviously right. yet, still, she was running from them. admitting she had been a coward would mean pulling her insecurities up from the ground and dealing with them. that was all too much for her, thank you very much. this was where she always found herself - conflicted and pushed back into a corner. she never gave herself a way out. every once and awhile, that little part of her would wake-up and start kicking again. then she'd argue with herself, make herself feel even more worthless, and it would start all over again; come full circle. and then she would never do anything about it. aside from being both exhausting and threatening, it was becoming really fucking annoying. and she was just starting to get tired of it. not just of the yoyo-ing of her modeling career, or of her weak, and cowardly, non-attempts to fix herself - but of everything. all of the drama that came from her career just not going one way or the other. the exhaustion that came with hating yourself every minute of every day. even the lack of being able to buy milk and go home. she was always too busy looking around, feeling like a two-legged horse in a field of four-legged cows. by the looks of it, she wasn't going to be able to go home without the milk. captain creepy just had to keep talking to her. uh, why? "actually, i can do a pretty kicking yorkshire one." there were so many foreigners in valkyrie, it shouldn't have made any difference where the hell she came from. but hey, whatever.

as he spoke, kiran bit down on her bottom lip. absentmindedly wiping the eyeliner from her fingertips onto her jeans, she kept her eyes on charlie. as he did his little accent impression, she merely wrinkled her forehead in minor amusement. he wasn't honestly talking to her like they were old friends. was he? "congraluations," she spoke with a coldness that didn't quite reach her eyes. "buy yourself a toy as a prize." rehooking her arms across her midsection, she lowered her chin as she spoke to him before turning to the side again. lifting her eyes to look at her reflection in the store's front window, she breathed a light sigh. "i already told you, i like your accent. and i'm sure that you're a facinating young woman."this was just so pathetic. she couldn't even buy milk, and someone apparently thought she was facinating. yep, still didn't buy it. continuing to figdit uneasily, she let her right arm fall to her side as she left hand cupped the back of her neck. it had been a long damn time since she'd stood, in one place, in public, for this long. a few minutes, i know. pathetic, right? "well, you're wrong then. i'm not facinating. your yorkshire accent is facinating." half-looking over her shoulder at charlie, a tight smile accompanied her soft words. "sydney was facinating. paris was facinating. michael kors is facinating. i'm not facinating anymore, mate." it had been a longtime since she's spoken the truth out loud. it was painful, even to hear herself say it.

"i'm charlie. though i have to say i am considering adopting jester as a nickname. it's pretty cool." continuing to look at their reflections in the window, she shrugged nonchatantly, unsure of what to say. when was the last time someone had actually spoken to her without a. some sort of bodily insult, or b. wanting to know where someone else was? months. no one bothered to engage the depressed ex-supermodel in conversation anymore. she hadn't been able to hold one before when she was the bitchiest bitch. there was no hope now. "you should. officialize it, and i get profits everytime someone says it." a good amount of the contempt disappearing from her voice, kiran looked back over her shoulder at charlie. "i'm kiran."[/size][/font][/blockquote]STATUS,, complete.
TAGGED,, captain clare-cupcake !
LENGTH,, 1188 words.
CLOTHING,, clicketh. hair back in a messy-bun.
NOTES,, <333
CREDITS,, format and graphics to me.
lyrics to october nites - "so accomplished, but so broken."[/size]