The Turquoise Pumps
Preface: Turner Jenning, young and full of life has now crushing on the hot girl. Yeah, and all of his damned friends now it. Same as his brother, Mark, and his wife. The one thing is, Skylar Thompson has A: A boyfriend, B: Works a lot and C: She has no interested in Turner. What would you do if you fell in love with the love of your life, but they wouldn't be interested.
Hey Y'all! TTP IS BACK! Chappie One up soon!
Alex~ :icon_study:
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The Turquoise Pumps A Writer and A Girl
#2
Posted 28 April 2012 - 01:33 AM
Yay, Im so happy you're continuing with this story!
I hope you post chapter 1 soon :D
xoxo, Suze :heartbeat:
I hope you post chapter 1 soon :D
xoxo, Suze :heartbeat:
#4
Posted 28 April 2012 - 04:12 PM
all i can say is
http://shop.screenteegallery.com/images/1294445345796-939007934.jpeg
x
http://shop.screenteegallery.com/images/1294445345796-939007934.jpeg
x
#5
Posted 29 April 2012 - 10:06 AM
Suze: You know it! I hope everyone will enjoy it!
Sam: Hahaha, thanks, I think.... :blink:
Shannon: BDT! Amen! Haha!
Anyways, Chappie One will but up SOOONER THAN YOU CAN SING OUR SONG! ;)
Alex~ :hyper:
Sam: Hahaha, thanks, I think.... :blink:
Shannon: BDT! Amen! Haha!
Anyways, Chappie One will but up SOOONER THAN YOU CAN SING OUR SONG! ;)
Alex~ :hyper:
#6
Posted 01 May 2012 - 07:15 PM
Chapter One
Sunday Morning:
Standing out here in the miserable rain wasn’t exactly what I thought of a Sunday morning, but I guess you must do what must be done. Which was apparently waiting for the opening act of Love and Kindness. It was a play done by my boss’s daughter. So it was pretty much mandatory to come out to watch this play.
I wait in line with a six year old girl in front of me, pulling on her mummy’s dress screaming how she want’s ice cream. Who wants ice cream in the rain? Apparently young children. The mother tells her to shut up. Literally, tells her daughter to “Shut up, Margaret! Just shut up!”
Lovely. But it reminds me of my mother. Not that she was an evil, *%^##y one, but she just wasn’t fit for kids. And seeing that I was the last child, I was always stated as the worse. Though, I can’t blame a woman trying so hard to make her husband happy. It was father who wanted children, but mother refused. Until one day, he threaten with divorce, a word my mother hated, and she was magically pregnant.
“Mr. Jenning?” A voice was interrupting my thoughts.
I spun around on my heels, to see little old Ashlee Morgan-my boss-was right behind me.
“Ah! Turner! I’m so pleased you’re here for Birdy’s debut performance!” Mrs. Morgan may be a small woman, but when she gave me a hug, I could hardly breath.
“Oh, yeah, no matter what I’ll always be here for your children’s presentation!” I tell her, once she’s released me of course.
“Birdy is going to put on a fabulous show! Did you know she was inspired by Charlotte Bronte and Victor Hugo? Yes! Two of her favorite books are The Hunchback of Notre Dame, and Jane Eyre!”
I sigh, looking down at the four foot and ten inches woman, staring at her as she chatters about how it was going to be a play like Beauty and the Beast. I watch her jaws chatter, noticing the fat jingle on her face. Mrs. Morgan was a plump woman, but a rich one.
“Well, I’m sure Birdy will put on a magnificent show!” I tell her, moving up in the line. Mrs. Morgan follows.
“I’m so proud of her! She’s an amazing actress! I think she’ll be iconic like Marilyn Monroe!”
I bit my cheek, trying not to snicker at the comment. I remember first meeting Mrs. Morgan’s five children-yes, shockingly enough, she popped five of them out-and Birdy was the youngest. I met her at sixteen, she told me about how she read different books. Gave me a book to read that involved sex and murder. She told me that being an actress is like cake. It’s always sweet. The girl had braces on for almost five years, and Coka-Cola bottle thick glasses. Her hair was in braids, teased out in the back. Birdy mentioned how she hated dresses and skirts. She was just going to live in overalls.
Well, maybe four years can change a person, I hope anyways.
“Marilyn is quite an amazing woman.” I murmur.
But instead of talking about the wonderful and talented Marilyn Monroe, Mrs. Morgan ranted on and on and on about her daughter. I only nodded, till I got to the booth.
“Hi, Welcome to the Lensic, what showing will you be seeing?” The young girl asks me once I’m at the booth.
The girl has long dark hair, curled beautifully at the ends. Her blue eyes shine from her pale face, and she gives me a grin. The girl is dressed in a crappy green striped shirt that has Lensic stitched on the side. Her plastic name tag was tilted off her pocket, but I could read what it says, Skylar.
“Perky young’un, you are!” Comments Mrs. Morgan. Skylar blushes around her cheeks. Telling Mrs. Morgan thank you.
“Two tickets to Love and Kindness, please” I tell Skylar slipping her a fifty dollar bill through the small hole.
The girl takes the money, tallies the total, then giving back my change.
“Good luck.” She mutters to me when we start making our way towards the large glass doors with posters taped on.
“What was that?” I stopped in my tracks looking back at the girl.
Skylar looks up from some paperwork she was doing, then giving a short smile. Her eyes flicker towards Mrs. Morgan and me, then just simply says
“Enjoy the show!”
~T~
Awful, horrible, appalling, dreadful, poor, terrible, unpleasant, unbearable, ghastly, and just plain old bad.
The story was written about a young girl who loves a pretty boy who’s a murderer, she also falls in love with the butler and cannot chose who she must marry until she finds out that her pretty boy burns a church and murders ten hundred people. And that her butler has had a baby with another mistress of the small household. In the end, butler dies because of pretty boy and the handsome murderer dies because the young girl kills him and takes her life.
At first it sounds like an interesting story, a story that sounds dramatic yet interesting. Sad yet iconic but no. It was far from that. The pretty boy’s actor was not good at remembering his lines. The young man-twenty years of age?-would had the lines slip from his tongue.
The butler’s actor was not trained nor naturally good. So unbelievable, sincerely because the butler always looked as if he could love to run off stage.
The young girl played by Birdy Morgan, was of not anything of interest. The dramatic looks on her face were too forced and looked painful. The young girl could never make up her mind, nor do I think Birdy herself could come to a decision.
So yes, it was quite rotten. But of course Mrs. Morgan had to drag my tired limbs backstage to meet her daughter…again. I walk into the backstage area, following my obese boss through the large crowds of undressing women and disgustingly hairy men. Dressing tables were pressed against the walls of the backstage, I noticed a teenage girl making out heavily with a teenage boy, both in their underwear. Of course, that’s where I got my first kiss from was backstage of an old New York City theater.
Actually that’s false, my first French kiss was with Mary Jones. A blonde hair, blue eyes girl. She was my neighbor in a small town in England. She was also my best friend. One evening, she and I were going to camp out. It was summertime, fireflies lighting up the tent. Laying on my back, I asked Mary a random question.
“Do you believe in love?” I ask. I was sixteen, never had a date nor a kiss. But I was curious if she felt love yet.
“Yes, Turn, I do. I think love is real.” She told me. Grazing her hand against mine.
“Interesting.” I muttered. It was always a typical answer with girls.
There was some silence, heavy breathing was the only sound when Mary’s head was in front of me. Her blond hair falling down into my face. Her blue eyes were lit up. Sparkling, almost.
“What is it, Mare?”
“Have you French Kissed before?”
“No…Why?”
“I haven’t…I thought…well….maybe…erm…” She stuttered, her eyes were looking down at my chest. Her hands were hurting from the tent floor. Her elbows were getting weak. And Mary looked sad.
“Do you want to French, and like get it over with?” I ask, thinking that’s what she meant by it. Mary nodded her head, smiling. My lips made a smile, then taking my left arm and swinging it around her back, slowly dragging her back down to the tent floor. I could her hear giggle, then once I was over top of her, Mary looked deeply into my eyes. Like it was first time she saw my eyes. I noticed something different about her. And that’s how we made out in the tent.
Back to actual reality, Mrs. Morgan broke my thoughts.
“Birdy!” Calls out Mrs. Morgan, and within a few seconds a juvenile damsel comes out of the crowd of stripping females.
The youthful maiden’s lipstick was smeared across her face, she took her thumb and wiped her lips before giving her mother a smile.
“Mom!” Birdy yells, wrapping arms around Mrs. Morgan. It was only then did I notice that Mrs. Morgan’s daughter was only in her stark-white bra and underwear.
“Delightfully executed, darling!” Mrs. Morgan said, releasing her grip from her daughter.
“Thank you so much!” Birdy says, before tilting her head over to the left peering through her mother’s shoulder, looking me dead in the eyes.
“Hi! I’m Byrd!” She lies, pushing pass her mother to shake my hand. I take her delicate hand and shake it.
“Superbly done.” I said, noticing a sparkle in her eyes.
“Well, I am a professional!” She says, flipping a strand of blonde hair. A sly smile slipped across her lips, giving a laugh.
God, she was far from it.
~T~
“Turner Andrew Jenning! By what means see to it that you might have any idea of how I might feel, not hearing from you in seven days!” Yells my mother.
She has a strong British accent, it’s almost a Cambridge accent. But, no, Mum grew up in Salisbury, England. A small little whimsically town. And I’ve never been able to understand why she despised that small town like she did. It’s not like it was a terrible place, nothing like Ireland. I mean, who the hell can understand the Irish?
“I’m sorry, Mum! I was out on a meeting!” I lied. I had to lie, because if I told her I was ‘Gallivanting off to watch a horrid play, than you damned as well could have called you’re frighten mother!’
“Meeting? Ugh, my gosh, writers these days! Oh, honey, who wrote that smashing piece about how women who have breast enlargements look sexier? I was very much enjoying that article.”
“Calley Torque,” I reply. “Funny, most of the emails, Facebook comments, tweets, and blog reviews all hate that article. Says it leads young women down the wrong road.”
I sat in the living room, pressing the phone to my ear with my shoulder as I pet my innocent terrier, Elmo.
“Good heavens no! I was actually researching breast enlargements now!”
Dear God,
How the hell am I suppose to live with my friend, when mockery is going to happen. Who’s fifty-seven year old mother has a breast enlargement? I’m not sure many do. Help me,
Sincerely,
Turner.
I sigh, letting Elmo jumping onto my lap. I stroke his back, as I listen to my mother telling me how she was so touched by the story, and that breast enlargement is just what she’ll need. I think Calley has a new story, Plastic surgery with elderly people.
I lean far back into my sofa, wishing to just take a few vodka shots and forget about my dear mother explaining to me about her sex life. I guess this is what a twenty-three year old man gets for not talking to his mother on time. And having a mother as a sex therapist.
Elmo’s licking the back of my hand, I’m not sure why since I’m starving. I hadn’t have breakfast since six o’clock in the morning. The clock just now hit three o’clock in the afternoon.
“Mom,” I say slowly. It was almost that nagging ‘Mom’ like this-is-an-embarrassing-conversation-please-shut-the-hell-up.
“Turner, what? Did I tell you Mark and Carol are pregnant!” Mother was shrieking with joy. Mark was a year and a half older than me, and has three children already.
“Again? Can’t Carol get a hobbie?” I ask, letting Elmo jump on the back of the sofa, barking at the pigeons. I leave the sofa, and wander into my open kitchen.
“Turner Andrew Jenning!” Mother yells, “Carol is having a healthy sexual-
“La-la-la! I don’t want to know about her sexual life!” I swing the refrigerator’s open.
“Turner, how many times do you intercourse with a girl?”
“Can I die now?”
“You act like you’re ten!” I hear her huff. She’s pissy today.
“I am a man.”
Mother goes silence. It was always a good way to shut her up. I love her dearly, but when she wants to know about…my life…it get’s me annoyed, and uncomfortable.
I grab a ginger beer, turkey deli meat, and some bread from the bread box. Making a sandwich is tasty enough.
“Anyways, Charles wants to tell you greetings!” I’m sure my dad does.
I slap on the turkey on the white bread-I know, terrible unhealthy bread!-and pop open the ginger beer.
“Turner! Splendid to hear from a man like you! How’s New York?”
I sigh, sinking my teeth into the sandwich. Something’s missing.
“Pretty good! Got a job as an editor and chief for a newspaper.”
Dad scoffed, to him, writers were as low as plankton. Why do a terrible job like thus?
“Editor, hmm…well, good luck my boy.” It was his random way of saying that sentence every son wants to hear, ‘I’m proud of you, son.’
“Thanks, speaking of which, I have to get an article written up by tomorrow, but Dad it’s good to hear from you.”
Silence was on the other line, I place my sandwich on the plate. Wait for a response.
“Alright, my boy, I’m glad you’ve found your nack! So write on! Love across the pond!” And I heard a dial tone. Ahh, my family. Nutter than peanut butter.
~T~
Interviews.
It had been a week after calling my family, and nearly three days after my assistant-Emily-quit. And I was on doing the interviewing process.
“Well, thank you…erm…Vashti? Yeah, thanks!” I tell this five hundred pound German lady. She picks at her mole, then smiles her yellow-brown teeth.
“Tank you Mr. Yenning!” She rises up from the almost-broken chair and makes her exit.
I tell the secretary-Sandra-to bring in the other interviewers. I sat at my table, gazing at all the forms I had gotten. Just wishing I found somebody that was smart, nice, and…pretty? Yeah, I would say that’s one of the things I was also looking for.
“Mr. Jenning?” Says a small voice, closing the door behind her.
I look up from the table, my copper hair flopping into my eyes. I look down at her shoes-a terrible habit I learnt from my mother-seeing turquoise.
Pumps. I think, looking at a pretty familiar face.
I'm BACK! Turner's BACK! ELLO! SO enjoy, CC is loved!
Alex~ :icon_study:
Sunday Morning:
Standing out here in the miserable rain wasn’t exactly what I thought of a Sunday morning, but I guess you must do what must be done. Which was apparently waiting for the opening act of Love and Kindness. It was a play done by my boss’s daughter. So it was pretty much mandatory to come out to watch this play.
I wait in line with a six year old girl in front of me, pulling on her mummy’s dress screaming how she want’s ice cream. Who wants ice cream in the rain? Apparently young children. The mother tells her to shut up. Literally, tells her daughter to “Shut up, Margaret! Just shut up!”
Lovely. But it reminds me of my mother. Not that she was an evil, *%^##y one, but she just wasn’t fit for kids. And seeing that I was the last child, I was always stated as the worse. Though, I can’t blame a woman trying so hard to make her husband happy. It was father who wanted children, but mother refused. Until one day, he threaten with divorce, a word my mother hated, and she was magically pregnant.
“Mr. Jenning?” A voice was interrupting my thoughts.
I spun around on my heels, to see little old Ashlee Morgan-my boss-was right behind me.
“Ah! Turner! I’m so pleased you’re here for Birdy’s debut performance!” Mrs. Morgan may be a small woman, but when she gave me a hug, I could hardly breath.
“Oh, yeah, no matter what I’ll always be here for your children’s presentation!” I tell her, once she’s released me of course.
“Birdy is going to put on a fabulous show! Did you know she was inspired by Charlotte Bronte and Victor Hugo? Yes! Two of her favorite books are The Hunchback of Notre Dame, and Jane Eyre!”
I sigh, looking down at the four foot and ten inches woman, staring at her as she chatters about how it was going to be a play like Beauty and the Beast. I watch her jaws chatter, noticing the fat jingle on her face. Mrs. Morgan was a plump woman, but a rich one.
“Well, I’m sure Birdy will put on a magnificent show!” I tell her, moving up in the line. Mrs. Morgan follows.
“I’m so proud of her! She’s an amazing actress! I think she’ll be iconic like Marilyn Monroe!”
I bit my cheek, trying not to snicker at the comment. I remember first meeting Mrs. Morgan’s five children-yes, shockingly enough, she popped five of them out-and Birdy was the youngest. I met her at sixteen, she told me about how she read different books. Gave me a book to read that involved sex and murder. She told me that being an actress is like cake. It’s always sweet. The girl had braces on for almost five years, and Coka-Cola bottle thick glasses. Her hair was in braids, teased out in the back. Birdy mentioned how she hated dresses and skirts. She was just going to live in overalls.
Well, maybe four years can change a person, I hope anyways.
“Marilyn is quite an amazing woman.” I murmur.
But instead of talking about the wonderful and talented Marilyn Monroe, Mrs. Morgan ranted on and on and on about her daughter. I only nodded, till I got to the booth.
“Hi, Welcome to the Lensic, what showing will you be seeing?” The young girl asks me once I’m at the booth.
The girl has long dark hair, curled beautifully at the ends. Her blue eyes shine from her pale face, and she gives me a grin. The girl is dressed in a crappy green striped shirt that has Lensic stitched on the side. Her plastic name tag was tilted off her pocket, but I could read what it says, Skylar.
“Perky young’un, you are!” Comments Mrs. Morgan. Skylar blushes around her cheeks. Telling Mrs. Morgan thank you.
“Two tickets to Love and Kindness, please” I tell Skylar slipping her a fifty dollar bill through the small hole.
The girl takes the money, tallies the total, then giving back my change.
“Good luck.” She mutters to me when we start making our way towards the large glass doors with posters taped on.
“What was that?” I stopped in my tracks looking back at the girl.
Skylar looks up from some paperwork she was doing, then giving a short smile. Her eyes flicker towards Mrs. Morgan and me, then just simply says
“Enjoy the show!”
~T~
Awful, horrible, appalling, dreadful, poor, terrible, unpleasant, unbearable, ghastly, and just plain old bad.
The story was written about a young girl who loves a pretty boy who’s a murderer, she also falls in love with the butler and cannot chose who she must marry until she finds out that her pretty boy burns a church and murders ten hundred people. And that her butler has had a baby with another mistress of the small household. In the end, butler dies because of pretty boy and the handsome murderer dies because the young girl kills him and takes her life.
At first it sounds like an interesting story, a story that sounds dramatic yet interesting. Sad yet iconic but no. It was far from that. The pretty boy’s actor was not good at remembering his lines. The young man-twenty years of age?-would had the lines slip from his tongue.
The butler’s actor was not trained nor naturally good. So unbelievable, sincerely because the butler always looked as if he could love to run off stage.
The young girl played by Birdy Morgan, was of not anything of interest. The dramatic looks on her face were too forced and looked painful. The young girl could never make up her mind, nor do I think Birdy herself could come to a decision.
So yes, it was quite rotten. But of course Mrs. Morgan had to drag my tired limbs backstage to meet her daughter…again. I walk into the backstage area, following my obese boss through the large crowds of undressing women and disgustingly hairy men. Dressing tables were pressed against the walls of the backstage, I noticed a teenage girl making out heavily with a teenage boy, both in their underwear. Of course, that’s where I got my first kiss from was backstage of an old New York City theater.
Actually that’s false, my first French kiss was with Mary Jones. A blonde hair, blue eyes girl. She was my neighbor in a small town in England. She was also my best friend. One evening, she and I were going to camp out. It was summertime, fireflies lighting up the tent. Laying on my back, I asked Mary a random question.
“Do you believe in love?” I ask. I was sixteen, never had a date nor a kiss. But I was curious if she felt love yet.
“Yes, Turn, I do. I think love is real.” She told me. Grazing her hand against mine.
“Interesting.” I muttered. It was always a typical answer with girls.
There was some silence, heavy breathing was the only sound when Mary’s head was in front of me. Her blond hair falling down into my face. Her blue eyes were lit up. Sparkling, almost.
“What is it, Mare?”
“Have you French Kissed before?”
“No…Why?”
“I haven’t…I thought…well….maybe…erm…” She stuttered, her eyes were looking down at my chest. Her hands were hurting from the tent floor. Her elbows were getting weak. And Mary looked sad.
“Do you want to French, and like get it over with?” I ask, thinking that’s what she meant by it. Mary nodded her head, smiling. My lips made a smile, then taking my left arm and swinging it around her back, slowly dragging her back down to the tent floor. I could her hear giggle, then once I was over top of her, Mary looked deeply into my eyes. Like it was first time she saw my eyes. I noticed something different about her. And that’s how we made out in the tent.
Back to actual reality, Mrs. Morgan broke my thoughts.
“Birdy!” Calls out Mrs. Morgan, and within a few seconds a juvenile damsel comes out of the crowd of stripping females.
The youthful maiden’s lipstick was smeared across her face, she took her thumb and wiped her lips before giving her mother a smile.
“Mom!” Birdy yells, wrapping arms around Mrs. Morgan. It was only then did I notice that Mrs. Morgan’s daughter was only in her stark-white bra and underwear.
“Delightfully executed, darling!” Mrs. Morgan said, releasing her grip from her daughter.
“Thank you so much!” Birdy says, before tilting her head over to the left peering through her mother’s shoulder, looking me dead in the eyes.
“Hi! I’m Byrd!” She lies, pushing pass her mother to shake my hand. I take her delicate hand and shake it.
“Superbly done.” I said, noticing a sparkle in her eyes.
“Well, I am a professional!” She says, flipping a strand of blonde hair. A sly smile slipped across her lips, giving a laugh.
God, she was far from it.
~T~
“Turner Andrew Jenning! By what means see to it that you might have any idea of how I might feel, not hearing from you in seven days!” Yells my mother.
She has a strong British accent, it’s almost a Cambridge accent. But, no, Mum grew up in Salisbury, England. A small little whimsically town. And I’ve never been able to understand why she despised that small town like she did. It’s not like it was a terrible place, nothing like Ireland. I mean, who the hell can understand the Irish?
“I’m sorry, Mum! I was out on a meeting!” I lied. I had to lie, because if I told her I was ‘Gallivanting off to watch a horrid play, than you damned as well could have called you’re frighten mother!’
“Meeting? Ugh, my gosh, writers these days! Oh, honey, who wrote that smashing piece about how women who have breast enlargements look sexier? I was very much enjoying that article.”
“Calley Torque,” I reply. “Funny, most of the emails, Facebook comments, tweets, and blog reviews all hate that article. Says it leads young women down the wrong road.”
I sat in the living room, pressing the phone to my ear with my shoulder as I pet my innocent terrier, Elmo.
“Good heavens no! I was actually researching breast enlargements now!”
Dear God,
How the hell am I suppose to live with my friend, when mockery is going to happen. Who’s fifty-seven year old mother has a breast enlargement? I’m not sure many do. Help me,
Sincerely,
Turner.
I sigh, letting Elmo jumping onto my lap. I stroke his back, as I listen to my mother telling me how she was so touched by the story, and that breast enlargement is just what she’ll need. I think Calley has a new story, Plastic surgery with elderly people.
I lean far back into my sofa, wishing to just take a few vodka shots and forget about my dear mother explaining to me about her sex life. I guess this is what a twenty-three year old man gets for not talking to his mother on time. And having a mother as a sex therapist.
Elmo’s licking the back of my hand, I’m not sure why since I’m starving. I hadn’t have breakfast since six o’clock in the morning. The clock just now hit three o’clock in the afternoon.
“Mom,” I say slowly. It was almost that nagging ‘Mom’ like this-is-an-embarrassing-conversation-please-shut-the-hell-up.
“Turner, what? Did I tell you Mark and Carol are pregnant!” Mother was shrieking with joy. Mark was a year and a half older than me, and has three children already.
“Again? Can’t Carol get a hobbie?” I ask, letting Elmo jump on the back of the sofa, barking at the pigeons. I leave the sofa, and wander into my open kitchen.
“Turner Andrew Jenning!” Mother yells, “Carol is having a healthy sexual-
“La-la-la! I don’t want to know about her sexual life!” I swing the refrigerator’s open.
“Turner, how many times do you intercourse with a girl?”
“Can I die now?”
“You act like you’re ten!” I hear her huff. She’s pissy today.
“I am a man.”
Mother goes silence. It was always a good way to shut her up. I love her dearly, but when she wants to know about…my life…it get’s me annoyed, and uncomfortable.
I grab a ginger beer, turkey deli meat, and some bread from the bread box. Making a sandwich is tasty enough.
“Anyways, Charles wants to tell you greetings!” I’m sure my dad does.
I slap on the turkey on the white bread-I know, terrible unhealthy bread!-and pop open the ginger beer.
“Turner! Splendid to hear from a man like you! How’s New York?”
I sigh, sinking my teeth into the sandwich. Something’s missing.
“Pretty good! Got a job as an editor and chief for a newspaper.”
Dad scoffed, to him, writers were as low as plankton. Why do a terrible job like thus?
“Editor, hmm…well, good luck my boy.” It was his random way of saying that sentence every son wants to hear, ‘I’m proud of you, son.’
“Thanks, speaking of which, I have to get an article written up by tomorrow, but Dad it’s good to hear from you.”
Silence was on the other line, I place my sandwich on the plate. Wait for a response.
“Alright, my boy, I’m glad you’ve found your nack! So write on! Love across the pond!” And I heard a dial tone. Ahh, my family. Nutter than peanut butter.
~T~
Interviews.
It had been a week after calling my family, and nearly three days after my assistant-Emily-quit. And I was on doing the interviewing process.
“Well, thank you…erm…Vashti? Yeah, thanks!” I tell this five hundred pound German lady. She picks at her mole, then smiles her yellow-brown teeth.
“Tank you Mr. Yenning!” She rises up from the almost-broken chair and makes her exit.
I tell the secretary-Sandra-to bring in the other interviewers. I sat at my table, gazing at all the forms I had gotten. Just wishing I found somebody that was smart, nice, and…pretty? Yeah, I would say that’s one of the things I was also looking for.
“Mr. Jenning?” Says a small voice, closing the door behind her.
I look up from the table, my copper hair flopping into my eyes. I look down at her shoes-a terrible habit I learnt from my mother-seeing turquoise.
Pumps. I think, looking at a pretty familiar face.
I'm BACK! Turner's BACK! ELLO! SO enjoy, CC is loved!
Alex~ :icon_study:
#7
Posted 01 May 2012 - 07:15 PM
Chapter One
Sunday Morning:
Standing out here in the miserable rain wasn’t exactly what I thought of a Sunday morning, but I guess you must do what must be done. Which was apparently waiting for the opening act of Love and Kindness. It was a play done by my boss’s daughter. So it was pretty much mandatory to come out to watch this play.
I wait in line with a six year old girl in front of me, pulling on her mummy’s dress screaming how she want’s ice cream. Who wants ice cream in the rain? Apparently young children. The mother tells her to shut up. Literally, tells her daughter to “Shut up, Margaret! Just shut up!”
Lovely. But it reminds me of my mother. Not that she was an evil, *%^##y one, but she just wasn’t fit for kids. And seeing that I was the last child, I was always stated as the worse. Though, I can’t blame a woman trying so hard to make her husband happy. It was father who wanted children, but mother refused. Until one day, he threaten with divorce, a word my mother hated, and she was magically pregnant.
“Mr. Jenning?” A voice was interrupting my thoughts.
I spun around on my heels, to see little old Ashlee Morgan-my boss-was right behind me.
“Ah! Turner! I’m so pleased you’re here for Birdy’s debut performance!” Mrs. Morgan may be a small woman, but when she gave me a hug, I could hardly breath.
“Oh, yeah, no matter what I’ll always be here for your children’s presentation!” I tell her, once she’s released me of course.
“Birdy is going to put on a fabulous show! Did you know she was inspired by Charlotte Bronte and Victor Hugo? Yes! Two of her favorite books are The Hunchback of Notre Dame, and Jane Eyre!”
I sigh, looking down at the four foot and ten inches woman, staring at her as she chatters about how it was going to be a play like Beauty and the Beast. I watch her jaws chatter, noticing the fat jingle on her face. Mrs. Morgan was a plump woman, but a rich one.
“Well, I’m sure Birdy will put on a magnificent show!” I tell her, moving up in the line. Mrs. Morgan follows.
“I’m so proud of her! She’s an amazing actress! I think she’ll be iconic like Marilyn Monroe!”
I bit my cheek, trying not to snicker at the comment. I remember first meeting Mrs. Morgan’s five children-yes, shockingly enough, she popped five of them out-and Birdy was the youngest. I met her at sixteen, she told me about how she read different books. Gave me a book to read that involved sex and murder. She told me that being an actress is like cake. It’s always sweet. The girl had braces on for almost five years, and Coka-Cola bottle thick glasses. Her hair was in braids, teased out in the back. Birdy mentioned how she hated dresses and skirts. She was just going to live in overalls.
Well, maybe four years can change a person, I hope anyways.
“Marilyn is quite an amazing woman.” I murmur.
But instead of talking about the wonderful and talented Marilyn Monroe, Mrs. Morgan ranted on and on and on about her daughter. I only nodded, till I got to the booth.
“Hi, Welcome to the Lensic, what showing will you be seeing?” The young girl asks me once I’m at the booth.
The girl has long dark hair, curled beautifully at the ends. Her blue eyes shine from her pale face, and she gives me a grin. The girl is dressed in a crappy green striped shirt that has Lensic stitched on the side. Her plastic name tag was tilted off her pocket, but I could read what it says, Skylar.
“Perky young’un, you are!” Comments Mrs. Morgan. Skylar blushes around her cheeks. Telling Mrs. Morgan thank you.
“Two tickets to Love and Kindness, please” I tell Skylar slipping her a fifty dollar bill through the small hole.
The girl takes the money, tallies the total, then giving back my change.
“Good luck.” She mutters to me when we start making our way towards the large glass doors with posters taped on.
“What was that?” I stopped in my tracks looking back at the girl.
Skylar looks up from some paperwork she was doing, then giving a short smile. Her eyes flicker towards Mrs. Morgan and me, then just simply says
“Enjoy the show!”
~T~
Awful, horrible, appalling, dreadful, poor, terrible, unpleasant, unbearable, ghastly, and just plain old bad.
The story was written about a young girl who loves a pretty boy who’s a murderer, she also falls in love with the butler and cannot chose who she must marry until she finds out that her pretty boy burns a church and murders ten hundred people. And that her butler has had a baby with another mistress of the small household. In the end, butler dies because of pretty boy and the handsome murderer dies because the young girl kills him and takes her life.
At first it sounds like an interesting story, a story that sounds dramatic yet interesting. Sad yet iconic but no. It was far from that. The pretty boy’s actor was not good at remembering his lines. The young man-twenty years of age?-would had the lines slip from his tongue.
The butler’s actor was not trained nor naturally good. So unbelievable, sincerely because the butler always looked as if he could love to run off stage.
The young girl played by Birdy Morgan, was of not anything of interest. The dramatic looks on her face were too forced and looked painful. The young girl could never make up her mind, nor do I think Birdy herself could come to a decision.
So yes, it was quite rotten. But of course Mrs. Morgan had to drag my tired limbs backstage to meet her daughter…again. I walk into the backstage area, following my obese boss through the large crowds of undressing women and disgustingly hairy men. Dressing tables were pressed against the walls of the backstage, I noticed a teenage girl making out heavily with a teenage boy, both in their underwear. Of course, that’s where I got my first kiss from was backstage of an old New York City theater.
Actually that’s false, my first French kiss was with Mary Jones. A blonde hair, blue eyes girl. She was my neighbor in a small town in England. She was also my best friend. One evening, she and I were going to camp out. It was summertime, fireflies lighting up the tent. Laying on my back, I asked Mary a random question.
“Do you believe in love?” I ask. I was sixteen, never had a date nor a kiss. But I was curious if she felt love yet.
“Yes, Turn, I do. I think love is real.” She told me. Grazing her hand against mine.
“Interesting.” I muttered. It was always a typical answer with girls.
There was some silence, heavy breathing was the only sound when Mary’s head was in front of me. Her blond hair falling down into my face. Her blue eyes were lit up. Sparkling, almost.
“What is it, Mare?”
“Have you French Kissed before?”
“No…Why?”
“I haven’t…I thought…well….maybe…erm…” She stuttered, her eyes were looking down at my chest. Her hands were hurting from the tent floor. Her elbows were getting weak. And Mary looked sad.
“Do you want to French, and like get it over with?” I ask, thinking that’s what she meant by it. Mary nodded her head, smiling. My lips made a smile, then taking my left arm and swinging it around her back, slowly dragging her back down to the tent floor. I could her hear giggle, then once I was over top of her, Mary looked deeply into my eyes. Like it was first time she saw my eyes. I noticed something different about her. And that’s how we made out in the tent.
Back to actual reality, Mrs. Morgan broke my thoughts.
“Birdy!” Calls out Mrs. Morgan, and within a few seconds a juvenile damsel comes out of the crowd of stripping females.
The youthful maiden’s lipstick was smeared across her face, she took her thumb and wiped her lips before giving her mother a smile.
“Mom!” Birdy yells, wrapping arms around Mrs. Morgan. It was only then did I notice that Mrs. Morgan’s daughter was only in her stark-white bra and underwear.
“Delightfully executed, darling!” Mrs. Morgan said, releasing her grip from her daughter.
“Thank you so much!” Birdy says, before tilting her head over to the left peering through her mother’s shoulder, looking me dead in the eyes.
“Hi! I’m Byrd!” She lies, pushing pass her mother to shake my hand. I take her delicate hand and shake it.
“Superbly done.” I said, noticing a sparkle in her eyes.
“Well, I am a professional!” She says, flipping a strand of blonde hair. A sly smile slipped across her lips, giving a laugh.
God, she was far from it.
~T~
“Turner Andrew Jenning! By what means see to it that you might have any idea of how I might feel, not hearing from you in seven days!” Yells my mother.
She has a strong British accent, it’s almost a Cambridge accent. But, no, Mum grew up in Salisbury, England. A small little whimsically town. And I’ve never been able to understand why she despised that small town like she did. It’s not like it was a terrible place, nothing like Ireland. I mean, who the hell can understand the Irish?
“I’m sorry, Mum! I was out on a meeting!” I lied. I had to lie, because if I told her I was ‘Gallivanting off to watch a horrid play, than you damned as well could have called you’re frighten mother!’
“Meeting? Ugh, my gosh, writers these days! Oh, honey, who wrote that smashing piece about how women who have breast enlargements look sexier? I was very much enjoying that article.”
“Calley Torque,” I reply. “Funny, most of the emails, Facebook comments, tweets, and blog reviews all hate that article. Says it leads young women down the wrong road.”
I sat in the living room, pressing the phone to my ear with my shoulder as I pet my innocent terrier, Elmo.
“Good heavens no! I was actually researching breast enlargements now!”
Dear God,
How the hell am I suppose to live with my friend, when mockery is going to happen. Who’s fifty-seven year old mother has a breast enlargement? I’m not sure many do. Help me,
Sincerely,
Turner.
I sigh, letting Elmo jumping onto my lap. I stroke his back, as I listen to my mother telling me how she was so touched by the story, and that breast enlargement is just what she’ll need. I think Calley has a new story, Plastic surgery with elderly people.
I lean far back into my sofa, wishing to just take a few vodka shots and forget about my dear mother explaining to me about her sex life. I guess this is what a twenty-three year old man gets for not talking to his mother on time. And having a mother as a sex therapist.
Elmo’s licking the back of my hand, I’m not sure why since I’m starving. I hadn’t have breakfast since six o’clock in the morning. The clock just now hit three o’clock in the afternoon.
“Mom,” I say slowly. It was almost that nagging ‘Mom’ like this-is-an-embarrassing-conversation-please-shut-the-hell-up.
“Turner, what? Did I tell you Mark and Carol are pregnant!” Mother was shrieking with joy. Mark was a year and a half older than me, and has three children already.
“Again? Can’t Carol get a hobbie?” I ask, letting Elmo jump on the back of the sofa, barking at the pigeons. I leave the sofa, and wander into my open kitchen.
“Turner Andrew Jenning!” Mother yells, “Carol is having a healthy sexual-
“La-la-la! I don’t want to know about her sexual life!” I swing the refrigerator’s open.
“Turner, how many times do you intercourse with a girl?”
“Can I die now?”
“You act like you’re ten!” I hear her huff. She’s pissy today.
“I am a man.”
Mother goes silence. It was always a good way to shut her up. I love her dearly, but when she wants to know about…my life…it get’s me annoyed, and uncomfortable.
I grab a ginger beer, turkey deli meat, and some bread from the bread box. Making a sandwich is tasty enough.
“Anyways, Charles wants to tell you greetings!” I’m sure my dad does.
I slap on the turkey on the white bread-I know, terrible unhealthy bread!-and pop open the ginger beer.
“Turner! Splendid to hear from a man like you! How’s New York?”
I sigh, sinking my teeth into the sandwich. Something’s missing.
“Pretty good! Got a job as an editor and chief for a newspaper.”
Dad scoffed, to him, writers were as low as plankton. Why do a terrible job like thus?
“Editor, hmm…well, good luck my boy.” It was his random way of saying that sentence every son wants to hear, ‘I’m proud of you, son.’
“Thanks, speaking of which, I have to get an article written up by tomorrow, but Dad it’s good to hear from you.”
Silence was on the other line, I place my sandwich on the plate. Wait for a response.
“Alright, my boy, I’m glad you’ve found your nack! So write on! Love across the pond!” And I heard a dial tone. Ahh, my family. Nutter than peanut butter.
~T~
Interviews.
It had been a week after calling my family, and nearly three days after my assistant-Emily-quit. And I was on doing the interviewing process.
“Well, thank you…erm…Vashti? Yeah, thanks!” I tell this five hundred pound German lady. She picks at her mole, then smiles her yellow-brown teeth.
“Tank you Mr. Yenning!” She rises up from the almost-broken chair and makes her exit.
I tell the secretary-Sandra-to bring in the other interviewers. I sat at my table, gazing at all the forms I had gotten. Just wishing I found somebody that was smart, nice, and…pretty? Yeah, I would say that’s one of the things I was also looking for.
“Mr. Jenning?” Says a small voice, closing the door behind her.
I look up from the table, my copper hair flopping into my eyes. I look down at her shoes-a terrible habit I learnt from my mother-seeing turquoise.
Pumps. I think, looking at a pretty familiar face.
I'm BACK! Turner's BACK! ELLO! SO enjoy, CC is loved!
Alex~ :icon_study:
Sunday Morning:
Standing out here in the miserable rain wasn’t exactly what I thought of a Sunday morning, but I guess you must do what must be done. Which was apparently waiting for the opening act of Love and Kindness. It was a play done by my boss’s daughter. So it was pretty much mandatory to come out to watch this play.
I wait in line with a six year old girl in front of me, pulling on her mummy’s dress screaming how she want’s ice cream. Who wants ice cream in the rain? Apparently young children. The mother tells her to shut up. Literally, tells her daughter to “Shut up, Margaret! Just shut up!”
Lovely. But it reminds me of my mother. Not that she was an evil, *%^##y one, but she just wasn’t fit for kids. And seeing that I was the last child, I was always stated as the worse. Though, I can’t blame a woman trying so hard to make her husband happy. It was father who wanted children, but mother refused. Until one day, he threaten with divorce, a word my mother hated, and she was magically pregnant.
“Mr. Jenning?” A voice was interrupting my thoughts.
I spun around on my heels, to see little old Ashlee Morgan-my boss-was right behind me.
“Ah! Turner! I’m so pleased you’re here for Birdy’s debut performance!” Mrs. Morgan may be a small woman, but when she gave me a hug, I could hardly breath.
“Oh, yeah, no matter what I’ll always be here for your children’s presentation!” I tell her, once she’s released me of course.
“Birdy is going to put on a fabulous show! Did you know she was inspired by Charlotte Bronte and Victor Hugo? Yes! Two of her favorite books are The Hunchback of Notre Dame, and Jane Eyre!”
I sigh, looking down at the four foot and ten inches woman, staring at her as she chatters about how it was going to be a play like Beauty and the Beast. I watch her jaws chatter, noticing the fat jingle on her face. Mrs. Morgan was a plump woman, but a rich one.
“Well, I’m sure Birdy will put on a magnificent show!” I tell her, moving up in the line. Mrs. Morgan follows.
“I’m so proud of her! She’s an amazing actress! I think she’ll be iconic like Marilyn Monroe!”
I bit my cheek, trying not to snicker at the comment. I remember first meeting Mrs. Morgan’s five children-yes, shockingly enough, she popped five of them out-and Birdy was the youngest. I met her at sixteen, she told me about how she read different books. Gave me a book to read that involved sex and murder. She told me that being an actress is like cake. It’s always sweet. The girl had braces on for almost five years, and Coka-Cola bottle thick glasses. Her hair was in braids, teased out in the back. Birdy mentioned how she hated dresses and skirts. She was just going to live in overalls.
Well, maybe four years can change a person, I hope anyways.
“Marilyn is quite an amazing woman.” I murmur.
But instead of talking about the wonderful and talented Marilyn Monroe, Mrs. Morgan ranted on and on and on about her daughter. I only nodded, till I got to the booth.
“Hi, Welcome to the Lensic, what showing will you be seeing?” The young girl asks me once I’m at the booth.
The girl has long dark hair, curled beautifully at the ends. Her blue eyes shine from her pale face, and she gives me a grin. The girl is dressed in a crappy green striped shirt that has Lensic stitched on the side. Her plastic name tag was tilted off her pocket, but I could read what it says, Skylar.
“Perky young’un, you are!” Comments Mrs. Morgan. Skylar blushes around her cheeks. Telling Mrs. Morgan thank you.
“Two tickets to Love and Kindness, please” I tell Skylar slipping her a fifty dollar bill through the small hole.
The girl takes the money, tallies the total, then giving back my change.
“Good luck.” She mutters to me when we start making our way towards the large glass doors with posters taped on.
“What was that?” I stopped in my tracks looking back at the girl.
Skylar looks up from some paperwork she was doing, then giving a short smile. Her eyes flicker towards Mrs. Morgan and me, then just simply says
“Enjoy the show!”
~T~
Awful, horrible, appalling, dreadful, poor, terrible, unpleasant, unbearable, ghastly, and just plain old bad.
The story was written about a young girl who loves a pretty boy who’s a murderer, she also falls in love with the butler and cannot chose who she must marry until she finds out that her pretty boy burns a church and murders ten hundred people. And that her butler has had a baby with another mistress of the small household. In the end, butler dies because of pretty boy and the handsome murderer dies because the young girl kills him and takes her life.
At first it sounds like an interesting story, a story that sounds dramatic yet interesting. Sad yet iconic but no. It was far from that. The pretty boy’s actor was not good at remembering his lines. The young man-twenty years of age?-would had the lines slip from his tongue.
The butler’s actor was not trained nor naturally good. So unbelievable, sincerely because the butler always looked as if he could love to run off stage.
The young girl played by Birdy Morgan, was of not anything of interest. The dramatic looks on her face were too forced and looked painful. The young girl could never make up her mind, nor do I think Birdy herself could come to a decision.
So yes, it was quite rotten. But of course Mrs. Morgan had to drag my tired limbs backstage to meet her daughter…again. I walk into the backstage area, following my obese boss through the large crowds of undressing women and disgustingly hairy men. Dressing tables were pressed against the walls of the backstage, I noticed a teenage girl making out heavily with a teenage boy, both in their underwear. Of course, that’s where I got my first kiss from was backstage of an old New York City theater.
Actually that’s false, my first French kiss was with Mary Jones. A blonde hair, blue eyes girl. She was my neighbor in a small town in England. She was also my best friend. One evening, she and I were going to camp out. It was summertime, fireflies lighting up the tent. Laying on my back, I asked Mary a random question.
“Do you believe in love?” I ask. I was sixteen, never had a date nor a kiss. But I was curious if she felt love yet.
“Yes, Turn, I do. I think love is real.” She told me. Grazing her hand against mine.
“Interesting.” I muttered. It was always a typical answer with girls.
There was some silence, heavy breathing was the only sound when Mary’s head was in front of me. Her blond hair falling down into my face. Her blue eyes were lit up. Sparkling, almost.
“What is it, Mare?”
“Have you French Kissed before?”
“No…Why?”
“I haven’t…I thought…well….maybe…erm…” She stuttered, her eyes were looking down at my chest. Her hands were hurting from the tent floor. Her elbows were getting weak. And Mary looked sad.
“Do you want to French, and like get it over with?” I ask, thinking that’s what she meant by it. Mary nodded her head, smiling. My lips made a smile, then taking my left arm and swinging it around her back, slowly dragging her back down to the tent floor. I could her hear giggle, then once I was over top of her, Mary looked deeply into my eyes. Like it was first time she saw my eyes. I noticed something different about her. And that’s how we made out in the tent.
Back to actual reality, Mrs. Morgan broke my thoughts.
“Birdy!” Calls out Mrs. Morgan, and within a few seconds a juvenile damsel comes out of the crowd of stripping females.
The youthful maiden’s lipstick was smeared across her face, she took her thumb and wiped her lips before giving her mother a smile.
“Mom!” Birdy yells, wrapping arms around Mrs. Morgan. It was only then did I notice that Mrs. Morgan’s daughter was only in her stark-white bra and underwear.
“Delightfully executed, darling!” Mrs. Morgan said, releasing her grip from her daughter.
“Thank you so much!” Birdy says, before tilting her head over to the left peering through her mother’s shoulder, looking me dead in the eyes.
“Hi! I’m Byrd!” She lies, pushing pass her mother to shake my hand. I take her delicate hand and shake it.
“Superbly done.” I said, noticing a sparkle in her eyes.
“Well, I am a professional!” She says, flipping a strand of blonde hair. A sly smile slipped across her lips, giving a laugh.
God, she was far from it.
~T~
“Turner Andrew Jenning! By what means see to it that you might have any idea of how I might feel, not hearing from you in seven days!” Yells my mother.
She has a strong British accent, it’s almost a Cambridge accent. But, no, Mum grew up in Salisbury, England. A small little whimsically town. And I’ve never been able to understand why she despised that small town like she did. It’s not like it was a terrible place, nothing like Ireland. I mean, who the hell can understand the Irish?
“I’m sorry, Mum! I was out on a meeting!” I lied. I had to lie, because if I told her I was ‘Gallivanting off to watch a horrid play, than you damned as well could have called you’re frighten mother!’
“Meeting? Ugh, my gosh, writers these days! Oh, honey, who wrote that smashing piece about how women who have breast enlargements look sexier? I was very much enjoying that article.”
“Calley Torque,” I reply. “Funny, most of the emails, Facebook comments, tweets, and blog reviews all hate that article. Says it leads young women down the wrong road.”
I sat in the living room, pressing the phone to my ear with my shoulder as I pet my innocent terrier, Elmo.
“Good heavens no! I was actually researching breast enlargements now!”
Dear God,
How the hell am I suppose to live with my friend, when mockery is going to happen. Who’s fifty-seven year old mother has a breast enlargement? I’m not sure many do. Help me,
Sincerely,
Turner.
I sigh, letting Elmo jumping onto my lap. I stroke his back, as I listen to my mother telling me how she was so touched by the story, and that breast enlargement is just what she’ll need. I think Calley has a new story, Plastic surgery with elderly people.
I lean far back into my sofa, wishing to just take a few vodka shots and forget about my dear mother explaining to me about her sex life. I guess this is what a twenty-three year old man gets for not talking to his mother on time. And having a mother as a sex therapist.
Elmo’s licking the back of my hand, I’m not sure why since I’m starving. I hadn’t have breakfast since six o’clock in the morning. The clock just now hit three o’clock in the afternoon.
“Mom,” I say slowly. It was almost that nagging ‘Mom’ like this-is-an-embarrassing-conversation-please-shut-the-hell-up.
“Turner, what? Did I tell you Mark and Carol are pregnant!” Mother was shrieking with joy. Mark was a year and a half older than me, and has three children already.
“Again? Can’t Carol get a hobbie?” I ask, letting Elmo jump on the back of the sofa, barking at the pigeons. I leave the sofa, and wander into my open kitchen.
“Turner Andrew Jenning!” Mother yells, “Carol is having a healthy sexual-
“La-la-la! I don’t want to know about her sexual life!” I swing the refrigerator’s open.
“Turner, how many times do you intercourse with a girl?”
“Can I die now?”
“You act like you’re ten!” I hear her huff. She’s pissy today.
“I am a man.”
Mother goes silence. It was always a good way to shut her up. I love her dearly, but when she wants to know about…my life…it get’s me annoyed, and uncomfortable.
I grab a ginger beer, turkey deli meat, and some bread from the bread box. Making a sandwich is tasty enough.
“Anyways, Charles wants to tell you greetings!” I’m sure my dad does.
I slap on the turkey on the white bread-I know, terrible unhealthy bread!-and pop open the ginger beer.
“Turner! Splendid to hear from a man like you! How’s New York?”
I sigh, sinking my teeth into the sandwich. Something’s missing.
“Pretty good! Got a job as an editor and chief for a newspaper.”
Dad scoffed, to him, writers were as low as plankton. Why do a terrible job like thus?
“Editor, hmm…well, good luck my boy.” It was his random way of saying that sentence every son wants to hear, ‘I’m proud of you, son.’
“Thanks, speaking of which, I have to get an article written up by tomorrow, but Dad it’s good to hear from you.”
Silence was on the other line, I place my sandwich on the plate. Wait for a response.
“Alright, my boy, I’m glad you’ve found your nack! So write on! Love across the pond!” And I heard a dial tone. Ahh, my family. Nutter than peanut butter.
~T~
Interviews.
It had been a week after calling my family, and nearly three days after my assistant-Emily-quit. And I was on doing the interviewing process.
“Well, thank you…erm…Vashti? Yeah, thanks!” I tell this five hundred pound German lady. She picks at her mole, then smiles her yellow-brown teeth.
“Tank you Mr. Yenning!” She rises up from the almost-broken chair and makes her exit.
I tell the secretary-Sandra-to bring in the other interviewers. I sat at my table, gazing at all the forms I had gotten. Just wishing I found somebody that was smart, nice, and…pretty? Yeah, I would say that’s one of the things I was also looking for.
“Mr. Jenning?” Says a small voice, closing the door behind her.
I look up from the table, my copper hair flopping into my eyes. I look down at her shoes-a terrible habit I learnt from my mother-seeing turquoise.
Pumps. I think, looking at a pretty familiar face.
I'm BACK! Turner's BACK! ELLO! SO enjoy, CC is loved!
Alex~ :icon_study:
This post has been edited by DayDreamer95: 01 May 2012 - 07:16 PM
#8
Posted 01 May 2012 - 09:08 PM
Alex!
Poke.
Hi! So yay to the return of TTP! That one was a fun one, if I remember correctly. It HAS after all been a long time. :P
Anyway, looks dandy so far! New and improved!
Wish I could say more but I'm kinda under the gun at the moment. Major test week. :icon_mecry2:
Update soon, hun! :heartbeat:
-MEG
Poke.
Hi! So yay to the return of TTP! That one was a fun one, if I remember correctly. It HAS after all been a long time. :P
Anyway, looks dandy so far! New and improved!
Wish I could say more but I'm kinda under the gun at the moment. Major test week. :icon_mecry2:
Update soon, hun! :heartbeat:
-MEG
#9
Posted 02 May 2012 - 12:50 AM
YAYAY
I liked the bit with Mary Jones. Is she going to be a future character? I'd like to see what happened with them.
x
I liked the bit with Mary Jones. Is she going to be a future character? I'd like to see what happened with them.
x
#10
Posted 03 May 2012 - 12:46 PM
Meggie: Thank you! I wanted more humor! Anyone like 'Mother'? She's my favorite character. Anyways, TEST DAY! Sucks...Anyways! Yeah, good luck with test day....and I'll update soon.
Shannon: Haha, maybe...I don't actually have plans for Mary, just cus...but I'll see maybe something dramatic!
Updates are almost out!
Alex~ :icon_study:
Shannon: Haha, maybe...I don't actually have plans for Mary, just cus...but I'll see maybe something dramatic!
Updates are almost out!
Alex~ :icon_study:
#11
Posted 04 May 2012 - 11:54 PM
It was funny and very entertaining, and I really like all the characters so far!
I do hope you update soon, Alex :D
And I cant wait to read more about Sylar.
P.S. I cracked up when I read the part about his mother being a sex therapist- poor Turner :P
:heartbeat: Suze
I do hope you update soon, Alex :D
And I cant wait to read more about Sylar.
P.S. I cracked up when I read the part about his mother being a sex therapist- poor Turner :P
:heartbeat: Suze
#12
Posted 05 May 2012 - 08:15 PM
Haha, thank you! I'm glad you like that part!
I'm glad you like it so far!
Haha, Ahhhh Skylar...how i've missed her!
Updates will be soon!
Spoilers?
Alex~ :mgbumblebee:
I'm glad you like it so far!
Haha, Ahhhh Skylar...how i've missed her!
Updates will be soon!
Spoilers?
Alex~ :mgbumblebee:
#15
Posted 10 June 2012 - 10:54 AM
Oh I'm loving this, Cat! I've missed my Turner! HE'S MY BOY!!!!!
Oh and he's as sarcastic as ever! Just the way I like him!
Update soon!!!!! I'm so glad this is back!
Oh and he's as sarcastic as ever! Just the way I like him!
Update soon!!!!! I'm so glad this is back!
#16
Posted 10 June 2012 - 11:54 AM
JET! OMGOSH! HEEY! What's up?
And thank you~!
I'm so glad you like the saracastic TURNER!
Alex~
And thank you~!
I'm so glad you like the saracastic TURNER!
Alex~
#17
Posted 27 June 2012 - 05:30 AM
Oh my, my, my...
Alex, what have we got here?!
I can't believe you posted TTP without telling me!!!
Do you have any idea how long I've been waiting for this?
No. You don't.
I'm just going to focus on the positive now because it's completely AMAZING.
You have improved so much honey!
Comparing it to your old work, I almost couldn't believe it was you!
Although, as per usual, you had those Alex-y parts in them that I love so much!
God, have I missed this place...
Anyway, I love the whole thing. I never expected Skylar to be working, honestly.
Much less selling ticket to Bird's play.
By the way, I kinda hope to see more of Bird.
She's weird. I like weird - as untalented as that makes her :D
Also that kiss between Turner and Mary... I just... I needed that.
There's a side of me that really wants to know more about Turner's childhood.
Maybe it's 'cause of how much I love him as a character :D
Anywaay, I love that moment. It was a short flashback, but I really enjoyed it.
Now let's get back to Skylar. We didn't see much of her, but she was there.
And that remark to Turner, the 'Good luck', I really never expected from her.
Anyway, I know I'm late, but I hope you won't drop this story Alex, because I love it, I really do!
And I can't wait for Skylar to finally come into Turner's life.
So update. Like now.
-Alexandra JENNING :evil:
Alex, what have we got here?!
I can't believe you posted TTP without telling me!!!
Do you have any idea how long I've been waiting for this?
No. You don't.
I'm just going to focus on the positive now because it's completely AMAZING.
You have improved so much honey!
Comparing it to your old work, I almost couldn't believe it was you!
Although, as per usual, you had those Alex-y parts in them that I love so much!
God, have I missed this place...
Anyway, I love the whole thing. I never expected Skylar to be working, honestly.
Much less selling ticket to Bird's play.
By the way, I kinda hope to see more of Bird.
She's weird. I like weird - as untalented as that makes her :D
Also that kiss between Turner and Mary... I just... I needed that.
There's a side of me that really wants to know more about Turner's childhood.
Maybe it's 'cause of how much I love him as a character :D
Anywaay, I love that moment. It was a short flashback, but I really enjoyed it.
Now let's get back to Skylar. We didn't see much of her, but she was there.
And that remark to Turner, the 'Good luck', I really never expected from her.
Anyway, I know I'm late, but I hope you won't drop this story Alex, because I love it, I really do!
And I can't wait for Skylar to finally come into Turner's life.
So update. Like now.
-Alexandra JENNING :evil:
#18
Posted 27 June 2012 - 08:18 AM
ALEXX :evil:
I think we have TTP!
I sowwie! :icon_mecry2: :( Wanna cookie? :icon_sunny:
No...
YAAAY! I'm sorry that I didn't tell you! But I'm glad you like it! :mgbubblegum: :mgicecream: :heartbeat:
Why thank you! ;)
Really? Woah... :blink:
Psst: Haha, Obviously, because I :heartbeat: Alex-y parts in my stories ;) It wouldn't be me without them :krakrani:
I MISSED YOU! :evil:
Haha, really? I thought it would be fun to have her SLAVING HERSELF :074:
I thought that would be a good intro. Ya know? Oh! There's Skylar selling Birdy's tickets ;)
Oh you'll see a lot of Birdy and her gang
I never knew you wanted to know more about his childhood! I've never been able to really say a lot about his childhood but I'm glad to know it!
I'm also happy you liked the kiss! :D
No, but it wasn't the time to have her strutting her stuff around ;) :D But there will be more of her gracing the MCMB :D
:hyper:
Hm...interesting you didn't think Skylar would say that. I would actually :)
Haha, she will....more than ever :D
I love you! :love7: :heartbeat:
And I will post soon!
Alex~ :evil:
I think we have TTP!
I sowwie! :icon_mecry2: :( Wanna cookie? :icon_sunny:
No...
YAAAY! I'm sorry that I didn't tell you! But I'm glad you like it! :mgbubblegum: :mgicecream: :heartbeat:
Why thank you! ;)
Really? Woah... :blink:
Psst: Haha, Obviously, because I :heartbeat: Alex-y parts in my stories ;) It wouldn't be me without them :krakrani:
I MISSED YOU! :evil:
Haha, really? I thought it would be fun to have her SLAVING HERSELF :074:
I thought that would be a good intro. Ya know? Oh! There's Skylar selling Birdy's tickets ;)
Oh you'll see a lot of Birdy and her gang
I never knew you wanted to know more about his childhood! I've never been able to really say a lot about his childhood but I'm glad to know it!
I'm also happy you liked the kiss! :D
No, but it wasn't the time to have her strutting her stuff around ;) :D But there will be more of her gracing the MCMB :D
:hyper:
Hm...interesting you didn't think Skylar would say that. I would actually :)
Haha, she will....more than ever :D
I love you! :love7: :heartbeat:
And I will post soon!
Alex~ :evil:
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