People and folk and stuff
Apr. 4th, 2005 10:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
unforthWith a sassy sway of her hips, she sauntered into the room. For a moment, all they could do was stare at her. They weren't sure what they expected, but this certainly wasn't it. Black hair, piercingly green eyes, and a curvy shape, she was extremely sexy, and not at all threatening. Were they supposed to be afraid? One of them drew his gun, slightly hesistantly. It was against his instincts to draw a weapon on a woman, especially (he took guilty pleasure in the thought) a girl as curvy and buxom as this one. "Good evening, gentlemen," she said calmly, apparently oblivious to the gun being aimed in her general direction. "I'm very sorry about this," she tugged her half gloves, making sure they fit snugly, "but I'm afraid I'm going to have to stop you." And, as the astonished men watched, she casually assumed a fighting stance, apparently waiting for them to make the first move. Several moments passed before anyone did anything else. Then, figuring she had asked for it, the man took a shot, regretting the damage this would do to such a fine lady. What happened next, though, was more than any of the men could handle, as she casually stepped out of the way of the shot, without any apparent sense of urgency, without any apparent concern of how close to death she had come. Flabbergasted, the men exchanged looks for a moment, then decided that perhaps it wouls in fact be in their best interest to not pick a fight with a woman who cared so little about being shot. It was only a little money, after all, but a woman that confident could cause problems that money probably couldn't fix. As a group, they discarded their weapons, putting their hands up in surrender. Live to fight another day, so they say.
The panel looked down at their list of names for a moment. It had been a long day, they had already given more than 20 interviews. "One more?" asked the panel head. The other panel members nodded, and the panel head stood and stuck his head into the reception room. "Darryl Kenyon," he said, and then went and sat down again. A moment later, Mr. Kenyon entered the room, and the panel was instantly impressed. After seeing so many applicants with obvious flaws, Kenyon was the apparent picture of perfection. His suit was clean and straight, obviously pressed, his shirt obviously starched, his tie perfectly tied. His teeth were clean and stright and pearly white, his hair brushed back from his face in a casual way that belied the effort that cerainly went into making it so even. The panel all silently reminded themselves that apparance certainly wasn't everything, and that good grooming and good looks did not necessarily mean qualified, but it was difficult to resist a candidate with such an immaculate appearance.
Some people stand out where ever they go. With some, this is because is because of their looks - both good and bad - with others their wardrobe - both restrained or flamboyant. He was none of these things, yet he stood out anyway. Perhaps it was the volume with which he spoke, always sounded exciting about whatever it was he was discussing, drawing conversation to himself. Perhaps it was his long, dark hair, held back in a pony tail to keep it off his face. Dark hair covered almost every noticable inch of skin, thick on is arms, shaved, for the moment at least, on his chin and face. Perhaps it was simply the enthusiam with which he greated every new situation, always prepared for the best, never apparently concerned about the worst. Some might call him overzealous (many did) and yet there was always a hint of jealousy behind it, a suggestion that they all wished that they could approach life so casually and yet meet with so much success.
Lydia firmly believed that there was no worse curse than being ordinary. Her friends often disagreed, saying that they would rather be ordinary than ugly, but they just didn't understand. Growing into their curves quickly, they all compared bust sizes like it was a great game, and laughed over their increasingly streamlined figures. Lydia was different, though. She wasn't really growing any curves, or bust, she was oly growing. Taller and taller, but still basically ordinary, she would rather have been getting pimply and ugly then just staying pretty much the same as she had always been. What she realized, that her friends didn't seem to, was that they, the pretty girls, proved her point - they noticed the ugly girls, just as others noticed the pretty girls, but no one ever commented on the ordinary girls. Lydia always noticed them, ghosting around the fringes of groups, never really fitting in any place, and she couldn't escape the feeling that she was just like them. She wasn't accepted, not rejected, always just there.
Rejected again. Jaden sighed and slumped at the bar. They say that there is someone for everyone. A lot of girls had told him this in his life, usually right after making it incredibly clear that he was not the one for them. He knew he wasn't the best looking man around but hey, someone for every one, right? How many singles would he have to meet before he found one that was interested in a 5'6" man with drab brown hair and boring brown eyes? Apparently a few more than he asked so far. Ordering another drink, he couldn't help but feeling sorry for himself. Acne scars were still scars, chicks dig scars, right? He smiled to himself. Pock marks weren't scars, they were pock marks, which are considerably less cool. As he had thought on many nights before this one, he considered if he should just give up the whole thing. Some guys just don't get the girls, he supposed, some guys ended their days as bachelors, and they found other things to devote themselves too. He tried to think of what he would do with his evenings if he stopped coming to this silly bar. Maybe he could learn some real skills, or something, like, he didn't know, maybe saudering, or plumbing, or, he tried to think, cooking. Hey, that was good. Maybe once he could cook he could attract a chick. He took a long drink. It just didn't seem worth it some how. Then, a voice shocked him out of his thoughts. "Is this seat taken?" asked a slightly nervous voice.
Jaden looked up to see a slight woman looking at him, smiling at him, and his jaw nearly dropped. She wasn't perfect, certainly, a little too short (like him) a little too stout (like him) and definitely too nervous (like him). Indeed, the longer he looked at her, the more he thought that this was somebody who he could really get along with. He didn't even know her name yet, but there was a connection there, certainly, a similar outlook on life or some such. Perfect she was not, but he couldn't deny that he wasn't perfect either, and she definately cute in her way, buxom. And she was smiling at him. "No, no, please, uh, let me buy you a drink." He tried to smile back, and she looked encouraged. "What's your pleasure? Oh, yeah, my name is Jaden Taylor"
"Strawberry Daiquiri, please," she sat down a little hesistantly. "My name is Kaylynn. Kaylynn Shayne. It's very nice to meet you." And for a few minutes, they just smiled at each other.
The panel looked down at their list of names for a moment. It had been a long day, they had already given more than 20 interviews. "One more?" asked the panel head. The other panel members nodded, and the panel head stood and stuck his head into the reception room. "Darryl Kenyon," he said, and then went and sat down again. A moment later, Mr. Kenyon entered the room, and the panel was instantly impressed. After seeing so many applicants with obvious flaws, Kenyon was the apparent picture of perfection. His suit was clean and straight, obviously pressed, his shirt obviously starched, his tie perfectly tied. His teeth were clean and stright and pearly white, his hair brushed back from his face in a casual way that belied the effort that cerainly went into making it so even. The panel all silently reminded themselves that apparance certainly wasn't everything, and that good grooming and good looks did not necessarily mean qualified, but it was difficult to resist a candidate with such an immaculate appearance.
Some people stand out where ever they go. With some, this is because is because of their looks - both good and bad - with others their wardrobe - both restrained or flamboyant. He was none of these things, yet he stood out anyway. Perhaps it was the volume with which he spoke, always sounded exciting about whatever it was he was discussing, drawing conversation to himself. Perhaps it was his long, dark hair, held back in a pony tail to keep it off his face. Dark hair covered almost every noticable inch of skin, thick on is arms, shaved, for the moment at least, on his chin and face. Perhaps it was simply the enthusiam with which he greated every new situation, always prepared for the best, never apparently concerned about the worst. Some might call him overzealous (many did) and yet there was always a hint of jealousy behind it, a suggestion that they all wished that they could approach life so casually and yet meet with so much success.
Lydia firmly believed that there was no worse curse than being ordinary. Her friends often disagreed, saying that they would rather be ordinary than ugly, but they just didn't understand. Growing into their curves quickly, they all compared bust sizes like it was a great game, and laughed over their increasingly streamlined figures. Lydia was different, though. She wasn't really growing any curves, or bust, she was oly growing. Taller and taller, but still basically ordinary, she would rather have been getting pimply and ugly then just staying pretty much the same as she had always been. What she realized, that her friends didn't seem to, was that they, the pretty girls, proved her point - they noticed the ugly girls, just as others noticed the pretty girls, but no one ever commented on the ordinary girls. Lydia always noticed them, ghosting around the fringes of groups, never really fitting in any place, and she couldn't escape the feeling that she was just like them. She wasn't accepted, not rejected, always just there.
Rejected again. Jaden sighed and slumped at the bar. They say that there is someone for everyone. A lot of girls had told him this in his life, usually right after making it incredibly clear that he was not the one for them. He knew he wasn't the best looking man around but hey, someone for every one, right? How many singles would he have to meet before he found one that was interested in a 5'6" man with drab brown hair and boring brown eyes? Apparently a few more than he asked so far. Ordering another drink, he couldn't help but feeling sorry for himself. Acne scars were still scars, chicks dig scars, right? He smiled to himself. Pock marks weren't scars, they were pock marks, which are considerably less cool. As he had thought on many nights before this one, he considered if he should just give up the whole thing. Some guys just don't get the girls, he supposed, some guys ended their days as bachelors, and they found other things to devote themselves too. He tried to think of what he would do with his evenings if he stopped coming to this silly bar. Maybe he could learn some real skills, or something, like, he didn't know, maybe saudering, or plumbing, or, he tried to think, cooking. Hey, that was good. Maybe once he could cook he could attract a chick. He took a long drink. It just didn't seem worth it some how. Then, a voice shocked him out of his thoughts. "Is this seat taken?" asked a slightly nervous voice.
Jaden looked up to see a slight woman looking at him, smiling at him, and his jaw nearly dropped. She wasn't perfect, certainly, a little too short (like him) a little too stout (like him) and definitely too nervous (like him). Indeed, the longer he looked at her, the more he thought that this was somebody who he could really get along with. He didn't even know her name yet, but there was a connection there, certainly, a similar outlook on life or some such. Perfect she was not, but he couldn't deny that he wasn't perfect either, and she definately cute in her way, buxom. And she was smiling at him. "No, no, please, uh, let me buy you a drink." He tried to smile back, and she looked encouraged. "What's your pleasure? Oh, yeah, my name is Jaden Taylor"
"Strawberry Daiquiri, please," she sat down a little hesistantly. "My name is Kaylynn. Kaylynn Shayne. It's very nice to meet you." And for a few minutes, they just smiled at each other.
