SUGGESTION OF HORROR. open.

[JEREMIAH FREDERICK VALENTINO !]

. . . . . .BUT THERE'S ROOM FOR TWO

six feet under the stars . . . . . . . . .

The afternoon light was starting to wane and shafts of purple twilight fell across the ground. Riddell Park seemed a depressing scene at this time of the day. Mostly because almost everyone had already spent the sunny daytime there and had left to go home. Over yonder, a basketball rolled slowly across a court, owner unseen. The swing sets a dozen rambunctious children usually racked were now void of any youthful faces. One swing swung eerily back and forth in the repetitive zephyrs that made the grass sway and cooled the air. The metal squealed in an unnerving manner that might have sent a chill up one's back. People were still around... sort of. Only a few sitting on the benches and chatting, but even they were grabbing their coats and jingling their keys in anticipation of leaving the barren area.

Feet slammed against the sod, kicking it up and sending it flying behind. A dull, recurring thud, thud, thud arose from the sneakers clashing against the dirt-caked, but otherwise gravel, trail. Tree draped their branches over on each side along the park, rising from the ground so that their leaves were silhouetted in the orange-purple sky. The shadows they cast made the walkway seem more like a tunnel than anything else, every corner masked in obscurity. Music, inevitibly able to be heard in the uneasy silence that consumed the entire park, blared into Jeremiah's ears through two twin ear buds, a wire falling from his head to his pocket where his iPod was tucked. The sound somehow made it easier to ignore the darkness wrapping itself around him, threatening to choke him. And so did the fact that he'd been running this trail every weekend for a long time, usually around this time of day. The reason for this was because, first of all, he wanted to stay fit. Jeremiah had had it engrained in him by many people - his foster dad, health teachers, but mainly his football coach - that being fit was the only way to maintain a good life. In fact, he was just a tad OCD about it... And second, well, this time of day was sure of a lot lighter than nighttime... However, unlike day, it held some of night's better qualities such as the quiet - Jer had never been a particularly bubbly person, and even though he had music playing he felt that it was a lot more cozy than running in the day with screaming children flocking him - and the cool air, though he had hardly broken out a sweat yet... Plus, the fact that under these circumstances for some odd reason, it made it a whole heck of a lot easier for Jeremiah to think... And, he liked to think. He had opinions like anyone else, though he didn't voice them too much. But, running on this trail with his legs moving powerfully though the humid air made him feel more confident about his ideas... It was hard to explain. He just really liked it...

Heavy breathing racked his chest of the like he was not accustomed to. Jer had always had a lot of endurance within him. In more ways than physical, too. He was a very patient guy, and he knew how to deal with things. Though some, in particular, might spark his aggressive nature he was getting better at tuning them out. But, it appeared he was losing this battle. For some odd reason, he was slowing down and breathing harder. Jer skidded to a stop, and rested his hands on his knees, back bent over. Still no sweat, he realized as he swept a hand over his head, smoothing out his thick, black hair. After a moment or two of being bent over, he stood upright again, though he still felt like he needed another minute or two to catch his breath. However, being the obediant kid he was, he remembered the words of his coach who told him it was always a bad idea to sit down or bend over after a run. You had to cool down after immediately stopping. Nodding to himself, he decided coach's way was best and began a slow walk... Peering down at his watch and popping the ear buds out of his ears, he wasn't sure how long he'd been running in the halflight. Blinking, he realized that he might just be... the slightest... out of shape. It had been a long summer, and he knew that he hadn't been on his best about working out... So, he concluded, he needed to work out more... But, for now, his mouth was incredibly dry, and he hadn't brought any water for he had been under the assumption that he wouldn't need any... Might as well start the trek home. Sighing heavily, he turned on his heel and began walking in the other direction towards the park's parking lot.

ooc: idk how i feel about this post xD good starter i guess, though lol.

[emery ansel rundstrom]

You love to take the wind out of my sail...
...but not this time

He was in one of those moods again. And for what seemed like the twentieth time that week, too. It was as though he’d committed a sinful act against the gods above – Zeus, perhaps? – and a rolling gray cumulo-stratus cloud had been sent to stand vigil above his head, entirely dampening his mood to the point where he resembled someone suffering from severe depression. And his sour mood, it appeared, was infectious. He supposed there was no way to avoid it – sulking around in corners like some creepy nocturnal rodent was bound to irk some people. Even so, Emery still couldn’t get over the fact that he’d been kicked out of the library. The library. And it wasn’t even as though he’d been making a ruckus or anything of the sort. In fact, Emery figured that relative to the other library-goers, he’d been rather quiet. Apparently, though, the students at Norrington who frequented the school library all readily went straight to the librarian to complain about the strange boy pacing up and down the poetry section and muttering to himself in a different language. But was it his fault? No.

After a few minutes spent of being totally lost in the halls of the school – by far the largest he’d ever attended – Emery had eventually found his way back to his dorm, where he’d shed his jeans and sweater vest in favour of shorts and a t-shirt, before filling up a water bottle and simply heading down to the park. As soon as the receding trickles of sunshine hit his face, Emery sighed, pausing a moment in the fading glow. But still, he would have greatly preferred simply lying in bed with the pillow over his head for the rest of the day. But that was pathetic. Even worse, it was a terrible waste of time. If he wasn’t permitted to troll around in the library, he was at least allowed to troll around outside. If he could make himself scarce even, Emery decided, there would be no reason for anyone else to complain. Still, he wasn’t reassured. Then again, he never was. The tiniest things drove Emery absolutely mad with anxiety. It was a wonder he hadn’t yet driven himself clinically insane. But then again, his grandmother was always saying…

Riddell Park wasn’t too far off from Norrington, and so Emery made his way over at a jog. After all, if there was the opportunity to get more exercise in, he might as well take it. The soles of his running shoes slapped against the pavement, creating a ‘tap-tap’ noise that came at a steady rate. By the time he had the park in view, Emery was anticipating the tapping of his shoes against the ground, the sounds reverberating in his ears almost before he had even set his feet down. Arms pumped evenly, breath calm. If there was anything Emery knew himself to be capable of right now, it was running. It was something that didn’t really require much knowledge or much talent. All you had to do was run. And it didn’t matter where you were, might it be Shanghai or Alexandria, Luxembourg or Sanata Ria. The rules didn’t change. And so although he felt like crawling into a hole in order to shrivel up and die there, Emery was still comfortable with the idea of running here. Half his mind – the stranger, more detached half – was pondering the possibility of axe murderers or football players hiding out in the park, although the more rational part of Emery had simply let itself go, focusing solely on the beat of his feet against the ground below. Although Emery kept his eyes focused ahead of himself, so as not to trip on any small dogs or babies’ strollers, he could still picture his shoes in his mind’s eye. They were nothing like the ones he’d used to own – those had been flimsy, worn almost all the way through, scuffed and dirtied no matter how many times he tried to clean them. Instead, these were new – brand new, in fact – as his grandmother had decided that now that such not-entirely-necessary expenses were possible, a decent, sturdy pair of running shoes had been in order. They weren’t anything like the 300$ state-of-the-art articles of footwear that many of his peers at Norrington seemed to be sporting, but they would certainly last a while, with all their pretty plasticy bits and brilliant white leather.

He had been jogging through the park for little over a half hour – nowhere near long enough to break a sweat – when he decided to take a momentary pause in order to take a drink of water. Emery wasn’t out of breath, really, but staying hydrated was key. And since he wasn’t one of those professional hockey players who were so afraid of getting cramps on the ice that they spat out every drop of water that they put in their mouths like rabid animals, Emery figured that a swallow of water was permissible. And so, slowing to a walk, Emery brought a hand to the cap of his water bottle, ready to pop it open. To his immense surprise, the bottle’s opening simply refused to comply. Emery’s brow furrowed, before stretching out into an expression of great concern as he tried it again. Nothing. Was it broken? Emery hoped it was not so. He yanked at the cap device, once normally, then again with more vigor. Still nothing. The imaginary rain cloud above his head seemed to thunder in satisfaction. Emery frowned. He really shouldn’t have gotten out of bed that day. Although simply forgetting about the water and simply continuing on his wrong was certainly a valid option, Emery simply couldn’t let it go. This bottle was challenging him, and damn it all if he wasn’t going to rise to that challenge. With a renewed sense of determination, Emery set himself once again to the task of attempting to open the infuriating bottle, feet beginning to carry his body forward a little faster as his irritation increased. Then suddenly, Emery found himself colliding with a warm, solid body, which caused him to stumble back slightly, bottle falling from his grasp to smack into the ground with a thud. It rolled about, still unopened.

Emery’s eyes immediately went wide, staring in minor terror at the figure of the boy in front of him. Emery’s cheeks immediately flushed red as he searched for a sentence or two to give to this boy in apology. ”Pardon, uh, sorry. I didn’t…I mean…” he babbled, wringing his hands and fighting the urge to run in circles like a decapitated chicken in utter desperation. In addition to the astonishing rapidity with which his words came, his heavy Germanic accent rendered his words even more unintelligible than they already were. After a moment more of floundering in the same manner, Emery finally ducked his head to hide his burning cheeks. ”Sorry,” he croaked out, hoping the boy, whoever he was, would simply take the apology. Most Americans, so far, had been rather rude towards Emery, and it always made him nervous when he was in such a situation without any close friends nearby, but close friends, these days, tended to be in short supply, which put Emery into a near constant state of fear and general discomfort.

TAG; jer/open
NOTES; hope it’s okay? Long, I know
LYRICS; sarah slean
WORDS; one two two four[/blockquote]