Post by ice on Dec 26, 2008 12:54:26 GMT -5
-face claim: Chace Crawford-
Paul Anthony Riester
I’ve blown out… 16 candles, but my 17th birthday is right around the corner…
I’m a male no doubt about it.
Oh? You want to know if I’m single? Yes I am—though I’ve been crushing on this one girl on and off for two years now. Which means I’m straight
One day, you’ll all be shouting… Paul Anthony Riester
The Family:
I hate sob stories. I hate people who complain. So, we’ll make this fast. I had a dad. He’s dead now. I had a mom, but she left a long time ago. So I lived with my two aunts-- yeah, two aunts. They’re lesbians. Have a problem with that?
My older brother is in jail.
The Friends:
Temperance (Lucky)
A cute little girl tapped the cute little boy on the shoulder. “You’re Paul right?”
The cute little boy—obviously named Paul—nodded.
“I heard you singing in your dorm room last night. Come to the auditorium today. I have a present for you.”
She couldn’t have surprised me more. Till this day, I haven’t figured out just how she heard me or knew which dorm room was mine. I can only guess that she stalked me. And strange enough, that didn’t scare me. Okay, at first, I was creeped out. But then I got to know Lucky and I was… excuse the pun, lucky to have her. She was my first friend and my first crush. And my first girlfriend. And the first girl to dump me. She was a lot of firsts and she still surprises me today with her exuberance and her oscar-winning smile. We’ve been in and out of love for a while now but currently we’re just friends. Even when we’re mad at each other, we’re friends. She’s my Rachel; I’m her Ross. It works for us.
Peter (Insert Diva of the week’s name here)
“Paul, this is Pete. Pete, this is Paul. Paul, Pete is gay. Pete, Paul is not gay, so keep your hands off him.” Temperance rattled off. She had clearly rehearsed it beforehand.
“Oh damn,” Pete fake pouted before grinning and offering his hand. “Your ass looks great in those jeans.”
“I—”
“Outta my system, I promise it won’t happen again.” Pete laughed. “Now, let’s see what you got. We’re going to sing “Luck Be a Lady” and if you can’t keep up, then I’ll escort you out myself. Five, six, seven, eight!”
My best guy friend. It’s awesome that I gained him automatically just by knowing Lucky. The best thing about Peter is that he didn’t ask questions, didn’t hover—he just accepted me. The only thing he has ever expected of me was the truth and I haven’t lied to him yet. I’ve decided that he’s the glue that keeps us together—the third party when things between Lucky and I go sour. He’s also the one that keeps me on my toes. If I were gay then we’d most certainly get along very well—we ‘complete’ each other, in a way. He helps me loosen up and see a new side of things and I bring him back down to earth and help him pass tests.
(We also have many inside jokes. One of them is me calling him a certain famous actress every week. The other is pretending to be his secret lover. We have fun with that one. When we first busted it out, Lucky got so mad. *snickers* )
Mr. A
“Got a minute?”
Mr. A looked up. “For you kid? I’ve got hours.”
The adult I go to to talk. I won’t open up to a counselor but I can trust Mr. A to keep everything on the DL. Not only that, but he’s a great help when it comes to improving my acting. I remember when I first came to Solstice and I was practically dragged into the auditorium. He was waiting for me, sitting on the edge of the stage with a twinkle in his eye. I sang for the three of them (much to my chagrin) and then he stood up, walked toward me, and said;
“Great voice. Horrible performance.” And he took me from there.
Special Ability
Oi. I just looked at my friend’s bios and they’re chalked full with info. Can’t I just tell you my power and get on with it?
Temp: Paul, it’s an audition! You have to give them all the info if you want to get the part! You’ve got the stuff so brag! Brag brag brag brag—
I get the point. *sigh* Okay. So I’ve always loved to sing. I’m a natural and it’s never been hard to just belt out a show stopper on the spot. My mom used to sing to me all the time so I got her passion and her talent. I’ve never had any singing lessons and though I can’t copy other voices—
Pete: Teehee! He’s talking about me!
—I like to think that I’m the best singer out of all of us. Yes, I said it, Lucky, don’t look so shocked. *laughs* Though saying that, it took me so long to learn how to dance and act. Guh, I was hopeless at first, mostly because I had self-esteem issues. Even now, I’m just not a dancer. I can learn routines and I can execute them to the dot, but it doesn’t come naturally to my body. I have to spend hours with Lucky and Judy Garland here (referring to Pete) to get it down pat. As for acting, I’ve improved from where I was. Maybe one day I’ll catch up to my friends. Lucky for me, my ‘pretty boy’ looks and voice get me most roles I want. Seriously, it doesn’t take much for me to be given a part just because of my face. I feel both ashamed of that and proud.
Temp: Don’t we all.
Pete: How vain, Temp! I’m surprised!
Shut up you guys or I’m just going to kick you out. Back on track—I’ve been taking piano lessons from Lucky since I met her. I swear the piano is the most beautiful instrument there is. I love every part of it… every note seems to speak to me in a different way.
Temp: How poetic.
Besides that, I don’t have as many qualifications as Lucky and Judy. (again, Pete.) They’re determined to change that and I’ve already been dragged to Lucky’s estate where they almost forced me on a horse. Hell no, I’m not getting on something that could kill me! No way! And I was owned when it came to the fencing lessons… and the gymnastics was just a bust. I’m not made to bend certain ways.
Finally, I can tell you my real special ability. I’ve got super sight. That’s pretty much it. I can see much more than anyone else can see—I can see far far far far far away and I can also see ridiculously close. My power is useless when it comes to theatre, but if I activate it ( I can turn it on and off) I can see individual cells in the body and identify what’s wrong with them. I guess I should be a doctor then… I don’t want to be a doctor… but I should be.
When it’s on, my pupils grow quite wide, so wide, you can barely see the color in my eyes. It’s creepy, I’m told. As for the future and the past? Well… *lowers voice* I haven’t told Temperance and Peter this, but I have gotten visions before. I can’t control that and sometimes it just randomly happens… usually it affects me badly. I don’t know why but I’m weak and dizzy afterward… don’t tell them okay? They’ll worry. It’s my burden, and mine alone… I don’t even think the teachers know about it.
Personality:
Told from Temperance’s perspective.
I wanna do this part! Back away Pete! It’s all mine! *grabs the mike* Muah ha ha, I win. ANYWAY.
I love Paul and overall, he’s a nice boy. If I had to break him down into a couple words, I don’t think I could. Though I suppose there are some adjectives out there that could be used. I just have to find them. I’ll just start… from the beginning.
When I first met him, he was hurt, confused and shy, though he had a gift that I saw in him right away—his voice. He’s still the quieter one of us. I don’t think I’ll ever knock him out of his shell completely, though I have tried before. He’s comfortable enough around people to engage in quiet, casual conversation but nothing more. He meets all his friends through Pete and I—and I suppose that’s how he likes it.
He hates people who complain—emos get on his last nerve. In fact, his temper is surprisingly strong though it isn’t triggered easily. I’ve seen him get mad before and it’s really very scary… he’s a strong man and he tends to break things… which just gets him angrier. It’s hard to calm him down and usually you just have to let him ride it out… it can go on for hours or it can be just a quite outburst. I’m pretty sure it’s a real issue and he should go to anger management classes… but he hates talking to me about that so I don’t bring it up anymore.
I’m glad that he doesn’t get too upset easily because he’s really a lot of fun when he’s happy. I love it when Paul is content, cheerful. He’s hardly ever truly happy really, mostly he’s just calm and collected. But when he is, he’s funny and ready to interact with others. Sometimes he’ll even take charge and surprise everyone with what he can do. I’ve heard people say “Whoa, is that really Paul up there?” when we’re at after parties or just hanging out. I’m privileged to have known Happy Paul more than anyone else. I dated Happy Paul. But I also dated Crazy Paul.
Unfortunately he is a little crazy. He’s emotionally unstable and it’s because of his dad. I want to help him but he insists that he’s fine. That’s another thing about Paul… he doesn’t like others worrying about him. Paul doesn’t lie though… he just avoids the question or sidesteps it. I can’t help wondering if I ever get a straight answer from him. He’s a hard guy to trust, after awhile.
But I do trust him. With all of my heart. I know that he’s really very sweet and someone just needs to fix him a little bit. When we were dating, he was wonderful. He surprised me with just how romantic he can be… Paul’s more sensitive then you would think.
Appearance
Told from Pete’s perspective.
My turn! YAAAY. Okay, so the first time I saw Paul, my reaction was along the lines of this:
“Holy shit he’s like a GREEK GOD.”
Okay, I suppose it isn’t fair for me to do this, is it? Oh well. I’ll tone it down for all of you out there. We’ll start with his face… and move down as we go. *giggles*
He has a pretty boy face, which he is very aware of. Chiseled jaw, straight nose, full lips (and Temp tells me he’s a great kisser—eep) not to mention almond-shaped eyes and a strong brow. His eyes are a lovely blue color, and they can be so many things. Icey blue, warm blue, friendly blue, fire blue… so on and so forth. Most of the time they’re sky-after-the-storm blue. If that makes sense. I think it does. At first, he resisted my offers to do his hair for him but after a while, he gave in and now I call the shots when it comes to his hair. He said no to any dye (tear) so he’s kept his natural honey brown locks. When I first met him, he kept it long and it hid his pretty ears and overwhelmed his face. Now? It hangs above his ears and brushes at his eyes just right. And he has me to thank for it.
His body is… to … die for. Like me, he’s in excellent shape with a golden tan, and he’s taller then me—six feet two inches. His six-pack is a work-in-progress, but he’s got noticeable muscles and we go to the gym together to work out. I don’t make any advances on him and I’m glad he’s completely comfortable having a gay guy as his friend, because he takes off his shirt around me all the time. I would describe the shape and size of his nipples, but y’all don’t want to hear that, do you? But… what you should hear is his scars. He has numerous, long scratches on his back. I’m too scared to ask how he got them.
History
I don’t like talking about it. *sigh* Please… don’t make me talk about it…
A splash from the bathroom.
Pan left, zoom in—a man’s hand grips the back of a boy’s neck. The man growls and shoves the boy under the water once again. The boy’s legs kick and his arms flail about but it’s futile. The man is too big and too strong. Seconds tick by, but when you’re drowning, time always passes outstandingly slow. The boy counts them and tells himself that his father will not let him die this way. This way is too easy.
Fouteen…
Mom will get home anyway and she’ll stop him.
Fifteen….
He’ll let you up so he can light another cigarette.
Sixteen…
Maybe he’ll get bored
Seventeen…
Or maybe he won’t
Eighteen…
Panic rises in his chest like bile. The boy can taste it in his mouth. Panic doesn’t taste good.
Nineteen…
Panic tastes like fear and fear tastes like hell. And hell burns, burns his brain and his lungs. His lungs—god they want to explode.
Twenty, Twenty one…
Maybe death tastes better. Maybe it tastes like peppermint. Cold and strong but sugary nonetheless.
Twenty-two
The man brings him up, drops him on the ground. “Clean this water up.”
Zoom out.
The boy is older now. Ten years old. His mom has left the night before. He replies the event in his mind.
“He’ll kill me if I don’t get out of here.”
“Take me with you.”
She didn’t listen.
He doesn’t understand why. Maybe because she never wanted a baby in the first place.
The man walks in and in his hand is a belt. “Get up.”
The boy wants to say no. He’s never said no to the man before. He wonders how it would feel.
“I said. Get up.”
The man is madder now so it will last longer this time. The boy hops up immediately and even takes his shirt off for the man. The boy turns around and bites his tongue. It won’t be long now… soon he’ll be saved. The boy knows it… he’s seen it. It can’t be long now
Cut to a black screen. Hear the crackling of the picture. This story is over.
Rewind. See it backwards, it’s still just as bloody. The boy’s brother—half brother, beats the man with his own belt. Whip, crack, smash. The man cowers. He isn’t so big after all, is he? The boy feels stronger as he watches but his confidence suddenly turns to fear as his father crawls away and grabs a vase, throwing it at his half-brother’s head. More blood. More glass. The boy runs. He goes upstairs and into his father’s bedroom, underneath his father’s bed. His heart hammers as he sees the little black box with a gun nestled inside.
You can see where this is going?
Press Stop. No one needs to see it twice.
Paul Anthony Riester
I’ve blown out… 16 candles, but my 17th birthday is right around the corner…
I’m a male no doubt about it.
Oh? You want to know if I’m single? Yes I am—though I’ve been crushing on this one girl on and off for two years now. Which means I’m straight
One day, you’ll all be shouting… Paul Anthony Riester
The Family:
I hate sob stories. I hate people who complain. So, we’ll make this fast. I had a dad. He’s dead now. I had a mom, but she left a long time ago. So I lived with my two aunts-- yeah, two aunts. They’re lesbians. Have a problem with that?
My older brother is in jail.
The Friends:
Temperance (Lucky)
A cute little girl tapped the cute little boy on the shoulder. “You’re Paul right?”
The cute little boy—obviously named Paul—nodded.
“I heard you singing in your dorm room last night. Come to the auditorium today. I have a present for you.”
She couldn’t have surprised me more. Till this day, I haven’t figured out just how she heard me or knew which dorm room was mine. I can only guess that she stalked me. And strange enough, that didn’t scare me. Okay, at first, I was creeped out. But then I got to know Lucky and I was… excuse the pun, lucky to have her. She was my first friend and my first crush. And my first girlfriend. And the first girl to dump me. She was a lot of firsts and she still surprises me today with her exuberance and her oscar-winning smile. We’ve been in and out of love for a while now but currently we’re just friends. Even when we’re mad at each other, we’re friends. She’s my Rachel; I’m her Ross. It works for us.
Peter (Insert Diva of the week’s name here)
“Paul, this is Pete. Pete, this is Paul. Paul, Pete is gay. Pete, Paul is not gay, so keep your hands off him.” Temperance rattled off. She had clearly rehearsed it beforehand.
“Oh damn,” Pete fake pouted before grinning and offering his hand. “Your ass looks great in those jeans.”
“I—”
“Outta my system, I promise it won’t happen again.” Pete laughed. “Now, let’s see what you got. We’re going to sing “Luck Be a Lady” and if you can’t keep up, then I’ll escort you out myself. Five, six, seven, eight!”
My best guy friend. It’s awesome that I gained him automatically just by knowing Lucky. The best thing about Peter is that he didn’t ask questions, didn’t hover—he just accepted me. The only thing he has ever expected of me was the truth and I haven’t lied to him yet. I’ve decided that he’s the glue that keeps us together—the third party when things between Lucky and I go sour. He’s also the one that keeps me on my toes. If I were gay then we’d most certainly get along very well—we ‘complete’ each other, in a way. He helps me loosen up and see a new side of things and I bring him back down to earth and help him pass tests.
(We also have many inside jokes. One of them is me calling him a certain famous actress every week. The other is pretending to be his secret lover. We have fun with that one. When we first busted it out, Lucky got so mad. *snickers* )
Mr. A
“Got a minute?”
Mr. A looked up. “For you kid? I’ve got hours.”
The adult I go to to talk. I won’t open up to a counselor but I can trust Mr. A to keep everything on the DL. Not only that, but he’s a great help when it comes to improving my acting. I remember when I first came to Solstice and I was practically dragged into the auditorium. He was waiting for me, sitting on the edge of the stage with a twinkle in his eye. I sang for the three of them (much to my chagrin) and then he stood up, walked toward me, and said;
“Great voice. Horrible performance.” And he took me from there.
Special Ability
Oi. I just looked at my friend’s bios and they’re chalked full with info. Can’t I just tell you my power and get on with it?
Temp: Paul, it’s an audition! You have to give them all the info if you want to get the part! You’ve got the stuff so brag! Brag brag brag brag—
I get the point. *sigh* Okay. So I’ve always loved to sing. I’m a natural and it’s never been hard to just belt out a show stopper on the spot. My mom used to sing to me all the time so I got her passion and her talent. I’ve never had any singing lessons and though I can’t copy other voices—
Pete: Teehee! He’s talking about me!
—I like to think that I’m the best singer out of all of us. Yes, I said it, Lucky, don’t look so shocked. *laughs* Though saying that, it took me so long to learn how to dance and act. Guh, I was hopeless at first, mostly because I had self-esteem issues. Even now, I’m just not a dancer. I can learn routines and I can execute them to the dot, but it doesn’t come naturally to my body. I have to spend hours with Lucky and Judy Garland here (referring to Pete) to get it down pat. As for acting, I’ve improved from where I was. Maybe one day I’ll catch up to my friends. Lucky for me, my ‘pretty boy’ looks and voice get me most roles I want. Seriously, it doesn’t take much for me to be given a part just because of my face. I feel both ashamed of that and proud.
Temp: Don’t we all.
Pete: How vain, Temp! I’m surprised!
Shut up you guys or I’m just going to kick you out. Back on track—I’ve been taking piano lessons from Lucky since I met her. I swear the piano is the most beautiful instrument there is. I love every part of it… every note seems to speak to me in a different way.
Temp: How poetic.
Besides that, I don’t have as many qualifications as Lucky and Judy. (again, Pete.) They’re determined to change that and I’ve already been dragged to Lucky’s estate where they almost forced me on a horse. Hell no, I’m not getting on something that could kill me! No way! And I was owned when it came to the fencing lessons… and the gymnastics was just a bust. I’m not made to bend certain ways.
Finally, I can tell you my real special ability. I’ve got super sight. That’s pretty much it. I can see much more than anyone else can see—I can see far far far far far away and I can also see ridiculously close. My power is useless when it comes to theatre, but if I activate it ( I can turn it on and off) I can see individual cells in the body and identify what’s wrong with them. I guess I should be a doctor then… I don’t want to be a doctor… but I should be.
When it’s on, my pupils grow quite wide, so wide, you can barely see the color in my eyes. It’s creepy, I’m told. As for the future and the past? Well… *lowers voice* I haven’t told Temperance and Peter this, but I have gotten visions before. I can’t control that and sometimes it just randomly happens… usually it affects me badly. I don’t know why but I’m weak and dizzy afterward… don’t tell them okay? They’ll worry. It’s my burden, and mine alone… I don’t even think the teachers know about it.
Personality:
Told from Temperance’s perspective.
I wanna do this part! Back away Pete! It’s all mine! *grabs the mike* Muah ha ha, I win. ANYWAY.
I love Paul and overall, he’s a nice boy. If I had to break him down into a couple words, I don’t think I could. Though I suppose there are some adjectives out there that could be used. I just have to find them. I’ll just start… from the beginning.
When I first met him, he was hurt, confused and shy, though he had a gift that I saw in him right away—his voice. He’s still the quieter one of us. I don’t think I’ll ever knock him out of his shell completely, though I have tried before. He’s comfortable enough around people to engage in quiet, casual conversation but nothing more. He meets all his friends through Pete and I—and I suppose that’s how he likes it.
He hates people who complain—emos get on his last nerve. In fact, his temper is surprisingly strong though it isn’t triggered easily. I’ve seen him get mad before and it’s really very scary… he’s a strong man and he tends to break things… which just gets him angrier. It’s hard to calm him down and usually you just have to let him ride it out… it can go on for hours or it can be just a quite outburst. I’m pretty sure it’s a real issue and he should go to anger management classes… but he hates talking to me about that so I don’t bring it up anymore.
I’m glad that he doesn’t get too upset easily because he’s really a lot of fun when he’s happy. I love it when Paul is content, cheerful. He’s hardly ever truly happy really, mostly he’s just calm and collected. But when he is, he’s funny and ready to interact with others. Sometimes he’ll even take charge and surprise everyone with what he can do. I’ve heard people say “Whoa, is that really Paul up there?” when we’re at after parties or just hanging out. I’m privileged to have known Happy Paul more than anyone else. I dated Happy Paul. But I also dated Crazy Paul.
Unfortunately he is a little crazy. He’s emotionally unstable and it’s because of his dad. I want to help him but he insists that he’s fine. That’s another thing about Paul… he doesn’t like others worrying about him. Paul doesn’t lie though… he just avoids the question or sidesteps it. I can’t help wondering if I ever get a straight answer from him. He’s a hard guy to trust, after awhile.
But I do trust him. With all of my heart. I know that he’s really very sweet and someone just needs to fix him a little bit. When we were dating, he was wonderful. He surprised me with just how romantic he can be… Paul’s more sensitive then you would think.
Appearance
Told from Pete’s perspective.
My turn! YAAAY. Okay, so the first time I saw Paul, my reaction was along the lines of this:
“Holy shit he’s like a GREEK GOD.”
Okay, I suppose it isn’t fair for me to do this, is it? Oh well. I’ll tone it down for all of you out there. We’ll start with his face… and move down as we go. *giggles*
He has a pretty boy face, which he is very aware of. Chiseled jaw, straight nose, full lips (and Temp tells me he’s a great kisser—eep) not to mention almond-shaped eyes and a strong brow. His eyes are a lovely blue color, and they can be so many things. Icey blue, warm blue, friendly blue, fire blue… so on and so forth. Most of the time they’re sky-after-the-storm blue. If that makes sense. I think it does. At first, he resisted my offers to do his hair for him but after a while, he gave in and now I call the shots when it comes to his hair. He said no to any dye (tear) so he’s kept his natural honey brown locks. When I first met him, he kept it long and it hid his pretty ears and overwhelmed his face. Now? It hangs above his ears and brushes at his eyes just right. And he has me to thank for it.
His body is… to … die for. Like me, he’s in excellent shape with a golden tan, and he’s taller then me—six feet two inches. His six-pack is a work-in-progress, but he’s got noticeable muscles and we go to the gym together to work out. I don’t make any advances on him and I’m glad he’s completely comfortable having a gay guy as his friend, because he takes off his shirt around me all the time. I would describe the shape and size of his nipples, but y’all don’t want to hear that, do you? But… what you should hear is his scars. He has numerous, long scratches on his back. I’m too scared to ask how he got them.
History
I don’t like talking about it. *sigh* Please… don’t make me talk about it…
A splash from the bathroom.
Pan left, zoom in—a man’s hand grips the back of a boy’s neck. The man growls and shoves the boy under the water once again. The boy’s legs kick and his arms flail about but it’s futile. The man is too big and too strong. Seconds tick by, but when you’re drowning, time always passes outstandingly slow. The boy counts them and tells himself that his father will not let him die this way. This way is too easy.
Fouteen…
Mom will get home anyway and she’ll stop him.
Fifteen….
He’ll let you up so he can light another cigarette.
Sixteen…
Maybe he’ll get bored
Seventeen…
Or maybe he won’t
Eighteen…
Panic rises in his chest like bile. The boy can taste it in his mouth. Panic doesn’t taste good.
Nineteen…
Panic tastes like fear and fear tastes like hell. And hell burns, burns his brain and his lungs. His lungs—god they want to explode.
Twenty, Twenty one…
Maybe death tastes better. Maybe it tastes like peppermint. Cold and strong but sugary nonetheless.
Twenty-two
The man brings him up, drops him on the ground. “Clean this water up.”
Zoom out.
The boy is older now. Ten years old. His mom has left the night before. He replies the event in his mind.
“He’ll kill me if I don’t get out of here.”
“Take me with you.”
She didn’t listen.
He doesn’t understand why. Maybe because she never wanted a baby in the first place.
The man walks in and in his hand is a belt. “Get up.”
The boy wants to say no. He’s never said no to the man before. He wonders how it would feel.
“I said. Get up.”
The man is madder now so it will last longer this time. The boy hops up immediately and even takes his shirt off for the man. The boy turns around and bites his tongue. It won’t be long now… soon he’ll be saved. The boy knows it… he’s seen it. It can’t be long now
Cut to a black screen. Hear the crackling of the picture. This story is over.
Rewind. See it backwards, it’s still just as bloody. The boy’s brother—half brother, beats the man with his own belt. Whip, crack, smash. The man cowers. He isn’t so big after all, is he? The boy feels stronger as he watches but his confidence suddenly turns to fear as his father crawls away and grabs a vase, throwing it at his half-brother’s head. More blood. More glass. The boy runs. He goes upstairs and into his father’s bedroom, underneath his father’s bed. His heart hammers as he sees the little black box with a gun nestled inside.
You can see where this is going?
Press Stop. No one needs to see it twice.