Rhodeydiamond's Journals

Hiatus

I think I'm going on a hiatus for a few weeks. I haven't really been feeling that great generally and I've felt pretty much ignored everywhere. So I'm just gonna disappear for a little bit I think and try to regain my apathy towards people not caring about me.

Anyways, happy christmas to everyone and happy new year. I'll be back by Jan, I'm sure.

l8rs.

Thanks. ^_^

Thanks to whomever requested that I was featured. Idk who, but I really appreciate it. Thankies for thinking my cereal pic was special. :D

Ombre preview/WIP

This is what I have so far for my original character Ombre's profile. I'm posting this now, mostly just to motivate myself to finish it. Feel free to tell me what you think of it so far. I don't think a lot will be changed to these bits, but I'll see. Anyways, enjoy/opinion it.

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Ombre Profile Preview - Work in Progress
--FleuretteLJ (rhodeydiamond/Hg)

“You’re not really my mother! My real mother is dead! You’re just a cheap knockoff!”

Ombre watched the screen with seized breath, his smoky gray eyes trained to the image of a sobbing blonde with a reddened, rage wrinkled nose. It came on his exhale, or he exhaled when it came; the loud clap of a smack across the cheek, the stepmother showing disgust and dominance over the sullen teenager. Ombre was a sucker for these movies, evil stepparents and rebelling youths. No matter how hackneyed and melodramatic, the kept him company in the dark apartment while he awaited his roommate Leau’s return from work. However, it wasn’t just a pastime to him. Every one of those movies were a dramatized version of the 18 years of his life, or at least a mirror of the first few years of it.

Ombre closed his smoke gray eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose to fight the rising tension in his head. He stared at the darkness bestowed by his eyelids, letting it completely consume his thoughts. Usually this would help, but this time the memories crept out from the corners and lit up his protective black with images from his youth. He could see their faces, one long with dark red scruff, the other round and pale. There were blinks of feminine hands reaching toward him and one thick skinned hand reaching to pat his head. They had belonged to his parents, a middle-aged Parisian couple moving to America because of business....

Self-loathing/pity/frustration/stupidity

I'm tired but can't sleep. I want to, but I don't anyway. I don't want to dream. I'm afraid of what my mind will do to me.

I had no idea I was still as stupid as I am. Such an emo girl. And its so obvious how pathetic and stupid I am.

Why am I the only one who can't move on? He's probably forgotten all about me or he just doesn't care (not like he ever did).

I wish I could just forget myself, cause I'm the stupid one, or run away from everything. I could just go. Drive and drive and drive till daylight hit, but then I would probably just feel worse.

Either way I'm the weak one. I'm the one who's always fucked up and stupid.

/Devenir l'eau/ - an original OneShot

This is a little bio for one of my original character, Leau. I think it sufficiently explains his past (but kind of lazily glosses over the present cause I was hitting roadblocks ). So, hopefully someone will read this and it will help them become more interested in my OCs.

I plan on writing bios for Ombre and aiR (my other OCs) as well soon.
Oh and devenir l'eau = to be come water (+/- an article or two cause I suck at remembering which verbs need articles and when...)

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/Devenir l'eau/ - by FleuretteLJ (rhodeydiamond/Hg)

It was 2:14am and Leau couldn’t sleep. His copper tinged skin was tingling, causing a constant dull itch. Static seemed to be erupting from his powder blue hair while his blood shuffled through his veins wildly. Every part of his body was reacting from the storm raging outside his bedroom window. It shot torrents of water against the humid glass and occasionally illuminated the room in pale white flashes that made Leau shudder. His long thin body was drawn to it, dying to be one with its liquid cousin, while every lighting strike further enraptured his skin with tingles. Leau rolled out of bed and headed towards the bathroom, determined to get the rest he needed to last the 10hr shift he had to look forward to in the morning. He pushed open the creaky door and entered the windowless room. He sighed as he entered the cool security of his tub, the only place that calmed him down during rough storms, mostly because it was the only place where he could cloak himself without making a mess. He laid himself down, his back against the blue colored metal, his long legs curled to his chest, and closed his eyes. He allowed himself to relax, feeling the water molecules in the air around him, allowing them to react with him and gather about him, causing a faint blue light to appear around his body. Slowly that light expanded and filled with a pool of water. Normally he didn’t need to concentrate so hard to achieve his cloak, but he needed it to remain once his was asleep and unconscious so a lengthy setup was required. Once the cloak was set, Leau began to mediate his body functions and convert his breathing to pull the oxygen from the molecules around him. When that task was finished, Leau allowed his mind to finally let go and wander into his memories.

There were many things that Leau could not remember. His hometown was a blur to him. The faces of his parents and even his last name were a fog, only recallable after minutes of concentration or in the shadows of his dreams. His entire life before the age of 6 was nonexistent and most of the things he did know and remember were taught or filtered to him through the BORAI, Bio-Organic Research and Industry, the once government funded organization that made him the specimen he was today. They claimed he was always special, always ripe for the plans they wanted to attempt. The way he was born, his stem cells were surprisingly receptive to mutation and mimicry. They said the humidity in the air was absorbed by those cells, causing the blue tuffs of hair that lived on top of his newborn head. They said it was only natural for him to be a part of the tests, that his parents wanted it for him, and that the results would better the world. He never believed that and, as the years wore on, he learned that his hunch was correct. Leau was not the only child at BORAI, there were at least three dozen present, though he was never allowed to talk to any of them. They were just other specimens subjugated to X-rays, scans, radiation, and “organic ingestibles to make you strong.” There was much sickness and much death. Leau could remember days spent in the infirmary, his insides raging and wracked with fever, with other children, just as sick as him, writhing next to him. He saw them die. He saw the way the doctors poked at their remains, right in front of him, not caring if he saw and assuming he’d die soon as well. They also never called him by his birth name, preferring to call him and the others by the numbers that were etched into silver medallions on necklaces or bracelets. They didn’t really expect the experiments to result in anything but death, so kids like Leau who continued to survive the tests were constantly under surveillance and endless blood transfusions. It took years for him to develop a full understanding of what was done to him. BORAI’s goal had been to find a way to cause human cells to shift and reflect whatever stimuli given, like the camouflage reflex of a chameleon. After a while, they noticed that for the specimens who did not die from the experiments, their stemcells seemed to single out certain stimuli to mimic and sometimes even merge with the select trigger. In Leau’s case, his cells reacted best with water, easily absorbing the liquid without causing bloating or increase in weight. This finding gained him the new name of Leau which literally meant “the water.” With further tests, experiments, and practice, Leau was able to isolate and extract water molecules and control them. He didn’t know if it was from the radiation or the “organic ingestibles” or both that turned him into a comic book freak, but the doctors had insisted that his own body’s predisposed affinity with water is what allowed it. Whatever the true cause, the results and abilities garnered were not enough to appease the government funders (especially since a disgruntled former scientist was threatening to expose the project) and the project was abandoned. By this time, Leau was 14 with no ties to the real world or a place to go. All he had to his name was a fake birth certificate and social security card (he knew it was fake because it had his new name), a meager sum of money, and the chain bracelet that had his specimen number (#8912). He could hardly find food and a job let alone control his new abilities. It took three years of trial and error, a nomadic existence, and necessity for Leau to finally gain control and learn more techniques, like cloaking and healing. During his travels he met few like himself and even fewer who were willing to talk. It wasn’t till he’d landed in Oakferry, that he found a reason to settle. That reason had been in the shape of a pale boy named Ombre who had red-orange hair and a specimen number hanging around his neck.

The aforementioned Ombre was just waking up when he noticed Leau missing from his spot on the bed next to him. Knowing what happened, he got up and walked to the bathroom. He opened the door with a creak, revealing his dearest friend in a glowing blue cocoon of water. Leau sighed into the water around him as his dreams continued to stroll through his memories. Ombre knocked his fist against the door causing Leau to toss restlessly before awakening, causing his cloak to erupt around him and flow down the tub’s drain. He gave his head a shake and tossed a towel over his powdery blue hair before getting out of the tub stiffly. He gave Ombre a pained look and stretched his arms and back. Ombre countered with a grin before leaving him to his morning routine. Leau gave another stretch before letting his gaze fall to the bathroom mirror. His blue eyes gleamed against his dark skin, but were slightly blood shot from his night. Leau sighed, towel dried his hair, and then left the small room to prepare for the rest of his ordinary day.

E. Queens Preview

Long story short, I was fairly certain I lost this and would have to type everything I had up from the beginning (Mac HATES Microsoft Word so all my backup files are like useless. :( ), but I sent this to a friend in like Jan and finally found the email in my sent files so here it is.

Yes, this is the very first part of my book of connected short stories that I'm kinda writers blocked with right now. Its called Enecs Queens and it about scene queens *gasp* *big surprise* Its really dramatic in my head so hopefully it'll be just as dramatic on paper. This part is an introduction, and basically acquaints you with some of the people in the enecs world. I think thats all the lead in you need. I won't tell you any of my other feelings about it cause they're all self-depreciating.

Attempt to enjoy it. And be brutally honest with what you think so far. *crosses fingers and hopes for the best*

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Enecs Queens
(c) By Fleurette Louis-Jacques (aka Rhodeydiamond aka asleepingdeath/valiaclaire on LJ)

Part I

i. Enecs: An Introduction

“Shit. 10 Minutes,” Dimona muttered after a quick glance towards her bright blue alarm clock.

Dimona Reed began rushing around her room with renewed fervor as she finished up preparations for her weekly webcam show. It was an hour long music review and chat show on one of the internet’s hottest webcam sites, CanCam. Granted, she was a regular girl, 19 and attending university, but this show was slowly absorbing her life and giving her a name. Likewise, kids who had similar shows and lifestyles were also absorbing others into their world, the Enecs world. So as she raced to find her studded belt, the urgency didn’t seem so absurd. Dimona smiled as she found the accessory and applied it to her waist, letting it hang casually over her tight purple pants. She took a glance at the mirror to make sure everything looked right. Her shoulder length black hair was lengthened with extensions and her bleached white bangs hung loosely in the front with a red polka dot bow accenting them. The fake hair flowed over her shoulders, slightly covering her modest chest and self-tattered white band t-shirt. The white shirt glowed against her milk chocolate skin, and she smiled at the look with a hint of confidence. Beneath that a long sleeve fishnet shirt hugged her long, painfully thin frame. The only thing left were the purple skinny jeans and belt.

“Okay, its show time,” Dimona said with impish delight.

She sat down at her desk and woke her sleeping laptop. Idlely she twirled around in her chair, spinning slowly to face the wall behind her. She considered the colorful band posters that absorbed her once white wall and squinted at a few titles on her packed bookshelf. She began to let her mind wander as she stared, until she was brought back to the present by the shrill alert of her instant messenger. She spun around quickly and scooted close to the desk, reading the blinking message that awaited her.

“xHellishxHelenax: Wake the fuck up, Mona, you slut. Its time tuh rize.”
Dimona smiled to herself and shook her head, “Yes, its time.”

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“Hello, babes, and welcome to KrushCam! This is your weekly dose of ‘muse-ack’ and chat. I’ve got a pretty loose show today, so relax and kick your feet up and get ready, ‘cause here we go,” Mona Krush said with a toothy grin, her brown eyes staring intently at her built-in webcam.
Covering her computer screen was the live camera window. Her own face smiled at her, mirroring the image seen by the other people in the room, the viewers signed in whose own faces also looked back at her, allowing her to see their actions as they saw hers. There were a total of 50 viewers actively signed in for the chat, though only 8 were shown to her in the corner of her screen, the rest were chatting in colorful text in a chat box below the webcam boxes. It was an elaborate system, but Mona was more into the use of it than the beauty.

“Okay so first off and very quickly, I’d like to remind everyone that KrushCam is almost two years old. Feel free to applaud that,” Mona said with a small laugh, “And the total page views hit one million yesterday and the live views are a little above half that, so thank you much to everyone who’s ever wandered on to my page and who’s ever glanced at this show. It’s a pretty nice feeling.”

“DaisyGirl: Ur welcome, dear
XMyRomancex: U’re like the staple of my weekend video blogs,” read a few of the typed responses that appeared, as all the other window’s were muted but Mona’s.

“Oh,” Mona giggled as she continued, “much love to the regulars; Daisy, Romance, Bella, Rachel, and DanishDoll. I never get sick of seeing of seeing your faces. Thanks for the loyalty, thanks for the memories…. Hmm, anyways, we should get started.”

“RachIsGawd: You covering the new Ambrose this week?,” Rachel asked among the mini discussions that always went on in the room.

Mona quit riffling through her cds to read the comment, “Yeah, if you’d let me get to it,” she answered, then pulled out the cd she was looking for and continued, “Okay, this is the new Ambrose cd. It’s called ‘Elizabethan Sheep.’ It comes out tomorrow, but I got it like four days ago because of the delightful preorder errors. The first single, ’Dedicated to Abbey,’ is something we already know and love. The rest of the songs are basically an enigma for non-preorder people cause this is one of the few albums that wasn’t leaked prematurely…. Oh, Daisy, get your mind out of the gutter… Ha!… Anyway, the rest of the album is a lot like the first single. This is a more electronic, danceable Ambrose and you can see the influence of the other bands on their label Candy Apple Records. Its pretty obvious that ‘Rockers’ is meant to be the dance anthem for this year, but it’s not the strongest song at all. ‘Crass Emotion’ has to be the best song on the album. It’s a really weird mishmash of keyboard and acoustic guitar and the lyrics are really sweet. The next best song would have to be ‘Corsets and Lace,’ cause Solace sings! Yes! It is SO epic. Amber Solace, everyone’s favorite Ambrose guitarist, does the backup vocals for Miss Amber Devil and adds a really…I don’t know, dynamic aspect? Her voice is not what you’d expect, its shrill but controlled, and it compliments Devi to a tee. But anyways, definitely buy it.

“On a much heavier note, have you guys heard the Pale In Comparison news?…No?… Good. It only broke a couple of hours ago, but apparently ‘Sexy Anorexic’ is being taken off the upcoming album, and as of tomorrow the music video will be pulled and the single EP will be no longer sold. … Shush! I’ll explain. Apparently the critics panned the hell out of it and parents were outraged about the song and the music video. Candy Apple is refusing to back PIC on it and are bending to the complaints. So download the hell out of it now while you can… Yes, it is completely ridiculous. There is nothing pro-ana about the song at all but apparently it’s because of the ’violent and offensive nature of the lyrics and the graphic, negative images of the music video.’ And it’s like, Candy Apple knew what PIC was like before they signed them, so what did they expect? PIC shouldn’t have to lose everything they’re about ‘cause they’re on a bigger label, but at the same time, PIC should have seen this coming…. And what the fuck? Why are people typing in all caps?”

Twilight news

Apparently Bryce Dallas Howard is gonna be replacing that Rachelle Lefevre as "Victoria".

Am I the only one who's completely thrilled by this? I love Bryce, especially with red hair. I was going to see it anyways cause I'm a fan, but now I HAVE to see it cause of her. Seriously. She's lovely.

Even if I...

"Even if i spend 2004, listening to Morrissey in my car, I' more better off alone than I would be in your arms"

I think thats how the lyric goes. I'm trying my very hardest not to do anything stupid. But time doesn't seem to be doing anything but make me more desperate and more lonely. He probably barely remembers me. I'm sure he's probably over it, over me, forgotten all the feelings (if he ever had feelings). Why do I have to feel like I'm the only one hurting? I'm ripped apart, between hate for myself and loneliness, feeling like I should be over him, so over him, and then hating him for not caring about me, and then hating myself for hating him. It makes me sick to think of everything, to speculate.

Today is the first day that I went outside and it didn't rain. So its the first day I've been outside and actually under the sun in a while, probably 2weeks. It feels so weird to be out and about. I dislike the sun. I dislike being out in the world. I don't want to be among people, it hurts too much and its maddening. Its just....I don't want the world to see me. Lonely but I don't want to be near anyone.

I don't make sense. I never make sense. My feelings are just a ball of knotted christmas lights. Just when you think you've finally gotten a string loose, you notice its just as loopy as it was in the beginning. You're just lucky that you don't accidentally break something....

My condolences

I'm so sick of people dying, especially people that I've looked up to. Michael Jackson was the last person I was expecting to die next. He's a legend, no matter what is said and done. At the end of the day, he is a legend and also a human being with children and family and friends. When someone dies you focus on the good and fuck the bad. It makes me so sad to know that he's dead, a person that I grew up with and who all my favorite musicians looked up to. Its so fucked up and to be honest I don't want to hear about it anymore. I just learned that Marlon Jackson found out about Michael's death through the news reports on television. That is so fucked up.

Also RIP Farrah Fawcett too, sorry your death got tossed aside.

Bummed, bummed, bummed out.

Disappear

Feeling pretty low lately. Or maybe more low than what was once the usual. My dreams are cruel to me, yet I sleep as much as I can. I hate the thoughts that swirl in my head. I hate the things that I think I see. And I hate feeling so abandoned and ignored and unwanted and.....I don't know. Every part of me just feels so disgusting and lame and whiney and so so so so pathetic. I feel like the safest thing to do is sleep, stops me from saying, doing, or sending stupid things.

Maybe its best to ignore me and eventually I'll just disappear. *curls up in bed**naps*