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The Group Home

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Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Lord Saladin on Wed Feb 14, 2007 11:46 am

Jon was a quiet boy, very intravert. He rarely spoke to anyone. For him, he just wanted to melt away into the background and disappear. He hated being in large groups, and hated being the centre of attention. Sometimes it seemed to others as though he had lost the ability of speech. He just didn't want people to notice him, and the silent are rarely noticed.

Hidden deep within was a pain that seared his soul, a loss that caused wounds that would never heal. He never talked about it, but the fifteen year old was known to cry himself to sleep on quite a high number of occasions, and yet he never talked about his pain. Not wanting to burden those he cared about.

He was a lad who was of a medium to large build, his hair brown, and at the length where it was considered scruffy, like a mop of auburn. His eyes were of an emerald hue, yellow spikes inside his irises. He hadn't yet needed to shave more than a few times a month, but he felt much older than he truly was.

His clothes were loose and all encompassing, covering his entire body except for his fingers, his long sleeved tops had holes cut into them to place his thumbs through so that his hands were covered to the knuckles. The reason for this were known only to a few. Covering his entire body, were long, deep, straight scars, all from the previous year.

No, he wasn't an abused child. He had caused those scars himself. They were without number, his body covered from his shoulders, down to ankles in self-inflicted scars. Even now, some were still scabbing over, but he somehow found a release in removing the scabs and watching the blood flow from his wounds.

He had been sent here because his parents could no longer cope, themselves suffering depression from watching their oldest child be in such pain but not revealing a thing as to the cause. For him, his pain was personal, he had to bear it on his own. Not to burden anyone else around him.

At school he was an outcast, often to be found wandering the grounds, even when he should be at class. An intelligent young man, despite his low attendance, he was estimated very high grades in all of his subjects. It was just that he couldn't, somehow, find the motivation.

Regardless of his distance to those around him, he was a very caring and affectionate young man, and many who knew him did, in fact, hold him high regard. Even though he thought of himself as a nothing and a nobody.

Upon founding out about his moving into the house, he had spent the following month in his room. It had been not long after his Grand-dad had passed away, and somehow, it seemed to break him in two. All he did was lay in bed all day, staring at the ceiling, his walkman beside him, the headphones in his ears, listening to heavy metal. He had had to be forced to eat, oterwise he would have laid there all day, staring at the ceiling.

Finally the day had come for him to enter the house. He had spent the night before crying, the knife that he owned, kept a secret from everyone had spent the eight hours between when his parents went to bed and them awaking, piercing and tearing his skin open. That night, all of his body had bled. And as the physical pain filled his mind, he found that the tears had left him, the pain of the cuts stopping his emotional pain somehow.

That morning, he refused to eat, and as he walked outside, without saying a word to his parents, they sat and, whilst in each other's arms, they cried, for nearly an hour, tears fell down their faces. Jon simply waited by the car, with the single hold-all bag that had his most prized posessions, his CDs, his walkman and only a few clothes.

Finally, he began the journey to the house. It was a silent journey, and in his pocket was the knife which he had taken with him, no-one yet knowing about it. He doubted that anyone would ever find out about it. His hand was in his pocket, almost as a reminder that it was there, as though he yearned for it's embrace.

Upon arriving at the house, the blonde haired hag, Rose, was at the door, waiting for them. He had met her before, but did not like her at all. He walked straight past her and through the house, out into the back garden, ignoring all the others in the house.

He had always had an interest in Martial Arts, for him it was a way to clear his mind of anything, even though he had never had any formal training, he had learned from books and the many Hong Kong films that he watched repeatedly, imitating the movements, till it was, in his mind, perfect.

Standing in the middle of the garden, he dumped his bag to the side of him on the neatly cut grass. Then making his feet over double shoulder's width apart, he turned his toes to point inwards, whilst bending his knees to such an extent that his thighs were parallel to the ground. His arms were positioned horizontal, straight out from his body in front of him, palms pointing outwards as he stretched his wrists back.

There he stood, still, silent, until after dark, his mind was elsewhere, remebering the pain he had forced himself to bear for so long, focusing on the burning sensation that covered his body in its entirety from the previous night's relieving assault. The burning he accepted as his punishment, for weakness.

He ignored any that called his name, feeling the wounds, under his clothes, in his legs and arms slowly tearing open once more as he stood there.



I hope you don't mind me joining. And sorry about the graphicness of the post. I will be honest and say that I read the very first post and nothing else -- it was too much to read for my brain. However, from what I saw, it seemed almost as a way to get into the minds of troubled kids, which is what I have started here with Jon. I hope it is Ok, and that I was right in my assumption?
Last edited by Lord Saladin on Sat Feb 02, 2008 5:59 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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Please tell me now what life is, Please tell me now what love is... Again, tell me what life is.

Tiko says: Saladin: Damn it, leave my hole alone.

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Tips: 0.00 INK Postby miyumi on Thu Feb 15, 2007 12:17 am

Saladin, of course you are welcome to join this rp, and any rp I start!

As for your assumption, there is really a couple purposes behind this, and that is one possibility for those who post in it. I don't blame you for not reading the rest, it really is a lot to read! Try to read it when you get the chance, little-by-little if you have to.

As far as graphics goes, I'm fine with blood and gore, it's rape I would rather people skim over if it happens. I would like to note that if someone decides to include rape, as I know it happens in many group homes, I would prefer it to not be spelled out, and that the rapist would be an npc. This, however, is just my preferences, and I don't really have control over what characters a person decides to create here. As far as I can tell, those posting are mostly an adult crowd.

Also, I don't think I'll be playing Nicola constantly, like I do with Mary. Nicola's more of a when-she-fits character. I don't even really have much of a back-story for her. Might even let her be an npc... as long as those who decide to use her stay true to what I've already set in writing for her.

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Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Nils on Fri Feb 23, 2007 4:56 pm

OOC: Nice post, Saladin, really nice post. But, just to give you some background, we (miyumi, Ingrid, Julian Strangeways??, and I) have started on some kind of plot already. We haven't reached an important turning point yet, but if you skim page 2, there are already inklings of a storyline. You are very welcome to join this story arc. If you need a summary, I can PM you one.

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Tips: 0.00 INK Postby pixelgami on Fri Feb 23, 2007 6:09 pm

OOC: Um... yeah...

Soon, with Mary tucked in to sleep, Miss Rose slipped a light backpack from under the girl's bed. With trembling fingers she unzipped the bag to find the only belongings the girl had. She would need to pack more clothes for her, Miss Rose realized. With one last look at the figure in the bed, she reluctantly left Mary to sleep to go pack her and her own bags for their journey in the morning.

The final items were packed, and she latched the suitcase. A cat's meow sounded behind her and leapt into Miss Rose's lap. It was Tartan, and she could make out in the dim light the tortoise-shell patterns in the cat's fur exquisitely resembling plaid. She yielded to Tartan's comforting purr. Moments later, Miss Rose's glasses slipped a bit down her nose as her head gently pitched back onto the headrest of the chair and she slowly drifted off into sleep.


He had carried a wicker basket with him, and she had told him that she did not have time for picnics. He just chuckled gently.

"Hello, Siobhan." He let his smile linger on his face, knowing that it was slowly infuriating her.

"Hello, Albert."

"It has been a very long time. I'm glad I've finally reached you... that you're here. What have you been doing all this time?"

She replied with silence at first and fixed him with a sullen look. "I've read your work, all the journals and papers."

"Have you?" his eyebrows jumping in mock surprise. "Well, to be humble, I could not have done so without your help. If it weren't for you, I'd still be experimenting with lab rats." He paused, catching her eye. "And, Siobhan, I was willing to credit you in everything I did. Do you know what we could have done together? I still can't believe you refus--"

She cut him off. "It's not that, Albert. Yes, you've taken my research to great distances. But to the highest empyreans of heaven or the lowest circles of hell, I don't know."

His smile was gone now, his dark eyes studying her face, but she stared resolutely back at him. "Your moralizing has kept you from becoming great." Then, suddenly, his face brightened as he set the basket he carried onto the table. "But let us stop reminiscing about the past, Siobhan, when I have brought the future to you in a wicker basket!"

He removed the lid from the basket and with both hands produced something from within. Giving Siobhan a playfully surreptitious grin and wink, he said, "I believe you'll recognize this."

For a moment, she gazed unblinkingly, speechless, but reeling. Her mouth was open in wonder and then in horror. It was a tortoise-shelled cat, at least in color, with black, white, and cinnamon orange fur. Albert set it on the table, and she marveled at its behavior, shy as the unfolding of the petals of a sunflower. It mewed. It was striped, but in such a way it seemed to crisscross, forming a pattern reminiscent of plaid cloth. It was as if it were a cat made of plaid cloth come to life. Exquisite. Its pert pink nose sniffed the air. It cautiously put out a paw and licked it. As the darling feline eyes gazed evenly back at her, she noticed that Albert even recreated the scar on his ear. Yes, it was masterpiece. Vogelsang was a virtuoso and this was a masterpiece. Out of the randomness of nature there was a single original animal, and he had recreated it.

"I want you to have him."

In their line of work, it was simply a masterpiece. How far he had come with her research. He had taken it past experimentation, beyond where no man had gone before, and into an artform.

"Siobhan."

"What? What, A-Albert? No... NO." It was a monster, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from its lithe form, the exquisite patterns on its fur. Out of the randomness of nature, there could only be one animal as original as this, and only one could have created it, and that was God.

"Do you know what this could mean? If I could do this... I... who knows what more we could do? In a few more years, who knows how quickly we could advance. Perhaps, I could even bring back..."

"Don't you dare say her name. This is all a game to you. I do not,
do not want to play your damned games."

She refused to look up at him. Without looking up at him, she left the table, leaving Albert with the cat, his dark eyes boring into her retreating back.

"You could have been a god, Siobhan."


How long ago that was. How she had changed. How she had sacrificed.

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Tips: 0.00 INK Postby miyumi on Tue Mar 06, 2007 8:46 pm

Mary woke on the bed to find Miss Rose asleep with a tortoise-shell cat on her lap. Being slightly shy, the girl did not dare approach the sleeping woman with the cat, and she did not dare hope that the cat would approach her. So she watched the cat's every breath, every flick of tail, every twitch of ear. As she watched, a random memory floated across her vision.

"Look Mary," her sister said pointing, "it's a cat, over there, under the bush. It looks black. Some say black cats are bad luck, but I think they are just cats. Aren't animals beautiful Mary?"

The young girl looked down at her shirt. She had always envied her sister's t-shirt, which had a picture of a unicorn, but now she connected the yarn on one side with the paw-prints on the other and realized her shirt was about a cat who had wandered off to play with another toy. She still wanted her sister's shirt, but she liked her own, yellow one a bit better now.

She looked up and smiled at her sister, who smiled back, having no clue how much thought the youngling had in that brief moment. The older sister pulled Mary onto her prickly, needing-to-be-shaved lap and ran her fingers through her hair. Her voice was wishful and far away.

"Someday Mary, our family will be normal again. Mommy will get better, and she and Daddy will be able to care for you. Where ever they take you, remember, we love you and want you."

The older sister didn't know that Mary could tell, she didn't really believe what she was saying. Mary just smiled and hugged her sister, who gave her a never let go, hug all the air out, comfort-self squeeze.

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Tips: 0.00 INK Postby pixelgami on Sat Apr 28, 2007 2:18 pm

Siobhan Rose woke, feeling a pair of little eyes watching her. Little eyes were always watching at the group home, something that made her an insomniac. But the day's events had worn her out.

She opend her eyes and rolled her head to the side to find Mary watching her with her dreamy, shy eyes. Siobhan wished she could smile. She lifted her wrist to look at her watch.


"Come on, Mary," said Miss Rose briskly. Tartan leapt off her lap as she rose from her chair. "We should go now. It's time to get dressed."

She hoisted the backpack and the dufflebag of clothes and supplies, supplies that would last them for a few days. She patted her hip, at the pocket where a pair of tickets lay.

Then she went to a drawer to produce a pair of pants and a worn yellow shirt, something the girl must have brought with her when she first arrived at the group home. Siobhan hesitated for a moment. She did not know if the child knew how to dress herself. She had never interacted with the children. The staff did, Miss Violet did, but she stood in the wings, watching, calculating, carefully printing figures into her black leather ledger. But with this one, Siobhan was almost afraid, as if she feared that the child would evaporate before her eyes at her touch. But time was running out...


"Arms up, " she said tersely, leaning down to change the child's shirt. "We have a long trip ahead of us."

It was a gray morning. Everyone else was still asleep, but the city was always awake. They hailed a taxi and Miss Rose told the driver to take them to the subway. From there they would travel to the airport and from there Siobhan Rose was unsure.

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Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Nils on Sun May 06, 2007 12:20 am

The bottles and syringes rattled in his black leather doctor's case as Albert Vogelsang walked toward his car. He paused to repack them. He carefully laid them out on the hood of his car and secured them into the elastic loops and pockets. The cold metal barrel of the gun rested in the palm of his hand as he considered it a moment before putting it in his coat pocket. Then he relatched the lock to his leather case. The sky was a steel gray, and the air smelled of rain.

There was a crunch of gravel behind him.


"Dr. Birdie." a tiny voice broke through his reverie. "Where are you going?"

"I'm sorry, Elysia. I'm going to go see Julian and... an old friend."

The child said nothing, but fixed him with a clear, gray-eyed gaze. He knelt beside her and urged her to return to the compound. Vogelsang had nothing more to say to her.

He turned the ignition and began to drive.

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Albert "Birdie" Vogelsang

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Nils on Mon May 21, 2007 7:15 pm

The sleek black car cut through the verdant fields once more. Already, raindrops were splattering against the windshield. The windshied wipers beat a monotonous rhythm in the silence, save for the sound of the torrent of rain splattering against the glass.

Albert Vogelsang's knuckles were white against the steering wheel. His breathing was slow and steady. The gun was heavy in his pocket.


She had said, "Don't you have a conscience?"

He just smiled a jocular smile, said nothing, and boarded the jet. "Good-bye, Siobhan. 'Til we meet again."


How did this come to be? He had believed that their paths had been separated ever since that day. Even as he uttered the words, " 'Til we meet again," the words were metallic against his mouth. He knew he did not mean it. And neither did Siobhan. He would continue the research, the project, gain fame and riches perhaps. She would give up her work, disappear under the protection of the government, and as she put it, "Begin again."

He did not wonder what her motives were now. It was all very clear to him now in the silence of the car making a beeline toward her.


It was called GenX. The Genesis Project. Genesis Laboratories. And her name was Jenny.

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Re: The Group Home

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby miyumi on Wed Jun 06, 2007 8:04 am

Mary stared at the clothes as the woman pulled them out of the drawer. They looked vaguely familiar, but she didn't recognize them as hers. There was little she recognized as hers. But, at the familiar command, her own restraint was gone, and she eagerly put her arms straight and high, above her head. For once she wasn't going to have to struggle with trying to dress herself! Bad, you know they usually dress you when they're in a rush. She trotted alongside Miss Rose, trusting her utterly. Wherever this woman was taking her, it had to be someplace good. Maybe I'm going to see Mommy and Daddy again! Her step picked up a slight bounce as they walked.

At the edge of the street, she balanced on the curb while Miss Rose hailed the taxi. She grinned in excitement as she heard. I wonder what a subway is! Maybe I can ask? It sounds like fun. Sliding into the taxi, she pressed her face against the window to watch the city slide by. Her voice was quiet, a little unsure of what reaction she would get.


Mizz Rose? What's a subway?

She didn't even look at the woman, not wanting to miss one second of where they were going.

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Re: The Group Home

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby pixelgami on Tue Jun 12, 2007 4:04 pm

It had been a very long time since she had stepped foot out of the Light and Hope Group Home. It had been her life, and she let it consume her, so that she didn't have to think. But now that she was out, she felt weightless and without support.

Indeed she was very much alone in this world. As her eyes were trained ahead at the cab's windshield wipers moving methodically back and forth, her mind flicked through a list of names that she could possibly turn to, but each one turned to be for naught.


"Mizz Rose? What's a subway?

Slightly surprised, Siobhan turned to look at the little girl. Ever since Mary had arrived at the Group Home it was obvious that she was not much of a talker. Siobhan suspected it may had been due to the girl's violent past; it was something she could never forgive herself for doing, but she had to. She took Mary's curiosity as a blessing.

She put a hand on the girl's head and tried to smooth out her hair, still mussed up from sleep.


"A subway is a train, Mary. It is very fast and very loud and crowded. When we get there will be many people there waiting to ride the train." Her hand stopped stroking Mary's hair. "You will have to hold my hand so you don't get lost. There are many bad people outside of the Group Home. They could take you away from me and hurt you."

Siobhan stopped there, unaccustomed to talking to children. She watched the child to see if she understood or whether she would retaliate.

"Do you understand, Mary?"

In a few moments the taxi would round the corner to stop at the subway station. Her eyes flicked compulsively to the watch on her wrist. Her hands patted her pocket again for the plane tickets, and when she was afraid that she was going to wear the fabric of her pocket thin, she nervously played with the locket around her neck. In the back of her mind she wondered briefly whether or not she had packed an umbrella.

She borrowed an old newspaper that was laying in the driver's seat of the taxi. After paying for the ride she covered Mary's head with a sheet, while she left her own bare. She couldn't afford to have the child catch a cold during a trip like this.


"Take my hand," she ordered, after helping the child into her bookbag of belongings.

Hoisting her suitcase into her free arm, without another word, Siobhan and Mary made their way down to the subway.

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Re: The Group Home

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby miyumi on Sun Jun 24, 2007 8:28 am

Mary's eyes grew to twice their usual size. She didn't like crowded noisy places. A train underground sounded fun, but not the crowd with it. She decided then and there that she wasn't going to like it. She did hear the caution about bad people outside the group home, and it sunk in more than it appeared to from the outside. She knew all about bad people. She nodded a little when asked if she understood, and continued watching outside the window. The whole thing felt awkward. Was she being taken back to her parents? Or had something happened to her parents and she needed to move again? As they stepped out of the cab, Mary smiled at the newspaper placed over her head. It reminded her of her father. She held it with one hand to keep it from blowing away, switching hands to get her bookbag on and then switching back so she could reach up and take Miz Rose's hand.

As promised, the subway was quite crowded and noisy. Mary kept a tight grip on the woman's hand, not wanting to get lost in a place like this. Like she had at the mall before she came to the group home. She didn't like malls either. It was almost as crowded at a mall as at a subway. Her imaginary friends stayed on her shoulder and chattered in her ear in a stream of reasurring babble which she didn't respond to. Not out loud. Not in front of Miz Rose. As they got on the train, Mary snatched a seat, then when everyone was settled, stood to let Miz Rose sit on it, intending on sitting on her lap. She looked up at Miz Rose, wondering if she would take the seat.


Would you like to sit Miz Rose?

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Re: The Group Home

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Kill_goregous on Tue Jun 26, 2007 12:02 am

Zack stood, his back propped up against a stone wall. It was on campus but away from where people usually walked. It was Zacks "quiet, and alone" place. A place to get away from the rest of the world, away from the idiots he had to deal with on a daily basis. It was also the place he used to sneak a smoke, when he wanted it. He had not been caught to this day.

The cig hung limply in his mouth, as he looked up to the evening sky. He was thinking, deep in thought about something he liked to keep only to himself. Everything to him seemed much slower in this state, as if time slowed down only for him. He watched as the ash dropped from the end of the cig, and seemed to float down to the soft grass beneath his feet. That was the end of his smoke, so he threw it down, and made sure to stomp the cig out, before walking back twoards the main buiding of the complex. But stopped as he sensed someone watching him. He turned, but saw no one, and decided to head in the direction his sense was showing him. "Hello...." he called out hoping to get an answer, but there was none. He sat around for five more minutes, trying to see anything, or anyone but never could. With a shrug, he tried his best to get rid of the cold feeling of being watched. However, until he almost returned the feeling stuck with him.
"Some are lovers, some are fighters. I'm a different breed. I'm both"

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Re: The Group Home

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby pixelgami on Fri Jun 29, 2007 12:05 pm

Siobhan stared at the girl's gesture, who intended to have Siobhan sit in the seat she saved. A small smile split her serious face, a silent "thank you." The ground beneath her jostled and her eyes flickered back to their surroundings, cautious. The train was already moving.

"Hold on, Mary," she said, guiding the child's hand toward a pole.

Then, she bent down to remove Mary's backpack and stowed their belongings underneath their seat.

For the remainder of the trip, Mary sat in Siobhan's lap. Siobhan held her close; to anyone else they seemed like mother and child.

The train compartment smelled of cigarette smoke. An elderly woman sat across from her with a paper bag of groceries had fallen asleep. She awoke when the train shuddered to a start and smiled at Mary then closed her eyes again. A few men in business suits rifled through their newspapers. A homeless man hugged a bag to himself. A gangly teenaged boy curled up in a seat stared vacantly. Though it was crowded, no one spoke to each other, save for a few girls in the back chattering animatedly.

It was a long trip, but finally the calm recorded voice from the subway speakers announced,
"Next stop, Dublin Airport."

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Re: The Group Home

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby miyumi on Fri Jun 29, 2007 8:38 pm

She had followed him out to the back corner of the fenced in yard, walking incredibly softly for a seven-year-old. Raven hair was pulled back in a pony-tail, keeping it from getting caught in the branches. It wasn't much, just a few trees and some sheltering bushes. She watched him smoke, and promised silently that she wouldn't tell a soul. He looked so cool, standing there smoking, breaking the rules.

As he headed back, she stayed in the bushes. It was a good thing she had, because otherwise he would have seen her. She held her breath until he was on his way back. Once he was almost to the building, she turned her attention towards how to get back without him noticing her. She settled for rushing out of the bushes and towards a different corner of the yard while his back was still turned. The she slowed down to a walk, and headed back inside. It was almost time for dinner, and soon the sun would take itself away, along with the privilege of staying outside. As she got closer to the building, slowly, trying to savor the last few moments of fresh air that would be allowed her that evening, she could smell ham on the breeze. Ham! She was now torn between dashing inside to get to dinner quicker, and lingering outside. She sternly reminded herself that no matter how quickly she got there, they would not be served until the last bit of sun was gone from the horizon. Schooling herself to a slow walk, she reached the doorway with about ten minutes to spare, just enough time to wash her hands and face.

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Re: The Group Home

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Kill_goregous on Fri Jun 29, 2007 11:22 pm

"Im damned hungry" Zack said outloud to hisself, as he welked into his room, and then into the bathroom. He knew it wouldn't be long until he was able to eat, so he quickly washed up then headed for the dining room. As he walked through the doors, he noticed he was the first there. He never liked being the first there. He really didn't know why he disliked it, it was just one of those things. With a frustrated sigh, he walked over and slouched down in one of the chairs, waiting for anyone else that might show themself. This place was usually a bore, but it was home at the same time.

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Re: The Group Home

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby pixelgami on Mon Jul 02, 2007 10:58 am

Miss Violet shuffled from foot to foot as she stood before the stove. Her ankles were bothering her at this age. She just wasn't what she used to be when she was first employed at the Group Home nearly twenty years ago. She had seen some of these kids grow up. and everyday more came in.

When she woke this morning, she found a letter addressed to her. Her name was scrawled across the face of the envelope in Miss Rose's spindly handwriting. Nothing was inside except a list of daily chores and a reminder from Miss Rose of her responsibilities as the temporary Group Home director for the time being. She scanned the letter again for an explanation of Miss Rose's absence, but it said nothing more about her whereabouts.

If it was a vacation, Miss Rose needed it, Miss Violet thought. She had never seen her hit a child before. Poor thing, that Nicola girl. What had she done to deserve it--

The pot she was stirring sputtered violently, jostling her out of her reverie.


"Not wha' I used t' be," she said, shaking her head. She turned the heat down and checked the ham in the oven. It was done, smelling pungently and dripping with juice.

She heard a chair squeak across the floor from the dining room. Someone was already there.

Peeking in to the room next door, she found a gangly boy slouched at the table. At the sight of him, she put her hands on her hips. It was Zach. She knew him by sight. He was a sulky, rebellious looking one. She almost reconsidered asking him to help her get dinner ready lest he break a plate or spill the soup just to spite her.

Nevertheless, she clapped her hands briskly, getting his attention and said,
"Come on, Zack. Come help me set up th' table."

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Re: The Group Home

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Kill_goregous on Wed Jul 04, 2007 11:55 pm

Zack leaned back in the chair, to where his head was upside down, over the back of the chair. He gave her a kind smile as she asked him for help. "Sure thing" he said, then jumped out of the chair, and started over to where Miss Violet was. "What is it that you wan't me to do" he said as he reached her. He honestly didn't feel like helping, but it would be rude to turn down a lady's simple request. It wasn't like she asked him to compete in the 100-meter dash or anything.

He really didn't know Miss Violet, he knew her name and could recognize her, but never had really spoken to her. He figured it was probably the same for her, she just knew who he was. He wondered if she was judging him, based on how little she knew of him, and how he kept his appearance. But "whatever" he thought, he was used to it, and it had stopped phasing him.

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Re: The Group Home

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby pixelgami on Thu Jul 05, 2007 9:17 am

"The dishes are in the lower cabinet by the sink. Silverware in the drawer above it--just the forks and spoons, ple-- oh!

Miss Violet rushed to the pot of soup that was boiling over the sides.

And the bowls are all over the place. You kids take them and put them whichever--I found one of them in the garden the other day--a little girl was trying to make a sand castle! Imagine!

She rushed about, checking on the oven and began pulling on oven mitts.

"Take the plates to the table first. I don't want you trying to balance everything together or dropping it.

She pulled the ham out of the oven slowly. Its deep, crisp smell flooded the kitchen in a much more pungent wave. She wouldn't have to call the children to dinner tonight; the smell alone would draw them to the table.

"After that come back to the kitchen and you can have the first cut of ham for your help."

Miss Violet smiled over her shoulder at Zach as she set the ham down over the sink to cool a bit.

"Now hurry up and get going!"

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Re: The Group Home

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby miyumi on Thu Jul 05, 2007 12:23 pm

Mary sat contentedly on her lap, happy that her gift had been appreciated. She hadn't missed the smile, having been watching the lady carefully for any sign of anything. The smoke bothered her, and the old woman with the paper bag frightened her a little, but her keeper's arms comforted her. She knew she would be fine. Mostly, she chattered in her head to her imaginary friends, three of which sat on her shoulders. She was very careful not to talk to them out loud, and once she smiled as though she was holding laughter in. When the announcer came on, she jumped a bit from startlement. Then she looked up to Miss Rose.

Is that our stop?

She stood carefully, reaching out to hold onto the bar in front of their seat, grasping it just as the train would've made her lose her footing. Slowly it screeched to a halt, and after a couple moments, the doors opened on both sides.

Which side Miss Rose? Which side do we get out on?

She paid close attention, not wanting to get lost way out here, where she didn't know how to get back to the group home.

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Re: The Group Home

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby miyumi on Thu Jul 05, 2007 1:08 pm

Nicola grinned as she heard Miss Violet getting Zach to help her. Good, I'm not too early. While she hated being roped into work, she remembered that Miss Violet would often give small treats for the work. Still, she prefered her freedom. She washed her hands and face, and by the time she was done, she was sure that they would be close to serving. She showed up in the dining room, and without prompting, starting placing the silverware. A young girl like her wasn't allowed to touch breakables like plates and cups for setting the table, but she could set out silverware and napkins for everyone.

Then she took her seat politely at the table, close to where her sharp, violet eyes had caught the boy sitting earlier. Other children came in randomly, and she nodded and smiled at them politely as they took their seats. Her mind raced. Well, Miss Violet would probably assume he had set out the silverware. She hadn't noticed Nicola, who had made sure the woman's back was turned when she darted in and back out again. Occasionally, one of the children would try to start a conversation with her, but Nicola wasn't interested. She wanted to know where Mary was, or to catch Zach's attention somehow.

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