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Post by Florence Leontine Mary Welch on Jul 23, 2011 22:01:17 GMT -5
NO WALLS,
can keep me protected. [/color][/center][/sup][/font] [/color]         [/center]
this post is some amount of words long. x.x
it was written for anybody :3.
[/font][/sup][/right][/color] NO SLEEP, NOTHING IN BETWEEN ME AND THE RAIN
and you can't save me now, i'm in the grip of a hurricane. Naturally, Florence Welch resided in a chair as she sat backstage, legs stretched out to rest on another chair across from her as she relaxed. Gray eyes surveyed the area absently, sending the signals to her brain that it seemed rather empty. The show had just finished, so there wasn't much to be done at the moment.
Though, perhaps changing might be a positive idea, she realized as she glanced down at the dark dress she'd donned on stage. It wasn't uncomfortable in the least, but it seemed a bit too formal for simply lounging around in. Not to mention she'd probably end up ruining it somehow; a spill of a drink or a stain would be just her luck.
The redheaded singer parted her lips in a wide yawn, propping her elbow up on the back of the chair so she could fit her head into it comfortably as a use of support. She knew it was late; exactly what time, though? She wasn't sure.
She set the idea in the back of her mind to stop and buy a watch somewhere. It seemed that she stopped to shop in every single city with a suitcase that nearly weighed the plane down wherever her and her companions rode, yet she couldn't stop and purchase a simple watch that would most definitely be useful later on.
Florence glanced idly around the stage. It shouldn't be this empty, should it? Perhaps everyone had gone to bed already. It'd been a long show and she was sure she wasn't the only one who was exhausted.
Still, nothing willed her out of her chair.
[/font][/size] I'M GONNA BLOW MYSELF AWAY [/SIZE][/color] CREDIT TO SUPER ECHO?! OF CAUTION 2.0. SHE ROCKS MY LIFE, SO I WON'T DARE STEAL FROM HER UNLESS I WANNA GET MY SPLEEN PULLED OUT THROUGH MY EAR. LYRICS BELONG TO FLORENCE AND THE MACHINE. TOODLE-LOO! [/font] |
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Post by Ashley Beauregard Hannigan on Jul 24, 2011 1:40:05 GMT -5
The shows were the hardest to photograph. Ashley always tried to dodge the thickest clumps of crowds, but in the process of doing that he would end up dwelling in the lightless pits with the oddest of people. He’d be lying, however, if he said that he didn’t have fun at the concerts. It was always fun to photograph the fans reacting to the band – and the band reacting to the fans. He was always intrigued by the way the band’s eyes lit up when they realized how many complete strangers absolutely adored them.
Although, Ashley mused, taking a few last snapshots with his camera, music is pretty personal. They’re not strangers if they see the inner workings of someone’s mind.
But that thought was too poetic to dwell on, especially given the rather late time. His mother had grudgingly accepted that her little boy would have to lose sleep to keep up with the fastly-growing band. Besides, he had gently reminded her that Florence Welch didn’t expect him to have a bedtime.
Now that most of the people had left, Ashley hung his camera around his neck and yawned. He had taken several decent photographs of the band playing, but nothing spectacular enough to put on the band’s official website. He climbed on the platform and slipped backstage silently. He grabbed a bottle of water, oblivious to surroundings. He’d assumed that the band had either gone to the bus or to the hotel – and, judging from the almost eery silence, that seemed to be correct.
That was why he was nearly startled out of his skin when he heard a loud yawn from behind him. He raised his bottle threateningly, prepared to beat any intruders to a bloody pulp with the cold beverage. He took out his camera hesitantly, deciding that if he died valiantly protecting himself with a water bottle, he would like the world to know the murderer.
He walked over to the chair and – as soon as he was close enough to see the flaming red hair – lowered his guard considerably. “Florence,” he said softly, sounding slightly relieved, “you nearly gave me a heart attack.” Ashley smiled at her, and realized after he was done speaking that he was still holding the water bottle as though he were going to thrash her with it. He lowered it sheepishly, mumbling an apology under his breath.
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Post by Florence Leontine Mary Welch on Jul 24, 2011 2:12:03 GMT -5
NO WALLS,
can keep me protected. [/color][/center][/sup][/font] [/color] [/center]
this post is some amount of words long. x.x
it was written for Ash, anybody :3.
[/font][/sup][/right][/color] NO SLEEP, NOTHING IN BETWEEN ME AND THE RAIN
and you can't save me now, i'm in the grip of a hurricane. Sometimes she wished more of the stage-workers were night owls. Florence had been known to suffer awful dreams about things she'd thought up when she was a kid, monsters, demons, everything. Sometimes, though, a couple good songs came out of the fear. Due to this awful yet creative fact, she was up late a lot more than she'd like to be sometimes.
Perhaps it had to do with the suicide of her grandmother and the death of her grandfather, both of which a young shocked Florence had witnessed, that fueled these nightmares. The incidents heightened her fascination with doom, terror, and death, things some wouldn't necessarily find interesting. Perhaps that was what caused it.
It surprised her sometimes that fans had a tendency to know these things about her. Things she'd mentioned once or twice maybe would suddenly send a wave crashing around the world and things had a tendency to find their way up on Wikipedia. She disliked the website just a bit, as she couldn't control what anybody put up about her.
"Florence..."
The mention of her name all of a sudden made her jump slightly, revealing that the skittish photographer was not the only one who could get jumpy late at night.
"You nearly gave me a heart attack."
The redheaded British woman let out a soft laugh; she could definitely say the same about him. The seafoam platinum of her eyes observed the water bottle, equipped to hit her in the face if he so wished.
"That's a good weapon, though," she mused aloud, a grin crossing the vocalist's face. She found the apology completely unnecessary; who wouldn't get creeped out at every single sound this late at night?
[/font][/size] I'M GONNA BLOW MYSELF AWAY [/SIZE][/color] CREDIT TO SUPER ECHO?! OF CAUTION 2.0. SHE ROCKS MY LIFE, SO I WON'T DARE STEAL FROM HER UNLESS I WANNA GET MY SPLEEN PULLED OUT THROUGH MY EAR. LYRICS BELONG TO FLORENCE AND THE MACHINE. TOODLE-LOO! [/font] |
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Post by Ashley Beauregard Hannigan on Jul 24, 2011 2:36:28 GMT -5
A frown crossed his face as the woman jumped. He glanced away respectfully, knowing that he hated when people watched him have the bejeezus scared out of him – one of the reasons he refused to go to horror movies in the theaters or watch them in groups. The last time he had watched a horror movie with someone else – one of the Halloween movies, maybe? – he had ended up with a pillow over his face and his body curled in theirs. He was wimp, and he knew it.
When Florence laughed, indicating that she wasn’t going to pummel Ashley for frightening her, his shoulders loosened up and he looked back at her. He noticed that her eyes were lingering on the water bottle and he frowned. He put the bottle in his camera bag to resist the temptation that may arise to shank someone with it. “That’s a good weapon, though,” the woman told him. He looked from the bag to her face dubiously.
“If I were about to beat somebody senseless,” he said, “I don’t think a water bottle would be very effective. Actually, maybe I’d keel over from laughter. It’s very effective if you want to seem like a total wimp, eh?” he laughed, rubbing his neck self-consciously.
He raised his camera up and snapped a picture of her. He sat cross-legged in a chair to her side, fiddling with a button on his vest. “What are you still doing here?” he asked curiously. Maybe he was a little nosy, but it seemed odd that she’d still be lurking around the concert area when everybody had left. “Are you waiting for someone? Didn’t mean to interrupt you if you were…” he said, trailing off sheepishly.
He almost said something about the weather, but bit his bottom lip to refrain from speaking. It was a habit of him to keep rambling about nothing, especially when he was nervous and didn’t know what to do – which was often the case when he was trying to be social. Instead, he pulled his knees up to his chest and flicked his camera on and off.
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Post by Florence Leontine Mary Welch on Jul 24, 2011 2:52:51 GMT -5
NO WALLS,
can keep me protected. [/color][/center][/sup][/font] [/color] [/center]
this post is some amount of words long. x.x
it was written for Ash, anybody :3.
[/font][/sup][/right][/color] NO SLEEP, NOTHING IN BETWEEN ME AND THE RAIN
and you can't save me now, i'm in the grip of a hurricane. Florence didn't find the gifted photographer strange at all for being so shy. In fact, she was the same way around strangers. Even if the opposing person is the nicest human being on the face of the planet, she'd still act like a shy British mouse until she got to know them.
And lucky for her, she'd found that Ashley Hannigan was an easy person to trust.
Florence hardly noticed her almost dual personalities; one moment she was the thinker, shying at interviews even when she tried to pull off a confident demeanor. The next moment she was on stage in front of thousands producing lyrics and going to parties.
She was a little more than a wild child when she was younger too. She spent her sixteenth birthday high as a kite in a nearby park jumping out of trees topless. She was the kind who would go to some crazy party, meet some strange people, and then go running naked in an open field covered in leaves.
Yes, the shy Florence was a very unique child.
"No, no, I think it'd work perfectly! Perhaps you'd get lucky and they'd have some sort of water phobia," she answered, her face and her British-hued voice enthusiastic as she thought up the scenario.
"What are you still doing here? Are you waiting for someone? Didn't mean to interrupt if you were..."
[/i] "Oh, no," she clarified, shaking her head before brushing a loose strawberry tendril from her cheekbone. "I have some trouble sleeping at night sometimes." [/color][/sub][/blockquote][/blockquote][/font][/size] I'M GONNA BLOW MYSELF AWAY [/SIZE][/color] CREDIT TO SUPER ECHO?! OF CAUTION 2.0. SHE ROCKS MY LIFE, SO I WON'T DARE STEAL FROM HER UNLESS I WANNA GET MY SPLEEN PULLED OUT THROUGH MY EAR. LYRICS BELONG TO FLORENCE AND THE MACHINE. TOODLE-LOO! [/font] |
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Post by Ashley Beauregard Hannigan on Jul 24, 2011 3:30:38 GMT -5
“No, no, I think it’d work perfectly!” the British woman insisted cheerfully. Ashley stared at her with wide, pale blue eyes; he didn’t have the heart to disagree with her. The woman seemed very amused by this notion, and he decided that he wasn’t going to rain on her parade. “Perhaps you’d get lucky and they’d have some sort of water phobia,” she laughed. Ashley chuckled quietly, trying to imagine a huge thug shying away from the small Canadian because he was wielding a plastic water bottle.
He shook his head slightly, trying to clear the rather amusing mental image from his mind. “Well, I’m glad you very amused by it,” he told her honestly. “My mother would hang me by my toenails if you were offended,” he said solemnly. His cheeks flushed slightly and he continued to keep his glare towards the camera. He talked about his parents – and his hometown – so much that it appeared to some that he was a ‘momma’s boy’.
“Oh, no,” she told him quickly. Ashley blinked up at her, raising his eyebrows inquisitively. “I have some trouble sleeping at night sometimes.”
The woman’s words stirred a twinge of sympathy from him. He’d read about her life – and what he hadn’t read, his mother had supplemented the knowledge. He’d been too young to be affected by his grandfather’s death – only two – but the man hadn’t been suffering. He’d died in his sleep. And his grandmother was still alive and sending him vest suits, because she was determined that the United States didn’t produce any decent clothing that was suitable to be worn in public.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly, although he wasn’t quite sure which he was apologizing for; her childhood or her sleep. “I used to have insomnia when I first moved away from my parents,” he told her. “The strangest nightmares, too. I dreamed that my parents were on a plane to come see me and their plane exploded,” he said, laughing nervously.
He covered his mouth slightly, trying to appear inconspicuous as he attempted to keep the rambling flow of words inside him. What was he supposed to say in these kinds of situations? ‘Yeah, dude, I read about your life on Wikipedia. Shit sucks, man.’
Instead of saying anything else, he smiled at her and took another picture of her. He kept the lens trained on her, peering her through the display screen. “You’re very photogenic,” he said bluntly, blue eyes flickering up to her. “But I suppose you already know that, eh?”
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Post by Florence Leontine Mary Welch on Jul 24, 2011 20:05:30 GMT -5
NO WALLS,
can keep me protected. [/color][/center][/sup][/font] [/color] [/center]
this post is some amount of words long. x.x
it was written for Ash, anybody :3.
[/font][/sup][/right][/color] NO SLEEP, NOTHING IN BETWEEN ME AND THE RAIN
and you can't save me now, i'm in the grip of a hurricane. The woman's blush only reddened more as the photographer tilted his head, indicating his confusion. And then a laugh escaped his lips; it eased her embarrassment at least a little bit.
A smile crossed Florence's features as he began stammering. To be honest, Florence didn't think of herself as a star or anything like it most of the time. She still became completely shocked when she saw fans singing the lyrics to her songs back at her. Everything was still a bit of a blur. "Oh, you don't have to be sorry at all," she accepted, chuckling softly. There was no need for him to be embarrassed about not knowing her beforehand.
"...I guess everybody's afraid of something..."
[/center] She was thankful that he didn't judge her ironic lifestyle. It was true, she didn't like flying at all; in fact, though she was not a religious woman despite the religious iconography in her music, but sometimes on a plane she'd say a quick thought-prayer. She laughed softly as he commented on the Pope. It was true; anyone could look strange in a photo. It seemed she was especially prone to looking odd, in her own opinion. But wasn't everybody hard on themselves? "Thank you," the redhead answered sheepishly at the compliment. "Oh, not at all! I think you take wonderful photos." It wasn't a lie, either; he had to be one of the most talented photographers she'd ever seen. [/color][/sub][/blockquote][/blockquote][/font][/size] I'M GONNA BLOW MYSELF AWAY [/SIZE][/color] CREDIT TO SUPER ECHO?! OF CAUTION 2.0. SHE ROCKS MY LIFE, SO I WON'T DARE STEAL FROM HER UNLESS I WANNA GET MY SPLEEN PULLED OUT THROUGH MY EAR. LYRICS BELONG TO FLORENCE AND THE MACHINE. TOODLE-LOO! [/font] |
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Post by Ashley Beauregard Hannigan on Jul 24, 2011 21:48:55 GMT -5
“That’s so sweet,”[/color] the woman laughed. Ashley tilted his head slightly, brown curls falling against his shoulder. He hadn’t been aware that the Brits thought hanging people by their toenails was to be classified as ‘sweet’. “Well, I mean… I suppose it is…” she seemed to be floundering. Ashley laughed, a little embarrassed by her blush. What did she have to be embarrassed about? It wasn’t her mother threatening to hang her by the toenails.
“She’s a big fan of yours. When I told her that I was working for you, she spread the news around Châteauguay like wildfire,” he said, a blush of his own coloring his pale cheeks brightly. “To be honest, I didn’t really know of you. B-but I like your singing, and my mom showed me your other s-songs,” he told her quickly. He was digging his own grave – who the hell told a famous lead singer that they had never even heard of their name before they went to work for them? “Sorry,” he mumbled.
“Oh, wow. I’m terrified of flying,” she told him. The photographer frowned slightly. How could a woman who was on a plane constantly be afraid of them? He himself got sick on planes – but only during the initial take-off. The rest of it was only mildly scary – although anyone who didn’t know the Canadian would assume he was dandy until they saw the seats after he’d been on them for any length of time. The arm cushions were often crushed and ripped from his nails as he imagined his impending doom.
He swallowed thickly, squeezing his knees tighter against his chest as thought of the unpleasant flights. “Yeah? I can understand being afraid of that,” he said, deciding not to admit that maybe he was slightly afraid of flying. “Guess we’re all afraid of something, though. Some more than others.”
As she glanced up towards him, he clicked another picture. “Actually, I wasn’t so sure about that,”[/color] she said. Ashley raised his eyebrows, peering at her from over the camera again. “I often see pictures where I’m making some scary faces.”[/color]
He laughed and took another picture. “Don’t worry about that. The Pope himself could look creepy if you caught him at the wrong time.” He lowered the camera slightly and smiled widely at Florence. “It’s true, though. You’re a very beautiful woman,” he told her, nodding to supplement his point. “And I hope that my pictures don’t make you look scary…”
Ashley paled slightly at the thought and looked at his camera nervously. “I-I can delete them if you think they’re scary.”
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Post by Florence Leontine Mary Welch on Jul 24, 2011 23:35:41 GMT -5
NO WALLS,
can keep me protected. [/color][/center][/sup][/font] [/color] [/center]
this post is some amount of words long. x.x
it was written for Ash, anybody :3.
[/font][/sup][/right][/color] NO SLEEP, NOTHING IN BETWEEN ME AND THE RAIN
and you can't save me now, i'm in the grip of a hurricane. The woman's blush only reddened more as the photographer tilted his head, indicating his confusion. And then a laugh escaped his lips; it eased her embarrassment at least a little bit.
A smile crossed Florence's features as he began stammering. To be honest, Florence didn't think of herself as a star or anything like it most of the time. She still became completely shocked when she saw fans singing the lyrics to her songs back at her. Everything was still a bit of a blur. "Oh, you don't have to be sorry at all," she accepted, chuckling softly. There was no need for him to be embarrassed about not knowing her beforehand.
"...I guess everybody's afraid of something..."
[/center] She was thankful that he didn't judge her ironic lifestyle. It was true, she didn't like flying at all; in fact, though she was not a religious woman despite the religious iconography in her music, but sometimes on a plane she'd say a quick thought-prayer. She laughed softly as he commented on the Pope. It was true; anyone could look strange in a photo. It seemed she was especially prone to looking odd, in her own opinion. But wasn't everybody hard on themselves? "Thank you," the redhead answered sheepishly at the compliment. "Oh, not at all! I think you take wonderful photos." It wasn't a lie, either; he had to be one of the most talented photographers she'd ever seen. [/color][/sub][/blockquote][/blockquote][/font][/size] I'M GONNA BLOW MYSELF AWAY [/SIZE][/color] CREDIT TO SUPER ECHO?! OF CAUTION 2.0. SHE ROCKS MY LIFE, SO I WON'T DARE STEAL FROM HER UNLESS I WANNA GET MY SPLEEN PULLED OUT THROUGH MY EAR. LYRICS BELONG TO FLORENCE AND THE MACHINE. TOODLE-LOO! [/font] |
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Post by Ashley Beauregard Hannigan on Jul 25, 2011 15:26:55 GMT -5
“Thank you,” she told him. Ashley could see that the woman was still slightly doubtful but let it slide. He could understand being camera-shy; the photographer tried to avoid having his own picture taken. He’d even gone into hiding every year when picture day rolled around when he was still in school. His eyes were what he hated the most; the way they just blended in with the whites of his eyes were unnerving for him. And his hair would never be tame; just a curly mess of brown forever until he went bald. And most of the time he was okay with that fact, because hell, it wasn’t like he had to look at himself. All he had to do was simply avoid glancing into a mirror. Simple enough. He bit his lower lip and continued turning the camera on and off. “Oh, not at all! I think you take wonderful photos,”[/color] she told him. Ashley widened his eyes at her, a goofy grin dimpling his cheeks. “It really is all about the camera and the people,” he said cheerfully. “I’ve been taking pictures since I was twelve. I mean, there are a lot of things that I can’t do and things I still need to learn, but it’s what I love to do.” He looked down, trying to get rid of the grin desperately – but compliments were hard to come by, and even shy Canadians needed their ego stroked sometimes. He leapt from his chair, all energy and smiles now. “You know why I came to the United States?” he asked, more of a rhetorical question because he doubted that anyone besides his parents and him knew. “To be a violinist, but that dream was short-lived. They loved me at children’s parties, though,” he said despondently, thinking back to the time a little girl shoved cake on his violin. It’d taken quite a few hours to clean that mess. He raised his eyes away from his camera and looked to Florence. “Did you always want to sing? Never a doctor, a vet, or a violinist?” he asked curiously, bouncing on the heels of his feet. [ooc| this took outrageously long to write. My deepest apologies.]
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Post by Florence Leontine Mary Welch on Jul 25, 2011 23:28:46 GMT -5
NO WALLS,
can keep me protected. [/color][/center][/sup][/font] [/color] [/center]
this post is some amount of words long. x.x
it was written for Ash, anybody :3.
[/font][/sup][/right][/color] NO SLEEP, NOTHING IN BETWEEN ME AND THE RAIN
and you can't save me now, i'm in the grip of a hurricane. Ashley's grin was infectious. Soon she found herself with a grin of her own slipping across her face, though nothing besides his own happiness had particularly enlightened her. She would have sworn that he hadn't anything else to learn until he told her. "We're lucky to have you," she told him.
Florence leaned back in her seat casually as he hopped from his chair, crossing her legs on the chair across from her that she had stretched them out on and getting some of the dark dress she had yet to take off caught in between them.
"A violinist Wow," she answered, picturing Ashley up on stage with nothing but himself, a chair, and a violin in front of millions. "I could see you as a violinist."
[/b] A shy violinist, but hey, she was a shy singer. Well, half a shy singer. “Did you always want to sing? Never a doctor, a vet, or a violinist?”[/color] "Actually, it was just something I loved doing and ended up sticking with it. I might have become an artist if I wasn't singing. Actually, I got discovered in a bathroom." Florence laughed. [/color][/sub][/blockquote][/blockquote][/font][/size] I'M GONNA BLOW MYSELF AWAY [/SIZE][/color] CREDIT TO SUPER ECHO?! OF CAUTION 2.0. SHE ROCKS MY LIFE, SO I WON'T DARE STEAL FROM HER UNLESS I WANNA GET MY SPLEEN PULLED OUT THROUGH MY EAR. LYRICS BELONG TO FLORENCE AND THE MACHINE. TOODLE-LOO! [/font] |
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Post by Ashley Beauregard Hannigan on Jul 30, 2011 2:02:33 GMT -5
His grin widened as she told him that she could imagine him as a violinist. He looked down once more at his shoes, his grin threatening to split his face. “Stage fright,” he said to her unanswered – and most likely unthought – question about why he had given up on that particular dream. The fact that the ones he performed in front of had all instantly sized him up as a gay hoser from Canada hadn’t exactly boosted his confidence when he was playing in front of them.
Ashley’s shots were probably ruined sevenfold when he threw up on the man who owned the venue. But that was a dark, dark day in history and he still got slightly feverish when he thought about it. The quickening of his pulse, and sharp jolts of nervous pain.
He cleared his throat and looked at Florence, the grin having disappeared from the memory. He sat down back in the chair and drew his legs up to his knees, peering at her from over his kneecaps.
“Actually, it was just something I loved doing and ended up sticking with it. I might have become an artist if I wasn’t singing. Actually, I got discovered in a bathroom.”
His eyebrows rose curiously at the British woman. “What sort of an artist?” he asked, trying to imagine the woman covered in paint whilst wearing a beret over her flaming hair. Perhaps instead of a painter, she was a sculptress? Maybe a photographer like himself? “How did you get discovered in a bathroom?” he pressed, his inquisitive nature surpassing his instincts to just shut the hell up and let the woman get a word in edgewise.
“I discovered Sexy Legs while standing on the edge of my apartment’s roof,” he said, chuckling.
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