fountain jams - grace

[Olivier Berlioz Chaton]

It was the perfect fall day around the town of Walten. Olivier could feel the energy of the day fill his room, telling him that today was not to be wasted inside. Walking out of the shower with a pencil in his mouth, Oli hobbled over to his table. He was ever so thankful that his sister wasn't doing her daily barges into his room. The last thing he wanted to do was scar her mind with thoughts of him trying to wrestle his towel around his waist. He stopped himself before he tripped over the boot he had tossed onto the floor the night before. Fastening the white cotton towel around him, he took the pencil out of his mouth and grabbed an empty envelope. Olivier had been dealing with a creative block ever since he returned back to this town. Usually he hummed to himself in the shower and melodies would come to him. The problem was, he would forget them as soon as he stepped out of his shower. "Dammit" He hissed under his breath and tossed his wet body onto his bed. There was a small thought behind his mind that was bugging him. It might have been that Olivier was thinking of his talent as a job and not a love anymore. Basically, he was in the creative dog house because he had been neglecting his talent. Gigs had become something of a obligation to his pay check instead of something he enjoyed doing. He did however have a moment when he spent some time with the dangerous beauty Roxanne. Oli was able to write two songs that his band was sure to love. It was about a woman that drew men in with her tempting smile and body. Like a spider she would trap them in her web and that was when the chase for their life began. Enter the boy, a fool that fell in love with a predator that flipped his world upside down.

Humming his song softly he thought about how they could make an album about women and men. The beginning could be about a man-boy that was looking for love in all the wrong places. The women he would fall for would only want him to abuse him. After all you can't have that much fun if you go to sleep together and wake up alone every day. See-sawing his body out of the bed, he went over to his drawer and began his dressing process. The album could start off with his journey of love, it was a good relatable start. Olivier could see it forming in his mind, the theatrics of it would send the listeners on an emotionally connected route through the lyrics. Ever story needs a heroine though, and women would love to know it had to be another woman. "Alaina!" Olivier called out to his sister, picking up his guitar case in one hand and spritzing some cologne in the other. "Alaina! Is it possible to go deaf in the span of a day?! Maybe for you it is, being as old as you are." This was his way of getting a response from his sister when she was ignoring him. His lips counted soundlessly to three and as he said three his older sister appeared at his door. what did you just say about my age? I'm a lady and you should treat me as one you little- Waving his hand he dismissed what she was going to say next and interrupted her. "Yes, yes that is all fine. I'm going to the park. Don't lock the top of the door. By the way...a lady would have answered the first time I called her name. Your just an aging sister." Before Alaina could throw a quilted pillow at the door, he closed it with a cocky smirked. It just wasn't a complete day without pissing his sister off.

When Olivier was younger, he used to love playing music in the street with other musicians. It was his way of doing something he loved without any rewards, just the expression of the people that would stop to listen to his music. It was how he met one of his band mates and it was a good opportunity to jam with fellow musicians...it even helped him come up with more ideas. The park was a good five or six blocks away and on a day like this, he barely felt the distance. The sun was peeking through the clouds, making long bands of rays stream against the soft grays and blues. Olivier could hear some music being played and he knew the regulars were posted up by the fountain. A good thing about Walten was how generous and friendly strangers were to each other. If it were a big city, there would be dibs called on the spots around the fountain. He made his way towards the place where he usually stood and tilted his head upwards in a nod at the others standing beside him. The only time they talked was when they were all deciding on what song to jam to, that was the way Oli liked it. Snapping the opening of his guitar case open, he pulled out his black and white acoustic 'charlie'. All of Olivier's instruments had androgynous names to them based on their looks. His guitar to him was manly but had womanly curves, as many of his instruments did in his eyes. For the moment they played 'no rain by blind melons', until Olivier spotted a vision walking his way. That was when he asked the guys if they knew a certain song. They all started the beginning, improvising a bit more acoustics and drumming.


» words 1094
» tagged grace
» outfit sexy back
» comments galway girl song
» credit MOSES OF BODOM of caution 2.0

[Grace Helen Hepburn]

- - and she fills up every corner

LIKE SHE'S BORN IN BLACK AND WHITE
makes you feel warmer when you're trying to remember
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There was no way that Grace would ever let go of a day like this, arising with every intention to grasp hold of the sunlight as though it were summer. It was one of those odd, impulsive moments that had her pushing covers away from her body, steps rushing to the window as she pressed her face almost against the glass. Of course her smile lit up her features, a slight overbite of her lip restraining a full beam of pleasure in the fact that the end of fall still had something to offer before it truly became winter. What would she do? Pulling back from her view of the road, Grace wasn’t sure. But then since when had she ever been certain of anything? Away from the suggestions and regulations of Los Angeles, for a few years now every decision she had made had been her own, for the most part at least. It was a freedom that she relished in, no matter the good or the bad and as she stepped into the shower, the young woman had visions pass her just trying to figure out how to spend such a day. Those thoughts were as fluid and climaxing as the movements of soap across her body, being washed into the drain. In the end everything about Grace Hepburn linked back to the simplicities of life, extravagancies though some might have judged suiting a tall, shapely blonde, in fact did not suit her more compassionate and endearing character. Soft cotton encased her, another draped over her shoulders as she pulled off the shower cap, letting a mass of blonde fall about her shoulders dry from the rest of her body. As from routine, she switched on the stereo, flicking through tacks to something far airier and light, perfectly befitting of the day. And yet there was no sound. No voice at least, yet a mere instrumental that sounded until her own voice walked hand in hand with the electronics, seamless as though it had always belonged.

She didn’t care for how immature she may have seemed. Her loose mane shook with the bops of her head, or perhaps the twirls of her entire body. There was no one here but her, and she was passionate in all things linking to song. Unbound by perception and judgement, freely she danced about her bedroom, uncaring if it was behaviour befitting her next door neighbour’s daughter rather than herself. Song and dance, music and rhythm were unexpectedly shaping her life out of her hands, Grace acknowledged. Living a life unplanned so far, suddenly everything had unfolded and she had interest from an agency just because someone, by nothing more than chance had heard her. Talent was something that Grace did not recognise in her, nothing to boast and remaining impressively modest and though she was still contemplating that profession, the smile that lit up her face spoke an answer already. She was acting out, embracing all the silliness that a protected childhood hadn’t allowed, finding her feet in doing so. This was fast becoming another start to the end of another journey, college. Just as one chapter had closed another one was opening, and Grace, with all the charisma of one with a true appreciation of life, looked forward to every moment.

With the sun shining in a way most unlike the norms of late fall, no one could ever accuse the woman of somehow trapping the beams into the vibrancy of the yellow cotton she wore, Grace shunning fall colours in favour of sunshine and summer days. Her finger and thumb appeared to clasp the skin of her legs, before drawing up not one, but two layers of tights with a pinch as they slapped against her thigh. Blonde by looks didn’t mean blonde by nature. As glorious as the weather appeared, it was still late fall, and she knew enough not to step out bare legged. Her incredible positive outlook on the morning was sobered by the actual morning air, stepping out with clink of her heels and breathing in the freshness deeply. This was what a small town life was all about, she thought, to be able to walk down a street with arm room, never feeling lost among a crowd (or in her case looking above that crowd, height was something she undeniably had). The pull was undeniable, dragging her into a coffee shop, dulled by the morning and yet soon beaming into life as she left, chilled beverage with its abundance of whipped cream in hand. With a last wave of thanks she walked about the increasingly main town of Walten, sipping nonchalantly without a care for her morning, yet eager for what was to come. Whatever that was! It seemed impossible, to entrust so much faith in just being led somewhere, but to Grace that was the inspiration of life, where it led you when you threw away all ambition to just live in a moment. Entrusting it to instinct, she lingered for a few moments at a bus station, about to leave as the automobile pulled into view and she threw out a hand, lowering as the bus came to a halt by her side.

There was something about a bus journey that intrigued Grace. The way in which surroundings never blurred past, but the speed was one consistent enough for any passenger to see the way in which the world worked. Supposedly, now she thought about it, she was a people watcher. She was the type of woman who slowed down for performing artists in streets, who petted dogs when they’d been left outside a store, that kind of woman. Grace would theorise, at a later date, that it was probably due to watching others as a child, a trait she hadn’t been able to shrug off as easily as her flanked protection that were her family. The journey was a short one, something that Grace had no opinion of, since incredibly it had never been her strict intention to even set foot on the bus. Yet, as the entrance of Walten’s park, a very familiar place to her, crept into view, the bus was halting to a stop and Grace, tossing her bag over her shoulder left with the small cluster of passengers getting off. Those who exited with her dispersed once setting foot on the pavement and she alone walked under the iron wrought archway of the park’s entrance, This park, with all it’s changing nature and activity was practically Grace’s garden, one that she didn’t tend to yet enjoyed immensely. She could tell you her most desired bench, the best place to sit for an impromptu picnic, the bets angle to sit at the fountain in summer, slightly to the shaded portion in order to avoid the splashing youngsters. Of course what was swiftly becoming winter changed all that, the park was losing vibrancy, replaced with reds and gold’s that would soon wither away to become a darker sort of beauty, that made she and others visibly paler from the cold.

Music wasn’t something that she was surprised to hear. Knowing the place like the back of her hand, she was aware of the entertainment some musicians decided to put on show. Likewise, in the summer, those same musicians were often joined by dancers and performers of other arts, as though someone took a carnival and had condensed it into a small, gathered crowd. Grace would have walked towards the music even if she hadn’t needed to walk in that direction, naturally drawn to the vibrant beats, a sort of rustic merging of acoustic sounds, headlined by what she knew to be a guitar. The blonde never guessed when it came to music, her understanding was near impeccable. Peachy lips curled upwards as she approached with fluid movements, fondly surveying the musicians at the fountain in appreciation. Praising the upbeat tune, she edged into the cluster of a crowd that had gathered a mass of tapping feet and nodding heads. Grace hadn’t planned to dance. But when she felt the light tug of a small child, suddenly what she confined to her bedroom overflowed into life. With a wave of ease towards the small boys mother, Grace politely asked was pulled out by a boy far younger than herself, perhaps five or six, humouring him as she spun him around with her free arm. It was a scene that melted hearts, that vision of childhood enjoyment that somehow reached perfection. It was something Grace was happy to be a part of, as much at ease with children as she was with nature. When the boy looked up, she looked down with a responding grin, crouching low as the music ended with a flourish, enticing the boy to clap alongside her. “Weren’t they good?” she asked gently, the boy nodding enthusiastically beside her before his mother, with a comment of thanks to Grace, lured him away from what the boy admired to be a kind, golden haired woman with a jumper that was to him as bright as a bee. Watching him leave, Grace looked upwards, somehow positive in the face of having to get up and stand whilst in heels, bag on shoulder and coffee in one hand. Innocently she enquired to the musicians, the dark guitarist closest, “Um, could you help? I don’t really fancy the idea of toppling over.”

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note done and dusted B)
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[Olivier Berlioz Chaton]

When Olivier was growing up, he sought out music as an outlet. Everything and anything that was happening in his life really pushed him right towards his instruments. As he grew older, he noticed that watching others around him soak up his music was an even better feeling of gratification. It always began with him and ended with his fans..or just those that sat around long enough to enjoy what he was playing. As he played the Galway girl song by Steve Earle he found himself smiling from ear to ear. A statuesque beauty with cascading blond hair and never ending legs was dancing with a little boy. Olivier found himself wanting, no..needing to meet this gorgeous goddess. Oli's heart was practically dancing along with the both of them as he watched her with attentive eyes. For the first time in many years...he found himself nervous to even make her acquaintance. He didn't want to mess it up and have her walk away. Olivier gained the title of a well known ladies man...but he never really had to try with those women. They just automatically knew who he was and wanted to date him for that. He strummed like he was playing for a show in hopes that she would take some sort of notice to him. It was childish of him to even try to impress her by music...but it was worth a shot. When the song was over, everyone around in the crowd clapped along with joy. It snapped Olivier right out of his day dreaming and he awkwardly began clapping as well. There was something enchanting about this woman and when she looked into Olivier's eyes, he froze. Her words were muffled by his sudden shock that she was speaking to him, he turned around just to make sure that she was talking to him. He felt like such an idiot for pulling one of those moments especially when she was obviously in need of help. Swinging his guitar over his shoulder, he walked towards her in two strides and took her hand. "Um, but of course. Here you go, you're very gorgeous..I- I mean welcome. You're very welcome..You were great out there with the little boy" Olivier pointed towards the area she was dancing in hopes that he would distract her from his humiliating stumble of words that basically avalanched out of his mouth. "I've never seen you in town before, I'm almost positive of it. I just would have recognized a face like yours anywhere" Olivier let out a nervous laugh and he looked away for a moment so he could make a hopeless face towards himself. What are you thinking man! You are soo blowing it right now. Olivier's thoughts pounded in his head like a movie critic watching an awful scene of a pathetic guy trying to make conversation with the beautiful leading lady.

Part of his body wanted to just move back to his spot and admit defeat, but it remained planted in the spot..holding her hand. "I'm Olivier by the way..Olivier Chaton, you can call me Oli though or whatever you'd like. Do you have a song request for the guys and I?" Olivier asked politely. Most men wouldn't admit it, but when he was talking to a girl...he usually thought of his mother. His mother always gave the best advice when it came to women. She always told him to keep it simple and be his charming self. Women didn't want someone that was trying to impress them or woo them entirely. They wanted something organic, a person they could relate to and have fun with. His brother on the other hand would have told him to walk away because he had already shown her he was a spastic little creature that was drooling all over her. Olivier also didn't tell anyone that rejection was possibly his biggest fear. It was the reason behind all of his relationships failing. He would become emotionally invested in a woman and just pull the chord before she ever had the chance to. It left all of his ex-girlfriends very confused when such a good relationship would end so suddenly. Oli was maturing though, and he hoped he had gotten over his fear..but suddenly seeing this girl made him remember it. He didn't know if it was a good thing or a terrible thing..but he had to know if her outer appearance really matched the spirit within the girl.



» words 900
» tagged grace
» outfit sexy back
» comments galway girl song
» credit MOSES OF BODOM of caution 2.0

[Grace Helen Hepburn]

- - and she fills up every corner

LIKE SHE'S BORN IN BLACK AND WHITE
makes you feel warmer when you're trying to remember
---------------

A little piece of her heart fluttered away in turn with the leaving of the boy, the world suddenly seeming quite downcast without the child’s laughter and smile. It was a silly thought, but all that had happened was just one of those memorable moments, the type that sometimes was stumbled upon in a day and suddenly gave promise. Grace’s lack of inhibitions, causing her impromptu pairing was something of a gift until the boy had gone. Left on the ground, slightly self-conscious that she was a girl just sitting there, the help was needed, else she stumble or spill coffee all down the stainable fabric of her cardigan. She had noticed the man whilst he had been playing, limitedly, since through kindness most of herself had been devoted to the child. Taking his hand, larger than her own, she recognised just how talented those fingers were, how breezily they’d played as though all of this, parks and people, were nothing but second nature. “Thank you.” By using him as an anchor, Grace in doing so unknowingly edged forwards closely towards him, to the point that when she looked at him, the proximity was one that had her edging back from with apologies. Part of her swooned, sensing something quite dreamy about the though of musicians, the common ground for music being something very appealing to Grace, who out of most traits completely adored creativity. There was far more appeal in a man who recognised the arts, than a man who pumped fists in the air by constant sports watching. Of course the thought was just a fleeting fancy, gone on a whim, though the man was not, he remained perfectly where he was, guitar on back and almost suited and booted. She didn’t mind that. No, she didn’t mind that one bit.

It could have been easy for Grace to interpret his stumbling with incredulity, the brutishness of the word ‘gorgeous’ just flicking to various moments wherein men thought it appropriate to just stare and cast ‘witty’ comments that were actually quite vulgar. Though somehow, those flurried words, hastening to cover his tracks was more charming and sweet than disgusting. Grace couldn’t look at him for a moment, eyes darting to the side out of anxiousness. Uncertain of just how she was meant to react to having just been called gorgeous, the actual sincerity of it, the fact he’d said it presumably not drunk and not in some club brought out the little romantic in her, which was silly really, she was into her twenties now after all. She supposed she could have argued otherwise, Grace had always been very modest, though was it modestly if she didn’t even recognise how lovely her body was? It was more some near yet far truth that she didn’t quite see, if anything she only saw her height, something not so lovely to her, yet never stopped her from towering even more in heels. Life was far too precious to spend worrying about what you could and couldn’t wear, and Grace intended to live every moment like it was a last. “You weren’t exactly bad yourself,” Grace returned, utterly truthful, and just stopping herself from even deeper praise for fear of turning into something stumbling, a bit like him, but without the charm. Cue that awkwardness away, though Grace willed herself to stay focused on him, characteristically fretting that looking away would worsen the situation rather than fix it. Hopefully the faintest of pink blush that crept into her cheeks could have been passed for a more literal kind of blush, and as though trying to cool her skin, she flicked back her head in a small movement, tossing strands of hair over her shoulder, smiling upon return and confident her skin and returned to it’s pink free goodness. “I’m sorry to disappoint, but you’ve missed me all along. I’ve been in Walten since college. That makes it…” she searched, counting silently in her head. Maths had never been her thing, a fact she hated since she insecurely thought it would make others think she was ditzy, “..Almost five years, I think.”

He was one to talk about familiarity. Just looking at the man Grace had that strange sense that someone she knew him, yet at the same time what was he but a complete stranger? She let go of trying to place him, before it infuriated her and she obsessed over trying to place him. Even so, she slyly broke her own thought, quite obviously looking at him, eyes lingering on his face as though if she looked long enough she may suddenly have a burst of recognition. From the word go he looked like a man fresh out of a novel, a pleasing display of dark looks that to Grace, who was blonde and peachy, seemed almost exotic. Yes, whoever this man was, he was very distinguishable in a crowd, she had spotted him out of the makeshift band after all, though hadn’t expected all of this. It was only when he spoke that she was pulled back into focus, out of her own thoughts and pleasure in the warmth in one of her hands. The reality, of Oliver, suddenly made that warmth noticeable as Oli’s hand. She was holding his hand, or him her, or them both. She wasn’t sure how it worked, since neither had exactly pulled away. Temporarily she froze. What was she meant to do? If she let go then was she being rude? If she stayed what sort of message was she sending out? Grace gulped quietly, choosing to just forget, leaving her hand there as though it were the most natural thing in the world. When the letting go came, then she’d be able to laugh it off as something, she didn’t know, maybe humorous. “A request?” her eyes widened slightly at being put on the spot. That music, that they’d be playing, it wasn’t exactly her criteria. Classically trained and far more likely to listen to the likes of pop churner Lady Gaga, suddenly an aspiring artist like Grace felt slightly overpowered by someone who it seemed was much more endowed with music. When she finally thought of something suitable, she clung to it as though it were her lifeboat, a bit too enthusiastically giving her request, that made it her turn to nervously laugh. “Anything by James Morrison, I love him. His music, not him. I don’t even know him.” Enthusiasm was normal wasn’t it; it couldn’t be taken as strange, right? “You honestly don’t have to take it though, I’m sure you’re playing for the crowds, not for a single person like me. I’m Grace by the way, just Grace, no nickname. Unless you ca find something, but no one has yet. Though there’s always a first for everything.” Grace smiled, lost in the though of being serenaded in a park, in general, not necessarily by Olivier, though that thought wasn’t one she disliked at all. Deciding in that moment that if she ever saw that little boy again, Grace promised that she’d buy him something, maybe an ice cream. Because meeting Olivier? It was making a lovely day just that bit brighter.

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note score for nervous romance <3
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