[Most Recent Entries]
Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in
Simon Hansen's LiveJournal:
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|Monday, May 15th, 2006|
|A minor setback
The apartment is quiet. The lights are down low. Nuri sits on the couch, having tea, his eyes never quite leaving the door.
He's waiting for an explanation.
When someone hurts the man he loves, he wants answers. It took him long enough to calm Simon down, and now that he's safe and calm enough to be sleeping in his bed, curled up under comforters and blankets galore, there's nothing left for Nuri to do but wait. He wants to know what sort of kid would make Simon want to leave and never look back. He wants to know...a lot of shit.
He's particularly interested in finding out what the fuck
is so wrong with wanting to help. Current Mood: Patient
|Friday, May 5th, 2006|
|Partially OOC! Attention-seeking meme time!
If you want to know what Simon thinks of your character, leave a comment. The replies will be on an OOC basis, as Simon is far too tight-lipped to ever actually tell someone the whole truth and nothing but the truth about feelings... >_>;;( Would you...Collapse ) Current Mood: Calm, for once.
|Monday, April 24th, 2006|
|Meme (borrowed from Lawrence)
If you comment...
1. I'll respond with something random I like about you.
2. I'll tell you what song/movie reminds me of you.
3. I'll name something we should do together.
4. I'll say something that only makes sense to you and me (or just me).
5. I'll tell you my first/clearest memory of you.
6. I'll leave you a quote that is somehow appropriate to you.
7. I'll ask you something that I've always wondered about you.
8. If I do this for you, you must post this on your journal so you can do the same for other people.
((Just pretend this is something Simon does on his laptop or something. >_> Really, he is too easily influenced by people he cares about. Damn Lawrence. :P)) Current Mood: Tired
|Tuesday, March 21st, 2006|
|And the Worrying Goes On
( And On and On and OnCollapse )
Edric mumbles in his sleep, and Simon fetches his wallet, slips on his shoes and jacket, making sure that nothing is amiss in the apartment before he leaves. He locks and unlocks the door a few times, just to make absolutely sure it is locked safely. Edric is safe.
Now...he must make sure Lawrence is, too. Current Mood: Fretting, but determined
|Monday, March 20th, 2006|
|Let the Worrying Begin
Simon gets up early to make breakfast, like he does most mornings. He lets Edric and Lawrence sleep in, usually. He knows just how nice it is to wake up to the smell of breakfast wafting in all the way from the kitchen, and he doesn't want to rob either of them of that feeling.
It's not like they actually stay up after breakfast; especially Lawrence isn't much of a morning person, but Simon doesn't mind. They're young. They have...difficult backgrounds. They deserve all the respite they can possibly get, and if he can do anything to help, he most certainly will.
...but on his way to the kitchen, he notices Lawrence's shoes aren't where they're supposed to be, by the door. Neither is his jacket... He still hasn't come home from last night?
Slower than they probably should, small claws of dread start hooking into his spine and climbing upwards, to his brain. Dallas... It must be Dallas...
|Thursday, March 9th, 2006|
I'm not telling your actual score. Hmph!
|The Lover (or Poet) is a rare type. (S)He has a rather contradictory nature. He is completely unselfish and generally regards others above himself, yet somehow in his effort to please, often ends up doing things that appear completely self-centered. The Lover loves people and strives for acceptance, but at the same time withdraws from the world. Lovers are authors, artists, philosophers, and musicians. They live unorthodox, unconventional, or even chaotic lives. Lovers experience the highest highs and lowest lows. |
The Lover's complement is the hardened, unhesitant Warrior.
|My test tracked 2 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender:|
||You scored higher than 31% on Confidence|
||You scored higher than 76% on Creativity|
This is eerily enough...very true. Current Mood: Slightly freaked out
|Wednesday, March 8th, 2006|
|A Pivotal Decision [locked to Apollo]
Breathe... Just breathe...
Nuri's voice echoes in his head. He leans into the embrace and breathes deeply, slowly. It's so quiet and still in the apartment. Edric sleeps too much and Lawrence is always out at night. It's a constant source of stress and a cause for worry that Simon would rather go without. But Nuri's there, keeping him from falling apart. He can't help his friends if he's more fucked up than the two of them combined.
"It's okay, baby," Nuri whispers in his ear. The blanket wrapped around his shoulders is warm and soothing and safe. Nuri's arms are like they always are; they're strong, but gentle. Never abusive. "Just dial the number. I'm right here if you need me. D'ya want me to leave you alone? I could find somethin' else to do for a while...make some coffee or something." He tilts his head to the side. His eyes are warm too, and very concerned. Simon expected them to fill with pity a long time ago, but either Nuri's very good at hiding it, or he just doesn't do
pity. It's a relief.
He shakes his head, running his thumb along the receiver slowly. "Don't go. I need..." It's always difficult expressing what he wants, what he needs from other people. "I need you."
Nuri nods, and hugs him close. There's no need for words now. He dials the number to Apollo's cell phone, realizing he's never been so scared of making a phone call in his life. Current Mood: Twitchy
|Monday, March 6th, 2006|
|MEME TIME! AGAIN!
"Ask me a question about EACH or ANY of the following:
No matter how naughty, sexual, or confidential. Then post this in your journal and see what questions you get asked!"
Once again, got this from Lawrence. Is this what my life has boiled down to? Posting this shit when I could be doing something worthwhile instead? Current Mood: Sick and Tired of Everything
|Monday, February 27th, 2006|
|MEME TIME! :D
As if we didn't
know Yours Truly is paranoid. :| Meme snitched from Lawrence, the crazy-as-a-bat roomie. Current Mood: OOC!
|Thursday, February 16th, 2006|
Entering the apartment on somewhat unsteady legs, Simon closes the door carefully behind him and turns the lock. He double checks it before letting go. He leans against the door heavily, resisting the urge to slide down onto the floor and just staying there. Water. He should have some more water, so he toes off his shoes and wanders into the kitchen, still wearing his coat.
He drains an entire glass and pours himself another glassful, just in case. To think he just... at a diner...in broad daylight...in front of a stranger
He's shaking where he stands. He feels cold, right to the core of himself. It doesn't matter that Apollo isn't strictly a stranger anymore, it feels the same regardless. He feels torn apart... as if he's been tossed together haphazardly, as if all the bits and pieces of what should make him whole is in all the wrong places, or missing altogether.
It's not a good feeling. He might be sick.Just breathe. Breathe. Wash your face with some cold water. Maybe they won't notice you've cried your heart out and screamed your throat to shreds.
He hopes, really hopes and prays and begs neither of his cohabitants are up. Hope is for fools. He hasn't prayed since he was a little boy; it never did him any good. Begging is...not something he enjoys.
|San Francisco, at a diner [locked to Apollo]
It's a small, cosy place, with lots of booths and tables, and big windows lined along the two walls facing the street. The waitresses seem to actually enjoy their job, most of them chatting with the patrons. There aren't that many people there, but there are enough for Simon to feel relatively safe. Then again, he's at a diner with some sort of engineered bio weapon. A bio weapon that has so far shown no sign of wanting to hurt him, or otherwise manipulate him.
That is good. It should be. It has to be.
He picks a table as far inside as possible, with a clear view of all visible ways out, including the windows. It's a habit he doesn't plan on breaking anytime soon. He isn't hungry; hasn't been in a few days, so he orders a cup of hot cocoa when a plump, smiling waitress comes by their table. She doesn't look too surprised. It's chilly out, and even a man Simon's age is allowed to have a sweet tooth after all. She turns to Apollo, to take his order, pen and pad at the ready. Current Mood: Anxiety abounds
|Wednesday, February 15th, 2006|
|OOC MEME TIME!
Current Mood: OOC! :D
Take Free Big Five Personality Testpersonality tests by similarminds.com
Big Five Test Results
|Extroversion (40%) moderately low which suggests you are reclusive, quiet, unassertive, and private. |
Accommodation (60%) moderately high which suggests you are, at times, overly kind natured, trusting, and helpful at the expense of your own individual development (martyr complex).
Orderliness (64%) moderately high which suggests you are, at times, overly organized, neat, structured and restrained at the expense too often of flexibility, variety, spontaneity, and fun.
Emotional Stability (16%) very low which suggests you are extremely worrying, insecure, emotional, and anxious.
Inquisitiveness (52%) medium which suggests you are moderately intellectual, curious, and imaginative.
|Friday, January 27th, 2006|
|Surprise! (Lawr bringing Nuri to the apartment)
((Lawr-mun, feel free to jump in. Nuri be godmodded for the duration of this post, but hey, it beats self-rp!))
The apartment is dark, and quiet. Simon stands by the windows in the living room, just looking out at nothing. He's spent a sizely amount of time just pacing back and forth, tugging at his hair and scratching at his chest. He isn't feeling too good. He feels like he's on the brink of collapse, but he just can't have that. He must be strong. He must put this behind him and move on. It's just stupid, resenting someone he cares so much about
for something they did months ago.( The lock turns, and everything changesCollapse ) Current Mood: Vertigo rising
These past few days, Simon has been growing increasingly anxious. He can't help but feel...jittery, though he knows there's no real need. Nuri's okay. He's safe. They'll make things work; they have to.
But there's... There's just something
at the back of his head that gnaws and tickles and scratches. Something's wrong. They haven't really talked since that night, the day after Christmas... They've talked on the phone, but not like they used to. They could sit and talk for well over an hour, not a problem, before... He wipes at his face. He needs to know what's wrong. Something's happened. He just knows
He picks up the phone in the kitchen and dials Nuri's number, complete with all the extra dials. Living in a different world... Who would've thought? The dial tone sounds horribly shrill in the silence.
"Hello?" he smiles in spite of himself. It's so
good to hear Nuri's voice. "It's me...Simon."
He twirls the phone cord around his thumb, leaning against the counter. The anxiety's still there. "I just thought I'd... Oh..." he huffs nervously. "Okay. I guess great minds do think alike--"
But the mirth drains from his voice the moment Nuri starts talking. He needs to talk to Simon. They need to talk. And that horrible feeling grows...tenfold. He met someone when they were apart. He was trying to cope, thought he was doing fine... Thought he could put the past behind him and move on, so he picked this guy up, took him home and...
Simon starts shaking. Current Mood: under control
|Wednesday, January 4th, 2006|
|Tuesday, December 27th, 2005|
|Nuri... (Sort of OOC, comment if you will :D)
((Long entry, but it's my journal, so I won't bother with an LJ cut. This is open to anyone who would plausibly be in the apartment already, or anyone who might plausibly be around to drop by.))
I walked back to the apartment with him, in a daze. He was so silent, walking beside me. He looks...different. He's cut his hair, and his face is clean-shaven. He looks younger, somehow, more vulnerable. Maybe it's just my mind playing cat and mouse with me, but there's something almost frail about him.
I showed him inside, offered to take his jacket, and... He smiled at me. It was just like the smiles he put on when we had that fight, when he broke up with me. The kind where you smile because it's the only thing you can
do to keep yourself from breaking apart. It's a lie, like any other. It's an illusion, come into existence simply to mask another, much more sinister set of emotions. Doubt, fear, pain, distrust...
He doesn't trust me anymore. His eyes were so open, and his smile was so frail, so fake... I never thought anything about him could be fake... Is this how he sees me now? Fake? A fraud?
"Don't do that," I told him, turning my back on him to hang his jacket by the door.
"Do what?" he replied. He sounded honestly confused. I couldn't look at him right then and there. He was just too...too different, not indifferent enough, too fake.
"Don't smile at me when...when you don't mean it."
His hand touched my hand. His warmth, seeping into my back in spite of the silence, the doubt, wedged between us like an abyss. His hand is the same. His voice is the same, and his eyes haven't changed one bit, no matter how innocent they may seem. He isn't innocent. No one is innocent, the innocence is ripped from our souls, sooner or later.
"I'm sorry..." he whispered, leaning his forehead on my shoulder. I couldn't turn around. My feet seemed rooted to the floor. "I'm sorry I--... I'm sorry. I didn't know..." his hand squeezes mine. He's so warm. He should be cold, like me. He should be freezing from the cold outside, from the cold festering inside
"Don't apologize," I told him. My voice was shaking. I silently hated it; hated myself for being weak when I should be strong. "You've done nothing worth apologizing for. I'm the one who's sorry..."
He didn't say anything. It surprised me. He's good at talking. I'm not. I always end up saying the wrong things. I don't know who moved first. I don't know if I turned around, or if he somehow... But then, he was right there, holding me, chest to chest. I've never felt colder...
He's asleep now. We talked for hours, sitting close to each other on the couch, and he wouldn't leave my side. He wouldn't let go of my hand, as if he feared I'd run away again if he did. He's warm. He's so very warm. He's so beautiful, he's so good to me, so kind and sweet and loving, even when I don't deserve it. His breath is hot and cool against my chest, his hand clutches at my sweater, his face is slightly stubbled, and his hair smells like home.
I've found home. Current Mood: indescribable
|Sunday, December 25th, 2005|
|Christmas Day, early morning
In the early morning hours, seemingly out of nowhere, there stands a small, newly-purchased Christmas tree in a corner of the living room. It is adorned with bright red bulbs and a small, frail-looking white-gold star sitting on the very top of the tree. Christmas tree lights have been meticulously placed on its branches, casting a dim, warming glow throughout the living room and its adjacent rooms, shedding a bit of light even through the smallest cracks of a closed door, if there is such a door in the small apartment.
There's a bowl of exotic fruit on the living room table, and two smaller bowls of sweets and nuts. The room would smell of blood oranges and apples, and the peculiar scent of walnuts would be in the air. And throughout the room, big, bright red candles have been placed to shed light, if needed.
Sitting under the Christmas tree are two small piles of gaily wrapped presents. There is a small name tag sitting on top of each pile, with two different names written out in a somehow measured, controlled sort of extravagant hand.Lawrence
((A can of dark red paint (not too dark, not too light) + one of those roller-painting thingies, another warm sweater. His card reads)):Sorry for being a sodden prick. This is for making your bedroom a warmer, comfier place. Happy Christmas, Lawrence.Edric
((A small wooden flute + a beginners' booklet, and a big, thick electrical blanket (of the insulated type that won't go zap and catch on fire after hours of use), since he's can't ever seem to get warm. His card, if opened, would read)):The world can be a cold place, Edric. Hopefully this will keep you warm, in more ways than one. Happy Christmas. Welcome home.
|Thursday, December 15th, 2005|
|A few days after getting Edric back, Simon picks up his violin... [for Edric]
It's late in the evening. It's dark outside, but inside, the living room is filled by the gentle glow of burning candles. Simon's standing by the window, violin in hand, just watching the night. He misses the stars from the town of his childhood. They would always shine so brightly in the wintertime.
He hasn't watched the stars since he was a teenager. It's kind of sad, to think about it. He misses...what he might have had, had his world been different. He misses the things he's never known, the people he's loved that were taken from him.
He's worried. It's always like this, when he makes new friends. He worries incessantly, because he knows what will come after them. He knew this time too. He didn't see it clearly enough; he misinterpreted it all. He was powerless to stop it, he's told himself every night since that day... Yet he feels guilty.
He sits down on the couch, settles the violin on his shoulder and leans his chin on its edge, and raises the bow. Tonight, his thoughts are with Edric. Current Mood: Worried
|Saturday, December 10th, 2005|
|Asking for help
There's no time to waste. Simon takes one last look at his roommate and goes next door. He doesn't know where else to turn, and even though he knows he probably shouldn't, he feels he can trust his neighbour.
He stops in front of #402
and knocks on the door. Current Mood: blank
Edric's gone. Edric's gone, and he should've seen this coming, he should've done
something before it was too late. What good are the visions if they never help him see clearly?
He slumps against the front door, having just come back from running about...looking for Edric everywhere. He went from door to door, shop to shop, but none of the people he talked to could tell him anything. 'Yes, a boy was here, but he left.'
Simon sighs heavily. His heart's beating too fast, too hard against his ribcage. Edric's gone. Innocent, naïve, sweet, vulnerable Edric is gone
He should ask his neighbours for help. He should ask them if they've seen Edric, but he already knows what they'll tell him. Edric wouldn't go to his neighbours if he could come back to the apartment. He just wouldn't seek them out if he came back...
He slides down to the floor, pulling up his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. Edric is gone. Lawrence heaped all responsibility of Edric's wellbeing onto his
shoulders, and the first thing he does is lose him. Whoop-dee-fuckin'-doo...
He needs rest. He needs to eat something, anything to boost his energy. He'll eat something, then go back out. There's no time. What if something happened?Something always happens... Current Mood: Distressed