Roses are red...

Ashbury application
		11:16pm 02/05/2008
	Character's name: Lord Lysander James Courtenay of Dartmoor. Character's premade: The Band Geek Character's journal and aim sn: lysandercortnay and Cicero Lover PB: Jamie Bamber Short bio: Without perseverance talent is a barren bed. I remember when Mam, who is known as Carys Jones, would say that to me every time she took me home. She’d sit me in her lap and play the harp. When her Ioan came home, he’d sing, and he was my Tad. Ianto and Gwen made things more lively and we’d sing Danny Boy, our voices carrying far into the night. I became mesmerized with the harp, so Mam taught me. Tad trained my voice, so that I could sing with the best of them. With a little working I learned the violin, which captured my soul. Her name is Viviane and she is made of rosewood. From there I evolved from the violin to the piano and because of my mother, I learned the flute, the instrument of gentlemen. By the time I was ten, I was leading Mam and Tad with Ianto and Gwen in Hymns and Arias while I plucked away on the harp. Boccherini and I were lovers, and I despised the flute, throwing it out the window in favor to play Moonlight Sonata on the piano. When it was late and impolite to play, I scribbled out my operas and ballets, my magna opus. I spoke Welsh before I could speak English, and to this day, I’ll speak Welsh before I’ll say a word of English. Even though I was born to Viscount Michael James Courtenay of Devon and Viscountess Sabrina Fallow Courtenay of Devon on 23, November in Carhaix Castel, England. I have an older brother named Balin, and two older sisters who are albino twins, Lucia and Ursula. I too am albino, but I am an ocular albino, cursed with scarlet eyes and photophobia and doomed to suffer from morphine addiction. Mum was mortified that I spoke perfect Welsh and struggled with my English. So, she dragged us kicking and screaming from Carhaix Castel to Cardiff. Why Cardiff, I’ll never know, but I have an idea that it was primarily to escape my Da. Mum was a slut anyways and Da was just a fucking alcoholic. Bloody miracle he was sober enough to breed the horses correctly. Our family has the reputation of operating one of the finest breeding stables in all of Europe for centuries. Mostly racehorses and pleasure horses these days, but back in the 1400’s we bred the best war horses anywhere up until slightly after World War One when the Calvary was no longer used. Having been born into a horse breeding family, naturally I learned to ride. Damn good at it too. My horse’s name was Beta and he was a strong Friesian stallion. It was sudden the move from Wales. One day were lingering over breakfast on the last week of holiday before boarding school when mum simply trounced in and announced she was marrying a wealthy business man who owned a granite quarry and copper pit, his name was Josh and I absolutely loathe him. It was because that damned American Mum pulled my sisters and myself from the shores of Wales, the land that that I had grown to love and cherish, it was like mother’s milk to me. More importantly, and most unforgivable, it meant taking me away from Carys and Ioan Jones, who were my Mam and Tad, the only parents I ever had, known, and loved. I was thirteen when I last saw her, it was a cold January morning at the airport. ‘How auspicious?’ she said. ‘That we should say goodbye in the month of Janus?’ she kissed my cheek ‘da bye anwylyd,’ goodbye beloved. she whispered in Welsh and never have I cried so much in my young life. When I came to America my Welsh accent was so thick people could barely understand me and Mum slapped my mouth for Welsh vulgarity. I didn’t care, I was mad and angry at the world, for no one spoke Welsh as fervently as I did. So I shut myself away in my room everyday from school and played the harp for hours. Lucia and Ursula did my school work for me, they were grieving too. American schools as I found, had music programs. From orchestra to marching band, I threw myself and anger into them all. In marching season, I played flute, taking my sets possibly a bit too seriously. In England, a marching band is serious business. Out of season I play violin in orchestra, throwing my soul and heart into it. In my free time I play the harp and the piano when I can. I’ve calmed down somewhat in my anger, thank god for music, when mum announced I was going here. I’ve tried to understand these Americans and their ‘isms…I truly have, but they all roll their eyes at my title and my obsession with music, or my habit to speak Welsh just to piss them off. At least I’m not punching out their lights. Examples: Lysander glared at Lucia. “What?” she held up her hands, fork across her plate. Lysander didn’t let up his gaze. “I’m just saying, who is that charming boy with the shy temperament?” she tilted her head, Ursula was suppressing her giggling in her napkin and Balin was grinning. “Piss off,” Lysander scoffed. “Well, music scholarship…composes…sounds like you’ve met your match.” Ursula antagonized bringing the china cup to her lips, sipping carefully at the tea. Balin reached over to butter a scone and Lucia was counting the seconds. “And…he plays the entire strings section, you must be so jealous!” Lucia elaborated. “And Mum just slept with the headmaster and Josh paid him handsomely so they could get rid of you,” Balin’s smile was virulent honey. “Fuck you all,” Lysander flipped them off. “I’m three times as talented as he’ll ever be, and I can speak Welsh,” Lysander added as if that were a one up on a present day musical genius. Balin attempted to keep from outright laughter. “Oh…is Mozart squaring off with Patchable?” Ursula pressured. Lysander resisted the urge to scream. “Poor baby, he’s the misunderstood artist.” Lucia petted his hair. “Afraid he’ll be passed up for the shy shadow of a wall flower,” Ursula cooed soothing his forearm. “God dammit! I compose fucking operas and ballets! What’s he got that makes him so fucking special? I write music the same way writers write stories, I write music so that I might live! I’m a bohemian! He’s an academia not an artist!” “And you’re a bohemian artist Lysander?” Balin drawled before overturning his cup. Lucia and Ursula poured Lysander another healthy measure of the Welsh brew. Lysander cooled a taste before he answered. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am,” “Too bad he’s labeled a band geek…” Ursula and Lucia exchanged smiles and words knowing the effect they have on their dear brother who was jealous of his attentions on his talents. “So hard to extinguish a reputation…so very hard, now it’s stuck, if only they knew he was Mozart not…what’s his name again? Ah, yes, Schubert.” Lysander did not excuse himself as he left afternoon tea, amongst the giggles and laughter of his brother and sisters. Lysander is known for his short temper and his snide remarks. Lysander is an ocular albino with scarlet eyes. Lysander is part of the English nobility. Lysander was named for the befuddled lover in Shakespeare’s epic play ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’. Lysander lives off the attention he gets from performing. He won’t admit it, but he’s more Mozart than Bach. Lysander idolizes Vivaldi and Boccherini. Lysander has a serious addiction to morphine that can be scarcely avoided because it’s the best way to treat his photophobia. Lysander is extremely competitive when it comes to his music, he wants to be the best, and only the light should be shined on him. Not the stupid rockstar wannabe or the shy guy who was smart enough to get the scholarship. Lysander is impulsive and will take unnecessary risks. Lysander’s favorite books to read are the works of Cicero and Cyrano de Bergerac. Lysander always wears two items no matter what, his Irish claddagh and Welsh rondon. He never takes them off. Lysander’s favorite piece of music is Vivaldi’s Four Seasons Concertos. While Lysander can sing with the best of them, he’s not a Broadway star, or a lead singer. He’s decent, he’s good, but it’s not what he wants to do. Lysander is an able horseman, as befitting a gentleman of his class. Lysander is notorious for cursing, and speaking in Welsh for the annoyance of his peers around him. Past RP log example Cicero Lover (10:22:11 PM): Lysander smiled. "You're eyes capture the soul and dreams of moments. For God hath created an angel that is lost and fallen from heaven," He took a bite of the calimari and shrugged almost sheepishly. "Spainards speak in metaphors. Looses it's charm in English doesn't it?" he added as an after thought. "Are you going to eat those?" he asked pointing to the raw oysters. shutterbug emile (11:14:14 PM): "I don't know how.." Emile frowned at the offending crustation, sighing softly at his inexperiance in the bedroom and now apparently the culinary side to life. "And I have to say, even the english translation is beautiful. Especially when its said in an english accent.. You could probably be talking about the weather and it would sound like you were reciting some epic declaration of love..or lust, depending on whether your shirt was open or not." He grinned cheekily at the other man before popping calamari into his mouth. Cicero Lover (11:29:10 PM): Lysander snickered. "Ah the English accent, it's overrated most of the time but it draws ladies like magnets, but I prefer the melody of Latin and Spanish," he smiled brightly. "So, to eat an oyster, raw, they're best eaten cold, now see I like horseradish and cocktail sauce," Lysander pulled the pretty dish close to him for reach. "But most people don't like the kick, I'm telling you, if you think wasabi is bad too much of this stuff will have you gagging just as bad," Lysander spooned a bit of the horseradish on the live animal. "Now, careful here, because this is the trick," Lysander brought the shell to his lips and tossed it back slurrping it down. He placed the empty half back on the ice and smiled. "Try not to spill it," he pushed the ice tray to Emile. "In England it's like eating chips," He rested his chin on his hand waiting for Emile to demostrate his lesson. shutterbug emile (11:46:54 PM): Emile looked slightly frightened as he picked up a half shell. He loved wasabi, could eat chunks of it, so adding an equal amount of cocktail sauce and horseradish. Looking up at Lysander, he kept his eyes on him as a distraction from looking at the slimy creature he was about to eat. Mimicking his actions, Emile tossed it back and managed to swollow it before his gag reflex kicked in. That was not sexy feeling. Not only was his cheeks burning from the fact he gagged, but he mentally vowed never to eat an oyster again. "And.. That's supposed to make me horny?" Cicero Lover (11:54:20 PM): Lysander tried to hide his laughing but ultimately failing by ducking to the side of the table. He sobered. "I'm sorry, no, truly I am," he gave Emile a sweet look. "Have you not ever had horseradish before? It's worse than wasabi, darling, you shouldn't feel so bad, it's a common amature mistake, should've seen me, three years old and running for the water fountain," He offered a sympathetic look. "The erogeness effect is only gained by the slurping action I think, but any food can be sexy when appiled correctly," he picked up another and demostraighted the easier slurrping method. "But it's considered rude to slurp." He pushed the tray back urging him to try it again. "Frankly I think my ego would take a downfall if it took a shellfish and not my charm to get you in bed," Lysander said in dry sarcasm. "So, another go?" shutterbug emile (12:58:58 AM): "No.. Or the only reason you'll be in bed with me is to hold my hair back when I'm throwing up all over the place.." He laughed softly, opting for the calamari he knew so well. "And I'm pretty sure your ego will leave very full by the end of our night..." He smiled, winking at Lysander as he got more and more relaxed with him. He definitely saw this night going to what Lysander was here for. And then all relaxation fled as the thoughts went back to how he was paying for this company. Cicero Lover (1:09:19 AM): Lysander made a mental note to send him flowers and tickets to the ballet next week. "Pity," he shrugged. "Must be an aquired taste, I suppose," His attentioned was next spent on the waitress who asked if he wanted another drink. Lysander smiled sweetly and winked at her. "I think I'll have something non alcoholic, coke?" he asked. She smiled and scampered off, Lysander turned back to his date. "Actually I'm wondering about the fish..." he shook his head to relieve the thoughts away. "So then, Carmen is in town, going to go see it? I love Bizet, my favorite opera turly,"
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Pridelife application
		11:36am 17/04/2008
	Aged 28 Was born in Plymouth, England Still speaks with a British accent. Is fluent in Spanish, and Latin, a little Itallian. His (ex)wife is named Jessica who is from Naples, Italy. He has two children, Diana who is full blown albino, 11 and Abraham who is 2 and was born to another woman out of wedlock and only speaks Spanish. Lysander is an occular albino so he has red eyes and is photophobic because of it. Watched his best friend commit suicide off the Brooklyn Bridge. Has two sisters Lucia and Ursula who are bi and a lesbian, both are models. Has an older brother named Balin who still lives in England on the family's breeding farm of horses Lysander is the second son of the Vicount of Dartmoor. And nephew to the Earl of Devon. Has never been in love before. Was the victim of child rape, pedophilia and sexual abuse. Is a musician, he can play violin, the piano, the flute, the harp and can sing tenor and baritone and write music. He named his violin Viviane. He has a yellow cat named Tam Tam that belongs to his son, that is almost twice his size, has only one eye and one and a half ears.
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And here I pour my soul
		08:39pm 13/04/2008

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With Abraham
		12:30am 08/04/2008
	"Poppy!" Abraham came running, screaming for his father's arms. Lysander reached to pick him up, hauling him into the air and settleing his son on his hips, brushing back his black hair. "?Que pasa me hijo?" he asks softly to his dear son. Abraham looks up smiling brightly. "Nadie," he answers laughing. "O, Nadie esta?" he says in a tone that isn't quite beliveing. Abraham giggles into his father's shoulder when Abuela comes up, her silver hair framing her face. "?Como estas usted?" he says formally, Abuela nods her head. "Lysander, pareces cansado," Abuela crosses her arms, frowning at the weary man before her. Lysander shrugs, supressing a yawn and isn't ready to say he's tired. Twelve 'o' clock was early for him to come home and all he wanted was a shower and to go to sleep but he loved to see his son. "Asi como, te durmir," She said taking the now setteled son from his arms. Lysander rolled his. "Que quiero mi hijo, Abuela," he says stiffly. "Por favor?" he adds cheekily. Abuela just wrinkles her nose at him. "usted huele como sexo, va toma una ducha primero," Lysander's jaw drops at her frank orders and gives her a disbelieiving look. "usted me oyó, va," With out further question Lysander does as he's told. When he comes out, drying off his long hair, and pulling it back into a braid. Abraham is already asleep, curled up in the middle of the bed, the blankets wrapped tightly around him in his sleep. Lysander smiles softly, crawling across the matress, extending his hand to touch his son's shoulder. "Que te amo, mi querido," he whispers softly. "Buenos noche," he kisses Abraham's "Y buenos sueños," he adds. "Mi querido, mi precioso querido," with that he lets Abraham sleep.
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With Cassius
		11:57pm 07/04/2008
	The smoke rose through the dim lighting of the bar, Lysander looked over to Cassius who sat across from him passing him his order of tequilla, straight, no ice. Cassius brushed his gold hair over his shoulder and smiled at Lysander who smoothly lit a cigarette. "How's rehersals going?" "Oh, just peachy!" Cassius said blithly sipping his daquire. "Most people can't even believe I'm gay!" At that Lysander had to laugh, the sort of laugh that he tries to control before looking up and smiling brightly. "Damn Casey, they didn't know?" "Nah, I was quite surprised too! So...Anyways," Cassius takes another sip. "What's up with you and Jessica?" Cassius leaned over the table, watching Lysander blow a stream of smoke to the side as he ran a hand through his hair, he shrugged. "She wants a divorce, God only knows why..." he gives Cassius a hopeless look and sips the tequilla, grimacing at it's burn. Cassius's eyes go wide at that and he isn't exactly sure what to say. For as long as he knew it had always been Lysander and Jessica and who ever they were seeing on the side. "Why?" he asked tilting his head to the side. Lysander shrugged. "Hell if I know, dammit, she's always going on about me bettering myself, Cassius, I can't afford college, and damn, no one wants a classical composer and I'd apply for a seat at the Hollywood Symphony but again I don't have that education and I can't afford to leave work to take the classes and leave my son with Abuela. I just can't," Cassius nods. "Sounds like you're up shit creek without a paddle." "Damn straight," "So what'd you say?" Cassius plucks a cigarette from the sliver tin Lysander carries and lights it smoothly with the sliver zippo. Lysander smiles sheepishly through his tumbler. "I said whatever, draw the papers up and I'll sign them, she can have Diana," Lysander hung his head, shoulders slumping and clearly distressed. "Fuck, is she that bad?" Lysander reached for his sunglasses, nodding through the the armani lense. "Yes, she is, and she doesn't want a thing to do with me," "Sorry," "Not as much as I," They sit in silence for a few tense moments. "How's Robert?" Lysander askes and tries to hide the hurt in his eyes. Cassius smiles warmly to himself, his cheeks aglow with a fresh flush and innocent in his happiness. He looks up to Lysander from underneath long and golden eyelashes. "Well..." the blush creeps down his neck and over his face. "I think I love him," Lysander nods through his thrid heartbreak with Cassius, but smiles with his friend's happiness. "I think he's great," He says, holding Casey's hand. They sit through the rest of their drinks, neither man mentioning Lysander's broken heart.
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Dale...
		10:10pm 03/04/2008
	Dale, if you're reading this, just remember I am this close to ripping your throat out. Don't just randomly book me like you did and then wait until Sunday to tell me about it. Bastard. I have a life too you know Next week I'm getting tested so I should have a brake...somewhat. If any thing it just means no sex for me for a while.
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PC Application
		05:47pm 01/04/2008
	OOC 1. Name Cicero. 2. Age 18 3. Time Zone Eastern The Character 1. Full NameLysander James Courtenay 2. Age 28 November 23, 1980. 3. Personality The devoted father. Borderline Personality Disorder 4. Sexuality Bisexual. Completely 100% bi. 5. Residence two-bedroom apartment in LA 6. Vehicle '72 mach 1 ford mustang 7. Occupation Job title. Does your character have his/her own business? If NOT, skip #7. 8. Business Date for hire, or Escort if you will. He also gives music lessons. It’s not an actual private business, it’s just by word of mouth. 9. Education High School graduate. Lost his scholarship to college. 10. Pets One yellow cat named Tam Tam, belongs to his son, it’s a mutt. 11. Played By Jamie Bamber 12. Picture http://i20.photobucket.com/albums/b240/4everPirate/LysanderandCassius.jpg 13. AIM Name lysandercourtnay & Cicero Lover 14. Short biography Written from Lysander’s POV. I figured writing Lysander’s bio from 3rd person would not capture his voice as eloquently and expertly as 1st person would. Lysander posses a cheeky tone that really can’t be demonstrated through third person, otherwise it’d just be angst, and besides only Lysander can write out his life as passionately and finite as only he knows. Now see, this pisses me off more than anything does, job apps that want a bio. What in the hell do they want me to say? Frankly, I am seriously tempted to write ‘piss off’ here, but seeing as how my cute little Devonshire accent isn’t going get me by with an insult, I guess I’m obligated to write out a bio. Well, I was born 1980 in Plymouth, England. That’s a major city to Devon. Lovely place Devon, I used to go to Dartmoor National Park on holiday when I was a kid. To this day, I still speak with a Devon accent. As for my mum, well, she was a right slut. As per Da, well I wasn’t missing him much when mum married this rich American and we moved with my brothers and sisters to Manhattan. John was his name, I think, I can’t remember but he had this business on Wall Street. He was an accountant I guess. Now I finished high school, and I’ll have you know I’m right proud of that. So what if I wasn’t valedictorian? I’ll have you know I thought I did damn well with a wife and kid by the time I graduated. I met Cassius, James and Jessica when I was a sixth grader and we got up to all sorts of trouble. Mostly bucking the system and causing general mayhem, nothing serious, disapproved of, discouraged, but never illegal. Cassius had James to fuck with and I had Jessica. Bitterly albeit, but still, I had the Homecoming Queen, you can’t really beat that, now can you? Anyways, we were seventeen and stupid. Seriously stupid, everyone knew she was my girl and few, if any, knew I pined for Cassius (Still do actually) who was madly in love with James. It’s amazing what a few shots of vodka can do. Next week she skipped her period; a few days later we were picking out names. I did marry her though, the summer before I turned seventeen. It was in August and in the city hall. She wore her prom dress from the spring, Cassius was my best man and this bitch named Amy was maid of honor. James, of course, received an invitation to attend. After that, we went to a nice restaurant and I paid. Mum kicked me out of the house then, and John gave me five thousand dollars as a wedding present. I never spoke to them again. Thank god for Jessica’s Dad though. Without him, I don’t know what we would have done. David was, is, a good man and he’s the closest thing I ever had to a father figure. And I will always feel indebted for the actions and favors he has done for us all. In fact, David was the lawyer who threw that bastard Geofferson in prison. Geofferson, our seventh grade math teacher, was a pedophile. I didn’t know it then, but he was exploiting Cassius, James and I. He told us it was what people did when they liked each other. To this day, the sight of James coerced into the things he did to Cassius, disturb me more than any of the actions he has ever done to me did. If you look in the right places, you can still find the footage, forever illicitly preserved on the internet. Even though Cassius forgave him, he always forgave James; James never forgave himself and committed suicide off the Brooklyn Bridge. I watched him do it, and there wasn’t a thing I could do to stop him. He was twenty-four, beautiful and so in love with Cassius. Reading his journals and private letters now, I guess it was that guilt of what they forced him into doing that got to him. It gets to me sometimes too, that guilt, but I look at Cassius and think, there’s no way I could ever let him face that guilt alone. I missed James then as I do now. I always will, and if I ever meet Geofferson on the street after he gets out, I’ll rip his fucking neck out. Not for what he did to my friends and me but what he ultimately did to James. We lost James because of him, not just our innocence. We still talk, Cassius and I, actually Cassius doesn’t live too far from me. The three of us have always been close, always. Jessica’s pregnancy was not particularly easy, but it wasn’t hard. To say we were in love would be and overstatement, to say we hated each other would be wrong. Sure, we were always screaming and throwing things at each other, I’ve known her for eighteen years and that still hasn’t changed; but I’ve always loved her. Love hate would be an apt label, although I’ve never been into labels all that much. I was scared over what was going to happen to us. To our baby, so many infinite possibilities and few of them I liked. Sure enough, on March 17, 1997, Diana was born and I was in love from the moment I first saw her. So there I was eighteen with a baby daughter named Diana for the Roman Goddess. There was just one problem. I have red eyes, it’s called ocular albinism. Basically, it means I have pigmentation everywhere but my eyes; they’re a scarlet shade. I’m also photosensitive, which means I’m always wearing sunglasses, especially out here in Cali. Diana, however, is a full-blown albino, now what are the fucking chances of that happening? It’s insane, that’s what. Her eyes are a claret color, her skin is white, her hair is white., to top it all off she hates me for it. Never mind I worked two jobs to support her! Never mind all the shit I went through just to make sure she had a roof over her head. I refused to let Jessica work; there was no telling what the children in daycare would have done to her. However, with Diana I lost my scholarship. My mother refused pay to put me in school for a music degree. ‘Get something you can use! Like Business!’ she would say. I wanted to play violin having played since I was five, her name is Viviane and playing her is my one true talent. Music, of any kind, I love music, it’s my whole life, my world. For every problem in my life, no matter how many, how much, music was always there to soothe the pain. My dream was to score movies. However, with out a degree in music theory, that notion went out the window. Moreover, with Jessica and Diana to support, I just gave up. I still play though, and give lessons, maybe one day I’ll go back to college when Abraham is in school. Jessica got her associates degree in business from the internet. However it worked, I have no idea, nonetheless Jessica got her degree in business to set up her own shop selling whatever it is she wanted. After that, I got a job offer out in Cali and so I did the right thing. Better money, better opportunities, I packed up and brought my family to Cali. Cassius had left months earlier for the auditions there. New York Broadway is too hard to break into fresh. I should mention now that from the minute that I turned 18 I was an escort (well…legally). It beats working at a fast food restaurant I’ll have you know and the money is good. Real good. At age, 21 a business called 'Fantasy' hired me. Suggestive, that. They hired me for my red eyes, long hair, pale skin and British accent. I also came with a pretty price tag and a warning label. I was never a cheap date and while I was polite and civil—respectful to an extent— I never took crap off my clients. Ever. I’d rather put a fist through their teeth than be degraded. My prospects went up in Cali; the clients were richer, better. That’s how I met Anne Bonny and while that date ended up in her bed, I have no regrets with what happened. Nine months later, I get a call from an Esperanza Rodriguez Espinoza (Whom is affectionately known as Abuela) telling me I have a baby boy. By then Jessica had already given stillbirth to our son Matteo and had moved out with my daughter to start her own shop, which I helped buy with the money I made. It was just easier I guess for us to get along. We didn’t want a divorce; we just dealt with each other better in different houses. It wasn’t until I was twenty-six that I took responsibility for my son (Ibrahiem in Spanish, Abraham in English). Because of my own stupidity, Abraham speaks only Spanish. He was, raised, after all, by Anne’s Spanish speaking maid. Now don’t get me wrong I visited him across the border every now and then. I just can’t explain why it took me so long to step up and be a dad. God knows how I love him and Abuela. Lucky for me I picked up Spanish easily back in school. He’s two now, going on three and is as vivacious and beautiful as anything I’ve ever seen in life before. So now, here I am in LA. I live in a two bedroom flat with my son and his grandmother with the cat Tam Tam (don’t ask); working as an escort, or date for hire as I so happen to prefer, starting at about six p.m. to about 4 a.m. I’m for hire. Usually though, when ever I get a chance Abraham and I see Cassius in his plays, or go with him to the parks. Sometimes I call Jessica, though she calls me more often than not, and occasionally Abraham and I will take a weekend in Long Beach where Jessica has her shop set up. 15. Journal Name lysandercortnay 16. What kind of Cheese is made backwards? Edam.
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My wife

09:30pm 28/03/2008

mood: accomplished

music: what's on my ipod

Something tells me I ought to call her. I'm too lazy though. I can only just hear her voice, the nagging me about the mundane issues of taking care of my son.

I don't suggest being a date for hire. If anything I'm only so close to getting thrown in jail. Playing escort is almost the same as playing whore. Almost.

I don't live with Jessica though. (thank god) No, she owns her own boutique. Selling mostly antique books and other odd items, I'm not really sure. She's somewhere near Long Beach with my daughter and they're happy, so far as I can tell. But I know she worries about me and my son. Abraham isn't her's and it's touching to know she cares about him.

He scares me that one. The white kid that speaks Spanish. Now I speak it myself, and I've gotten better at it over the years since Abuela can't speak a word of Enligsh and neither can Abraham but with the way Americans are I worry about how they'll take to my son.

Either way. I still need to call Jessica, she was talking about a local orchestra having a chair open for a violinist. Perhaps Viviane and I shall take a look yes?

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	lysandercortnay
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