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Below are the 3 most recent journal entries recorded in Project New Poitier: Those Who Know's LiveJournal:

Sunday, May 13th, 2007
2:26 pm
Did someone call for an intervention?
Following his birthday surprise, Blake has been acting, superficially, quite normal. He claims to remember very little of what actually transpired that night, and neither of the witnesses is in a position to argue with him. However, he's become a tad bit more of a reclusive budding alcoholic just lately. If one were to stick one's head into his room, it's possible to notice the business card he was handed, complete with rather flattering sharpie portrait, is right in the center of his desk, with the brick he uses as a paperweight holding it down. Should anyone (anyone pretty definitely meaning Annette unless Callisto's feeling meddlesome) bring that up, he will clumsily change the subject or just leave, depending on his mood and how likely Annette seems to hit him as he retreats.

Current Mood: frustrated
Wednesday, April 11th, 2007
11:41 pm
Wish You Never Told Me...
((Annette broke. Here's how she's acting. Have fun!))

Annette doesn't say anything the whole ride back. When they reach the house, she pauses long enough to throw out the mostlyfull cup of coffee, then retreats to their shared room and locks the door. She'll probably emerge a couple times (to use the bathroom or something), but she ignores anyone who tries to talk to her and shuts the door in Gabe's face.

Anyone listening at the door will hear a lot of crying and the occasional outburst of muffled swears. She won't eat.

Eventually, she'll let Gabe and Blake in to sleep - she won't be crying anymore, but she won't speak to them and will shrug off any attempt Gabe makes to be cuddly. She'll sit in the bed until the other two have fallen asleep, then probably wander the house, avoiding anyone who's still up. No sleep for Annette tonight.

As soon as it's light out, she goes outside for a walk. Someone will probably find her up in a tree nearby, just staring blankly into space, her gun on her lap.

She's gonna go kaSNAP if something doesn't happen soon.
Sunday, April 8th, 2007
4:24 pm
The scrawlings of Blake
((Anyone who wants to could read this over Blake's shoulder, or when he sets it down to stare out the window or try and drown his brain cells in, apparently, Bailey's. Whether you want to is the question. Assume all that's written is in truely awful handwriting, and marked by many crossing-outs and scribbles.))

Andre. Andre. Andre.

Out of the night that covers me, black as the pit from soul to soul. How does that go? It doesn't work anyway. Not for me.

Should have known. Someone liked me. Should have set off every alarm bell there was.

Me Who gives? I was okay because I was awful, and that was me. Then he was okay with that.
| He liked me in spite of everything. WHY DIDN'T I REALIZE THAT WAS CRAZY? I'm
| really the poster boy of failure.
| Why would I expect someone to care? Hate him hate him hate him let me
| out of this i HATE HIM!!!!!
Wonder what Alexi saw in me.

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
the falcon cannot hear the falconer
things fall apart the centre cannot hold
mere anarchy is loosed upon the world
the blood dimmed tide is loosed and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned
the best lack all conviction while the worst
are full of passionate intensity
[some scribbly pictures of Andre, Blake, the two (in some rather compromising positions), the crucifix knife, and a scatter of junior-high-esque broken heart-shapes]


I don't care. He can kill me if he wants to. I want him to. Whatever makes Andre happy is what I want. If he doesn't want me, what the fuck is the point of living? I know they mean well.
Except Gabe.
But I don't want to hide from him. Whatever he wants for me. Maybe he would have let me live. He could have made me like him. I don't know if

No, I'd want that.
But it doesn't matter. My happiest damn moments in life were on my knees in front of a homicidal vampire. And I don't care, because it's not like someone's going to offer anything better. Not for me.
Even my parents didn't want me.
Fuck fuck fuck.

Prenez-moi, mon chéri. Faites-moi le vôtre. De quelque façon qui vous convient. Me posséder. Détruisez-moi. S'il vous apporte le plaisir est il ce que je désire. Sans votre bonheur, sans votre approbation, il n'y a rien pour moi. J'ai vu l'amour dans vos yeux. Peut-être il était seulement mon propre reflété là. Mais il y avait quelque chose de vrai. Il n'est tout que je veux, même que durant quelques moments seulement avant que je me donne vous. Un cadeau pauvre, mais tous que j'ai.

[spatter of ink where a pen has exploded]

Current Mood: crushed
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