Post by Callum Cheshile Pissaro on May 18, 2010 10:37:30 GMT -5
i don't think there is anyone under your skin
like a Cheshire cat I think that you are just a grin
and I can feel you laughing, under my skin
and the happy palpitations are making me... grin.
Callum Cheshile had recently arrived at this fine academy and found the surroundings breathtaking, the children plentiful and bright and the overall change an absolute bloody bore. He was scolded for evaporating at his discretion and chastised after fanning a heated argument. What's worse- upon requesting an acting course, there were loads of paperwork to fill and, of course, he is not apt to follow procedure. So. Dark hues danced over the theater entrances, feet tapping to a low hum and chin propped in his palm.
For all intensive purposes, he was preying, awaiting the first sign of life so as to latch onto its jugular and drag it to stage. On said stage was a circular setup of chairs, hard and black, facing towards a plush master chair. Not exactly the usual arrangement. It wouldn't need to be an official class. He could simply gather students and spread the love of the great masterpieces. This play, however, would be of his own ingenious creation.
The lights were dim, leftover from the earlier meeting between the student body and faculty so as to introduce their new professor. Ah, yes. He. To be teaching Magic Insight- though he wasn't exactly certain how one masters their magic, in all honesty. Perhaps it would do to look into that. But first: necrophilia. One cannot live, truly, until they live through a corpse, as Jesus once said.
In any case, it will be the love story of a lifetime. Without signing one paper, he would manage to awe the board into approving the formation of an acting section. The play was actually his second creation, at the age of thirteen- if he recalled correctly- in which a young man had lost his eldest brother, his hero, his paternal figure to a terrible illness. Eventually, upon reaching the same age, the youth snapped and dug up the corpse.
I was a story of sorrow and sexual exploration and quite a bit of lemonade.
He swayed, humming and growing mildly impatient with the absolute silence stretching and stretching and stretching from wall to wall. Perhaps he should snatch one of the passing students.
Note: I don't do notes and shit under my posts. /end contradiction
