rumour has it. [tag; valene]

[IMOGEN ELIZABETH GREEN]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image:url(http://i141.photobucket.com/albums/r71/maggiesrpstuff/BACKGROUNDS/ea5ncojpg.png); width: 420px; padding-top: 10; padding-bottom: 10; border: #363636 solid 2px;] [div style="background-image:url(http://i623.photobucket.com/albums/tt311/isthereaghost/imogen1.png); height: 250; width: 400; font-size: 0; background: -moz-linear-gradient(bottom, #d5d2d2, rgba(255,255,255,0), rgba(0,0,0,0)), url(http://i623.photobucket.com/albums/tt311/isthereaghost/imogen1.png);[br"]-webkit-mask-image: -webkit-gradient(linear, left top, left bottom, from(rgba(0,0,1,1)), to(rgba(0,0,0,0)));]hi

[/div]

you got your head in the clouds,

Urgh.

With a sigh, Imogen eyed her the untouched salad in her hands. She wasn't hungry, she wasn't eating a lot lately. Her mother had made it for her this morning which struck her as strange; as much as she loved her mother, she wasn't the type to make lunch. She was usually swanning around in her paint splattered shirts, forgetting her own name due to her spacey nature. She must have gotten her smarts from her dad.

The day was nice enough. A warm breeze ruffled her long, loose waves, catching the flowing fabric of her yellow pussybow blouse as she crossed her long, bare legs at the knee. Students were milling around her, chatting incessantly about their stupid teenage problems. For the past ten minutes that she she'd been seated at a table, she'd heard that a brunette didn't have a date to a moronic party, someone had failed their last English test, another didn't know what to wear to prom. Prom? When was that? In like six to eight months or something silly? One thing was sure, Imogen wasn't going. It was everything she hated about life, all in the one place. It was a popularity contest and a contest she wouldn't win.

Looking down dolefully, the artist gently poked at a cherry tomato with her fork, watching it roll over a slice of lettuce and stop as it hit a slice of cucumber. On the floor next to her was her school satchel, overflowing with textbooks and homework. In her last class, History, she'd stayed behind and requested extra homework from Mr. Reid, just so she'd be forced to stay home this weekend and complete it so she wouldn't be tempted to attend yet another party. Everyone was talking about her. Oh, not to her face but she knew they were. There were whispers as she walked past, stares in the hall as she went to her locker, hushed conversations behind the backs of hands. With a groan, Imogen pushed her salad aside on her unoccupied table away and out of her reach.

Luke Moreau was far more trouble than he was worth.

Suddenly she'd become notorious and she didn't know why. In fact, she'd must prefer if everyone ignored her again. Was it worse for Luke? She'd imagine they'd ask what he was doing with her, why they were hanging out, if he was sleeping with her. The thought suddenly hit her and she groaned. Pitching forward, Imogen's forehead hit the table with a dull thud! that echoed around the Quad. Yup. Her life was over.

words; 431,

[/center][/td][/tr][/td][/tr][/table]

THIS TEMPLATE WAS MADE BY WILMETTA OF CAUTION.

[/center]

[VALENE RHIANNE SOUTHWAY]

[atrb=width,390,true][atrb=border,0,true] [atrb=cellSpacing,0,true]   CLICK. Valene's body shook a little bit with the force of the staple gun shooting the last staple into the wood of the canvas. She had been stretching canvases all period as a favor to her art teacher and her arms were begining to get very sore. Even after a years of doing it, a whole hour of stretching canvases was still very tiring. Valene sighed and sat down in the nearest chair and rested for a bit, she was playing with the idea of stretching another one but then the bell for lunch ranf and that idea left her mind as quickly as it came. She grabbed the streched canvas and handed them over to her teacher who smiled greatfully, then she grabbed her bag, waved and left. God, did she need food. Her stomach was practically yelling for her to get to her locker where a nice ceasar salad wrap was waiting for her. When she got to her locker and opened it, she was almost tempted to unwrap it and take a few bites right then, just to settle her stomach a bit, but she ended up deciding against it. As she switched her books out of her bag, a certain conversation being held by a couple of girls walking down the hallway caught her attention. "That Imogen girl was with Luke at the party last weekend..." one said. Valene turned around at the mention of Imogen's names and her eyes landed on the girls. "Luke Moreau?" asked the other. "Again?! That's the second time--" the girls voice faded into the crowd. Valene turned back around to her locker. Imogen? Party? With Luke? Again?! Something was not right. Valene closed her locker and made her way for the Quad as fast as her feet could take her. Imogen would probably be there by now, eating. Valene practically burst through the doors of the Quad and quickly scurried to the table Imogen was sitting at. Imogen's forehead was resting on the table next to her salad. Valene didn't bother with any type of greeting. She simply sat down and said. "Imogen... why in heavens name did I just hear two girls talking about you and Luke Moreau, at a party together..."

[/color] she paused for a second. "AT A PARTY?!" she said again.

Valene didn't even need to specify who she was talking about. Luke Moreau, the slutty-foreign boy, as he was somtimes called. Valene never referred to him that way, due to the fact that she had known Luke since they were kids back in Europe and they were friends, but a lot of people at school saw him that way, and surely Valene thought Imogen did.
[/blockquote]
[/div]

 

 

TAGS: imogen
MUSE(IC): sarah smiles - panic! at the disco
WORDS: four fourteen
NOTES: blarg. this post is really bad. i have tons of muse... but i can't quite focus it into a post because im still spazzing a bit... does that make any sense? XD

[/td][/tr][/table][/center]

[IMOGEN ELIZABETH GREEN]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image:url(http://i141.photobucket.com/albums/r71/maggiesrpstuff/BACKGROUNDS/ea5ncojpg.png); width: 420px; padding-top: 10; padding-bottom: 10; border: #363636 solid 2px;] [div style="background-image:url(http://i623.photobucket.com/albums/tt311/isthereaghost/imogen1.png); height: 250; width: 400; font-size: 0; background: -moz-linear-gradient(bottom, #d5d2d2, rgba(255,255,255,0), rgba(0,0,0,0)), url(http://i623.photobucket.com/albums/tt311/isthereaghost/imogen1.png);[br"]-webkit-mask-image: -webkit-gradient(linear, left top, left bottom, from(rgba(0,0,1,1)), to(rgba(0,0,0,0)));]hi

[/div]

you got your head in the clouds,

Oh super. A guest! Where was her shotgun?

Imogen took a deep breath and clenched her eyes shut tightly as she concentrated on her breathing, trying hard to slow it down a little. In, out she commanded herself silently as she didn't stir. She was getting a tension headache and she knew who was causing it, that pretty boy Moreau with his pretty boy face and his pretty boy charms and his pretty boy clothes and his pretty boy way of smiling and making her forget why she was angry with him in the first place.

Looking up, the bright Californian sun hit her like a slap in the face. Squinting at the outline, her long pale fingers clumsily fumbled for her sunglasses and she wasted no time in sliding them up and along the bridge of her nose. With a grumble, Imogen slid her left hand into her hair and gave it a ruffle, tugging softly on the hair follicles as she raised her face to see her friend. She was suddenly feeling guilty and she didn't know why. "Well, hello Val," she stated wearily, her tone laced with a bitter undertone as she blinked placidly at the other blonde. "Make a habit of sneaking up on people, hm?"

Imogen didn't mean to be so snippy with the other girl but she was in an utterly foul mood and it further soured as she spoke. Oh, so she'd heard about that too? "Because we were?" The blonde offered helpfully, sounding unsure as her perfectly groomed eyebrows rose slowly. Why did she feel like she was being chided by her mother? "And we didn't go "together"," she concluded, making air quotes with both sets of her forefingers. "He was at a party, he asked me to go, I did, I wandered in and he was on the sofa, sticking his tongue down the back of some two-bit hooker's throat while I stood there looking like a lemon." Stopping suddenly, she blinked. "That was rude, wasn't it?"

"Oh Valene, don't yell!" Imogen snapped, frowning deeply so the smooth skin of her forehead creased visibly. "It was just a party." Famous last words. Partying in this town was almost as important as the latest fashion and promiscuity. Ridiculous really. "It was a favour more than anything," she continued gently, chewing on a lower lip. "He helped me out a few weeks ago at the pier when things got a little hairy for a while," she commented, referring to her getting slushied. Again.

"What's the rumour mill been pumping out now?" Imogen asked lazily as she tilted her head to the left a little. It was just a party! It wasn't like she and Luke were joined at the hip; they didn't sit near each other in class, eat lunch together, walk hand in hand down the corridor. He didn't give her a ride home after school, they didn't spend any time together. That was probably her fault, she was busy hiding from her new found frame in the corner of the library with dusty tomes for company. "Why?" She asked again, her navy blue eyes wide behind the lenses of her glasses. "What did he tell you? I know you guys are friends, I was half expecting you to be attending all the parties. Or are you too wrapped up in Mr. Carragher to notice?" Her voice was playful as she smiled slowly, jokingly wiggling her eyebrows at her friend.

words; 578, outfit nuuu it's lovely! <333

[/center][/td][/tr][/td][/tr][/table]

THIS TEMPLATE WAS MADE BY WILMETTA OF CAUTION.

[/center]