[Deleted]

[attr="class","ohlove"]

[attr="class","lacking"]

[attr="class","eyes"]
✎ tag: @alana

※ wearing: Here

✉ notes: Helping hand!

both were silent.

the air in my lungs, my hands on the keys.

"Homecoming 2017", boasted the huge banner in blue, cursive letters above the doorway to the familiar, light stone building. The performance center was clean and open, ready to be filled with people again that came from all over the world who'd once called it home to reunite with old friends and see how far their alma mater had come. It was the largest influx of people the campus would see all year. His first Homecoming was a mess and he'd been so overwhelmed with everything that needed put together that he'd slept in the office for two nights. Thank heavens he'd gotten better at it last year. Third time was the charm.

"Four rows of fifteen, then percussion please," he directed around the auditorium stage to students setting up chairs, "Try for a stand for every other chair if we can manage it at first," he helped pull a tall stack of chairs up and off of itself to hand shorter ones over to those assisting. 'Where do you want the furthest chair at, Professor?' Alistair headed a few steps over across the stage while trying to eyeball the distance he was at, counting a few rows of chairs in the audience. "Let's try here," his hand pointed to one side of him where a chair was shortly placed by the same student that'd asked, "If the choir doesn't end up needing that much room, we'll scoot over after rehearsal this afternoon."

That reminded him, his folder was still out in the car. "I'll be back in a few minutes. Oh! There's donuts back stage as a thank-you for coming early and helping out," he called while walking off stage towards an auditorium door, hearing a few cheers of excited attitudes for soon-to-be-full stomachs. Alistair greeted a few other faculty members on his way towards the exit for the staff lot with single-worded pleasantries, mainly focused on getting what needed doing still done. When he rounded the corner to face the glass doors, he saw a pair of legs and a towering collection of plenty of covered things trying to stay upright. "Goodness, I've got some," he was quick to reach out, trying to stabilize the stack, and took a good chunk of top items in his own arms.

When he looked again he could see the owner of the pair of legs he'd seen before, a newcomer to the university. They'd said hello once or twice in a break room that their departments shared - music and art - for the semester she'd been here. "Miss Young," he greeted with a polite half-smile. The poor thing was always doing the brunt of the work as an assistant to one of the older professors in the art department. She'd probably heard enough from him this morning and was neck-deep in things to do for the Bruins' big weekend. Everyone had a first Homecoming. "It gets easier... I promise," his face slightly scrunched with sympathy. "To the gallery, I assume?"

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[Deleted]

S

he was getting used to this kind of life. At least she hoped not- but Alana wasn't one for too many complaints. She had gone through more in life than simply trying to massage the temper of a world renowned artist and professor. Quite frankly, to be in his presence alone was an honor. But it was also motivation for her to be better than she was. It had only been a semester, but Los Angeles was starting to feel a lot like home- more than she expected. She could say that amidst all, she was slowly reaching for her happiness.


"No, no. Urgh" she said helplessly as she was trying to get the paintings to balance. She didn't expect this kind of work today. She came in wearing a crispy clean white button down shirt, a short khaki skirt and nude heels thinking she would be doing nothing more than typing a paper from behind a desk. Then again, when was her boss ever predictable? Seeing her frail structure, the woman who was just a little above 5'2 was tasked to move paintings to the gallery. Suddenly she was in-charge of the contributions of the Art Department to Homecoming. And she didn't even have enough time to get some of her students to help out. A part of her wanted to scream, but as she exhaled repeatedly, she was reminded of balance. It was going to be okay. Or if she drops all these paintings then she'll just run away and never return. Nobody would look for her, it wasn't going to be the first time.

She felt the last few seconds wherein she was going to drop something one or two- and then, another force helped her balance. Oh. Him. No. She didn't know what was running through her head at that moment- her heart certainly felt relief that she didn't have to run away owing the university thousands of dollars. But it was also the familiar face she had caught herself staring at once or twice who had saved her from an abyss. "Professor Lane." she said as she caught her breath. "Thank you so much for helping me, you don't have to I think I can...." then she blushed, smiling shyly as she knew she couldn't manage and she was about to echo a very obvious lie. She sighed. "Yes, to the gallery, if you don't mind. There are a few more still in the car, and I'm just....all by myself" a shy chuckle echoed from her lips as she looked at him into his eyes- a reflection of thanks. "This is my first homecoming...." she continued walking. "Hows the Music Department doing?"

TAG: Alistair Lane | WORD: N/A | NOTES:
Credit: x

[Deleted]

[attr="class","ohlove"]

[attr="class","lacking"]

[attr="class","eyes"]
✎ tag: @alana

※ wearing: Here

✉ notes: Small talk.

both were silent.

the air in my lungs, my hands on the keys.

As he'd assumed, she had been subject to haul - for lack of a better word - all of the dirty work by herself. The art department was incredibly well respected... but the older members had a habit of taking advantage of superiority. Miss Young certainly wasn't the first assistant or newer professor he'd seen with hands full by themselves. "It's no trouble," he helped reassure her when she gave an attempt at handling it on her own.

With a curt nod, he followed alongside her down the wide and empty halls of the soon-to-be-packed establishment carrying a good share of the collection. "I'm headed out myself to grab something from mine, I can certainly help with that load on our way back in." He pushed a door open with an elbow and remained politely outside it, propping the weight of it open with his heel so that she could lead the way. "After you." A few quiet steps later and he tried his hand at answering small talk - something he could not be more horrific with. "Doing well, doing well. Thank you. I've had a couple of years of practice," He immediately berated himself mentally for how egotistical that could've sounded. "I'm sure you're miles ahead compared to my first year!..." An attempt to salvage.

With an apologetic smirk, he was careful to step into the gallery's opening - wide, white, and ready to be decorated with various levels, columns, and hooks for display. He hadn't been in here too often, maybe once or twice, but never when it was empty. It was either oddly peaceful or immensely uncomfortable in its vulnerability. "If you've got more to handle today, I can send a few students with you-," the offer was weightless in a way as he glanced about the vast space with a few, directionless steps, "-sorry... where do you prefer I set these?"

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[Deleted]

T

hank goodness help came along the way. She could imagine her boss, in his slow, rather boring, but highly condescending voice, at the loudest volume she would ever hear him speak. He would definitely blame her if she had dropped a few- and he would never forgive her. But he wasn't that bad; just overtly traditional. And apparently, with no idea how much work his teaching assistant could do. That, no, she was, in no capacity, a construction worker or a heavy lifter at that. Or maybe he was just testing her, as usual. That's what she kept telling herself.

"Oh you could?" her eyes grew wider with a sigh of relif. There were just a few more left. The really heavy ones would be delivered by a service. The professor just forgot to include these little ones in. The word 'little' not to be underestimated. "That would be such a relief. I never knew being a teaching assistant included such manual labor..." she chuckled. Alana didn't want to come off as a complainer, so maybe in a manner of joking she could get away with it. At least she hoped. "Hah. Miles ahead? Why? Did they make you carry a grand piano from your car, by yourself? I'm just rolling along with the punches." she smiled as they entered. She had no idea where they were going to be placed. The Art Department's curator wasn't going to be around until a little later. She looked at him again. It was safe to say she was stealing glances. He had such a handsome face, but she could also sense a man who was deeply rooted in gentleness. Something about him felt so kind. She smiled at him again amused. She didn't want to appear too creepy granted it was their first time to ever engage in a conversation.

"You have students?" she asked sarcastically. They had students but of course they weren't around to help. "Actually, there are very few left in the car. I tried to take as many as I could for the first trip. But if you will be helping me..."she smiled at him, almost shy. "Then we could manage." And then the question again. Oh, the room was still almost empty as she saw it. She moved to the center of the room, positioning herself with knees slightly bent as they approached arranged chairs- ideally for guests. "Someone will be arranging this, I think we could all just lay them out on these chairs first? I hope the movers come soon." as they placed them down. She wiped a few beads from her forehead and sighed. "Thank you, Professor Lane. I owe you."she chuckled as she started walking back to the door. There were a few more, and she wanted to finish this as quick as she could as to not waste his time. "How long have you been here by the way? I think outside of bumping into each other, this is probably the first time we are speaking. It's nice to meet you, like really meet you" she walked beside him extending her hand for a shake as they kept moving.

TAG: Alistair Lane   | WORD: N/A | NOTES:
Credit: x

[Deleted]

[attr="class","ohlove"]

[attr="class","lacking"]

[attr="class","eyes"]
✎ tag: @alana

※ wearing: Here

✉ notes: Horrible at talking...

both were silent.

the air in my lungs, my hands on the keys.

The piano comment had earned a wider smile from the quiet man, a ghost of a chuckle daring to come from his chest, but not quite. "I lived off of horribly processed foods for a good few days in the office," he admitted, reliving a bit of the terrible gurgles his stomach had made. "Here?" he inquired to be sure, setting a few careful stacks on the chairs that were set along a wall obviously to listen to some sort of speaker later on.

"Heh, they're quite the bunch, but they're good people." Alistair adored his students and it was evident in everything he spoke of or did with them. If she thought that the two of them could handle the rest, then that was that. "Well then, I'm yours," he stood from the chairs and extended an arm in front of himself to rub up a forearm to clear it of the sleeve that had tried to roll its way back down. Owe him? On the contrary! "No, no. Please, it's my pleasure," he tried to play down the gesture. After all, any man that saw should've lent a helping hand.

"Oh-! Goodness, I'm sorry. My manners," he shook his head and quickly stepped between them with an extended hand. "Alistair Lane. Slipped my mind... my apologies. This is my third year, still quite new myself. First semester, yes?" he inquired, finding himself awkwardly not knowing what to do with the hand he'd shaken hers with. Arms crossed over his chest and he took a step back to listen for her answer. Oh no... what if it wasn't her first semester? What if he just wasn't that observant? What if she'd been here years and he had no idea? 

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[Deleted]

H

ers? He was hers? Alana may look like the harmless young woman; but she certainly had a mind that ran on its own. If only she knew him, if only she was closer- if only he meant it. Alana couldn't begin to imagine how many dirty jokes she had up her sleeve- and the struggle to not say it was real. She noticed her cheeks turning a certain shade of red. Her skin resembling that of a plum. Oh, how to control herself? She gulped. "I really appreciate all the help, professor." she smiled at him. That was probably the most appropriate response.


"Oh.I'm Alana Young. I guess this formalizes our acquaintances?" she shook his hand a smile reflected on the curve of her lips. Her eyes connecting to his. They were dreamy, she had to admit. A certain shade of blue that she had only seen in the cheesy romantic novels she read when she was 14. It was also something to note that he was such a gentleman. If she were to recall how many gentlemen she'd met in her life- outside her grandfather, there were no others. Especially not her father. "Oh, well, first semester done, but this would have to be my second semester"she nodded, keeping her hand on his as she shook it firmly. It was more a realization that they never really paid enough attention to each other in the past. Well, she, admittedly glanced at him now and then. How couldn't she with his tight shirts embracing his very attractive figure. Alana always found biceps quite a weakness. But of course, she too had to be a little shy- at least for a while.

Suddenly she was feeling nervous. As if she wanted to impress him in a way. She sighed, now letting go of his hand as she continued walking. No. She spoke to herself. Keep your cool. It's fine. He's friendly. She thought. "Wow, three years? You always loved music?" she didn't enjoy awkward silences. She would rather engage in small talk than hear the soles of their feet hit the surface of the floor in unison. "Oh and the car is....over there." she pointed to somewhere one could not see. How unfortunate that Alana walked that long of a path.

TAG: Alistair Lane   | WORD: N/A | NOTES:
Credit: x

[Deleted]

[attr="class","ohlove"]

[attr="class","lacking"]

[attr="class","eyes"]
✎ tag: @alana

※ wearing: Here

✉ notes: Horrible at talking...

both were silent.

the air in my lungs, my hands on the keys.

Thank heavens, first semester indeed. He knew she was a newcomer but for some reason the idea of being somehow incredibly unobservant had made him immensely nervous. How awful and rude that would've been. "I suppose it does," he agreed, completely missing the clues she'd given with changing colors of her skin. He was often the same way - a terrible giveaway with how red his cheeks were or how pale his face could turn - but couldn't have been worse at reading the other person when all his attention went to not screwing up a simple conversation. One-on-ones were an enormous weakness of his when not speaking on scholarly subjects...

The question she'd asked had his shoulders nearly visibly drop tension, a wave of peace coming over him just at the thought of his zeal. A soft smile graced his features. "Yes. Always." He could speak on it for days at a time. But that hadn't been why she asked... Quickly he snapped back to and cleared his throat before asking a question of his own. "Do you enjoy it here so far, the University? Besides the manual labor," his attempt at humor was as innocent as they came.

When she pointed in a random direction towards a wall, he could envision the far lot in his mind. "Likewise, luckily enough," he unfolded his arms gave a grin, clapping his hands lightly as if to 'get to work'. He always parked further away, enjoying the quiet walk to and from his workdays. Again he lead the way to the door, and again he held it before exiting. "After you."

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[Deleted]

I

it was great to hear that he loved music, and always has. There was this similarity between musicians and artists. Their passion for something acquired was more than just a hobby, but rather something they actually lived. To some it was actually their oxygen- even their saving grace. "Ah, always eh? That's good to hear. It's nice to know that professors here do what they love...." it was more truthful than anything. Her boss, even if he didn't seem humane was actually one who loved and breath art. "For me as well. Art to me is more than just a hobby, more than an escape, more than a passion really. It just.....it makes up who I am." she smiled, looking at the floor as they walked. She even wondered if it that was too much to say to someone she barely knew for 15 minutes. 

"Are you kidding, professor? Why manual labor is my favorite part!" She quipped as she tried to stpo herself from laughing too hard. She managed to tone it down to a mere chuckle as she connected her eyes with him again. Wow. The more she looked into his eyes, the faster her heart was beating. She hoped she wasn't sweating.  "It has been great. I mean, better than I expected. Back in New York I was a struggling artist. Literally trying to get my name out there. So I was surprised when I was accepted here. I always knew I was going to teach. Teach what I love. "she looked at him again, as if echoing her first statement that those who teach here were more than just people who had knowledge. They also had emotions. 

The car was still further away. And a part of her wished it was a little more further. She also hasn't met a friend since she moved here. Yes, she had the usual people she could have lunch with, but none she could actually have after work drinks with- or even a weekend with. She was mostly alone. She worked, went home, worked on her art. It was fun but still uneventful. With the professor though- it was the first real conversation she's actually had. Despite it being very short.  "Car is still a little further. Sorry. I like punishing myself, apparently." Alana giggled again, referring to the paintings she thought she could carry by herself from such a distance. "So what in music do you teach exactly? Instruments? Voice? Notes? History?" her eyes caught his again and she offered him a gentle smile. 

TAG: Alistair Lane   | WORD: N/A | NOTES:

Credit: x

[Deleted]

[attr="class","ohlove"]

[attr="class","lacking"]

[attr="class","eyes"]
✎ tag: @alana

※ wearing: Here

✉ notes: Sunlit walk.

both were silent.

the air in my lungs, my hands on the keys.

More than a hobby, more than an escape, more than a passion. To most, it would've seemed oddly heavy. To Alistair, it astounded him. Made him stop in his tracks for a moment, honestly, and he blinked at the side of her face as she walked by him and through the door. "I..." what a beautiful thing she'd said, "couldn't put it better myself. I'm grateful to be part of a community that shares that." Again, her sarcastic humor - thankfully easy enough for him to discern -  earned a smile and a brief chuckle. "I could tell, I could tell," he joked along.

"Oh, you moved from New York?" he listened, walking with his hands in the pockets of his trousers as they walked across sidewalks, patches of grass, and a few lots to get to their destination. "So far from home," the comment trailed almost empathetic from him as if to convey a sorrow had she left any family or loved ones behind. "More people should follow their passion. Well, then a belated welcome to California," a smile slid her way and he saw that she'd already been giving him one. Had he known, he would've obliged earlier. Another missed queue, another testament to how socially inept he was... Though the University's environment always did ease him far more than anywhere else.

"Oh don't apologize, we certainly have the weather for it," his head tilted up to glance at the cloud-hidden sun. The outdoors and him got along - jogging, walking, camping. Anything to take his mind and heart somewhere else. The peace of nature often did so and today was no exception with perfect skies and temperature. A rare fall day.

When the next question came, a breath pushed through his nearly-shut lips. "Boy... a bit of everything, really," large shoulders shrugged as they continued their walk, "A few theory classes, piano, strings. Private lessons. No vocal, no, I leave that in far more capable and confident people," his eyes wrinkled at the sides and a fuller laugh escaped him as a hand went back to scratch humbly at the back of his neck. "And you? Your art I mean. What do you dabble in?"

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[Deleted]

A

n actual conversation. She was still feeling a bit overwhelmed, not to mention he was a man she liked looking at. But a part of her was thankful that things were moving along quite well with respect to her meeting her colleagues. That she wasn't going to be a cat lady. Not that she disliked cats, but it was not one of her goals in life. "I tend to wear my heart on my sleeve...." she said in reference to her description of how art was. But she still looked at him gently,, smiling, almost harmless as she shook her shoulders, trying to find answers why she was very open. "But I feel a lot of people here share my sentiments about art, or what they do in general, and that makes me happy.." .

"Far from home indeed." was she going to tell him that New York wasn't her first home? She thought about it for a bit. Could be too early- but then again, she pondered at how not telling him everything may make her look like she was hiding something. And though she was, it couldn't be too obvious. She looked around them, almost appearing strange as she didn't want to appear paranoid but semi looked like it. What the hell. Why not.  "New York was my second home. Came all the way from the Philippines. If you know where that is. "she chuckled, looking at him again. She could always run away again if he happened to be part of the organization searching for her. She had gifts, and she wasn't going to surrender.  "Came all the way here to study art.Well study it in New York and practice it in Los Angeles. Of course, I have a teeny tiny apartment. Not quite the American dream? " another joke as she finally had sight of her car. If she couldn't trust him, there it was- her getaway vehicle. Her small red Ford Fiesta. Amusingly had a lot of paintings still stuck in the backseat. 

 "And thanks for the welcome. It's been warm, like the weather here. Which is absolutely great." At least there wasn't going to be any snow and the sun shone most of the time. There was something about sunlight that allowed her to feel better- that gave her quite a sunny disposition. "Lucky California boys and girls." she joked again. 

"No voice? How am I going to invite you out for a karaoke session then? Or even better, a live concert?" She thought twice at first. Did she invite him out? Maybe. But it was harmless, right? Alana was an expert in acting cool. Years of observing family in politics allowed her that training without asking for it. She was cool. Yeah. No need to overthink. "And wow, a range of instruments. I particularly love the piano. When I paint, I listen to Chopin. Maybe Mozart at times. It depends. I think it gives me more muse when I listen to the classics. Add a little violin there, Antonio Vivadi." Alana was by no means a music expert- but she enjoyed it. Art and Music went together as far as she was concerned. She couldn't create ideas or paint in the sound of silence.  "So I like to paint as I think I have exposed my secret." she eyed him again. Look at his eyes. And she observed the hands on his pocket. Was he shy?  "I paint abstract, mostly. And I research mostly on Carl Jung and his influence in the art scene in the 1940s-50s. Basically justifying the existence of abstract art from a perspective of Psychology. And here I go again rambling..."   she took her car keys out from her pocket and unlocked the door- again attempting to carry paintings her body clearly could not support. 

TAG: Alistair Lane   | WORD: N/A | NOTES:



Credit: x

[Deleted]

[attr="class","ohlove"]

[attr="class","lacking"]

[attr="class","eyes"]
✎ tag: @alana

※ wearing: Here

✉ notes: N/A.

both were silent.

the air in my lungs, my hands on the keys.

"There are worse character traits," Alistair expressed. He couldn't imagine wearing his heart on his sleeve. It seemed a terrifying idea; having a hard enough time trying to hide the overwhelmingly intensity at which he felt so many things throughout his day. Sharing that openly, visibly, for all to see would make him sick to his stomach. It'd ruin him, render him inept. To be able to do that and still function was something that astounded him.

"The Philippines?" he asked with far more surprise, eyebrows up on his forehead and turning to look at her from his side. "I moved a few hours away to study and I thought it was difficult. I can't imagine," he shook his head with an astounded impressiveness at her accomplishments. "I think that's probably as close to the definition of 'American Dream' as you can get." The invitation out went completely over the naive professor's head and he merely responded with a few words of how thankful she'd be that he wasn't singing. He could carry a tune, perhaps he was even fairly good, but he was no performer. Singing in front of others took far too much stage presence and confidence. There'd be plenty of awful voice cracking.

Her interests in the classics were something he appreciated, but the explanations of her muse for her painting was what had him involved in the conversation. "Oh, please. I've had my fair share of eye rolls in lectures from tangents. People ramble. It's how you can tell what they really love." With the car finally beside them, he walked around to the back seat and assisted her by taking nearly half of he paintings in her arms with a mock-scolding expression and a smirk. "You've got an extra pair of arms with you, Miss Young. Not an old man telling you to pick up everything," he started walking and then stopped, winced at himself, and turned back to her with a correction. "Respectable old man..." There. Better.

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[Deleted]

S

he did come from a land that wasn 't exactly near- it was rather far to be honest. But it was the only way. There was no other option than to get away. "Yeah, it's a 16 hour flight, with a 4 hour layover. It was a long journey. But if you're tired, it's just a good excuse to sleep longer than 8 hours..." she chuckled. So far, she was enjoying the company of this professor. "And you? Where exactly is a few hours away?" Her curiosity reigned. 

She was thankful that he had helped her. When he volunteered his extra pair of arms, Alana was so close to giving his arms a compliment. She had to bite her tongue. No. It was not appropriate. Or it wasn't who she wanted to appear as. She was playful, but she was one who could not back up what she said. It was all just a cause of her gained confidence through the years. Or it was also her genes. Say what you want. Get what you want. Her nature with her independent nurture was a powerful combination- a show of her strength. Thankfully, she had self-control. "Sometimes I really have to admit I can't do everything alone...." she smiled at him as he took most of the paintings. "But living alone for years. You have to do everything by yourself. Change the light bulb yourself, fix the pipes yourself, cook dinner yourself. I just so got used to not asking help that sometimes I actually should. And I'm glad its your professor. At least I know you are more capable of heavy lifting than I am...."maybe that was the closest compliment she could give about his arms. She still had a sweetness to it. 

"A very respectable old man who thinks I'm a body builder. " she laughed again.  "But the movers will be there in a bit, so I think all I have to do is make sure the paintings are arranged properly and none of them are mixed and matched." She laughed. That is why there is a need for people like her- those who can identify which art belongs to where.  "By any chance will you have rehearsals? I would love to hear your students. and the professor, but no, she wouldn't say that. Not yet.

TAG: Alistair Lane   | WORD: N/A | NOTES:



Credit: x

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[Deleted]

[attr="class","ohlove"]

[attr="class","lacking"]

[attr="class","eyes"]
✎ tag: @alana

※ wearing: Here

✉ notes: Evening events.

both were silent.

the air in my lungs, my hands on the keys.

"Sixteen hours? My goodness, I had a hard enough time flying to the twin cities in Minnesota chaperoning the students for a music festival," First time flying and hopefully the last for a while. He had never thought it'd be a problem for him, but as it turned out descending from twenty-thousand feet hadn't been his head or stomach's best friend. "North of Santa Rosa. Not far, but a lot less sun," it was a surprising amount of climate difference in such a short distance. Snow, loads of rain, a bit more green. He had grown very attached to running in the sun nearly every day since he'd moved.

The city was big enough that he didn't mind mentioning it, but it wasn't a subject he particularly wanted to stay on. Questions dealing with home were awkward at best. "I can very much relate," as soon as he was of legal age, he moved on his own as soon as possible. Being independent wasn't something he disliked in the least - not that that was what he'd intended.

"And I'm glad it's you professor. At least I know you are more capable of heavy lifting than I am...." "Hm? Oh, please, don't mention it," he smiled knowingly, "I'm used for plenty - moving pianos, grabbing things from the top cupboard, rearranging offices... The homebaked goods I get sometimes as payment more than make up for it." Though his tone joked on about it, it was nearly one hundred percent true.

They'd reached the building again, arranging a few of the paintings via her direction, and they'd finished at her mention of the movers. "Easy enough," he stood straight, hands loose on the sides of his hips, and nodded to affirm. "Not a full rehearsal, no. Just a short run-through of a few pieces from a couple of the soloists being showcased before the performance tonight. You're coming then? Will the gallery be set up for tonight?" he inquired, honestly interested. He'd never swung by before, but he was always open to learn new things and see students' work. Perhaps having an acquaintance that knew more than 'this is pottery' - his usually conclusion - would make it understandably interesting.

[newclass=.ohlove]width:480px;padding:15px;border:1px solid #d4d4d4;background: #6c9d73; /* Old breakowsers */ background: -moz-linear-gradient(90deg, #6c9d73 0%, #6c9d73 100%); /* FF3.6-15 */background: -webkit-linear-gradient(-85 deg, #6c9d73 0%, #6c9d73 100%); /* Chrome10-25,Safari5.1-6 */background: linear-gradient(-275deg, #6c9d73 0%, #6c9d73 100%)[/newclass][googlefont=Oswald][googlefont=Open Sans][googlefont=Roboto][newclass=.lacking]width: 420px; height: 0px; background-color: rgba(40,40,40,0.4); overflow: hidden; -moz-transition: 3s all; -webkit-transition: 3s all; -o-transition: 3s all; transition: 1s all;[/newclass][newclass=.ohlove:hover .lacking]width: 400px; height: 180px; padding: 10px;;[/newclass][newclass=.ohlove:hover .eyes]transition:1s;margin-top:0px;[/newclass][newclass=.eyes]background-color:#1f1f1f;opacity:.8;font-family:calibri; font-size: 9px; text-transform: uppercase;color:#ffffff;padding:20px;margin-top:400px;width:360px; height: 140px; transition:1.5s; letter-spacing: 1px; text-align: justify;[/newclass]

[Deleted]

S

he chuckled at this comment on her flying way too long. She gets that a lot, especially when she would meet folks who would get that far into asking her about where she was from. She shrugged. "I guess people do what they can to reach their dreams...even if its a 16 hour flight, or even 24 hours at that. I remember flying that long when I was a child. My family and I first visited Brazil. Quite a long flight, with lots of layovers." Dreams, yeah right, she knew what she meant. She was running for her life. A plane that would even be 48 hours up in the air would be much better than her plight in her home country. Much, much better. 

Alana meant it as a compliment. He was a very attractive man, she couldn't dney that. At least in her eyes. He had the most gentle of eyes but the colors were deep and provoked from her a great interest. Not to mention his body. It was one of Alana's weaknesses- big biceps and a kind soul. She liked men who only appeared to be intimidating but would appear to be quite the opposite. The professor seemed to be such. "I can imagine that people would be looking to you for help with a lot of physical activities. You work out a lot? I've been trying to find a gym here myself....but just to be healthy. I enjoy physical activities." Maybe that was an innuendo. Who knew. But certainly she gave him a compliment there. Alana wasn't really the shyest person out there.

"Your students are playing yes? I would love to hear what kind of craziness you will have them play"  she laughed, she was enjoying her little jokes by herself. She stood and at least the people who were about to set up the gallery had arrived. Did he just ask if she was coming? Finally, she had a friend. Alana had no real intentions at this point, nothing more than wanting to get to know the handsome professor. Maybe she had herself a little crush. But it was better than she imagined.  "Yes the gallery will be setup. We're doing an abstract theme tonight. Most of the students will have their work displayed, and so will some of mine. I can give you a tour of it, would you like that?"   she smiled proud and she was actually quite excited.

TAG: Alistair Lane   | WORD: N/A | NOTES:



Credit: x

[Deleted]

[attr="class","ohlove"]

[attr="class","lacking"]

[attr="class","eyes"]
✎ tag: @alana

※ wearing: Here

✉ notes: This is short and terrible, I'm sorry x.x

both were silent.

the air in my lungs, my hands on the keys.

"I have to admit, I've never actually been out of the States. I've traveled around plenty on our tours, but not across the border." Though he'd often thought of places he'd love to see in person; Italy, Ireland, New Zealand, South Africa, Thailand. Gorgeous places he could only dream of. That much travel and not being on his 'normal routine' would bring... complications. He'd worry too much - that started it all. Maybe someday he'd perfectly plan a detailed trip close by, Canada perhaps.

He shifted his weight, peering down the doorway for a moment to see his students through the auditorium still working on the organization of the chairs for the orchestra. Good kids, good people. "Hm? Oh, yes, daily. Need it in my routine," he half-joked with a smile. Though spoken with humor, it was the honest-to-goodness truth. Running and lifting took his mind away and gave his head a clearness he couldn't quite get anywhere else. Like a refresher. "I'd recommend one but I do mine from home," he scrunched his mouth apologetically.

She looked like a runner, thin and toned. Maybe a suggestion for a good spot? "White River Park near thirty-second has a great trail. Usually empty in the mornings, wide with lots of turns." Straight paths made for boring jogs. He liked the change in pace. "Yes, absolutely. Most of them under direction in the orchestra, but some of them showcasing in. Three, actually," a proud face nodded and his hands clasped behind his own waist. "I'd love to," to learn something new? Absolutely. He had a handful of students that also participated in the art department. It'd be incredible to see what other things their bright minds created. "You'll have to bear with me. I don't know a thing about your area of expertise."

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