FLOWERS, aurora lavinia

[aurora lavinia flowers]

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[atrb= border, 0, true] aurora lavinia flowers. [/style][style= width: 194px; height: 300px; background-image: url(http://i39.tinypic.com/9aoll3.jpg);] [/style][style=width: 194px; padding-top: 19px; padding-bottom: 19px; background-color: #dd7f7e; font family: arial; text-transform: uppercase; text-align: center; color: #f1f1f1; font-style: italic;]heart.

PERSONALITY... LIKES DISLIKES HABITS QUIRKS SECRETS FEAR APPEARANCE... in recent years, people have described rory's eye color through a different melodic number of ways. the first, is a light golden color. specks of amber clutter her eyes, and this usually occurs when she's in a passive mood - neither good, nor bad. when she becomes angry, upset, or confused, her golden eyes darken a shade (almost to the color of the horizon as the sun creeps over the edge of the line, fighting for it's last chance of survival before it's dragged down behind cover and the world is plunged into what may seem like an eternal darkness). and when she is happy, her eyes seem to ooze an amber, golden color. neither darker, nor lighter then her regular shade. or maybe it's just how she acts - we're not quite sure. the color of her skin varies on the time of the year - as everyone else's does. when it's the winter, she's not necessarily pale (her skin has an opaque, glowing quality to it - like if she actually spent time basking in the sun, if only for a few moments, it would magical darken under the rays) but neither is she tanned. over the summer months though, when the heat is stifling and she's constantly lured under the gaze of the overbearing sun, her skin turns a warm shade of light brown. rory isn't too tall - which you can assume by simply looking at a photograph, old or new. she stands (proudly) around the height of five foot three, and she's not going to get any taller than that. unlike most girls displayed on the cover of teen vogue, rory is not thin to a pulp - though she has been through phases of her life where her idealism of self-image has impacted her so greatly as to think that she could simply change herself with a snap of her wrist. instead, she has a good deal of muscle packed onto her limbs, while still retaining a moderately health weight - about 130 pounds. her clothing style consists of whatever she finds for cheap at a thrift store. anything - you name it. leather jackets with tiny little slits in the fabric, where hands have repeatedly worn away at the silken material, and jean jackets, faded from years of excessive use. rory has both of her ears gaged (which she still isn't very used too), and both of her nostrils pierced. oh, and a cartilage piercing on her right ear. she has no birth marks. and lastly, she has multiple tattoo's. she has a band aid on her left knee, to symbolize the fact that she is, and always has been, a tomboy. she has an arrow on her right index finger, for no particular reason. she has tour written on her foot, to remember a tour she attended with her best friend back when she was sixteen. an apple core on the back of one of her legs. another tattoo that says 'fuck you' on her foot, another that states 'GQ' and 'I drag my feet' on her foot. another, that says show me your teeth, with an image of a bleeding tooth. she has crossing arrows behind her left ear, to link to the arrow on her finger. she has a triangle at the base of her middle finger on her left hand, a fly on her right shoulder blade. and finally, but certainly not least, a tattoo of a heart with 'older men' scrawled on it on the inside of her left ankle. HISTORY... Aurora Lavinia Flowers was born on a rainy, late december night, to a mother who really didn't want to be there. She had no idea why she'd gone through with the idea to actually carry the child, and when the baby came out, she still felt no love for the small, brown haired child. When they offered her a chance to hold the child, she shook her head quickly, and asked when she could leave. Confused, the doctors said she would have to wait for a little, but she could leave whenever she felt fine. Christian, or Chris for short, waited by the side of the bed, his face curved upward into a smile. He was young, younger than most fathers should be, but he didn't care - at all. He wanted the child, so when he was offered the chance to hold the small child, he took it eagerly, unlike the mother, and sat down in the chair with the tiny baby in his arms. He cradled it for hours, until it was finally taken off of him, in which he let go reluctantly. He named the small child Aurora, and watched with no remorse when the mother of his child simply got up and left. He'd never really liked her much, and he didn't want her in the child's life, so it was as simple as that. Aurora grew up in a small apartment with her father for the first five years of her life. In those years, she met her other family, her aunt and uncle and her cousin, Harmony. The two were instantly close, and whenever Chris visited his family, Aurora followed happily and stayed with her cousin. Chris nicknamed his young brunette Rory, because her tomboyish attitude proved that the name Aurora didn't really fit - all of the time. One time, she was found playing in the mud with some of the boys down the street, of which Chris disapproved. He picked her up, and marched her inside to the bath with a lot of protest. A few weeks later, Chris decided to pick up everything, and move to a new town. He'd never really been one for staying in the same place, as he'd moved a lot when he was younger with his own family, and so they moved to New York. The apartment wasn't much better, just a dingy thing on the outskirts of the big city, but it was enough for the two. Rory was home schooled by her father, and learned to talk. This was the year that Chris decided to send her of to Romania to spend the summer with her cousin, which she loved. She was always the more independent and headstrong of the two, and she pulled around Harmony, even though she was a year younger then her cousin. She learned the songs from her aunt and uncle, and she thoroughly enjoyed being with them, even as a six year old. She moved several times over the next ten years, from one city to another, until she'd practically lived every state in the us. She didn't make friends, not ones that she kept, in any case, and instead went out to parties late in the night. She started to take drugs, using some of her father's money without him knowing, and selling it in back street alley's to get what she wanted. She used to stay out late, and she always promised herself that she would pay her father back. Sometimes, she would get temporary jobs, and when he wasn't looking, Rory would slip money under his pillow, where he kept his money, just to pay him back. She spent every summer with her cousin and her family, and tended to have the best of both worlds, in a way. She got into alcohol, started to sing at clubs for money, just to help her dad, or that's what she said. She told everything she did to her cousin, Harmony, who she continued to drag around and control over the summers. Rory never realized she did it, and Harmony never complained, but she kept doing it. As she aged, she started to develop an interest in Jeremy, someone who lived with her cousin, but when she approached him, she realized that he didn't love her - instead her cousin. Rory was never spiteful toward her cousin, but she decided from then on that she wouldn't reduce herself to liking people. That was the last summer she spent with her cousin, her sixteenth. Her father moved her to California, where he finally achieved a permenant job as a graphic designer, and so they finally settled down into an apartment in the middle of Los Angeles. Rory got a job in the local club during the day as a musician. She made a few good friends, a girl called Jessica, and a boy named Luke, who she appreciated more than ever. She started to have a fling with Luke, partied with both of them, before shifting slowly to Jessica, changing her sexuality. Rory was happy, and she didn't care about anyone else but her father, and Harmony, but she knew nothing about her ever since she had left. So, she continued on with her life, helping her dad as much as she could, drinking, smoking, doing drugs, and staying out late at the clubs. She dropped out of high school to help her father, and hasn't regretted it since. She dreams of being famous for her singing, even though she knows it's foolish, but she's ambitious enough to make it happen. When she heard of Harmony's disaster, she felt for her, but couldn't go out to help her cousin. Years later, her father took her too Newton Island, to live with her cousin, because she's too much to handle. He promised to come back for her soon, but she doesn't really believe him. [/style][style= width: 188px; height: 100px; background-color: #bda194; font-family: arial; text-align: justify; font-size: 09px; color: #656565; border-top: #bda194 2px solid; border-bottom: #bda194 2px solid; padding-left: 3px; padding-right: 3px; overflow: auto;]delicate. harmless. was that was she was? this obscene, undiscovered beauty that lay before him? (she reminded him of pirates on a treasure hunt - always looking for the goal but never really finding it, having to bury deeper and deeper into the pits of whatever might have remained {and when those who were lucky enough to find it finally find it, are they gleeful? are they happy? or are they mourning the loss of their brothers on the trip over?} always reaching for the unfathomable and falling further and further into a despair that tickled his brain stems). was her beauty a mask? (such thoughts reminded him of masquerade balls {people who tried to abandon what they'd conceived and detailed to be themselves, searching for an escape into someone else, if only for a night or a moment} where people paraded around with ridiculous masks. masks didn't change you) but he abandoned such thoughts when he realized he could simply lean over and touch her. which conceived the notion that she was indeed real like he had hoped (instead of his delusional mind conjuring images that he wanted, so badly needed, in an attempt at happiness. for what was a man without friends? {what reason was there to live if no one would miss you? what would be your reason to exist?} and what did material things matter if you had no one to share them with?) but she was real. quite real, in fact, that her cheeks were the color of cherry's as the wind licked across them (the wind was also tossing his already messy hair a great deal - and he wouldn't have been surprised if it had completely ruined whatever image he had been trying to uphold). but as his eyes wandered (for he could not stop them, no matter how hard he willed and no matter how hard he fought - they always seemingly found their own path to the things that the brain had reminded them subconsciously were fascinating) from the faint traces of her lips (his eyes dragged along them now rather hungrily, whether he noticed it or not {it was probably some muted desire, like that of a dog. an instinct that had been buried so deep that he had seemingly never been able to harness it - could not fathom the power that it had over him and the lust it possessed} and we would like to think that he didn't notice it, for his fragile innocence would soon be wearing thin) to the curve of her nose (it was rather beautiful, compared to most he had seen {the curve reminded him of something almost roman, which intrigued his curiosity to a breaching point} but then he couldn't say that he had wandered around simply observing noses) to the deep blue of her eyes. and they were, to say the least, unbreachable. alex would like to think (as would most people) that there was a depth to his own dark irises that held the secrets of a thousand centuries, buried so deep that one couldn't help but want to discover them. but as he peered into her eyes (which he found himself doing more so than he would've expected, because who couldn't stop themselves from looking at them?) he saw the secrets of the dead. and if it could been even described with such a simple word, it intrigued him to a point of self-destruction. he was trapped in her eyes (and for a moment he wondered if sitting behind solid bars would feel as caged as the feeling that was burrowing it's way into his chest - would it be so awful to be trapped behind bars such as these?) but he didn't fight the feeling that rose. instead, he welcomed it. he wanted to pry through her (in the sense of her mind, what she thought, how she worked) and discover her secrets. he wanted to know her favorite color (something as simple as such shouldn't be hard to discover) and he wanted to know what was her deepest, darkest desire. she made him want things he couldn't understand, things he had never felt. and it was like a whole new world was being put on display, in a glass tank he couldn't quite open, but only touch. god will not have his work made manifest by cowards. was emerson really such a genius? (alex was an incredibly large fan of emerson's work on individuality and the purpose of the human - for what was a person without deeper thoughts than that of what would be on the menu for lunch, or what twenty dollars could get me at walmart?) and as he sat down there, on the bench (the cold was seeping through his jeans and sending chills through his lanky body {which only awoke him more - made him feel more alive than he had felt in what seemed like a hundred years - how long had he been asleep?} which reminded him of his place in this seemingly endless eternity) he couldn't help but quote such a brilliant man in his mind. alex - himself - as he stared over at the girl who had introduced herself as alice (the name still sent a shiver of delight running up his spine and to his fingertips, which were clutched together as if he needed control of his body) wondered if she had made herself a coward. she had been given a life, and what had she done with it? but merely in a moment (the moment was really almost a fifth of a second, to small to even comprehend the time that had gone by {in fact, it was almost as soon as the thought had appeared that it had disappeared} and so he let it pass with no resentment or wonder) he realized that it was not the case. she was not a coward, from what little he had heard her speak and the body language which she had displayed so openly and freely (whether she was aware or not). and he knew, almost suddenly (he imagined that it was like spiritual awakening, in the sense that he was now aware of things that hadn't seemed to exist prior to the experience) that she was made to be compatible with him. he wasn't one to believe in souls (because if he did believe in souls, where would his be right now? most people imagined them as white little beings that lived inside your chest {similar to harry potter, in certain aspects} genderless and faceless - but when something bad happened to you {as if, a crime, or a wrong-doing on your part} did your soul get a little darker? tinged with the color of your sin? because if that was the case, alex's soul would be the darkest black - like the black of the night sky, with little change of a redeemable quality) but if he had too, he imagined hers had been created to be compatible with his. it was a vain hope, but what was life without hope? life without purpose? and what if his purpose was to be befriended by such a girl? (the idea was idiotic, really, but alex couldn't help how his mind happened to function, only seemingly agree with it {like a river stemming into a lake - the water couldn't escape it's fate, so why not agree rather than struggle in a hopeless battle?}). "i don't know; we haven't met yet." her voice. her voice. it crashed like great, bellowing oceans against his eardrums, drowning him in a water he couldn't escape - a water that tangled every part of his body in it's arms. her voice reminded him to breathe (which he had forgotten to do over the course of his thoughts, as he realized he had, indeed, been holding his breath the whole time). but his words engrained - no. burned themselves into the back of his melted, pathological brain, and he had trouble remembering why he was there. but of course he had met her. maybe not in person, maybe not here, but she had met him, whether she liked it or not. and for a moment, he gathered his thoughts, and almost delicately, he selectively released them into the air. "but you have met me," he breathed, longingly, almost carefully. "you know me better than anyone." a wicked grin stitched into his lips, his dark pools peered at hers with an ache and longing he hadn't felt in years. he wanted her to like him, and his ambition would drive him to make her want him. his whole body simply ached. "are you scared?" her words were velvet this time, licking against his eardrums, as his dark pools turned to view her once again. it was his turn, this time, to be skeptical (alex had been afraid when he was younger, but of such things as the monsters that lingered under his bed. it was only when he grew older that the monsters weren't underneath his bed, they were inside his chest, screaming and writhing underneath his skin. he was the monster) as his dark orbs traced over her face with that same wonder and awe. he wanted to whisper to her, to break the sound barrier between them - slice it in half (like the sound barrier above the atmosphere, being penetrated by a rocket or a probe - something that would distract from the natural balance that had been maintained and thoroughly kept) but it felt rather out of place, so he kept his lips perfectly stitched. but he couldn't distract himself from her. she was sucking him in, rather like a black hole (when he got to her core, would he be torn apart? would she reveal him as he really was? for the whole world to see?) but he couldn't stop. "you don't seem like you are." her touch, it sent nerves pulsing all through his skin (rather like those instruments that they used to lure people back to reality in the hospital - to take them away from their dreams of a final end to their suffering - a way to take them back to whatever damnation they were serving out) and it made him look up to her, once more. and when he spoke, his voice was so soft, so delicate, he was almost worried she couldn't hear him. "never."

female. [/style][style= width: 100px; padding-top: 20px; padding-bottom: 20px; background-color: #dd7f7e; font family: arial; text-transform: uppercase; text-align: center; color: #f1f1f1; font-style: italic;]nineteen. [/style][style= width: 100px; padding-top: 20px; padding-bottom: 20px; background-color: #dd7f7e; font family: arial; text-transform: uppercase; text-align: center; color: #f1f1f1; font-style: italic;]residents. [/style] [/style][style= width: 100px; padding-top: 20px; padding-bottom: 20px; background-color: #dd7f7e; font family: arial; text-transform: uppercase; text-align: center; color: #f1f1f1; font-style: italic;]rebellious. [/style][style= width: 100px; padding-top: 20px; padding-bottom: 20px; background-color: #dd7f7e; font family: arial; text-transform: uppercase; text-align: center; color: #f1f1f1; font-style: italic;]independent. [/style][style= width: 100px; padding-top: 20px; padding-bottom: 20px; background-color: #dd7f7e; font family: arial; text-transform: uppercase; text-align: center; color: #f1f1f1; font-style: italic;]stoner.

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thereisalieinperfection @ CAUTION 2.0