A 'Grave' Encounter // casual - open

[kateapolt]

Time had betrayed those who had once believed to live forever. The weather-worn graves carried with them a secret locked away from the soul's that had come to rest for all eternity beneath the ground. Aimee March felt the romanticism of the lost and buried here in Greenwood Cemetery. The grander and more opulent headstones were breathtaking and modern. However, it was those of the more forgotten individuals that drew the young blond. Perhaps it was the idea that these people had lived generations before Aimee had even existed, or maybe it was the evidence that nothing stood the test of time. Whatever it was, the pull was undeniable, and it always allowed Aimee a outlet for her creativeness when she found that her inspiration had dwindled.

Before her, amid the few color swatches she had brought and the fabric templates, still lay a crisp and blank piece of paper. Aimee had been out of design school for a year and some days, and she had yet to find an internship with an interior designer. Her portfolio was quickly becoming engorged with examples of her ideas. The spine of the folder was cracking and peeling, and eventually it would no longer hold the confines of her entire aspiration. Aimee exhaled a frustrated sigh, as she threw down the portfolio. The bitter wind seemed to cackle back at her.

It took a few moments for the tempest of her emotion to return, and she gathered back the scattered remnants of her pictures. New York was alive and well, mixed with contemporary and bohemian minds. So why did Aimee feel like such an utter failure!? "Did you ever fail at something, Horatio?" she whispered to the headstone. 'Horatio Adams' had lived sometime in the early part of the 1900's, and died at the tender age of twenty. Aimee had stumbled onto the grave by accident, and had suddenly felt a strange connection with the bones that lay interred beneath the ground.

For the last few weeks, since the return of her stay in Venice, Aimee had come to this spot to think and sketch. It had been brutally cold and snowy, but she had dared the arctic weather. Her mind was clear here, and even if she often could only remain for a hour or less, it was an hour in the day to expunge all the muck stuck inside her head.

"Perhaps not, you only had two decades on this earth. I am sure you accomplished more in those years than I have." Aimee did not have a second thought at the absurdity of carrying on a conversation with a dead man, in the middle of winter, in of all places, a cemetery. The blond closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the grave. She pictured herself back in Venice, among the local artisans and musicians. The hostel that she had stayed at had screamed with individualism and creativity. Her aura had positively pulsed at high levels, and she had completed some of her most stunning work during those twelve months.

Aimee was starving for intellectual stimulation. Besides her manager, Karen and Stavros, she had limited social acquaintances. A smirk blossomed across her face as she realized that if she was in the market for intellectuals, she was definitely not going to find one among dead people. The blond couldn't stifle the stream of laughter that bubbled forth. Yep, to anyone who caught a glimpse of Aimee, their first thought should be to run. It never suited anyone well who came across a laughing lunatic in a graveyard.

[joannejefferson]

She has no idea why she's here. None whatsoever. In fact, were anyone to ask her what in hell possessed her to show up randomly to the cemetery she'll probably give them a flip answer like "I'm here for the tour. Want to join me?". It's not exactly normal for Joanne to be in a completely random, let's ignore the rules of life and just go for it mood. In fact, it's mostly unheard of. The Joanne that her friends know is always in total and complete control. Even when she's angry, when she's out of her mind with madness, Joanne Elise is always controlled. It's actually kind of crazy.

So this whimsical mood she's in, if you can call a sudden urge to walk through a cemetery whimsical, is definitely not typical Joanne behavior. Thus, when she sees a young girl walking around in what looks a lot like anger, its no shock to her that she's utterly mesmerized. It's not so much that the girl is strikingly beautiful or anything like that (which by the way she is actually quite pretty. Jo simply isn't thinking about that party). It's just that the woman's expression of her emotion is such a brilliant counter to their dead surroundings. There is such life in the other woman that Jo is forced to watch her, forced to pay attention.

How she ends up standing a few feet away from her, Jo won't be able to say. Maybe some type of magnet existed in the other woman that simply pulls her over. Whatever the reason, Joanne is amused to hear the questions being asked of the decadent gravestone sitting before them. She's positive the woman has no idea she's standing there. She's laughing, seemingly to be caught up in her own mind, something Joanne knows all too well. It's so easy for her to think too much about absolutely nothing. Maybe, she thinks, its time to get something on my mind.

"I am positive that Horatio failed at least once in twenty years of life. Everyone does." She starts talking to the woman in what she knows is a completely abrasive way. There is no hello, no hi my name is Joanne nice to meet you, no beginning. She simply dives in, ignorant of whatever risk there may be in talking to what could more than likely be a raving lunatic who talks to dead people. To her, this isn't anymore dangerous than anything else in her life so why not? Besides, aren't her friends always telling her she needs to lighten up?

She's not exactly sure talking to strangers in a home for the deceased is exactly what they meant. The irony of the thought makes her laugh.

[kateapolt]

How utterly magnificant! Forget all the cliche's, of coffee shops and sunny parks with disgustingly 'make me puke' fluffy dogs. Aimee was certain that graveyards should definitely be added to the list of top ten places to meet new people. The blond was deciding how to next carry out the conversation. It was already obvious that this woman was a match for wit, and Aimee felt up to the challenge. Horatio would just have to wait, after all waiting was in a dead man's chemistry, was it not? "Perhaps. But it is much more romantic to think of Horatio as an over-achiever. It would depress me to greatly to discover he was nothing more than a waste of space."

Waste of space - a grimace of truth if you asked Aimee. Youth had a way of making the world seem rosy and bright. Indestructible, with a steel fist and a big middle finger to authority and society. Then the curtain falls, you take your bow and realized it was all a mirage. "Well I am not everyone." The anger in her voice sounded childish, as if her pride had just been injured. The blond frowned, adding to the immaturity of the moment. She took a deep breath and leaned her head back. Beautiful, with a fierce aura that spoke volumes, Aimee was a little impressed by the energy that this stranger presented.

"Care to offer a hand?" Aimee stretched out her hand for the other to take. As she stood, she was careful to keep her composure. The little flare of temper was nothing new to those who deal with Miss Aimee March on a daily basis. The young woman had demands, and she never expected anything less. Life was more interesting that way, you always kept those around you on their toes. Aimee adjusted the scarf and hat, and brushed a strand of her blond hair back. She had yet to discover why this stranger was out in a graveyard. A quick up and down look, convinced Aimee that spontaneity was not something the woman participated in often.

[joannejefferson]

So this situation is just getting weirder by the second. First, she's talking to a strange woman in what could be considered an equally strange place. Secondly, she doesn't give a single damn about the fact that this is happening. In fact, Joanne finds that she's rather intrigued by the thought. Thus, when the woman responds with what could possibly the most childish thing she's heard all day, Joanne is torn between staring at her incredulously or smiling at the innocence in the remark. She's pretty positive there is a strange look on her face, so she quickly masks it with a grin and holds her hand out to the girl who seems to be pouting at this moment.

The change is so fast it sort of confuses Joanne for a second and she realizes just how young this girl might actually be. It's a little weird to think of someone as young considering she herself is only twenty-six, but honestly its been a long time since Joanne thought of herself as a child. Certainly, this spunky woman in front of her doesn't look like a kid, but Joanne knows enough about people to understand that living for a certain amount of years and actually experiencing age are two very different things. Sometimes, Joanne's pretty damn positive she's too grown up for her own good.

In a way, that makes this girl's sudden outburst of anger a bit refreshing. She watches quietly as the girl adjusts her scarf and hat, trying in vain to make sense of what's happening. Why the hell was she here anyway? People don't just hang out in graveyards and talk to dead people. That's by no means normal behavior, which more than likely is why it's keeping Joanne's attention.

"Well, of course you're not everyone." She says cheekily, grinning all the while. "That'd be just a little boring, don't you think?" Joanne slides her hands into her pockets, mostly to give them something to occupy themselves with. Of all the things about her most people don't notice, Joanne's hands are really fidgety.