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Post by Hayden Oliver Livingston on Mar 23, 2013 21:40:17 GMT -6
Timeline: August 7, 9:00 AM [/b] As Hayden entered the academic building, he greeted some people he knew, but even those he did not know got a smile from him, that's just how he was. Being in these hallways brought back so many memories for him. He'd attended St. Helena's for both his Junior and Senior years of high school. He had come a long way since then, got his life in order, went to college. He didn't know what would have happened to him had it not been for the staff at St. Helena's. If he helped one student the way the counselors and teachers helped him, he'd be happy. Hayden wanted to be there for the students as much as he could. Making his way to his classroom, he unlocked the door and stepped inside, turning on the lights. On the walls, were fun posters. Hayden had spent the better part of yesterday cleaning, organizing, and decorating the room, wanting it to be inviting for his students. He set down his bag, and took off his blazer, putting it on the back of his chair. Walking toward the dry erase board at the front of the room, he wrote his name and cell phone number neatly, then put the marker down. Hayden wanted the students to have it so they could call him. Whether it be because they have a question about an assignment, something basketball related (as he is the basketball coach after all), want to talk or need a ride. While it may seem unorthodox, given his own past, Hayden wanted the students to feel free to call him if they needed a ride back to campus from a party. He knew all too well the consequences that drugs and driving could have. He came out of his thoughts when he heard students behind him, and Hayden turned around to smile at them as the bell rang. Walking around, he sat on the table in the front of the room, swinging his legs slightly as he looked around. ” Alright. Everyone take a seat guys, class is starting. Welcome to English Two. Hopefully, all of you are in the right classroom. For those of you who don't know me, and I'm assuming most of you do not, I'm Hayden Livingston, the new English teacher. You can call me Hayden, or Mr. Hayden, which ever you prefer. I also coach the basketball team, so maybe I'll see some of you at practice,” he said smiling at them as he looked around the room, and continued, ”On the board is my cell number. Write it down, please. You can call or text me if you need anything. I don't care if it's not school related. I was a student here as a teen, so I know what goes on, I know how things are. If you need to talk, but don't want to go to your counselors, call me. If you get drunk or use drugs at a party, not that you should be doing either... but call me, I'll drive you back to campus. I'd rather do that than have one of you drive under the influence of something and hurt yourself or someone else.” He knew most of them probably were not listening, or thinking yeah, right, it's what he would have down when he was their age. ”Now that I've bored you all to death, we're going to move on. Before I do, are there any questions right away? About the class, me, whatever?” he asked, looking from person to person. OUTFIT |
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Post by Imogen Faye Sullivan on Apr 2, 2013 22:44:09 GMT -6
A shrill ringing met her ears, Imogen groggily turning over and smacking the top of her alarm clock. It refused to shut off it's incessant shrieking and the brunette, never having been much of a morning person, roughly grabbed the device and threw it, it then slamming against the wall before falling silent upon impact with the floor. A sigh escaped her lungs as the teen rubbed at her eyes, drawing her hands away to find black stained against pale skin. She rolled her eyes, realizing she had forgotten to take her make up off from the previous day. Too lazy to do anything about it in that moment, Imogen lay there, attempting to will time to stop so she could remain in bed for an hour longer. But, alas, she had to be up for class, specifically English II. She wasn't sure what to expect, especially at having heard that it was a new teacher -- she could only hope he wasn't too big of a dud.
Gruffily rolling out of bed, she swung her legs off the bed, a small shiver travelling up her spine at the slight chill that struck as her feet hit the floor. She yawned, a hand running through her hair, Imogen attempting to wake her mind up, which seemingly refused to cooperate. She was in a bit of a daze as she grabbed some clothes and floated towards the bathroom, her features looking straight ahead, not in any sort of social mood. Upon entering the bathroom, she took to her usual morning routine; putting on her make up, shimmying into her fishnets and slipping her dress over her frame. She paired her outfit with her usual black boots, taking a glance at her reflection and rubbing a misplaced splotch off from under her eyes. It was as good as it was ever going to get, Imogen then retreating back to her room to grab her bookbag, which she slung over her shoulder, and finding her sketch pad, which she stuffed inside the fabric. She took a glance inside her bag, making sure she had her small bottles of paint, as she often liked to paint in class during slow days, just in case. Once she was sure everything was in place, she joined the throng of students making their way to classes, simply attempting to blend into the crowd.
Reaching the classroom, she went inside to be met with the sight of what some might label 'fun' posters, a clear attempt to seem welcoming. She hardly cared as she grabbed a seat in the middle, somewhat towards the back, carelessly tossing her bag beneath her on the floor. As other students trickled in, Imogen took to taking out her pad and three bottles of red, blue and green. She then grabbed a small piaintbrush she had stored on the side, opening the red and blue and pouring some out on a piece of paper she ripped out. Dabbing her brush into the red, she slowly etched against the paper, then using the blue to make a deep purple. She knew her art had no meaning, just a bunch of blotches of paint against white, her hand stroking the colors back and forth. She continued in such a fashion as the bell rang, the last of the straggling students coming through the door and finding their seats. She didn't much listen to what the teacher was saying until he spoke about how he had put his number on the board so that anyone could call them if they needed him, even if it was to be picked up at a party if they were too wasted. She couldn't help but give him a pointed look, an eyebrow raising and a small smirk dancing along her lips, before returning to her work. He asked if anyone had any questions but she paid him no mind, immersed in her art. The man was certainly interesting, much more relaxed than half the teachers she had come across within the past year and she resorted that she would call him by his first name; she didn't much care for formalities. She doubted her peers had any questions for him, everyone was usually too lost in their own thoughts to care. Besides, what could she ask about him that would provide any intrigue? She preferred the mystery, it left guess work and she enjoyed figuring it out for herself. Observance was key and one could learn a lot simply from how someone moved, how their form reacted to things. It hinted towards things they might otherwise never mention outloud -- she enjoyed her own little puzzles.
WORDCOUNT:: enough
MUSICPLAYING:: dream lover - bobby darin
CURRENTMOOD:: brilliant
POSTTAGGEDFOR:: hayden/pie
CHARACTEROUTFIT:: HERE
AUTHORSNOTES:: hope it's alright<3 also, i take no credit for image.
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