Failure To Launch (AU, CC, Mature) Restart post 4/13

[Dream Weaver]

Bumping.........I am going to get Kyle's post up tonight!

[Dream Weaver]

Hey guys.....looks like a few players are playing hard to get....lol!
I am going to go ahead and put up a temp post for Maria.....do any of you want to put a temp post for Michael or Isabel until I hear from the others?

Just PM me and let me know.......

[DreamerLaure]

{I'm temping Isabel Let me know if you want anything changed By the way, lol, I have no clue what would qualify as therapeutic wellness but I definitely had fun with that part of her character}

Isabel

“Mom!” I yell out when the lock clicks open. I manage to push the door wide open on my own, and I huff out loud when I’ve crossed the doorway. It’s two thirty on a Wednesday afternoon, and she’s not home. That’s really – and that’s when I hear the crashing cymbals and the blistered strumming of an electric guitar – of course Max and his croonies are practicing. Gosh, does he have no shame? Now he’s even managed to chase Mom out of her own house. I eye a yellow post-it on the mirror on the wall as I wheel around in my effort to close the front door and bring all of my bags in at once. My next impulse is to reach for it and read it, because that’s what I would have done if I still lived at home. Mom loves leaving us post-its all over, and some are very informative. Max never knows what’s going on unless you tell him face to face repeatedly, and loudly. I still stop and marvel over how much I have to do. If only Max would….I don’t even know. I really should stop expecting things from him, but it’s undeniable that I am jealous whenever I see any other, or rather every other man on the planet playing the loving son, brother or lover role. Max, poor thing, he just doesn’t have it.

In my hands are five (or is it nine?) shopping bags – I lost track of how many there are three hours and ten stores ago, and after visiting a few of the stores in clusters, I started asking the person ringing me up to just stick it into one of the larger bags. To that effect, there are probably a hundred colors in my hands and it feels as if the handles might break under the strain of all of my gifts. I’m sure my Mom won’t want to see all of these purchases. It’s so strange that seeing me spend my money irritates her, and I’ve never understood why. I work extremely hard for it. I bend my knees as I enter, the weight of the bags pulling me downwards and I press my back against the door to slam it shut. Oh, the nerve…of course no one is around to help, and of course I look ridiculous for just trying to save myself some effort. Of the three strapping young men downstairs, no one is coming to even aid. Fairytale? Ha, I snort aloud. The fairytales all lied because there are no Prince Charmings – that gene obviously skipped nine generations.

I bend over so that my right arm angles down for my bags to just slide down easily onto the floor. They clatter as they fall, and I hear the distinct sound of glass breaking, and oh no, shattering too? I wince – I forgot the handblown green antique glass bowl with the ruby embellishments was in one of those bags. I look down at the clutter in disappointment; that’s two hundred and fifty dollars down the drain, and I’m back to square one for a present for Aunt May. I’ll have to check it later to see how damaged it is, but the sound of that was not promising. It sounded like it even collided into something else on its way, and I’m not looking forward to assessing the damages.

This is my childhood home, and I know every part of it intimately. I haven’t been home in five weeks, and before that, it was two months? I think I was here for July fourth and maybe a few days after that. My parents are welcoming my absence though. They like that I’m not here so much. During college, I would come home for dinner on Mondays and Thursdays for Mom’s chicken parm, and now, not so much. I started my residency three years ago, and as much as I love it and I think this is the right thing for me, it leaves little time for anything else. What was it last week? 19 hour shifts, and three hours of sleep on Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday? It was exhilirating when I first started, but now, I just want to finish. Mom and Dad still manage to call everyday, and it’s always at night. My Mom knows how hard I’m working and even though I recount each week to her animatedly, I always see something uncharacteristic in her eyes. She looks sad when I’ve finished, but she can put two and two together; she’s probably realized that I work more than I ought to. So, she and Dad call at night, and when I come home, collapse onto the couch I bought because I loved the color, I reach my hand out to press play, and their voices, warm and hopeful are the things I go to sleep to at night.

I never said my life was perfect; I’m just coming off a fourteen hour shift right now.

But, I hope it’ll be worth it someday. I straighten up, and when I do, my chest puffs out, and my spine visibly straightens in the mirror. Those ballet classes from my childhood have never forsaken my mind; I like to look presentantable. I meet my own eyes in the mirror, and I stare back. She’s always blinked when I do, but today, I pause to do the exercise, “I am Isabel Evans, beautiful, self-assured, calm and collected.”

Then it’s breathe in on 6 and breath out on 12. That's what Dr. M said. It's kind of irritating that I can't just call him Dr. Monroe like I would any of my other doctors and even colleagues. Instead he said something about familiarizing himself with me. He said he wants to level with me. I don't think it's such a wonderful idea. I wait, and I put my palm down flat on my abdomen: one, two, three, four - “One, two, three, and…” and once again that song, that ridiculous non-organic tune I’ve heard over and over since ninth grade ("To Stacy," written for the girl who’s locker was above his) breaks my concentration.

Sometimes I wonder if having Max as a brother has brought all of this undue stress into our lives. It really seems like he's always trying to do things over the top, and that he never puts his energies into anything practical. I mean, it's two-thirty and he's not in an office job chucking in the numbers or even helping his sister at the door. I reach for the yellow post it on the mirror and grab for it quickly, slightly tearing it as I do. It's from Mom, and it says, "Gone to get more groceries."

I frown...why would she possibly need more - in her last call she relayed a story about arguing with one of the Stop and Shop staff about a package of chicken that didn't look too fresh. I step over the mountain of bags and two pairs of Max's shoes scattered on the floor on my way to the kitchen. When I'm there I pull the fridge door open and I'm surprised when it's bare...it's completely bare - there's nothing on the shelves, nothing in the drawers.

I stand up, baffled...who could?

A loud belch erupts from downstairs, and I also hear Max's laugh too, and clearer than the rest. There’s never been any peace in this house and poor Mom, she’s obviously gotten into the habit of shopping for more food everytime they’re here. There has to be a way, some gentle but imposing way to tell Max “No.” He just doesn’t listen though. And out of love, we give him all of our attention, hoping he’ll get better. Mom’s calls to me haven’t mentioned anything of the sort though. It’s more a singular sensation – you have to be around Max Evans, no, live with him to see the real him. That’s the only advantage that makes up for missing so much of my family’s lives – I’ve gotten to miss most of Max’s antics. But, what I don't get is why does he have to be such a show-stopper.

[Dream Weaver]

BUMPING and putting out a CASTING CALL! Please check in if you still want to play

[DreamerLaure]

I want to play still!

[Dream Weaver]

Yea guys....I am excited FaithfulAngel24 is going to take our Maria!
I am still waiting to here from OnDragonflyWings.....but hopefully our new Maria can get us moving!

[FaithfulAngel24]

*Maria*

Swiveling my hips to the provocative beat of the bass I launch myself off the mattress of my rather luxurious queen size bed and onto my neon psychedelic shag carpeting. Using the rug as a makeshift stage I sway back and forth letting my long blonde locks count out the throbbing rhythm. My body revels in the freedom and at once I am a slave to the music. Picking up my hot pink hair brush I begin to croon seductively into the pretend microphone.

*Daylight, spent the night without you.
But I've been dreaming 'bout the lovin' you do.
I won't be as angry 'bout the hell you put me through.
Hey, man, bet you can treat me right.
You just don't know what you was missing last night
I wanna see your face and say forget it just from spite.*

I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and I can’t help but examine the carefree girl in the reflection. A curly mess of blonde hair frames dramatic emerald eyes. Porcelain skin sets off ruby red looks that are far more plump then should be allowed. Just for fun I had slipped on skin tight black leather pants and a crimson corset top that laces up the sides.

I have never worn the ensemble out in public nor will I ever. This little performance while thrilling will never be done in front of critical strangers. I enjoy playing out the fantasy every once in a while. Even if my only fan is my teddy bear Rocco. I continue to wail rocking out to one of my favorite songs.

*I think of you every night and day.
You took my heart, then you took my pride away.
I hate myself for loving you .
Can't break free from the things that you do.
I wanna walk but I run back to you,
That's why I hate myself for loving you.*

I am so caught up in the moment that I jump at the sound of the front door shutting. I am surprised I even heard it over the blaring music. Closing the lid to my record player I exit my bedroom and make my way to the kitchen. Whenever I want to find my wonderful roommates I just go to our regular meeting place. I bet you are curious as to where that is. Well, I’ll give you a hint. It’s where the food lives.

“Maria….Tess…I’m home." Grinning from ear to ear I practically skip into the kitchen. I enter the room just in time to hear Tess say, “Hey Liz, How was your day?" Feeling the need to throw my two cents in I pant breathlessly, “Hola Chicas. How’s it shakin’?” Wow, jumping up and down really takes it out of you.

[RiaRath101]

I'll take Michael

[Dream Weaver]

Thanks Ria! Now we can restart....hopefully OnDragonflywings will check in........if not I can always temp......

POST AWAY!

[FaithfulAngel24]

Bump!!!