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Post by Mike D. Greaser on May 4, 2008 15:48:57 GMT -5
Mike strolled through the isles of the library, admiring the artwork. He wasn't quite sure why he was here, he just was. Maybe for relaxation. He'd always found art interesting and calming. Don't ask him why, cause he wouldn't be able to tell you. It had just always been something he enjoyed.
One particular art piece caught his eye. It was strange and didn't look like it was in the right position. Mike started to move his body in weird ways, trying to find a better angle to look at it from. He tried to crane his neck so he was looking at it upside down; it didn't work. He sighed. What is this?!?
He continued to study the artwork, not noticing the footsteps that were approaching him.
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Post by Bella Harris on May 4, 2008 18:41:26 GMT -5
It was a usual day for Bella. She just came from her apartment to the museum in Brooklyn. Her uncle got mad at her for who knows what, and she got a beating...as usual. She didn't stay around to inspect the damage, no she limped out of her apartment down to Brooklyn. Obviously, she was very hurt. There were bruises up and down her legs, and some on her arms. Thankfully her skirt and shirt covered that. She walked into the museum with her head hung.
She wrapped her arms around herself as she walked into the lobby. She could feel stares on her, and hear whispers. But nobody cared, they were too busy. She still had her head hung as she walked down the aisles. She looked up and saw a mirror. Might as well inspect the damage that was done to her. She gazed at her reflection, knowing why people were staring. She had a large bruise on the side of her face, and a big black eye. Her shirt was falling off her shoulder, revealing the blanket of bruises on her shoulders and arm.
Anger burned inside of her. Why did he have to do this to her? What has she ever done to him? It wasn't her fault that he was an old man that couldn't get a girlfriend because he was too busy lusting after her mother. She huffed, and walked away from the mirror down the aisles. She was looking at the ground, trying to plan out ways she could get her revenge. Sadly, she couldn't use those plans, and she could never get revenge.
She was too busy planning pretend plans that she didn't notice someone in front of her. She ran into the person, falling back and losing her balance. She sprawled across the floor and hissed in pain. Yeah, she was in severe pain now. She got up and brushed off her skirts, seeing she ran into a young man. She winced, almost preparing herself for a beating. "Sorry." She stated simply, preparing for the blow up that was coming.
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Post by Mike D. Greaser on May 4, 2008 18:52:53 GMT -5
As Mike's head tilted to the side, a small body ran into him. He stumbled back, taken off guard. A young girl had run into him. She mumbled a quick sorry and stood up. Mike waved her off, not hurt. He was to busy looking at this painting. It was just to weird to take your eyes off. It was like one of those things were you wanna look away, but you can't. "It's okay..."
He kept his eyes trained on the strange painting. Who in the world had painted this and what were they drinking?!?! Mike chuckled at his thoughts and continued to look at the painting, not expecting for the girl to stay.
As he glanced over at her, he did a double take. The girl looked as though she'd gotten into a fight, a bad one. She looked awful. "Bloody hell, what happened?" he inquired, his words dripping with his British accent. He turned to her fully and reached his hand out to her. Mike was a creep, yes, but he did have respect for women. They should not be beaten, unless their newsies. Then thats okay. Mike smirked at his own words.
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Post by Bella Harris on May 4, 2008 19:03:43 GMT -5
"It's okay..."
Bella sighed a sigh of relief, she wouldn't get beat twice in one day. She wrapped her arms around her again, at least that covered up the bruises on her arms and shoulders. She couldn't do much about the bruises on her face. She probably looked like a wreck, the dirt on her face mixed with her tears, along with paint smudges. Then there was the bruises. She looked over to where he was looking at, it was a very...interesting painting. The person who painted it must've been drunk, or something.
"Bloody hell, what happened?"
She winced as he raised his voice. "Its nothing." She replied, "Just an accident. I fell down the stairs trying to carry up groceries." There. That was a convincing story, right? Some detail, and it was realistic. Hopefully he would buy it.
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Post by Mike D. Greaser on May 4, 2008 19:23:37 GMT -5
"Its nothing. Just an accident. I fell down the stairs trying to carry up groceries."
Now Mike was not a sympathetic person, and didn't feel bad for people often; but this was not right. He clenched his fist, knowing she was lying. Someone does not get a black eye from falling down the stairs. If she didn't want to tell him, though, he wasn't going to force her. That would ruin his bad boy image.
"Okay.... My names Mike, by the way..." He held out his hand for her to shake. His eyes couldn't help but wander over her body. From what he could see, she must have taken a nasty to fall to get all those bruises. It looked bloody painful.
{Not very long, sorry}
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Post by Bella Harris on May 4, 2008 19:33:19 GMT -5
Bella could feel his eyes burning a hole through her. She hated lying to cover up her uncle. She absolutely hated lying to her parents day in and day out. She hated to lie to her customers, telling them she fell or ran into a door. She felt somewhat self-conscious, that he knew she was lying. She hated that feeling. The looks that people gave her when they didn't believe her.
"Okay.... My names Mike, by the way..."
She reached out and shook his hand, "I'm Bella." Mike seemed like the type of guy who was a bad boy. She didn't care, Bella was a bad girl, according to her uncle. She enjoyed the feeling of being bad to anyone but her uncle. She loved to be bad and get away with it. The excitement was priceless.
((Sorry mine's short too))
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Post by Mike D. Greaser on May 4, 2008 19:53:58 GMT -5
"I'm Bella."
Mike took her hand and brought it to his lips. Brushing his lips lightly across her knuckles, Mike kept his eyes on her. Mike brought her hand down and smirked at her. That was always his greeting to ladies. He liked to see how they would react.
He didn't let her hand go, instead he gripped it tightly and brought it to eye level. Pulling up her sleeve, Mike releaved dozens of bruises and cuts. He raised his eyebrows and brought his gaze to meet hers. "Falling down the stairs?"
This wasn't right and Mike knew it. He figured Bella was under some sort of threat and was afraid to tell people about who was abusing her. Mike was evil, but he wasn't cruel. No body deserved to be beaten by their only family member. It just wasn't right.
{*gasp* You're a pirate! DRUGGIE!}
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Post by Bella Harris on May 4, 2008 20:21:54 GMT -5
Bella smiled when he kissed her hand. It was nice to see that some men had some class. This was new to her, men usually treated her terribly. Mainly her uncle and sometimes a few of his drunk friends. She hated it, but what could she do? She was threatened many, many times by him.
"Falling down the stairs?"
She blushed, and yanked back her arm. Holding it close to her, "Its nothing." She mumbled, pulling down her sleeve. "It was my fault anyway." She knew it wasn't her fault, even though her uncle told her that it was day in and day out. It did play mind tricks with her.
She knew she had to get the subject off of her and her abuse. She swallowed, "So, how long have you've been in New York?" She asked sheepishly, knowing it probably wouldn't work.
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Post by Mike D. Greaser on May 4, 2008 20:30:03 GMT -5
"Its nothing. It was my fault anyway."
Mike scoffed at her and said, "Oh really?" On impulse, Mike knelt down and pulled up her skirt a few inches. He wasn't trying anything, he was somewhat of a gentleman. As he ran his hand along her calf, he winced. He could feel bump after bump. These were recent, some still bleeding. He shook his head and stood back up.
"So, how long have you've been in New York
Mike sighed and decided to play along, "A few weeks... you?" He hoped to get information about what was happening. Maybe she could give him information about what was happening with the newsies. Was she one?
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Post by Bella Harris on May 4, 2008 21:02:22 GMT -5
"Oh really?"
Bella winced as he touched her leg, the welts and bruises were still sore. She stepped back, "Please stop, it hurts." She said in a mousy voice. If she every dared to say that to her uncle she would get beat even more, he would say "If that hurts, I'll show you real pain." She grew even more frightened everytime he hit her, she didn't know if one day he would actually go over and kill her.
"A few weeks... you?"
She sighed another sigh of relief, he wasn't going to force things out of her. Even though she wanted to tell someone and have her uncle taken away from her, she knew she couldn't. "I moved to New York from Italy when I was seven. So I've lived here for ten years." She replied.
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Post by Mike D. Greaser on May 5, 2008 13:04:07 GMT -5
"Please stop, it hurts."
Mike nodded and pulled away. He wanted to ask her who was doing this to her: and go beat the crap out of them and save the day, be the hero. But Mike wasn't even sure if she would talk to him, let alone tell him who was doing it. Mike suddenly had an epiphany. She could work for him, just like Daphne. He couldn't offer her a place to stay or money, but he could offer her a solace. Mike was surprised at himself and how kind her was being. Maybe it was because he expected to get something out of it.
"Where do you work?" He decided to ease into the idea of her working for him.
"I moved to New York from Italy when I was seven. So I've lived here for ten years."
"That sounds ineteresting..." Mike replied, absently. He was still staring at the strange picture. He just couldn't get over how someone had paid money to have this in their gallery. It was beyond him what they saw in this.
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Post by Bella Harris on May 5, 2008 13:21:40 GMT -5
"Where do you work?"
Bella blushed slightly, she wasn't proud at all of where she worked. It was another doing of her uncle, another reminder or the horrible things he did to her. He wanted her to become a prostitute and sell her body on the streets, but she refused. She wanted to keep a little bit of her dignity. That, of course, got her a beating in return. She then offered to work at a pub, he said he would pick the right one for her. Of course he picked the sleaziest one he could, and that's where she worked. "I paint and do other art work during the day, sometimes." She took a deep breath, "And at night I work at a pub. I don't like it, but its a living." She said, with a simple shrug.
"That sounds ineteresting..."
She nodded, "Yeah, I really liked it there. Its a beautiful country, with a lot of beautiful artwork. Everything about it is lovely, even the language is beautiful." She stated. She loved Italy, and missed it. Probably because New York wasn't as good to her as Italy. She wasn't abused in Italy, she had good friends, and a good school. Almost all of that ended when she moved here.
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Post by Mike D. Greaser on May 5, 2008 18:11:06 GMT -5
"I paint and do other art work during the day, sometimes. And at night I work at a pub. I don't like it, but its a living."
Mike furrowed his eyebrows and looked at her. He ignored the part about her being able to paint, saving that bit for later, and focused on the night part. She didn't look like the kinda of girl to do that. Usually, you knew. Their clothing told you. But this girl was covered up, almost self conscious of herself. "There are other ways to earn money..." Mike said, thoughtfully.
"Yeah, I really liked it there. Its a beautiful country, with a lot of beautiful artwork. Everything about it is lovely, even the language is beautiful."
Mike nodded, knowing a little bit about Italy. He was from England and missed it, but was glad to be back in New York. He needed to be back. He needed to finish was he started. But Italy sounded nice. Maybe after he destroys the newsies, Mike would head there.
"That sounds nice," Mike said, deep in thought.
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Post by Bella Harris on May 5, 2008 18:21:42 GMT -5
"There are other ways to earn money..."
Bella nodded, "I know that." She wished she could have another way to earn money, but her uncle forced her to perform at the pub. For what reason? She didn't know, she had no clue. All she knew was that she had to perform there or else she would get a beating. And thats the last thing she wanted, another one to add up to the almost daily ones. "I wish I could do something else." She said.
"That sounds nice,"
She nodded again, "Yeah, it was really nice. A lot better than here." She wished she could go back to being seven years old, or thirteen. Before she had to deal with her horrible uncle. She hated it, she hated him, she hated almost everything about her life. Her artwork was the only way she could release everything and keep living.
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Post by Mike D. Greaser on May 6, 2008 21:07:33 GMT -5
"I wish I could do something else."
Mike studied her face, and after a moment, replied, "Why don't you?" There were many things she could do. A waitress, a seamstress, even a newsies. Mike didn't mind the bar tenders/performers, he actually enjoyed them; but if she didn't like it, then she should do something else. There were plenty of options. Mike wandered why she didn't take them...
"Yeah, it was really nice. A lot better than here."
Mike smirked and started to head out of the gallery, expecting her to follow. "Whats so bad about here?" He inquired while holding his arms out, gesturing to the world around him. Mike had to agree with her, there were many things he hated about this place. Back in England, things were much better; much more enjoyable. He did miss it, but Mike knew he couldn't go back until what he began was finished.
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