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 Reflections of myself
Neal Cassidy
 Posted: Mar 21 2017, 04:06 AM
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The last thing Neal had running through his head, before hopping on this bus, was the look of watching his foster parents drive off after taking him back to the group home yet again. That had been the last straw for him, he was turning 17 in like 3 days, and, by then it would definitely be too late to be considered for any of these families in the future.

Neal knew he'd had a couple of options, and, he made the option to take off. It wasn't really worth it anymore was it? So now he was on this bus, going to where-ever it was headed. He hadn't really cared, he had just wanted to disappear for a while. Clear his head.

As he sat on the bus, Neal just rested his head against the window, and, just closed his eyes for a moment. He really just wanted a family of his own, but, that wasn't going to happen was it? His real one had taken off, and, he said goodbye to the one who actually adopted him a long time ago.

Neal awoke with a start as he felt the bus pulling to a final stop. He looked around the bus, noticing that it was empty aside from him and a couple of other people. Neal gave the bus driver a small smile and thanked him before standing up and heading off the bus.

This place looked like a big city, it was an ok place to hide. At least for now, while he cleared his head. Neal just hoped that the cops weren't going to be looking for him this time around. He still didn't even know where he was, but, he would be here for a while, so maybe he would find out.

The first step was to find somewhere to hide out for a while. Neal kept his backpack over his shoulder, before noticing an old shed that seemed abandoned enough for just that purpose. Neal looked around, to make sure no-one was following him, before heading over towards that shed.

Neal sighed softly before gently opening the window. He would've picked the lock, but, right now he wanted to be hidden for a while. Which meant not drawing attention to himself. He glanced around quickly, and, noticing no-one was there Neal turned back towards the building, and, gently began to climb through the window.

When he reached the floor, Neal looked around, noticing that there were old paintings all around this place. Putting his backpack down, he made his way towards the canvasses, and, just looked at them for a moment.


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Jamie Moriarty
 Posted: Mar 22 2017, 02:33 PM
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Elementary

Tomorrowland

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35 years old / 14 posts




just point and shoot
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The light fell differently here.

It would. A different climate could change all sorts of elements in a landscape. No wonder the Old Masters had liked one environment over another. It wasn’t about the steppes after steppes of Russia nor the winding river-weave of Ireland that had prompted the wild, seamless splash of colour over canvas. It was about light, and reflection, and perhaps the air itself, and something wholly different besides.

But Jamie could see it, see the difference in the palette of nations. And it was here too, in the United States - something different, something new. She had been loath to leave England, both as her home and her growing hunting ground of choice, but some things could not be easily avoided. She was curious, curious of what she did not understand; and if she were to improve how things stood now she would have to see the other side of the Atlantic for herself, assess what key it could hold to improving the state of management back home. .

After all, dealings with Americans were to come in the pipeline. Jamie Moriarty was still taking tiny steps into the rushing current of the criminal underbelly of the world, and while operations were running smoothly in London, one operation at a time, she had to think of the future. Think of a future where her little plans may become…sustainable. A way of living that far surpassed what she could gain in academia and was far more interesting, too.

But not without her paints. Never without her paints, and so she had taken them with her, set up shop in an apartment in New York City for her stay and had begun to paint in a bid to understand the country. The key was to engage with it, with her easel. And so she had. Never - never quite her own work, of course. Mimics, imitations, shadows of what had come before. It did not rob them of their value as much as she had expected them to. After all repetition was just a game of ever lessening returns - but not this time. She was seeing the country through its own painters, through their own lens…and perhaps making money on the side with the forgeries.

The studio was fine inside, but even she had to admit that the back entrance looked shabby. Her exploits were gaining money but slowly, and she had no intention of bankrupting herself. Neither could she sell the forged paintings off all at once, not when she still had a modicum of respect towards foreign police and someone would start wondering why Flags, Fifth Avenue and The Last Tenement were all coming out of a shed. Besides the art was soothing, the heady smell of drying paint sending her off to sleep. Their shadows reached out along the floor at night like fingers and in her room off the studio she could hear the dim rise and fall of the cars’ engines outside, shafts of light from the headlamps glowing softly before disappearing out of sight.

And that was when she heard the noise. A creaking, a shifting of weight - movement, from the small room out towards the rest of the studio. Jamie sat up, her eyes staring sightlessly out to the darkness as she listened. Possibilities flashed in her mind. After a moment she got up. The room was vague shapes - a mere pencil sketch, dappled with the dark smear of charcoal - but she felt along in the darkness, her hand falling on two items. One was a grey dressing gown. The other was hard, and sculpted, with the notch of a trigger...

Jamie's every move was catlike, clinging to the shadows until she turned the corner and saw a shape moving around in the dark.

She flicked the lights on. The studio came into life around her and she could suddenly see a boy - no, a teenager, with a backpack beside him as he looked around at the artwork. It covered every wall, almost every surface with the skeleton of an easel holding the canvas she had been working on that very afternoon. But she only had eyes for the stranger. Her cut-glass Southern English accent snapped through the air like whiplash. "What are you doing here?"
ADD.: Neal Cassidy | WORDS: 719 | NOTES:


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Neal Cassidy
 Posted: Mar 26 2017, 01:05 AM
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Original [Rumpelstiltskin. Peter Pan]

Enchanted Forest

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32 years old / 1013 posts




Neal did admire people's art, since he'd been an expert in it for as long as he could remember. A gift that he'd picked up from his parents, even if he'd never been able to truly show them. And probably never would.

Maybe that was why he'd been drawn to this shed, not just because it looked abandoned enough for him to hide out in, but, because it was a fellow artist's workshop.

Neal kept his backpack on the ground, and, was using the torch that he had on him to look at the canvasses. At this point he was keeping the lights off, so as not to have anyone know he was in here, but, he couldn't resist not looking at the art.

A part of Neal was going to find somewhere else to hide out, so as not to intrude in the artist's workspace, whoever it was. But, that would wait until morning at least. It was still a place to sleep for the night, and, it was easier to blend into the crowd when people were up and about.

Neal was shining his torch on one of the canvasses and admiring the work when he noticed the lights had turned on. Neal jumped with the torch still in his hand, as he turned around and looked at who was now in here.

He stuttered before looking around, and, noticing a girl not much older then he was. “My name's Neal.” Neal said, as he kept his gaze on the young girl, before gesturing to the paintings that were surrounding them. “Are these yours they're really good.”


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Jamie Moriarty
 Posted: Mar 27 2017, 12:52 PM
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Elementary

Tomorrowland

Jessica is online


35 years old / 14 posts




just point and shoot
REPEATEDLY.
Jamie kept her eyes pinned on the boy in front of her. One hand rested on the L shape of the gun in the pocket of her dressing gown (dangerous, she knew, but ultimately necessary) but its comforting bulging weight did little to relieve her anxiety. Neal. A fake name, no doubt...and Jamie could see something different in his delivery, a strand of untruth woven in amongst the tapestry of his speech. Too many people saw but did not observe. She was sure of it, something innately wrong in his address of himself...yet the uncertainty of youth prickled at the back of her mind, inexperience nipping at her with doubt that couldn't quite be shaken.

But yet that was the least of her problems. He was posing an immediate threat. Moriarty stood there, watching him as he almost blithely indicated to the paintings around them. Her eyes didn't move from him; she knew the work that was on her walls and didn't need reminding they were good. What mattered was him, and her eyes narrowed as he tried to distract her with her paintings. Instead her own attention was pointed on him, as precise and as needled as a laser. Yet there was fear there too, a tremble in her voice. A reminder at the back of her mind that she was alone here; alone, because she had had the utter foolishness to not take any of her lieutenants with her...

"Who are you from? Who sent you?" No one came here without an invitation. No one came to her without something in mind. But that was in Britain, where her name was slowly dribbling its way down into the damp recesses of the criminal underworld - one drip of a time, one drop of paint on infinitely blackened oilpaper. Over time those little splatters would become more, and they were on their way to doing so. But here in America she was just a sketch, a pale streak of pencil - easily rubbed out, easily concealed amid the bolder swashes of bigger and better crime. She had no intention of being anything else..for the moment. She was to be unnoticeable here, a shadow of a shadow.

This was not a renaissance of crime. This was reconnaissance.

And yet someone knew she was here. They had to, to respond so quickly to her being on foreign soil. Jamie's mind was thinking quickly, leaping from idea to idea in a frenzy. Who would send a boy? Was he more powerful than she thought? Her eyes grew into a cold assessment, an analysis of the boy in front of her. All he seemed to have on him was a torch. There could be something hidden in the backpack or elsewhere on his person but he looked rough. Rough, as if he had been on the streets. This sparked neither empathy nor sadness at his fate from Jamie, instead the steel of critical dissection. He didn't scream 'threat'. But what he did scream was 'unknown'. Jamie stalked a forward step, gritting her teeth. She would not show fear. She would not show fear. She would not show... "Tell me why you are here. I will not ask again."

ADD.: Neal Cassidy | WORDS: 535 | NOTES:

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Neal Cassidy
 Posted: Apr 7 2017, 07:05 AM
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Original [Rumpelstiltskin. Peter Pan]

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32 years old / 1013 posts




Neal continued to look around this room as he watched the young girl in front of him. He knew how bad this must look, but, to be fair he didn't expect anyone to be here. Neal knew that there was probably no harm in just giving a first name right now. Besides he had seen people with that same look and he knew he would've had to say something. Yes he knew this wasn't his real name, but, it had been his name for nearly the past three years, and, it was who he was now. Even if he didn't truly believe it at times. He was sure that this woman could sort of sense this fact, and, it did kind of worry that she would figure out who, or rather what he was.

But, that probably wasn't the thing to focus on right now. But, as a fellow artist he couldn't help, but, be drawn to the paintings. He wasn't using this as a distraction, well not entirely. Neal was just enjoying getting the chance to actually talk about art for the first time since he was like 14. Neal's eyes did go to the paintings, but, he had gotten a talent for looking through the corner of his eyes. Something he'd picked up ever since Neverland. Neal squinted his eyes as he recognised the fear and doubt in this girl's voice. It was the sound he normally had in his with nearly everyone he met. It was something that came with a reminder that he was alone. Alone no matter where he went, thanks to one moment of his father letting go of his hand.

“No-one sent me. I swear.” Neal said. He knew it was hard for her to probably believe, but, it was true. No-one sent him anywhere that wasn't a group home or with a family. And, those families never had any interest in mind, except for their own. They always wanted the money that came with having him, and, not him as a person. They just saw him as a ghost in the house, or a bug on their shoe that they wanted to get rid of as soon as possible. But, at the same time they would never do that. Because if he left, so did the money from the government. Everytime he did leave one of these foster families, it was like he was a drawing made of pencils, that they could erase and then forget he was ever there. Neal knew that he was probably always going to be that way from now on. It had been that way for years now, it was something he had come to terms with.

He was a nothing. A non entity. It was why he'd run away, he was better off being alone, then being surrounded by people and still being that way.

And yet somehow he wasn't alone here. Like they were drawn here to either take him back, or kick him out yet again. She didn't look old enough to really do anything or have any authority over him. Who was this girl, and, why was she isolating herself out here too? If things turned badly, then he didn't really have much to defend himself. In his hand he only had a torch, and, his backpack was full of survival stuff, but, nothing truly dangerous that would cause true harm. Neal knew that his clothes still showed his rough lifestyle, and, honestly he wasn't looking for sympathy for it, whether this girl was showing it or not. He really didn't care. The rough look just showed his feeling of not belonging. “Look I saw an open window. I climbed in. I didn't know what or who was in here, I just needed a place to hide out.”


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Jamie Moriarty
 Posted: Apr 19 2017, 02:57 PM
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Elementary

Tomorrowland

Jessica is online


35 years old / 14 posts




just point and shoot
REPEATEDLY.
He could attempt to justify his presence here as long as he liked, but Jamie was grounded in what she could see, what was right in front of her very eyes. He was an intruder. An intruder in the place she was for these months calling home. Already she was thinking, though, and thinking quickly. He wasn't showing any signs of attacking her right now or pulling a gun on her but she couldn't be bought in by any acts. Any pretences. Any, say, awful amount of interest in her own paintings. Even interest that seemed more than just a passing gaze, something a little more discerning in taste, had to be ignored.

She couldn't afford to slip.

Especially since he was watching her. But the same could be said for her with her fingers still crossing the gun in her pocket. "No one?" Hmm. A likely story. Actually, she thought with a sudden consideration, perhaps it was. Wouldn't any American gangster make his motives quite clear? Wouldn't he - or she, though Jamie thought it unlikely: her gender was, rather delightfully, sparse in their shared field - not waste a moment to declare in whose name this boy came to her? Why would he make this emissary lie? There would be nothing to gain from that beyond the element of surprise. They'd nailed that already, she couldn't help thinking almost wryly as she looked down at the dressing gown wrapped tightly around her. Waking her at whatever ungodly time this was took care of that problem.

But...her pensive eyes followed 'Neal' and something in her gaze shifted thoughtfully, her tongue washing up against the rough edges of her molars. "You are a bit too young." She raised her eyebrows darkly. "For what I was expecting." At least, in British standards. Maybe the Americans did things differently over here. For a ludicrous moment Jamie's imagination was full of chimney sweeps and Victorian rag-clad urchins before the illusion faded. That was home, far across the Atlantic, and an outdated version of home as well. The romantic artist in her was leading towards that, to those smoky, noir scenes of the past as much as the logical part of her, the scientist, was earnestly tugging her towards the here and now. The fact was, saying he was young was condemning her too. It hardly did anything for her. And unguarded as she was to any midnight visitors she didn't have any makeup on, nor anything more exciting than a dressing gown and bare feet. She was beginning to feel a bit exposed.

And even more so when this Neal recounted exactly why he was here. Then things got a lot worse and night gowns no longer crossed Jamie's scope of concentration. "'Hide out'?" She cast a glance to the nearest window. Out from the square glass pane she could see only inky blackness, lit a little further on by the harsh slice of light cutting across the darkness from a solitary streetlamp. She looked back at him. "From whom?" A Cheltenham education did at least grant decorum in these sorts of circumstances but Jamie couldn't help the alarm that crossed over her face. Harbouring someone? That was worse than having someone search her out. "Is it the police?" She wished it was. The police would be so much easier to deal with....

But not in a room full of forgeries. Very good forgeries, but the police weren't exactly connoisseurs nor appreciative of the art of mimic. Jamie stepped forward, searching his face. He looked like he was telling the truth - and she had to take his word for it. She was fighting hard to remain composed but it was hard to as she realised just how much trouble she could be in. She invited the police in on her own terms - she didn't have this happen to her. Not in Britain, where she was investing in modest but ever aspirational little schemes. But she wasn't in Britain anymore. She wasn't meant to be getting into anything big, not now, not when she wasn't ready and she had been dragged into something that already seemed bigger than she knew. Already unease was building up in her chest and Jamie made a split second decision.

"You can go now or you can stay. In this room. Right here." She gestured to the studio. It was a largish room, although still crammed with enough art materials and canvases to make it look small. But that wasn't enough to ensure she felt safe and Jamie was reaching for the gun. It was a small gun, compact, and not automatic or anything, but it was still a gun and still loaded. She pointed it at him, both of her hands holding it levelly in the standard safety position. But that didn't help nor hide the slight shake in her arms, the ripples of fear that couldn't be squashed however hard she tried. She got other people to kill for her normally, other people to take the strain.

And now she knew exactly why.

The young woman gestured to his bag with the gun. "If you stay I need you to empty your backpack right now. Don't do anything." Anything suspicious, anything dangerous, anything that would make him more of a danger than he already was. She couldn't take chances.

ADD.: Neal Cassidy | WORDS: 894 | NOTES: SORRY FOR LENGTH!

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Neal Cassidy
 Posted: Apr 22 2017, 01:33 AM
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Original [Rumpelstiltskin. Peter Pan]

Enchanted Forest

Emma is online


32 years old / 1013 posts




Honestly Neal didn't really care about justifying why he was here. The only reason he was trying to explain was to avoid having her call the cops. The point of hiding out here was to avoid just that. Neal had no real interest in this girl or anything else. He just had an interest in being left alone. Neal wasn't going to attack or do anything to her unless something triggered him again. But, the paintings that were around him did spark his interest. Neal knew that he could fake an interest, but, art was the one thing that would always fascinate him. Especially since it allowed him to compare it to his own.

But, he couldn't let his guard down.

Neal couldn't ignore the way this girl was staring at her, it was a look of suspicion and it was one that he'd had to face on a few occasions. When-ever stuff got taken, the first suspect was always the foster kid. “That's right.” Neal said, giving a gentle nod. Whether this girl believed him or not wasn't really his problem, all he wanted to do was give her enough motive to leave him be. Besides he would be gone by the morning anyway. It wasn't like she could trace him anyway. The first name was all she was getting, and, she wouldn't be able to do much with that. One thing he was good at was being mysterious and giving as little information that was needed. Neal kept his hands in his pockets as he tightened his hoodie around himself.

He rubbed his hands up and down his arms, this was an attempt to not warm him up, but, as a defensive move that he did when he felt the pain again. “That's a first.” Neal said, with a small sigh “Well what were you expecting?” Neal asked as he looked at her. “Wait never mind. It's not really my problem.” Neal didn't really need to know much about anyone else anymore. What he'd learnt was that no-one was going to be around long enough anyway. So what was the point in trying to know anything about them? That was a problem with being a foster kid, nothing was permanent anymore. Or at least that's how it was like here in America. Back in London, he had definitely had more in the way of family options. Even if that hadn't lasted. At least there he had felt loved and somewhat wanted. Back there that was where he felt was home. But, even if he found his way back there, that family. The Darlings and Peter were probably long gone by now. So, this was probably going to be all he had now. Besides it wasn't like he could afford to fly back to London. So Neal was pretty much on his own, he was too old for getting any chance of family now. Standing here with this girl Neal felt unguarded, which wasn't a feeling he liked. It's kind of why he was fighting so hard to keep his exterior up.

Neal knew that this woman probably wouldn't believe him with why he was here. But, frankly that wasn't his problem anyway. “Yeah.” Neal said, with a kind of attitude in his voice. Neal just wanted to lie down and finally get some sleep without worrying that the next day he'll be in the group home again. Neal glanced out of the window for a moment, and, was glad that he hadn't really seemed to have been followed. At her question Neal sighed softly “What does it matter?” Neal said, not caring if he was sounding rude, he didn't want to share this information with anyone. And, his walls were making him more defensive then anything else. Neal didn't really answer the next part, but, he was sure that the way he reacted to that comment, she probably figured it out anyway. He was usually good with hiding from the police.

But, usually not when others managed to find him. If the police caught him then he would end up either in trouble for the two convenience stores that he stole from back in Arizona, or back in the system. And, he didn't know which was worse. Neal noticed the girl observing him, he didn't really fight it. Since he was just wanting her to get the answer, walk away and leave him here in peace. Neal knew that he was probably in more trouble then just being a runaway. He had dealt with police for his whole time in this world. Both times around. Back in London, the police had been more wary of street kids, since that were older times, and, he couldn't even walk somewhere without getting looked at oddly. He wasn't in London anymore though. And, here he was probably in more trouble then he ever had been back then. Neal was waiting for the girl to call the police or tell him to get out.

“Wait really. You're gonna let me stay here?” Neal was not expecting that to be one of the options. Looking around this room may be cramped, but, he still had more room here then he had in most of the other places he'd gone or been forced to live. And, besides he wouldn't complain about being surrounded by art while he slept. But, he also knew that he probably wouldn't feel completely safe here. Neal probably wasn't going to feel completely safe and secure at any point these days. Because for that he needed a family and a real home. Neal had neither of those things anymore. But, the shawl he carried gave him some feeling of his father next to him. Neal came out of his thoughts as he noticed the girl holding a gun up in his direction. He stood there looking at her with the gun, not sure whether she was going to shoot him. Neal wasn't going to fight back, there wasn't a point. But, he still didn't want to get shot.

Neal knew that fighting against them is how people got accidentally shot.

His gaze followed the gun as she pointed it to his backpack. The fact that she was going to go through his bag was nothing new for him, as long as it all stayed with him. “Go ahead. You won't find anything.” Because I don't have anything. Neal just stood there and let the girl go through his bag. All she was going to find was his old shawl, sketch-book and his small box of keepsakes. Along with some clothes and food.

Jamie Moriarty // It's ok I like length

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