O'reily's home for Orphans(IC)

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by daemon_reaver, Jun 21, 2015.

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  1. Scarlett was rushing about the Home, in a bit of tizy trying to clean the place up and get it prepared, in her mind's eye at any rate. truth was the place was fine, but she did it any way. especially when there haven't been an kids in said house in a while. like now for instance. Staff had at one point tried to assure at times like this things were fine. over time they had mostly given up.

    Meanwhile a mini-van with the kids headed to the home had just picked up the last kid. It ws black and was driven by a social worker, O'Reily had wanted herslf or one of the people working there to do it but got over ruled by CPS, and for once not Mr. Billsworth. So she complied. One occupant, Christinia had her head resting agaist the window and had her ipod playing a song. She culdn't really remember the name but it was alt and her parents hadn't liked it, so it was good for her. she didn't really look since she was semi-convincingly faking sleeping. she wasn't feeling particularly social at that exact moment but would engage if need be.
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  2. Izana, Bundled tightly in his clothes, Bearing Kanji much like a Japanese version of a graphic tee, has headphones in, a frown on his face, and seems to be playing the original Legend of Zelda in Japanese, Flying through it as if he had been through it a hundred times, thinking to himself on how if he couldn't do this right, he was a miserable failure and that he deserved to do nothing worth of any value. The poor kid had issues, and the van had picked him up from the street, laying his games with it connected to a nearby power outlet, not a cent in his wallet, only what would appear to be a lot in Japanese yen, something useless here, though he dare not spend it or trade it due to it being one of a few things he still has from his home country. Adjusting his glasses, he looks out the window, seeing the motion of the vehicle, and considers opening the door and jumping out, but decides not to and to give them a shot at repairing him. Turning back to his games, he switches over to a more recent title, another jRPG. if anyone were attentive in the van, they'd likely notice that he was loaded with technology, a suitcase filled with more games and tech then clothes, about enough clothes for a 14 day period before requiring a wash was all he had grabbed when he ran away from home. "Shikata ga nai. Watashi wa Nihonjin, Watashi wa Nihon ga suki desu. Watashi wa Amerika ga suki dewa arimasen." He mutters under his breath, before going back to his games again.

    (Translation: It cannot be helped. I am Japanese. I love Japan, I do not like America.)

    Back at home, Izana's family was incredibly harsh. If he came home with anything other than Straight A's, hed be struck, and commented on how so many of his classmates were better than he was himself, and how he'd never amount to anything. many of his days were spent curled up in bed in a fetal position, shy of a thumb in his mouth, where he would have been found with a pillow tightly hugged to his chest in such a way that it would be flat the next morning. Eating sushi, while something that would occasionally bring him joy, would be something he often forewent for preference of his games in that he could find some way to escape this world, and live his life in another life. This would be someone that would become incredibly unstable if you cut him off of his games ad the few things he enjoys. Having been picked up by the fan, his mind fails to stop recalling the hundreds of times he was told how little he mattered, how much of a failure he is, and the like. Going to seemingly no lengths to hide his depression, he sighs noticably, before putting the unit away and staring out the window with a deep-set frown that would indeed seem well-learned by the muscles in his face. Glancing to the other passengers, he lets out another Sigh, not saying another word, before closing his eyes to attempt to sleep the rest of the journey, all the while afraid of sleeping long enough to dream, du to the nightmares that plague him.
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  3. Aline kept the gaze of her grayish green pinned to the wooden bracelet she wore on her left hand, refusing to look anywhere else. Well, it's not like there was really anything else to look at. Most people would be interested in looking out the window but she wasn't. It's not as if looking at the passing view would make anything better. In fact, she wondered, were things really going to be better? What would moving from one place to another do? 'What if it's worst there?' She thought of the bullies that constantly made her miserable. 'Would there be people like that too?' She needn't voice the question out loud to think of an answer. 'Of course there would be.' Of course, she didn't really know that. She merely assumed there would be bullies. After all, not a moment of her life after her parents' death had her tormentors been absent and even after she told her caretakers, they still remain to be present. Even if her caretakers were to change, the existence of bullies were a constant.

    For once in the whole trip, she decided that she may as well take a glance at the others with her inside the van whether it be actually looking at them or merely their reflections. It seemed they were both asleep and she was glad for it. She honestly didn't like being in an enclosed place with others and often preferred to be alone since she felt much safer that way. But unfortunately, it would seem that she would have to stay in the van until they got to...wherever they were going. She hadn't exactly been paying attention to what her relative had been saying when she was being led to outside of the house with a bag of necessities and her usual loose long sleeved dresses like the one she wore now. 'At least the seat's much more comfy than the pavement...' When she was picked up, she had been sitting on the steps near the door of her home - no, not home, house. A home was someplace one belonged and felt safe in, the house was neither of the two. Nervously, she began to play with the beads of her bracelet and hoped that the ride would end soon so she could find somewhere to hide.
    #3 Autumn, Jun 21, 2015
    Last edited: Jun 21, 2015
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  4. Claudio sat on the van, his arms resting on his thighs and his eyes beaten down but occasionally he swept his head, chin up, and jabbed his eyes side to side. He was sizing up all of the kids in this bus: the weak, the kiss-ups, the competition. He had hard and dark hands, dessicated from any form of youthful vitality. They were punished; the crimson stream of purple ran from his knuckles down to his hands. He sat in ragged jeans and a white shirt, both were spotted with big brown pools of dirt. He sat there, his ebony hair and brown eyes camouflage with the black surrounding of night. He decided it was safe, none of these kids could possibly do any harm. His head drooped down from exhaustion, nearly touching knees, and closed his eyes. The moonlight revealed the silhouette of stuffed animal sheltered between his arms. It sat there, a grim memory, protected from any intentional harm. He slept like this until they reached the orphanage, occasionally ,silently, breathing out "Franci...." and weeping after each time says it. Soon the tiny stuffed animal was not only stained with his memory of his little Franci, but also the ,once happy, tears that reminded him of her.
    #4 DrSexy, Jun 23, 2015
    Last edited by a moderator: Jun 23, 2015
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  5. Maxwell Smith

    Maxwell looked around at his fellow orphans, or, fellow boned-by-the-government children, and wasn't impressed. He wasn't unimpressed, he just wasn't taking particular note of any of them. Sure, the one asian guy appeared to know some asian language but he also sounded kind of like a terrorist. The other little girl was 11 or something, so he didn't really care about her. He noticed another blacked haired guy about his age, but he also noticed the teddy bear and while he knew that everyone had their shit he wasn't interested in someone who couldn't keep it together.

    Not that he was doing so well himself. He held his backpack in his lap, his hands inside of it and fiddling with the pocket tool his grandfather had given him. "I'd of given it to your father, young man, but, ah, well, it's yours." He didn't know why the silver tool had never been given to his father, but he still valued it. He glared out of the window as he thought of his grandfather. He had been doing so well there, even by their stupid standards, but no, he couldn't stay. He couldn't call his grandfather, or at least he hadn't been allowed to at that crazy Baptist's home, but he'd written a few letters. He could only hope that his grandfather got better soon so that he could go back to him, go back home. Those letters to his grandfather were really all that was holding him in. He knew he'd do whatever it took to keep in contact with the old man, and dared someone to test him.

    He looked out of the window as they approached the home, it looked... homey. He wasn't sure what to think about that, though in an instant the hair on the back of his neck stood up. He knew he was being sent to a home for seriously fucked up kids, and he hated that. He hated the whispers, the don't worry, he's bipolar every time he got upset. As if his emotions did not matter because of that. As if he hadn't been through anything, and he was just some crazy kid.
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  6. Click to see her outfit!

    Hazel Chase
    Existence is elusive... the kind that is supported by mechanical resources...

    Hazel drifted into reality from her nap, waking to the sound of badass guitars and an even more badass saxophone solo. She smiled, excited to have a roof over her head again. Her smile vanished when she caught a whiff of herself. She hadn't had a proper shower in weeks. "Okay," she thought, "First thing after I get settled, I'm taking a shower." She gazed out the window. The van was approaching a building. Could that be the orphanage? She didn't know. She closed her eyes again, leaning her head against the cool glass.
  7. .:Chrysa Hartlyn:.
    Untying her long blond hair, the petite young woman gazed through the room with her hazel colored eyes. After spending plenty of time tidying up the home, Chrysa could find nothing out of place. Despite this, it would seem that Ms. O'Reily was still intent on continuing to clean. There really wasn't anything wrong with doing so but she didn't want the owner to be fatigued or tired when the children came so she decided to say in a gentle and soft yet audible voice, "Miss O'Reily," She started, she had a habit of addressing those in a higher position or someone older in a formal manner, "Maybe you should rest for a moment or two? The place is practically spotless already." She would have suggested for the older woman to relax as well but she wasn't sure if that would be possible. After all, she was nervous as well. How could she not? It was only natural. Yes, she truly did want to help these children and although she won't claim to know how difficult their lives have been, she wanted to help them get through or at least show them that the world isn't just cruel but kind as well. Refocusing herself away from her thoughts, Chrysa looked towards her employer and offered, "Do you want a glass of water?" She asked, she wouldn't mind going to get water from the kitchen, it's not very far anyway.

    .:Allen Cain:.
    A young man ran through the street with a brown satchel in hand and a coat of similar color in the other. Cain was a well known last name for being successful in medical fields and it had been expected that he would work in one of the top ranking hospitals like the rest of his family. But for once, he didn't follow through with expectations because right now, he wasn't running towards a well known hospital but rather, an orphanage, O'Reily's Home for Orphans to be exact. Today was his first day and he definitely did not plan to be late. But alas, alarm clocks truly cannot be trusted and he made the mistake of doing so which leads him to where he is now, running. It didn't take long before he arrived where he wanted and opening the door, he saw two people, one was the owner and the other, he assumed was someone working here just like himself. "I'm not late, am I?" He asked, panting slightly from the sprint he just did. Honestly, his physical capabilities were tested in the marathon he just ran but he tried his best not to show it. He mentally made a vow to be more fit. 'Or wake up earlier.' He thought. It was actually a surprise that his hair still appeared to be neat and he thanked that the wind did not hate him so much today.

  8. Tanda approaches Mrs. O'Reilly slowly, before putting a hand on her shoulder. "Ma'am, Maybe you should rest. the place is spotless, you've worked hard getting it ready for their arrival. Perhaps I can make some Herbal tea for you and the others? It might not be much, but as hard as you've worked, It'd be the least I can do." He smiles warmly, his hand only gently vontacting her shoulder with surprising tenderness, seeming to not want her to jump at his contact, But still providing his advice to his employer.
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