| You are good enough. | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Dec 19 2017, 01:00 AM (40 Views) | |
| Seshmaster Sam | Dec 19 2017, 01:00 AM Post #1 |
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In this scene (featuring an actual high-quality camera, hooray), we see The Life of the Party burst through the doors of the accommodation hallway, with a bag filled with alcohol in his right hand. Seshmaster Sam has arrived late to this particular sesh (which of course is what a party is called if you're from round his neck of the woods) but it doesn't really matter because truly, the party doesn't start until he enters the room. He's dressed in a flamboyant dress shirt, a green, flowery sort of thing, along with a nice pair of jeans and his “good shoes”. Though to be honest, any pair of shoes he owns that isn't velcro is probably a good pair of shoes. Seshmaster Sam starts towards the door to his left, where the lights are off, save for some decorative fairy lights around the corners and edges of the room. Usually this would be a kitchen and dining area, but for the purposes of the Christmas-themed party, the stools were packed under the kitchen counter and the floor was opened up a little more to make way for drunken flailing limbs, which the owners of said limbs would call “dance moves”. Sam plonks his bag of beverages down on the table, clearly having already had a few of them before arriving, and starts poking his head around the crowd of people already in attendance, clearly searching for someone. He begins to speak over the booming Christmas music. HEY! Uh, hey! Anyone, uh... anyone seen Amy? I need to – need to celebrate! With her! About winning my match, and stuff! A couple of people turn and point out the door, waving their hands around a bit. Somehow, Sam understood that this meant she was in her room. Manoeuvring past some people, and knocking over a drink in the process (not that anybody noticed), Seshmaster exits the room and heads towards a room labelled WH104, with a little paper sign underneath saying “Amy's Little Room”. Sam turns the doorknob, then remembers that it's kind of rude to just march into someone else's room without warning, and knocks on the door as well. Er, Amy! Amy, can I come in? No response. Sam shrugs to himself, and opens the door anyway, even though this isn't behaviour characteristic of his Scouse friend. He enters her room and starts to speak. Heyyy, Amy! So I done did it! I won my match against the big fat dude! You know, he almost jumped on me and squashed me but then I avoided it, then I went and hit my flippy move and... He stops. Amongst his barrage of words, Seshmaster Sam could've sworn he heard a tiny sniffle coming from his friend. Looking at her properly for the first time since his entry, Sam notices that she is simply sat down on her bed, head down, with her dark brown hair obscuring most of her face. She stays there, unmoving and at the same time, conveying every emotion under the sun. Sam approaches her slowly, like a car in traffic creeping gently forward, or D.S. Punk taking tentative steps in a video game as he senses a boss fight emerging. The last thing he wants to do is make the wrong move and send her panicking or lashing out at anybody – especially not at herself. As he approaches, Sam crouches down ever so slightly, looking to peek through the brunette curtains and onto Amy's face, looking for some indication – any indication – that she was responsive. Suddenly her eyes rise up from the ground to meet his, an empty shell of a human being gazing into a reflective mirror, and she began to sprout water from the corners of her eyes, like a trickle from a drainpipe on a drizzly day. Lips quivering, Amy attempts to mutter out a sentence, but air merely leaves her mouth and no audible sound is heard, as if her vocal chords had resigned. Amy? A-Amy, what's wrong, hun? For a time, the response given to Seshmaster Sam is purely sniffles, followed by a meek whine of despair. It seems as if this wasn't going to get him any closer to solving the mystery of misery. Then- I've really fucked it, I have. Well, not exactly a great response, but a response nonetheless. Hm? What – how do you mean, you've fucked it? A pause, the kind that seems to last an eternity, but in actuality is maybe only a brief four to five seconds. I just... I thought... It's okay, Ames. Just tell me what's wrong. Sam sits next to Amy on her bed and places his hands in his own lap, never taking his eyes off of his despondent friend. His look towards her is one of genuine anguish and empathy, a lost boy who's seen a tragedy unfold but whose natural instincts haven't developed enough to tell him what to do next. I just thought that... last time me and this guy met, he just seemed really nice to me and I thought maybe we could have... you know... Sam just nods along pitifully. Yeah. But then tonight... he just... he barely even spoke to me, like I didn't even matter. Like he'd never even known me at all... why? Is it because there are other girls here? Does he feel more attracted to them? Is it because I'm not pretty enough? Sam lets out a sharp, inaudible gasp, as his eyes drop out of their sockets from sorrowful surprise. Almost immediately afterwards he takes one of his hands out of his lap and begins to gently and reassuringly rub the bare arm and shoulder of Amy closer to him. Noooo... Amy, you are pretty... you're really pretty... 'Cause if you look out there and... and you see the other girls and how the guys all go to them and then you see me and... I'm not good enough for them, am I? Sam shuffles closer to Amy and wraps his arm around her far shoulder now. Amy bursts into a full flood of tears, washing away her mascara and dampening the carpet underneath her. Still, Sam hooks her body into his with his arm and rests his head upon her other shoulder, in an attempt to offer her some affection, the ability to speak seemingly removed from his repertoire. Eventually the torrent of tears subsides, and Amy is left looking down at the puddle on the ground. Seshmaster begins to say something, but suddenly his friend shoots up out of his meek grasp, out of necessity more than will, and steadily trudges towards her bathroom door. Err... do you want me to- Stay here. Okay. Sam waits patiently on the bed as Amy disappears behind the door, clicking a light on and letting it emanate in the gap between the door and the floor. For a moment there is chilling silence, and for Sam, a million thoughts and emotions swim inside his brain, waiting to order themselves in some sort of manageable fashion. How do I comfort her? How can I get her to know that she's beautiful? Should I say how I really feel? Then horrible, gut-wrenching churns can be heard coming from the lit-up room, along with splashes of water. This happens a few times, then some silence. Finally, the unmistakeable sound of a flushing toilet, and a sink tap running, then Amy emerges, turning the bathroom light off and groggily moving herself back onto the bed. Sam's eyes track her all the way there. Feel any better? She doesn't reply, initially, but then turns her head towards him and nods a little bit, though her sunken shoulders and tilted head say otherwise. Then another moment of silence as the two look away from each other, both Sam and Amy pondering their own individual thoughts. Sam looks back towards Amy, and find her already looking at him, with a gentle smile on her face that she must've truly summoned all of her strength to create. Upon seeing this, Sam returns the smile, and the two shuffle closer to each other on the bed, until Amy's hand finds itself resting upon the Birmingham native's own. The hands clasp together, like a cheesy film scene. Sam... Amy? Thank you. For being here for me. Anything for you, Ames. Amy slowly and steadily lies down on her own bed, as Sam lifts himself off of it to give his friend more room. Between the two of them, they manage to properly tuck Amy into her bed, and Sam takes this time to look outside. Snowfall had just begun. Each individual snowflake with each individual, unique shape. Some may land and become part of a magnificent snow sculpture, some may be nothing more than an attachment to a person's boot, some may even melt before they hit the ground. But all are natural, all are beautiful, and all are meant to be. Sam turns back to look at Amy, who's stirring in her attempts to get some rest. Seshmaster kneels beside her face and strokes it gently, before singing. Silent Night, Holy Night All is calm, all is bright Round yon virgin mother and child Holy infant so tender and mild Sleep in heavenly peace Sleep in heavenly peace. |
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10:41 AM Jul 11