Post by ivan joyce on Jul 22, 2009 19:53:34 GMT -7
IVAN ALEXANDER JOYCE
we did anything just for that little rush
how about we start with the obvious – what's your name?well, ivan alexander joyce is the name. i believe that my... great-grandfather or great-great-grandfather... whoever it was had the name alexander and dad had said that he made some big impact on his life so he thought it would suit me. as for my first name i have an uncle ivan that passed away as a little kid from my mom's side of the family. so... i don't know whether or not to feel honored or creeped out that my mom thought of that, but i like it.
how old are you? and is there a story surrounding your birth? anything interesting?i turned twenty-one not too long ago. get me a card on december fifth, kaye? my parents weren't in love when i was born, but they got married anyway. they put up a good show, too. i actually believed we were all a happy family. it was bound to break at some point. i don't think that's interesting at all though. next question.
how would you describe your personality?i get from people that i'm extremely awkward, which is really true. even when i don't mean to turn something into an uncomfortable situation. it usually starts happening when i trip over my own words and the wrong thing comes up. when i go in to save myself i just become this bumbling mess. lucky for me though most people find it a little amusing instead of creepy. the people who have known me forever just accept that it's part of who i am. it's always been that way and i doubt it's about to change. they also know how laid back i am. i mean, i can be really up tight about some things, but you can't worry about every little thing in life or else you miss out on the big things right? i try to just take the back seat in most situations and let themselves work out. it always does in the end.
how would you define "the good life"?the "good life" would probably be here. for me at least. y'know, you pretty much have everything you need and no one knows your past or anything like that. this is pretty alright for me.
if you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?it probably would be my... soft spot. i don't think that i stick up for myself a whole lot. how unmanly is that?
what do you tend to like?alright, let's see. the beach, mandals, beanies, my surfboard, cheesy horror films, ben & jerry's ice cream, my honada civic, soft blankets, dougie, spicy nacho doritos, red robin burgers, french fries, big screen tvs, aviator glasses, leather jackets, my internship at the hospital, when everything matches, and the smell of sea salt in the air.
okay, and what do you tend to dislike?that list would consist of chick flicks, extra homework, itchy items of clothing, time zone changes, brooklyn, not catching any good waves on a sunny day, sunburns, piece of crap mobile phones,tristin pearson, tossing and turning when i can't get sleep, and britney spears.
what are you scared of? everyone has some fears.i'm scared of not finishing up college, having to go back home, and loosing the people that are most important to me.
do you have any secrets?uhm, i tried to committ suicide when i was eighteen, but sophie doesn't know that... can we just keep that on the dl for both of our sakes?
how's your love life?you think for a good looking guy like me the ladies would be throwing themselves at me, right? you could not be more wrong. okay... well, that's not entirely true. i have had two relationships that both lasted like, two to three weeks? kelly hamby in the tenth grade and then jessica alba. we never worked out though. she's way too complicated for me.
if you were given a yacht, what would you name it?ivan's boat.
what is your quirkiest habit, and how long have you had it?mmm, i crack my knuckles. a lot. i'm going to get arthritis pretty soon i believe.
do you have any goals?of course i do. doesn't everyone? i would definitely like to pass university and hopefully continue on my practice in the hospital. that is my main goal right now. eventually i would like to become a onocologist. after that maybe settle down with someone i love and start a family. sounds pretty lame, huh?
would you rather always lose or never play?always lose. at least i can say i tried.
great. and now, could you give me an overview of your life? what's happened so far?i was wondering when you were going to ask this. well, i'm orginally from brooklyn, new york. my parents are allison carter and louis joyce. i happened to be an accident. my mother was very young and unprepared as well as my father. somehow they managed to get through nine months together without ripping each other's throat out. that was something that surprised everyone. they said that i was angel the moment i came out of... well, y'know. i was a 'blessing' as i recall my mom saying once. i don't remember if that was before or after she started drinking, but anyway. from the moment i could run without falling my dad signed me up for little league baseball. i must say that i am not all that bad at sports. playing ball is something i'm good at and as i got older i was signed up for other sports. when i didn't want to play in a league anymore my dad used to take me out to the beach, just the two of us, and he taught me how to surf. i went through the normal thing a kid does. first day of school, graduating kindgerten, going up to middle school, yada yada yada. my parents went through some things, too. dad got hired at some law firm out in the big apple and mom quit her job so she could take care of me even though she really didn't have to. i should have seen the end to my happy and perfect family coming.
turns out that dad was seeing the secretary. wow, big shocker. i was only like, seven maybe eight but you start thinking what your dad does at the office when he doesn't come home 'til midnight or later. my mom called him out on it one night and he didn't lie to her. she became a hopeless mess after my father packed up all of his things and handed me a good-bye letter. i didn't care what he had to say so i didn't keep it for very long. i read it and burned it. that man has no particular importance to me whatsoever, but to my mom he did. that's when she started drinking. i remember hearing the clanking of our old bottles of liquor and her foot steps on the hardwood floor while she stumbled to the kitchen. all she did was drink, watch tv, and sleep while i stayed locked up inside my room with my blinds shut. then i walked downstairs one afternoon to do my daily check-up on her and she didn't respond. no response whatsoever. i didn't hesitate to pick up the phone and call my aunt who called 911. my mom was sent to the hospital in new york city with me riding beside her in the ambulance.
i can't regret my mother for her binge drinking though because it's what brought me to sophie and as far as i'm concerned she is probably the best thing i have ever come across. sophie jayne pearson was a patient with leukemia and she out of the hundreds of people in that hospital was the only person i saw with a bright smile on her face. i remember pacing back and forth the hospital waiting room anticipating any news about mom and i looked to the left down this dimly lit hallway. at the end of it was the palest little girl i had ever seen. i had no clue who she was or why she was standing there watching me, but i didn't feel angry whatsoever. this might sound weird but i actually felt like a wave of relief washed over me. that's why i made my way down that hallway, took a deep breath, and introduced myself. i hadn't expected that i would have become so attached to her yet i did. even after my mom got out of the hospital i would take the bus to new york and pay weekly visits to soph and once i got into high school it turned into a daily routine. wake up, go to school, grab lunch for two, and then go see sophie until visiting hours were over. she had slowly become my strength and everything else inside of me. when she got better she had to move back to santorini with her brother and then i was stuck in brooklyn with no one. everything went back normal. i was ecstatic. please note the sarcasm.
after sophie left i walked around like a zombie. it felt like i didn't have anything to motivate me at all. mom was paying monthly trips to the hospital and i was the one that had to call up the father to ask for money to pay her hospital bills. i had tried searching for institutions that would help her, but she refused of course. i had never met more stubborn person. when i found myself in the bathroom with a razor cut into my wrist i could have really cared less. i wanted it all to end. i was this close. this close to end my life and then the shatter of glass from outside the bathroom made me drop the razor in the sink. i took off to go aide my mother like always. after we checked her into the hospital again, i watched her from the threshold of a room i had become so familiar over the last few years. that's when i knew i had to get out and that's why i packed my things up and moved to canada. what else do you need to know?
anything else?imma university student.
hey! my name is SAV, and i've been roleplaying for TWO AND HALF years. my character's play-by is ZAC EFRON.
--- Have you ever wondered what other people in the world were doing at this very moment? Had you ever stop and took a moment to acknowledge the existence of the other six billion souls on the planet? Have you found yourself lying awake in bed thinking about someone you love? Someone you hate? Someone you met in the grocery store when you went to go fill up on the shortage of liquor in you cabinet? Or what about the old man sitting by himself at the restaurant you stopped at earlier to enjoy lunch with your friends. What had that man accomplished in his life? Is he just waiting for someone or is he simply taking in the silence in the air above him? Had this man left a significant mark on the world? Well, those were the thoughts that were on Barrett Whitaker's mind as he unlocked the front door of his semi-new house. Only not about an old man or the lady he had met at the store about a good six hours ago. His hand gripped the metal door knob and twisted it to the right, a tiny click sounding as the door opened up slowly with some of his help. The name Bridget Rhodes had crossed Barrett's mind as he silently shut the door behind him after he had stepped through the threshold of his home. For some odd reason it had been bouncing around the walls of his head for the last week and a half or so. One night he had been laying in bed just moments away from going under into a deep sleep and then simply turned on his side to face the empty space of the king sized bed, and the familiar name popped up out of nowhere. For a split second he had remembered the delicate features of her face. From the flakes of green in his her eyes to the small smile spread across her lips once those eyes had set upon him. Then the moment had passed and he couldn't remember anything at all. The only thing left was the sour after taste he had felt when she had left years ago without saying a single good-bye.
--- It took a abundant amount of self-control to keep Barrett from heaving a sigh and recall all of the bitter moments he had shared with the blonde in the years they had been together. He had spent months of trying to erase the memories they created on the corners of Santorini's streets. What would that do to him if he just decided to open up all of those raw wounds? Barrett shook his head as if that would somehow magically erase the name from his brain and headed for the rooms in the back of the one story house. Once he walked down the hall and made a right his hand reached for the light switch and his index finger flipped it up in one swift movement. The ceiling fan lamp lit up the room to reveal piles of clothes sprawled out on the bedroom floor, a small wooden desk covered in a heap of papers, and then a bed that had its sheets tossed all over from this morning. Barrett's blue eyes scanned the area and his feet shuffled forward to one of the piles of clothes. A hand reached out to pick up the shirts in the pile and then carelessly threw them over to where his walk-in closet was located at. Barrett was obviously no neat freak. He never had been and never planned on being one. It wasn't like anyone came in here besides him anyway. And if they did the lights always remained off until the sun shined its way into the room in the early hours of the morning. Four minutes had passed and the several piles of clothes had been clumped into one pile and the sheets on the bed were straightened out. A wave of relief washed over Barrett as he reached up to his collar to undo his tie and start undoing the buttons to his white shirt. That was the casual work uniform when you worked for the local newspaper. If you walked in anything less you were sure to get the evil glare from the boss before he called you into his office. Barrett had learned that his first day on the job. After getting a small lecture from the boss, he was sent to fetch everyone cups of coffee before returning to his cubicle and start writing pieces of news no one cared to read when they opened up the paper. Business in America and Greece were surprisingly the same, but Barrett wasn't going to complain. It would pay off in the long run. He wouldn't be writing that stupid crap for the rest of his life. That was the goal at least.
--- Barrett discarded the shirt by throwing it right on top of the pile of dirty clothes while he walked into his closet, randomly selecting a shirt from a hanger and slipping into it quickly. The belt and the pair of black slacks were the next thing of and they added onto the mess when he slid into a pair of bottoms just a little more comfortable to wear on another uneventful Friday night. This was the usual for Barrett whenever the weekends roll around. On Fridays he would come home from his nine to five shift, trudge into his bedroom, change, then sulk back into the kitchen to grab something to eat, and then raid his movie cabinet or pull an old book off the shelf before he feel off into a dreamless sleep on the couch. Saturdays were just a little more exciting. Sometimes Barrett would actually get in something nice and go out to meet up with some friends at a bar. On Sundays all the boy would watch a little morning news before taking a trip down to the beach to just get his mind off of stuff he'd been worrying about for the last week. Or he'd just think of how he had gotten to where he right now. Alone and still at the bottom of the food chain at work. He was better than writing stupid stories about how tourism doubled over the last two years or how a local women won mega bucks. Certainly someone had to see that he was above that kind of writing. Or was he the only one who knew what a good piece was these days? Barrett ran a hand through his hair and walked out of his room down the hall toward the kitchen.
--- After pulling a plastic container of leftover spaghetti from the fridge and popping it into the microwave Barrett strolled over to the bookshelf stacked with movies upon movies of almost every genre you could think of. His eyes roamed around the titles of the films for a few seconds before they set themselves on Forgetting Sarah Marshall and his fingers managed to pry it out of the cabinet right before the microwave beeped. Barrett walked on back to the kitchen, set the movie down on the counter, and pulled the microwave handle open. He could feel the warmth of the noodles from the bottom of the bowl as he took it out the microwave and set it down next to the movie. A fork was soon dug into the noodles topped with Prego red sauce and Barrett grabbed the movie before he made his way into the living room where he would watch the two hour film full of comedy and Kristen Bell on his plasma screen tv. This Friday night was turning out to be as bad as he thought it would have been.
--- He had spoken too soon. Just as Barrett had put the movie in the DVD player and situated himself on the couch, with the spaghetti bowl sitting in his lap, there was banging on the front door. The sound sent Barrett flying in the air with his dinner in his hands. It was ten thirty at night. Who could possibly want to see him that already hadn't earlier? Barrett set the bowl down on the coffee table in front of him and pulled himself up from the couch. The banging continued and as Barrett drew closer to the door he could hear a voice screaming from behind it. "Help me! Help me! Pease, please please!" The voice cried and Barrett's steps quickened. Even though there was a wall put in between this stranger and himself he could hear the panic and distress in the person's words. Something was definitely wrong. Finally, after what felt like ages of walking, Barrett reached the door and his hand held the handle as the voice screamed again. "Oh God, please help me!" The boy pulled the door open quickly and then saw a blonde before him, drenched in water and shivering as she stood on the door step. But this wasn't just any girl of the streets. Even after so many years of being apart and erasing the face from his memory Barrett knew who it was instantly.
--- Bridget Rhodes' eyes were swollen and bloodshot red as she stared up at him. Blood trickled down her face, her arms, and it had left a red stain on her wet shirt. There were bruises up and down her fair skin and brand new one circled her right eye. The angel face he had been trying to recall for the last week had been battered and beaten severely. By who? Barrett didn't know, but when he did someone was going to look a hundred times worse then Bridget did at this moment. Barrett looked down at Bridget's lower half and saw that her jeans had been torn by pieces of glass that were now deep inside her skin. And when Barrett went to look back at the angel's face he saw a gun secured in her hands. What the hell was going on? Even though it seemed like it had taken forever to see every mark on Bridget's delicate frame, only seconds had passed and the blonde continued to shake while she stood there looking at him. "Bridget," Barrett's voice was just barely above a whisper. He couldn't stand to see her like this. This wasn't the condition he had last seen her in. It was killing him to even imagine how this all happened. "What's wrong? Tell me what happened." Without even thinking about it Barrett reached out for her and started running his fingers along the bruises along her arms and the blood trailing down her jaw line. "Why do you have a gun?" This wasn't good at all.
--- It took a abundant amount of self-control to keep Barrett from heaving a sigh and recall all of the bitter moments he had shared with the blonde in the years they had been together. He had spent months of trying to erase the memories they created on the corners of Santorini's streets. What would that do to him if he just decided to open up all of those raw wounds? Barrett shook his head as if that would somehow magically erase the name from his brain and headed for the rooms in the back of the one story house. Once he walked down the hall and made a right his hand reached for the light switch and his index finger flipped it up in one swift movement. The ceiling fan lamp lit up the room to reveal piles of clothes sprawled out on the bedroom floor, a small wooden desk covered in a heap of papers, and then a bed that had its sheets tossed all over from this morning. Barrett's blue eyes scanned the area and his feet shuffled forward to one of the piles of clothes. A hand reached out to pick up the shirts in the pile and then carelessly threw them over to where his walk-in closet was located at. Barrett was obviously no neat freak. He never had been and never planned on being one. It wasn't like anyone came in here besides him anyway. And if they did the lights always remained off until the sun shined its way into the room in the early hours of the morning. Four minutes had passed and the several piles of clothes had been clumped into one pile and the sheets on the bed were straightened out. A wave of relief washed over Barrett as he reached up to his collar to undo his tie and start undoing the buttons to his white shirt. That was the casual work uniform when you worked for the local newspaper. If you walked in anything less you were sure to get the evil glare from the boss before he called you into his office. Barrett had learned that his first day on the job. After getting a small lecture from the boss, he was sent to fetch everyone cups of coffee before returning to his cubicle and start writing pieces of news no one cared to read when they opened up the paper. Business in America and Greece were surprisingly the same, but Barrett wasn't going to complain. It would pay off in the long run. He wouldn't be writing that stupid crap for the rest of his life. That was the goal at least.
--- Barrett discarded the shirt by throwing it right on top of the pile of dirty clothes while he walked into his closet, randomly selecting a shirt from a hanger and slipping into it quickly. The belt and the pair of black slacks were the next thing of and they added onto the mess when he slid into a pair of bottoms just a little more comfortable to wear on another uneventful Friday night. This was the usual for Barrett whenever the weekends roll around. On Fridays he would come home from his nine to five shift, trudge into his bedroom, change, then sulk back into the kitchen to grab something to eat, and then raid his movie cabinet or pull an old book off the shelf before he feel off into a dreamless sleep on the couch. Saturdays were just a little more exciting. Sometimes Barrett would actually get in something nice and go out to meet up with some friends at a bar. On Sundays all the boy would watch a little morning news before taking a trip down to the beach to just get his mind off of stuff he'd been worrying about for the last week. Or he'd just think of how he had gotten to where he right now. Alone and still at the bottom of the food chain at work. He was better than writing stupid stories about how tourism doubled over the last two years or how a local women won mega bucks. Certainly someone had to see that he was above that kind of writing. Or was he the only one who knew what a good piece was these days? Barrett ran a hand through his hair and walked out of his room down the hall toward the kitchen.
--- After pulling a plastic container of leftover spaghetti from the fridge and popping it into the microwave Barrett strolled over to the bookshelf stacked with movies upon movies of almost every genre you could think of. His eyes roamed around the titles of the films for a few seconds before they set themselves on Forgetting Sarah Marshall and his fingers managed to pry it out of the cabinet right before the microwave beeped. Barrett walked on back to the kitchen, set the movie down on the counter, and pulled the microwave handle open. He could feel the warmth of the noodles from the bottom of the bowl as he took it out the microwave and set it down next to the movie. A fork was soon dug into the noodles topped with Prego red sauce and Barrett grabbed the movie before he made his way into the living room where he would watch the two hour film full of comedy and Kristen Bell on his plasma screen tv. This Friday night was turning out to be as bad as he thought it would have been.
--- He had spoken too soon. Just as Barrett had put the movie in the DVD player and situated himself on the couch, with the spaghetti bowl sitting in his lap, there was banging on the front door. The sound sent Barrett flying in the air with his dinner in his hands. It was ten thirty at night. Who could possibly want to see him that already hadn't earlier? Barrett set the bowl down on the coffee table in front of him and pulled himself up from the couch. The banging continued and as Barrett drew closer to the door he could hear a voice screaming from behind it. "Help me! Help me! Pease, please please!" The voice cried and Barrett's steps quickened. Even though there was a wall put in between this stranger and himself he could hear the panic and distress in the person's words. Something was definitely wrong. Finally, after what felt like ages of walking, Barrett reached the door and his hand held the handle as the voice screamed again. "Oh God, please help me!" The boy pulled the door open quickly and then saw a blonde before him, drenched in water and shivering as she stood on the door step. But this wasn't just any girl of the streets. Even after so many years of being apart and erasing the face from his memory Barrett knew who it was instantly.
--- Bridget Rhodes' eyes were swollen and bloodshot red as she stared up at him. Blood trickled down her face, her arms, and it had left a red stain on her wet shirt. There were bruises up and down her fair skin and brand new one circled her right eye. The angel face he had been trying to recall for the last week had been battered and beaten severely. By who? Barrett didn't know, but when he did someone was going to look a hundred times worse then Bridget did at this moment. Barrett looked down at Bridget's lower half and saw that her jeans had been torn by pieces of glass that were now deep inside her skin. And when Barrett went to look back at the angel's face he saw a gun secured in her hands. What the hell was going on? Even though it seemed like it had taken forever to see every mark on Bridget's delicate frame, only seconds had passed and the blonde continued to shake while she stood there looking at him. "Bridget," Barrett's voice was just barely above a whisper. He couldn't stand to see her like this. This wasn't the condition he had last seen her in. It was killing him to even imagine how this all happened. "What's wrong? Tell me what happened." Without even thinking about it Barrett reached out for her and started running his fingers along the bruises along her arms and the blood trailing down her jaw line. "Why do you have a gun?" This wasn't good at all.
