Carlos Mitchell
3rd year 
Psychology Major
So far in blood that sin will pluck on sin, therefore pity me not.
Posts: 38 
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Post by Carlos Mitchell on Apr 21, 2011 6:15:26 GMT -5
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,padding-left:16px; padding-top:8px; padding-right:5px; padding-bottom:8px; background-image:url(http://i51.tinypic.com/2nbr3oi.jpg) ] carlos mitchell will you be the savior of
the broken, the beaten and the damned? - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Because of the young man’s contempt for the midday sun, Carlos would be up outside either early in the morning, or late in the afternoon; both times approaching twilight. On these occasions, he could be seen wearing a suit with a notched lapel that he would then proceed to use throughout the day indoors to go about his errands; perhaps class, or even the part-time job he managed to attain at the Hopkins Library. Then he would retire, quite peacefully, to his dormitory room for one, where he would at last remove the suit and replace it with a more casual attire… for his taste, anyway. None of those baggy pants and sweatshirts, please.
Carlos also had a taste for exercise, particularly mixed martial arts and bodybuilding—but in reality, it didn’t matter as long as he was staying fit. As a vain man, he would certainly like letting his body fill up his suit nicely, as opposed to going to such extents just to look good in one. So far, he has not failed. Years and years of practice gave him endurance and strength that would be practical for any athlete to possess. And so, despite his concentration on a single area, Carlos was capable of participating in any sport in a way that was a bit better than the average person.
After reading these two paragraphs above, one might wonder how the heck Carlos exercises if all he wore were suits. Well, it’s a simple thing to explain, really: Carlos wasn’t dumb enough to find predicament in that. He would rather wear suits, of course, but it would be totally impractical to exercise while wearing them. So at times of intentional body exertion, Carlos would wear a nondescript outfit consisting of jogging pants and a shirt.
Today was no different. The male was yearning for a way to get his heart pump and increasing blood flow. He would have gone for the martial arts option, since he was a member of the club in the University, but he noticed that they didn’t have a President yet, and he was unsure whether the club was holding classes. Therefore, he opted for another way to sate his desire—the soccer field. He had tried out for the said sport once, but was rejected by his school’s then-coach because he was hogging the ball all the time.
Carlos had obtained a ball from one of the younger students playing there before he had arrived. Just as they left, he had reached his destination, and so he asked for their permission to keep the ball in his ownership for the meantime. Because he was Carlos, whose gentlemanly qualities prove to be trustworthy especially at first impression, the younger students agreed. He was now currently in the field, a few meters from where the ball was at. He’d already warmed up by jogging laps around the field, freeing him of the worries of pulling a muscle.
He took a deep breath, before running and raising his right foot to kick the ball. It soared into the air and hit the goalpost, bouncing back almost instantly to the male. “Tch.” He caught it unceremoniously by leaping and bouncing it off his chest, making it revert upward before falling down to his raised instep. Carlos would then proceed to dribble the ball to a nearby wall and kick it, so that it would bounce back, and he would kick it again. And so a cycle was started.
Carlos exhaled noisily. This is what happens when a sport meant to be played by a team is played alone. |
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Post by Michael Derksen on Apr 21, 2011 9:37:37 GMT -5
It had been a long day today for Michael after just ariving and geting everything Registered for the school he finaly had some time for himself thank god. Man today had been a pain to say the least at least it was done and he had time to himself though. Chuckleing he just smileing as he headed for the scocer feild he was big time sports played to say the least as often after he finished school he would come to play scocer either for fun or competitively either way he always ended up enjoying it that was for sure.
Smileing upon ariving he looked around to see alot of kids playing scocer so he had to wait until a goal was open but there was a spare ball as he got it up and used one knee bounceing it on and everything but he than noticed a group was waiting and chuckled he didnt relise that was an out of bounce ball what he did next shocked them as he bouned it up one last time before fliping backward and kicking it as hard as he could as it zoomed past the pepole playing and right into the goal as the pepole playing went wide eyed as Michael rubed the back of his neck laughing.
"Sorry" He said chuckleing as the pepole watching just blinked before shaking it off and went back to the game as he just chuckled at their shocked expresion man today had been fun so far it had been a pain true but still fun at the same time. as he sat down on the bench he contiued to watch before looking to the side to see a kid who seemed to be playing by himself and blinked what was a kid playing scocer by himself for.
Geting up he went over to the area where the kid was as he watched him just kick the ball back and forth against the wall as he chuckled. it was kinda humors as he hadnt seen this sence middle school when it was him doing the same thing as Michael really hadnt gotten along to well in Middle school the way he did in High School. Smileing he just watched the kid as the ball bounced back and forth the kid seemed what was the word Lonley? yeah that was it he must of been. could only explain why the man was playing by himself.
Kicking the ball upward before catching it on his finger and spining it almost like a basket ball Michael chuckled to the man. today had turned out better than he had hoped as he hadnt really met anyone yet so it was kinda of a good thing after all. Smileing to the man he stoped spining the ball and placed the ball under his arm as leaned against the wall the man was kicking the ball against as he looked towards the man who had been playing by himself before speaking to him man what a day this had turned out to be.
"Hey man what you doing over here playing by yourself Scocer is a team sport Ya Know" Michael asked as he waited for the man to reply it was true after all it was a team sport so it had Michael wondering why he was by himself. Smileing in a freindly mater he just waited for the man to reply if he wanted to be alone after talking that was fine by Michael but he just wanted to know why...Why was he playing by himself after all Scocer was a team sport. |
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Carlos Mitchell
3rd year
Psychology Major
So far in blood that sin will pluck on sin, therefore pity me not.
Posts: 38
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Post by Carlos Mitchell on Apr 22, 2011 4:44:30 GMT -5
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,padding-left:16px; padding-top:8px; padding-right:5px; padding-bottom:8px; background-image:url(http://i51.tinypic.com/2nbr3oi.jpg) ] carlos mitchell will you be the savior of
the broken, the beaten and the damned? - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Carlos was focused on his chosen task: to derive cardiovascular benefit from kicking a ball against a wall repeatedly, without disturbing any one else. He was blind—no, ignoring the idea that he might be looking like some sort of antisocial loner right then and there. It wasn’t a particularly easy task for him to do, because he was used to having a reputation, and being written off as a man who can’t make friends was never on his ideal list. Carlos controlled the force he was using to kick the ball, determined not to look foolish by hitting it too hard accidentally and cause it to bounce out of reach, and seem laughable by those watching him.
In other words, he was determined to look good, no matter what it takes.
Slowly he began to feel a numbing boredom in his mind, and he absently shifted his kick to his left foot. He waited for the ball to bounce back, but was astonished that it didn’t. It wasn’t even remotely near him, he realized. Carlos averted his gaze slightly to concentrate on a blond-haired man. His eyebrows rose somewhat, silently questioning the stranger’s intentions with the soccer ball Carlos didn’t even rightfully own. He was spinning it on his finger (fingers?) like a basketball player. Speaking of which, he kind of looked like one. Not in terms of facial appearance, but by height. Carlos pegged him to be about an inch or two taller than him, and that was already considerably impressive.
Carlos also noticed that he was wearing a smile and, after a moment’s hesitation, Carlos returned it, but the reluctance was blatant in his close-lipped smile. What’s he doing with my ball? The brown-haired man mused, before running a hand through his hair. He was sweating, and his hair was vaguely wet. The blonde had then placed the ball under his arm and leaned against the wall and uttered, “Hey, man. What you doing over here playing by yourself? Soccer is a team sport ya know.” Ah. So his fears have been confirmed. He had looked like an antisocial loner.
It took a few seconds before Carlos replied, and his smile slowly faded, although it was barely even being of much use. He was scrutinizing the stranger discreetly, debating whether or not he was making fun of the brown-haired boy or not. Once he was satisfied his intentions were friendly, the man answered quietly. “I’m aware of that, kind sir.” He didn’t want to appear stupid or sarcastic by saying something like, Oh, thank you, kind sir, for informing me of that fact. No, he wanted to appear confident. Carlos figured he had to make up to remove the “loner” label.
“I appreciate thine concern, but a person dost do what a person can do in varying circumstances.”
Beyond the Olde English word usage and the, well, long sentence, it was evident that the twenty-three-year-old had no one to play soccer with, and Carlos knew that. It would be weird of him to backtrack now, and he realized he was appearing to be antisocial. Damn it. He briefly tried to figure out how he can amiably invite the stranger to join him—or at least, get back the ball—but he gave up, understanding that it wouldn’t require a bit of backtracking. Then he mentally facepalmed. Heck, he’ll just be inconsistent. He ran both hands through his hair this time, pulling back his long bangs and revealing his forehead, before clasping his hands at the nape of his neck, serving as a type of artificial support. Carlos would then smile, and this time, the warmth in them was reassuring.
“Wouldst thou like to join me?” |
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