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Centennial State University, founded in 1891, is a prestigious public university located just south of Steamboat Springs, Colorado. Its remote location serves as a great higher education grounds, as there are little distractions yet many learning experiences. CSU offers a wide array of degrees, from wildlife conservation to video game design to dance, just to name a few. Our science and arts departments are among the nation's finest, and our intercollegiate athletics programs are rising up more and more every year. If you're interested in having both the experience of a lifetime and the best education in the midwest, then apply today and call CSU home.

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Scott Emerson

Member Since 25 Dec 2015
Offline Last Active Apr 18 2017 11:35 PM
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01 July 2016 - 01:51 AM

His intense feelings didn't end with their close contact; instead they evolved, shaping into a distant sort of affection, eyes full of intrigue and adoration every time she spoke. Or didn't speak; every time she took a breath he was entirely focused on it, focused on her presence, on reading her, on absorbing and memorizing her. He had expected it to calm and was almost overwhelmed that it didn't, as the close proximity of her car didn't do him any favors in wanting to lean over and kiss her again and again.

 

He managed to restrain himself until stop lights at the very least.

 

Scott would've thought it foolish to fall in love so quickly, but he supposed it made sense now. There was no one more deserving of devotion than Teagan, he already knew, as he hardly felt worth her time to start with. But his stolen kisses and her laughs proved time and time again that she did feel intensely for him, that she had experienced the very same awakening he had. His love wasn't scary anymore; instead he felt quite lucky to know it with her, to have felt so intensely even for that one moment.

 

After dinner they found themselves in her room, hidden away from the rest of the world, finally sharing the private moment they weren't afforded at the bed and breakfast. It occurred to him that he could've had this a week ago already, that he could have stayed, and he couldn't help but wonder where they'd be now. Yet it was difficult to feel anything be thankful that they were precisely where they were now, his regrets from little over an hour ago already erased.

 

His eyes scanned her room, taking in everything he could, using every little clue to learn more about her. Books, papers, notebooks all stacked neatly on the desk, her violin case resting in a corner he could guess she always designated for it. Shades of yellow caught his attention, warm but soft, inviting. He could imagine her milling around in here already, brow furrowed in concentration over her desk, angelic face illuminated in her desk light. Sleeping in her soft bed, delicate features peaceful as her eyes fluttered closed, her breath becoming heavier with each second.

 

He wanted to see her this way. He wanted the memories to apply to it, not just the possibilities. Already he was flopping onto her bed and reaching out for her, signifying that he wanted her in his arms. Of course he was interested in kissing her but now more than ever he wanted to know her, to learn more about the woman he was apparently in love with.

 

"Tell me your middle name," he said softly, already delving into his multitude of questions. 


Violet Hill

27 June 2016 - 03:48 AM

All he wanted to do was erase the past week's worth of bullshit.

 

Was that so much to ask? Was that so difficult? Just put himself in a time machine, take the piece away from her in the previous practice without letting his defensive temper ignite, and then let her reject Laslow rather than accept that fucking Kappa invitation. Or maybe he could've simply kept a better eye on her during the party, punched out Laslow before he even had the chance to go inside-- the possibilities were endless, yet this was the bullshit he ended up with. 

 

She hated him. The thought cycled through his head over and over, and he knew he'd brought it on himself. The irony in it all was that he'd done things that warranted hate before, what with ruffling her feathers for entertainment every chance he got, but she'd still grown to like him well enough to kiss him while drunk, at the very least. Now she hated him because he ran away, because he chickened out and let her slip right through his fucking fingers.

 

But again, he still reassured himself that that was the better alternative. That letting her go was preferable to holding her too tightly, to suffocating her feelings out of her until there were none left and she was gone, leaving him cold and grasping at air. Funny-- he never considered the possibility that he could care less one of these days. She was too beautiful, too adorable, too funny and charming in her own right, too wonderfully emotional and christ... she was perfect. If they initiated a relationship, he would never leave. But she would. She would as soon as she realized how much better she was than him.

 

She had a brighter future. He was just a burnout working at a fucking record store. He wasn't even sure if he'd finish college.

 

He wanted to go and see her after practice, but his emotions were too high, his temper too out of control to allow him to chat properly with her then. Laslow knew how to bring it out of him, knew what to say to make him feel utterly worthless. So he just went back to his apartment, milled pointlessly about until one of his friends finally reminded him of their plans that afternoon. And as much as he wanted to bail, Booker or Raj wouldn't let him. They kept telling him that he needed this, he needed to go out and watch a movie and get stoned and just enjoy himself, goddammit. They told him that so many times that he started to believe it.

 

But fate had other plans. While he didn't notice her presence at first-- it wasn't as if he knew to look, after all-- he eventually heard a voice that sounded just like hers. So much like hers, in fact, that he was quite certain it was her. As he entered the shabby home theater he caught sight of her, up near the front row of mismatched recliners and couches with her cousin. 

 

"Fuck," he muttered to Booker as he turned, ready to leave. His friend caught him before he was able to get out of the door, however, offering explanation after explanation about 'we're already here,' 'you didn't drive so I'm not leaving early,' and 'maybe this will be good for you anyway.' It took everything in Scott not to rear back and punch his own friend in his smiling face, but he eventually was convinced to plop in one of the seats in the back anyway.

 

He shrunk in his seat, leaning so far into the chair that his legs met the couch in front of him. He was trying to disappear but thus far wasn't successful; already some of the people he hadn't met were speaking to him. Residents or family, he didn't know, but he couldn't help but wonder why the fuck she was here. Family? Friend of family? Friend of someone who lived here? She hadn't moved out here, had she?


Sabotage

27 June 2016 - 03:15 AM

Scott couldn't make sense of any of it.

 

Time-- that should have given him some semblance of clarity, some understanding of what was happening to him. But instead it just made it worse. Every minute that passed between him walking through the threshold of her apartment and now was another minute of emotional confusion. Weed or music couldn't chase it away. Even composition didn't help, despite that being a constant in the past, a way for him to chart his emotions and get them out.

 

Yet that was part of the problem. He knew it was silly to feel so much so quickly, to need to compose over something as simple as a drunken kiss outside her apartment. But it'd been more than that before she leaned in for that kiss. It'd been more than that since they played that fucking song in the elevator. It'd been more than that when he first heard her laugh filtering through Booker's doorway, since he saw her smile, since-- he couldn't even pinpoint when it began.

 

It was too fast. They didn't even know each other all that well and he was aware of it. So what was his fucking problem? Why were these feelings so intense that they overwhelmed him? Was this normal, or was he having some sort of medical issue that caused him to form such a quick attachment to her? Perhaps these were questions that deserved no answer; her smile made his heart lock in his throat, plain and simple, and he wasn't sure if he was worthy of seeing it. That was the problem.

 

She hadn't shown up to practice that afternoon. Scott had every intention of confronting Laslow, but when she wasn't there, he didn't have the energy to do much of anything. He'd been scattered throughout practice, forgetting pieces they needed to look over, eventually ending the whole thing early, because what was the point of it without her there? Not just in the sense of the ensemble being whole and complete, but because he couldn't focus. Because he was worthless with or without her.

 

Laslow's looks and gloats hadn't gone unnoticed. Neither were they returned. He deserved it. He packed up silently, hardly sparing a glance up.


Golden Arrow

13 June 2016 - 05:57 AM

His confrontation from a few days prior had all but been forgotten by now. He'd been miffed originally but entertained by the end, regaling the tale of the Girl Who Threw Pizza to just about anyone who would listen. Most of them seemed to agree with his thought that, y'know, throwing food in the middle of a cafeteria was a bit extreme given the circumstances. Not that it mattered by this point; the grease stain washed out of his shirt just fine and it became a story for the memory bank, something to tell a friend when he was extraordinarily high.

 

In fact he hadn't gone back to the cafeteria since, though not out of some fear of her. Perhaps out of fear of the food at the very least. Finding her again would have been entertaining, but given the size of the campus, he didn't see it happening anytime soon. So that memory just became another among many, a mere strange occurrence rather than something he mulled over. Just another instance of him being a total dick and meeting the consequences full force.

 

Not many people in the music department knew him as this sort of person, however. It wasn't as if he had a problem with them knowing, he just took himself a bit more seriously when he came around here. While he could be blazed to the point of hardly knowing his name on other parts of campus, he didn't like to be anything but mildly stoned when he was here. Despite being quite unmotivated some days, he could be a bit of a perfectionist, meticulously practicing sections of music until they were exactly right. Marijuana did not lend to that sort of focus with him.

 

So he was perfectly sober as he wandered into one of the ensemble classrooms, cello case in hand, sheet music in the other. He was a bit early but he didn't mind; instead he took the opportunity to tune and warm up before the others got there. He was working through a particularly difficult bit of music when he heard the door open and shut, and as such didn't even spare a glance in her direction. Instead he finished the passage and stopped, only for his phone to start vibrating right off the bat with texts from one of his friends.

 

It was a stupid video. A ridiculous video. He laughed loudly from his spot in the chair, still hardly bothering to register anyone else in the room. "Holy shit. You gotta see this," he said, glancing up, only to see-- oh. Shit.


Rumble & Sway

11 June 2016 - 06:29 PM

Stoner tunnel vision, he liked to call it.

 

Not that it absolved him of any of his crimes. Just because he was mostly unaware that he was doing it didn't make it any less douchey. Some might argue that he was a fool for venturing into the cafeteria after having smoked a full bowl by himself, but it was a matter of logic for him. Munchies, a scholarship that gave him free food in the cafeteria, unlimited soda, ice cream machine. It wasn't the best tasting food in the universe, but again, it was free and that more than he could ask for.

 

Neither did he have anxiety over being stoned in front of others. In fact he preferred other folks in this state, as it made them easier to manage-- funnier, even. Most of his friendships had begun in this state, actually; he found himself a little more agreeable, a little less jerkish. But it came with its downsides, like stoner tunnel vision.

 

To be fair, the lines were short today, to the point of often being one or two people maximum. So he just didn't think in the structure of lines so much as a free for all, so much as dodging from one spot to the other to grab the last slice of pizza first, the last of the chocolate chip cookies, the last bit of chili for this concoction of delicious nachos he was making. There were other things, too, but they all ran in a blur on his overloaded tray, his stomach already growling as he wandered over to the soda fountain and grabbed the last clean cup.

 

"Shit, they're really behind today," he said to no one, laughing to himself as he filled up his cup with ice and soda, taking a pre-game bite of his pizza with his other hand.



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