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Centennial State University, founded in 1891, is a prestigious public university located 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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Teagan Altair

Member Since 11 Jun 2016
Offline Last Active Jun 26 2020 07:21 PM

Topics I've Started

Heartbreak Warfare

27 June 2016 - 02:51 AM

It was twelve in the afternoon before she could ever manage to drag herself out of bed, ironically enough. She had originally woken up at six, her usual schedule, partially because her body was used to it and partially because the sun had decided to rise and shine directly into her window. Normally that wasn't a problem at all but she found herself achey this morning, her skull three seconds away from cracking open entirely. Light felt like her enemy, like it was out specifically to get her, and while the fix for it was easy enough - close the blinds - it took a godawful amount of struggling to do just that. Peeling herself out of her bed took effort. Walking took a miracle. Remembering through the pain and searing headache just which string meant up and which meant down for her blinds was a laughable experience that would have been funny had it not meant metaphorical life and death. After fighting with it for a good five minutes, at least, she eventually managed, shutting out the sun and the world as a whole before she crawled back into bed and covered her head beneath a pillow.

Twelve o'clock was a little easier. The headache was still there, still raging a onesided war against her skull, but moving wasn't quite the battle it had been. She managed to roll out of bed, flip her comforter and sheets up neatly (though not as neat as usual), and drag her feet into the main room. The contrast between her room, which had been pitch black and quiet, to the bright and noisy kitchen and living area made her groan. Audibly. She blinked, begging her eyes to adjust, begging her head to stop sending shockwaves of nausea all the way through her body.

The urge to puke was there. She had never found that feeling the night before, this much she could remember off hand and even without coffee, but it was here now and she was doing her best to fight it. As she stumbled towards the kitchen and passed the couch, still all but absolutely dead to the world and to the apartment specifically, she eventually made her way to the coffee maker, grabbing one of the flavor cups and all but slamming it in the maker, closing the top with a ridiculously forceful slap.

Sure, a lot of this was hangover based. The pain and the nausea were more than a little upsetting. She was severely coffee deprived and was known for being notoriously grumpy without it. But it didn't stop there entirely, either. Already she had little fragments of memories from the night before, already she could remember pieces of the end of the night where sobering up became a quicker process than it had been. Scott and the kiss and the feelings and how into him she realized she was and then his expression, his body coiled tight around the chair, his subtle but not so subtle rejection and the sugarcoated goodbye that followed.

So maybe she was a little mad. Bitter, even. Hurt more than anything else, so hurt that she couldn't find a way other than anger to channel it any way that didn't involve crying. It was obvious, too; she was folded into herself, every movement sharp, every breath deep and shaky. She hadn't even noticed poor Melanie who had been in the kitchen quite literally the entire time.

She was trying not to think, too, trying to shut down in a way that made this all sting less. It was how she handled things when there was nothing for her to react to, when the subject of blame was nowhere to be found. She was highly emotional, yes, but she needed somewhere to direct it, something physical to fight. And really, was Scott even to blame for this? For any of this? He had only been trying to help, to keep her safe. She had made all the moves that she could remember, she had taken the situation and escalated it. She couldn't be mad at him for not wanting anything to do with her, not really. She could only lay blame at her own feet for having ever allowed herself to try.


25 June 2016 - 05:45 AM

There came a certain sense of vertigo from the entire experience. First of all, being as dizzy and as hazy as she was made slipping and sliding around a really bizarre experience. Finding her footing only to lose it mere seconds after was outright debilitating. Her legs felt like jello already without the help of a wet ground but she certainly could find no solace in any step she took. She could vaguely recognize that he was trying to help, too, working to lift her back up every time she got a little too close to the ground but it wasn't doing anyone any good when she went right back to sliding immediately after.

What was really wild was going from standing to being lifted. Something about being carried while intoxicated absolutely threw her mind for a loop. For one, she could still recognize that she was moving but knew that she wasn't actively participating in said movement. Two, the added height gained was more than a little dizzying. There was also a very small, very buried part of her that recognized the intimacy and embarrassong nature of this entirely, but it was so blurry and so out of focus compared to everything else that she hardly reacted to it outside a faint flush of heat to her cheeks.

She eventually burrowed into him anyway, all other factors be damned because sitting up right and even giving herself a chance to watch the ground move seemed like a very bad idra, even to her. She found a lot of comfort in the nape of his neck, too, her forehead pressed against some soft, stray lock of hair.

"It's fine... I mean, I'm... Just glad I'm here. I mean, out here, not... In there." She was a lot less upset than she had been, too, though the influx of emotions she had felt throughout the entire night was still shifting in her chest, waiting, threatening with every breath to spill out. "Thank you...

Hungry Like The Wolf

23 June 2016 - 11:02 PM

After the anxiety faded and the clarity of the situation revealed itself, Teagan found herself... confused. Baffled. Befuddled. Boggled. She was thankful for Scott and for everything he'd done, but at the same time... Well, it was Scott. Scott Emerson. Scott, who had done absolutely nothing since they'd met but make her life a living hell. Scott, who had stolen food from her five times. Scott, who made fun of her at each and every turn he could. Scott, the man she had deemed as her rival for all intents and purposes. She'd gone out of her way to go to his apartment for the sole sake of revenge. It was nice that he'd softened up and worked so hard to distract and relieve her, but... well, it just wasn't right. It wasn't normal. It was hard to wrap her mind around the fact that the nice guy she'd met in the elevator and the douchey stoner were even the same person.

It left her greatly confused, honestly. It wasn't enough to make her completely forget everything that had happened, not by any means, but it did make her dig a little bit deeper into her impression of him. Was he really that much of an asshole? Was he just acting like an asshole? Or was he just acting like a nice guy? What was the truth of the situation? She really could not figure it out at all, but she did walk away knowing one thing, and one thing only. They played well together. They played exceptionally well together. Whatever friendly chemistry they lacked prior, they certainly made up for it in musical chemistry. Sure, the elevator hadn't been ideal for the song she'd picked, but it still sounded good. It still worked. It did better than work, honestly, it sounded phenomenal.

She was still a little clusterfucked from it all, honestly. From the impromptu concert, from how good they sounded together, from how nice he was. It was a little hard to see through these recent revelations knowing the kind of history they had. It was even harder knowing that she'd have to face him again at the ensemble. It made her drag her feet a little, too; she wasn't late, oh no, of course not, but she did show up to it exactly on time just to avoid any awkwardness. She wasn't sure what to expect. Would things go back to the way they were? Or would they be the way they had been in the elevator? And what had Booker meant about what he'd said, too? What was the meaning of all of this?

She had a hard time getting through the ensemble without thinking about all of those questions at least once or twice, but she managed, somehow, to refocus and push it to the back of her mind until the very last note was played, and then it was back, a plague upon her memory. It had her acting a little hastily, packing up her things and shuffling through her music. It wasn't until she noticed an unfamiliar piece in her stack that she paused, blinking at the sheet and turning it over once. "Oh..." This was his. He had left so quickly the other day that she had never had a chance to return it. Which was... awkward, to say the least. She blinked down at it, gulping down a heavy sigh before she shifted her attention (way, way) upwards. "I uh, I forgot to... I never got a chance to give this back to you."

We'll Be On Fire

18 June 2016 - 03:27 AM

She was late, she was late, she was late, she was late. Well, not late by normal people standards. She was, in fact, at least five minutes ahead of schedule for the everyday, average Joe, but she always took meetings very seriously and showed up at least fifteen minutes early as a show of good faith. A slow walker in the Courtyard had ensured that her scheduled routine wouldn't be followed as strictly as she would have liked personally and it left her sprinting towards the inner campus, darting in through the double doors, and absolutely booking it torwards the elevator as fast as her little legs would carry her. She made it to an empty elevator only one floor away, thankfully, and slipped inside effortlessly once it descended before taking a deep breath and attempting to calm herself.

She would still be early. She would still be there early enough that her initiative and responsibility shown through. Ten minutes early was still okay. It wasn't perfect, obviously, but it wasn't horrible. She wouldn't be staggering in late at least, like actually, factually late. This wasn't as terrible and panic-worthy as she feared it would be. She had already half-way worked herself up into a tizzy on the way over, though, and relief from that tizzy wasn't going away so easily. It probably wouldn't, either, not until she stepped foot into the room for her meeting and actually knew for a fact that she had made it.

There weren't many things that could logically go wrong on an elevator ride but she knew better than to say that nothing could go wrong. She'd learned her lesson time and time again from that pessimistic outlook. Did it mean that she didn't still err towards being cynical as hell at all times? No, no, of course not, but it did at least mean that she kept those thoughts to herself. Vocalizing them was a big no-no. The universe listened to that, apparently, and had a particular grudge towards her for some reason.

Still, as the doors started closing she could feel that wave of serenity settling over her. One little elevator ride was all that kept her from her goal. One tiny, itty bitty little floor to rise up to. Just one. She watched distractedly as the doors nearly met in the middle before a hand forced its way through, stopping the motion and causing both doors to retract. Which was fine! Totally okay. She could deal with the one-second delay it took for the other person to board. There was still plenty of time left, after all. And she kept hold of that thought process, too, until the doors fully opened and revealed the person standing behind them.

Every bit of her froze up as she realized that the universe really did hate her. It absolutely loathed her. It salted her wounds everytime they even got slightly close to healing. She was finally starting to move on from the embarrassment and outrage she'd suffered only days prior as her plan failed, as she failed, and now here he was, the same smug asshole she kept running into every few days.

There was absolutely no way fate wasn't yanking her chain. Absolutely no way. What other explanation could there be? The campus was huge! It was summer. He literally did not seem like the type to take summer classes or meet with professors on an off day or anything even remotely close to a responsible act that she just could not figure out why she kept running into him. Why? Why fate? Why?

"No. This elevator isn't made to accommodate giant assholes."

One Two Punch

15 June 2016 - 03:56 AM

This was a situation that required no preparation. She didn't have to work herself up for this confrontation, she didn't have to ease any nerves or calm any oncoming panic. Maybe she would have had she not met Booker only a few hours prior, but she had, and she'd secured a good deal of information that would make this not only easy, effortless even, but fun. And she was in desperate, desperate need for fun at this point. As much as she enjoyed 'winning' their little argument earlier in the week, Scott had drained her today. Between his talent and his incessant need to pester and poke and prod at her constantly, she had walked away exhausted and momentarily defeated. His antics had left her worried, frantic about her reputation and about what could possibly come of them being partners in a four-person ensemble. Things had went easy enough this time, but she had already created so many what-if situations that it was nerve-wrecking to know that he'd be waiting for her next week, then the next, then the next. Dreaming up terrible situations that would fault and destroy her entire plan was kind of her thing. She didn't like it, she didn't actively try to, but she was just too paranoid and too filled with worry to do anything else.

But now? Now things were different. The shoe had changed to her foot instead of his. She was walking up the stairs of the on-campus apartments as a victor. Sure, she hadn't won the battle yet, but she was going to. She was absolutely sure of that. She couldn't have done it alone, of course not, and for that she greatly appreciated Booker and his help, but she could carry out the plan in question all on her own. She didn't need his help with that. There was enough residual anger and enough spiteful pettiness inside of her that she could complete this simple task with ease that would make even the most serene person jealous. That was simply the type of person she was. Passionate, spiteful, and all too determined to get people back when they wronged her in any way. And he'd wronged her. Maybe not in a way that was grand or even all too hurtful, but he'd done enough to make an impression on her, and that was all that mattered.

She had left the Student Center a changed woman. There was a pep in her step that hadn't been there for several days. Hell, had it ever been there in her entire life? She simply wasn't the type to settle for something so easy but at this point, she would really take anything she could get. He had bothered her so much in such a short time period that she just couldn't live with letting things go. She couldn't exactly enact revenge during the ensemble, either, at least not without effecting herself in the process. This was perfect. It would be difficult, and she wasn't as naive to think it wouldn't be. As hot-tempered as she was and as easily offended as she could be, she'd certainly have to try very, very hard to keep both her mouth and her anger in control. But oh, it would be worth it. That victory sitting at the end of her little tunnel was enough motivation to cause even the most dire of insults to slide right off of her back. And if he upset her too much? Well, she could just bottle it all in and rant about it later. Nevermind that she wasn't any good at that sort of thing.

She took each step carefully, opting against the elevator and taking the stairs instead, her shoulders back and her head held high. C3, C3, third floor. Once she reached the destination in question, she squared herself evenly in front of the door, raised a dainty little hand, and knocked three times. She expected Booker to answer the door, though she genuinely had no clue. He had mentioned other roommates outside of Scott, and she wasn't entirely sure if they'd be here or not. She didn't really care, though. The bigger the audience, the better. She had performed in front of people for most of her life, so stage fright in the light of such a grand ordeal wasn't even a snaking concern in her mind. And if one of those roommates answered the door, well, that was fine too. She knew Booker's name, at least; she could just ask for him! No harm, no foul.

So she waited, albeit a little impatiently. She was just entirely too eager for this.