| "One of these people was just your average girl. The other person was fantastically beautiful, |
[May. 14th, 2008|02:03 am] |
sparkly and a vampire"
Three -- no, four -- people made sure I saw this. Heh.
OBAMA IS A VAMPIRE OMG.
HEY do all you happening hepcats want to hear my Twilight "outtakes," i.e. snarkage notes that I forgot to put in the posts as I was writing them because MY NEURONS WERE FRYING? OH SURE YOU DO.
WHAT. YES. YES YOU DO.
But first, some local colour!
I vividly remembered the flat black color of his eyes the last time he'd glared at me – the color was striking against the background of his pale skin and his auburn hair. Today, his eyes were a completely different color: a strange ocher, darker than butterscotch, but with the same golden tone.
He was still smiling, but his ocher eyes were serious.
He looked down, and then glanced up at me through his long black lashes, his ocher eyes scorching.
I paused for a long moment, and then made the mistake of meeting his gaze. His dark gold eyes confused me, and I answered without thinking.
I looked at his concerned, innocent expression and was disoriented again by the force of his gold-colored eyes.
The gold in his eyes blazed. "Please, Bella."
I watched as his golden eyes grew perceptibly darker day by day.
I scowled at his perfect face. His eyes were light again today, a deep, golden honey color. Then I had to look down, to reassemble my now-tangled thoughts.
(REASSEMBLE TANGLES WHISKEY TANGO FOXTROT)
I looked up into his deep gold eyes, became befuddled, and, as usual, blurted out the truth.
"Will you do something for me this weekend?" He turned to look me straight in the face, utilizing the full power of his burning gold eyes. I nodded helplessly.
I listed again in my head the things I'd observed myself: the impossible speed and strength, the eye color shifting from black to gold and back again, the inhuman beauty, the pale, frigid skin. And more – small things that registered slowly – how they never seemed to eat, the disturbing grace with which they moved. And the way he sometimes spoke, with unfamiliar cadences and phrases that better fit the style of a turn-of-the-century novel than that of a twenty-first-century classroom. He had skipped class the day we'd done blood typing.
WOW, BELLA SURE PICKED UP SOME OBSERVATIONAL COP HABITS FROM HER FA --
OH WAIT
THAT'S THE COP DAD WHO CAN'T TELL A VAMPIRE SNEAKS INTO HIS DAUGHTER'S BEDROOM NIGHT AFTER NIGHT TO _WATCH_HER_AS_SHE_SLEEPS_
FOR MONTHS
NEVERMIND
I GUESS BELLA GOT HER INTUITIVE ACUMEN AND KEEN SCRUTINY ELSEWHERE
"You should be – a normal person would be. You don't even look shaken." He seemed unsettled. He stared into my eyes, and I saw how light his eyes were, lighter than I'd ever seen them, golden butterscotch.
"I feel very safe with you," I confessed, mesmerized into telling the truth again. That displeased him; his alabaster brow furrowed.
(FURROWED
ALABASTER
WHA)
He turned to look at me with a wistful expression. The golden eyes held mine, and I lost my train of thought. I stared at him until he looked away.
"Do you truly believe that you care more for me than I do for you?" he murmured, leaning closer to me as he spoke, his dark golden eyes piercing.
P 135, FOLKS
OUT OF 327
I READ THIS SO YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO
YOU.OWE.ME.
Only now they were four; their beautiful, bronze-haired brother sat across from me, his golden eyes troubled.
"Sorry," he murmured. I looked up in time to see his golden eyes close again. "It's too easy to be myself with you."
His angel's face was only a few inches from mine. I might have – should have – flinched away from his unexpected closeness, but I was unable to move. His golden eyes mesmerized me.
He looked up then at my staggered expression as I tried to absorb his bitter memories. His golden eyes scorched from under his lashes, hypnotic and deadly.
From the cheerful topic of my impending demise, we were suddenly declaring ourselves. He waited, and even though I looked down to study our hands between us, I knew his golden eyes were on me.
YES
SHE SAYS
'DECLARING OURSELVES'
AND YET POOR (EW) EDWARD IS THE ONE WHO GETS SLAMMED FOR THE UNFAMILIAR CADENCES AND PHRASES THAT BETTER FIT THE STYLE OF A TURN-OF-THE-CENTURY NOVEL THAN THAT OF A TWENTY-FIRST-CENTURY CLASSROOM
GOD, BELLA, YOU SUCK (HA HA) AND I HOPE THE FLAME-HAIRED VIXEN VAMPIRESS, VICTORIA, WHO'S BEEN TRACKING YOU KILLS AND EATS YOU AT THE END OF THE FOURTH BOOK, AND THEN SHOVES EDWARD INTO A NUCLEAR POWER COOLER. NOW THAT WOULD BE DAZZLING
BUT I DOUBT IT.
His gold eyes grew very soft. "You said you loved me."
But I examined his gold eyes carefully, to make sure that I was forgiven. Apparently, I was.
Their eyes were different, too. Not the gold or black I had come to expect, but a deep burgundy color that was disturbing and sinister.
OHHH YES
COME NOW DON'T TRY TO STRUGGLE
BURGANDY
YES
REMEMBER HOW HANNIBAL LECTER HAS MAROON EYES? THIS IS TOTALLY NOT LIKE THAT ALL. BECAUSE THESE. ARE BURGANDY!
UM BURGANDY EYE COLOUR IS CAUSED WHEN VAMPIRES SUCK HUMAN BLOOD, I THINK, I DON'T REALLY CARE
AND NEITHER DO YOU
The smell of his breath was soothing. It seemed to ease the ache of my breathing. He continued to hold my gaze while my body slowly relaxed and the beeping returned to a normal pace. His eyes were dark, closer to black than gold today.
"Bella." He turned the full force of his scorching golden eyes on me.
When I looked up again, his eyes were open, watching me. Butterscotch today, lighter, warmer after hunting. His quick smile turned up the corners of his flawless lips.
AS OPPOSED TO A SMILE WHICH TURNS THEM DOWN, I GUESS
"Bella has Gym next hour, and I don't think she feels well enough. Actually, I was thinking I should take her home now. Do you think you could excuse her from class?" His voice was like melting honey. I could imagine how much more overwhelming his eyes would be.
I bit my lip. He looked down at me, his honey eyes unexpectedly gentle.
BUTTERSCOTCH, HONEY....I'M GETTING HUNGRY. MMMM NUTELLA. HEY I KNOW, IN _MY_ MARY SUE VAMPIRE PROBADFIC, THE VAMPIRES WILL HAVE NUTELLA-COLOURED EYES! I'LL MAKE MILLIONS
WHAT
MILLIONS I TELL YOU
"BUT WHAT, MOI," I CAN HEAR YOU ALL ASKING IN FRUSTRATED ALLCAPSY DESPAIR, "DOES _BELLA_ LOOK LIKE?"
GLAD YOU ASKED!
I left out a detailed description of Bella in the book so that the reader could more easily step into her shoes. However, so many people have asked this question, I have decided to tell you what she looks like to me. But I want to stress, Bella's looks are open to interpretation.
In my head, Bella is very fair-skinned, with long, straight, dark brown hair and chocolate brown eyes. Her face is heart-shaped—a wide forehead with a widow's peak, large, wide-spaced eyes, prominent cheekbones, and then a thin nose and a narrow jaw with a pointed chin. Her lips are a little out of proportion, a bit too full for her jaw line. Her eyebrows are darker than her hair and more straight than they are arched. She's five foot four inches tall, slender but not at all muscular, and weighs about 115 pounds. She has stubby fingernails because she has a nervous habit of biting them. And there's your very detailed description.
SO WHEN SHE REFERS TO HERSELF AS "ME, THE ALBINO," UM. YEAH. NOT, UM. YEAH.
And yet, they were all exactly alike. Every one of them was chalky pale, the palest of all the students living in this sunless town. Paler than me, the albino.
"You don't look very tan."
"My mother is part albino."
He studied my face apprehensively, and I sighed. It looked like clouds and a sense of humor didn't mix. A few months of this and I'd forget how to use sarcasm.
(OH FUCK YOU. I LOVE CLOUDS AND LIVE IN THE PNW AND MY SARCASM COULD POWER DURHAM, NORTH CAROLINA, FOR A YEAR.)
Hey! How about some marmoreal non-colour to go along with the fake albinism?
His white shirt was sleeveless, and he wore it unbuttoned, so that the smooth white skin of his throat flowed uninterrupted over the marble contours of his chest, his perfect musculature no longer merely hinted at behind concealing clothes.
"Are you all right?" he asked tenderly, reaching out slowly, carefully, to place his marble hand back in mine.
"The blush on your cheeks is lovely," he murmured. He gently freed his other hand. My hands fell limply into my lap. Softly he brushed my cheek, then held my face between his marble hands.
And then his cold, marble lips pressed very softly against mine.
What neither of us was prepared for was my response.
"Er, I'm not sure. What would you like?" His marble brow puckered.
MARBLE PUCKERING AND ALABASTER FURROWING? THE FUCK.
How quickly, how gracefully he would move through the crowds of people separating us. And then I would run to close those last few feet between us – reckless as always – and I would be in his marble arms, finally safe.
"Oh," he said, and his forehead smoothed back into marble.
HEY, GUESS WHAT COLOUR THE NATIVE AMERICAN NON-LOVE-INTEREST IS!
NO GO ON, GUESS! GUESS!
OH COME ON ONE LITTLE GUESS!
WRONG!
HE IS RUSSET!
Jacob sauntered over to take her place by my side. He looked fourteen, maybe fifteen, and had long, glossy black hair pulled back with a rubber band at the nape of his neck. His skin was beautiful, silky and russet-colored; his eyes were dark, set deep above the high planes of his cheekbones. He still had just a hint of childish roundness left around his chin. Altogether, a very pretty face.
OH YEAH, HE HAS A DAD! GUESS WHAT COLOUR THE NATIVE AMERICAN'S NON-LOVE-INTEREST'S FATHER'S SKIN IS! GO ON! GUESS!
OH COME ON IT'S NO FUN IF YOU DON'T GUESS!
'OH MY FUCKING GOD' IS NOT A GUESS!
WRONG!
HE IS ALSO RUSSET!
In the passenger seat was a much older man, a heavyset man with a memorable face – a face that overflowed, the cheeks resting against his shoulders, with creases running through the russet skin like an old leather jacket. And the surprisingly familiar eyes, black eyes that seemed at the same time both too young and too ancient for the broad face they were set in. Jacob's father, Billy Black.
Also:
the cheeks resting against his shoulders
EW
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chummy![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
amused
