old-annaliese-cleft-blog - Tumblr blog

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tHIS IS CURRENTLY MY LIFE

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ATTENTION FOLLOWERS!

I will no longer be using this blog.

Instead, I am moving here: http://annaliesecleft.tumblr.com/

This is so I can talk directly to all of you and other MI-6 agents, or potential employers.

Please spread the word so that other will find out!

~Annaliese

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M1A Benjamin Button: when you play your piano, you somehow get younger (for a week)

Annaliese cracks her fingers and places her hand into position on the keys. She begins to play a bright sonata by Haydn, a piece she always plays when feeling nostalgic. She zooms through the cheerful piece.

She thinks to herself "I could probably play through this backwa-" She stops short. She lifts her left hand off the keyboard and turns her attention to her right hand. A fowl sound arises from her hand. She looks at the keys she had pressed. 'A F natural?! Why in the world would I hit a F natural? This sonata is in D major!"

She scoldingly looks at her middle finger and thinks "Don't make a silly mistake like that again, okay?". She returns her left hand to the keyboard, takes a deep breath, and mechanically begins pinching the keys from the moment she had stopped.

She hadn't made anymore mistakes during the duration, but her tempo began slowing down. She felt a certain difficulty with her usual speed, all of a sudden. She shrugs this off and continues the piece.

She nears the piece's end. The final notes are an octave in the left hand, meaning two notes that are separated by a span of eight keys. She attempts to hit the octave, but an ungodly sound emerges. She looks onto her left hand, and sees that she did not play the octave correctly. She was a key too short. She stretched her pinky in hopes to reach the second note, but no hope. She couldn't stretch her fingers wide enough to play a simple octave. Usually her long, trained fingers could play keys that were 11 keys away from each other. But for some strange reason, she can't reach it. She realizes "The last time I couldn't reach an octave was... when I was ten years old..."

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Magic Anon's for the Bored RP'er.

Who?: Muse had amnesia for as long as the anon decides.

Not Again!: Muse has a chronic feeling of deja vu

What a Pretty Lady/Handsome Gentleman: The muse is genderbent.

Love me Tender: Muse is very clingy and affectionate.

Never Grow Up: Muse is a young child, with the same memory from then.

Wounded: All scars that the muse have will burn.

Icy: Your muse has icicles hanging from their body.

Pestilence: Muse is sick until a task is accomplished.

War Bound: Muse is trapped with flashbacks of a war.

Truth Teller: Muse cannot lie.

Tongue and Cheek: Nothing is left to thought, muse speaks everything they think.

Let's Go Dancing: Your muse is desperate for some interaction, looking for someone to go out with.

Babble: Muse is very drunk.

Dream-Walker: Muse believes they are in a dream.

Mortal: Your muse has an extreme fear of death.

Whips and Chains: Muse is turned on by being touched, anywhere.

Out: Muse is possessed by a demon.

Coraline: Everyone your muse see's they think is secretly very evil, even the nicest folk.

Benjamin Button: Your muse is slowly growing younger! Anon decides what reverses it.

Sleepy: Muse randomly falls asleep.

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Request Hour!

During the next 60 minutes, I will be accepting song requests from you all for me to play!

Any song you enjoy, just name it, and I will do my best to recreate it on piano!

Don't think I can do it...? TRY AND STOP ME!

Time is ticking...

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Annaliese takes her right leg and tucks it under her left knee. She felt emotionally fulfilled during that embrace. She is slightly disappointed that Silva had let go so soon, although they did embrace for a good couple of minutes. The flow of tears from her eyes begins to decrease. Her skin is sprinkled with the clear spheres, as if dew drops had formed. She doesn't care to wipe them away. She wants them to stay on her skin and to cleanse her wounded skin, her tattered surface. She hears Silva crying at the foot of the door, yet she doesn't do anything to comfort him. "He has discovered something in himself. He needs to adapt to this himself" she reasons.

 She slowly lets her bandaged arm fall behind her back and form an angle against the mattress, almost making a straight scaffold for her to lean on. Her fingers slightly brush the paper rose that she had forgotten for those glorious few minutes. But once she is reminded of its presence, her tranquil peace of mind is destroyed. She looks upon the rose with hatred. She knows exactly why she had received it. James wants her to stop entering Silva's emotional state. She had been given the rose with the concluding notes of the piece. He wants their friendship to end. But she can't meet those demands. Not at this point. No subtle, hidden message will stop her from healing Silva. She begins to crinkle the paper in her hand, trying to make it disappear in her closed grasp.

"I thought you would have gotten the message." a deep, husky voice booms. Annaliese thrusts her head up to see James looking at her in the doorway unapprovingly. He motions at the now crumpled paper rose. "I gave it to you for a reason."

She angrily responds "I know. I heard the whole thing." She figures she might as well tell him that she was awake during their prior encounter.

"Well then, that should have told you something." he threateningly advances towards her seated form.

"For your own sake, or you'll get hurt.." He crouches to her level and rubs his fingers roughly along the red mark he had created on her neck earlier.

She smacks his arm away before he could cause more irritation. "If it means helping him, I'll deal with the pain." she glares at him "You obviously haven't been doing a good job at it, so he needs me instead."

James stands straight and angrily grabs her whole face in his right hand. She softly whimpers out if fear but makes no cry for help.

"Listen, you bitch! It's hard for me to do my job if you keep showing up and falling to the ground every bloody second." He shakes his hand aggressively, making her head spin. Meanwhile, he takes his left hand and clasps onto the bandaged part of Annaliese's arm. He begins to apply insane amounts of pressure. He harshly whispers into her ear, "You're here to play the damn piano, and then you leave. Don't you dare touch him again." Annaliese feels the thin, protective layer of skin that had formed onto her scar begin to crack open. She lets out more whimpers, this time from pain. James' unforgiving grip tightens on her arm and face as the white bandages develop a red hue.

‘A reoccurring theme,’ Annaliese thinks to herself. It’s the second time she has awoken on a bed she never remembered entering. She has awoken now, still sprawled on Silva’s bloody bed sheets, but she refuses to get up. She doesn’t know if she has the physical strength to rise from the bed, or to…

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Do you have an address to this place, Mr. Silva? I'd to borrow a helicopter... And some cleaning supplies...

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{{I'd say it was a busy, busy roleplay day today! I'm awaiting questions, prompts, and opinions on my writing for tomorrow from you lovelies. I leave you all with the newest installment of the Piano Provocatrix! }}

THE PIANO PROVOCATRIX ~a Skyfall roleplay

Silva and Annaliese ponder their new-found trust…

S: Silva takes his finger off the key and stands there with his hands folded behind his back grinning at James. “You like it James, the piece?” “I told you I did.” James said as his face became stern. “No, my piece silly!” Silva said laughing. “Your piece was just some note on a piano more expensive than your soul” James said as he turned towards the window again not wanting to make eye contact with Silva. “Ooof, good one, James. I thought you were actually going to insult me that time. Well, there’s always next time” Silva said as he took a seat next to Annaliese at the piano. “How about I play something. Would that be okay?”

  “Sure that’s fine, Mr. Silva” Annaliese said as she sat there with her hands in her lap assessing the situation.

  “I call this one, ‘Our Love,” Silva said as he struck the first note. C minor. It was the song, Skyfall. The one that James heard in his dream before he died. Before she said “take the shot.”

    James turned around and walked hastily towards the piano. “Raoul, if you don’t stop…I swear-”

  “You swear you’ll what James? Hmmm…‘Let the skyfall…when it crumbles—” Silva sang as he started to sway with the beat and let his voice rise with each verse.

  “I’m done” James said as he threw his hand up in the air and swiftly swept it down. He walked to the elevator, pressed the button and put on his sunglasses.

  “Well, he’s very touchy today” Silva said in a playful tone while playing a cheerful little ditty on the keys.

  “Mr. Silva, do you and James really like each other or is this a game to you?” Annaliese asked.

  “Ha! Isn’t love a game, though” Silva said with raised eyebrows.

  “Good point” Annaliese responded as she pondered the response.

  “Anyway, why am I the one on the island? How many others wanted to play for you?” she asked hesitantly. “First of all, my dear; you chose me, I didn’t choose you. Secondly, I needed someone to be the comic relief in this dreary place. See I must have a balance of intelligence and force. I must know everything but when someone crosses me I must take care of them. Like Severine” he said as he got up from the bench and went to the end of the piano and leaned his back against it looking towards the elevator.

“I would like to be more witty and charming but I feel my henchmen see me as weak due to…preexisting notions in their head that a man who, how do I put this…likes other men cannot be strong. Maybe they are right. I have my own island with thousands of rooms and computers yet I still feel so empty” he said as he turned around and looked Annaliese right in the eyes. “What do you see me as?”

A: Annaliese looks back at the helpless man while he desperately waits for a comforting response. She sighs and looks away to stare at the glossy, black  music rack of the piano.

She blankly gazes at it while she gathers her thoughts. She finally turns back to the man who now looks like a child at the mercy of an angered adult. She returns Silva a serious, saddened gaze. Her eyes glossy, and her pupils black with seriousness. “I see you as a wooden box. The box is structurally sound, beautifully crafted with fascinating designs, and a clean finish. Alone, the box is an intriguing sight. Although when you uncover the lid, something else, something deeper is contained. The burnt remains of a man. A man who once was. The story of the ashes is known to few, yet they still remain enclosed in the box.”

She ends her comparison and looks down, as if she were ashamed. She adds “I was never good with words. I prefer musical metaphors”. She effortlessly takes her left hand and slowly glides it across the keyboard. The movement of her fingers makes it seem as if she is playing, but no sound is emitted. She ends her noiseless arpeggio with her pinky caressing the lowest key, the rest of her hand casually hanging upwards. She studies the frozen hand, looking for an answer. Suddenly, Silva’s large hand swoops gently underneath Annaliese’s postured hand and pulls it up from the key. He takes his other hand and lightly places it on top of hers.

    Silva’s longing look turns into a compassionate smile and answers “Your words are just fine.”

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//your roleplay is making my sob my eyes out over here. My applause.

{{Aww, don't cry! I'm sure sassy-silva will make it all better with their response! I'm glad that the RP is making such emotions despite the lack of dialogue. Thank you for the compliment. It's the first I've received from a reader. Thank YOU.}}

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Annaliese showed no specific reaction when Silva had taken out his prosthesis. On the inside, of course, she was surprised, but the sight did not disgust her nor make her flinch. In fact, she wanted to comfort the broken man even more. Despite the deformity, she had never seen someone so human at that moment. She listens intently as he spills out his deepest, inner emotions. Then, he concludes speaking about the story of his scars. Her hand still remains on his chest, and Silva’s hand also resting on it. In the silence, the tips of his finger wrap around her slender hand in search of comfort. He is bent over, looking down at the mattress as his sheets collect his tears.

The silence that comes afterwards is not one of awkwardness, or lack of words to say. This silence has medicinal properties almost. It captures the pain Silva had just expressed and allows it to hang over the two. Annaliese slowly takes her healthy left hand and reaches under to Silva’s left hand which holds the prosthesis. She slides her hand under his, and cautiously guides his hand upwards towards his mouth. She aids him as he weakly inserts the replacement in it’s proper place. His face begins to take form again. She attempts to show him a broken, yet supportive smile, but Silva still stares at the bedsheets. She slides her injured hand off of his scars, while his hand still clings to it. She hovers the hand onto his left cheek, and gently places it, in hopes of not disturbing the prosthesis’ resting place. She begins to massage his flexible skin with her thumb in small movements. He closes his eyes as he welcomes the comforting touches, while his hand still hangs onto hers.

As she remedies the neglected man with her hand’s movements upon his cheek, Annaliese stretches out her legs until they hang over the bed side. Still holding Silva, she inches her way towards the edge, to gain a sitting position. Their bodies now sitting side to side, but looking in opposite directions. She slips to the right side so that she is close enough. Then, she leans the side of her torso into his. She nuzzles her neck in the space between his neck and collarbone, their pulsing veins almost beating off of each other. She takes her left hand and brings it to his right shoulder blade. And just like that, they remain there. Silent, clear tears flow from their faces to their arms and back. The silence envelops them, preserving the anguish and comfort in space. They stay like this, barely moving. Silva has his eyes closed for this embrace, while Annaliese has her eyes open, and staring at the floor. Suddenly, she spots a pair of black dress shoes appear in the doorway. They stay there or a moment, and noiselessly disappear from sight. She ignores the event and continues to hold Silva's aching person and body in her arms. And during those moments, the silence and physical and emotional contact had filled their lungs, their mangled bodies, and their torn hearts.

‘A reoccurring theme,’ Annaliese thinks to herself. It’s the second time she has awoken on a bed she never remembered entering. She has awoken now, still sprawled on Silva’s bloody bed sheets, but she refuses to get up. She doesn’t know if she has the physical strength to rise from the bed, or to…

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Lucky you! I guess rats are more active than grace notes. *sighs*

So my Rats I will answer ALL of these, just give me some time. Thank you for all the messages. This will be fun!

-Silva

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"Someone is excited," Diana commented, laughing. "The shop is over there," she pointed to a building on the corner of the street, "Rather small place isn't it?"

Annaliese smiles as the two converse. "Well, seeing that you sell pianos, the interior can't be so small! Plus... it's not the size that matters, it's the sounds that come out of there, no?" She continues walking, and she turns to Diana and slightly tilts her head, as if to ask her what she thinks.

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I'm all yours, my grace notes!

Drop me an ask, give me a prompt, anything you wish- I will do!

Taking requests is not only limited to piano...

I'll be waiting for your correspondence!

~Annaliese

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*cracks fingers* LET'S ROCK N ROLL.

1 - 2 - 3 - 4, I declare a fic war!

What: Tumblr Fic War

Who: Anyone who reblogs this post.

When: Until everyone is actualfax dead, because this is WAR suckers!

Why: FEELINGS

What: Everyone who reblogs this post is opening their ask box up to the most brutal, feelings-inducing prompts anyone who is playing can imagine.  Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to take those prompts and DESTROY EVERYONE with them. Not just angsty stuff either, fluff can be just as bad, as many of you know!

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    Despite the fact that her closest companion had just entered, Annaliese does not move from her current position. Yet, she’s not pretending to be asleep. Her eyes are open, blinking slowly, and holding back tears as her gaze is fixed on the replaced rose James had given in her injured, right hand.

“I am doing fine.” she blandly answers in a raspy voice. Silva turns his head to Annaliese, surprised with her hostility.

Without looking at him, Annaliese feels that he’s desiring more openness from her. And that’s what she wants to give him. She wants to go to him and comfort him, and thank him forever, for saving her. But the image of the new rose burns in her mind. The notes dotting the rose, more specifically are what torment her. The last few notes. The finale. The end. That is what needs to happen.

She gathers her thoughts, and attempts to prop herself up using her healthy elbow. But her unused muscles fail her, and she falls back with her head against the mattress.

“Let me help you.” says Silva, as he reaches over her weakened body for some pillows. He takes two of them and slides them under her back. He moves his hand in attempts to support her back, but he is stopped.

“No,” Annaliese barks with determination. “I will do it.” Again, she tries to shift her body up with her elbow. Silva watches as the girl struggles. Somehow, she manages to bring her torso in an upwards position. He moves the pillows closer to her back for support.

“There is no need to be ashamed in needing help.” Silva responds, saddened and confused over her change of mood towards him. Annaliese can take it no longer. She can’t look upon this hurt man, and not extend a warm hand to him. She needs to tell him something… something that will heal. She abandons the rose and takes her bandaged arm and slowly draws it closer to Silva’s bare chest. Tears begin to form in her eyes. She is about to fully outstretch her arm, but suddenly winces from a sharp attack of pain. She loses control of her arm due to this pain, and her hand falls onto his breast where there were two fairly large, parallel scars. Silva shows no change in reaction. He looks at the girl in awe, trying to sum up her behavior.

Annaliese’s focus has turned to the two scars on his chest, she looks onto them in pity. “Mr. Silva…” she faintly says, “if you want these scars to heal…”. She takes her thin fingers and lightly traces the deep marks. “We have to stop revisiting them… and tearing them open again.” she says regretfully. Tears begin to fall onto her cheeks, almost magnifying the pain she experienced by saying those words. The drops begin to trickle down onto her neck, following the bright-red trail that James had left a few minutes earlier. She looks apologetically at Silva, as if to show him that she truly doesn't want to be saying this, yet Silva focuses on the individual tears that flow over her irritated skin.

‘A reoccurring theme,’ Annaliese thinks to herself. It’s the second time she has awoken on a bed she never remembered entering. She has awoken now, still sprawled on Silva’s bloody bed sheets, but she refuses to get up. She doesn’t know if she has the physical strength to rise from the bed, or to…

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Continuation of "The Chimera" RP b/t sassy-silva and myself.

'A reoccurring theme,' Annaliese thinks to herself. It's the second time she has awoken on a bed she never remembered entering. She has awoken now, still sprawled on Silva's bloody bed sheets, but she refuses to get up. She doesn't know if she has the physical strength to rise from the bed, or to walk. 'I'd rather not risk collapsing again. That'd be too repetitive' she thinks, annoyed with herself.

She doesn't have the emotional strength for it. That is certain. She refuses to open her eyes, even. She doesn't want to have to look upon the destruction she's brought. 'There's probably blood everywhere. I made this yacht look like a slaughter house. And I am the only salvaged animal, excused from death.' She lays motionless, being more active in her head as she talks to herself mentally, evaluating the situation.

Over a period of sometime, she begins to get irritated by her conscience and the thoughts that have slipped into her mind. 'I hate my body, and what it has done. I can't afford to hate my mind and soul, too. It's all I have left of me' As she thinks this, she takes notice of the rough, multi-layered bandages on her arm. But she still refuses to open her eyes and examine the results. She keeps her arms and legs in their initial positions, so  instead she resorts to using her hands to become oriented in their close surroundings. She feels out the already-obvious bed sheets, yet her injured hand notices something light and wet with liquid resting upon it. With her thumb, she scans the object. It is cold and wet with some sort of fluid, yet it makes a crinkling noise when she presses harder. She runs her finger, and feels repetitive layers of thin paper sliding jabbing into her finger. 'Not you again.' she remarks in her mind, as she comes to the realization. 'I hate you. And all you symbolize, and all you've done.' she sends in her hateful message towards the paper rose. 'You're probably red now. Everytime we meet again you become more real, more life-like... and more frightening. And to think that I made you' she thinks, as she exchanges her complaints to the blood-drenched rose.

She hears hushed voices out in the hallway "What makes you think I'd like to visit the whore after she interrupted our evening?" asks an angered voice.

'Probably James.' Annaliese thinks to herself. She hears a hit, as if someone patted a piece of fabric- hard. 

"I don't care if you want to, or you don't. There is no whore in that bedroom, there is an injured girl, and she's our responsibility." defends another man. Annaliese immediately recognizes the voice as Silva's.

"More like a burden." James mutters.

'To think that a spy doesn't hold grudges.' states Annaliese (still in her mind).

Silva lets out a sigh of disappointment. "If you go to her... I promise we'll pick up from where we left off last night." Silva hums to himself, and his footsteps start again and fade away.

The sound of Silva's footsteps gradually pass. A huge thump is heard on the walls of the corridor outside. James had punched the wall out of anger.

'It'll be a miracle if I don't come out with bruises.' Annaliese realizes. She decides to keep in position, to pretend to be asleep. James wouldn't be able to harm her without "waking her up".

The agent's footsteps come nearer and enter the room, Annaliese still stretched out on the red bed sheets. She senses that he stopped moving in the doorway.

"S'looks fine to me." James exclaims, yet he doesn't leave. Suddenly, he begins to walk again, his pace very fast, as if he were charging at her resting body.

'Here it comes.' Anna remarks in her mind, preparing herself mentally for the blow. Yet, there is no impact. His footstep come to a halt right at the bed, where Anna's head was resting. Suddenly, his warm hand appears on her uncovered neck. 'Strangling? So old fashioned' Anna thinks. Instead, his hand calmly remains there, and James lets out a sigh. 

"The good news and bad news," James quietly says, as if presenting a diagnosis, "you're still alive." She realizes that he wasn't bracing himself to kill, but to check her pulse. Relief falls into her mind. "You make him so happy." James states, brushing his hand along her living neck. Anna resists making any movements in her throat. Her cover would've been blown. James continues in disgust "Which is terrible." Annaliese become utterly confused and thinks to herself

'So you don't love him? You don't want him happy?' 

His caressing hand begins to press harder, almost digging into her neck. He states "I want to make him happy.". He removes his hand from her neck. Annaliese feels a burning, unpleasant sensation on its surface. She feels the light, paper rose being lifted from her grasp. "That bloody rose." James chuckles to himself. "I knew she'd cause some type of bloodshed. Thankfully it's not his." he states.

A few seconds later, a similar object is returned to her hand. Anna attempts the recognize the object with her unmoving hand. It was almost weight-less. 'He probably had returned the flower after examining it.'

She hears the near footsteps start again, and James quietly exits the room and ascends the stairs to return to the deck. Once she knows she has left, Anna opens her eyes and darts her head to her right hand. She completely ignores the white bandages on her arm. She focuses on the object in her hand. It is one of the paper roses she had made earlier for Silva, out of her sheet music. She brings the rose closer to her vision with her left hand. She scans the rose intently. It is no longer the one covered in blood. It is an old, yellowish color of her paper. She looks at the black notes dotting the paper. She recognizes them instantaneously. These weren't the notes from her favorite part. The black notes showed the final, ending sounds from the Chopin Scherzo.

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If you'd like to read up on the earlier responses of this storyline, go here. The RP is exchanged in a series of Anon asks marked with '~A', '~AC', '~Anna', or '~Annaliese'. If you have any questions or suggestions towards this little-side RP, feel free to drop me or sassy-silva an ask!