Sound Effects And Overdramatics
[ a private roleplay between Wavi and Hale ]

As one might often assume, the life of the rich and famous isn't always all that perfect. How does one manage to handle love? Is there such a thing when you've got fame and fortune? Is it safe to assume the only one who will ever love you must be of the same status? But, is that truly love?

This is a tale about a famous solo artist and how she is suddenly involved with just an average, everyday guy. Being a fan of hers, is it safe to assume he doesn't have a hidden agenda? Rumors of past relationships cloud judgement and are being to take a toll for the worst. It's only a matter of time before a full-blown restriction order is placed on him.

However, what if he's the one? The one that truly loves her? Is it far to lock him up without seeing the relationship through? The answer isn't written in the stars, as it can only be found in the heart. Her life's decisions will either ruin her or make her all the better. Whatever will she chose? Does the lonely life satisfy her? Or does her young heart long for the dangerous adventure that awaits her?

Matthew H. Ayton
twenty five years of age
pale maroon hair
brilliant turquoise eyes

unemployed, but volunteers a lot
started an art degree, but dropped out

sweet + shy + passive + friendly + hopeful + too trusting + patient + understanding

Growing up, Matthew had nothing. His parents were poor and did their best to get by. His father ended up leaving to find work in the city, which left Matt and his mother alone. Along the way, his mother took in a stray female child and raised her as if she were her own. The two were able to complete high school, but upon their graduation she fell ill. Unable to pay for her medical treatment, she passed away. Not knowing the location of his father, Matt now lives in a run-down apartment complex with his sister. Doing her best to pay for rent, Rebecca "Spice" Garthlord now works as a stripper for hire (she's nineteen).

R A C H A E L D U B O I S
• tell me your name;
Rachael Dubois. My last name is pronounced, “Doo-bwah.” French. It sounds a lot nicer when you say it out loud. Although, I'm much better known by my stage name, Renée.
• these faded footsteps;
I'm twenty-six. I feel so old saying that.
• this one-way glass;
I'm skinny enough—any stars need to be stick-thin. Luckily, I was born that way more or less naturally. Everything about me is pretty normal; I have black eyes, black hair, pale skin. My features are tiny and my physiognomy apparently acceptable.
I used to have really long hair, down to the small of my back. I loved it, but I cut it off shortly after signing on with Sunsoft Records. The record label said that there were enough long-haired girls in the talent pool who were as good as I was; I needed to stand out, to make myself known—so I cut off my hair.
• when the lights go off;
I admit that I've grown somewhat bitter in the last few years. What can I say? I'm frustrated. Even though I'm successful, I'm not happy. I tend to assume things will pan out in the worst possible way. I'm polite enough to everyone around me, but it irritates me when they try to get to know me. I figure, it's not possible for them to see anyone past the singer, Renée. They'll like me no matter who I pretend to be because of my position, so what is the point of introducing myself as Rachael instead?
It sounds cold, doesn't it? Saying it like that? ...I know. Sometimes I listen to myself talk but can't quite catch what I'm saying until the person it's directed at smiles and calls me Renée—then I know exactly who I am.
• the pages of your tale;
I came from one of those quaint, quiet little suburban towns. Ever since I was young, I knew I wanted to be a singer. Not to sound conceited, but I knew I had talent. And dammit, through enough persistence, I eventually went from playing at open mic nights at my local bar to landing a full-blown record label with Sunsoft Records. Shortly after, I released my first single, Phase, and I was ecstatic. Everything was perfect—until Phase tanked.
Long story short, my record label told me I was too plain. They more or less ordered me to cut my hair, dress differently, write more mainstream songs, and suddenly I was a star. My little record label, too, is now renowned across the country after pushing me to the very top. I have more money than I could ever realistically spend, one platinum and one gold record to my name, and a rather massive fanbase.
But frankly, the fame isn't all it's cut out to be. I'm not writing what I want. All the fans I have love me for someone else.
You know, there's such a thing as a public persona, and I haven't seen the real me surface in ages.

The sloppy sounds of someone eating caused Matthew to stir. He was rather alarmed by the fact that someone was eating without him. When he went to sit up, he felt a great weight on his head. In fact, it was warm, white, and fuzzy.

"Dear God! The cow has omnomnom'ed on my hair. You fat pig, stop eating my hair."

Hoisting the over-sized cat from his head, he could feel the wet spot where the sucking had been done. With a somewhat annoyed look playing on his face, he plopped the chubby creature to the base of his bed.

"EARTHQUAKE!"

"What, really! I missed him, damn!"

"How did you NOT feel that. I swear to god, if that cat gets any bigger, it'll bring the whole apartment complex down."

"Oh, that earthquake. Yeah, he just keeps getting fatter. I swear, this diet thing doesn't work. How do you put on seven pounds when you're dieting? Somehow pig-cat figured it out. Whatta heifer!"

Cocking his round head to the side, the cat opened its mouth to yawn. "DON'T EAT ME, YOU MOO-COW!" Swatting the cat away with his foot, Matthew's rear managed to slid off the bed. The THUD that came next caused his sister to scream. With a cross look in her eyes, she flipped the maroon haired boy 'the bird.'

"Why don't you go take the Fattie for a walk in the park. He's almost big enough to be mistaken as a dog." Handing her brother the leash and collar, Spice wandered into the bathroom. With her chest fully exposed, she poked her upper body out to bark another command at Matthew. "I need tampons. I've got one left. Got to the market and buy me some."

"Dear God, sis! Put a bra on! I'm your brother, not a client!"

"We're not blood siblings. Besides, if it weren't for my job, you wouldn't know what boobs were."

"Not true," he said with a flushed face. Grabbing a white button-up shirt, he walked out to the grand stairway. Forgetting the cat, he sauntered down the looming spiral staircase until he reached the bottom floor.

"Hey, Parker. I'll be back in later. Make sure the sister actually has a bra on this time."

A nod followed between the two men and then Matthew walked into the bright world outside the apartment. At first, he was blinded, but when his hand went up to shade his eyes, he realized it wasn't that bright out. The glare from the taxi out front was the main culprit to his blindness.

With a sluggish grin plastered on his face, the male took a nice little stroll to the market. It was bustling with people as it was around the noon hour. With his hands in his pocket, he walked into a small convenient store. Uncrowded, as always, he was able to find the tampons with ease. He also decided to pick up a magazine which had his celeb crush on the front.

"Sup, Ross?" he said playing the items on the counter.

"Hey. How's my regular doing. I swear, you and that one other person are the only two people who come here...."

"Don't ya be thinking about closing. I know you get a ton of kids in the evening. It's because you sell those trading cards and you also stock all of Renee's merch."

After the interaction finished, Matthew decided to take a detoured route back home. A nice stroll through the park would allow him the time to read the latest magazine article about Renee, the woman of his dreams.

xxxxx“Thank you, Joe,” Rachael said, craning her neck into a plain, black car. “Pick me up at five, please.” She smiled pleasantly before stepping onto the sidewalk and watching her driver speed away.
xxxxxThe bustle of B—, although not a relatively large city, was intense at the busy intersection she had been dropped off at. Busy pedestrians, absorbed in their own thoughts, hurried by her without offering a second glance. Rachael slipped on her sunglasses and relished how easily she seemed to be swept away. She had been given an afternoon to herself after some begging, but had been strictly told she would be picked up in a few hours. Gradually, she fell into the same idle rumination the commuters around her shared.
xxxxxThere’s the concert later, she thought.
xxxxxOf course—she couldn’t possibly forget about the concert. The posters advertising it had been hung everywhere; Renée, a singer, was plastered against a purple background, smiling brightly. There she hung on billboards, bus stop shelters, and telephone poles, entreating passerbys to stop and take a look. Next to her in bold font, her appearance at a large local venue was declared: “Renée to appear at E— Center tonight! Don’t miss out! Call our ticket office to come and see this fantastic star along with local talents including...”
xxxxxRenée was a househeld name—she was a famous singer-songwriter who had taken the music industry by storm. With her soothing, earthy voice and her song’s addicting and upbeat melodies, the starlet was very popular with both the young and the old.
xxxxxThough, in many an obscure forum, some music junkies mused on Renée’s acoustic performances: if one were to listen closely enough between the murmuring chords, to read farther into the to pretty lyrics, to feel the music after the echo had died down, her voice took on a strange tone; though almost inaudible, to some penetrating fans Renée almost sounded lonely, haunting even.
xxxxxRachael scowled. She knew far too well what they were referring to. She had always been careful not to let herself slip during recording sessions, but all bets were off for acoustic performances. Without the flowing background music to keep her, she let her voice take new forms. Perhaps she sounded sad. Perhaps she sounded lonely.
xxxxxSuddenly, the tumult of the city around her seemed suffocating. She looked up, narrowing her eyes as they met with the full shine of the sun, and impulsively began to follow signs to the city’s park.

xxxxxThe park was a pleasant change. It was very plain, but the expansive green grass was dotted with large, healthy oak trees. Joggers, families, and stray pedestrians alike traversed along the thin black ribbon of winding asphalt. Rachael sighed, finding peace in the relative silence the park offered, something rarely found on city streets.