[OOC: Dated to whenever we freaking want it to be.]

There was nothing like seeing an old friend, especially the ones who share your last name.  Brooke had arrived to New York City--the place she'd been having nightmares about--with a jaunty little bounce in her step.  Just a few days ago, she thought she'd been at a standstill.  Back from Paris, living in Tree Hill until she worked up the nerve to go back to New York, she didn't think she'd have the guts to do it.  And, even though she'd gotten some pretty good advice on the matter, listening was so much easier than following through.  What was she going to do, haul Peyton or Lucas out of their lives and their families to help her get adjusted?  She couldn't do that.

She was a big girl.  Hello, she'd been tied up with a knife to her throat by some creepy Peyton-obsessed psycho! She knew how to fight nightmares, and she knew how to not let them control her life.  But this...as much as Brooke hated to admit it, was different.  And not as easy as she thought it'd be.

So Devon asking her to move in?  The most random and best kick in the hot butt she'd needed.  No complications, no worries.  She wouldn't be alone, and Devon always had a way of making her feel better.  Maybe she could even try to make him un-gay, like as a project or something!  What? It was an idea!

Usually, she liked being a little late.  Making an entrance, having people notice you, come up to you, that was a thing she'd started doing way back in high school.  But this time?  She was anxious, and excited, and early.  She'd never been to the restaurant, but she wasn't lying when she said she trusted Devon's taste.

So here she sits. There's a nice, warm breeze in the air and Brooke waits patiently for her favorite fabulous name-sharing D. Davis.

Here's the rundown.  Thankfully it's not that complicated.  I'm not a millions-of-verses kinda gal, and I think Brooke's head would explode.  SO.

Ny!Verse.  --> This Brooke is canon up to the end of season four-season five.  Instead of going back to Tree Hill, she stays in New York City to work on her company.  A lot of the canon-events occur in a paralleled form in this verse.  This is the one I'll use for most prompts and RP unless expressed otherwise.

Canon --> Canon, straight up through wherever the show is now.  

Taxonomites --> Brooke is played at taxonomites , a RPG in which she is taken directly after the season four finale, before going to L.A with Peyton for the summer.  I might do some prompts with this verse, but it will be obviously stated if I do.


THEREYAGO See that wasn't so hard now was it?!  

=D Good day, all.

Relive a bad memory.

OOC: re: weird style? I wanted to do something different, going for disturbing, for this. Tried, anyway. It's italics abuse. Brooke hates me for it.  I miss everyone. <3]

Some nights, she can't sleep.  Images float in and out of her head, unwanted, unbridled.

( cut for angst of the nightmare-y kind. )

TEN things you do when you're flirting

1. Hair flip. It never fails. Okay, there was that one time...but he was an innocent virgin so he hadn't even like, discovered sex yet.  I got him eventually!
2. The "up and down" look.  You know.  That look when you get up close to him that basically says "I want you, and I think you want me."
3. Husky whisper. I've been told my voice is perfect for it. They love it, and plus it makes them lean in close so they could catch every word.
4. I cock my head.  This one was always unintentional, and Lucas pointed it out to me one night.
5. Drinking.  If drinking is occurring, there is a good chance flirting is right around the corner.
6. Smile.  That's the most important one.  Sometimes even a tiny hint of a smile can just seal the deal.
7. I've been told I do some eyebrow thing when I try to be cute.  I'm guessing that counts?
8. Accidental touching.  A little cliche, but if you can pull it off...And I definitely can.
9. Sexual innuendos.  What?  Is this just PG flirting?
10. This is the best one.  It's a combination move, so pay attention.  It's the looking up at him, smiling very slightly, flipping your hair (not obnoxiously...this can be overdone!) and glancing away from him at the same time, then looking back at him.  For the best effect, this should occur while you're saying something super cute or witty, and walking past him, leaving him stunned and his jaw dropped.

Oh, wow.  I am so writing a book!

Never was one for sitting still...


OOC: And just when I thought I was done for a while...

*shrug*

[THE FOLLOWING CONVERSATION TOOK PLACE BETWEEN 3 PM AND 4 PM.]

( In Which Mun and Brooke Davis Are At Odds and Only One Can Win Because The Other Is Fictional. )

I would love nothing more than to bring Brooke Davis back into the fold of virtual RP...but I think I shot myself in the foot with the hiatuses anyway... Couple that with a lack of canon support, which I loathe anyway, except for some relationship backbone...and a general "WTF DO I DO WITH YOU?"... I think it's time I just officially announce that clearly, Brooke Davis is MIA.

I don't wanna shelve her.  I love her so.  So I'll just consider her pouting on a couch in the corner.  For RP purposes...I'm gonna say she's living in Paris for the past few months...business venturing.  The one thing I miss most is interacting with the wonderful people who've let Brooke into their lives so far, so if she's EVER needed, she'll be there in a second.  It's just...prompting has been really tough.

<3 My love.

On the road.

Things happen.  You move on.

In Brooke's case, things had happened.  Many things had happened.  She was moving on.  The windows were rolled, music was blasting, and the wind tossed her hair back behind her as she cruised along some open road.  She had bypassed every pot hole, had some engine trouble a while back, managed to get it started and continued on her merry way.

She was moving on, moving on from all of it.  Every bruise was fading.  Clothes Over Bros was in the cold, gripping hands of her mother.  Lucas was marrying Peyton back home, like he was always supposed to.  The cards were falling, and a spade was matched with a spade, a heart with a heart.

But yet...underneath it all, beneath the shiny leather interior, the fresh red paint, the inviting paved road...there was something sitting.  Like a murmur, it was subtle enough to almost escape detection.  Almost.

Sometimes she was sure she locked the door.  Sometimes she thought she was crazy when she found it unlocked the next morning.  Sometimes she heard a rattle outside and attributed to animals, or teenagers.  Sometimes she woke up in the middle of the night thinking 'This is it.  This is the night that'll make me wish I was still in that nightmare.'  But nothing happens.  And she falls asleep.

She was moving on.  Nothing but open road.

Her eyes were locked on that open road.  She dared not look to see what stared back at her from the rear-view mirror.

Oh hi!

It figures when I finally have time to stop severely neglecting Miss Davis, I suffer from horrible lack of inspiration/writer's block.

I'm torn between forcing myself to pick up where I left her, or go with the Canon version of her, or what.  I don't know yet.  Nothing's coming to me.  Probably because our girl knows what she's doing, and ignoring me is her version of a bitchslap to my mind.  Or, ya know, 'cause I just suck.

Anyway, this is me letting everyone know I'm alive, and in a creative hole, and working on it! 

I (and Brooke!) have missed everyone. We hope you find yourselves well.

<3

47.3 (Make your own list). 
13 Things I'm Scared to Death Of.

1. Death
2. Having nothing.
3. Being alone
4. Clowns
5. He's still out there somewhere.  I'm afraid it wasn't just a random act of violence, and that he'll be waiting for me in my home.
6. Disfigurement.  What?
7. Becoming a shiny, spitting image of Victoria Davis
8. Being dirt poor.  I did it once, a long time ago.  It kinda sucked.
9. Not ever having a family.  And not being good at it, when I do have one.
10. Losing all inspiration.
11. Cancer
12. Losing myself.
13. Facing fears is probably the scariest thing out there.

Colour

The first thing to catch the eye.

Not the cut of the neckline, nor the bubbled hem or laced bodice.  But the swirls of reds, golds, greens, the dark and light contrast, the balanced hues, the solids, the pastels, the impenetrable walls of color that make a piece of fabric what it is.  These are the reflections that sparkle in her eyes, compel her further, stir her creativity.

The room itself is rather bland.  Plain, off-white walls, a wooden-paneled floor, and several pieces of furniture intended to provide some comfort.  The work room itself contains no color at all, except for the bright gold tints of the dress and the shining, hazel eyes of its designer.

Color catches the eye like the most striking individual cannot.  Man is fickle, teasing, and smart.  Every beautiful movement is a ploy, every art a facade, containing layers upon layers of ulterior motives and desires.  Color serves no purpose but to please its guests, offering everything and nothing but calm escape within its layers of beauty.  It catches the eye and beckons it to keep, spend, create, dream, paint, carve, think, treasure, wear, want, have.

A woman will dismiss at first glance a dress based on its color.  If only it were a little paler, a little bluer, a little grayer, a little more 'eye-catching,' a little sadder, a little fiercer.  Red is too flashy, too passionate, not sultry enough for what you're looking for.  Black is classy, popular.  White is pure, flirty, but might I say, my dear, it clashes with your skin tone.  Washes you out.

A good designer is a master of color. 

Brooke Davis, with a long sigh, takes a step back and admires the dress she has finished.  She stares silently, willingly becoming lost in the subtle specks of gold and allowing the color to dominate the otherwise bland workroom.  It will suit whatever young woman whose eyes it snags.

She smiles with finished satisfaction.

This weekend.  I'm booking a flight back to New York.

It was fun, while it lasted.  I think I needed to see them all again.  Needed to hold my smart little handsome godson's hand.  But somehow, I think Tree Hill will survive without me.

As for me?  I'm going to start from the bottom.  I'll buy empty space, since Victoria's taken over the store I spent most of my time in.  I'll start a new clothing line.  I did it once, right?

So, honestly, thank you, Nate and Haley.  For letting me crash, and pretty up your house, and criticize your lamps.  And I know you're worried, but I'm gonna be fine.  Prepare for me to steal Jamie for a weekend or something when I'm settled.  No arguments.  A promise is a promise, and I'm sick of being a neglectful godmother, goddammit.

So, I hope New York's ready for me...As much as I hope I'm ready for it.