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Welcome to St. Gabrielles Catholic Boarding School located in Bangor, Maine. At St. Gabrielles we promote a supportive and diverse atmosphere that encourages all of our young men to recognize their potential and to appreciate the qualities that make each of them unique.

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Concept: Miki
Content: All members
Disclaimer: All characters, dates, events, and beliefs are completely fictional. Any similarities to actual events are completely coincidental. They do not represent the opinions, beliefs, or lifestyles of the pictured models nor of any of St. Gabrielles' affiliates.
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 come into the garden, maud, for nura <3
William Sterling
Posted: Nov 20 2011, 09:29 PM

New Kid

Group: Alumnus
Posts: 9
Member No.: 254
Joined: 26-August 10

There were few hobbies in life that could warrant a devotion so pure and so warm that one would idle away an entire day cultivating it. The dedication was clear in the way Will Sterling's paintbrush swept across a smooth canvas, a lovely shade of sky blue streaked with wisps of white. The small boy was perched on a wooden bench, surrounded by lush rose bushes and lovely trimmed hedges; his pale eyes darted from the canvas before him to the garden he was sitting in, comparing and contrasting the details that he was transferring from his view to his artwork. Will had had a very long-winded episode earlier that day, and after not feeling like himself for a few hours, he thought it beneficial to his sanity to do some relaxed painting. The boy had set up his small easel and brought out his paints, which sat neatly beside him on the bench; his legs were encased in a very old pair of jeans that he reserved for occasions as such, splattered in paint and frayed.

Dipping his brush into his jar of water, now murky due to the acrylics he was using, the blonde boy shook the remaining blue from the hairs and began his detailing of a bush; with quick, tiny strokes, he brought to life the texture of the roses and the small, spade-like leaves. The boy's gentle face was occupied by a look of utter focus, yet there was not a stressful line drawn upon his countenance. With eyes lightly lidded with concentration, plump mouth parted and the tip of his tongue touching one corner, he was the very picture of an artist. The sleeves of his thick blue sweater were rolled up to his elbows, skinny forearms stained in hues reminiscent of nature; the garden in his painting was identical to the one he was sitting in, except for the fact that he had added several other kinds of flowers embedded in the bushes. He felt like Lord Tennyson, painting a rendezvous fit for the most affluent of lovers. Or, perhaps, a demure and impoverished couple, slinking from their dilapidated homes to make love somewhere beautiful? The story behind the painting was insignificant; it was the garden itself that demanded complete attention.

And so the boy sat where he had been sitting for the past three hours, trying to forget about where he had woken up that morning, and in whose arms, and how familiar the fucked up routine had become over the years; the troubled child calmly painted and tried to pretend that he was awaiting his own Maud amongst the roses.
Collin Augerman
Posted: Nov 27 2011, 02:32 AM


Group: Junior
Posts: 26
Member No.: 304
Joined: 2-January 11

When it came to a devotion to one’s hobbies, Collin was certainly an expert in that area. A team of mathematicians working around the clock could not begin to even calculate the number of hours the soft spoken boy from rural Tennessee had spent on his hands and knees in the dirt. Organic farming was a thankless task but the rewards were great and made his culinary adventures just that much more fruitful and flavorful. To Collin, a better product cook with and to put on his table was what made the sore muscles in his back, the dirty hands, and the tired knees from crawling on the ground worthwhile.

Gardening also brought him time to think and digest his thoughts. His brain moved slower than a normal person’s, he had come to accept this a long time ago. He knew it was true no matter how many times people like Mischa or Noah protested. Everyone worked differently, this was just how it was for him. It wasn’t a bad thing necessarily, though he did regret the losses it had brought him in life. He’d never had a girlfriend until this year, for example, he had been convinced that no girl would ever find him interesting enough to date. And yet two of the most interesting girls in town had called him—or still called him—their boyfriend. He would never get over that.

It was thoughts like these that were preoccupying his mind as he made his way through the rose garden. Collin had been dismayed when he learned that the gardener Father Damian had hired was using a frightfully stringent pesticide, the aftermath of its application staying in the soil for decades to follow. He had gone straight to the principal and taking on full ownership of the care of the garden, a task which at the time seemed doable. Now as he walked through the rows of rosebushes, he began to see that his work was indeed cut out for him. The last windstorm had done a fair amount of damage but nothing that wasn’t fixable. It was a shame more students did not frequent this place.

As if in answer to his thought, Collin rounded a wall of greenery and came face to face with a blonde student he had never met before. For a brief second he thought he was looking someone from the White family before he slowly remembered Noah had said he was the youngest of his parents’ four children. Where had he seen this boy before? It would come to him. For the moment however, he realized he was being rude and he nodded in greeting to the other boy. “Hello.” Simple and to the point, just like everything he did and said.
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