an extrovert - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
To call Piper an extrovert would be like calling banks greedy. Every fibre of his being craved maximum attention and if wasn't getting it there was a problem, a big one. Even in the grocery store every head turned, his deep voice carrying over the aisles as he quipped about some part of his rock star lifestyle. Even without the volume his presence was enough to get them noticed, six foot four and head to toe in black leather, it wasn't exactly small town attire.
The energy of crowd fills Piper with more energy than the fading sun above. The spot lights come on all at once, brilliant, near blinding. As the white light falls on his skin it's as though a thousand volts just got tapped right to his spine and then the first note sounds - the spark for his tinder. For the next two hours he is a fireball, his fans screaming for more heat, more of the kick ass energy they know will flow through his voice.
Alice was a flower in full bloom from birth. Her eyes were always wide and her laughter loud and full bodied. She exuded a warmth that others flocked to and she was never more alive than when she was submerged in a crowd.
Jackson was the beating heart of every group he was ever in. With his ability to speak loudly and exude more confidence than he should, he invariably found himself as the leader. He wasn't just a raw extrovert though, there was a softer side to him. Even with the quietest of people he was able to forge a connection. It was like he could turn his own dial right down whenever the need arose.
As the music got louder Dan's grin got wider, wider until I thought it would split his face in two. The more the bodies pulsed around us, the more his eyes became electric and his hands became a frenzy of action. He didn't just hear the tunes, he fed on their vibes, dancing, dancing, until he was all out of gas and his clothes were water-logged with sweat.
The house feels emptier than a crypt. I can't just sit here watching the walls, no matter how prettily I've painted them. I need to see real people, talk and laugh. I have to hear their stories and jokes. They give me an energy I can't get any other way. I don't care for television much, but a good drama and tub of ice cream happens sometimes. So long as it's prerecorded and I can skip through the adverts, I'm happy. Life is precious, who's got time for all those commercials? I think they've had enough of my time since I was three. My time is a strict split between responsibilities and play. They both feed my soul, I need the loud and the quiet joys of life, a bit of peace with plenty of wild times mixed in.
All day long I've been sitting at this desk, paper work piling higher and higher. Save the trees, huh? I don't think the managers here have ever heard of that. The clock ticks on the wall and I swear it's slowing down. Sitting here alone makes me flatter than a week old glass of coke. Every time I don't have to think about the task at hand I'm already dancing, dancing in the club to music so loud it makes me deaf. I won't be alone either, the whole gang is coming. With that music, that beat, those crazy, crazy lights I know I'm alive, I'm real, and reality is awesome. By the end of the night I'm quite drunk, I should cut back but who's counting? We leave arm in arm, wobbling down the lamp-lit alley to hail a cab. The next day I check out the photos and laugh my ass off. Those girls are so precious. They get me through. I love'em.
Tiffany had always been a hurricane; from the time of her birth until she left home she was the eye of her own storm. Mostly she was happy, but her constant need to engage everyone in jokes, in banter, in games or rough play made everyone frazzled. As a teen she was the life of every party. Invitations came as thick as November rain, giving her family a respite until she came home in the small hours of the morning, drunk and singing. As a young woman she was a natural at sales, her customers bathed in her sunshine, agreeing to whatever she said. Then she'd spy the next purchaser and be off to great them more warmly than a long lost friend. Her apartment was every bit as chaotic as her mother had feared it would be, no better than if a tornado had passed through. But to her surprise she found that she didn't care. Her own home was more tranquil that it had been these past twenty years...