Author Topic: Drunk and Disorderly  (Read 6520 times)

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Saccharin

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Re: Drunk and Disorderly
« Reply #15 on: June 30, 2011, 06:38:45 PM »
He had once lived on a reservation? The information was anything but irrelevant, it explained so much; his eyes, his cheekbones.

"I am Tsalagi, ah... Cherokee. Our reservation was in Oklahoma. What about you?" She didn\'t think his answer would be the same as hers, because as familiar as his features were, they werent the same as what she remembered of her tribe - what she saw when she looked in the mirror.

Offline Existentially Odd

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Re: Drunk and Disorderly
« Reply #16 on: June 30, 2011, 07:18:08 PM »
He stopped patting his body vaguely and his shoulders stiffened as he stuffed his fists into his jeans pockets, watching her warily from the corners of his eyes.  His gaze raked over her body and he could see it now, his hatred of all things proudly Indian rising to the fore of his thoughts, uncluttered by alcohol.

"Round there," he muttered vaguely, "\'cept the Comanche shithole, not the Cherokee one."  His voice was a condemnation, his expression a sneer and he turned his head to look forward once he\'d spoken, his jaw working as he ground his teeth together.  Thinking about where he\'d come from - especially when drunk - caused his insides to churn, his heart to pound, his muscles to clench with remembered shame, anger and racism.  He was here to get away from that shit and if she was looking to get all sentimental with him on their shared heritage or some fucking bullshit, she needed to find herself someone else to shadow home.

"Anyway.  I live here now.  I\'m never fucking going back, not even when I die.  End of fucking story.  I\'m crossing here," he warned seconds before he veered across the pavement surrounding the edge of the park and hustled across the road.  He earned himself a blaring horn because he happened to cross in front of one of only a few cars driving the streets at that hour, but he gave them the finger for their trouble and hopped blithely onto the opposite footpath unscathed, hoping he\'d lost his fucking Pocahontas wannabe shadow.

Saccharin

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Re: Drunk and Disorderly
« Reply #17 on: July 03, 2011, 05:42:29 PM »
Anna pursued him doggedly, darting across the street without incident. "I live here now too," she said once she caught up to him. "The reservation, it was filled with... sickness," she said slowly, as if she had trouble choosing a word that accurately encompassed all she remembered of Oklahoma.

She referred to a multitude of things; how so many were dependent on alcohol or drugs to dull the pain of living in such dismal conditions with no reprieve in sight, how they let filth invade their souls and how they donned traditional clothing to dance for tourists, not the spirits as they were meant to. They were Cherokee in blood, but not many - if not most - of the old ways had been lost in the river they\'d crossed all those years ago. What they remembered was used as a way to earn money, to bring white people in so they would play in their casinos. It was a scam. The spirits wanted no part of it.

"I do not miss the reservation, but I miss my people." Even though she\'d only been able to watch them as they aged and died, she\'d felt connected to them. Now, she was so far away she couldn\'t even feel them. It left her empty. "You do not miss yours?"

Offline Existentially Odd

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Re: Drunk and Disorderly
« Reply #18 on: July 03, 2011, 11:55:14 PM »
At her first words he groaned a sigh, his head tilting back on his shoulders as he pleadingly contemplated the skyscrapers looming above them.  Would she not just fuck off already?  What did he have to do?  He\'d been nice, he\'d told her he\'d be fine, he\'d been polite then firm, he\'d tried to run away from her and still she hounded him like a bitch.  He stared at the light-fogged night sky and thought about what he could do next, her words a rhythmic jumble he let slide right over his skin and away.

He didn\'t want to hear anything she had to say.  Especially when she started talking about her people.  The closest he\'d ever come to having the type of fucking people she was blathering about was his father\'s father.  He\'d been a product of the old ways and had begun teaching Nash when he was very small, but that had all ended when he\'d died.  Nash had been four and his father, in the midst of fighting with his wife every night about money, their house, car payments (or whatever the fuck they\'d had to haggle over like starving mongrels finding half a hamburger in the street), hadn\'t taken the death well.  That was pretty much when the drinking started, and Nash\'s mother left a year or so later, poisoning an already-sour Comanche soul for good.

"No," Nash grated, coming to a stop and turning to face her, not caring that they were in the middle of the footpath and his voice was loud enough to draw attention to them.  "I don\'t miss my \'people\'," he sneered, "I can watch guys get drunk, kick their dog and have them punch me in the head right here too, if I want!" he yelled, the blackness of his abusive childhood welling in him, drawing a fist from his pocket and pounding it against his own skull a few times for emphasis.

He didn\'t feel any pain from it, but it did make him blink and a very sudden, raw silence welled in the wake of it.  He realised he was leaning towards her, his face angry, his body furious and he straightened away, putting a little distance between them again with a heavy sigh.  His fist opened and he ran it over his scalp, scratching the back of his head and then grasping the back of his neck, his posture now uncertain.  "I don\'t wanna\' talk about it," he said quietly, his words more of a plea than a command, the sentiment echoed in his eyes.  "It\'s... in the past.  Just let it go, alright?  Please just... leave it.  Alright?"

Tiredly, he turned, intending to walk away from her and continue on his way home, knowing there was sorrow in his eyes, feeling the happy cloud of drunkenness curdling instead into a stale and bitter aftertaste.  He never wanted anyone seeing him when he was like this; it\'d pretty much never happened with anyone except Wade.  And now some random Cherokee chick that didn\'t know when to leave well enough alone.  Great.  Maybe this was why he hadn\'t scored tonight... although, he was pretty certain she\'d caused this mood.

She, with her familiar-looking features and her too-positive words.  Her reminders of home when he wanted none.  He sighed again as his arm dropped down and he tucked his fingertips back into his jeans pockets, looking around at the scenery and trying to find comfort in the cold, emotionless face of the city.

Saccharin

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Re: Drunk and Disorderly
« Reply #19 on: July 25, 2011, 12:05:27 PM »
"Alright," she agreed, but only because she\'d been moved by a combination of his earnest request and what she\'d found when she\'d reached out to delve into the darkness that seemed to permeate his very being when he thought of the past.

Even though she lacked training in using her vampiric abilities, Anna had always been sensitive to what some would call auras, and it\'d been a natural leap for her after she\'d been turned to touch what she\'d always been able to sense. Nash was nursing wounds that had turned black with infection, and they would need to be lanced before they could heal properly. Now, however, was not the time to do that. Not when he\'d already looked at her like he wanted nothing more than to share some of his pain with her in a very physical way.

"I am... sorry," she said, not liking the taste of an apology but feeling it necessary to say before they moved on. "You would not feel the same way I do when you do not share my past."

Unconsciously, she mimicked him, sliding her fingers into her pockets - though she looked at him instead of following his gaze. "We are almost there, yes?" she asked, hoping he\'d answer affirmatively. She hoped to have time to stop by the park before she turned toward the forest on the outskirts of the city that housed her cabin.

Offline Existentially Odd

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Re: Drunk and Disorderly
« Reply #20 on: August 01, 2011, 08:10:23 PM »
He squinted around himself with a little more purpose, dragged out of his dark and liquor-soaked thoughts in order to judge where they were.  To his dismay, he seemed to have been walking a lot more quickly (and in a far straighter line) since he\'d hit the pavement - though it was all rather a blur now he tried to contemplate how that\'d happened.  Somehow, he could see his building\'s stairs just over a block ahead of him.

"Ah shit," he slurred his realisation, his handsome mouth drawn down into a disappointed slash.  "Yeah. \'s up there."  He thrust his chin at the stairs that were now his destination; he decided he could sit outside and smoke for a while before he went in, try to let the air steal away the dark mood he was now in and give Wade enough time to finish up.

"Got somewhere else to be?" he asked her petulantly, his snide words backed up with a slight lip curl that told her in no uncertain terms he had no respect for her, her heritage, or her choices about where she was going to hang out, tonight.  He honestly hoped she\'d leave before his vision cleared up a little and he tried dragging her down into misery with him.