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Post by james devon sakahrov-collins on Feb 1, 2011 3:12:39 GMT -6
 -----------------------------------------------------------JANUARY, 2012. LATE EVENING. THE INFERNO, BAR.
[/size] -----------------------------------------------------------[/color][/center] - - - THE DAY WHEN [/b][/font] he considered this to be his job would be a very dark day. one he would always dread. and, well, it arrived. much too soon, might i add. he had been in valkyrie, california for less than a month. and, already, he was considering his cover job as "work". like, real work. getting up to go to work, work. like every other struggling mook out there. he dreaded setting his alarm, he dreaded washing his uniform, he especially dreaded the little beep when he swiped his keycard. signed on shift, time to be paid by the hour. the day that could be compared to jamie collins' life would be the beginning of a dark era. a very dark era. never before had he been in one place long enough to even get a keycard. and a set of keys. and too much responsibility he was starting to take seriously. he'd even been given a nametag. he'd been playing the game for almost a month, and it was taking over his brain. time was productively devoted to schedules and employee issues and making sure they had enough liquor stocked. his free time was actually spent doing this...this, normal shit. the day had come and gone, without much notice. he was already a week into a very dark day. shoot me now, please. you see, jamie collins had always considered himself one thing: a russian criminal. raised in the family business, trained in the family business, introduced to the family business. work in the family business. that's kind of how these lives go. he'd probably be dead or in prison by forty, anyway. he had never thought of giving himself a life dream. he didn't even know what he was going to do tomorrow, let alone in five years. that was the kind of life he'd been taught to live. most russian mafia members are like that. known as lethal, and little else. on par with the italians, jamie had never sensed that familial warmth this side of europe. it was rare for someone to marry outside of the organization. if they did at all. children were usually byproducts of careless affection, or because they needed someone new. ivan sakahrov was something of an anomally. he met a girl, nice american girl with a pretty face. he fell in love, married her, had a few babies. apart from being grateful for being one of those babies, he always thought his father was stupid for living the good life. few others walked that road. ivan had always taught him to be careful, to dance with average folk. you have to be a special breed, to balance two lives. even though he'd introduced his family to the life, jamie's father admitted to struggling with it. the risks were often too high. and james here knew he'd never be able to balance that. he'd been raised to think of himself as a russian criminal, devoted to the job. not a family man, not with someone back home. a russian mobster with a thrist for blood. he liked to just leave it at all. a statement that described the darkest part of him, none of the depth or emotion. not even the affection. especially not the affection. it was just easier that way, to live with a one-sentence description. he liked to live in his sparse studio apartment in boston, catch flights every other week to exotic locales, take a life, and then go back home. no friends, no lovers, no social life. if he craved something, he'd go out and do it by himself. bad day, he brooded and got drunk alone in a bar. too much emotion and anger, he went out and hooked-up with a pretty girl. it was best when the pretty girl had a jealous boyfriend, then he could focus on something else for awhile. prolonged distraction. that way, he was still the bad guy and could go home alone. he'd been raised to live a one-sentence kind of life ( and no, not a jail sentence ). so here, in valkyrie, where he was spending time with people and making schedules, he was growing into more of a paragraph sort of life. dark days ahead. he pursed his lips as he washed the martini shaker. he had heard that irritating little beep four hours earlier, and had felt disgustingly satisfied about it. he'd finished the next schedule for the floor employees, he'd sent off the liquor order, he'd even made that call about getting that crooked table fixed. call him on top of things. that'd be fine, had he been just another young slave to the hospitality industry, not the russian mobster with a thirst for blood. but it was part of it, his father had told him. the only reason he hadn't succumed to this "pretend to be normal" torture was because he never stuck around long enough to. now that he'd been trapped in this too-hot bubble for more than two weeks, it was time to pretend he lived a life. any life at all. the original script had described him as devon sakahrov, a struggling college student who whined enough to get a job as a bellboy at the inferno, nicest hotel in town. it hadn't taken them, the russians, long to declare the posh hotel as their base. most knew it. every sakahrovs or collins, even connolly, had a job there. but seeing as devon sakahrov made him want to shoot somebody, he'd rewritten the entire thing. he was, indeed, james collins, not struggling in any sense of the word. and he worked in the bar, like everyone else. floor manager, he'd decided. floor manager slash bartender, because they couldn't keep staff to save a life. that'd better be okay, or he'd ditch again and kill somebody with no reason. threaten them, along with his level of respect ( and reputation), he could have anything he wanted. of course they agreed. what they didn't agree to, it seemed, was decent glassware. normally, he floated around the bar and restaurant in his favorite black suit, overlooking his worker bees. not pretending to play the part anymore, but genuinely. tonight, unfortunately, he blended with the same red shirt and vest that all the bartenders were required to wear. his silver nametag, though, still gave him the "floor manager" position. yay. absentmindedly running a damp cloth over the just-washed glassware, his blue eyes trained on one of the many flatscreens around the room, he scoffed again. the rangers scored again. making the game against the washington capitals three to one, halfway through the second. ugh. for a thursday evening in late january, his section of the hotel was suspiciously quiet. he'd seen four tables in the restaurant an hour earlier. and no one was sitting in the bar. he'd sent the other three staff home two hours previous. all that remained was a bored cook or two, a reading dishwasher, the server with the too-short skirt and humming hostess. pathetic for the ritziest place in a town as loaded as valkyrie. he snapped his gum again, a sour expression crossing his face as yet another goal crossed the capital's goal line. what time was it? nine-thirty, maybe nine-fifteen. he was bored, with no company and a hockey game he really wanted to end. nifty. he had employee complaints and repairmen phone numbers on the brain. he needed help, badly.[/size][/blockquote] ----------------------------------------------------------- STATUS, complete.
TAGGED, andie !
LENGTH, 1249 words.
ATTIRE, black pants, red dress shirt, black vest.
NOTES, :]
CREDITS, format and graphics to me.
lyrics to hollywood undead - "city"
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Post by andromedawallace on Feb 20, 2011 14:46:04 GMT -6
, andromeda ainsley wallace
AND WE'RE MOVING THROUGH THE NIGHT CRUISING AROUND TOWN, LOST
IN THE ENDLESS SOUND AND THE CITY'S ALL RIGHT BUT THE STREETS ARE ALL
THE SAME AND YOU KNOW DEEP DOWN YOU CAN FIND A BETTER WAY TIRED OF
FEELING BAD DON'T YOU WONDER WHY YOU KEEP TELLING YOURSELF IT'S ALL RIGHT
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - her fridge was now almost completely stuffed full of various asian foodstuff packaged in bags and boxes from a taste of asia. andie stood staring into it, not quite sure how she had let this happen. she had only ever ordered food for herself from the establishment two or three times, most of which she hadn't finished because she didn't care much for asian food. all the other boxes had to have been what one of the cooks was always giving her. it was like he thought they were wonderful, thoughful little parcels of goodness that she would become a better person for possessing and eventually eating. he had a little crush on her or something.
with an irritated and slightly disgusted sigh, andie fetched the garbage can from the other side of the small kitchen of her apartment and set it down before the clogged up fridge. then, she executed several efficient swiping movements with her arm, sending several of the boxes and bags right into the waiting, open mouthed trash receptacle. one her last swipe, however, several of the takeout boxes became insolent and veered to the left of their destination, crashed onto the floor and splattering with various asian foodstuff.
lovely. fucking lovely.
she was about a quarter of a roll of paper towel into the mess when the telephone rang. she had a glob of paper towel and asian food in her hand, which she quickly, with an expression of distaste and delicate disgust, tossed into the garbage can before she rose from her knees and strode over to the counter, where the phone sat. a quick glance at the caller id told her that it was none other than her cousin robbie, which was strange, because normally the two of them did everything in their power to avoid contact with each other. "what do you want?"
[/color] she asked bluntly, holding the phone up to her ear and shifting her weight onto one hip in a posture of insolent impatience. "fucking charming as ever aren't you?" came robbie's snide, brogue masked voice from the other end of the line. "am i calling at an unfortunate time of the month?" andie rolled her eyes and heaved an irritated sigh. "no, you are just a moron. bye now."[/color] she paused and smiled wryly when robbie gave a small cry of protest. she had been bluffing, unfortunately enough, because she knew that there was no reason whatever that he would be calling her unless he needed something from her. "don't hang up. i need you to do me a favor." she couldn't help but grin a smug little grin at the way he was now forcing himself to keep his voice and words civil. "and why on earth should i do you a favor?" she asked cheerfully, turning around and once again eyeing down the mess on her kitchen floor. "there are free drinks in it for you." andie frowned and casually examined her fingernails. "i can get free drinks any time i want," she said boredly. it was true. "you also get to dress up... and i'll give you fifty bucks." andie crossed her free arm over her abdomen. she was slightly surprised that he had mentioned getting dressed up as an advantage of whatever this endevour was to be, because it meant he knew her well enough to know that, despite her usual extremely casual attire, she loved getting dressed up. "this sounds like something that you could easily have prostitute do..." she said, her voice trailing off in suspicion. "yeah, which makes you perfect for it," robbie snapped impatiently. "but i don't exactly have access to any prostitutes right now, so i'm left with you." another eye roll on the part of andie. "i am going to hang up if you don't quit being such a little bitch," she cautioned him. "just tell me what you fucking want."as it turned out, robbie had gotten himself into a spot of trouble down at the inferno, an establishment andie was coincidentally rather familiar with. he refused to go into a lot of detail and told her only that he needed her to get herself down there and distract a large burly young man who would be hanging around the restrooms. apparently robbie owed this guy money that he didn't have and had been forced to barricade himself in the bathroom. from what andie could gather, the burly dude had been tailing robbie around the casino for a while and wasn't following him into the bathroom because robbie had been able to lock it from the inside or because he was trying to play patronizing mind games. but whatever. an evening at the inferno beat the hell out of scrubbing asian food off of her kitchen floor and watching seinfeld reruns with a bowl of chicken noodle soup for the rest of the night, even if it would benefit robbie. she quickly scraped the rest of the mess off the floor, then took her time getting dolled up. she emerged from the hitten building looking very fetching and smelling nice. she caught a cab to the inferno and headed straight for the bathrooms. sure enough, she found the tall, muscular young man, leaning against the wall between the men and ladies rooms. she acted as if it was her intention to enter the ladies' room, but stopped suddenly in her tracks to give him a suggestive, alluring smile. luckily for robbie, the man was apparently not a homosexual, because he immediately pushed himself off the wall and said an eager hello. andie sensed that he hadn't gotten any in a while. "would you like to buy me a drink?" she asked with an air of sensual and suggestive mischief. the young man smiled a crooked, cocky smile and andie could tell that he was pegging her as a semi desperate slut. she almost pitied him a little. "certainly." she gave him another suggestive smile and he led the way to the bar. she followed behind him, surreptitiously taking her cell phone out of her clutch to send a quick text to robbie. then she seated herself on a stool next to him at the bar, where they were served by a very nice looking bar tender. before she had taken even her first sip of her martini, she spotted robbie ambling out the entrance, looking remarkable unphased. a couple sips into her martini, however, she had decided that she was bored nearly to tears and wanted to get rid of the stupid imbecile on the stool next to her. putting on her most devilish alluring grin, she leaned over and whispered "meet me in the ladies' room. i will be there in two minutes." he gave her an excited look suggesting he hadn't thought even she would get that dirty, but slid off his stool and walked away, complying nonetheless. andie waited a few moments, left her own stool, located a security guard, told him that she had seen some perverted man sneak into the women's bathroom and then returned to the bar. she glanced around, for the first time that night registering that there was really nothing else going on in this section of the casino. "slow night," she remarked aimably to the handsome bartender.[/font][/justify][/blockquote][/blockquote] - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - STATUS complete.
TAGGED jamie!
ATTIRE here.
LOCALE the inferno, january 2012.
CREDITS lyrics by free energy.
NOTES sooo late, i'm so sorry. :[
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Post by james devon sakahrov-collins on Mar 7, 2011 3:36:30 GMT -6
-----------------------------------------------------------JANUARY, 2012. LATE EVENING. THE INFERNO, BAR.
[/size] -----------------------------------------------------------[/color][/center] ,HE DIDN'T LIKE admitting to himself that he was feeling comfortable. comfort leads to carelessness, which generally leads to a dead someone. it set off a chain reaction he was not ready to admit haunted him every day. to become the next tragedy scrolling across cnn. "another dead body discovered in an alley in downtown valkyrie, california. like the others, this victim presents the same markings..." blah blah blah. the reports were always the same. and the result was always the same. the moment someone lets their guard down - for whatever reason - they're the next victim in sending a very clear message. common gang members kill people and leave the body to rot. real criminals only leave the corpse for one reason: to send a message. and he'd rather not be the victim of sending the russians a message. and that's why he continually told himself that this isn't something he should get used to. just one stop along the road of life, a rest stop.
but it was really unfortunate that this was something he was quickly getting accustomed to. running the restaurant-bar of the inferno was comfortable like the grip on his gun was comfortable. he would feel awkward without it. it was nice to have somewhere to go everyday, an excuse not to dwell on his own issues. no lie, the first week or so of valkyrie were some of the worst. all he did was loiter around his dark motel room, brooding. there was nothing else to do. and i think we all know by now, that if jamie collins doesn't have something to focus on, we're all in trouble. he was still involved with his family, one hundred percent. his work came before anything. but the emotional strings that were continually tugging at him were quickly wearing him down. it seemed, more and more, the things he wanted to forget more than anything were coming back up for more. like when you're sick and have nothing left to throw up, but it insists on inviting itself to the porcelain telephone. the stomach bile that burns the back of your throat, leaving a repulsive scent in your mouth. that's what his life was quickly becoming - stomach bile. appealing. when he had once used his work as a distraction, he was having to find distractions from that. it was all of these skeletons coming out of the closet. temperance being released, and supposedly in town. bella rovens appearing out of no where. even this history shit with ksenia. he was never supposed to face these ghosts again. and when the one thing he found solice in rearing its ugly head, he was looking elsewhere.
he sighed. when it was quiet like this, he was left with no one but himself for company. his sub-concious appeared in front of him and started to make conversation. 'you should call temperance.' 'just kill the bitch.' 'it's none of your business.' everything he was trying to forget was lingering around in the dull silence. with frustration, he grasped the clicker and pointed it to the closest plasma television, turning the volume way up. the pitchy announcer was busy congratulating the capitals with a nice comeback, scoring twice in a three minutes stretch. the game was tied, ten minutes left in the second. it gave him something to pay attention to. and it was a good something, because losing to the new york rangers is a one-way ticket out of a playoff spot. tightening his grip on the brandy sniffer in his hand, continuing to run the damp cloth over the steamed glassware, he forced himself to look at the screen. don'tthinkaboutit don'tthinkabout it don'tthinkaboutit. he repeated the phrase to himself everytime there was a call and the game paused. he sighed again. it seemed to be working. with only himself for company tonight, it was going to have to work as a good distraction. he turned up the volume more, eyes trained on the hockey game.
he only looked away when he heard the echoes of voices. a sultry tone no doubt belonging to a woman, quickly followed by the near-panting of a man. always with these types. a light smirk crossing his face, jamie took his eyes from the game to watch the two individuals approach the bar. desperate fellow was trying too hard. the pretty blonde vixen was one - definitely out of his league, and two - no doubt playing a game with him. raising his eyebrows wordlessly, making his opinion on the situation well known, he concentrated back on the game. ovechkin scored on the power play, excellent. he wasn't even looking at the pair when he heard the gruff order of a martini and a scotch, no ice. that was how he had been trained: silence. you appear, do as the customer demands, and disappear again. he turned to carefully line the martini shaker with vermouth, while simultaneously pouring a careful amount of scotch into the low glass. placing it on a cocktail napkin, he slid it across the bar to the horny gentleman who was clearly being played. he then swirled the gin-based mixture around the shaker, eyes still focussed on the screen. if he didn't have this to concentrate on, he'd be busy making coy remarks about the situation in front of him. and that wouldn't be very professional. carefully emptying the liquid into a shining martini glass, he delivered the drink to said blonde vixen, actually taking the time to meet her eye. even allowed a quick smile. don't judge, you would too, if you saw her. leaning on the back counter, he absentmindedly wiped it while keeping an eye on the troublesome two. this would either be an alcohol-fuled pity fuck or an entertaining game. either way, someone was paying the tab.
"meet me in the ladies' room. i will be there in two minutes." that was when jamie paid more attention. he openly stared as horndog number two did nothing but speed off to the nearest ladies' bathroom. people in this town could not honestly be that easy. or stupid. he was smirking again, shaking his head in disbelief. crossing his arms, he then watched as andie deserted her stool, tattling to the security guard about some creepy dude lurking around inappropriate places. see? it was an entertaining game. just as quickly, she was back at her stool, martini in front of her. "slow night." a talker? he wasn't going to refuse that. he could openly look at her and her nice...everything, too, without seeming like another creepy dude. reaching for the remote, he lowered the volume on the game considerably. "slower than most. can't say i'm complaining." keeping close to the bartender code of small talk, jamie watched her coy expression and smirked again. he leaned forward, claiming the untouched glass of scotch. swirling the liquid around the base of the glass, he rested against the back counter again. "you couldn't have even given the poor guy the time of day? that's some cruel game." his awkward accent highlighted his amused words, the raise of his eyebrows adding to the statement. taking a sip of the amber alcohol, he watched her closely. [/size][/blockquote] ----------------------------------------------------------- STATUS, complete.
TAGGED, andie !
LENGTH, 1209 words.
ATTIRE, black pants, red dress shirt, black vest.
NOTES, this isn't late at all.<3
CREDITS, format and graphics to me.
lyrics to hollywood undead - "city"
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