*-- you don't look so good

[ryan]

you wanna tell be baby

i need to know the right way to turn

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,10,true][atrb=style,background-image: url('http://i53.tinypic.com/wb98wn.jpg');,true] I CAN’T SAVE MYSELF "the girl. that one. in the blanket. she's stealing my right socks. i just know it. can't find my rainbows and flower petals." ryan dipped his head to his hands, fingers gently squeezing at his temples as he listened to the patient mumble on and on somewhere between lucidity and insanity. it wasn't a pleasant mix by any standards at all and it was waning on ryan's last nerve. why put himself through this torture? because the patient was one marcus benjamin harper, ryan's father. it probably didn't matter much that ryan ever did show up but the man was family despite his lack of a comprehension of reality. he was the last bit of family ryan had too aside from his criminal cousin. ryan didn't come by every few days for marcus, as sad as that was. he came by the asylum for him mother. no she wasn't here. she'd died a few years back leaving ryan with his shell of a father but before she'd died she'd seen what was happening to her husband and had begged ryan to look after him. momma's boy that he was he'd said yes and done everything that he could to keep his father in line before finally having no choice but to commit the man. sad day that was. marcus didn't even know where he was or what he was doing when the white coats showed up and escorted him to a white van. he'd been completely out of it. hadn't even realized he was being dragged out of the house where his wife had died, the house where all of his memories were. ryan of course was left to pick up the mess. he'd had the house packed up, his parent's things stowed away in a storage unit halfway across town, and sold the house to the first person to make a bid. he just wanted the damn thing gone. money went to his father's care and to his new apartment and that was that. past was behind him with any and all reminders packed away somewhere ryan didn't have to look at them. the only thing ryan did still have from those days was a picture of him when he was younger, his mother hunched over behind him with her arms wrapped around him, both all smiles as someone took their picture. that was a portion of his life that he'd rather remember, the good days with his mother. he didn't want to remember his father being gone for days on end doing work for some corporate monster. he didn't want to remember his mother sighing every time around dinner when the phone rang from his father calling to say he wouldn't be making it in tonight. you would have thought marcus had been some big head honcho for the company with all the time he'd surrendered away from his family for the business but in fact he was just a low level rung on the ladder. he was replaceable, which was why he had to work so damn hard. anyone could have taken his place and the money was enough to support their family unlike ryan's mother's teaching job had been so he did what he had to do. ryan hadn't really cared. he'd never had much of a relationship with his father to begin with. it gave him more time to spend with his mother and those memories were what carried ryan through when his mother had fallen ill. it was just about the only thing that had gotten him through. "alright pa. i've got errands to do so i'm gonna head out. you have a good rest of the day." ryan leaned forward, hands on the armrests of his chair as he began to push himself upwards before spindly wrinkled hands shot out and grabbed the lapels of his open button down. "the squirrels! the squirrels i tell you! they took my flim-flams!" ryan winced at the close proximity and pried his father's fingers loose before some staff showed up and eased him back into his chair. he turned away from the scene before he could see the little blond nurse look up at him in pity. he didn't fucking want pity. he just wanted to get gone. "i'll be back next week."

[/b] he mumbled to the front desk as he was buzzed through the door and beat feet out of that place. it gave him the heeby jeebies anyways.

this called for, well something. ryan wasn't quite sure what. the asylum was outside of town, chosen specifically for that reason, so ryan took to his car and just decided to drive around 'til something caught his interest. he drove around the repaired streets of valkyrie looking at all the store fronts before his eyes finally settled on a taste of asia. it was early and the shop was just opening but...well this place was better than nothing. ryan found parking at the back and walked inside, quickly greeted and seated. he hardly needed a menu. he'd lived in this town long enough to know just about everything about every place. "green tea, seaweed salad, caterpillar roll and a side of pork fried rice."[/b] he said before he was even handed a menu. once he was alone ryan fell back into the head in hands routine, his thumbs massaging his temples in an effort to get rid of the monstrous headache that had bloomed. [/div]

908 WORDS , TAG: TRYAN , OUTFIT + WHITE UNDERSHIRT , GOT BORED. HAD MUSE.

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table by california dreaming @ caution 2.0

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[tristan valencia silver]

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FEBRUARY, 2012. LATE AFTERNOON. TASTE OF ASIA.

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,THIS WAS EVERY level of hell. no. it was worse. it was being sent to heaven and having to play poker with paris hilton. because we all know good ol' paris isn't going to heaven, she is going to have her own made especially for her. imagine spending all of eternity in there. that's what this was equal to. she couldn't play poker, so it would have to be explained forever. yeah. that's what this was on par with. these were the thoughts that clouded tristan silver's mind. she wasn't paying attention to anything she should have; she was comparing the situation she was forced in. the time went by quicker that way. her attention had been caught for the first twenty minutes or so, but when the 'i wish...' or 'why were you...' all started in, she turned on the white noise. static from an old radio from 1921. the one that was stuck between a farm report from montana and an interview in chinese. all of her comparions were surprisingly colorful this morning. she noticed that, not the movement of her father's lips, nor the condesending glare from her dear old mother. her head was tilted to the side, permanently unimpressed smirk in place, her eyes clouded with boredum. it's not like they cared anyway.

no one did. not anymore. ever since tristan had left everything her family wanted, they all walked on broken glass from one of her cheap beer bottles. her mother hated those. "a good lady drinks martinis". fuck that, who called tristan silver a real lady? she certainly didn't. she also certainly didn't care anymore. but it was required, according to her ever optimistic father, if she wanted continued access to her trust fund. he called it "family bonding", but everyone knew that was the underlying threat. well fine. she'd spend a few hours once a week pretending to actually be there. "oh i'm not sure, lovely. you might benefit from reginald, he is just fabulous. i've lost two pounds since..." her daughter's infamously dirty stare trailed her off. sarah silver was afraid of her youngest daughter. it was fucking obvious. yet she never stopped poking at her. her doctor was putting too much botox into the worn leather couch of a woman. "oh, i don't know, mother. i think you should invest in a personal trainer, the holiday bulge is still poking over your waistband." her voice was perfectly plesant. bright, even. that was when her haze of hilarious comparison stopped and tristan was at complete attention. "i do six hundred calories a day maximum, and it's just stupendous. you could play the piano on my ribs. you always said that was the ultimate goal." she smiled this time, good girl dimples shining right through her nasty tone. nonchalantly reaching for her white wine, tristan leaned back in her chair and looked out onto the stretch of yard. her parents had an obnoxious backyard. it was when a hobo threw up on 'architecture weekly' and gave it to a five star hotel, who then framed it. beyond fucking plastic. but she shouldn't have been surprised in the recent renovations. something was always different. they had to care about something, right? no one seemed to put much effort into this anymore. she still didn't care. the only sign of concern was when her father put out his cigar and leaned forward.

there was very little affection between members of the silver family. there never had been. her parents probably didn't even fuck anymore. darren happily cheated with his incompetant staff and their fake boobs. sarah...well, she didn't want to think about that. fucking nasty. but it had taken a spaceous turn in the last several years. if she stretched her legs out, she would barely graze either of her parents' chairs. and she was tall. whatever. it was better that way, less overly processed air to inhale. so when someone leaned forward into the still ice of silence, it was cause for alarm. he clasped his hands, looked from speechless wife to triumphant daughter, and smiled grimly. "my girls, i don't want this to start up again. we are a family and we love each other. i want you to stay in one another's lives." darren silver was a brilliant business man. he could fire someone and they would thank him at the end of the meeting. he had the irritating ability to sound disgustedly stern, but genuine and warm at the same time. she hated it. her father was the one person in her life she didn't want to disappoint. probably because he didn't harass everything she chose to do. he actually loved her. the only person who did. so, she flared her nostrils. she drained her half-full wine glass and gripped the stem tightly, signalling the new butler of the week for more. he would try to mention her endless drinking, but he couldn't really say anything to her either. he was terrified of her too. "i think the plastic surgeon put "nitpicky, self-esteem lacking bitch who has to hate on the daughter she wants to look like, daddy. i'm just playing along." she smiled again, the knives in her eyes tearing the fragile bridge. five minutes.

he didn't want this to start up again? what? the war between mother and daughter? it had been raging since she was born. it was just different because she, tristan, knew the right tricks to win. and they all knew it. it started up every fucking week. this just happened ninety minutes in. it was a new record. tristan had suffered ignoring small talk until the whole stupid weight thing was brought up. again. it was the only topic of conversation she would listen to. every single mother living in the valks was obsessed with their offsprings metabolism. or zit. or bad extensions. the topic of her straightened hair or muddy make-up had been exhausted the first three years. now it was all about her shapeless figure. size two isn't small enough. double zero! all the girls doing yogalates claimed their bone corsets folded over twice to fit into the magical number. yeah. guess daddy wasn't aware of that. fuck. this "starting up again" was only because they had nothing else to talk about. it was going to turn into the scene that haunted every fucking charity event she had to go to (who actually had those anymore?). too much champagne, thrown appetizers, a nice public announcement of just how disturbing her plastic mother was. it was always the same. it was going to start. she just decided to end it early.

"thanks, dad, for the lovely morning. i hope your wife throws up her food, because she's fat." all traces of sincerity had vanished, the true ugliness of her tone slicing the uncomfortable tension. throwing her napkin onto the table, tristan rose from her chair. she took a minute to drain her glass, her fourth in two hours, before slamming it beside. "don't bother with next week." tucking her hair behind her ears, sliding her sunglasses over her eyes, the gossip blogger turned and marched right through the yard. she stepped on the grass. they hated anyone walking on their perfectly manicured grass. why did every day fucking end like this? it was barely one o'clock for fucks sake. she regreted walking here. swearing softly, she pushed her hands into the pockets of her shorts and stumbled through the streets of valkyrie. twenty-two years of living in this damn town taught her everything. her apartment was a ten minute walk if you knew where to go. good thing she did. also good thing she had no intention of going back there. she was sick of getting drunk at home. every pub she regulated was too full of puffy lunch customers. fuck this town. she was supposed to be anywhere but here by now. she didn't like getting drunk in the middle of the day. then later at night. it was pointless. having to spend an entire morning with her parents, having the same fucking conversation. talk about the stock market like you used to, dad. don't sit there quietly walking the same vicious circles. fuck all of this.

she'd been trapped in storm clouds for weeks now. it was stupid. all of this was. this was why she liked being drunk. it all floated away for awhile. if she crossed paths without anyone, she didn't notice. most everyone in valkyrie knew to stay away from tristan silver. unless she wanted you there, fuck off. that was the general rule. crankily studying her surroundings, it took her a minute to realize just how far she had wandered. she usually absently found her apartment again. or maybe bad seeds; reed was always good for shots and an afternoon screw session. guess she went the other way today. she was noticing tacky restaurants and places teenagers like to hang out. awesome. the youth in this place were worse then when she was humiliating them publicly, all those years ago in high school. fuck. just beginning to light a cigarette, her eyes floated to the windows of the local asian-y food joint. who even went there anymore? ryan harper apparently. irish wanna-be badass. at taste of asia. really? all she knew about him was that he was a fighter and was as disconnected from life as she was. it made for good screwing time. nice change from coyote boy. placing the cancer stick behind her ear, pushing her sunglasses up onto her forehead, she pushed the door of the restaurant open. ignored the hostess. rolled her eyes at the crying infant. almost tripped a waiter. within a minute, she slid into the bench opposite him. who mused like this? he wasn't some deep, tortured poet. c'mon now.

she toyed with the chopsticks in front of her as the server came around again. clearly unimpressed. guess they knew each other. eh. "sushi of a non-disgusting variety, thanks." she didn't even bother looking up. she just openly watched ryan staring at the table. they were the color of old lady carpet covered in vomit. what made it so facinating? "so," she broke the silence again. had he even noticed his new company? did he want it? no, probably not. but she never really cared when it came to him. "i was wondering," she paused again, leaning back against the booth and unfolding her legs, resting them on his lap. "why did i have to come and invite myself? i thought we were closer than that. because you clearly were lost without company." resting her chin on her hands, she smiled darkly. "why the fuck are you brooding in a place like this, harper?"

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STATUS, complete.
TAGGED, ryan le harper.
LENGTH, 1795 words.
ATTIRE, hurr..
NOTES, ah, this sucks.
CREDITS, format and graphics to me.
lyrics to hollywood undead - "knife called lust"

[/blockquote]

[ryan]

you wanna tell be baby

i need to know the right way to turn

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,10,true][atrb=style,background-image: url('http://i53.tinypic.com/wb98wn.jpg');,true] I CAN’T SAVE MYSELF why was he brooding. wow what a loaded question that would be. if anyone knew why he was actually sitting around with his head in his hands then the answer would be obvious but this wasn't the case. ryan was never one to be open about his life but his father's mental break was something that was priority number one on the list of shit you never, ever discuss. there was reasoning behind this. first and foremost it was embarrassing. ryan could understand his father's love for his mother. it was the deepest thing he'd ever seen for two people who hardly ever saw anything of one another. marcus harper was never around. he was always out doing some kind of business. it was more often that he called to say he was being flown out to somewhere, tailing after his boss who was on the hunt for some client than it was for him to call and say that he was on his way home. it was more likely that he not show up for a week at a time than it was to come downstairs in the morning as a kid and see him sitting across the table reading a newspaper. but for as much as marcus was a no-show he definitely loved his family. he always sent things back for ryan or his mother and always tried to call after work when he had a few minutes to do whatever he liked before he got sucked back into corporate hell. of course trinkets and toys didn't make up for a lack of a father figure but at least in ryan's case that didn't turn out so bad. he might have hardly had a father around until his early twenties but ryan had turned out just as much a man, or moreso, than his father ever was. of course some might not refer to bedding women and talking with your fists as being manly, but that part of his life had only made itself known after his mother's death. before then he'd been a star athelete in high school and had gone through a tour in the military. all in all he'd successfully become the world's definition of a "man" without any help from dear old dad. a second reason ryan never talked about his father was because for the most part people assumed he was dead. marcus harper had been a shut in through his wife's disease. he'd worked up until the day the test results came back then he took a leave from work to which he never returned from. work had called, ryan had told them about the family emergency, and after a while the calls ended. no one had demanded marcus at work anymore probably for the simple reason that he had been expendable. people had liked marcus, sure. he had been the most dedicated whatever he was for twenty someodd years but that didn't mean that someone else couldn't come in and do his job just as well. ryan figured that when the calls stopped coming, so had his father's employment, to which he hadn't cared. marcus claimed he was an early retiree and left it at that, refusing to leave his wife's bedside as if that made up for being a no show for twenty or more years. but ryan harbored very little ill will toward his father at that time. for one thing he didn't care. he hardly knew the man and pretty much only considered him a really nice sperm donor because the one parents he did love, the only parent who meant the world to him was on her deathbed. the only other reason why he'd harbored no hate toward his father was because his presence had brightened up his mother and gave her happiness for the last few weeks of her life. yes weeks. maria hadn't lived much longer past her diagnosis. but after she'd gone, marcus had really lost it. it was as if the wires in his brain just didn't connect right anymore. he started talking gibberish, he started walking in weird patterns and running into things, and all sorts of weird antics. ryan had been force to defend himself when marcus treated an umbrella like a sword and had tried to stab him. things like that. it was only after the suicide attempt that ryan really knew he had to take matters into his own hands and ship his father off to the insane asylum. funniest part was that no one even knew about that. ryan supposed that people around just hadn't cared or hadn't noticed. they stopped by for the funeral and paid their respects. students of marias that had grown up saying she was their favorite teacher had stopped in to tell him how wonderful she had been, but by that time marcus had already been shipped away. no one knew what had happened to maria's husband. if anything they assumed he ran off or he had died as well. ryan didn't care. let people assume what they wanted. he wasn't sticking around the neighborhood long enough for people to get the balls to downright ask him. instead he had everything packed up and shipped out and got himself a small apartment suitable for a guy with no one else in his life. it had a well used bedroom, kitchen, living room, and washer and dryer so he didn't have to interact with people. that was perfect for him. he didn't need anything more than the basics and that was what he got. either way his father was locked away where people didn't know or care to know that he was insane, his mother was dead, and the only family he had left was his weasel of a cousin who wanted nothing more than for ryan to sign his soul away to the irish mob. uh no. ryan was a sensible guy at best. he knew that his fists only belonged in the ring and no where else. he had a relatively level head outside of his "job" but that didn't mean he wanted to start doing runs for the irish or god forbid allowing them to be a sponsor of sorts. ryan liked fighting. it calmed his nerves and it made him feel more relaxed once it was all over and yes the money he made from fighting paid for his apartment and whatever else he needed, but he wasn't greedy. he did what he did because he liked it. turning it into some occupation was an easy way to lose his love for fighting. so no. he was not a member nor would he ever be. if the irish had a fucking problem with that then he could go elsewhere and they'd lose their biggest paycheck. that suited ryan just fine. sad to say ryan had been lost in his own little world and hadn't even noticed someone coming to sit down in front of him. all he wanted was his food and some heavy painkillers. what else could people want. the ringing in his ears had made it hard for him to even hear that someone had been speaking directly in front of him, but as the wave of pain subsided he could make out the voice and that ever scarred, sarcastic tone of one tristan silver. one of his favorite bedmates. ryan looked up as she spoke a second time, chattering on about not being invited and it made him smirk. "invite yourself?"

[/b] he said as he sat back up and leaned against the back cushion of the booth seat which his every bit of muscle mass liked to take up residence. "now now silvers. if i'd done that it'd feel too much like a date and you know as well as i that we're not 'dating' people."[/b] he felt her legs on his lap and only rolled his eyes, rouch hands smoothing up her skin for about as far as he felt like reaching, for now. "lost? never. i'm simply contemplating the meaning of life. you should do it sometimes. it's quite entertaining."[/b] now his remarks were sarcastic. in all honestly tristan was not someone he wanted to open up to about his father and that was unlikely to change. so he wasn't about to start now...in the middle of some shitty restaurant. "i wasn't brooding. i was ducking my head to avoid you which obviously worked so well."[/b] he teased, hands giving her ankles a little yank which fucked with her seating arrangement. "you'd have more fun on this side of the table y'know."[/b] she stated obviously though he doubted tristan would play along. she wasn't the type to like being told what to do though that wasn't what ryan was even trying to do.

just as he was about to say something else the waitress arrived with his food and a plate of something for tristan. oh, that's what she'd said. figures. ryan looked down at his eel roll pretty much pleased and gave his little waitress a flick of his wrist when she decided to stick around, shooing her. "fucking people i swear to god."[/b] he mumbled under his breath as he grabbed his chopsticks and laid into the first slivered roll, popping it into his mouth and making quick work of it. "what the hell are you doing around anyways?"[/b] he asked pointing his chopsticks in her direction. "shouldn't you be out raising hell instead of trying to doctor phil my ass?"[/b] [/div]

1,588 WORDS , TAG: TRYAN , OUTFIT + WHITE UNDERSHIRT , GOT BORED. HAD MUSE.

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table by california dreaming @ caution 2.0

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[tristan valencia silver]

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FEBRUARY, 2012. EARLY AFTERNOON. TASTE OF ASIA.

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,IT WAS SAFE to assume tristan silver drove on autopilot. if she had been going on manuel, she would be dead by now. this cruise control over the past five years had only worked because she had checked out completely. if you add emotions and feelings and whatever the fuck else into an equation of drinking and smoking and sex and whatever the other fuck else, it gets messy. that's how pretty girls die. they turn to all of this to escape. tristan just embraced what she'd been doing since she was twelve. by eliminating anything genuine, she could go six hundred miles an hour. if she was doing it to escape reality or whatever these girls did, she'd be dead. see how this works? once you turn pro, you can do everything faster. harder. better. that was why she was one of the most infamous trainwrecks in valkyrie. when everyone was fading due to exhaustion, she was just getting started. whatever it was, she could do it better. longer. faster. and definitely harder. few could keep up with her. which is where the multiple partners came in, to keep her entertained whenever she felt like it. if emotional shit was involved, she might feel bad. she would probably hurt alot. but that is the beauty of autopilot, darling. none of that matters.

you didn't have to assume anything. you just knew. everyone did. tristan silver turned her feelings off the second the realized how powerful they were. tugging on the emotional heartstrings brings out the ugly in people, a glimps of the monster lurking beneath. a pretty mask covering a scarred mirror with acid eyes and a knife tongue. she did it when she was twelve, maybe thirteen. that's when people start to get ugly. people poke you with shards of lies and broken promises, hoping to watch you break. that's around the time - everyone, not just her - discovered there was an autopilot option. you turn to it sometimes. you realize that vodka and cigarettes can make it stop hurting for awhile, give you time to glue your mask back together. but you use cement glue this time, because you can fight better with a pretty shield. every little girl living in valkyrie, california knew this. most of them did it. the only difference here was tristan was fucking smart enough to know when enough was enough. she put autopilot into overdrive when she was sixteen, seventeen. after her freshman year of working so hard was ruined. after her sophomore year pushed her into the cracks of the student body. junior and senior year were nice. she humiliated all the girls with masks, shattering the papermache one bit at a time. right before her steel mask was secured, everyone saw the hurt. and they saw what she did with it, going past her acid eyes and knife tongue. she made it apparent. there was nothing to assume, you just knew. remember that? there was a reason for it.

after she graduated high school, she got bored with it. two years of torment was good. by that time, tristan had pulled away from her life completely. her parents, her reputation, everything that she had worked for. why bother? she didn't want it anymore. selfish bitch she was, she liked to put herself first. by the time eighteen rolled around, she had turned pro at all of it. the greatest skill of all? balancing her steel mask and everything ugly beneath it. it was about time to start living her life for her. it's not like anyone else wanted it. so she turned everything off, slept with all of her would-be firends' boyfriends and told her parents to stop pretending. she left everything. finally. the freedom is exactly what she'd been craving for her entire life. she had never needed to impress anyone, but now no one cared. the silvers still gave a shit about what their daughter did in high school; she lived in their spotlight. it was nice this way. it would have been fucking perfect if it actually worked. you escape your life, this fucking town, and you can start over. sounds good. she wanted that, a chance to explore the world. too bad she was still here, five years later. fuck.

and that's why she was still on autopilot.

there was a history here in valkyrie, and there was no fucking way she was going to swim in it. so the decision to keep it that way stayed. she didn't really like it, but protecting herself was more important than anything else. this was her way of doing it. everyone just thought she hadn't changed. she hadn't. not really. she stayed cold and empty, staring at the world with her acid eyes. it just stayed that way now. once in awhile, before, she might have let herself smile from time to time. no point now. there was nothing left for her here. but she stayed. why the fuck was she staying? if you know the answer, please let her know. well yeah...the point here is she was the same as she'd always been. that's the way you function in this stupid place. it got easier over time. she just sort of forgot how to feel, for real. she laughed, she smiled, she sometimes even cried. but it was trivial shit, whatever had built up over the last few years. the real dam was still there, sealed as ever. as long as she was here, with the history hanging in the air, nothing was going to change, you got it? she was on autopilot and everyone had better know it. if they didn't, well...sucks to be you. she'd let them know soon enough. the closest the dam ever got to rusting is what she as storming off from: her parents; the tension crawling to all corners of the earth. all about the history - her family was kind of the closest thing to that. duh. she'd been forced to live in that for eighteen years. the wounds would always be there. so she continued to protect herself. notice the cycle yet?

she liked seeing other people who were struggling to stay afloat. it gave her grim satisfaction. the bastards who had everything together, and knew exactly what was going on - fuck them. she didn't want anything to do with them. that's why she liked ryan. sort of. she liked looking at him, preferably without him talking, but she hadn't gotten bored with him yet. probably because they both knew life was ridiculous. life here was ridiculous. ryan harper was clearly not on dry land. whatever he was swimming in, she didn't know. she didn't really care. their "relationship" generally involved alcohol and not a lot of clothes, true. remember that bit about not being bored? tristan got bored easily. something about him continued to amuse her. he was entertaining to harass, too. besides, she'd been aimlessly wandering when she happend to find him sitting in the window, clearly disconnected from reality. oh hey, she was too. even if he flipped her off, it rewarded her with that same grim satisfaction. at least someone else felt drained.

it vanished quickly. just like her. the second someone was in front of you, your eyes clear and you bare your teeth again. that's just how it went. she knew it well. "no, no we're not," she was busy examining her chopsticks, only looking over the wood as she spoke. "but the fourteen year-old in me still holds out hope for us, prince charming." her tone fell flat as she arched an eyebrow, fingertips now drumming the surface of the table. she only moved once she felt his hands on her legs, caught off-guard by the roughness of his palms. flinching slightly, she smirked darkly but remained silent, stretching her feet out once again, now crossed at the ankle. "you and contemplating anything beyond playboy isn't believeable, lovebug. and we both know i gave up a long time ago." she was looking at the menu now, never bothering to look up as she spoke. "you might want to alter -" she cut herself off, again caught off-guard as he tugged on her ankles. sliding down the bench, she dropped the menu and supported her body. "fucking stop that." pushing herself up, she threw ryan a sarcastically dirty look before bothering to play his game. knowing her, she'd probably had a lot more fun on that side of the table. autopilot was good that way - you never felt bad about it. "well, i was, but now you're stuck with your playboy and jeff the sock." she smiled sardonically, raising her eyebrows as the waitress approached their table.

she watched the amusing little scene. the carelessness of ryan's motions, the initial offence and following eye-roll from the waitress. "you were always such a charmer." her voice was again amused, laughing even. pulling her own plate of vegetarian sushi toward her, tristan picked up her chopsticks and gripped one of the avacado rolls, but merely toyed with them. inhaling deeply as he pointed at her, she crossed one of her legs over the other, making sure to kick him lightly in the process. "had a date with my parents. decided to stalk you." chewing around the seaweed, she looked at him. "you sound surprised. i do more than entertain myself with you, harper my boy. i got into another fight with them so i decided not to go home. really fucking interesting." there was an unfamiliar bite in her voice as she spoke. her second avacado roll washed it down, leaving the bored amusement hanging. "no one could get paid enough to do that," she placed her chopsticks down, taking the time to run her fingers through her messy hair, pushing it behind her ears. "my day starts at five. so, why is it you were looking at this table in hopes of finding your doctor phil?"

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STATUS, complete.
TAGGED, ryan le harper.
LENGTH, 1688 words.
ATTIRE, hurr..
NOTES, - - -
CREDITS, format and graphics to me.
lyrics to hollywood undead - "knife called lust"

[/blockquote]

[ryan]

you wanna tell be baby

i need to know the right way to turn

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,10,true][atrb=style,background-image: url('http://i53.tinypic.com/wb98wn.jpg');,true] I CAN’T SAVE MYSELF tristan silver...she wasn't your normal, every day, shallow globe-trotting uber-slut that liked to pop up in a place like valkyrie. ryan would know. he'd lived in these parts long enough and had seen those kinds of individuals pop up at every turn. they were the amusers. they were the entertainment. they were wastes of space. they weren't people who knew the lessons of hard work and hard living. they had life handed to them on a silver platter and didn't have to work for a single thing in their lives. your ass wasn't shaped right? a normal person would work hard until they got a figure they were pleased with or until they gave up and picked up a cheeseburger. products of valkyrie liked to go to the nearest surgeon and have all that work done for them in a matter of hours. needed a break from reality or just a really good vacation? normal people had to work their asses off just for a glimpse of extra money that could be set aside for something on budget, something that wasn't nearly as lavish or relaxing as what they wanted but was all they could afford. products of valkyrie told daddy they had a rough day and he shelled out his visa or, god forbid, a roll of hundreds and just told you to have at it. do whatever you need. the products of valkyrie took up hotels and condos and cabanas overseas where they could be fawned over by buff, tanned men or women while they reveled in their apparent wealth and the adoration of those less fortunate than they. normal people prayed for the weekend just so they could sleep in a few more minutes before the kids came in and bounced on your head asking where their breakfast was, breakfast that consisted of lucky charms or something that was equally, and falsely, healthy. ryan had been lucky enough to live in a world that was sidled somewhere in between the lines. he never saw his father because he was took busy working his ass off, but he had his mother around so much to the point that they did all kinds of fun things together and to the point that ryan really didn't feel alone or like he was missing a father figure. his family hadn't been hurting for the money and had successfully paid off the modest two story home that they'd lived in for twenty-someodd years before his mother had kicked the bucket but had his father not worked night and day ryan's entire life it wouldn't have been paid off and they wouldn't have had furniture in the thing. it was a fickle thing, whether or not you had money. for most people it was either you had it or you didn't, either you were starving from hunger or you were starving for attention, but in ryan's world there was always shades of grey. there was always that moment of in between where you could afford a few days of time off if you really wanted it or your television could last another six months if you didn't think you could afford it. to him there was always some sense of a middle ground, like when he fought. when he was in the ring, ryan was a beast. he was animalistic and hungry and he wanted to see blood. the day wasn't complete until ryan harper felt a crunch under his hands and stained the canvas of the fighting ring in someone else's blood. that was just the kind of tenacity he had when all that pent up rage was allowed to flow freely and just unleash hell on the unlucky participant, aka the opponent, but it was a totally different matter the moment the bell rang or when he watched other fights from the sidelines. ryan wasn't a particularly angst-y audience member. he didn't watch with baited breath as someone waited for their opponent to rise to his feet so he could land the final blow in the form of a kick to the head and just end the guy's misery. he was the stoic type in the crowd. while people screamed and enjoyed the tussle going on in front of them, ryan remained silent, his eyes following the match and making note of people's moves in his head. he didn't get excited nor did he excite the rest of the audience around him. the only time he ever got truly unreasonable was when he was egging on the crowd once he was in the ring. but ryan outside of the fight was as calm as ever. he could watch from the sidelines as tame as a pussycat or he wound up just spent after a fight. he never begged the crowd for one more opponent or tried to pick fights outside of the ring because he was still hyped up from the fight. he always removed himself from the ring with ease and walked calmly out. for ryan fighting wasn't a job but an outlet. it was something he needed in order to keep his sanity. bad pun considering his father was currently a resident of the local insane asylum. but in the real world ryan was a boring individual. he had no day job because his fights were his job and those usually came with time to recuperate. he didn't live fight to fight nor did he live to fight, but fighting supported his living. he had money from his mother's will, money his father wasn't entitled to due to his lack of mental capacity, and as such ryan really had more money than was necessary for the quaint little one-roomer he rented. he didn't have to fight for money but the fights helped to pay for the apartment which kept him from having to dip into the family funds more often than not. he was a good, level-headed guy in most cases. he just had the ability to scare the shit out of people. fun no? tristan of course wasn't afraid of him, nor had he ever given her a reason to be. he was a player outside the ring, total man whore. why? because it was fun and it was what he was good at. ryan wasn't a difficult person to understand. he made a point of telling people what he wanted and if they didn't like it they could leave. he was nice. he was civil. hell there were times when he was downright fluffy. he wouldn't stop you if you wanted to high tail it away from him and never see him again but if you didn't, well he was there for a good time. and he gave good times. otherwise, tristan wouldn't be sticking around and joining him for lunch trying to get a looksee into his brain just because she was bored. see? he knew his women. well tristan wasn't a hard woman to understand. she was just like him. simple. she wasn't easy in a derogatory term though some liked to think of her that way but ryan liked to consider her uncomplicated. the best kind of woman out there...for him at least. ryan rolled his eyes as she spoke, looking over her cheap chopsticks. "mine heart be still."

[/b] he mocked as he placed his big hand over his chest directly where everyone says your heart is supposed to sit. he snickered a second at her deadpan tone of voice. "lighten up silver. we could make it a party if you're that fucking bored."[/b] he got enjoyment out of making her squirm or catching her off guard. seeing as how it didn't happen often, it was nice to revel in it when it happened. tristan was all about to come back with some little bit of repartee when he grabbed her leg and gave her a little tug, making her curse. "oh there you are. i thought someone was walking around in a tristan suit. had to see for myself."[/b] he said as she glared at him, making kissy lips to taunt her because...well it was fun. and she could keep up. "hey hey hey. i like jeff. jeff is good to me when i ask him to."[/b] ryan could roll with the punches when she doled them out, and it was always fun to watch her eyes roll when he did so.

"there are a few things you don't fuck with and that's my food and my bubble."[/b] ryan said as he made a gesture to the air around him, "don't pop the bubble. not unless i want you to."[/b] he popped a secondary slice into his mouth, enjoying the taste though it was just a bit of sushi like he got at least once a week. nothing fan-fucking-tastic but it was good enough to keep coming back for. eh. "well at least you're the hot stalker. that homely one with only one tooth likes to follow me around and she just doesn't cut it for me. you on the other hand...i could suffer through that."[/b] he shrugged as she brought up family. lord only knew that his family was beat to hell with the fucked up stick and that wasn't going to stop any time soon. ryan didn't really wish it on anyone else but it was what it was. not much he could do about it. "well you can seek shelter in my sheets any time you like. god knows daddy-o would just looove that."[/b] he said letting the conversation drop there and if tristan wanted to pick it up she would. "hey now. i was sitting here all pretty just waiting on my rolls. you were the one who decided i needed the phil treatment. don't go pretending like i begged for it. remember, you came to me."[/b] and for me he thought with a smirk, hiding those particular words for no special reason. [/div]

1,654 WORDS , TAG: TRYAN , OUTFIT + WHITE UNDERSHIRT , NOTES HERE.

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table by california dreaming @ caution 2.0

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