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Post by remy on Jul 12, 2011 15:50:26 GMT -6
 ,SHE JUST COULD not get behind this town. why did people flock here? the hype around valkyrie, california just baffled her. it was just another little town on the coast of california. it was too hot, there was too much sun, and the people were too busy looking in the mirror to realize just how bigoted and pedestrian they actually were. she kind of felt bad for them. the citizens here, after all, didn't have much of a choice. they were raised here, in this paralyzed environment. it's not like they knew any better. but what about everyone else? the population of valkyrie had doubled over with tourists who decided to make a life here. it's "charming", an amazing city with so much promise and potential. that's what every friggin travel brochure claimed of this place. she had yet to see any of it. as she wandered the dusty roads, all remy persephone tremblay could conclude was that this place was a wasteland. maybe it was nice, once. not the shining star everyone fucking loved, but nothing to spit on. all she saw was a broken city, fractured beyond repair. it would never be the same. that's what everyone else said. it was just another california town, weakened by the damage that destroyed it. yeah. real hype.
it was too hot. there was too much sun. the beach was too long, with too many squealing teenage girls in ugly bikinis. it was dirty, too. in a clean kind of way. local authorities were just getting lazy with the dusting and vaccuming. maybe there's a reason your city looks so fucking ridiculous. everything remy saw, she criticized. it wouldn't be too difficult to make this place at least look inhabitable. plant a flower, paint a door. it'd take an hour and a couple hundred dollars. the bubble-dwellers could afford it. so maybe they could hire the recently unemployed, make their town prettier and stop complaining about how the destruction ruined their home. there are only about fifty other places exactly like valkyrie. if you hate it so much, get the fuck out and leave everyone's plastic ears alone. they're too young to have to get replacements, fuck. everything remy tremblay saw, she looked down on. she didn't like having to wear sunglasses, but she had to because there was so much damn sun. buy a cloud or something. california was too hot, she hated the heat. and she wouldn't go near the beach because it would be sweaty and crowded and just boring. what else was there keeping all these people here? the money? it was tied up with the plastic ear-wearers. the work? what work? the sights? burning houses and spikey rubble, real charming. maybe they needed to travel a little, experience a little culture. they then'd smarten up and never come back.
that was her plan.
the only reason she was here was because her best friend was. remy would never have blindly pointed at a map of the united states and declare valkyrie as her new destination. she hated everything california stood for. she'd happily be sitting at home in boston, probably watching the islanders lose (again) and waiting for derek to bring her chinese food. fucker was always late and she never tipped him. but now derek would have nothing to do, he'd lose his job and it would be all valkyrie's fault. she liked that logic. and she was stuck here. until venecia decided to leave, she was going to have to shut the fuck up and deal with the heat. she was no hypocrite, remy. if she snapped at everyone else to glue their trap shut, she should have to as well. didn't stop her mind rebelling. oh well. she wasn't bothering anyone but the people she glared at. well, stop looking and you won't get offended, you fried glittering girl. put more lipgloss on. it was people like that - the typical california girl - who needed to get out more, see the rest of the world. maybe they'd realize that the combination of bleached hair, orange skin, fat lips and sticky eyeshadow makes you look like the remains of a bulimic's dinner. well...who knows. remy tremblay had never been around people like this before. she liked to think she came from too "cultured" places. montreal had its own thing going on. and everyone knew what boston was like. both of which are leaps more appealing than valkyrie, california. i swear, the second venny decided to ditch, remy was taking her orange skin and experiencing some culture. you don't back out on a plan.
there was maybe one saving grace for this town. perhaps a few more. they're really hard to find. a diamond in a rough that reminded her of home. from day one, remy avoided the beach-side. anything to do with california, she stayed away. that lead her through the shattered neighbourhoods, a tetnis shot, and toward the outskirts of town. on the east side, closest to where she belonged. it was called the honest lawyer, and it made her shiver with nostalgia. the dusty little dive bar most took extra time to evade. she could see why; the glittering girls don't like anything other than strobe lights and being skinny. it was big, with dim lighting and messy in that accomplished pub kind of way. but the dark wood was buffed and polished, the floors were swept, and nothing really smelled too much. the doors creaked, and the joints of the regulars creaked more. it was exactly like her domains back in boston. only the tvs were better here, high definition sexiness. if she wasn't in her hotel room channel surfing and eating pizza, she was here.
all afternoon this had been her home. like most days, remy was still going strong as the day floated into a balmy evening. a half-finished plate of nachos guarded her bar stool, marking her dinner. the sounds were a buzzing hum, the low rumble of people just off work. who worked until seven-thirty? the scotch was just being poured by chuck, bartender and owner with a scruffy laugh. hard days all around, i guess. her day had been just fine. it went between rounds of pool, beating herself at darts and exchanging stories with chuck. the only other people here during the afternoon were either unemployed regulars who had the best jokes. or randoms no one liked. it was around now that the atmosphere glowed. she loved this place. clutching the neck of her nearly empty beer bottle - coors - her light eyes stared at the plasma screen above the bar. the red wings were going to lose. again. anytime they touched the ice in chicago, they failed. sucks. she had fifty bucks on the game with larry over there, crooning on the piano. fuck off, blackhawks. draining the rest of her bottle, she snarled as the buzzer marked the end of the game. five to one. thanks a lot, guys. swinging around in her stool, remy bounced onto the floor, making a one way stop to the pool tables. picking up a cue, she pointed it at the rest of the bar. she didn't know half the people here. good. she needed new company. "so, because the 'wings are fuckers, i'm down fifty bucks. who can i beat at pool so i break even?" she eyed the crowd, bouncing her the balls of her feet. she didn't have fifty bucks.
[/size][/blockquote] ----------------------------------------------------------- TAGGED, charlie !
DATE, march, 2012. the honest lawyer.
LENGTH, 1249 words.
ATTIRE, hurr.
NOTES, first poooost.
CREDITS, format and graphics to me.
lyrics to spirit of the west - "home for a rest"
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Post by charlierose on Jul 25, 2011 20:11:20 GMT -6
, edmund charles rose COUNTING SHADOWS IN THE SUN THERE'S ENOUGH FOR EVERYONE
HERE AMONGST US NOW AND THEN TELLING STORIES WITH NO END [/sup] - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -[/center] "hold on a second." he pressed the cellphone against against his chest. "i'm not sure you should be watching that, rory." his little sister was glued to the living room's television set, motionless except for languidly playing with her dark blond pigtails. monty python and the holy grail was what appeared to have her so engrossed, and charlie was no expert on kids or responsibility, but he was pretty sure that there were a few parts that were not exactly suitable for four year old eyes. "i like it," said rory plaintively, giving him wide eyed, woebegone look. the cheeky little bugger already knew how easy it was to manipulate him, goodness gracious. "and i like to sleep all day, but you never let me." rory kicked her tiny feet against the edge of the sofa and returned her brown eyed gaze to the television. "that's not true." the knights of the round table were in the middle of their big musical number. goodness, charlie had almost forgotten the incredible magnitude of monty python's fabulousness. "you know, rory, lies make baby jesus cry." the little girl gave an adorable little cackle and proceeded to resist charlie's further requests that she change the channel or something, so he was forced to toss his cellphone onto the coffee table and tickle her until she gave in and gave him permission to change the channel. "that's a good little minion," he said, giving her an affectionate pat on the head before grabbing his cell phone from the table, bringing it back up to his ear and leaving the room again. "hey, cat, what's a pram?" he asked, his interest having just been piqued by a knight's singing declaration of having to push the pram a lot. "it's a stroller or something. i think that's what they call it in the uk and australia," came cat's slightly crackling and muffled voice from the other end of the line. good old cat, always a veritable fountain of information. "oh. okay. awesome." he paused and prepared for an abrupt change of subject. "you're coming to valkyrie this summer, right?" he heard her expel a large quantity of air. "uh, yeah. probably for a couple of weeks or so i guess." charlie scoffed. "well, that is just unacceptable. come onnnn, cat, stay for longerrrr. it'll be so much funnnn." "wow. that was amazing. it really makes me want to spend a lengthy amount of time living in the same house as you." charlie scowled good naturedly. "come on cat, quit being such a party pooping douche. douchey, party pooping girls almost never catch husbands, you know." cat let out a quick, mirthless cackle. "oh well. i suppose i'll just have to content myself with becoming an old maid or a prostitute." charlie grinned. "well. at least you're being kind of positive for once. even if it is about being a hooker." he heard what seemed to be a door opening and then closing on cat's end of the line. "positivity is incredibly overrated," said cat dismissively. "but i've got to go to class, so i'll talk to you later, ed." charlie managed to shout a warning against calling him ed as well as insist loudly that she stay in valkyrie for the whole summer before she could hang up on him.
he tucked his phone into the pocket of his jeans and proceeded to the kitchen, where he left a note of the white board being held to the refrigerator by magnetic force for either his father or his step mom, saying that he was going out and advising them not to expect him back very soon. he left the house a few minutes later with his cello in tow in the car, as he had agreed to provide some classy tunes for some charity party at the country club and he was already running a bit late. he ducked into a men's room to change into his tux when he got there, which was probably somewhat unprofessional of him, but damned if he gave a fuck. he joined a couple of his fellow musicians afterwards and produced some respectable waltzing material for several hours before things started to wrap up. they packed up their instruments and charlie said, "gentlemen, it has been an honor playing with you tonight." which was his obligatory end-of-the-gig maxim, even though it wasn't exactly accurate to be referring to the time of day as "tonight."
he left the country club in a bit of a hurry about fifteen minutes later after having hung around for a while, chatting with a few lingering guests, wandering out to the tennis courts to watch aging rich people practice their backhands before nearly getting caught reaching for a green bill visible over the top of the leather wallet situated in the back pocket of the jeans of an attendant about to go home for the day. finding himself on the road, aimless and humming along to the radio, he decided to hit up a bar or some sort of similar establishment, because he hadn't for a while. for the past few consecutive nights he had been roped into babysitting the twins while his father and rochelle went out and made merry. he arrived at the honest lawyer not longer after. it was one of his fairly regular haunts, where he was often found playing darts and hustling pool, though the latter activity had become increasingly difficult, because pretty much all the regulars weren't so stupid as to not have realized that he wasn't actually as hopeless at pool as he claimed to be. he hung around chatting with various bar patrons for a while, ordered a beer, asked a pretty girl for her number and got rejected. after a while, he realized that it would probably be a good idea to change out of his tux, because it was weird. so he grabbed his bag of regular garb from the car and ducked once again into the men's room to change, managing to almost drop his nice jacket into the toilet in the process. pausing to survey his reflection in the mirror, he ruffled up his hair then spun on his heel and returned the tux to the car before settling back onto a bar stool to chillax for a bit. "so, because the 'wings are fuckers, i'm down fifty bucks. who can i beat at pool so i break even?" scratch that. he spun swiftly about on the stool and located the girl who had just spoke. she was bouncing on the balls of her feet and seemed to have been adressing the entire bar, which was good, because he had been set on taking her up on the proposition as soon as he had heard it. "hey there," he said cheerily, hopping off of his stool and striding over to where the girl stood. she was freckly and blonde and very pretty. he placed a hand on her shoulder and grinned. "i'm just awful at pool, i assure you." he grabbed a cue, stood at the end of the table opposite her and held it horizontally over his abdomen. "right. my name is charlie. i'm a capricorn, i enjoy gazpacho, listening to the ramones, and we're betting fifty dollars on the outcome of this match, yeah?" he brought his cue up to a more vertical position and tapped it against his shoulder, fixing the skinny, leather jacket wearing blonde with another grin. "who are you?"
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - STATUS complete.
TAG remy!
CREDIT lyrics by akron/family.
ATTIRE here minus the jacket.
NOTES this is late and probably horrible because i rushed it because i'm tired, i'm so terrible.
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Post by remy on Aug 2, 2011 2:22:11 GMT -6
,BEING HERE, IN this crummy little establishment felt good. she almost forgot that she was here, in valkyrie. with the air conditioning cooling the entire bar - she absolutely refused to pay her tab unless chuck made it sub-arctic i here - it almost felt like home. slam those blinds shut, and she could even believe it. it had been remy tremblay's very first mission upon arriving in california, to make somewhere her own. okay well...it was her second. but the first was a pansy-ass move, so she pretended that didn't happen. showing up at venny's hotel room, armed with ice cream, a cosmopolitan and some dumb chick flick had been her girly attempt at bonding. to make her best friend feel better. the ice cream had been devoured, and they spent more time mocking the magazine than reading it. the movie sucked. she did something right, however, followed the script. the glittering girl gods would be happy. remy spent a better part of that evening trashing the person who'd made her best friend miserable in the first place. luca giovanni was her friend. but you don't mess with her soulmate, there. they prefered not to talk about their sad attempt at "girl time". how do they do it so easily? and so often? remy here felt better when she was out of the house not crying over something. girls are dumb. dumb and emotional and obsessive and just too...concerned. over everything. life is simple when you are disconcerted, neutral. pull your head out of your ass and follow the river, maybe stop to play. remy was an aloof virtuoso. her time was not spent tanning or gossiping or complaining about some boy. her and venny play doltish to such experiences. and the lovely result? mission number two was a success.
the honest lawyer, honestly, did not belong in valkyrie. it had a subdued, charmless sort of charm to it. a wrecked little building, crippled by the damage left over by the earthquake, was not in the recipe for a perfect little town. i suppose that is why it was dismissed by flawless valkyrie architects. it did not fit in with their vision. well, look what happened. if anything, chuck's scuzzy establishment was a pleasing, if exquisite, extension of this quaint little california town now. everything blended seamlessly with it. really, the regulars at the 'lawyer did not belong in valkyrie, either. most were a different shape, forced into a suit that callused their skin. i guess they were numb by now. it didn't take remy long to realize that this place was a piece of serendipity, a bittersweet heaven. and no one wanted it to be a devestated extension of the destructive nature accumulating in the heart of valkyrie. according to chuck, it had taken less than a week to stitch up his wounds. repaired, buffed and polished to the dirty shine everyone had become accustomed to. it was one of the reasons remy liked this place as much as she did. it did not belong here, and it knew that. but this is where it was, and it was going to remain that way. you do what you can with what you have, and that's okay. comfortable, satisfying. charles anderson looked at his rumpled ale house and could smile. valkyrie was just going to have to adapt to the honest lawyer.
it was affectionate and disgusting. but remy still smiled.
boston was different. she had made that fairly obvious. all of valkyrie, california had better learn that her hometown was miles ahead. but, she had to admit, there was nothing like this place there. or, there was. too many. remy had countless choices of where to loiter. every sports pub in charlestown was equipped with the same chilled environment, canadian athletics, cheap beer and weathered smiles. there was only one of those here. and all it needed was an air conditioner and anything but baseball. this place could have passed for a respectable dive back home. see? mission number two was accomplished. the only part that made her nauseous was the propensity that came with the story. the history of her new 'hang' was just adorable. she smiled, appreciative to know the secret. but it was still a headache. she hated anything heart-warming and comfortable. oh well. compromises would have to be made. this was one she was going to be okay with. part of her liked it better than her regulars back home. you just shut the hell up about that. boston may have been exceeding everything this sunny state had to offer, but the honest lawyer was a little atypical to that. you stir the charmless charm and her flawless mission in the pot, and you have utter perfection.
hours spent here was increasing by the day. maybe she should just force chuck to hire her. bring in more people, just to give the old bastard more money. he was fair with it, but some of the alcoholic variety was subpar. polar ice vodka? at least do smirnoff. it didn't take like feet. see what this dumb place did to her? it stirred her mind. she was nostalgic and affectionate and gooey and just...blargh. lovely description. but whatever. it's not like anyone would tell. remy had been gripping the pool cue for several minutes, aqua eyes searching her surroundings. it'd been less than two weeks and she could call this place her own. it slowed her down sometimes, when she allowed herself to think about it. it was fucking awesome. anywhere the bartender doesn't quietly tell you to shut the fuck up is good. instead, chuck threw his dirty rag at her, betting her five bucks she couldn't be quiet for more than ten minutes. she got free shots when her team won. and he flipped a quarter at her when she actually let him turn on something other than hockey, whatever his other customers wanted to watch. what do californians like? nascar and basketball. well, at least it wasn't curling. that was a canadian sport she could not get behind. leaning heavily on the splintered cue, the montreal native continued her grin once the mushy moment passed. fucking finally. yeah, this was her place. get used to it. there. that's better. and if you think otherwise, come here and try to spend six hours here seven days a week. she was going to get paid to loiter here eventually, don't worry about it.
until then, her whimpering bank account was relying on the uneven pool tables and her amateurish abilities. remy usually won the games by smiling, batting her eyelashes. old truckers loved it when anything flirted with them. throw a pretty young thing at them? sold. the dudes who played darts were harder, but they weren't here. chris was, but he had won the bet. he was annoying and she didn't like him anymore. unfortunately enough, this particular individual probably wasn't going to fall for her girly act. eh. crossing one foot over the other at the ankle, remy smiled at him. his harmless swagger was reminiscent of her own. "i'm just awful at pool, i assure you." uh huh. he had an easy charm to him, a cheeky grin and a dancing glint in his eye. taking a minute to observe this charlie fellow closer, a humorous smile creased her cheeks. "i don't have a name. i just hate gazpacho." she mimicked him, tapping his shoulder lighty with her cue. "remy. i am a hockey loving boston dweller from montreal. i speak frenchm and i miss my free health care. i could live on strawberry milkshakes, and metallica isn't too bad." she paused, eyebrows raising. "yes, because detroit cannot employ decent athletes. and you aren't as awful as you claim. but you can break, just in case." shrugging out of her jacket, remy backed toward the pool table, pulling the triangle from encasing the balls.
[/size][/blockquote] ----------------------------------------------------------- TAGGED, charlie !
DATE, march, 2012. the honest lawyer.
LENGTH, 1325 words.
ATTIRE, hurr.
NOTES, jesus fuck this is bad.
CREDITS, format and graphics to me.
lyrics to spirit of the west - "home for a rest"
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