--- tough to be tender ,

[mannat]

IF YOU'RE ALIVE MY REGRETS ARE FEW IF MY LIFE IS MINE, WHAT
SHOULDN'T I DO WHILE MY BLOOD'S STIL FLOWING AND MY
HEART'S STILL BEATING LIKE A HAMMER

. . . . . . .

It was days such as these in which Mannat wished she never set foot in this flower shop five years ago. She hated her current coworker, who was going on and on about some bull shit Mannat couldn’t care less about. She cared about Janice Alderman wearing the same thing as Lisa as much as she cared about the not so stick strips of glue that adhered to barbie accessories, False, that was a complete and utter lie, Mannat adored that weird glue substance, and would take the packaging from her little sister just so she could play with the dried, yellowed bits of glue, stretching them until they snapped. But Lisa? she was being a dirty wench and the only way of shutting up a dirty wench was to snuff out the words coming out of her mouth. Now don’t get her wrong, Mannat was hardly a violent person, she was one of the most peaceful people she knew, and that was saying something. However, that did not stop the twenty year old from passively releasing her anger, especially at a time like this. She positioned herself for the attack in a subtle, cautious way, just as she was placing some arrangements in the standing cooler by the till counter. this was just in time for Lisa to steal some more oxygen for her meaningless story when Mannat jumped onto her, hugging Lisa tightly. It was perfect, it startled her younger, stupider coworker enough to stop her from speaking. With a smile Mannat whispered, “Shut your mouth, you make me want to kick nuns in their ovaries with your dumb stories. And finish your arrangement, the customer is coming in an hour.” That did the trick, and thus Lisa began to do the job she was actually paid to do, not to yammer on about her stupid existence. Sure Mannat was a little harsh on the seventeen year old, but my god, how many times can she talk about Janice Alder-whatever? Exactly.

As soon as Mannat thought the shop was going to quiet and serene, a perfect time to make some more arrangements, an obviously unruly and flustered customer had to come in. The girl was certainly not in the mood for this shit anymore than she was with Lisa’s. She didn’t care that he was trying to impress some pathetic girl who said she only liked peach colored roses. Nor did she find his anecdote about how he asked her out very thrilling... No. that was also a complete lie. She thought he was absolutely brilliant by getting a fake bloody ear, putting it in a box with a message that read, ‘will you Gogh out with me?’ it was awfully sweet and so very damn clever that Mannat was almost jealous. Then she realized he used such a marvelous pick up line on a completely heinous wench. Who likes peach colored roses?! they were just white roses with their stems in pale orange/yellow water. There was no real beauty to them, and Mannat was hardly in the mood to do this request until he said that he needed about eighteen dozen. Wow. that was basically the budget for the entire week in one sale. Yeah, okay, She supposed she could do something to make this bloke happy, and besides, Mannat needed to get rid of some of the white roses in the greenhouse to make some room for some brown eyed Susan's and a patch of lilies she wanted to grow. Reluctantly, Mannat agreed told the poor guy that his order will be ready in about a week’s time, just in time with this big celebratory and with that being said, Mannat scurried up to the roof.

Wolfsbane & Gillyweed was marvelously crafted, in her humble opinion, as she opened the door to enter the roof on which the company’s greenhouse was located. To be fairly honest, it was Mannat’s idea for this nifty trick, it was a great way to improve the business too, having the flowers right here, grown here. It was built with particular care in which the ceiling of the greenhouse could be opened up and closed as need be. It was quite technical for such a simple building, and with a little help from her engineering friends at Valkyrie University, the mechanics were set up immediately. The greenhouse itself held a variety of flowers, from pretty blue bells to the ever so popular and equally as boring roses in a variety of colours. Though the greenhouse took up nearly three quarters of the roof’s surface area, the remaining quarter was transformed into a small, yet cozy sitting space. The edges were covered in of course flowers, but with the addition of spindley tube lights that were wrought in gentle spirals around the edge of the building and up along the metal poles, lightly illuminating the rooftop at night. there were two hammocks along the flowerbeds, overlooking the city at certain angles. There was also a three legged table with old books in its drawers and candles everywhere. it was simple but quite beautiful, the very location that a multitude of her videos were filmed up here, secluded but still a part of the city.

However, she was not here to relax and hide from the real world, she had a job to do. The girl had two hundred and sixteen roses to dye, although it was a simple task, it was far more arduous than necessary. With a crack of her knuckles and stretch of her back, Mannat grabbed some cutters, placing them by the edge of the counter leading toward the doors and then began to pace the house about, grabbing buckets to place outside. She was sure as hell not going to do this in the damp and usually musky greenhouse. As she was filling up the buckets with water, she heard scrambling in the distance. Thinking nothing of it, she yelled across the area, “You know Lisa, at least one of us has to be downstairs, or else people will start to suspect something,” Mannat laughed a little, expecting to hear some weird response. But alas she was disappointed yet again by this teenager. Seriously, was the generation behind hers really so idiotic as she thought? She pushed the sleeves of her sweater up her slender forearms, resuming her work when she heard something crashing to the floor. What the hell? Muttering a curse in Punjabi, Mannat marched back to the entrance of the greenhouse, determined to give a piece of her mind when she stopped in the midst of her bee line of potential, but passive, terror. She expected her gangly coworker, but what she was presented with was a stranger. Mannat remained quiet for a moment, pursing her lips a little, thinking. Who the hell was this guy? Why was he at the greenery? And why was he so damn tall? She wanted to ask these questions, but instead, her mouth operating without her consent said, ”Well, what are you waiting for? Pass me those shears, will you?” She gestured towards the filthy pair of bright blue cutters as she silently scolded herself, not exactly the most important question that needed addressing, good one, Mouth.

. . . . . . .

notes first post in months, sorry if it sucks punched nun ovaries.
tagged gray <3
words much longer than anticipated (that's what she said)
attire pretty girl
cred help i'm alive, metric, asia made the snazzy banner <3

[/blockquote][/blockquote][/blockquote][/justify]

[grayson]

••• ---------------------------------------------------------------------- •••

------ So... he had re-met his sister, his birth sister. Half-blood sister... whatever she was, he had met her again. Earlier that week, he had found Maggie Giovanni and gotten himself assigned to work for her again. After the drug cartel had been trumped by Maggie Giovanni, the boy had been lost. He had not known what to do. He ended up wandering around. He had even considered suicide, not so much because he was depressed but because he was confused. He didn't. Obviously. He found himself at an old rundown bar, somewhere off the highway in Mexico. An old man, sort of like Graysons drunken old Mexican man guru, had told him to get his ass to see his real family now that he had been set free. But of course, Grayson had only partially followed that man's advice. His sister Kory had been in Valkyrie, which was where Maggie was. He was well broken and trained, Maggie was one of the group he "owed his life to." Freedom? Grayson did not really understand what that word meant or if he ever wanted to. He was comfortable being controlled. So he had found Maggie first, then went to see Kory so he did not completely disappoint the old man.

------ Grayson was good at a lot of things. He was boy genius as a kid and while he didn't utilize all his potential, he was still highly quick thinking, calculating, good at problem solving and code breaking but he had never been taught anything about computers. So, hacking was not his area of expertise. Luckily, working for a large drug cartel in Mexico had its perks. He had the professional number for A.Heyward, best hacker on the planet basically. Gray had spent most of the money had for Heyward to track down Maggie Giovanni and Korina Dixon, his sister. He found out what Kory looked like, that she was a prostitute called "Mayat" and that she lived in a pretty small but clean apartment near the Valkyrie church. Grayson had gone there earlier today. She seemed very nice. It was just awkward. It was interesting though. Gray was a virgin who got awkward when girls came onto him, which happened fairly often actually, and Kory.... well... she was not a virgin and made a living, not being a virgin. The seemed a lot more open to trying to have a relationship with him. She told him about when Adam, her fraternal twin, died from contracting Aids and how Mike and Andy had fucked up their lives. Basically Grayson knew this before, the information from Heyward let him know but he wanted to let Kory tell him about it from the view of someone was there. It figures. His birth family was more screwed up than many of the crime families he had come across.

------ Family was yet another subject his brain was a bit twisted on. He was confused by it. He didn't know whether it meant shared blood, or actual relationship. And if it meant relationship, was it the way he had been with the Corinthos drug cartel? Or was it only how he had been with Maggie? She was nicer to him so it felt different, but he had thought of that as only friendship and then with the bosses, that was family... right? Family was whoever... whoever owned you. Like how a father tells his son not to stay out and then punishes him he disobeyed. Family was who owned or controlled you so the Italians were now his family. That was the only way his brain could except anything. And if that's the case, one of his family was calling him at that very moment. Grayson accepted the call as he approached a flower shop, not realizing they grew many of their flowers on the roof, which was his destination. He reached up and lowered the ladder for the fire escape and pinched his phone between his shoulder and head as he began to climb, "What's up?" He asked absent mindedly, "Lei aspettava il pacchetto?" - were you expecting a package? - The male voice asked in Italian. Grayson nodded as if the guy could see him as he reached the first landing and began jogging up the metal stairs. "Se riguarda la misura di una grande valigia, sì. Sono i miei bambini che non potrei intraprendere l'autobus." - If it's about the size of a large suitcase, yes. They're my babies that I couldn't take on the bus. - Grayson replied speaking perfect Italian but with a heavy American accent. The only languages he had a perfect accent in was Spanish, simply because he used it the most growing up in Mexico. My guess, the longer he uses his Italian on a daily basis, the better it would get.

------ Grayson raised an eyebrow when he hit the roof of the shop. He carefully climbed over the plant covered edges with lights. He frowned as the voice over the phone spoke again. "Che fa lei?" - what are you doing? - Grayson shook his head, "Surveying, Ma questo luogo non farà" - surveying, but this place won't do - He replied, code switching the languages a bit, the voice then told Gray he would put the guns in his room and then hung up. Gray slipped the phone back into his pocket. Yeah, this roof was clearly inhabited too often. It was pretty though. He walked towards the front of the roof and looked around, calculating the angles in his brain and pulled out a small map and crossed out the location, when he heard a voice call out. “You know Lisa, at least one of us has to be downstairs, or else people will start to suspect something,” Oh shit, someone was already up here. Gray looked around once more before knowing he should get out of there. He folded up his map and pushed it into his back pocket and placed the pen behind his ears before turning around to leave, not seeing a small three legged table. He didn't so much as trip but knock it over. He leaned down and lifted it back up, pushing its drawer back in when he heard the voice again, closer this time. ”Well, what are you waiting for? Pass me those shears, will you?” Gray had seen the shears as he walked in and without thinking picked them up for her. He stood up straight and turned around. He froze for a minute, looking at her. Wow, she was... well, not the point. He then reached over to hand them to her. "Here." He said plainly, as if it were completely normal for him to be on that roof, to hand her some shears.

••• ---------------------------------------------------------------------- •••

STATUS;; complete
TAGGED;; grannat<3
CREDITS;; format stolen from lainey, with a little tweaking by me
LYRICS;; 'Haven't Met You Yet" by BennyG Michael Buble (totally their song in my head already)
CLOTHES;; here
NOTES;;

[mannat]

IF YOU'RE ALIVE MY REGRETS ARE FEW IF MY LIFE IS MINE, WHAT
SHOULDN'T I DO WHILE MY BLOOD'S STIL FLOWING AND MY
HEART'S STILL BEATING LIKE A HAMMER

. . . . . . .

It always puzzled Mannat why she never went back to the towns she used to live in. When she moved from the town she was born in, she didn’t even bother to go back when her parents sold the house to collect her things, they did it for her. When she moved from Vancouver Island, hell, Canada altogether to California, she had not been back to even visit. That was five years ago. She was sixteen at the time, had a healthy friend circle, but she never attempted to go back, or even have the need to do so. Sure at the beginning when she started at Roosevelt High, she missed her friends, and the British Columbian school system as a whole tremendously, like how an australian parent missed their baby after a dingo took it... But just like that parent accepts the fact that the dingo isn’t going to give the baby back, she accepted the fact she was not going to go back. Once Mannat left, she left for good. It was a pattern indeed, but what Mannat could not understand was why she kept promising her old friends that she would come back, that she would be back. She said those words at sixteen, that she will come back for winter break. That never happened. She also said she would come back for college in British Columbia, that she hated the United States, and all that fluff. That never happened. It was beginning to look like she was a total flake, it was unsettling the more she thought of it.

Mannat wanted to say that, you know, one day, when she has the money, she will go back, she can’t put it off forever... But it had been eleven years since she went back to Prince Rupert, and that was a place she was born in. Historians would manage to go there to start her biography before she would once she was famous. She supposed it was just easier to have a clean break than have the constant ties with her past. The girl did not want to be reminded about all the good times she had, or how bad things were, she sure as hell did not want to go back to Prince Rupert, not as much as she wanted to go back to the island, but still. She preferred just leaving her fingerprints in places, not necessarily a commitment, to places anyway. Thinking back on it, when they were moving, Mannat hated it. Absolutely loathed it to a point where she had stopped unpacking her room, since they were going to leave anyhow. But now, at twenty, things were different. She and her family had stayed in Valkyrie for five years, on the same street, in the same house. Five years. Now she wanted to move, somewhere, anywhere. Mannat had that weird traveler's itch, when she just needed to get out, to leave all she knew behind to explore the great unknown.

The perpetual relocating did teach her how to deal with people a little better she thought. Mannat had to be adaptable, had to be charming and sweet and knew how well to work with people because she was not planning on staying very long. But the girl surprised even herself, for living in Valkyrie for this long, she also had this job at ‘Wolfsbane and Gillyweed’ for nearly as long. That was just pure luck, really. It was luck in the sense that after a few months, Mannat was able to run the shop all by herself, the owners were just that awesome. And the regular customers were pretty fantastic. Sure, sometimes she had people who made her want to do terrible things to a voodoo doll to get her rage out, but all in all, Mannat was very fortunate that she adored her employment as much as she adored her major in college. Just like now, even if Mannat had to dye roses, she did not mind it much to be honest. she liked the way the flowers would drink up the colored water, have a shade of it reflect in its petals.
However, what Mannat did mind was being interrupted. Be it mid conversation, mid task, whatever, she absolutely abhorred being interrupted whilst doing something productive. She was getting better at it now, usually ignoring whatever the hell was going on, getting ‘into the zone’ as some people put it. But ti was pretty damn hard when someone decided to run into the table by the hammocks. that cause a downright ruckus Mannat could not ignore. What she was not expecting was some guy she never saw before standing in the landing. She did not know what to do when he just...looked at her.

It was a little awkward, but rest assured, that Mannat had the impeccable ability to turn even the most innocent, flat of times into a socially awkward palooza. Biting down on her bottom lip, she began to fiddle with her hands before reaching over to him. “Thank you,” She smiled, cautiously taking the shears from his hands. Walking a little passed him, Mannat began to snip some roses while still keeping an eye on this stranger. Not for nothing, but she felt oddly comfortable with him standing there. For all she knew he could be a stone cold killer or something, but Mannat was comfortable nonetheless. Humming a little, she turned on her heel to grab a basket and went back to snipping some more flowers, periodically looking over at the guy, “Now, let’s play a game, shall we? It’s called, ‘what are you doing on the roof?’. I’ll start.” her fingers glided over the petals effortlessly, smoothing them up instinctively, the pile in the basket raising to somewhere near twenty white roses. She wanted to ask him far more questions, but now, she had to address it with priority. She needed to know why this stranger was here, she’ll prod away at how he even got up here at a later point, but first thing’s first, “Hi, my name is Mannat, and I’m on the roof because I have to make a ridiculous order that requires two hundred and sixteen roses. See? isn’t this fun? Now it’s your turn!” Mannat gazed over at him, raising her brows a little, with a slight smile playing at her lips. hoping he would play along.

. . . . . . .

notes first post in months, sorry if it sucks punched nun ovaries.
tagged gray <3
words much longer than anticipated (that's what she said)
attire pretty girl
cred help i'm alive, metric, asia made the snazzy banner <3

[/blockquote][/blockquote][/blockquote][/justify]

[grayson]

••• ---------------------------------------------------------------------- •••

------ Grayson was a smart guy. It was why he was taken in the first place. But smart did not mean he knew everything. Most of the time Grayson felt like he knew very little and honestly, it didn't bother him that much. Everything he needed to know, he would be told by the boss. That was the way it had always been. And when it came to his so called "brain washing" as Fil, the old drunken man in the Mexican bar who got him to come to Valkyrie, had come to call it, Grayson knew on some level the man was correct, but at the same time it had been so successful, Grayson didn't care. Grayson knew he had been kidnapped by two German men. He knew he had been sold to the Corinthos. He knew the Corinthos were pissed he was unconscious and close to death when they were delivered him. He knew his training was a mixture of beatings and compassion. He knew the burn scars where from them making sure he hit any target they wanted him to. But what he also knew was that they saved his life from those traders. What he knew was that his home life, before being taken was not happy. What he knew, was that once he stopped fighting them, he became pretty happy. What he knew... What he knew was that the training made him good at his job.

------ Gray would have a hard time presenting a clear argument to a stranger why he came straight back to "the life" when he had been set free of it. Fil seemed to both get it and shrug it off at the same time, but Grayson knew how it must have sounded, how it must sound, to anyone who hasn't been through something similar. Grayson could not tell you what was right and wrong. All he could do is say what he felt, brain washed, stockholm syndrome, whatever, call it what you like but he didn't feel these things as a disorder, he felt them as they were real. And he liked his job. He was good at it. He liked feeling like he was useful. He loved the physics involved too. Grayson had never really had schooling. It was not like the cartel was worried about his education, all he needed to know was how to do his job. But it would be hard to try to say that Gray was not educated. He educated himself. He remembered everything he read and he read a lot. Other than German and Spanish, he was self-taught on all the other languages he had learned. He had really only learned them because he was told it would be useful. He read a lot of history books. Some physics books but honestly, math and physics were the two area's his brain had always had a shine too, even a child. That was why his birth mother had used him.

------ From what he understood of his past before being taken. His mother was a bit of an addict who used him as a meal ticket. At least, that's what Kory told him. He vaguely remembered being carted around to different colleges to take long tests so it made sense. The way Kory had put it was that Gray was one of those natural minds that you really could not do much other than sit back and stare in amazement as he completes math problems that take adults half their lives to complete in a matter of hours. Gray was happy to know that that was his from birth. He had a tendency to calculate numbers and use physics when just looking around a room. It was why his aim was so precise and why he was so good at playing quarters, he calculated the physics in his head to get a good shot. Seriously though, Gray never missed at quarters. He liked to prove himself to people outside of the job. And when the guys would go to the bars and relax, Gray had been left out a lot. He was an awkward white pre-teen boy, but when one of them convinced him to play with them, expecting him to be bad so they could have a good laugh, they learned it was the opposite and spent the night testing him. It was like he was one of them. Quarters made him fit in and begin truly to enjoy the cartels company. One could argue it was that night that truly concluded his brain washing. He never fought against orders again.

------ It barely mattered. All of this was just to say that it doesn't really matter to Gray what a therapist would say if they got ahold of him and the story of his past, for Gray, his life was his life and currently, now that he was back on job, he was comfortable and liking his job again. He didn't care who understood or not. This girl in front of him obviously worked at the flower shop whose roof he was on, if she loved the flowers, it would be hard for her to explain how she loved them to Gray in order for him to understand, because to him, they were pretty and that's all he thought of them, he could consider them pointless, so expecting anyone else to understand him was a bit much. He gave a quick smile as she said thank you before walking past him. She began to cut some roses. He watched her for a moment, were they done? was that the end of her questioning? It couldn't be. He had been caught on roofs before, it had more to it. He put his hands in the pockets of his plaid jacket and glanced over his shoulder, scanning the other rooftops quickly when he heard her speak. He turned his head back to look at the girl. “Now, let’s play a game, shall we? It’s called, ‘what are you doing on the roof?’. I’ll start.”

------ Gray smiled his half smile and held down a small laugh at her words and nodded. See? he knew there would be more questions. Although the smile was because no one had ever exactly taken this approach to the question. “Hi, my name is Mannat, and I’m on the roof because I have to make a ridiculous order that requires two hundred and sixteen roses. See? isn’t this fun? Now it’s your turn!” Gray smiled again, this time big enough to see teeth, and bowed his head down briefly before lifting his head and nodding, "Okay..." He began, agreeing to participate, he turned his body towards her, just noticing how much taller he was compared to her, although he was 6'3", it happened a lot. "Hi Mannat, my name is Grayson. And I am on the roof because I have to make a ridiculous project on the different architectural styles in Valkyrie for my design class." Gray replied, mirroring her form. That was always his excuse really. He was an architecture student from the University, "I was just getting a better view." He replied, almost honestly. "I didn't mean to interrupt your work," He added trying to be polite, "or your two hundred and sixteen roses." he gestured to where her hands were working. He furrowed his brow for a moment thinking about it. After a moment of quiet he continued "It's an odd number for roses... is it some 'mark of the beast' party going on?"

••• ---------------------------------------------------------------------- •••

STATUS;; complete
TAGGED;; grannat<3
CREDITS;; format stolen from lainey, with a little tweaking by me
LYRICS;; 'Haven't Met You Yet" by BennyG Michael Buble
CLOTHES;; here
NOTES;;

[mannat]

IF YOU'RE ALIVE MY REGRETS ARE FEW IF MY LIFE IS MINE, WHAT
SHOULDN'T I DO WHILE MY BLOOD'S STIL FLOWING AND MY
HEART'S STILL BEATING LIKE A HAMMER

. . . . . . .

If there was one thing Mannat hated it were party games. She absolutely abhorred the idea of pinning a tail on a poor unsuspecting donkey. Now the actual thumb tack with a strip of paper on it wasn’t so bad, for her anyway (mind you when she was eight one of her classmates definitely punctured their index figure, crying and blood and a whole lot of snot further ensued, not a very pleasant image for a person who already hated the damn activity to begin with) but it was the whole spinning around in circles, eyes covered in a blindfold, people yelling and whooping… that was just plain nauseating. However, that game was not as bad, nor did she hate it as much as the supremely loathed act of musical chairs. She didn’t understand the general appeal of this game. You fought over a chair, and it wasn’t even that comfortable either. It was most likely a rental, one of those folded metal chairs one would use in a WWE fighting match. And, to top off the nasty chair thing, there was always, ALWAYS had weird dents on the seats. They were always questionable at best to her, and sometimes, Mannat wondered how one would manage to dent a thick metal chair, but I digress.

Musical chairs wasn’t just a stupid game, it just did not make sense. Everyone started off with a chair, and things were fine, cozy even. And then the music would start, and it always had to be the most annoying ass music ever made too. Not something comforting, not something one could bob their head to, but rather some reject scraps of notes that happen to be meshed together just for this torturous purpose. And if that was not the worst bit, once the horrid music would start, everyone had to get up and walk around. But it wasn’t like a jaunt in the park, nay, it was a prowl, everyone would slow down, hunch over a bit and stalk, eyeing a chair, eyeing each other with malice until the music stopped and people pounced. Now, if Mannat had the ability to remain neutral and happy, this wouldn’t be so bad, she would giggle a little, not get a chair and wait as one by one her friends would join her until two people were left; but that was never the case. Instead, Mannat prowled, Mannat pounced and Mannat even pushed a bitch out of the way for a fucking chair. It was bad, the way she was competitive.

Perhaps, that was the reason behind her blind hatred towards the activity, was that she had to minutely cheat, ie, push people away/trick them to get out of a seat. Or even the last time she played the silly game when she plainly picked up the metal chair right from under her opponent right when he was going to sit down. If that wasn’t as bad, (but really, this was a pattern with her; the bad followed by the worse) Mannat held the metal contraption over her head in victory. The greatest thing was that this wasn’t the only momentous and hideously triumphant and subsequently pathetic moments in the girl’s life. She had many. Like that time she was playing with her father’s camera, turning it on and off and pushing the lens back into the camera itself and then when the camera’s lens didn’t work anymore she blamed it on Henna, her younger sister... and got away with it. Or like that time she was bringing home a cake for her nephew’s birthday and the baby fence was up at the front door that she had to jump over. She did, but forgot what was in the box in her hands as she tilted it to the side and hopped over, great hop, bad for the cake, which was half smashed against the box.
That she blamed on the bakery.

And now she was having a metaphoric ‘Musical Chairs’ with a boy who happened to climb onto her roof. If the context were different, it could have been sweet or something… Sure he was cute… No. Stop it; whatever he looked like didn’t matter. He was a big old creep for climbing unto the roof of Wolfsbane and Gillyweed. And even more so for just chilling out max and relaxing all cool…. No, Mannat, now was not the time to sing a catchy nineties theme song. She had to see why this guy was up here. However, when he said he was from the university and had an awkward assignment, she couldn’t help but to narrow her eyes, not exactly believing him, “Mhmm, all right, I’ll accept that for now.” Mannat didn’t know what it was that stopped her from completely believing Gray. He was probably a student for design or something, maybe an architecture major, who was she to really care that much? But she had to snort a little when he questioned the number of roses she had to dye. What? She did the math, eighteen dozen (what a god awful amount of flowers, where the hell will they go? Most likely they’ will be thrown in the garbage like every other bouquet that went away in peculiar numbers) equaled out to two hundred sixteen, “If there is, wanna be my date?” She joked, gesturing to herself as she spun around on the heel of her foot, the hem of her dress swishing with her. “it will be one hell of a party, hah.” Mannat laughed aloud at her own joke; by gum she was clever. “Alas, these particular flowers are going to be dyed and sent to a poor, unsuspecting girl who thought she was just going to go on a simple date… It’s a shame really, that people don’t just admire these flowers just as they are… always trying to change them. “ She raised the rose in her hand above her, inspecting it in the sunlight.

. . . . . . .

notes I got into her head a little too much. sorry.
tagged gray <3
words short and all over the place.
attire pretty girl
cred help i'm alive, metric, asia made the snazzy banner <3

[/blockquote][/blockquote][/blockquote][/justify]

[grayson]

••• ---------------------------------------------------------------------- •••

------ It was a strange moment for Grayson. Grayson was constantly flustered by girls, but usually only when they were flirting with him. He was far from a... "smooth talker" but plenty of girls seemed to like him anyways. One of the old cartel members told him it was because Grayson was really tall with a little boy's face. Somehow Grayson did not accept that to be the truth. It really didn't seem like a winning combo on a guy but he had barely thought of it past that moment. Romance and sex were never topics that crossed his mind that often. I know I know Bullshit right? at least on the sex part... What is that statistic? Sex crosses a man's mind how many times per second? Yeah well, if that was happening with Grayson it was all subconscious because all he seemed to thin about was pleasing his boss, or bosses, which right now was a tall, leggy brunette by the name of Maggie Giovanni and therefore the Italian mafia. So far he had gotten along with them all. He still had not met Maggie's husband though. Maybe soon.

------ It wasn't like Grayson was asexual or anything... he was just nervous. A psychologist might say it was because sexual fulfillment was a personal desire. It was not for anyone else, except for maybe one's partner. The want for it was inherently one's own and Grayson's mind had been so battered and warped that he no longer thought he had a right to those personal wants and desires. What he wanted was inconsequential. Had one of his bosses, or owners, ordered him to have sex with someone, he would have done it without hesitation, but it would no longer be something he wanted but something that was required of him. Apart from all that mumbo jumbo, he had never really had a crush, or the desire to have sex with anyone, or even kiss them. He had kissed before though. Usually as a show in some sort of con where he played the male end of a couple. Or a girl had just attacked him and he wasn't quick enough to avoid the lips coming at his face. He had heard being twenty three and a virgin was something to be embarrassed about but he wasn't. He honestly didn't care. It would happen someday right?

------ Now the girl in front of him. He may not have been thinking about having sex with her, he wasn't honestly but he did feel something he had never really felt before. Attraction. He had a feeling that he liked who she was and he really didn't know who she was and that confused him. The corner of his lips curled up a bit slightly as she narrowed her eyes, “Mhmm, all right, I’ll accept that for now.” Then the other corner curled and formed a whole small smile. Her intuition was good, he respected that. He put his hands into his pockets and futzed while the keys in them slightly but not enough to make a sound. “If there is, wanna be my date?” Grayson blushed despite knowing it was just a retort and pretending to be casual. “it will be one hell of a party, hah.” Grayson nodded, "Math parties always are." He added his eyes drifting slightly. His tone did not seem iron but he was trying to be. Hopefully the statement alone was enough of an oxymoron for it to come through without help from him.

------ Numbers just clicked in his head. Always had. As soon as she had uttered the number '216' his mind jumped out with 6 x 6 x 6=216= mark of the beast 666. And one of the untouchable numbers. And 3^3 + 4^3 + 5^3 = 6^3 = 216. It was barely a moment for him. “Alas, these particular flowers are going to be dyed and sent to a poor, unsuspecting girl who thought she was just going to go on a simple date… It’s a shame really, that people don’t just admire these flowers just as they are… always trying to change them. “ He watched as the small brunette held the rose up to the light and looked at it with appreciation. He furrowed his eyebrows in a bit of confusion. It was hard for him to appreciate many of the simpler things. He appreciated when Juan Sr. had told him his task was completed. He appreciated the accuracy in sniping. Hit or miss, no grey. He also was foreign to the idea of things being good as they are. He was taught improvement could always be made. "Maybe the girl likes those large grand gestures." He said putting out his hand as if offering the suggestion. "I don't know about you but I always appreciate subtle references to demonic possessions on a first date." He replied with a smile.

••• ---------------------------------------------------------------------- •••

STATUS;; complete
TAGGED;; grannat<3
CREDITS;; format stolen from lainey, with a little tweaking by me
LYRICS;; 'Haven't Met You Yet" by BennyG Michael Buble
CLOTHES;; here
NOTES;; yay!