the saint turned out so evil /*

[sasha]

- - - - - -

---NOTHING. ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NOTHING. that was what sasha felt. about everything. she didn't get even a stirring of emotion about any god damn thing on the planet. she hated her mother, her dad was just... there. her brother, well, she was tied to him out of a bond of loyalty, really. there wasn't any sort of friendship there, not for her. there wasn't love. love didn't exist, not in her mind. nothing existed. it was simply nothing. her heart was bare, her head completely unbiased. even typically autonomic responses all human beings had were a void inside of her. she didn't feel maternal instincts when she saw a baby or a puppy with big, sad eyes. her heart never skipped a beat when somebody she found physically attractive caught her eye. she didn't even get scared, for crying out loud. the girl could be held at gunpoint, or have a knife at her throat, and all she would be was annoyed, probably with a building urge to rip somebody's throat out, but she wouldn't feel much more than that. she never did. she never had. sasha verrentenikov was a clinical phsycopath. she had no real emotions, she had no morals. everything was neutral in her eyes, and she found herself attached to people based off of loyalty and trust, but did she really like any of them? no. she didn't. it was mentally impossible for her to give two shits about anybody or anything. sasha had always put herself before anybody, always. nobody was looking out for her, with the exception of staz, maybe, and that meant she had to watch her own back. people valued loyalty, the held it close to their hearts and convinced themselves that nothing could ever break that loyalty. yes, it was the law of rainbows and butterflies and unicorns that shit out bunny rabbits and dove chocolate. well sasha didn't buy into it for a second. it was a human instinct to take care of oneself first and foremost, and she didn't expect anybody to go around taking bullets for her. it was she against the world. and you better fucking believe that she was going to come out on top.

the world had no color. the crimson anger, the green of envy, yellow jubilance, nothing. it held no meaning in sasha's eyes. she didn't see the colors of emotion. morality? it was a foreign idea to her. she never saw anything in black and white, she didn't take heed to "good and evil". in her opinion, there was no such thing as saints and martyrs, nor were there devils out there. people who claimed to be perfection or tried to play god were fauxs and frauds. gandhi was a myth. the dhali lama? bogus. the pope was complete and utter bullshit. and all he monks and priests and fathers and whoever served beneath them were all either dumb as fuck or the best god forsaken scam artists on the face of the planet. that's all religion was anyways, a scam. if it was all real, however, sasha was in a world of trouble in the afterlife. but god could kiss her ass, because he gave her a fucked up situation and a fucked up body to expect perfection from. sasha knew she wasn't a good person. she may not have morals, but she knew she didn't exactly perform deeds of divinity throughout the course of her day. it was more like deeds of death. she killed people, yeah. they weren't people though, not really. they were deceitful, lying, trigger-happy traitors. it wasn't like the people she killed were good people either. it was the circle of life in the crime world, killing those that killed. sometimes innocents died, but not at sasha's hand. that wasn't her job, not usually. she did kill her fair share of innocent people, though. she did spare somebody, once. mostly because he wasn't worth the bullet, but hey, it turned out to be in her favor since the farmer went rogue and decided he liked the taste of blood, and became her partner in scheming. he was her second most trusted handy man next to staz. but regardless of the loyalty and trust bullshit, sasha verrentenikov still appreciated doing things on her own. she had always been independent, and her riding solo habits only grew stronger over the years. sasha had done horrid things, and she'd learned to turn her back on the world and anybody who had something to say about it.

tonight, she was going off on her own again. it wasn't like she had anybody to report to. staz was technically her superior, but he didn't treat her like she was beneath him, and she didn't try to overthrow his many sparing decisions, so it worked. she was the boss's little princess, like hell did she have to explain herself to anybody. sasha had ended up in valkyrie over some internal affairs shit, not to mention all the shady underground criminals that seemed to be enticed by valkyrie, california. she really didn't understand what all the hype was about in the little california town. sure, the waves were nice, but it an ugly piece of work after that earthquake tore through it a few months back, not to mention it was the equivalence of a star wars convention to nerds for the fucked up people of the planet. everybody in valkyrie had their problems. daddy issues, abusive parents, dead wives, cheating bastards, the drunk, the sluts, the all around terrible at everything they do sort of people... yeah, that was what valkyrie was. sasha figured it was some wannabe hollywood town where old, toothless, worn out hookers went to die. if, in some demented alternate universe, sasha was born under normal circumstances with an emotional cortex, she wouldn't choose to live in valkyrie, not in a million years, even now she wouldn't. moscow was her home, but it got stuffy in that cold house with those people she was unfortunate enough to call her parents. at least now she was halfway around the world from her degenerate mother and pussy whipped father. russia was always superior to this wasteland that america was with all the fools who inhabitted it. then again, there were plenty of morons in her homeland as well. and at least the united states was better than france, because god, those parisians got under her skin and she always had felt the undeniable need to smash their heads into a concrete building. this was more bareable than that. if her dad ever tried to force her into living in paris again, she'd put a bullet between his eyes without a second thought. she didn't like him that much anyway.

the blonde exited her enviable suite that the majority of the human population wouldn't be able to afford inside the inferno. there was something about her disposition that made others turn away from her, or move out of the way as she came along. that, and the employees of the inferno who were in on the little russian secret probably made it very clear to their minions that she was not to be bothered. she may as well have been the queen of england. god damn it, she was more important than the queen herself. her hair was waved, reaching to her mid back. a lifeless gleam shown in her silvery blue eyes as she silenty made her way through the hotel portion of the inferno, which was deathly silent, probably because it was only around eight and the majority of the public was probably out doing something more exciting than sleeping or finding their hotel room. as she got down into the casino area, it was much more lively, but she was numbed to the noise. it never phased her, though this was the most involved she had been with the mortal masses in quite some time. there was a small part of her that was curious to sit and watch these pathetic neanderthals perform their mundande duties, but right now she had more important things to do. making her way to the back of the extravagant hotel, she slid through the kitchen and outside, making her way around the corner and to the garage where she'd left her bike. the helmet slid comfortable over her head and she zipped up her jacket. it was began to rain lightly. april showers, or something, right? regardless, it didn't bother her. she knew exactly where she was going, mostly because she'd scouted out valkyrie when she'd first arrived. there was no point in being the bumbling idiot who didn't know up from dow. then she'd look like some fucking tourist. no thanks. shaking her head, she started up her bike, and floored it down the back alley and into the open road.

sasha loved riding a motorcycle. cars were for ninnies, and they were much more restricting. she could park it wherever the hell she wanted, it was sleek and black so it all around looked bad ass, she could weave through cars, and the maintnence was a milliont times cheaper. those were just the obvious reasons though. those were the little fun facts the blind, deaf, and dumb grandmother of a vegetable could pick up on. for one, there was more control on the bike. she felt like it was just an extra attachment of herself rather than a huge metal death trap encasing her that was hard to maneuver due to lack of sight and other hindering factors. the best part, however, was the feeling that she was off the ground and flying. romantic for a cold blooded kiler, you say? well, it was the one place she never felt restricted by ideals and rules and reputations. it was just the wind and forces of nature around her, no idiots to destroy her perfectly tranquil neutrality, that was unless the traffic was stupid or some idiot in a semi ever happened to run her over, but what were the odds of that. it was one of her few normal hobbies, a hobby she might share with anybody, really. that, and sasha had always secretly been a closet beethoven. it was something she taught herself all those ghastly years stuck in that smelly city in france that people dremed about as the love making capitol of the world. she'd never had a single lesson, but always played by ear until she'd so cleverly taught herself to read the music. she'd had a lot of spare time those first fifteen years of her life, and it was the one thing that had been hers that she'd never shared with anybody else. that and her motorcycle. nobody else had that, not in her immediate family, not anybody she took some precious time out of her day to waste on. it was probably he last bit of humanity inside of her that she had left to hold onto, and as cheesy as it sounded, she valued it like gold. it wasn't like she wished she was more... humane... but it was nice to feel boring every now and again. boring and free and serene.

and then her bike screeched to a stop. water glided upward on either side of her. she pulled into downtown valkyrie, parking her bike in front of some coffee shop housing hipsters and poem readers. freaks. she pulled off her helmet, allowing the warm water fallin from the dappled grey sky to dampen her golden locks. she shoved her keys in the pocket of her jeans,and pulled the flannel black hood attached to her jacket over her head. she was here for business, and that was it. there was some scummy little russian traitor here, nobody of importance, but he was out here selling what pathetic information he had to rival crime families and sasha had every intention of taking him out, because loose ends drove her completely insane. they never got away, except for one jules sakahrov, but her time would come too. slow and deliberate steps were taken towards an alley, random, but exact. she'd set up a meeting with this moron, convincing him she was a customer in need of "protection." what a laugh, but he bought it, and he was supposed to meet her there. she wandering into the darkness, and she wasn't even all too far in when she heard a little psst sound. what was this? a james bond movie? her icy gaze shifted in the direction of the noise, only to find a particularly hairy and dirty looking man in overalls and a raincoat approaching her. "ah, miss wells," he greeted, his accent as thick as her own, "did you bring the money?" sasha smiled coldly, her eyes lifelessly digging into his, "hello felicks," she whispered. his eyebrows knit together, "excuse me?" but he already was starting to catch on. he knew exactly who she was in only moments, the fear plastering itself across his grimey features. it was too late though, because sasha was already there, holding a gun to his head, "i advise you don't do anything... stupid." she mused, counting all the stupid things he'd already done in her head. "p-p-please, miss, please," he was on the verge of hyperventilation, "oh quite you lying sack of shit, i'm not going to kill you," that would be wasting a bullet, and he wasn't likely to do that, "i just want to know-" "anything," he interrupted, panic invectively ravelled in his voice. "shut the hell up," she snapped, scowling. why were men so fucking stupid? "i just want to know what you sold to who," for now. the man swallowed, his skin beginning to perspire, no doubt, but the rain dropping down steadily kept him from the sheer obvious fact of it. "now," she yelled, cocking the gun. he fell to his knees, putting his hands to his ears and rocking. what a pussy, why was he acting like a school girl? "i never sold anything important. i... i told the italians false strategies, and led them on to thinking they were going to find a weapon's storage, and our hideout, . i n-n-never told them anything, anything real. i n-n-never really betrayed you, i-i-it was a mistake. it won't happen again. i... i uh, i swear," sasha was yawning by the time he finished. well of course he hadn't told them anything good, he wasn't important enough to clean the bottom of her shoes, why would he ever have been given any meaningful information to sell? "i just want you to realize what will happen if you stick around and keep up your little business," and thinking he was being let off the hook, the smelly creature stood up, grinning nervously, "oh i swear to you, i promise, it will not happen again. i'll go home to the russia. i'll give myself to our cause." sasha laughed listlessly. "we don't need you."

she slowly cornered him to the wall, sliding the gun from his forehead, down his face, and to his throat. his entire body was trembling. he was a coward.sasha reached into the pocket of her jacket, pulling out a switchblade and flicking it open. "really? you're wasting your time for some associate?" the voice came to her clear as day. sasha looked to the side to see a ghost from her past, skin and bones, blonde hair, blue eyes, staring at her with a snarky smirk plaster on her lips. grimacing, sasha focused back on her little rat, "aren't you a big bad kitty, picking on a defenseless little mouse," the voice chimed again. when sasha looked back to the owner, however, she was gone. scowling, she pressed the blade lightly to felicks's cheek, whispering with her face only inches from his, "get out of here, and make yourself disappear..." she pressed the blade into his flesh, slowly bringing it across his cheek. he squirmed minimally, whimpering and crying out, and then she finished, "before i do the job for you." and then she back away, allowing him to fall on all fours, one hand smothering the new wound on his face. he didn't even look at her as he got up and ran into the darkness. sasha allowed the rain to clean the blade before shutting it and tucking it back into her pocket. she exhaled deeply, intending to go back to sleep now that that was over. and then she heard a footstep toward the entrance of the deserted alley and her hand went to her gun as she turned around.

(STATUS)

[/size] finished. (TAGGED) brighton<3 (COMMENTS)[/b] yay! first sasha post <3 sorry its long o-o and sorry if its weird. it was just gonna be an open thread at first xD (ATTIRE) -lazy- black leather jacket, white tank top, black jeans, black tennis shoes. (CREDITS)[/size] format inspired by vsiders, banner to me.[/blockquote]

[brighton]

SQUARE IN THE FACE SONY SPACECRAFT HOVERING
OVER LIKE A THIRD EYE WHY AM I HOVERING OVER
MYSELF I'M FLIPPING OUT IN THE MAGAZINE NEIGHBOURHOOD

. . . . . . .

He would like to think he was a relatively calm person, that he had the ability to take a hold of his emotions. However, some may think that with his cell phone in obvious disarray from smashing against an adjacent wall, that Brighton Anderson Faulkner had some issues. He did not always smash valuable things such as a telecommunication device against walls... He was just bothered right now. He tried his hand over the piano’s cold, distant keys once more. No, something was off, the melody just was not how he wanted, the ending was limp and the beginning was equally as weak. The middle of his little song was far too dramatic than he wanted and.... and he was simply frustrated. It would not have been so bad if Brighton had been one to think rationally; it was one or so in the morning, and he had been at his piano since supper. That was seven hours ago; yeah, his perfectionist attitude was just that bad. However now, Brighton just didn’t have it in him to fight with the melody in his head with the melody coming from his fingertips. He had to leave the house before he broke something more valuable and far more rare; his dad would have his head.

And so, to protect the family heirlooms more than him, Brighton snuck away out of the home, as quietly as he could manage. It was a little cold compared to his tastes, but he was far too gone to bother with a coat at this point. He had to clear his head; he had to walk away from his current surroundings. The silly thing was, this new composition of his flew into his blond head out of nowhere. Brighton did not need a new song for his classes, for himself or anything remotely important. All the boy knew was that he had to finish it or else. Or else what? Or else he would not be able to move on, Brighton Anderson Cooper had to get right of the little tune in his head in order to function properly. It used to be bothersome; missing nights of sleep, missing important work related deadlines, but he knew that whatever kept him up was worth it. Did someone tell Michael Jackson to go home or to just relax when he was working on Thriller? No, and rightfully so, the man won eight grammys for it.

But Brighton didn’t want a grammy, not right now anyway.

All he wanted was this measly melody out of his head, through his fingers and onto the piano, just as it was in his head in the first place. Confused? Yeah, so was he. His walking can was still in his back pocket; he did not want the help, not tonight. It was as though he was going to figure this out while maneuvering through the city all his lonesome. Brighton preferred Valkyrie at night, it was much more interesting. There were not people, who needed to go to silly coffee chains for over priced coffee, and there weren’t the usual cluster of people always in a hurry. Mind you, Brighton was sometimes in a hurry, had to go places, but he was just appalled by how many people just had to go somewhere. He supposed it was all with this notion time was money, and the more one happened to dilly dally, the more money they didn’t make. It wasn’t even about earning money, it was just about making it, and there was a great difference in the two. Perhaps that was why Brighton always had a knack for the arts, for here he didn’t, nay, he couldn’t measure the amount of time he spent on something and thus be compensated appropriately. An artist never gets paid for their labor, they only get paid for their finished product; not the blood sweat and tears it too to compose it. If that was the case, Brighton Anderson Faulkner would have been quite near the billions in his personal wealth. And perhaps because of that, because of the need for a finished product, that was what kept him going. A sane person would have given up on a vague tune they made up in their head, but not Brighton, he tried to make a living out of it. Every note was precious, savored even.

The boy did not realize how long he had been walking, but now the rain began to pelt his shoulders and watered down his blond hair. It was refreshing to say the least. However, to Brighton, it was a sign from the heavens to give up, start anew tomorrow. His walking stick was slick in his hand as he realized he could just take an alleyway as a short cut back towards the Valks again. It always surprised him when he could pick up an old familiar trail, how he knew the short cuts even at night. Though it did not really matter, night or day, all he saw was darkness, occasionally some dim distinguishing feature would present itself, but usually, Brighton was left in the darkness. But the boy still dreamt, he still had vivid dreams, mostly of his family when he was fifteen, right before the accident. It was something, he supposed, just like this alley, something desolate and forgotten but still comforting in its existence; a way home as it were. He was about to turn when he heard a collection of voices; his ears prickled a little as he heard a bit of the conversation. One of the voices were female and the other, well, frankly, he couldn’t tell with the whimpering and the scuffling. But he was getting wet, cold and downright cranky, he was ready to go home, slump in his bed and admit defeat for the night. However, just before stepping into the light, he heard something like a knife and the slight scratching sound of it folding together. Oh, it was that kind of alley party, interesting. Stepping from the shadows into the dim light of the nearby streetlamp, he coughed a little before he spoke up, “Calm down bad ass, and move aside, people have places to go, things to do,” Brighton said in the most monotonous tone he could muster. He did not feel like being particularly friendly, he didn’t even want anyone to be in this alley, much less socializing with this person.

. . . . . . .

notes super dee duper late... but let's do this. =D
tagged basha?
words not as long as I hoped, but I'm getting back into the swing of things, slowly but surely.
attire eh, I'm lazy, white shirt, black jeans and black converse shoes.
cred fanfare, metric, asia made the snazzy banner <3

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

[sasha]

- - - - - -

---SASHA HAD NEVER BEEN MUCH OF A SOCIALITE. people weren't exactly her area of expertise unless you wanted to know how to kill one. it was physically impossible for her to have a normal, relaxed conversation with them, even with the ones she knew well. staz and her sister... well, just staz. he was the only person she could be casual around, or maybe he was so numb to her unorthodox ways that it seemed natural to her. it wasn't really her fault either, she just couldn't process anything like a normal human being would. she'd gotten better now, but sometimes it was hard for her to decipher facial expressions, or the emotion somebody was feeling. usually she just categorized them in a positive or negative way, black and white, because distinguishing a serene person from a person in love or a jubilant person wasn't something she was capable of doing. it all looked the same to her. a smile was positive feedback, a frown was negative feedback. she hated when people cried, because that just tended to complicate everything, she couldn't tell if it was happy or sad, so it lead her to have to deduce from their current situation. people figured she was just a bitch, insensitive, which by all means is true. it is a part of her personality to be a cruel, heartless fiend who would shoot somebody without batting an eyelash. that was sasha verrentenikov. it was what defined her, what made her both feared and respected amongst her comrades. but the secret was that, she had no idea if she would be the same person had she not been a clinical psychopath. she could have been an artistic, quirky creator, or maybe a devilish, carefree bartender. but she wouldn't be the black abyss of a person she was today. she laughed when she saw others trying to outrank her on a scale of silent solitude, uncaring of the world or the people in it. well she really didn't care. if her whole family, everybody she knew had been wiped out... the girl wouldn't shed a tear. she wouldn't even be upset or distraught. it would simply become a fact of life, and perhaps an inconvenience, but anything emotional? any sort of bond? it would be forgotten, whisped away with a cold breeze that burried it in the darkest recesses of her mind.

she did have a few little stirrings of humanity though, a few, and maybe they were just courtesies from staz to make her look like a human being instead of a robotic bitch. but she refused to meet her mother, to see her, even. she had been unwilling to acknowledge her mother's existence for years now, since her teenage era. liza verrentenikov was a victim of huntington's, the incurable bane of sasha's existence. her body was slowly deteriorating, her muscles giving away, the light leaving her eyes. she was dying, painfully, like seed grow into a tree. it was like being tortured from the inside out for days upon years. the worst part was, there was no hope for her. she was going to die, that was final. it wasn't like cancer where miracles could happen, where there was a treatment, even if it was unreliable when the process was too far along. huntington's was incurable. there was nothing that could be done for it, nothing that was experimental and always a failure that only seemed to slow down the process. sasha wouldn't even look at her mother, because she had been damned with that cursed disease, the only one of the verrentenikov children to inherit the impurity. she was given a clinically dead brain, and a body that would whither away into nothing. obviously she had done something wrong in some preexistence to deserve being dealt the shit cards. it didn't really get to her, considering she was a professional at assuming the role of denial. she didn't expect to live long past thirty anyway, she would probably be shot or something. regardless, she refused to end up like her mother, pathetic and smiling bravely at her demise. having all the people she loved surrounding her during her final years with warm hearts and hands. no, sasha didn't want that at all. she didn't want to give them that grasp over her, the pathetic way they would say goodbye. the sadness in their eyes. it would drive her mad, she would take a gun to her own head before she allowed it to happen, though the young verrentenikov heiress was much classier than that. she had plans, and they didn't involve a messy suicide case.

aside from her genetic faultiness, there wasn't much else about sasha she could claim for the sake of her humanity. she was a cold blooded murderer. she did what she pleased on impulsive terms, and never felt guilty about anything. emotions were a myth, so what did the world want from her? to become a productive member of society? no, she was bound by loyalty and bloodlines. there was nothing in her being that opposed to her lifestyle. she was curious though, about these mere mortals who were forever on a lower scale of the heirarchy than herself. the relationships and emotions were a little intoxicating to observe. she'd never really had an opportunity to be around normal people. in paris she didn't have the desire to even communicate with those perky nosed arisocrats with their fancy language and unshaved underarms. she hated the aesthetic whole of that country, and paris was the capitol of it all. moscow was more her speed. this place, valkyrie? it was boring, dull, and in california. that should say enough about it stereotypically. however, it was filled to the brim with some seriously fucked up characters. sasha wasn't sure what to even assume about them aside from the fact that they were pathetic. all her life she'd been limited to few associating possibilities. lana lutrova? she was forced to work for the russians. and who would call ekaterina novikova normal? there was something twisted in all of the people she'd ever really known. it was what gave them their loyalties; the russian, the blood, and the lack of humanity. it was what made them so efficient. regular people weren't allowed amongst their circles. joe smith who worked in jiffy lube's? there was nobody like that in sasha's life. even though her mother seemed like the most mentally healthy out of her family members, the woman married a mobster and supported him his entire life. somebody who could even condemn herself to a life like this willingly had to have some sort of problem in her brain.

and then here sasha found herself, face to face with your average boy next door in a dark alley. she wasn't sure how to react, really. had he just witnessed that? it didn't bother her much, regardless, because she was invincible. yes, emotionally of course. she couldn't feel a damn thing. but she was invincible to the law as well. they couldn't touch her, and if they got too close her black satin silhouette would poison them slowly until it led to their own downfall into a canyon of darkness. the police wouldn't be able to do anything. even if this little blonde creature ran away with it all on tape, they wouldn't convict her. maybe they could try, federally, but why would the americans want to create unnecessary issues with the russians? it wasn't like she was hurting their people, it was one of her own scum. she practically owned the little traitors soul. sure, slavery may be illegal, but it didn't mean she didn't hold his fate in the palm of her hands. she wasn't hurting innocent people. they had no quarrel with her. of that she was positive. she was a little annoyed by this new fellow looking to interrupt her little business transaction. staz would be mad if she killed him, and that would just add kerosene to the cold ashes of the war between the americans and the russians. regular people weren't her business anyway. she handled internal affairs, it was her job. average joe over here wasn't in her ballpark. like said, she wasn't used to even speaking to normal people aside from letting the woman in the airport check her passport and sell her a plane ticket. staz would probably even be mad if she threatened the guy. maybe not mad, because he would expect something like that out of her, but he would definitely roll his eyes and probably tell her to leave the normal people alone. she was more worried about it being some damned italian with a suicide wish, but judging from the blonde locks and blue eyes, he probably wasn't italian. he didn't come off anymore italian than she did herself.

he perked her curiosity though, with his obviously irate disposition. somebody must have ran over his dog or killed his cat or something. why would he be upset anyway? cats were annoying. consider it a blessing, bud. he obviously just witnessed her threatening some guy who clearly feared her, and yet he steps out of his haven of shadows to growl about how he needs to get by. it seemed stupid to her. yes, choose the way with the criminal activity, normal citizen, that is probably the best decision you could make in a situation like this. he probably had some mental disorder or was drunk. who else was that stupid? or maybe he wanted to die. well, that was too bad, because she wasn't going to waste a precious bullet on somebody so... mundane. her fingers still danced along her holstered gun, feeling the smooth iciness of it, staring at her intruder with a lifeless expression, watching his face. he didn't seem happy, and he didn't sound russian, so he was obviously some random third party that she had never cared enough to look into. one of valkyrie's natives, she presumed. he was probably still mad about the earthquake, that his little tourist attraction of a town had been reduced to ashes. she was sick of hearing about it, really. get over it. the dead were dead, so don't pay anymore attention to them. her hair was damp, water dripping from her fair skin, "are you clinically healthy?" it was the first question that came to mind as she discussed his sanity internally. she didn't want to go around being an asshole to somebody who ha da mental handicap, because then you'd be treated as a social pariah, and as much as she didn't care, it would be inconvenient. "and who in their right mind goes wandering down dark allies to get home, hmm?" her accent was heavy, and she tried to cool her temper by remembering how much more annoying her life would be if she shot him where he stood. citizens in a panic, ugh. it wasn't worth it.

(STATUS)

[/size] finished. (TAGGED) brighton<3 (COMMENTS)[/b] go team! (ATTIRE) -lazy- black leather jacket, white tank top, black jeans, black tennis shoes. (CREDITS)[/size] format inspired by vsiders, banner to me.[/blockquote]