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Post by james devon sakahrov-collins on Dec 1, 2011 3:04:21 GMT -6
 ,HONESTLY, HE NEVER should have come back. the reasoning portion of his brain - growing smaller with each passing minute - echoed the entire though process during his migration back to valkyrie, california. what was the point? his life had been in boston. his life was always going to be in boston. boston was good for him. if it weren't for the tarnished, uncut diamond on the coast of california, he never would have stumbled down the rabbit hole to the bottom. and then he decided to buy a pick ax, break the fragile glass holding him up, and plunge even farther. had he reached the river at the bottom yet? perhaps, if he were fortunate, he would reach the earth's core and melt. that would be completely fine. ugly phrases followed him around for days, eager to dig their claws into his flesh. and then the strong voice would rephrase and just call him stupid. this could all go away if he were reasonable. "please, jamie, please listen to reason." "you fucker, you know the reason, just fucking doing it, you useless moron." people were preaching it. he wasn't listening to it. "reason" and "common sense" were thrown at him like darts at a dart board. he felt the points pierce him, watched the blood flow. but he didn't care. he knew they were saying it, he knew it was hurting him. he just didn't care. reason. common sense. people throwing the terms. the voices calling him a fuck. he was tuning it all out. if he could turn the switch to his brain off, he would. if he could close his eyes and never wake up, he would. he could keeping on digging down that canyon until he splashed into the rapids and let the current carry him to a bloody death. valkyrie, california was the last layer suspending him above the boiling water. if he was reasonable he never would have come back; never would have left boston. would never have been born, actually.
reasoning. common sense. he wasn't listening.
white noise was all that surrounded him as he found his way toward the west coast again. the preaching and begging and everything else fell silent. he plugged in the headphones and ignored everything else. reasoning and common sense were off the table. people should have realized that. he spent four months - one hundred and twenty days - in prison because he felt like it. he took reasoning and common sense and threw it right back at them. his father, the lawyer, even when stanislav saw him. he sharpened their words, scrubbed them with acid, and stabbed them. that's how it felt, listening to it. he knew it. he was no clueless fuck. jamie sakahrov-collins knew exactly what was going on, what he was doing. the fact these people were throwing it up rammed him into a wall. if they wanted him to walk straight so badly, why couldn't they realize he was aware of all this? it was them who needed to "see the light" or whatever bullshit they sprayed. it played on repeat the entire time he was in boston. an endless loop, the broken playlist he couldn't fix. their words turned into his words. he twisted them and made them fit his hold. he was dirt, a useless fuck who was too ridiculous existing to see reason. or accept help. or deal with that stupid fucking reason. it was hovering, weaving through metal bars and orange jumpsuits, taunting him with the obvious. and, naturally, as soon as his lawyer kicked him out of the penitentiary, jamie clawed back at the playlist, scratching the surface of the disc so it no longer worked. he illegally downloaded the "white noise" album and set it on repeat. with it echoing in the background, he picked up the rusted pieces of reasoning and common sense. he scrubbed his skin clean with them, watched it grow raw and crying for help. then he threw it under the tires of the bus going from boston to valkyrie. white noise played the entire way there.
he never should have come back to valkyrie. of course he knew that. and yes, he belonged in boston. duh. but what did that dusty city have left for him? drunken rage with his best (?) friend? a broken family? accusing glares and suspicious words? everything jamie once loved about boston was gone. winded and empty, like his childhood home. valkyrie was the only place to go. he had no where else. he knew people here. maybe they would be nice and stab him with the rusted words instead. besides…filthy italian scum was here. accusing and suspicious was common among the sakahrov brigade. but the greasy meatball eaters were the ones who fuelled this fire. and while jamie himself was better off plunging into the rapids below, he had business to attend to. so he was not longer allowed to rot in a prison cell. may as well follow the fight. or something. that was why he was here. not because he wanted to be. certainly not because he craved his former russian companionship. he had something to do before the rusted words could flay open his heart. someone named giovanni was going to die before he did. at least, that's what he told himself.
difficult to rip open a giovanni when "white noise" is distracting you. jamie had no idea where he was going. the cool breeze of valkyrie felt familiar on his raw skin. the level of hurt directed where he went. not to the inferno, fuck no. definitely not to his dumpy hotel room. someone could find him there. he needed to hire someone to run his life. what would syl do? disgusting thought, going to what sylvia rivers would do. resort to her level. for a minute there, jamie was more disturbed with her than he was himself. it quickly vanished when he realized she, at least, knew what the hell she was doing. god. he was a waste. moodily pushing his hands into his pockets, jamie blandly watched his surroundings. it was dark, hovering between late evening and "why the fuck are you still awake?! come home right now!" his bus had parked early that afternoon. he had spent the entire day wandering around valkyrie, pretending to have a destination. "white noise" was working brilliantly. he had spent all those hours without noticing the time. it felt like five minutes. i guess that's the point of the track. he breathed a sigh. it was late. sort of. and you look like a creeper if you're out wandering the streets well into the early hours of the morning. apparently the law enforcement was finally taking notice to the illegalities. about time. it was those ridiculous italians who stirred the pot, of course. no one suspected his bratva until they said something between bites of spaghetti. stupid. he needed common sense when they were out there performing messy hits and dealing firearms? this wasn't the cold war. jesus. whatever. fuck. he didn't even know.
his mind was going at blinding speeds. he could not focus on a single thing. the hum of nightlife was breaking up his flawless playlist. fantastic. he ripped the earbuds from his ears in a metaphoric rush. the mindless rhythm disappeared in an uncomfortable instant. instantly his walls went up and the doors locked. his ears were open for business. cut the red tape and let the ugly words roll. breathing uneasily, jamie moved his eyes up to the glittering sign. nonsense nightclub. people talked about this place, didn't they? he didn't know. the only bar he ever saw was the liquor store and the inferno. the girls wore short skirts and it smelled strongly of drugs and cheap tequila. rock music, bouncers twice his size and hazed eyes. perfect for a mind-numbing individual such as jamie sakahrov-collins. huffing a bored breath, the subservient russian slipped through the front door. cut through a group of girls in no clothes grinding, teasing all the boys, and he found the bar. it needed to be polished, after a good bleaching. there was too much broken glass. and the breath of the scuzzy bartender smiling at him smelled strongly of whiskey. his bar had, at least, been up to standards. see? his brain couldn't stay on a single topic. bouncing between calling himself a useless waste and insulting his surroundings. good mindset, jamie-boy. he didn't say anything, merely stared at the bartender. he didn't know how long he did. the music was similar to his mental playlist, it froze time. he felt the thin arms arms his waist, slurring for shots. he did a few, because she was paying for them. he wrote a random phone number on a napkin because she asked for it. he did another shot, of that cheap whiskey, because the bartender said he needed to loosen up. i guess that's true. he didn't know anything. and after the fourth shot slid into his empty stomach, he didn't really care.
care or not, nonsense made him feel like he needed to shower. he probably did. he smelled like cheap liquor and cigarette smoke that wasn't his. he broke into the clean(ish) air as soon as her arms stopped touching him and the bar tending stopped smiling. how long had he been there? jamie didn't know. not long. the same people were still here. the night felt young, shy. but who knows what "night" in valkyrie is defined as. shoving slightly at the cool breeze, he fished in his jeans' pocket for his own cigarette smoke. lighting the damp cancer stick messily, stumbling slightly, jamie moved farther from the crowds, closer to the road. throwing a dirty look at some frat brother who felt the need to shove him needlessly, he tripped over himself again. managing to catch himself before falling to the ground, he didn't stop rubbing shoulders with her. she didn't smell like drugs or cheap whiskey, and her smile couldn't be yellowed with years of neglect. backing up, he inhaled the nicotine, held the cigarette in his hand and exhaled a cloud of smoke before he spoke. his tired eyes, rimmed with red and framed with black, were busy watching her legs. "sorry. the wind and the…people," his words were disjointed as he weakly indicated to the people behind him. "it's cold." he was talking to her because…well, he didn't exactly know why. just because. contradictorily, he pushed the sleeves of his shirt up. where had his jacket gone? oh well. it was old, anyway. and his smelled like his mom's perfume. or he liked to think it did. "why aren't you cold?" his sounded stoned. drunk. completely out of his mind. or just really pathetic.
probably a combination of anything you could think of. lost. messy. completely defeated.
[/size][/blockquote] ----------------------------------------------------------- TAGGED, kory !
DATE, march, 2012. the honest lawyer.
LENGTH, 1817 words.
ATTIRE, jeans, black long sleeve shirt, leather jacket.
NOTES, hope this is okay….it's really random. i can change.
CREDITS, format and graphics to me.
lyrics to linkin park - "blackbirds"
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Post by kory on Dec 2, 2011 20:11:15 GMT -6
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------ It was moments like this, nights like this one where Korina Lynn Dixon was not Kory. No. Kory was off duty. Tonight was all about Mayat. Mayat was originally the name, or a variation of the name of Ma'at. Ma'at was the ancient Egyptian goddess for truth, honestly, justice and pretty much everything good in the world. Ironic since Mayat the girl, was a prostitute. Kory's life was a classic story of a broken American home. Her father had left and her mother was in the same line that Kory, her lovely daughter, except her mother was... let's say... not in the same league as Kory. Her mother, Molly, was a crack whore, very literally. She was never paid in cash. Kory was always paid in cash. She still had her addictions but she would get paid in real money and THEN go buy her own drugs. She didn't know why but it made her feel less pathetic than her mother. Her mother had all these men coming in and out of the house. They were over all the time. So were social workers. But they never decided to do anything. It was almost nightly by the time Kory was nine. Every night, a new client. Every night Mike, her older brother or one of the clients would get bored on the couch or in the basement waiting for her mom to be done, or ready or whatever, that they would come after Kory. Other than being abused it was Adam, her other brother, and Kory taking care of themselves. And when you live like that, you don't attract the right friends.
------ By eleven, Kory had stopped fighting it when men wanted to have sex with her. She would almost enjoy the attention. She was smoking and drinking by twelve. Her older sister Andy had gotten pregnant and ran off somewhere when she was 14. Mike was still around, addicted to meth. Her brother Gray had been kidnapped. The family was in shambles. Kory only got into prostitution when she tried to leave the family but with no high school degree, no real skills and only having ever experienced one real type of career, it just seemed like the right thing to do in her situation with her background. It was crazy though. Gray had been a boy genius type kid their mom had used as a paycheck. Kory had always dreamed Gray had gotten someplace better. But that had happened when she was seven years old. And now, here she was, 22 years old and in a new place and there he was, at her door.
------ It had been any other day for her but as she walked to her rather crummy apartment after attending church last sunday, there he was. Grayson, sitting on the floor in the hallway by her apartment door. They spoke for a little bit but you could tell it was awkward for both of them. She would like to get to know him, but the idea of family both scared and fascinated her. She was ashamed to have found out that Gray already knew. Not that she had ever thought that they would ever see each other again but if they were, she would have liked to have picked herself up and proved her worth a bit... if she had any. After he had disappeared again, barely telling him a thing about where he had been, Kory had just tried to move on. They were going to be casual about everything. No over reaction. Just get through, live day by day. But bills still needed to be paid. So Kory had squeezed herself into a tight, short dress and fun, slutty strappy heels and made her way to Nonsense. A club that actually had a few number of takers. She needed instant cash otherwise she would have hit the more elite clubs, but the really wealthy people, while usually safer and cleaner, usually liked to prep themselves before hand, sex via appointment, or they didn't keep cash on their person.
------ Kory had been inside Nonsense for awhile, few nibbles no bites. Except by one man who had been willing to pay her higher than her usual rate, but while she was not a picky whore, she would never involve herself in scat. Even she had her limit. Lesbian play, threesomes, foursomes, hell, twenty-eightsomes, all good with her. Anal, sure, why not but never will she let some person shit on her. NO. She smiled as a guy came up and bought her a shot. She introduced herself as Mayat and went off dancing with him. Hands all over. After dancing for awhile he tried to charm her. He was a bit... arrogant. But what man wasn't? She tried her best but then thought she could risk it. She needed a smoke. She excused herself and made her way outside, wrapping her trench coat around her but keeping it open in the front. The coat covered her arms and back but her bare legs were still out and in the cold. Kory squeezed her way through the crown before sighing and pulling a pack of smokes from her pocket and lit one up before taking a deep hit before some man, obviously a bit fucked up leaned up next to her, brushing her shoulder. "sorry. the wind and the…people," Kory nodded, not minding his closeness, whether she was being paid or not, it was cold out when dressed like this. She shrugged and took another hit from her cigarette, "No worries, I get it." She replied dryly. "it's cold. why aren't you cold?" Kory smiled a bit at his slurred words. She glanced down at her attire and then back up at him, flipping a strand of hair back, "I am cold." She replied plainly before holding her coat open a bit more to show her tits within the white dress, "See, I'm startin' to nip even." She added with slight humor before pulling her thin coat closed a bit more. The coat was old, lots of holes and very worn.
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TAGGED;; Kamie? Jory?
CREDITS;; format and graphics to me,
lyrics to Michael W. Smith's "This is Your Time"
CLOTHES;; here
NOTES;; yay
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Post by james devon sakahrov-collins on Dec 5, 2011 19:45:01 GMT -6
,THE ONLY DIFFERENCE between boston and here, in valkyrie, was that this was going to be the end of him. if jamie had remained in his hometown, disappearing between the cracks, he could have faded peacefully. sort of. the old wounds would bite at him, but he could silence them eventually. it was these new lacerations. not enough time had passed for them to scar, though weakly. he never allowed his damages to callus. no. never. he liked to watch them wash out into the paleness of his skin. then he sharpened his knives and stabbed them. you shouldn't disturb healing cuts, because the chance for infection is much greater. that's what he told himself. he deserved to suffer, not die. i think. but valkyrie? the marks left on his body were recent, still shiny and new; a toy people still obsessed over. it was going to end him. he was going to catch an infection and do nothing but let it fester. he would watch with a sickening smile at it began to ripe his insides apart. it would turn them black and they would collapse into a diseased pile of ash. maybe then he would fade to nothing. he didn't know. he didn't know anything anymore. you should be aware of this by now. it was going to be a torturous journey, that was fact. boston would have ruined him slowly, seductively watching him break. valkyrie was sadistic. it wanted to shoot him immediately, somewhere between the shoulder and the jugular. it would be fine if he died; but watching him bleed out was so much more enjoyable. he would lie on the dirty cement for days, hovering between existing and disappearing forever. he didn't live anymore; he existed. boston would let him do it all himself. valkyrie wanted to get involved, sharpening its torment toys. pull out his teeth, slowly, one by one, digging rusted pliers into his bleeding gums; rip out his fingernails, bamboo splints piercing his nerves. i guess he couldn't blame valkyrie for wanting to torture him. he had introduced those techniques to it, after all. call it beautiful irony.
he could feel himself beginning to drown. the water from the creek at the bottom of his world was approaching him, seeing if he could test the waters. part of him wanted to plunge into the steely waters. i guess he didn't think he was worth the death. the verrentenikov bratva was an honourable crime organization. every fallen member was treated respectfully, given their sacrifice. he wasn't worth the effort. let him just fade into nothing, fold over past zero. jamie was suspended, unsure of what the fuck to do. valkyrie was speeding the process, sure. but, right here, right now, he was hovering. he didn't know. he didn't really care. whatever. it was stupid. the very fact jamie was attempting his old numbing techniques was a good indicator. in the weeks since his forced release from prison, he had been dry. stone cold sober. the damage he did to himself was more than enough. the solace alcohol and sex used to offer made his stomach churn. it was syl's job to swim out to sea; jamie's was to the island slowing falling into said sea. that was their unspoken agreement that he pretended was real. yet, here we are, with a lost russian trying to do the things he only friend did so well. everytime the bitter liquor slid down his throat, his stomach wanted to flip in protest. he told it to shut up. his liver didn't want to absorb it, rebelling. the alcohol was banging through his veins, looking for a place to settle. he wasn't getting drunk. he wasn't seeing the world in the blur only this poison could offer. maybe he could pretend it was the waters that would take him. that would work for awhile.
nonsense nightclub was loud. it was smokey and sweaty and unsanitary. people were far too close, creating a mixture of sweat and sex. the alcohol flowed, influencing their increasingly messy tactics. the music was pounding, flirting with blowing the speakers and all of their ears. the bartenders drank on shift, the cheap whiskey colouring their ugly smiles. the girls wore lingerie and danced with one another, teasing all the boys. men pretending to be boys would stand, watching the show in front of them, acting as though they were worth these girls' time. maybe they were. jamie wasn't pay a whole lot of attention. he, personally, was not worth anyone's time. who was he to gauge their insignificance? i guess the messiness of nonsense is was appealed to him. he could pretend he was just like them - happy, normal. out for a night of untamed carelessness. i guess that's why she was hanging onto him. the white noise playing in his head didn't really care. it didn't mind, either. as skittish and hesitant as jamie was, his body had been craving closeness. the hot touch of someone just as lost as he was. his muscles tightened at her abrasiveness, wrapped around his waist, digging at his hips. but he didn't push her away. her hot breath was like the alcohol pouring his bloodstream: unwanted, unneeded, but oddly intoxicating. his body rebelled, but he didn't care. he told it to shut up. it did, eventually. because, somewhere between writing the phone number that wasn't his and shooting with the bartender, his stopped thinking. it didn't do anything, thinking. he stopped musing. he stopped brooding. he did whatever she did, because it was easier that way. he hands, pale and chapped, ran across her body, up and down her waist and clutching the back of her neck. she needed chapstick and to brush her teeth, but her tongue forced against his. he kissed her back because it was easier to do what she did. he drank because she did. he swore at the bartender because he swore at jamie. it was loud, smokey and unsanitary in nonsense nightclub. he faded into the haze that he didn't like.
it was easiest not to think. just stop existing and play the role of puppet. he knew he would eventually find the addiction in it and get in trouble. people with no brain die. and if he was going to die, he would be the one to do it. no one should waste a bullet on jamie sakahrov-collins. but…i don't know. jamie had long promised himself he was going to turn off his emotions, feelings; not his brain. he wanted to. of course he fucking wanted to. he wanted to exist, a mere ghost. that wasn't going to happen. he liked being empty, feeling every stab the world lay on him. if he stopped thinking, do what this faceless girl did, he would feel nothing. the rusted blades could pierce his skin and he would simply watch the black blood flowing, oddly enthused by it. it made no sense. he cared for very little these days. but he cared enough not to be perceived as a fool. the air outside of that nightclub was crisp, laced with the dirt, but freeing. a good part of his mind wanted to die, we know this. but another part desperately wanted to live, it kept him hanging onto the cliff of sanity. it knew that it was stupid being a brainless piece of dust. he was dirt, he was alone. but he was not dusty. he was rotten, but he would not grow blue fur and mould. i don't know. his thought process made no sense. i don't understand. whatever. it was stupid. he wanted to fade into space, not a haze. a cold, dry outlook was much more dangerous. he liked dangerous, completely aware of his darkness. this messy drunk jamie was not aware. fuck.
when he pulled away from her, satisfied with the escape, i think she slapped him. or tried to. the odd pain was numbed, feeble compared to the bruises decorating much of his body. it's not like he cared. one part of jamie that had never changed was his unconscious habit of using people. his care of much of society was dead. the fact this girl may go home in tears had no effect. who cares. he didn't. his body thought she could be a good distraction. he mind found that revolting. the haze cleared from his eyes in the cold air. the breeze caused goosebumps to appear on his arms, sending an uncomfortable shiver down his spine. this was all so…whatever. confusing. random. he didn't understand anything anymore. jamie was off-balance, unsure of everything. he didn't know who he was, or what he was doing. fuck the "why". he should probably figure out what was going on first. that was logical. but…well, nothing concerning the lost, impulsive russian was logical, sensible, reasonable. but being outside made him like to think he had some level of control.
feeling the smoke and tar pollute his insides, jamie relaxed a little. his body tensed against the feeling, a habit he hadn't succumbed to in months. but his mind was clearer, calmer. he no longer wanted to break somebody's face, not right away. the urge to force someone to wreck his face constantly swam below the surface, but well, whatever. not right now. this was as calm as jamie was going to get. his words were even, almost normal. his glossy eyes traveled up her body, noting nothing in particular. she was nice to look at, a nice break from all the ugliness surrounding them. there was no rush, just the blandness he had become so accustomed to feeling. stepping back from kory, he fiddled with his half-smoked cigarette. "pushy, californians are. boundary issues." he spoke blandly again, not quite sure what was coming out of his mouth. he just wanted to talk to someone. even if about the weather, who cares. this pretty girl here wasn't calling him a useless waste of russian snow, so he liked her. blinking, his eyebrows furrowing, jamie watched as she smiled humorously. did he sound that pathetically drunk? biting his tongue, he tilted his head to the side as she indicated down to her body. "you sure, uh, are." he was looking a few inches to the right of her eyes now. he'd never had any issue checking out a girl before. yet, she was forward. he felt awkward. jamie never felt awkward. his pale cheeks flushed slightly, stumbling back half a step. "it's cold." he repeated the only statement that came to mind. because, apparently, no one knew this. stupid useless fucker. taking another drag of his cigarette, he threw it on the ground. "sorry. i guess you already knew that." a wry smile crossed his face in a quick flash. he pushed his hands into his pockets, swaying on the spot. "don't girls like you come to clubs in groups?" his eyes looked up and down her body again, meeting her face for a second before he looked to her left again. what the fuck, you useless fucker.
[/size][/blockquote] ----------------------------------------------------------- TAGGED, kory !
DATE, nonsense nightclub.
LENGTH, 1852 words.
ATTIRE, jeans, black long sleeve shirt, leather jacket.
NOTES, we're going to pretend this post is good.
CREDITS, format and graphics to me.
lyrics to linkin park - "blackbirds"
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Post by kory on Dec 19, 2011 22:36:39 GMT -6
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------ Say what you will about prostitution, but as long as you did not have a pimp to answer to, it provided a lot of travel opportunities. Kory had been able to go all over the country. Some places had better business, like New York, Chicago, Vegas, LA. Other places had a better sense of home for her, like Twin Cities, Seattle and Sedona. She loved Sedona the most. It was beautiful. The land the sky the architecture. Everything. But it was a small town and was no exactly the hotbed for clients in her line of work. There was also a small town in New Jersey. It was that small town that was the reason she came to Valkyrie after the scandal in LA. She had been in New York city, turning her usual tricks. New York was wonderful, plenty of business plus she was able to spend her days at the millions of libraries or historical sites there were to see. There were days Kory would literally go and sit in central park all day long, watching kids running by with their parents. Newly weds walking hand in hand. The nervous fifteen year old boy standing by the fountain pacing back and forth with his hands fiddling with keys in his pocket as he waited for his first date. She liked to watch them because it reminded her of the life she would never have. Sometimes it made her angry. She would feel such anger towards her mother and the men who invaded her home for taking away the first dates, the first kisses, the nervousness of liking so much and wanting them to feel the same. The shyness, the coyness, the subtle gestures of holding someone's hand or having a soft kiss planted on your forehead. They stole all of those good memories from her and replaced them with the hell her whole life seemed to be continuing on.
------ Other days, seeing those happy faces made her sad, and she cursed herself for being the victim, for letting them win. But most days? Most days those happy faces gave her hope, made her feel happy, made her think there was, possibly, a reason for her to have survived all that. The day she ended up going to New Jersey was with a client. He had sampled the merchandise and wanted to give her as a present to his brother before he got married. Now any girl in her profession will tell you there are the good customers and the bad customers. She didn't mean the ones that were talented and got you off too, she meant the good and the bad in how they treated her. Since she was working for them, I suppose she couldn't complain but the thing was, the good customers were usually the unattractive ones. Guys who were lonely and just looking to find someone to spend the night with. They tended to get their business done, pay and many of the times, even thank you. Then there were the bad customers. These customers could be any level of attractive, mostly good looking guys though. The bad unattractive men were the ones that had been emasculated so many times and beat on so much that when they hire a girl like Kory, they take out their aggression on them. Violent, forceful, very into choking she had noticed. The bad good looking men, were cocky and treated the girl as a toy.
------ The brother this man was passing her off to was one of those. He was attractive and rich and thought he could get away with anything. She had gone into it as if it was any other customer but realized very quickly, after he shut the hotel door, that this was not going to be an easy night for her. He had told her that he was getting married and since she was... supposedly, the last girl he would fuck who wasn't his fiance, he was not going to take it easy on her. She came out of that night five hundred dollars richer, all of which went to the emergency room. He had beaten her so badly during the "session" that the next morning when he saw her, he dropped her off at the nearest hospital with five hundred cash. Just enough to get a concussion checked, a band aid, and an ice pack. After she left the hospital, being advised not to go to sleep she wandered around this town in New Jersey. She came upon a church. She needed a place to be and feel safe for just one night so she entered it. Kory had never been a religious person but for that night, the junior priest had given her a warm cot and a blanket. He had told her that he would not be in New Jersey very long, he was getting transferred to Valkyrie, California and that he knew she wasn't that comfortable with the church because of the judgement but that anyone who judged her was not truly a religious person. "God is not like us. God is not a Christian, or a Muslim. He is not a Jew or a Hindu or a Buddhist. All religions have one thing in common, God is compassion, God is love." Those were his words, and it was because of those words Kory found faith.
------ It was because of those words she came to Valkyrie after the scandal in LA with a celebrity who shall remain nameless. But it was because of Mayat, Kory felt like she could never stop. She could never stop any of her sins, and as the cold air blew against her skin, it was just another reminder of how both terrified and completely comfortable she was with her life style. Kory forced a small smile as the man seemed to get a little awkward as she gave him a good look at her body underneath her coat. "you sure, uh, are." Kory smirked and shook her head slightly, and leaned back against the wall taking a long drag from her cigarette. "it's cold." Kory raised an eyebrow and giggled slightly, tilting her head to look back at the stranger. He was cute completely wasted. "sorry. i guess you already knew that." Kory nodded and turned towards him, "Yeah well I'd give you another look to prove it but you're having a hard enough time looking me in the eye after the first glance so I think I'll spare you." She replied with some light sarcasm in her tone as patted him on the shoulder lightly as if to give condolences. "don't girls like you come to clubs in groups?" Kory raised an eyebrow thinking he meant 'girls like you' as in hookers. She shrugged and gave a small chuckle, leaning against the wall as she took another hit. "Oh I don't know. I have always preferred to deal with my business on my own. Less competition, you know?"
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TAGGED;; Kamie? Jory?
CREDITS;; format and graphics to me,
lyrics to Michael W. Smith's "This is Your Time"
CLOTHES;; here
NOTES;; soooo late, i apologize
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Post by james devon sakahrov-collins on Jan 17, 2012 1:58:59 GMT -6
,WAS THIS WHAT the belly of the beast felt like? he never would have thought. the very bottom, somewhere between endless and darkness, was always a twisted fantasy. no one ever assume they will reach that. the mind is sharper than that. people realize just how wasted they have become and swear to turn it around before they shake hands with poisoned fangs. "hitting bottom" is a relative term. people can say that. but it's not as far down as they can go, not really. it is simply the point in time they can look around, see just how much of a stain they have become, and begin the impossible climb to level ground. jamie was no fool. he could look around and know there was still farther to fall. the venom was dripping in his veins, the fire was flaying off his flesh - he could do more. this darkness, however, was unexplored territory. he had never dug the blade quite this deep. before, there might have been a reason to pull his hand from the beast's mouth right before it bit. not now. he offered his hand and didn't do anything when it shredded him into nothing. maybe this was the esophagus of the beast. he never would have thought that, either. but the lurking feeling that his journey into the abyss had yet to finish told him this definitely wasn't the belly.
would you believe if he claimed he had yet to deserve complete digestion? the people rotting in a prison lined with acid were much more than he was. jamie sakahrov-collins was not an outstanding human being. he was garbage. he failed at life. it wasn't all his fault, i suppose. the life he had been born into scarcely offered a nobel prize. but he had to suck at that too. all jamie had ever been good at was not thinking for himself. everything he did was not his. he was the rubber glove covering spidery hands, too delicate to dissolve in the black acid. the bratva members who were rotting in the abyss he assumed had to be coming, well they were different from him. the russian rumour mill whispered their names. the details of their crimes were blurred, lost in the bloody fog. very few people involved with the verrentenikovs felt the fangs bite. jamie had felt them a long time ago. i guess he deserved that. being the one person who could ruin things all on his own, he was surprised sasha verrentenikov hadn't injected jet fuel into his bloodstream herself. i suppose you could even say he deserved to be caught in a tooth, rolling between tongues. he had made a nice mess of everything, after all. those trapped legends had, after all, spilled something on the floor in the first place. they couldn't bleach the scene in time. jamie hadn't even gone to walgreens to buy some. the careless collins was quick on his way to ruining everything. then he could very easily have fit in down there, in the belly of the beast. he even failed at failing the most. keep him there, caught in the throat. maybe the beast could get food poisoning and spit jamie down into the porcelain throne. he'd probably be good with deserving that.
regardless of where in the body he was trapped, it was different. it felt odd, unfamiliar. something had jumped over the edge in recent times. he had successfully plunged deeper toward darkness. it doesn't matter which ridiculous metaphor you used, the fact remained. jamie knew there was more. a part of him was looking forward to it. what did this phase have to offer? surely he could not become more repulsed by his reflection? his body had already rejected any external numbing techniques. his mind refused to dissolve into an oblivious haze. maybe the little teeth edging his shadows were rusting; every word was dipped in acid. shove everything into overdrive. he had been living with that mindset for more than twenty years. it often worked. hm. he could almost entertain himself with theorizing new punishment methods. twisted and sick, yet oddly freeing. maybe inching toward the belly cleared his mind. he could realize just how inexcusable his existence had become. he could appreciate the work his body went into balancing all of this.
he still sickened himself.
he could not find the power to change. that was the most haunting reality of all. despite the methodology he pondered, the very meagre existence he entertained. jamie could look at his life logically, irrationally, however the fuck he decided. what changed? the light shifted, providing more shadows. he saw different angles, each uglier than the last. no reality was changing. he had done a lovely job of accepting all of this - he had surrendered all will, actually. everytime jamie sakahrov-collins formed a thought regarding his situation, that was all it was…a thought. he felt the little teeth of the shadows and flung the door open, inviting them in to play. their games, their rules. he listened to the vicious voices, knife-forked tongues and broken words. all he did was make things worse. he failed at failing himself: brand new low. congratulations, jamie! this new level definitely offered a clearer mind. he scowled himself, because he had lost the ability to lie to himself. he was a waste. he had a fucked-up past and no visible future. he ruined everything. only difference now, he knew it. he finally got it. everything his body repulsed against - drugs, alcohol, company - was not who he had been. jamie collins had once thought that was him: vodka drinking, charming, flirtatious man with smokey eyes and a secret he wouldn't tell. maybe he'd wanted to change from that once. and i guess he did. that was the power to change, wasn't it? strip everything away, feel the cold wind on your flayed skin, and you see yourself. dry drunk, stuttering, awkward waste with smokey smiles and no privilege to know a secret. maybe he'd found the power to change. he'd just changed into a sickening excuse for a human being.
six months ago, for example, jamie would have known exactly that korina dixon went by another name and practiced another career. he'd find her funny, probably interesting, now he struggled to string two words together. next, he'd be blushing. why? he didn't know. girls talked to him all the time, they ran the show with him now. he could only credit the alcohol he never should have consumed. what could loosen one person, ruined the facade of another. sorry, jamie boy (he could hear syl's voice in his ears), you're one of the ruined ones. he scowled again, inhaling the toxins of his cigarette and not bothering to exhale the smoke. a light smirk crossed his face as she touched his shoulder, airy sarcasm lacing her words. "makes me wonder," he blinked, forcing the unfamiliar edge into his voice. he held his cancer stick between two fingers and looked directly at her. "do you have a magical effect, or am i just that drunk?" a little grin followed his words, his eyebrows raising briefly. jamie pushed his right hand into his pocket as kory leaned against the side of the building, his left quickly smoking his cigarette away. pulling the one he'd always kept behind his ear, and quickly lighting it, he looked at her again, the same light trace of colour tracing up his neck and behind his ears. as long as he wasn't tripping over his own words, i guess. "less competition? you seem to do alright." his spoke simply, his eyes quickly glancing at the other smokers, reaking of sweat and sex. "giving me the time of day, maybe more, aren't you?" his smiled again, sarcasm heavy in his words, almost a friendly twinkle in his eye. maybe this was the belly of the beast. no teeth were chewing on him.
[/size][/blockquote] ----------------------------------------------------------- TAGGED, kory !
DATE, nonsense nightclub.
LENGTH, 1330 words.
ATTIRE, jeans, black long sleeve shirt, leather jacket.
NOTES, this isn't late. really. it's not.
CREDITS, format and graphics to me.
lyrics to linkin park - "blackbirds"
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Post by kory on Jan 17, 2012 21:59:03 GMT -6
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 340px; background-image:url(http://i583.photobucket.com/albums/ss279/legendskseeker/fk5qwnjpg.png); padding: 30px; border: #4d081b solid 30px; ]Death died a long time ago
 OUTFIT: HERE. TAGGED: jory! --- THE TRUTH WAS, KORINA LYNN DIXON WAS TIRED. She was tired of her life. She felt like there was always too much to do. Fuck for money, work for charity, Fuck for money, go to church, fuck for money, volunteer. Probably the strangest assortment of activities. This is, when she was younger, she was the one who took care of her younger siblings. Her older brother and sister were just as big of asswhipes as her mother's clientele, but her younger siblings, her twin brother. She was the one who took care of them. It consumed everything. And she was so exhausted that when she finally had time to herself, it was spent finding any release she could find, which mostly presented itself in the forms of drugs and alcohol. She had never gotten over that release, but she had also never gotten over her habit of trying to take care of everyone. She was the one who paid the bills since her mom's paychecks came in the form of cocaine. Kory was the one who paid for pretty much everything, her older brother, douchebag as he was, sometimes helped. Her twin helped out but the littlest, Kory was the one buying school supplies and making lunches and doing the chores and just trying to make sure everything ran smoothly.
Now, here she was with only herself to worry about and all the alone time she had, she missed those days of crowded kitchens filled with people trying to get ready for school as she made a million peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Kory, with her new found faith, had decided to fill that void and make food for other people. She volunteered a lot of her time to the church homeless shelter. It felt very similar to home at the end of the day, except the worst assault she had to deal with at the shelters involved old men grabbing her ass, which believe her, was a major improvement over her mother's household.
There was something about taking care of people Kory connected with. It made her feel like she was needed. It made her feel like she had a point and that it made her less of a bad person. She wanted to change but change was hard, and frightening and all she knew about her life was that she was able to get by as she was. Sex didn't mean much to her anymore, as one could imagine, and she had become amazing at faking it. Drugs and cigarettes numbed anything she may feel that's in the negative spectrum. And giving the rest of her life away made her feel like the sex and drugs were okay because she was going to change 'eventually'. I think, what scared her the most was that part of her may actually enjoy the way she lived. She did have fun a lot of the time. Certain clients were entertaining, she liked the feeling being sexy and wanted, she enjoyed the attention she got from some of the guys, or girls, she's a non-descriminatory employee. The life style did something amazing in the way it both reminded her of her childhood but also seemed to make her forget, or at least distract her from her inner demons. It was hard for her to look at her past and think of it as anything positive or negative. She had dulled herself past the point of feeling about her past. Her mother, her father, her brothers and sisters, the clients, the men who touched her before she had even turned ten. The nights spent smokin' a bowl and pretending the world was okay as she gave her little brother's teacher a blowjob so he wouldn't get him expelled.
The little things.
It all taught her one thing, life was hard, money was harder, and sex sells if you have tits and a willing body. It was what brought her here tonight. She usually picked clubs that older men frequented, it was easier to find the big spenders there. But tonight, she kind of wanted to at least semi-enjoy herself at the same time. The man she was standing with was attractive. It confused her a bit why he was chatting with her, he seemed the type who could have easily had many girls at the club but for free. Although, how trashed he was might have something to do with that. Well, whatever, not her fault if he wasn't in his right of mind. Her job was her job and she wasn't going to turn down business. She took the last hit of her cigarette and tossed the butt into the street, turning her head to look at him as she exhaled.
Plus, there was something about the guy that was interesting, even a bit dangerous. "makes me wonder, do you have a magical effect, or am i just that drunk?" He was also a little pathetic but who was she to judge? She was the queen of pathetic. Still, despite his stupor, if had a wallet, he had toy for at least an hour or so. She gave him a smile, "Oh no, believe me, it's definitely magic." She replied as he lit another cigarette he was keeping behind his ear, "I was born with it. It's a blessing and a curse." She concluded as she gently took the cigarette from his hand and took a slow drag watching him the whole time as he continued to speak. "less competition? you seem to do alright. giving me the time of day, maybe more, aren't you?" Kory laughed as she exhaled and handed him back his smoke. She leaned in a bit closer staying face to face, "Truth is... I work better when it comes to the time of night." She said with a small suggestive smirk. She nodded slightly at the taxis passing, "Now, are we going to talk all night or get down to business?" She asked warmly with a smile.
Swallowed in lies,
so her life carries on
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[/td][/tr][/table] TEMPLATE BY KHRISTIAN @ CAUTION 2.0, LYRICS BY MICHAEL W. SMITH (tweaked by me) [/center] |
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