. a trendy revolution

[tristan valencia silver]

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[/size]THEY COULD VERY <sub>well have a point. but that, quite obviously (to her, at least), was not the point. when tristan silver decided to listen to someone, it was because she decided to. she pushed rationality side; she ignored logic. it was not of her opinion that this was the decision to be made. even if she knew they were right. and, in this particular case, they were. she was very, very wrong. maybe. probably. sort of. but that wasn't the point, now was it? no. see? you're catching on nicely. tristan could feel their eyes on her, hovering between judgement and amusement. they had no right to judge her. and they definitely, definitely, reserved no entitlement to find this entertaining. stupid is what it was. she wanted to scream a thousand words about the point and the right and all of the shit she shouldn't be thinking, but was anyway. she wanted to scream a lot of things. and it all stemmed back to the original issue: she knew, they knew. but it was how they knew, why they knew, that rendered in this.

tristan silver had little issue with public displays of…well, anything. her reputation was dirt, her class nonexistent, and her pride was even less. but it was all the emotional bullshit that came with this that sprang the tears in her eyes. she wasn't the person they all assumed. she wasn't like the rest of them. she drank a lot, they drank a lot. she fucked a lot, they fucked a lot. she hit the wall and festered in the ashen remains, they…didn't. who? everyone else in this wasted town. if there was one thing valkyrie, california had to give her, it was credit. she was not like the rest of them. she was worse, yes. but also different, an exotic flavour. she'd held the students of valkyrie academy humiliated, looking to her anonymous smile for the next bit of gossip. she managed to ruin the things no others could. she had even managed to make her fall from grace something of legend. so, yes, the answer is yes. she was insecure because the people around her were all watching her, devilish smiles and daggered eyes, assuming she was just another girl who'd had too much to drink. do you get it now? the point that they all - including her - knew she'd been over-served; knew she was too brassy, flippant, too everything…was not the point. the point was how they knew, why they knew. the point was that they were looking at her like she was faceless, a lost cause with a messy past and no visible future.

and she wasn't. no. she was tristan fucking silver and she did not do this anymore.

everyone knew. the tears rimming the dark liner that was supposed to be rimming her eyes were acid. the cracked voice and broken words were razor blades and barbed wire. and everyone also knew that it was no issue in causing an even bigger scene than they were attempting to up-show her with. "it's just everything in my life is already so stressful, and i was hoping to unwind a little, and then he started talking to me and upset me, and i needed to forget and i know this is the wrong way, but, but…" she trailed off, her words loud and emotional. but her eyes were empty, there were no tears to accompany her wailing rant. if anything, she appeared merely bored. the people with the devilish smiles and daggered eyes had paused, unexpected. tristan silver was supposed to be humiliated by the bartender with premature wrinkles, sent into hysterical disgrace by the firm-worded manager with a smokey voice. she refused to follow bar protocol, so she had to leave. she was supposed to call her boyfriend, who would appear, sturdy and apologetic, and she would cry into her collection of teddybears at home, devastated she had embarrassed herself so tragically. that's what they thought. that's what they all thought. and they had the audacity to judge her, when the level of stupidity in the entire establishment was questionable. these people had their shallow expectations of the overly zealous girl who whined about not watching the new york rangers continue their post-season hockey domination but they got her way, drank a little too much, and earned a firm scolding by the staff. but they also knew her tears were fake, her words rehearsed. tragic.

the only part of the tears that were real, the ones which fell. the second her speech was finished, she made the mistake of blinking and felt the salty tears stain her cheeks. the only bit of genuine emotion sliced through her thick foundation, ruining the blush and eyeliner. they all knew, deep down. and she knew. and she didn't do it, not anymore. but she couldn't. she had long forgotten how. "just follow your fucking rules earlier next time." her eyes were no longer empty, her tears no longer forced. the terrifying vulnerability that haunted her cracked her pretty veneer for a mere minute. that got the wicked smiles and daggered eyes whispering. first she presented a lovely response, causing a larger scene than these ridiculous bar staff wished. and then she did this? react to the shit they all knew from five minutes of looking at her. really look at her, i mean. her bright eyes, rung with dark make-up, boiled with venom. her laugh, dark and ironic, was vicious. her movements were overt, her words too impersonal. her hands shook from the caffeine pills, her breath reeked of the tequila. her tummy rumbled with an agitated groan, because it was hungry and she refused to feed it. that was all real. tristan silver did not do secrets anymore. if you wanted to see her, all you needed to do was withdraw your devil smile and watch. but that would give valkyrie, california far too much credit.

sniffing too loudly, moving too exuberantly, tristan dug deep into the pocket of her shorts. she threw a rumpled mess of pretty green bills onto the dark counter, making no effort to break even on her tab. she ripped the bright blue jersey over her head, taking extra time because she could feel the hungry, testosterone-fueled eyes watching her body. see? if she fed the rumbling beast in her abdomen, they would not be doing that. her dark hair, a mess of loose curls, fell down her back, adding to the ridiculous fantasy so many of those men held of a girl who liked sports and drank beer. "thank you for your hospitality." she watched the bartender flinch at the razor blade in her voice, a sick sort of amusement lacing the empty laugh that followed. making no attempt to clean the smeared eyeliner underneath her eyes, rimmed around her still-red eyes, she calmly folded the jersey over her arm and, in a swift motion, swiped the half-filled vodka bottle from the bartender's hand. storming from the bar, she paused and slammed the door, making damn sure to hear the voices afterward. good.

the valkyrie native only made it a few staggered steps through the crowd outside of the building before she had to lean against the wall. would they never disappear? though much fewer, there were too many people outside for her liking. fucking smokers. shooting her own daggered eyes at them, she managed to continue another couple of feet before she shrouded herself in darkness. clumsily forcing the bottle stopper from the top of the smirnoff, she swore loudly as it slipped between her fingers and fell to the dirty concrete. blinking through a fresh haze of tears and anger, tristan lifted the bottle to her lips and didn't even flinch as the cheap liquor found its way down her throat and splashed into her empty belly. it numbed her. sort of. straightening up, she turned to face the people a half block from her, milling outside of the bar she was stupid to think was a sports one in the first place. i think she swore at them. but i also think she needed to stop getting up in the morning. so what do i know? she was busy somewhere between drinking from the two-six bottle, wiping black eyeshadow from beneath her eyes and mutter-shouting profanities to the moon. but that's not the point, is it?</sub>[/blockquote][/blockquote]

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TAGGED, knox !
LENGTH, 1404 words.
ATTIRE, clicketh + new york rangers jersey.
NOTES, bfuewbf. <3
CREDITS, format to me. gif to tumblr.
lyrics to poets of the fall - "psychosis"

[/blockquote]

[knox leon ramsey]

<sub>- - - the pattern on the bar hadn't changed. the dark wood of the bar was still indented with the particles of the wood the same way it was five minutes ago when he was still staring at it. part of him didn't know whether he expected it to change or not but his logical mind told him that it was stupid to wonder either way. no matter how many times he blinked his focus seemed stuck on the same indent and every once in a while he run his fingers of it to just feel the texture against his finger. now don't get him wrong, the guy had braincells and he wasn't just sitting here contemplating bar wood, he had a lot of other things on his mind. was he overwhelmed at work? he would always say no but valkyrie was nothing like he'd expected.

when knox came out of the military police corps he'd already seen and been through so much. while he was always ready to stand up for something, the military police corps had a knack for turning their shoulder to things that should've been addressed and the more that he read of these things in journals and the news that the corps wouldn't step in to handle, the more he felt that what he stood for wasn't what he'd originally been taught it was. he couldn't be a superhero and solve everything, but it did occur to him that he'd did his time in the military that he would never be able to save the world and that maybe taking the smaller approach as a police officer in a town or city; help clear him of stress and what not. so when he went back to san francisco it seemed like a nice break and a nice way to unwind after being involved in so much, but only after a mere month of work did his boss, captain veringer walk up to his desk in something that knox knew meant only a few things could be happening. he was merely doing a little paper work on an arrest made on a thief in a store downtown, when veringer took a seat slightly on the empty part of knox's desk and began by simply asking how things were going lately. of course he was skeptical, but as veringer explained, he was to be used for better things, and valkyrie was waiting for him. having practically no other choice but to go, knox figured this would serve as maybe the in between challenge that he was looking for and good lord was he correct. valkyrie was a train wreck and a half. the place was ridden with crime. there wasn't enough time in the day to track down every single one but the new captain in town assured knox that his help was not only influential, but greatly appreciated.

today was no exception to the rule. knox had been wiped of all his energy. in the morning he took care of a domestic dispute in one of the more dangerous parts of town, chase a teenage drug dealer down on foot for fifteen blocks, and then at the end of the day he went to a private house in the hills to help a woman file the report because she'd been robbed. the rest knox could handle but it was the last event of the day that topped it off for him. he could handle the standard cop drama, but the last took him off the edge. this woman's home had obviously been broken into, her door had been busted off the hinges and another one of her windows was broken. one of her 'decorative' tables had been broken on the floor when he came and there was other noticeable damage but the burglar must've been after something smaller, something that this woman couldn't put her finger around. so meanwhile, knox and his partner niko spent their time watching this woman go through a mental inventory of her home to find out that in fact her dog, and her gaudy bvlgari diamond and pearl necklace had been missing. this discovery took four hours, and this dog wasn't small. how the fuck do you come home and not notice that your dog is missing, the necklace in understandable. shaking his head, knox took a large mouthful of his beer as his eyes diverted from the wood of the bar to snap back to the loud reality that he was surprise he hadn't noticed.

he'd seen her before, but she was considerably less drunk before than now. she was talking loudly which she probably didn't notice due to the level of her intoxication. he watched her, he'd seen her somewhere else before. she was a beautiful girl, there was no bullshitting that, but he couldn't help but wonder what was causing the current state she was in. she was upset, that much was clear. even from where he was sitting across the bar, he could hear the crack in her voice as she spoke, and the pitch disappearing in her throat as she got choked up. he averted his eyes, it wasn't right for him to stare, but his more officer-side told him to keep the situation within his peripherals. topping off his glass, he gave the nod to barry, who nodded and came over to fill it, "hey barry, he spoke simply to get the man's attention. his head rose to meet knox's eyes, eyebrows raised in question, as he handed over the glass to knox, "what's the deal with that over there," he spoke in reference to the current event across the bar.

he looked over at it for a moment before turning back to barry who was wiping down a wet glass when he looked back, "name's tristan silvers, valkryie-raised. she's a regular, gets a bit out of hand a lot. haven't heard some nice things about her in my time here," he told knox, his gaze eventually trailing back to the brunette as she continued to mouth off to the people sitting around listening with small smirks on their face as if she was there for entertainment,
"she's been through something, i know. i feel bad for the girl," barry's words were simple before he placed the glass back under the bar and walked off to tend to another customer. taking a mouthful out of his beer for a moment his eyes catching on to a bottle on the bar while his ears listened to the conversation.

it wasn't long before he could hear her making her way from the bar, and it was then that his eyes diverted to hear retreating and swaying figure that made it's way out the door. he waited a moment his eyes watching the people she was 'mingling' with across the bar shaking their head before breaking out into a fit of laughter. assholes. for a moment more he sat there before taking another mouthful of his beer and pulling a ten out of his wallet leaving on the counter for barry who nodded at knox as he left. shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans, knox made his way to the door, pushing it open before stepping out into the cool night air. taking a look around, he found her to his left attempting to make her way down the block, before stopping and working on something in her hands. he made his way through a group of people outside sucking on their death sticks, to keep behind her a bit. she watched as she sucked on the bottle opening and in taking that liquid. he smirked with a shake of his head.

"you're lucky i'm off duty," he spoke out of the silence surrounding them. hands still in his pockets he watched her with a slight smirk at how tightly she held on to the bottle, "careful with that grip, you might break it," he joked lightly, "you usually curse out moons, or is this a special occasion?" this may have seemed creepy but his intentions were in the right place. everyone needs someone to worry about them after all.
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this post right here is dedicated to tristann c: and is an astounding amount of 1363 words. in my own words i'd like to say that i like themm :D. well anyways, knox is just hangin in this, everything in this layout was made by yours truly. currently listening to sabotage by wale/llyod. lyrics in the graphic above are from the song dirty diana by michael jackson. that's all for now. ta ta!</sub>

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[tristan valencia silver]

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[/size]HAD SHE BEEN <sub>sober, tristan silver would have been disgusted with herself. public displays of disturbance are one thing. but this…this was downright humiliating. thank the fuck for the darkness night offered. she felt comfortable there, shrouded back in the shadows. there was no need to impress anyone there. she could rip her mask off and let the festering wounds of twenty-two years in valkyrie, california breath fresh air. but it was best when it happened in closed quarters, no? the world does not need to see one more small-town california girl breaking down. there amount of times tristan herself had chuckled viciously at those girls? the girls that they seemed to content in pushing her in with. it was repulsive. everyone with a brain knew who tristan silver was. and everyone with a real brain knew that any outbursts of emotion were strictly calculated, professionally scripted and only released when the performance was deemed perfect. her armour was steel, unbreakable. no one ever saw tristan fucking silver break. she watched others break, a grim gleam of accomplishment dancing in her eyes. she liked it when she was the reason someone broke. watching the crumbling of edges and eventual downfall of a human being is a thing of disturbing beauty. it's even best when you comment the entire timeline online, so you can go back and watch the best parts. i guess the tristan of five years ago would be absolutely eminent had she been present to watch her future self swear at the moon in a vodka-fueled haze.

the tristan of five years ago and the tristan of today have only one thing in common: the darkness. when she was the most notorious blogger in most of california, she had waited for the screen on her laptop to dim before letting the tears fall. and today, she patiently smiled until people left her the fuck alone before she broke. the only times tristan silver lost composure was in private. there was less of a role to play now, of course. the town of valkyrie had finally discovered the dimple-cheeked silver girl was a scaly green monster who, really, was the one who had been making their daughters cry for so many years. her own fall from grace was a thing of beauty. it was just now, tonight, there was a new addition. crying in public.real crying, not the fake shit so many people continued to fall for. disgraced silver girl, my fuck. people continually fell for whichever facade she chose to feed them, one spoonful at a time. pathetic. regardless, this pathetic little town still offered the same protective darkness as it had before. only when the spotlight dimmed, or the game ended, or boy of the night finally fell into a slumber, did she let her mascara run. if anyone truly cared for her, it would be simple enough to see that "washing your face" does not equal red eyes. or that "loud music" or "bipolar shower" do not equal wailing sounds. but no one does. even less people care now than they did five years ago. what else was there than the darkness to protect her?

but still, in the middle of the street? who gives a fuck what happens in private. tristan had always withheld a presentable role. those girls with running mascara, tequila-scented breaths, crying all over, in public, were her favourite targets of mockery. we all have our own tragedies, but we aren't spilling them all over you, now are we? grow the fuck up. guess we aren't following those rules tonight. at least she knew how pathetic she looked. routinely, in fact, tristan found herself snorting in spite of herself. laughing at the sold-out show she was starring in. inch a few feet into the streetlight, flood the auditorium with brightness, and she could truly call herself fallen from a valkyrie grace. stagger a foot in the other direction and she shrouded herself in darkness once more. she'd always had a presentable role, remember? but no one cares about that. no one cares about anything. the darkness and a little bit of quiet is all you need.

she disgusted herself in a lot of ways. a genuine public meltdown was a mere addition to the list. she would survive. survival. the very word made her snort with repugnance again. "i am tristan silver. i can survive anything!" her words were quiet, albeit dispassionately enthusiastic. her laugh echoed the quiet street again, dark and ironic, all in spite of herself. how very pathetic she had become. lifting the half-empty bottle to her lips again, she stumbled several more feet, right against the wall of the bar. feeling the rough structure under her chapped fingertips, tristan leaned against it heavily, eyes staring up at the clear moon again. look at it, shining in its sheer brilliance against a blackened sky. like it's the only thing that matters. maybe she was like the moon once. and now she was a little star that was flickering, stirring just enough chaos to keep the astronomers concerned. we wouldn't want the silver star to explode and offset the balance of the fucking universe, now. she snorted again, swearing at the moon loudly as though it had prepared the pathetic metaphor. her father had used to call her his little moon, the centre of his universe. that stopped when she became as developed as the secretaries that routinely stopped by their home for meetings. she especially loved when they stayed for dinner and her mother pretended to be okay with it. those were the times she would order an elaborate meal and present it on their own dish ware. because sarah silver is the perfect wife and cooks gourmet meals for her family every night. can't have the unfed rods with fake racks thinking the man they're fucking is married to the perfect woman. that made her feel better, the commiserable existence her mother had. she wasn't quite that disgusting yet. or maybe she was. tristan couldn't remember a time her other had ever completely melted down in public.

her mother. her father. her family. that was another topic entirely. the only time tristan ever bothered to think about them was when she'd drunk way too much on way too empty of a stomach. that should not have even been on the table. she was upset because her team had lost, not because she was a townie failure with a chaotic past and no visible future. she was going to be here in another twenty years, worse off. because she was going to be a philadelphia fan. her ironic laugh broke the silence. leaning her head against the wall again, she raised a hand to push the dark hair from her eyes. her smile, cruel and taunting, felt comfortable as she smiled it. she disgusted herself. she disgusted herself more because she was thinking she was going to end up like her mother, but a flyers fan. no way in fuck that was going to happen. pouring the cheap liquor down her throat again, eagerly looking for the warmth that was never going to come, she blinked as someone so rudely interrupted her thoughts, just as they were approaching rational.

wiping another bit of eyeshadow from under her eye, tristan blinked and looked up. his name was knox ramsey. he was a police office, serving the good of valkyrie, california. she just didn't know why. anyone with the foolish dream of bringing peace and happiness to this wasted town needed to get laid. or high. or both. and he was one of those types because he had never bothered her before, when she out causing similar scenes on the street corners of valkyrie. most of the officers in town knew her. because most people in town knew her. she was the crazy bitch who threw glasses and got into fights if you insulted her favourite hockey player or called her a slut or did anything else that unhinged her. as she spoke, she pursed her lips, tilted her head to the side. off-duty never meant a thing. most cops held their badges out like it gave them orgasms. "and you're lucky i don't believe you." her words were tart, slurred with her awkward drunkenness. why the hell was he even talking to her? furrowing her manicured eyebrows, the valkyrie native looked down at the quickly emptying bottle in her hands and automatically loosened her grip. she hated it, hated it, when people noticed shit about her. go look somewhere else. scoffing lightly, she eyed him haughtily as she leaked even more of the russian poison into her body. shivering slightly as it splashed into her empty belly, knowing the warmth wasn't going to come, tristan smiled her cruel smile again. clutching the bottle in one hand, the other against the building to balance her, she approached him, one step at a time. "not usually, no." her words were slow, spoken with a coherence that had been absent a moment earlier. "but it pissed me off. sort of like you're doing, office." giving no second thoughts to his boundary issues, she leaned right against his chest, arms loosely encircling his neck. pressing the cold bottle against his back, tristan smiled again. "but the moon just doesn't seem to go away."</sub>[/blockquote][/blockquote]

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TAGGED, knox !
LENGTH, 1561 words.
ATTIRE, clicketh + new york rangers jersey.
NOTES, <3 me too.
CREDITS, format to me. gif to tumblr.
lyrics to poets of the fall - "psychosis"

[/blockquote]

[knox leon ramsey]

<sub>- - - much of knox's actions were impulse. hell, much of knox's life was impulse. sure, he was logical but when he knew something, and was completely sure of it, he went for it. it was a gut reaction. sure holding himself back was always an option but hell, it hasn't failed him yet so why stop now right? it wasn't so much that he was a complete do good-er, even though his line of work suggested different. he knew there was corruption in the united states government, he knew everything about the country was laced with a hidden agenda, but he wasn't. what was he to do? how to function in a world where everyone's intention is hidden by a generous action? you go about your own business and that's what he was doing. he was no pawn. knox acted for himself. in the military police he was encouraged to follow up on suspicions, but these suspicions weren't always taken into account. it was part of the reason he left the military police, and opted for a local police force, and even now was working his way of to being a swat officer. the chief of police here seemed to like his previous line of work, and treated him like a second son. hell, knox could've told he though barney was a terrorist and the chief would have him begin an investigation. sure, there were perks to having your job in your back pocket. the captain however was another story. kauffman was so laid back that it even kind of bothered knox, he couldn't understand how someone with such a high authority position could be so indifferent. it didn't seem right, especially for a town like valkyrie, hell. there was shit going on left and right down here. it was crazy. sure, he'd been here before but it was only for a short time as a child before he'd be taken back to san francisco. he'd never gotten the full feel of valkyrie, and hey maybe it wasn't exactly a bad thing.

knox had seen some interesting things crawling the streets of valkyrie at night. almost all of it. from druggies, to hookers, mobsters that the department knew of but had no reason to take in yet. it was hard for him to see these people on the streets, people who take advantage of people, walking around like there was nothing wrong and him not be able to take them in. instead he could only drive by in the squad car and watch as they looked and him and grinned the cheekiest grin imaginable. it made his blood boil, not because he could only follow orders, no not because of that. because they looked at him as something not equal to a threat. knox worked this hard to be respected, to have some kind of authority, and he was still working for it. he'd be damned if he didn't polish off his career with some sort of major title to brag to his grand kids about for half of their adolescence, he'd be damned.

so who cared about the littler things in valkyrie? with such drama as an array of different gangs, a number of different independent crimes taking place, among other things who had time to worry about the drunken girl getting in an argument in a bar with people who laughed at her antics while she was inebriated out of her mind? who had the time to follow her on the darkened streets of town to make sure that none of these scumbags around her decided to fuck around, and take her deep into an alley and do whatever they pleased? or who had time to lecture her on how she was slowly destroying herself, losing the little amount of respect that withered within the people of this town, or even whatever shred of respect or concern she had for herself? welp, somehow knox did. because on a day where he'd been dragged ragged up and down these streets dealing with domestic cases, chasing thieves, among other things he'd come to the bar in the hopes of a nice pint of beer or two to relax before he headed home to repeat the same bullshit the next day. it wouldn't be untrue of him to say that he was tired. part of him wanted that mediocre job in an office or among town doing something that maybe didn't endanger your life every day, but hey, the benefits were great, and he was even a quasi-veteran since he did a lot of work overseas. things wouldn't be bad for him later so why not put up with shit storm now right? eh. he was still debating it.

but instead of finishing his beer, he held it, the persperation clinging to his hands as his eyes focused on her swaying out the door. she was a sad little thing, but hey, no one else was gonna worry about her safety, but yet someone had to or else he'd be swifted with guilt if he were to see a news report with her face and the worth murder connected to it. so instead he laid his money on the table and followed her from the bar with every intention of simply making sure that she got wherever she needed to go, safely.

the amount of knowledge he had of tristan silver was scarce. she was a native that was sure, everyone in town seemed to know of her, but it seemed to be just one of those things that was known rather than spoken of. she was a train wreck but it didn't take someone speaking those words to make it known to him. he could see it with his own eyes, the way she swerved down the sidewalk in front of him. he chuckled a little. this was her way of escaping reality? yikes. "ouch, couldn't be more wrong?" biting his lip a bit, knox couldn't help but lift his hand to his chin with eyebrows narrowing, "are you trying to tell me that you are not drunk out of your mind and wandering the streets? or am i the drunk one here?" he chuckled a bit at his own sarcasm, but stopped abruptly. laughing at your own jokes is pretty fucking lame. as she got in his face he merely stood there as she used the excuse of her environment to justify her actions, "for a girl with such rebellious actions as defying the rules of a lady, getting into arguments in bars and drinking in the streets, i didn't peg you to be one to be a conformist," he spoke to her with a shit-eating grin on his face. her fake sadness and pity for him was cute, it would be more cute if she were soberly insulting him and just playing hard to get instead of spewing disgusting nail polish remover-breath in his face, "who said anything about pretending. is that your problem, you think everyone's putting up a facade?" he could imagine that in her mind it would be possible to believe that no one can genuinely care for another. had she known anything different?

here she was, a walking contradiction; saying she needed no help but yet drunk and crying in the streets. maybe this was the reason he shook his head, or it could've been that she continued to poison herself with the contents of that disgusting bottle. he watched as she backed away from him and moved to the wall and slid to the disgusting ground her bottle next to her. her mouth spoke that no one cries and it was only now that he shook his head, moving over to her. hands finally reaching from outside of his pockets, her grabbed the bottle from her hands and threw it down the alley from them, the loud sound of the glass breaking was all to be heard. clapping his hands together as to wipe the excess from his skin, he sighed, "now that that's out of the way" he spoke before dropping to the balls of his feet in front of her, his forearms resting on his knees he looked at her, "you can drop the cold exterior, alright?" he spoke with a hard tone for a moment, before dropping his head for a moment and softening up, before raising his head again, "look, i'm honestly not going to hurt you or anything. the only person who will is yourself. as soon as you realize that maybe things will turn for the better" his own blue eyes made sure to pierce her own so she could understand his words thoroughly, "stop thinking everyone out here is out to get you, and move on. i do know about you, yeah, but i'm not pretending to care," scratching the back of his neck for a moment he continued, "fuck all of them. all you speak of is what everyone else in town thinks or knows or does, but what does it matter. they're going to keep doing it anyways, but it's part of your job to turn a deaf ear to it before it ruins you," knox paused, and stopped himself from preaching and stood up straight looking down at her. she looked helpless, like a child done wrong,"or maybe it already has."
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this post right here is dedicated to tristann c: and is an astounding amount of 1763 words. in my own words i'd like to say that yayyyy, sorry knox got all philosophical.. well anyways, knox is just hangin in this, everything in this layout was made by yours truly. currently listening to thor (don't laugh at my obsession). lyrics in the graphic above are from the song dirty diana by michael jackson. that's all for now. ta ta!</sub>

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[tristan valencia silver]

,

[/size]SHE HAD A <sub>reputation. she always had a reputation. that was the solo topic no one could deny. even tristan couldn't lie about it. for a long time, the silver girl had fed off of it. most of her actions were based on the fact that people would, without a fucking doubt, be paying attention. eyes were always on her. it was their own fault if she would fail to satisfy their insatiable hunger for destruction. she hired a worker with bad breath and yellow teeth and a smile that belonged to someone who would touch children to bulldoze the girl standing there, with her empty eyes and knife tongue. once that girl's body was stained across the pavement, her bone cage would stand up, pick up what flesh she could, and continue about her day. that girl was the girl every female living in valkyrie, california was. they pretended they weren't. so they would watch with a sickened fascination, because it was like a car crash. you shouldn't watch, but you slow down anyway, because you deserve the right to. tristan simply did not apologize. she offered her hand to the scaly green monster lurking in the cave, and didn't cry when it bit down. as it flayed her flesh, one layer at a time, she stared with stone eyes. it didn't hurt. nothing hurt. people were welcome to watch, she sold tickets herself. twenty-five dollars; buy three get the fourth free. it caused a harassed enervation to vibrate through her body. people lied, to themselves, to everyone. they weren't perfect. no one in valkyrie was whole, one piece. she offered a well-priced show that displayed the truth, is all.

her reputation frightened people. mothers were terrified of her. girls pretended she was a worthless bitch, but she terrified them to. but they peered through curtains. the show is sold-out, sorry. so they played the penniless card and "observed". who else would hold this notoriety so shamelessly? someone had to. just as a town requires a village idiot, a girl who stays with men no matter how often they cheat and a girl who is "quirky" because she wears scares and rides a bicycle. tristan was valkyrie's official train wreck. she deserved a medal.

she deserved a lot of things. the silver mentality would never truly abandon her. tristan valencia was an entitled human being. she had lived in the pearly world dipped in gold and soaked in diamonds. it was a tight bubble bathed with infidelity and eating disorders and shopping. she deserved a better family. she was no fool - families are built-in support systems. you love one another. her father was never around, her mother only cared for the number of inches around her hips. she probably deserved to have someone tell her they loved her and they were worried and they wanted to go see a fucking movie. but all of that nonsense was sanitized out of her body. ridiculous. no one living in that bubble deserved happiness. the closest thing to was being happy that the other women got fat and settled for a junior lawyer, not the firm partner. "fuck you" is equal to happiness. satisfaction, vindication. she learned that early. it was the only lesson tristan absorbed openly. to ruin the lives of others is an acceptable form of self-loathing. she successfully did so, several times over. perhaps she deserved this new page, then. karma and all of that shit she didn't believe in.

credit and assurance and faith and confidence and every other positive word in the stupid dictionary. none of those should hang out with "valkyrie, california". they're a bad influence, young man. they smile and have ambition and go out and lead real lives. unacceptable. you are to remain a puddle of tar, bubbling in the hot sun because no one ever gave you a hat. you hold all of the filth the rest of the state of california wishes to discard. sewage, debris left out in the rain for too long. you don't even want to take it out to the curb, because it is disgusting. every time tristan looked at that broken girl in the mirror (was it her?) she had to laugh, an immature guffaw of stark realization. she finally figured it out - valkyrie was a landfill filled with storm drainage. you sink and never have the energy to leave. you have to pay to leave things at the dump, you know. they were an investment. people could never truly escape. she looked around. the number of faces who had ditched directly after high school? the rest of the world ruined them. the people of valkyrie are fragile, unaccustomed to the cruelties of everyone else. a lifetime is spent welding a shield of reinforced steel, able to endure the waves of other people's shit that never stopped splashing. living in the real world is different than a life down in the sewers. people always come crawling back, tails between their legs, teeth pulled out. the world pulls out their nails, smiled, and asked where else they could poke with hot knives. credit and assurance and faith and confidence and every other positive word may have been worth something outside of the valkyrie borders. they didn't. tristan knew that. no one else, it seemed, did. they all come back here with false hopes and childish smiles. put on rubber boots, bite down on some rotten cheese and get used to it.

she only had a reputation for telling the truth.

these people hate the truth.

that was why she made a face at knox ramsey. he had ex-valkyrie written all over him. he had "good person" carved into him. in the third grade cursive only one kid is ever really good at. the one who gets the lollipop from the teacher. the rest get more homework. he was a police officer, an honest member trying to enforce the law. was there a town where that was more redundant? even tristan, in her hazes of self-destruction, knew of the criminal activity. about time, really. the seedy underbelly had to be attractive to the law-breaking dirt of the world. they could dance with gingerbread and kiss monsters here, with the broken citizens. it had to be the perfect cover. she watched him because he was watching her watch him. everyone knew cops around here were "off the clock", so they'd never bother. so leave her the fuck alone. this was him being a "good person" again. not the one who went to the police academy (stupid). the part where the world crafted him to be a decent human being. he followed her, talked to her. brought up concerns and her reasoning and things she knew no one actually cared about. why the hell was he bothering? if you are not donned in a starchy blue uniform, go away. the only times tristan listened (sometimes) were to those people. not people in t-shirts pretending to be concerned because it was their duty.

she looked up at him, loosening her grip on the bottle again. she said nothing as he spoke. only looked up at him, darkness seeping back into her eyes. classic case of "you don't know me". like an episode of maury. she laughed again, in spite of herself. standing on her tiptoes, she whispered in his ear, her breath hot and salty. "you couldn't be more wrong." backing away from him, she stumbled a few steps before leaning against the building again. she lifted the bottle to her lips again, feeling the cold poison drip down her throat. she didn't shiver this time. tristan watched him again, remaining silent and unmoving. what the fuck were his intentions? no one goes out of their way to care about people. have you met people? breathing haughtily, she put the bottle on the ground, and turned to face him, arms crossed. "i have lived here my entire life. shit like that is the norm, officer. you can't have forgotten that." she almost sounded sad for him, the same fakeness leaking into her voice as she'd used earlier. her eyes were still steely, her expression cold. "stop sounding condescending. everyone in this town knows my family. and you pretend to care?" she spat her words this time, feeling increasingly defensive. no one cares about anyone else. that's what she was taught from an early age. she watched him through her stone eyes, the anger seeping into them. sniffing again, wiping mascara, she slid down the building, clutching the bottle again. "no one here cries."</sub>[/blockquote][/blockquote]

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TAGGED, knox !
LENGTH, 1433 words.
ATTIRE, clicketh + new york rangers jersey.
NOTES, stfu. i love knox. <3
CREDITS, format to me. gif to tumblr.
lyrics to poets of the fall - "psychosis"

[/blockquote]

[knox leon ramsey]

<sub>- - - much of knox's actions were impulse. hell, much of knox's life was impulse. sure, he was logical but when he knew something, and was completely sure of it, he went for it. it was a gut reaction. sure holding himself back was always an option but hell, it hasn't failed him yet so why stop now right? it wasn't so much that he was a complete do good-er, even though his line of work suggested different. he knew there was corruption in the united states government, he knew everything about the country was laced with a hidden agenda, but he wasn't. what was he to do? how to function in a world where everyone's intention is hidden by a generous action? you go about your own business and that's what he was doing. he was no pawn. knox acted for himself. in the military police he was encouraged to follow up on suspicions, but these suspicions weren't always taken into account. it was part of the reason he left the military police, and opted for a local police force, and even now was working his way of to being a swat officer. the chief of police here seemed to like his previous line of work, and treated him like a second son. hell, knox could've told he though barney was a terrorist and the chief would have him begin an investigation. sure, there were perks to having your job in your back pocket. the captain however was another story. kauffman was so laid back that it even kind of bothered knox, he couldn't understand how someone with such a high authority position could be so indifferent. it didn't seem right, especially for a town like valkyrie, hell. there was shit going on left and right down here. it was crazy. sure, he'd been here before but it was only for a short time as a child before he'd be taken back to san francisco. he'd never gotten the full feel of valkyrie, and hey maybe it wasn't exactly a bad thing.

knox had seen some interesting things crawling the streets of valkyrie at night. almost all of it. from druggies, to hookers, mobsters that the department knew of but had no reason to take in yet. it was hard for him to see these people on the streets, people who take advantage of people, walking around like there was nothing wrong and him not be able to take them in. instead he could only drive by in the squad car and watch as they looked and him and grinned the cheekiest grin imaginable. it made his blood boil, not because he could only follow orders, no not because of that. because they looked at him as something not equal to a threat. knox worked this hard to be respected, to have some kind of authority, and he was still working for it. he'd be damned if he didn't polish off his career with some sort of major title to brag to his grand kids about for half of their adolescence, he'd be damned.

so who cared about the littler things in valkyrie? with such drama as an array of different gangs, a number of different independent crimes taking place, among other things who had time to worry about the drunken girl getting in an argument in a bar with people who laughed at her antics while she was inebriated out of her mind? who had the time to follow her on the darkened streets of town to make sure that none of these scumbags around her decided to fuck around, and take her deep into an alley and do whatever they pleased? or who had time to lecture her on how she was slowly destroying herself, losing the little amount of respect that withered within the people of this town, or even whatever shred of respect or concern she had for herself? welp, somehow knox did. because on a day where he'd been dragged ragged up and down these streets dealing with domestic cases, chasing thieves, among other things he'd come to the bar in the hopes of a nice pint of beer or two to relax before he headed home to repeat the same bullshit the next day. it wouldn't be untrue of him to say that he was tired. part of him wanted that mediocre job in an office or among town doing something that maybe didn't endanger your life every day, but hey, the benefits were great, and he was even a quasi-veteran since he did a lot of work overseas. things wouldn't be bad for him later so why not put up with shit storm now right? eh. he was still debating it.

but instead of finishing his beer, he held it, the persperation clinging to his hands as his eyes focused on her swaying out the door. she was a sad little thing, but hey, no one else was gonna worry about her safety, but yet someone had to or else he'd be swifted with guilt if he were to see a news report with her face and the worth murder connected to it. so instead he laid his money on the table and followed her from the bar with every intention of simply making sure that she got wherever she needed to go, safely.

the amount of knowledge he had of tristan silver was scarce. she was a native that was sure, everyone in town seemed to know of her, but it seemed to be just one of those things that was known rather than spoken of. she was a train wreck but it didn't take someone speaking those words to make it known to him. he could see it with his own eyes, the way she swerved down the sidewalk in front of him. he chuckled a little. this was her way of escaping reality? yikes. "ouch, couldn't be more wrong?" biting his lip a bit, knox couldn't help but lift his hand to his chin with eyebrows narrowing, "are you trying to tell me that you are not drunk out of your mind and wandering the streets? or am i the drunk one here?" he chuckled a bit at his own sarcasm, but stopped abruptly. laughing at your own jokes is pretty fucking lame. as she got in his face he merely stood there as she used the excuse of her environment to justify her actions, "for a girl with such rebellious actions as defying the rules of a lady, getting into arguments in bars and drinking in the streets, i didn't peg you to be one to be a conformist," he spoke to her with a shit-eating grin on his face. her fake sadness and pity for him was cute, it would be more cute if she were soberly insulting him and just playing hard to get instead of spewing disgusting nail polish remover-breath in his face, "who said anything about pretending. is that your problem, you think everyone's putting up a facade?" he could imagine that in her mind it would be possible to believe that no one can genuinely care for another. had she known anything different?

here she was, a walking contradiction; saying she needed no help but yet drunk and crying in the streets. maybe this was the reason he shook his head, or it could've been that she continued to poison herself with the contents of that disgusting bottle. he watched as she backed away from him and moved to the wall and slid to the disgusting ground her bottle next to her. her mouth spoke that no one cries and it was only now that he shook his head, moving over to her. hands finally reaching from outside of his pockets, her grabbed the bottle from her hands and threw it down the alley from them, the loud sound of the glass breaking was all to be heard. clapping his hands together as to wipe the excess from his skin, he sighed, "now that that's out of the way" he spoke before dropping to the balls of his feet in front of her, his forearms resting on his knees he looked at her, "you can drop the cold exterior, alright?" he spoke with a hard tone for a moment, before dropping his head for a moment and softening up, before raising his head again, "look, i'm honestly not going to hurt you or anything. the only person who will is yourself. as soon as you realize that maybe things will turn for the better" his own blue eyes made sure to pierce her own so she could understand his words thoroughly, "stop thinking everyone out here is out to get you, and move on. i do know about you, yeah, but i'm not pretending to care," scratching the back of his neck for a moment he continued, "fuck all of them. all you speak of is what everyone else in town thinks or knows or does, but what does it matter. they're going to keep doing it anyways, but it's part of your job to turn a deaf ear to it before it ruins you," knox paused, and stopped himself from preaching and stood up straight looking down at her. she looked helpless, like a child done wrong,"or maybe it already has."
______________________________

this post right here is dedicated to tristann c: and is an astounding amount of 1557 words. in my own words i'd like to say that yayyy, sorry he got all philosophical hahaa. well anyways, knox is just hangin in this, everything in this layout was made by yours truly. currently listening to thor (don't laugh at my obsession). lyrics in the graphic above are from the song dirty diana by michael jackson. that's all for now. ta ta!</sub>

[/sub][/justify][/font][/blockquote]

[tristan valencia silver]

,

[/size]WORDS TERRIFIED HER. <sub>that was why she developed her own personal headphones. expensive ones. skullcandy. it was easier than listening. she turned up the volume passed maximum, leaving the ridiculous message of hearing loss in the trash. the world knew of her music, a white noise fuzzed with static. it was all tristan heard. she wrote the lyrics, played the notes, and then published it on itunes. bought for ninety-nine cents (she wasn't popular enough to be expensive) and put on repeat. one song, three minutes and forty-eight seconds. over and over. never stopping. it killed her battery, but then she recharged it and pressed play. the same impassioned acoustic played, never stopping. hearing a repeated tune was easier than listening. anything was easier than listening. with her own words, she could believe anything. she was free to exist within her own mind, blindfold tight, headphones firm. tristan had been writing her own music for a long time. it was always the same, an acerbic purr with angry words. it was comfortable there, isolated from everyone else's static. there were feelings there, intense and present. nothing disappeared behind a sheet of white velvet, humming with a foreign tune. she couldn't control that, their words. so she ran. went to hmv, bought headphones, hacked and tore and repaired them again. and then she disappeared behind her own velvet curtain.

it was easier that way.

tristan silver hated vulnerability. hates. raw emotion, a scab ripped off. open a wound and feel the sands of society's malevolence, the salt of truth and lies and promises and broken words. everything seeps in and mixes with your blood and then it scabs over again, but it's thin and black. so you put a bandaid on it. it protects it, sort of. maybe you put on ointment, a foolish hope to clean up the mess. but then you believe it's healed and invite the viruses to try again. they're strong, with little pointed fangs. a weak bandage is a bit of fun, biting at the edges and flaying it open again. and then they get absorbed right into your flesh, pollute your insides, and it's too late - you're broken. they got you and you're too weak to try and run. you allowed yourself a silly vulnerability, hoping to find something gold in a world of coal. it's there. maybe. but you're going to get dirty and diseased before you find it. why would the gold want you then? listen to the hum of the drills, the bang of the hammers - the miners hard at work. they always die in tragic explosions. tristan was smarter than that. she never went into the cave to begin with. when society was handing out jobs, her headphones were on too loudly. she didn't pay attention when they invited her for some excitement in the dark. why would she go hunting for gold when she never knew it was there to begin with?

don't rip off your scab, let it scar. don't listen to their music, write your own.

twenty plus years carved her a steel mask, impenetrable. she was an empty shell, isolated with static noise and dark sunglasses. lost, hopeless, but not broken. not by them. she did it to herself. she did everything to herself. it made her feel better. blaming anyone else? where did that get you? feel your own heat because you deserve it. glare at someone with dagger eyes and throw grenade words and they trap you so you can feel them instead. why did she know that? because she did it. everytime someone would try to crack her armour, she set a snare and cracked them instead. it didn't take her long to learn that isolation was better. her own mistakes, her own fault. her own sadness, her own anger. all tristan was because of her. she knew that, would be the first to admit it. it took a lot of training. plenty of infected wounds and self-scolding not to put that ointment on. nights spend shivering in her bed, starving her brain of everything that would eventually ruin her - family dinners and movies with friends and dancing in the rain and kissing a boy, or maybe a girl. she would forget her armour at home one day and then feel the rusted blade of someone else spear deep into her belly, passed her bone cage and into her tired heart. someone would have successfully spilled tristan silver's blood all over the cement. it would fade into a dirty maroon and cook in the sun, an ugly stain. and all because she didn't let it scar or listened to their music or left her mask hanging int he closet. it's one day, really, what could it hurt? it hurt too much the first time. she bled all over the floor the second time. the third time, she had nothing but poison to offer. it hissed and reared its ugly snake head, determined never to get hurt again. a steel mask with expensive headphones is easier. anything is easier.

blind and distracted by anemic tunes, lost in the snow, spinning in a circle and going whichever direction she stopped: her path. tristan never paid attention. she was listening to her white noise, hardening her diamond shell. she was searing her flesh and forcing it to scar. she was lacing her bone cage tighter and tighter, because it was getting that much more difficult to feel anything. it made her tough, robust. shiny steel, tough leather stains. left out in the rain, struck by lightning. rusted acid that eventually crumbles. blind and distracted, directionless in her own collapsed everything. even that was easier.

tristan felt like metal, rusted metal from an old car no one wanted to buy in the first place. maybe she had been pretty and shiny and new at one point. but people get bored. she rotted in a backyard, trapped in the mud and drowning in acid rain. she crumbled and broke and festered with all of the other stormy remains. she couldn't leave valkyrie, california because her engine didn't work anymore. her tires were thing and she could probably use new interior. at least the radio still worked. instead, she wandered around that snowy backyard, blinded by her own rage. she was lost in her own mind and she didn't care enough to go and buy a compass. daddy could give her a gps for her birthday, if he remembered it this year. he didn't last year. but when someone appeared in smoke and tried to change the dial, maybe even remove her headphones, the ugly snake reared its ugly head again. maybe the snake was the engine. he was talking to her like he had some idea, an insight to this ugliness. well, fuck him. he didn't know anything unless he downloaded her itunes tracks or felt her scars or was rusted just like she was. and if someone was any of those, they needed a lot more help than she did. because she deserved all of this and no one else did. few others had terrorized valkyrie, california like tristan had. she left her armour off for five minutes and it trapped her and rusted her with its acid rain. she stopped fighting after awhile.

because that was easier.

just like it was easier to stand there and listen to him. he called her drunk and a rebel and a fool for thinking people put up facades. and she called her stupid. as knox spoke, more daggers sharpened in her eyes. she wanted to pull his teeth out because he had the nerve to speak to her. "and i didn't peg you for a dolted simpleton." she spat her words, unable to think of anything clever. her mind was spinning. no one said more than five words to her anymore. and those usually involved explicate adjectives. not appropriate. "everyone puts up a facade, officer. even you. people are afraid to be themselves for five minutes. it's easier just to pretend, isn't it? look what happens when you don't." she was holding up the bottle when she spoke, a sickened grin crossing her face. it took even less time to break tristan silver. it wasn't a judgement, not even an offence. it was fact, cold and simple fact. everytime someone spoke to the truth, to broke her a little more. even as the words exited her mouth, her voice cracked. look what happens when you don't pretend. you're out on the streets of some alley cat town, drunk and teary. as she slid down the side of the building, the world going in and out of focus, the option of disappearing was growing more and more attractive. maybe she could stay behind the white velvet curtain forever. easier.

she laced her bone cage tighter. the cold of the bottle was all she felt. even that was becoming difficult. her eyes were looking down the neck, into the nearly empty case of russian water. tequila made her feel more, vodka numbed her. she couldn't tell which was better. it took a few seconds to acknowledge knox grabbing it from her. the shattering of the glass brought the world back into a severe clarity. the snake reared its head again, venom dripping from its fangs, as she watched him balancing himself in front of her. it happened again. it was easier just to sit there, stoney-eyed and silent, as he spoke. she hated it. she hated him because when he spoke his harsh words, her ears decided to listen. she wanted to turn the volume up louder but the song was coming to an end. i don't think she put it on repeat. her eyes searched his face for a minute, words biting on the tip of her tongue. "you say you're not pretending to care. so why are you even here?" her voice was soft, a near whisper. there was no venom, no angry sarcasm. she fell quiet again as he spoke, wondering aloud. did it ruin her? was he honestly asking her that? the fire flared up in her eyes again.

feeling the rough stucco underneath her fingers again, tristan pulled herself upward. she was biting her lip, feeling the warm blood, because she didn't know what else to do. "where do you get off?" her words were stuttered, messy, as she leaned forward and pushed her weight onto her hands, and then onto his shoulders. she wanted to push him into moving traffic. the last of her body's tears rimmed her eyes, but they never fell because she didn't have the strength anymore. "where do you get off?" her words were repeated, more of a mumble than anything. "you don't know anything. because i don't think any of that or feel any of that or do any of that. the only person who gets to take credit is me. i'm the one who gets responsibility and blame. not you. not any of them." her voice was raising by the word, a senseless ramble laced with anger and offence. why wouldn't the volume go any higher? there was a whine coming from behind her static, because it wanted to shut down and rest. fuck that. she wanted to break her headphones. she wanted to break everything. biting her tongue again, tristan wandered a few steps forward, stumbling. she leaned against his chest again, arms flat against him, as she looked up at him, her empty eyes firmly back in place. "the only person who gets to call themselves ruined is them. you know that, because you're just as disgusting and broken as i am." for the first time, she didn't slur her words. she spoke softly, that same near whisper. "your spewing all your shit because you know it's right. i do. don't think you're better than me because you deal with it in a different way. we're all addicted to a different kind of self-destruction."</sub>[/blockquote][/blockquote]

-----------------------------------------------------------

TAGGED, knox !
LENGTH, 2000 words.
ATTIRE, clicketh + new york rangers jersey.
NOTES, this is so bad.
CREDITS, format to me. gif to tumblr.
lyrics to poets of the fall - "psychosis"

[/blockquote]

[knox leon ramsey]

<sub>- - - there were many things that young knox ramsey had yet to realize in his life. either that or things that he just didn't want to realize yet. some part of him was sure that no matter who the person was, that if they'd wanted to really, if they'd had the will to, they could change to be the person they'd wanted to be. call it the good in him, but all he felt like those people needed was a push, but sometimes didn't have the person to do it. now he didn't think or necessarily want to be the person to do it, but him being a cop didn't exactly help much. sure, he didn't sign up to be a psychiatrist and that wasn't his job and normally he didn't care, but something about his current situation made him feel like he needed to say...something. he'd never been one to bite his tongue. cause sometimes someone needed to be told that things were out of line, and hey, that was something that he'd always hoped someone would've told his mother back when he was younger. he'd hoped it would've been his grandparents and while they'd both tried to talk some sense into her, carabelle had no intentions of realizing the part that she'd played already. instead, she did set up her art gallery, but rather than taking care of her lovechild, she wallowed in her sadness that the man she loved not only didn't love her the way that she loved him, but that he left her alone to raise their son and this stems the anger and depression that kept her drowning in her own sadness and pretty much leaving knox in the care of his grandparents while she did...whatever.

it was tough, and while people who don't know knox, which is mostly everyone in valkyrie, never know this missing sense of family that he has. in his mind and his reality, knox is alone because though he has his grandparents, and sure maybe his buddies from the MP, he's really got no one else. his life is pretty dull. whereas valkyrie was a town of locals, people who'd went to high school here, went off to college and come back to raise a family or make their lives, knox was used to the busy streets of san fracisco where you're knowingness of life around the area was based on where you went to school, the people you knew from the local shops, and the people on your block. valkyrie was a microcosm all it's own, and yet once that he was having a hard time breaking into.

now because of this, it didn't necessarily mean that he was following tristan silver through these darkened streets for the hope of friendship, and sure this was the more copish side of his mind that was at work, but hey, his conscience couldn't deal with hearing about a dead woman found in a darkened alley or whatever from one of the guys at the station. so instead he followed, her with good intentions none the less, but knew getting her to safety would help him sleep tonight. so he followed her, out into the darkened streets and out past the people surrounded by their usual cloud of smoke outside the bar still mumbling about her comments made only a few seconds ago to them. he shook his head, people were ridiculous, and call him a cynic but he was beginning to lose faith in some. knox normally supposed that for a cop that wasn't a good mindset to have but hey, it's just the world be live in now.

for someone who was so completely helpless, she put up a fight to stay that way. part of it was beginning to annoy him, he was trying to help her off the streets not save her life and he wished she would understand because now she was just starting to piss him off. just like he didn't know her, though he knew about her than she knew, she didn't know him either. she was stubborn as all hell too, did she not understand that not everyone was out to get her. that wasn't the case, she was just making it seem that way. part of him at this point just wanted to leave her there, crying on the sidewalk, drunk, pathetic, and self-pitying so at least maybe she could continue on the way she thought she wanted to be. hating the world because she thought it hated her back. fuck it, there was nothing holding him here other than that she could have two potential charges against her: open container in public, and drunk and disorderly. but was he going to? you know, he hadn't made up his mind yet. if she pissed him off any more than he might, not that it seemed like spending a night in jail was new for her or would even do her any good. hell, it'd probably be no different than her everyday life. he shook his head at the thought, it's a shame really.

as she spoke, or even spat back at him all her ill-fated responses, knox merely sat there and humored her by listening. did she really thing she was getting anywhere with all this bullshit? 'you don't know me' or [/]'i'm not feeling any of that</sub>

[/i], blah blah blah. bullshit, "ehh you know you might be right, you probably don't feel any of that because hey, you drink yourself into a stupor and block out everything. i mean in all honesty can i just ask you, what do you feel?" he smirked in front of of her as she placed her hands on his chest just for stability. really? he chuckled right in her face, but help back as she continued, his smirk still present as he raised his eyebrows, "that's beautiful, poetic really," he told her because now he was done trying to be helpful. he was really starting to wish that he woud've just stayed in the bar, this chick didn't want to hear him and frankly he was tired of her drunken ramblings. he could bet that she thought she sounded a little more witty than she really did. she was a mess and knox was slowly learning why people just left her alone though it annoyed him, how someone like this could just go on with their pity party. she was ruining a perfectly fixable life. she could move on from her little 'gossip girl'-esque scandal. that was nothing, "you done with your own pity party yet?" he asked, as he grabbed her wrists and pulled them off of him, letting them drop so for once she could actually have a reason to fend for herself.

shaking his head, knox was nearing the end of that patience and that meant that soon enough it was time for his exit from the scene, "i'm spewing said bullshit because we both know it's right, now i took the time and from the kindness of my heart i followed you thinking that hey, you could need help and you know so you don't get molested or what not, but good god do i wish i never spoke one word to you at all. you're terrible. stop taking all this pity on yourself because you're only making your situation worse by moping around valkyrie like a drunken hooker all the fucking time. you want things to be better? lay off the bottle, get a real job, and fix shit, because if you haven't realized it yet, no one's gonna do it for you," he spat, all clean, strong and with no stutters. he was done with this bullshit because he had enough crap on his plate. he didn't need to be fucking around with some girl who truly thought that her own problems were the only ones that mattered. he had shit too, hell, everyone has shit their going through. it was up to her face up to it, be the strong woman she needed to be to get back on her feet. taking another look at her, he could help but shake his head with disgust but let out a small laugh, "you're only as bad as everyone says because you let yourself be that way,", shoving his hands in his pockets, knox turned his back on her taking a step back towards the bar before stopping himself, "get your shit together, because the next time i find you like this you're gonna be going to the station. you shouldn't be able to get free passes just because people know you. you've made it pretty clear you don't care, so why should anyone else?" shaking his head once more, knox's feet began to take him back in the direction of the bar and away from any more frustration on her part.

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this post right here is dedicated to tristann c: and is an astounding amount of 1448 words. in my own words i'd like to say that well hot dayummm. well anyways, knox is just hangin in this, everything in this layout was made by yours truly. currently listening to thor (don't laugh at my obsession). lyrics in the graphic above are from the song dirty diana by michael jackson. that's all for now. ta ta![/blockquote][/sub][/justify][/font][/blockquote][/blockquote]