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Post by carter torin birch on May 18, 2012 23:11:28 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: #30325d solid 30px; ]But if there's a reason  OUTFIT: Here, TAGGED: open! NOTES: had carter muse --- CARTER BIRCH UNDERSTOOD that it was a strange thing for a guy of his age to be at a bookstore. Most guys his age were more concerned with understanding the working of a thong, getting their career set and video games, than they were with books. Carter was a reader though, what could he say? He also understood that it was strange to be at a bookstore around nine at night when there was practically no one in the store, and it really was only open for people who needed last minute gifts, or a book for some class they had procrastinated in getting. Carter was there at nine at night just to look through the books and see what he may or may not be interested in. He usually stuck to non-fiction, whether that meant memoirs, history books, biographical or philosophical. The only real fiction he tended to like were the classics, or books that were able to deliver a socially impactive message in a particularly clever or meaningful way. He remembered as a kid one of his favorite books was Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky. For those who have not read the book, Carter would highly recommend it, even if you are older than the target demographic. It was a coming of age novel about a boy named Charlie. It is the story of what it's like to grow up in high school for a lot of people, Carter related but more abstractly than literally. More intimate than a diary, Charlie's letters are singular and unique, hilarious and devastating. The read may not know where he lives, may not know to whom he is writing. All the reader knows is the world he shares. Caught between trying to live his life and trying to run from it puts him on a strange course through uncharted territory. The world of first dates and mixed tapes, family dramas and new friends. The world of sex, drugs, and The Rocky Horror Picture Show, when all one requires is that perfect song on that perfect drive to feel immortal, like you're flying. The writing was clever, smart and hey, Christians tried to ban it, always a surefire indicator of real talent and truth in writing about a teenager's life.
And while the Perks of Being a Wallflower was a wonderful book, it was far from his favorite. Most of his favorite books dealt with social theory or philosophy. Kant, Durkheim, Turner, Voltaire, currently he was fascinated with the book Orientalism by Edward Said. He was the man that actually coined the term "Orientalism." Carter had read it when he was in high school but he only just recently re-read it. In the book, Said effectively redefined the term "Orientalism" to mean a constellation of false assumptions underlying Western attitudes toward the Middle East. Other writers and theorists he enjoyed reading including Gramsci, Chomsky, and Foucault. I am not sure Carter understood what 'light' reading meant. He was used to reading Leo Tolstoy before bed. He was not one of those pretentious snobs about books though. He did not judge the college kids who still read Harry Potter. No, the only book he judged a person for enjoying was the Twilight series because for real? Vampires that twinkle? If you are older than thirteen than Twilight should not be on your reading list in Carter's opinion.
No, the reason Carter was at the bookstore so late was partially because he enjoyed the quiet of the place when nighttime hit. He enjoyed the lack of lines and crowds. But mostly it was because his sister Cherry, or Linny as he called her, she was back in town. He had picked her up at the airport. She had been in Africa for the past four years. Although, about two years ago she did briefly come back... Now she was back because their father had been arrested. Carter had taken her to go see him at prison. He was not granted bail or anything. He had been caught taking bribes from the Italian Mafia, also known as the organization Carter Birch worked for. Yeah, the introverted reader worked for the mafia. He was a sniper. Carter had been raised around it, not in it. You see, technically the Birches were distantly related to the Giovanni family on his mother's side. Carter's grandmother on his mother's side was born a Giovanni. And honestly, the mafia likes to keep family close. So Carter grew up knowing his distant cousins however many times removed you want to make them but he always got along with them. And as they had constantly gone outside of town to shoot bottles for target practice, Carter's steady aim and even steadier hand stood out. They trained him and now he works for them. Carter never had much problem with it. He never even cared to justify his work. He had no defense for his actions prepared if anyone ever came at him acting high and mighty and self righteous. His sister was different. She was not a criminal, in fact, so far she had spent most of her life in third world countries building schools, but she had a defense prepared for when people accuse her of being a bad person because she knows about the crime and doesn't care. Honestly, she points to the fact that USA knows about worse things happening all over the world and only does anything if they think they can increase the money stuffed in their selfish pockets and calls the other person a hypocrite. It was actually rather amusing to watch.
Carter on the other hand barely cared for other people's opinions apart from his close friends, family and bosses. He needed approval from them and he got it easily. He was good at what he did. Carter was not dangerous because he had a lust for blood, or power. He was not even that greedy. He was dangerous because he wanted to keep his family happy and did not care about much else other than continuing to expand his mind, formal education or no. What was worse, especially for many women, was that he was that friendly, nice guy who hangs out bookstores and seems like a good guy but with an edge of secrecy and aloofness that many women became interested in him. He liked that effect he had on women but he did not abuse it. Problem was, and it has happened before, women fall for him, try to become part of his life, even when he is clear with them that he is not interested in something serious and either they accept it and are hurt or they're put in danger because of what he does and them constantly trying to find him, but what was he supposed to do? Avoid them? So women tended to like him, sometimes too much. Blessing and a curse, he supposed. Carter reached up and pulled out a copy of Religion in Culture by Pierre Bourdieu. He had read it once before, wonderful mind but the edition and condition of this copy was interesting, seemed to have an extra essay. This is what interested him. video games were fine with friends but could only go so far, he already had his career and well, he's known how to work a thong for a long time.
I don't need to know right now |
[/td][/tr][/table] TEMPLATE BY KHRISTIAN @ CAUTION 2.0, LYRICS BY FLOGGING MOLLY [/center] |
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Post by olivia jane richardson on Jun 3, 2012 12:26:49 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: #a0a0a0 solid 30px; ]my boy builds coffins out of hammers and nails  NOTES:I saw the avengers again, and carter is epic and my banner is from asia! OUTFIT: jeans and a long sleeved shirt TAGGED carter The great thing about not being able to sleep was that she had a lot of time on her hands to read. Books were always wonderful devices for her; they were an escape from the life. Once upon a time she even began writing one, but that was long in the past when she had a better state of mind and a better circadian rhythm. However, as of late, with a sore back and a heavy wallet, Olivia Jane Richardson was interested in first editions of books. It was an expensive hobby, but with the wages she was paid for the less than legal jobs she did, lately, the girl could afford it. She hardly spoke of it to anyone; actually, she hardly spoke at all unless it involved her assignments. It was nice, to be in silence. All her life Liv was vivacious and loud, always loud. But lately she was not. Lately, she wasn’t anything like she was, and she wasn’t even distraught over it. Maybe it was the fact that her best friend was killed, or perhaps that was just a catalyst. Perhaps Olivia was always malicious and apathetic, and all it took was Isabel to be gone for the true colours to show. It was somewhat of a relief, to lack the ability to feel just about anything. It took all expectations and emotions out of the equations, and she happened to work better without the chance to let her conscience come into play. That sounded horrible, but it was true. She had no one to answer to for her misdeeds, and that was a welcoming feeling.
However, it was because of those misdeeds; the theft, con artistry, identity fraud and near about a dozen more misdemeanors to her name, which she was able to browse and purchase many of her first edition books. It was a novel hobby, pun intended, but it was ultimately costly. Part of the reason why she was still living with her brother, his girlfriend and her niece, and part of the reason she was a babysitter and a part-time, merchandiser at this small but wonderfully stocked book store. Though she earned a splendid amount expertly stealing artifacts and tricking security systems from ancient paintings, Olivia Jane Richardson was broke. And today it was because of a first edition of ‘Alice in Wonderland’ that she bought for the hefty sum of $25000. Was it worth it? Of course, but that also meant that she was now sorting the tween vampire novels (she used the term very loosely, it was basically smut with bland storylines) on her Friday night. A Friday night she could have spent out with a boyfriend or friends of any sort, if she had them, that is.
Like previously mentioned, she wasn’t completely distraught over the idea of her whole personality haul; even the lack of acquaintances was pleasurable. Sure she had the rebel sirens, but they were more like family. They had to be with the amount of unbelievable shit they went through over the past five or six years. But other than that, Olivia did not take too kind to strangers. Especially in the nearly deserted bookstore in which she knew the regular people and the three hipsters that believed that they were regulars. As she inadvertently stacked the thin, pocket-sized bibles in the fiction section, she happened to spot someone perusing the row a few feet in front of her. She didn’t recognize the lad, but from what she could see from behind, that was a view in itself. Liv kept a close watch on the man, stack books, peering at an odd angle just to objectify him, and going back to her work. She bit down on her lip, smirking at the fact that she was so blatantly checking him out. It wasn’t until she saw his profile that he looked remotely recognizable. No, not a celebrity, but someone closer than that. Maybe he was part of her otherworld; crime circles were vast and she was a part of many with her line of work. Tentatively creeping closer, Liv caught a glimpse of what book he was turning over in his hand. Oh, a Bourdieu reader? That was interesting, very interesting. Not many were into such heavy, time consuming philosophies let alone french philosophy. Liv spoke softly, garnering his attention, “Spoiler alert, even though he was one of many cited to have crafted the French intellect, he opposed the notion of a total intellectual…” She said, stack books a few feet from the stranger, smiling ever so subtly and looked away.
he doesn't build ships, he has no use for sails |
[/td][/tr][/table][style=font-family: arial narrow; font-size: 10px; font-style: italic; letter-spacing: 1px;]TEMPLATE BY KHRISTIAN @ CAUTION 2.0, LYRICS BY FLORENCE+THE MACHINES[/center] |
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Post by carter torin birch on Jun 21, 2012 8:41:54 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: #30325d solid 30px; ]But if there's a reason OUTFIT: Here, TAGGED: open! NOTES: had carter muse --- THE GREAT THING about being a sniper, for most people who acquire the skills for it, is that you are far away and usually above the face to face actions. Usually you are far enough away, you can only see the face of the person you're shooting through the scope. This was a bonus because, only being able to see the faces through a scope, made the whole situation feel like a video game. Most snipers were able to disconnect from the reality of the situation long enough to make the actual shot. It didn't feel real for them. Unfortunately, Carter was a thinker. Not only that, he was an over thinker. He had once been similar. It felt like a game to him, it was a job and he was good at it. Half the time he was just providing insurance for whoever was making the deal. A just in case precaution. It was a job Carter actually appreciated greatly, mostly because, Carter enjoyed the idea of making a living from protecting the people he cared about. You see, he didn't see his job as killing people. He saw it as him protecting people. And when he got the call, he would take the shot, he would not blink twice about it. He still doesn't. It was because of this distance that his first kill was not some huge emotional experience as it is for many others. He barely felt like he had killed anyone, although being the thinker Carter was, he knew something in him must have changed.
Humans were animals at the end of the day and the greatest instincts were self preservation, sex and followed by preservation of species. Humans were pack animals. It was only natural to kill for self preservation, however that translates into whatever culture you surround yourself in. Carter, as a sniper, was killing for, what he saw, as the preservation of others he cared about more but he recognized that he was still killing his own species which does go against some internal drive. He knows it must have changed him, he was simply not self aware enough to know how, only self aware enough to know it must have. See? Other people if they don't think about it, they don't think about it. No, Carter's the guy that if he doesn't think about it, he thinks about why he doesn't think about it. All he knew was that when a man begged him, face to face not to kill him, He begged Carter for the sake of his family. Carter's Achilles heel. The man had look Carter in the eye, with his hands out and open and begged him to let him go home to his kids, don't leave them without a father, don't leave his wife without a husband, please let him go, he needed to keep them safe. They need him, he needs them. He wants to give his daughter away when she grows up and get married. He hadn't taught his son to drive yet. Please don't kill him.
And Carter hesitated, he hesitated and the rat took his chance and ran, shooting as he left. a man on Carter's team, one of his good friends was killed. Carter got him on his last run for the exit. Carter may have to think everything through later but after that moment, he knew for certain he would never hesitate. It might be the one and only thing in his life in which he takes action first and then thinks, but I can promise you, it really is the only aspect of his life where thinking comes second. Carter was surprised when he heard a voice. He was usually very aware of the feet moving around him on the ground. He didn't notice until the girl was fairly close to him. He looked up at her as she spoke with a calm stance. “Spoiler alert, even though he was one of many cited to have crafted the French intellect, he opposed the notion of a total intellectual…” Carter's lips formed a small smirk in the right corner of his lips to form as he looked back at the book in his hand. "A girl in Valkryie who knows Bourdieu, I'm half impressed." He replied with a small nod, "But I am afraid you're spoiling the wrong Bourdieu work." He leaned the book title towards her so she would have a better view of the title Religion in Culture. "He doesn't mention the idea of the total individual until his work a few years after this publication." Carter smiles and looks back down at the book before placing it back on the shelf. He had already read it, hell, he owned it, was mostly just looking at the edition.
I don't need to know right now |
[/td][/tr][/table] TEMPLATE BY KHRISTIAN @ CAUTION 2.0, LYRICS BY FLOGGING MOLLY [/center] |
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