Post by katherine sienna dupuis on Apr 24, 2012 23:55:12 GMT -6
[atrb=style,width: 500px; background-color: B9B9B9; border: 10px dashed #754A4A; border-right: 15px solid #754A4A; border-left: 15px solid #754A4A; padding: 5px, bTable][th] katherine dupuis "ADULT" ACTRESS/CARD COUNTER, CRIMINAL, TONI GARRN |
 the basics FULL NAME katherine sienna AGE & DOB twenty-two | june, 17th, 1989 HOMETOWN valkyrie, california ETHNICITY caucasion - french/dutch LANGUAGES SPOKEN english, french SEXUAL ORIENTATION what are you willing to pay for? HAIR COLOR blonde EYE COLOR pretty baby blues HEIGHT & WEIGHT 5'10 | 115 lbs. DISTINGUISHING MARKS tattoos: "index" written on index finger, "a magician guards an empty safe" on her stomach, and "life free" on her right ribcage. piercings: ears, nose. LIKES/DISLIKES likes: las vegas, being someone else, betting on sports, loud music, drinking during the day, colourful make-up, kittens, dry comedy, making someone feel awkward, blaming people, forgetting, playing poker, keeping secrets, being on her own, hot and dry weather, montreal, speaking french, the colour purple, magic and illusions, classic magic shows, wearing sunglasses, sandals, hockey and horse races, family guy, stupid cooking shows, technology, white teeth, her brother, being left alone. dislikes: strict bartenders, the colour orange, baseball, her family, being a sanders, her brother, criss angel, stupid magic, loudmouths, her webcam site, being touched, smelling bad, heels, losing money, california, slapstick comedy, arrogance, rodents, manicures and pedicures, short hair, brown lipstick, growing up, connection, judgement, being picked apart, crying, herself a lot of the time. STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES |
weaknesses: finds darkness in light; struggles in social situations; highly inappropriate, likes making people uncomfortable; bright lights and loud noises, the chance to be someone else; let one event change her forever; damaged beyond repair; overly sexualizes herself to compensate. [/size][/div]
SECRETS
"i like keeping secrets. they're that way for a reason, aren't they?
i don't talk to my family. but i assume they pretend they never had a daughter. i hate my brother in a way, but i can't seem to shake his voice everytime i do something ridiculous. a few months after being in vegas, some guy drugged and raped me. i stripped for awhile. i've been in a few poronos. i have a webcam site, forty bucks for twenty minutes. i changed my name. i like to dye my hair. i might have a betting problem.
what else do you want? feelings? no."
[/td][td]i don't talk to my family. but i assume they pretend they never had a daughter. i hate my brother in a way, but i can't seem to shake his voice everytime i do something ridiculous. a few months after being in vegas, some guy drugged and raped me. i stripped for awhile. i've been in a few poronos. i have a webcam site, forty bucks for twenty minutes. i changed my name. i like to dye my hair. i might have a betting problem.
what else do you want? feelings? no."
in depth
PERSONALITY
"i'll assume people - namely ones named chance - like to call me complicated. difficult to understand. it's not true. you can sum me up in about five words. it's just circumstance that's made me into this person.
i'm crude. i speak in short sentences. i often call people inappropriate names. what does that say about me?
i suppose i'm challenging. i was an issue for everyone for my entire childhood. i struggled a lot in school, making friends, doing that whole overrated social thing. i get jealous easily. especially of my retarded brother, because everything is effortless with him. i feel kind of bad, because i probably ruined half his life because he cares about me too much. i don't. that's another issue. if i tell myself i don't care anymore, i don't. it makes doing bad things very simple. i like to find darkness in things, because it makes me feel better about being so stupidly broken myself. i was born that way, and i like to bring everything down to my level. that's why i ruined my family. deep down, i know nothing was wrong before i decided to make it that way. they care too much, i don't. and, like chance, i let circumstance infect me. good things happened to him; bad things happened to me. shit happens. i disappeared. i moved to las vegas - i run away when i don't like things. and because someone decided i was wide-eyed enough to slip that pretty little pill into my drink and have their way with me (me, of all the people that were in that bar?) i became this person. i'm not fooling myself in any way, i know this is who i am, and why. twistedly, i am completely convinced the only thing i have to offer the world are my lack of self-respect and pretty little body. i oversexualize myself through "adult" things because i'm too damn ashamed of what happened to me. i don't like facing things. i prefer to blame other people for my mistakes, thank you. it's not like the start of all this shit was my fault. that guy fucked me. chance listened to me too much. their problem with how they took it.
read that. see what you get from it. but don't mention it, because i don't like talking about me. i like to make people uncomfortable, so i don't feel that way myself. i like fooling them, being a different person. i've practiced magic since i was fifteen. what? i didn't mention that? it doesn't exactly consume my personality. it's good extra money. i kind of like making people smile, seeing other people happy. but i don't like being happy, i punish myself. i am socially awkward, blunt, cynical, inappropriate, prudish, jealous and everything else that sucks. good enough?"
i'm crude. i speak in short sentences. i often call people inappropriate names. what does that say about me?
i suppose i'm challenging. i was an issue for everyone for my entire childhood. i struggled a lot in school, making friends, doing that whole overrated social thing. i get jealous easily. especially of my retarded brother, because everything is effortless with him. i feel kind of bad, because i probably ruined half his life because he cares about me too much. i don't. that's another issue. if i tell myself i don't care anymore, i don't. it makes doing bad things very simple. i like to find darkness in things, because it makes me feel better about being so stupidly broken myself. i was born that way, and i like to bring everything down to my level. that's why i ruined my family. deep down, i know nothing was wrong before i decided to make it that way. they care too much, i don't. and, like chance, i let circumstance infect me. good things happened to him; bad things happened to me. shit happens. i disappeared. i moved to las vegas - i run away when i don't like things. and because someone decided i was wide-eyed enough to slip that pretty little pill into my drink and have their way with me (me, of all the people that were in that bar?) i became this person. i'm not fooling myself in any way, i know this is who i am, and why. twistedly, i am completely convinced the only thing i have to offer the world are my lack of self-respect and pretty little body. i oversexualize myself through "adult" things because i'm too damn ashamed of what happened to me. i don't like facing things. i prefer to blame other people for my mistakes, thank you. it's not like the start of all this shit was my fault. that guy fucked me. chance listened to me too much. their problem with how they took it.
read that. see what you get from it. but don't mention it, because i don't like talking about me. i like to make people uncomfortable, so i don't feel that way myself. i like fooling them, being a different person. i've practiced magic since i was fifteen. what? i didn't mention that? it doesn't exactly consume my personality. it's good extra money. i kind of like making people smile, seeing other people happy. but i don't like being happy, i punish myself. i am socially awkward, blunt, cynical, inappropriate, prudish, jealous and everything else that sucks. good enough?"
FAMILY LIFE
"i was born and raised here, in valkyrie. most people here are the same. i grew up in a pathetically cliched household. dad is a construction developer thing. he worked a lot. but still managed to be the kind of dad who spoiled the kids, and said yes when mom didn't. he's a bad cook. mom was the soccer mom. nice lady, cake baker, social worker. she likes helping people. chance is the perfect one. if i was never born, it would have been such…an orgasm, this picture of american happiness. too bad i ruined everything. i decided we were too flawless, so there was an underlying anger. there isn't. well, there is now. i don't talk to them. i hear they exist just like they should, now that i'm out of the picture. chance says otherwise, but he's always trying to make people feel important. i have a good family. i'm just the bad seed."
PARENTS/SIBLINGS
ray sanders - father, fifty-six, construction - developer. i always loved my dad. he was so easy-going and mushy, he almost made growing up bearable. he'd shoot hoops with chance, even before he did his homework. he slipped us extra allowance. he never pushed me, because he knew i was uncomfortable enough. my father genuinely loves his kid, and i know i probably hurt him a lot even though i never meant to. maybe it was good he works so much, wasn't around to feel as much of my poison.
nellie sanders - mother, fifty-five, social worker. they're a good match, my parents. she'd roll her eyes everytime my dad did a "dad" thing. she was the strict one, even though she wasn't really. i never could talk to my mother. she always thought i could be like chance and just "give the other kids a chance" and "make the first move". she has trouble understanding people, i think. but that's probably not true. she's nice. she treated chance and his crew of boys like she should. i just sort of hung out, always in the way. but i think i hurt her when i left, because she must think she failed with her kid. that'll be the social worker in her, always wanting to do right. oh well.
chance sanders - brother, twenty-five, professional whatever. neither of us can deny that we have a complicated relationship. i try so hard to hate chance, all the time. but i can still hear him sigh and tell me otherwise whenever i'm about to do something stupid. he effects me a lot more than i'd like. i know he cares too much about me, because my jealousy and whatever the fuck he thinks stopped him from doing a lot of things. he always tried to include me. i just got in the way. unlike everyone else, no matter how hard i push, i can't get rid of him. maybe i don't want to. it's kind of nice to hug him again.
nellie sanders - mother, fifty-five, social worker. they're a good match, my parents. she'd roll her eyes everytime my dad did a "dad" thing. she was the strict one, even though she wasn't really. i never could talk to my mother. she always thought i could be like chance and just "give the other kids a chance" and "make the first move". she has trouble understanding people, i think. but that's probably not true. she's nice. she treated chance and his crew of boys like she should. i just sort of hung out, always in the way. but i think i hurt her when i left, because she must think she failed with her kid. that'll be the social worker in her, always wanting to do right. oh well.
chance sanders - brother, twenty-five, professional whatever. neither of us can deny that we have a complicated relationship. i try so hard to hate chance, all the time. but i can still hear him sigh and tell me otherwise whenever i'm about to do something stupid. he effects me a lot more than i'd like. i know he cares too much about me, because my jealousy and whatever the fuck he thinks stopped him from doing a lot of things. he always tried to include me. i just got in the way. unlike everyone else, no matter how hard i push, i can't get rid of him. maybe i don't want to. it's kind of nice to hug him again.
HISTORY
"name one person who cares. just one. the only people who sit around long enough to listen to a story are students, ones who pay too much money to pretend to learn things. and that's only because they have no choice. if they leave, they fail. and if they fail, they don't graduate. and if they don't graduate, they don't get to get a good job and marry a pretty girl and live the high life. that's what all parents promise their kids, isn't it? lovely. the only issue is spending all that time in a classroom listening to crap you really don't care about. flip to the back of the book, where the answers are. maybe you can find the end of my story.
i am a townie. one of those. born and raised in valkyrie, california - resident whirlpool in the state of california. no one ever leaves. something (someone?) drag them back here eventually, because they care too much. if you truly hated it here, you would never come back. i never planned on it. "townie" is a term i would rather never was attached to my name. my family, however, likes to think otherwise. they love it here. the sanders are one of the ones who have been in valkyrie since before the big bang. y'know, when god and his roommate, chugs, were arm wrestling on a saturday night. that's when we were here. and then when one of them lit a fart on fire and poof, here was the universe, they decided to have kids. everyone knows my family; my family knows everyone. a lot of people stop me on the street and say how grown up i am. it would be nice if i had a wild clue as to who these people are. maybe i would know if i ever gave the effort. i think chance knows more of them, but not quite all of them. he's good at pretending, though. i used to think my entire family was - until i realized there was no reason to. they were happy in this sick puddle of sludge. perfectly content with never moving, seeing the world. too bad i didn't realize that a long time ago. i could have disappeared and not ruined everything. they like valkyrie, i hate it.
i guess that's why people are sticking around. the middle chapters are kind of interesting. but not yet.
i don't know why he says his childhood was perfect. it wasn't. or maybe it was. for him. but i got the cold hand again. that always seems to happen. my brother complicates things. siblings never become like glue unless something is wrong. everyone i know hates their big brother. i don't blame them, brothers are fucks. my brother is a huge fuck. but he's mine. chance sanders is my big brother and i think that's the base of everything i am. was? take what he says and twist it into something ugly, that's my version of it. i grew up awkwardly. i cannot say my childhood was bad, but it was never a flawless orgasm of american happiness. take a painting, something perfect. a true portrait of elation and bliss, where the sky is the perfect shade of blue and the reds in the apple make you hungry. i think that's the sort of life my parents think we all had. perfection. it was as close to, i guess. for them. i was me, little katherine sanders, chance's weird younger sister, nellie and ray's awkward little daughter. standing on the outside, pressed against the glass, desperately wanting in. so maybe his childhood was perfect. i was trapped in the shade, watching while everyone else frolicked in the sunlight. think of any metaphor you want. i was outside, they were inside. what do you think perfect is?
love, happiness, laughter, warmth - those were always there. no one screamed, no one cried. it was only later on that mom started to smell faintly of gin. dad worked a lot. but he was there to take chance to acting lessons and soccer practice and when he fell off the jungle gym and broke his arm, he took him to the hospital. he would say yes when mom said no. i want to think he would do the same for me, but i never had any questions that would warrant a mommy-"no". mom balanced work and housewifery. she baked cupcakes for all the classroom birthdays and volunteered for field trips and made sure everyone had an instrument to play in the christmas concerts and sewed all of chance's costumes for his stupid plays. she stopped baking cakes for my classmates after fourth grade, when she learned that everyone forgot i was there until they smelled icing. i always threw it on the ground, because i was sad. everyone always said i should be grateful for my family, what they offered me. i guess that was nice. because it's good people recognize how good of a family they can be. it would have be flawless if i wasn't there. the only times anyone would scream or cry was because of me. dad didn't have lessons or practice to take me too, and i never had to go to the hospital. i didn't have any friends to play rough with. and we all know i never had to ask mom anything. mom stopped baking after fourth grade. i never went on field trips. what the fuck is a christmas concert? and if i set foot into a theatre, it would be a fun contest to see who would laugh me out first. hate, sadness, snarls, cold - i brought that there, because i wanted them to know how i felt.
it would frustrate them sometimes, especially as everyone got older. when i was in elementary school, even middle school, it was easy to write off. i was shy, awkward. but i was going to grow up and fit in and stop being so insecure. everyone goes through this phase, after all. i would find my niche when i met like-minded people. like who? i knew long before anyone else that it was no phase. i was born with three legs, two broken, when everyone else got four and walked on them right away. fuck if i know why. something about valkyrie rubbed me the wrong way. this is a bubble, difficult to meet new people. i tripped and fell at an early age, and everyone remembered. i had weird hobbies, never smiled, and was related to chance sanders. think whatever you want, it brings growing up to a whole new level. if you want to know what childhood was actually like, go ask chance. he'll describe all the barbecues and parties and hanging out with people. i watched. i tried to fit in sometimes, but we all quickly learned things were better off without me there. no one wanted to admit i failed as a human being. but i knew it was effecting my parents. they would force chance to bring me to a party or to join a school activity or "help his little sister". and i would throw things and refuse, because it was going to be horrible. they never believed me. "give them a chance". teenagers are fucks. teenagers from valkyrie are big fucks. that was the only time anyone ever fought. mom's voice would go high and dad would spin his wedding band round and round his finger. he never said anything. that pissed me off. and he still doesn't know why. i knew my father understood me a little more than anyone else did, because he chose to watch and hear me out. there were even a few times i confessed things to him, and he always listened. or pretended to. fuck him, too. chance likes to think this came out of no where, that i chose to ruin the family overnight. he only missed out because he was out at said party or the stage crew meeting or pretend he had no little sister to help. he never even tried. they all stopped after awhile.
i guess that made me happy. my final years of high school, people left me alone. i stopped trying to fit in. the loners didn't let me sit at their lunch tables. i floated through the hallways of valkyrie academy, an empty-eyed ghost. i hated it. i think all of it was feelings built up over so long, never fixing them, and it snowballed. it was the hypocrisy. people? i never had faith in them after jason hunter kicked a soccer ball out from under me on the first day of grade one. everyone laughed. but it was my family. chance will tell you i ruined it because i decided to. my parents won't admit anything. but they're all too stupid to realize they helped. mom was convinced it was a phase, i was a mini-chance. dad never paid real attention, because that was too hard. chance pretended to. but then he sighed and grumbled when i wanted to come along. and then he'd snicker along with everyone else everytime i stuttered when i was giving a book report. you wonder why i harboured a snarl for the people who pretend to be perfect. they all genuinely wondered why i was so unhappy. or why i would smile sometimes when they had all given up. senior year, i think i laughed once. because dad floated the idea of a birthday party and we all looked at him. no one talked about it again. i got a magic set that year. it was easier to hide behind freaky hobbies, because it kept me occupied. i like card tricks and making things disappear because i think i like to make people laugh. when people stopped trying to fit me into a shape that i didn't fit, i was happy. but eighteen years of shoving me into a triangle, when i'm a circle, callused me. it's not like that could get fixed.
i had long stopped trying. sometimes, when you open a wound and let it get infected, it never gets better. people like to think they do. pour peroxide and cover it with a pretty bandage - my little pony - and everything is fixed. maybe you go to a doctor and they stick a syringe into your arm, a shot filled with morphine and smiles. because that will make everything go away. i think the people in valkyrie, california are particularly attracted to this form of medication. hide your sins because they're ugly. you can't be ugly, now can you? you have to be a member of an exclusive club of tall, socially-ept white people with pretty faces and skinny legs. if you aren't, they will bend, break, and twist you until you resemble them. years of watching can tell you a lot. the only thing that makes me different from them is that i stopped trying, had never bothered to pretend. the girls have cuts on their wrists and an alcohol problem. the boys think they're invincible. the parents are the same, only worse. dark thoughts. i think my little pony bandages are stupid. after i graduated, i disappeared from their lives forever.
i got a job at a scuzzy bar, worked a lot. rented a bachelor. bought a cactus. watered it sometimes. my fridge was empty, but my floors were always polished. i had a spectacular media setup. my landlord was a cranky old lady. i bought her hair dye and mentos as a way of paying rent once. but family is family. or something. every couple of weeks, i had to make an appearance. mom would beg and dad's voice would break, because they never got to see me. working was never a good excuse. someone would call chuck and threaten to call health services unless he gave me the day off. i said i had to garden. mom bought me a cactus, because they're easy to take care of. i have three now. i hated it.
because i had stopped trying, people walk on eggshells. mom's gossip. i think everyone assumed i was in a psych ward. dad never said anything against it. see? he fucked up too. everytime i stopped by, there were always people there. barbecues and lawn bowling. i would sit with the dads, but they only watched football and betted with coins. i like hockey and betting with fifties. the awkward people skulk in the corners, happy to be ignored. mom still tried to involve me, because it was a phase and i was going to get through it. yeah. you know why i knew people had also stopped trying? it was because of mom's crowsfeet. or dad's yellow teeth because he started smoking again. or long lost aunts never squealing that i had grown so much. or people sighing when i asked for the salt. or no one asking me to babysit. it was because mom would look at my wrists and never say anything. or dad seeing how swollen my salivary glands were and never offering me seconds, because he was the only one smart enough to hear me shove my finger down my throat ten minutes later. or people just assuming i was a drugged-up monkey, looking at the nooks of my elbows and whispering. or why i stopped getting invited to the poker night, because i always won. it was because my cactus died just before the vacation.
i didn't want to go. but dad cried and mom yelled at me. i was never invited for dinner anymore. because i would refuse to participate and mom never wanted to admit one of her children was a fail. it was her fault, and she was a horrible mother. she would cry to dad that every night, and i heard because i would still be on the phone. or outside their door, holding a casserole, because i wanted to try again. it would be a family trip, "just like old times". which was a whisper for "let's pretend mom doesn't have ghost eyes and dad doesn't want a divorce and chance actually cares". he was on break from school when we went. i overheard them talking about how acting was going and how ucla was fucking awesome and something about a commercial. i didn't even know where he'd gotten in. it took ten minutes with my brother, and a lot of self-control, to not tell him i missed him. the odd times chance had no friends around and mom and dad were "talking", i knew he cared. but that was before. once you stop paying attention to someone who probably needs help, there's not a lot of going back. sorry. but they wanted to try and i had no choice. free food. i sighed and snarled the entire drive there. we couldn't fly? or take a bus? i would happily walk. but, well, you know what they say - las vegas is a city that changes people.
the sign is ugly. it's too hot and the air conditioning bills are way too high. but the lights are pretty and no one asks questions and you can be anyone you want to be. i was infected the moment we crossed the sign. the bus ride back to this putrid city, it was still ugly. but we're not there yet. they picked vegas because it's close, they could escape their horrible daughter, and no one looks at you weird for walking around at four in the morning. it wasn't a family vacation. dad was in the casino in the middle of the night, drinking cheap scotch. mom watched stupid movies and looked for all the tourist spots. she bought a "i heart vegas" visor and a fannypack. chance went to the water park and to bars to pick up chicks and probably to pretend he wasn't here with his parents. it's boring because i was under twenty-one and couldn't do anything. i walked a lot. sat on a bench. talked to a hobo named lawrence and a showgirl named crystal and a couple i think were on the run. or they ran an elvis chapel. i never said my name, because they probably married my parents. they got remarried there. about five times. chance would ignore mom's puffy eyes and dad disappearing for pancakes every morning. he ignored me staring at him, because i wanted to talk to him but the only way to get his attention is if he decides to give it to you. it was too bad. maybe things could have been fixed, even if a little. but after that trip, i never saw any of them again.
but don't worry, the sign is still ugly.
las vegas makes me feel alive. it's a maze of lights and people who are lost in the snow, looking for a way out. but they find this place instead. a never ending show. i can walk along the strip and see everyone. people like me, people i would never want to be, and people who really don't know anything. a lot of us recognize the emptiness in one another's eyes. i think they left assuming i was going to come crying back a week later. i was a teenager, stranded in the city of dreams. underaged, alone and overwhelmed. that's fine. i was that before. i shared a bench with lawrence for a few days. crystal rolled her eyes. he never showers, she said. and no one really asks anyways. not really. she let both of us use her shower, in a cramped little room far beneath one of the biggest hotels on the strip. she got to live there because the couple who run a chapel are weird. they own three hotels, probably illegally. but they're smart. they never make an appearance and shop at target and find porn to be disgusting. there are too many people in las vegas. you find find five others and never look for anyone else. i guess that's what i did. i liked lawrence the best, because crystal is kind of a bitch. we compare scars and tell stories and pretend not to be so fucked up. sam and kelly, they told us to call them. everyone knows that's not their real names. but you don't ask questions here. they let me work at the hotel because i was pretty, couldn't dance a beat, and no one asks. not really. half the staff on their payroll were liars, cheaters and scum. i fit right in.
but i still had three legs, a limp and one was broken. the other was healing. i didn't know what i wanted. i have four friends now. but a nineteen year-old girl is different than me. i wanted to be like chance, deep down. where everything is easy and people love you and you don't have to rely on the homeless or the showgirls or the weirdos who couldn't cut it at tony soprano's table. i started as a waitress, a little bar just off the strip. i showered once and told lawrence to screw off and lied lied lied. i'm okay, really. everything is planned. just a vacation, then back off to school. but can you get me a fake i.d. too? no problem? thanks. now leave me alone. it was a bar that wanted to fit in, but couldn't. it had lights and a stage and a lot of drug dealers. because i was new and pretty and was apparently really fucking stupid, i let them buy me drinks. and i didn't do the shoot and spit the other girls did. so, no, i never saw him slip the pretty little pill into my green margarita. or martini. what the fuck is an appletini?
i had two broken legs again. maybe three. i never had anything to offer the world before, not really. the sun tanned me, so no one saw my scars. i stopped throwing up because i didn't have food anyway. and i just smiled because i didn't know what else to do. you slap make-up onto a little girl's face, she is still going to be that: a little girl. when she opens her mouth, the charade will be over and then everyone knows. that's why when you see them, with shivering knees and pale faces painted red, they never say anything. they blink, so you might see the terrified baby deer. but only if you're looking. close again and she is looking at you through spiky eyelashes, expectant. you speak, she nods. you play, she follows. once you press the folded green into her hand, you might see the baby deer again. but then the shutters close and she disappears. she wants to wash off her paint and step into a shower of steam, but she can't. maybe she can't afford to, or she doesn't deserve to. if i stepped into a cloud of steam, it would melt the thin ice that was keeping me suspended over a gaping hole. i limped around the las vegas strip for months, my eyes black and my lips scarlet. i forgot how to speak. when i did, i forgot how to listen. i spun into a whirlpool and the people there never want you to leave, they just don't want you to drown. little floaties, not a life support vest. that's all you get in a city with an ugly sign and black hearts.
but they are right. about the five people thing. when the homeless man leaves his bench to look for you, or when the showgirl misses her golden opportunity, or when the chapel owners miss mass. that night, i had everything taken from me. in a colourless haze, i don't think i ever objected. if i had, would it have mattered? no. i learned quickly the power one can hold over you. club owners slap you or drug bosses cut your nails too short or casino managers force you. but that was why a bench was left and an opportunity was missed and why no one pretended to prey. as those pills banged through my veins, as i drank more and more clear green liquid, as he touched me and i said nothing and my clothes were on the floor but his stayed, i learned they are right.
when chance showed up at my door, i said i was at my worst. rock bottom. i could go no farther. the only way to go is up, he said. but that goes to show you, he doesn't know anything.
the thing about my little las vegas circle, we are all aware we are the scum of the earth. addicts so crippled by disease that recovery is a faded tease, a riddle no one bothers to solve. we adapt, we learn and force our way through the mud. lawrence sold his career for fame and he lives on a bench, but he got a job interview for a mail room. crystal tried and failed, but i think she has a baby girl she isn't allowed to see. sam and kelly don't want to shake hands with the devil, not completely. but they still control a good part of the underground. i sold out and was hanging out in a yard. i sold my body because i have nothing else to offer. valkyrie, california told me that. so i adapted. i learned that i didn't have to paint my face blue or dance on stages or crawl into cars. it was kelly's idea. she floated it one night in the hallway outside of crystal's room. i was beating her at poker, because she sucks and no one else wanted to play. everyone else had learned not to play cards with me. "take you dirtiness and clean the floor with it." that's what you do, because there is no fucking way you can get your hands on warm, soapy water. sam could find a url, no problem. they liked masked control, lawrence told me. they were responsible for all of crystal's work and his aa meetings and the fighting with lawyers and everything else he never told me. he's still my favourite. so, well, what did i do?
i have nothing to offer the world. not from inside of me. expensive shampoo and fake nails and not smiling at a certain angle so my salivary glands don't swell has things to offer the world. anything else was taken that night. don't spew naivety on me, it's difficult to get out without peanut butter and i don't have any with me. shit happens and you deal with it. i don't sit alone in the dark crying, wondering why it happened to me. it happens to almost everyone. i did what every successful resident of las vegas did: realized my level of scum and buffed it until something pretty showed up. when you have hip bones and empty eyes and a compelling talent for making noise, it's not difficult. your brother has probably seen me. your father definitely has. maybe even you, if you watch that shit with your boyfriend because you're afraid he's thinking about someone else when you're underneath him. he probably is. and because i have nothing to offer the world, it never keeps me up at night. i don't have nightmares or doubts or long, whispered ramblings about self-respect and not having any. i am merely using the only thing i have in order to make money. someone tried to propose to me once. i should have said yes. i could get a fantastic deal for a wedding.
i charge by the minute now. sometimes live, usually not. i can chat but i prefer not to. if you want me to do something, i will. you just have to pay for it. i only breached the code once and invited someone over. that was a real night, i think. because his chapped hands and cool breath made me feel pretty. i found a floatation device in a whirlpool that is going to kill me eventually. but it's not going to right now. i forced the hand and snatched control from someone. because not standing on a corner or moaning in a studio makes me classy, innovative. i can freely sit in a hotel room, several stories above the strip, and order room service. or tell lawrence that he needs to get a fucking haircut. or shuffle a deck of cards. or drink another paralyzer. or do whatever i want. because i remembered the original reason i refused to leave las vegas - the ability to be someone new. i think people get caught in their whirlpool and forget that. they let the sewers gobble them up and struggle not to drown. it's too bad. it's cheaper to pay for a website than for bad make-up or lighting charges or having an agent. porn is a disgusting industry. but god forbid i do it myself.
what did you think i was going to tell you? i am not one for details. ask me and perhaps. probably not. chance is wrong. i'm not at my bottom anymore. where was he when i cried at night and called him? just once. he never called me back. i have one broken leg, one i rarely use and i walk with a limp. it's better than what valkyrie ever did. and i can pay my medical bills here. i live in the same hotel i work out of. i rarely leave. i drink in the bars downstairs and bet on sports with the executives here for a weekend of freedom. i sing karaoke and go for a run and buy a joke book. i share a room with an accountant who surrendered to war and drugs and money, who now works in a mail room. i spend my days and night sitting in casinos, cheating people out of money because i can. no one else knows i do that, though. not even you. pay attention, you can pick it up. i like magic, i play with cards and coins a lot. i love poker. i bet. and no one has ever beaten me at simon says. and the only reason i am not there, doing the very same thing, is because chance thinks something and has told himself that's reality. he always does that. i'm supposed to be sleeping when i want to play blackjack and go get pancakes with lawrence. i'm supposed to cry and beg for a second chance when i want to buy a top hat and laugh at a joke kelly tells me. but i can't. because i'm the little sister and i'm stupid and foolish and too lost for my own good. i got sidetracked for awhile, but i'm here to get better now.
one of my brother's ridiculous friends subscribes to my website. a lot of them probably do. but i banned him because he told chance. that's the only reason anyone found out. the entire drive back to valkyrie, i listened to him lecture about worrying and always looking and how i ruined everything again, because, once again, i broke the rules about being chance sanders' little sister. the only bit i believed was he jumped in his car and drove straight to vegas. probably because mom and dad aren't doing well and he wants to make them feel better by being the perfect child. none of it has anything to do with me being back in town. whatever. i hear the inferno hotel and casino is nice. and i have a laptop.
play their game and then disappear. i've done it before, i can easily do it again."
[/td][/tr]i am a townie. one of those. born and raised in valkyrie, california - resident whirlpool in the state of california. no one ever leaves. something (someone?) drag them back here eventually, because they care too much. if you truly hated it here, you would never come back. i never planned on it. "townie" is a term i would rather never was attached to my name. my family, however, likes to think otherwise. they love it here. the sanders are one of the ones who have been in valkyrie since before the big bang. y'know, when god and his roommate, chugs, were arm wrestling on a saturday night. that's when we were here. and then when one of them lit a fart on fire and poof, here was the universe, they decided to have kids. everyone knows my family; my family knows everyone. a lot of people stop me on the street and say how grown up i am. it would be nice if i had a wild clue as to who these people are. maybe i would know if i ever gave the effort. i think chance knows more of them, but not quite all of them. he's good at pretending, though. i used to think my entire family was - until i realized there was no reason to. they were happy in this sick puddle of sludge. perfectly content with never moving, seeing the world. too bad i didn't realize that a long time ago. i could have disappeared and not ruined everything. they like valkyrie, i hate it.
i guess that's why people are sticking around. the middle chapters are kind of interesting. but not yet.
i don't know why he says his childhood was perfect. it wasn't. or maybe it was. for him. but i got the cold hand again. that always seems to happen. my brother complicates things. siblings never become like glue unless something is wrong. everyone i know hates their big brother. i don't blame them, brothers are fucks. my brother is a huge fuck. but he's mine. chance sanders is my big brother and i think that's the base of everything i am. was? take what he says and twist it into something ugly, that's my version of it. i grew up awkwardly. i cannot say my childhood was bad, but it was never a flawless orgasm of american happiness. take a painting, something perfect. a true portrait of elation and bliss, where the sky is the perfect shade of blue and the reds in the apple make you hungry. i think that's the sort of life my parents think we all had. perfection. it was as close to, i guess. for them. i was me, little katherine sanders, chance's weird younger sister, nellie and ray's awkward little daughter. standing on the outside, pressed against the glass, desperately wanting in. so maybe his childhood was perfect. i was trapped in the shade, watching while everyone else frolicked in the sunlight. think of any metaphor you want. i was outside, they were inside. what do you think perfect is?
love, happiness, laughter, warmth - those were always there. no one screamed, no one cried. it was only later on that mom started to smell faintly of gin. dad worked a lot. but he was there to take chance to acting lessons and soccer practice and when he fell off the jungle gym and broke his arm, he took him to the hospital. he would say yes when mom said no. i want to think he would do the same for me, but i never had any questions that would warrant a mommy-"no". mom balanced work and housewifery. she baked cupcakes for all the classroom birthdays and volunteered for field trips and made sure everyone had an instrument to play in the christmas concerts and sewed all of chance's costumes for his stupid plays. she stopped baking cakes for my classmates after fourth grade, when she learned that everyone forgot i was there until they smelled icing. i always threw it on the ground, because i was sad. everyone always said i should be grateful for my family, what they offered me. i guess that was nice. because it's good people recognize how good of a family they can be. it would have be flawless if i wasn't there. the only times anyone would scream or cry was because of me. dad didn't have lessons or practice to take me too, and i never had to go to the hospital. i didn't have any friends to play rough with. and we all know i never had to ask mom anything. mom stopped baking after fourth grade. i never went on field trips. what the fuck is a christmas concert? and if i set foot into a theatre, it would be a fun contest to see who would laugh me out first. hate, sadness, snarls, cold - i brought that there, because i wanted them to know how i felt.
it would frustrate them sometimes, especially as everyone got older. when i was in elementary school, even middle school, it was easy to write off. i was shy, awkward. but i was going to grow up and fit in and stop being so insecure. everyone goes through this phase, after all. i would find my niche when i met like-minded people. like who? i knew long before anyone else that it was no phase. i was born with three legs, two broken, when everyone else got four and walked on them right away. fuck if i know why. something about valkyrie rubbed me the wrong way. this is a bubble, difficult to meet new people. i tripped and fell at an early age, and everyone remembered. i had weird hobbies, never smiled, and was related to chance sanders. think whatever you want, it brings growing up to a whole new level. if you want to know what childhood was actually like, go ask chance. he'll describe all the barbecues and parties and hanging out with people. i watched. i tried to fit in sometimes, but we all quickly learned things were better off without me there. no one wanted to admit i failed as a human being. but i knew it was effecting my parents. they would force chance to bring me to a party or to join a school activity or "help his little sister". and i would throw things and refuse, because it was going to be horrible. they never believed me. "give them a chance". teenagers are fucks. teenagers from valkyrie are big fucks. that was the only time anyone ever fought. mom's voice would go high and dad would spin his wedding band round and round his finger. he never said anything. that pissed me off. and he still doesn't know why. i knew my father understood me a little more than anyone else did, because he chose to watch and hear me out. there were even a few times i confessed things to him, and he always listened. or pretended to. fuck him, too. chance likes to think this came out of no where, that i chose to ruin the family overnight. he only missed out because he was out at said party or the stage crew meeting or pretend he had no little sister to help. he never even tried. they all stopped after awhile.
i guess that made me happy. my final years of high school, people left me alone. i stopped trying to fit in. the loners didn't let me sit at their lunch tables. i floated through the hallways of valkyrie academy, an empty-eyed ghost. i hated it. i think all of it was feelings built up over so long, never fixing them, and it snowballed. it was the hypocrisy. people? i never had faith in them after jason hunter kicked a soccer ball out from under me on the first day of grade one. everyone laughed. but it was my family. chance will tell you i ruined it because i decided to. my parents won't admit anything. but they're all too stupid to realize they helped. mom was convinced it was a phase, i was a mini-chance. dad never paid real attention, because that was too hard. chance pretended to. but then he sighed and grumbled when i wanted to come along. and then he'd snicker along with everyone else everytime i stuttered when i was giving a book report. you wonder why i harboured a snarl for the people who pretend to be perfect. they all genuinely wondered why i was so unhappy. or why i would smile sometimes when they had all given up. senior year, i think i laughed once. because dad floated the idea of a birthday party and we all looked at him. no one talked about it again. i got a magic set that year. it was easier to hide behind freaky hobbies, because it kept me occupied. i like card tricks and making things disappear because i think i like to make people laugh. when people stopped trying to fit me into a shape that i didn't fit, i was happy. but eighteen years of shoving me into a triangle, when i'm a circle, callused me. it's not like that could get fixed.
i had long stopped trying. sometimes, when you open a wound and let it get infected, it never gets better. people like to think they do. pour peroxide and cover it with a pretty bandage - my little pony - and everything is fixed. maybe you go to a doctor and they stick a syringe into your arm, a shot filled with morphine and smiles. because that will make everything go away. i think the people in valkyrie, california are particularly attracted to this form of medication. hide your sins because they're ugly. you can't be ugly, now can you? you have to be a member of an exclusive club of tall, socially-ept white people with pretty faces and skinny legs. if you aren't, they will bend, break, and twist you until you resemble them. years of watching can tell you a lot. the only thing that makes me different from them is that i stopped trying, had never bothered to pretend. the girls have cuts on their wrists and an alcohol problem. the boys think they're invincible. the parents are the same, only worse. dark thoughts. i think my little pony bandages are stupid. after i graduated, i disappeared from their lives forever.
i got a job at a scuzzy bar, worked a lot. rented a bachelor. bought a cactus. watered it sometimes. my fridge was empty, but my floors were always polished. i had a spectacular media setup. my landlord was a cranky old lady. i bought her hair dye and mentos as a way of paying rent once. but family is family. or something. every couple of weeks, i had to make an appearance. mom would beg and dad's voice would break, because they never got to see me. working was never a good excuse. someone would call chuck and threaten to call health services unless he gave me the day off. i said i had to garden. mom bought me a cactus, because they're easy to take care of. i have three now. i hated it.
because i had stopped trying, people walk on eggshells. mom's gossip. i think everyone assumed i was in a psych ward. dad never said anything against it. see? he fucked up too. everytime i stopped by, there were always people there. barbecues and lawn bowling. i would sit with the dads, but they only watched football and betted with coins. i like hockey and betting with fifties. the awkward people skulk in the corners, happy to be ignored. mom still tried to involve me, because it was a phase and i was going to get through it. yeah. you know why i knew people had also stopped trying? it was because of mom's crowsfeet. or dad's yellow teeth because he started smoking again. or long lost aunts never squealing that i had grown so much. or people sighing when i asked for the salt. or no one asking me to babysit. it was because mom would look at my wrists and never say anything. or dad seeing how swollen my salivary glands were and never offering me seconds, because he was the only one smart enough to hear me shove my finger down my throat ten minutes later. or people just assuming i was a drugged-up monkey, looking at the nooks of my elbows and whispering. or why i stopped getting invited to the poker night, because i always won. it was because my cactus died just before the vacation.
i didn't want to go. but dad cried and mom yelled at me. i was never invited for dinner anymore. because i would refuse to participate and mom never wanted to admit one of her children was a fail. it was her fault, and she was a horrible mother. she would cry to dad that every night, and i heard because i would still be on the phone. or outside their door, holding a casserole, because i wanted to try again. it would be a family trip, "just like old times". which was a whisper for "let's pretend mom doesn't have ghost eyes and dad doesn't want a divorce and chance actually cares". he was on break from school when we went. i overheard them talking about how acting was going and how ucla was fucking awesome and something about a commercial. i didn't even know where he'd gotten in. it took ten minutes with my brother, and a lot of self-control, to not tell him i missed him. the odd times chance had no friends around and mom and dad were "talking", i knew he cared. but that was before. once you stop paying attention to someone who probably needs help, there's not a lot of going back. sorry. but they wanted to try and i had no choice. free food. i sighed and snarled the entire drive there. we couldn't fly? or take a bus? i would happily walk. but, well, you know what they say - las vegas is a city that changes people.
the sign is ugly. it's too hot and the air conditioning bills are way too high. but the lights are pretty and no one asks questions and you can be anyone you want to be. i was infected the moment we crossed the sign. the bus ride back to this putrid city, it was still ugly. but we're not there yet. they picked vegas because it's close, they could escape their horrible daughter, and no one looks at you weird for walking around at four in the morning. it wasn't a family vacation. dad was in the casino in the middle of the night, drinking cheap scotch. mom watched stupid movies and looked for all the tourist spots. she bought a "i heart vegas" visor and a fannypack. chance went to the water park and to bars to pick up chicks and probably to pretend he wasn't here with his parents. it's boring because i was under twenty-one and couldn't do anything. i walked a lot. sat on a bench. talked to a hobo named lawrence and a showgirl named crystal and a couple i think were on the run. or they ran an elvis chapel. i never said my name, because they probably married my parents. they got remarried there. about five times. chance would ignore mom's puffy eyes and dad disappearing for pancakes every morning. he ignored me staring at him, because i wanted to talk to him but the only way to get his attention is if he decides to give it to you. it was too bad. maybe things could have been fixed, even if a little. but after that trip, i never saw any of them again.
but don't worry, the sign is still ugly.
las vegas makes me feel alive. it's a maze of lights and people who are lost in the snow, looking for a way out. but they find this place instead. a never ending show. i can walk along the strip and see everyone. people like me, people i would never want to be, and people who really don't know anything. a lot of us recognize the emptiness in one another's eyes. i think they left assuming i was going to come crying back a week later. i was a teenager, stranded in the city of dreams. underaged, alone and overwhelmed. that's fine. i was that before. i shared a bench with lawrence for a few days. crystal rolled her eyes. he never showers, she said. and no one really asks anyways. not really. she let both of us use her shower, in a cramped little room far beneath one of the biggest hotels on the strip. she got to live there because the couple who run a chapel are weird. they own three hotels, probably illegally. but they're smart. they never make an appearance and shop at target and find porn to be disgusting. there are too many people in las vegas. you find find five others and never look for anyone else. i guess that's what i did. i liked lawrence the best, because crystal is kind of a bitch. we compare scars and tell stories and pretend not to be so fucked up. sam and kelly, they told us to call them. everyone knows that's not their real names. but you don't ask questions here. they let me work at the hotel because i was pretty, couldn't dance a beat, and no one asks. not really. half the staff on their payroll were liars, cheaters and scum. i fit right in.
but i still had three legs, a limp and one was broken. the other was healing. i didn't know what i wanted. i have four friends now. but a nineteen year-old girl is different than me. i wanted to be like chance, deep down. where everything is easy and people love you and you don't have to rely on the homeless or the showgirls or the weirdos who couldn't cut it at tony soprano's table. i started as a waitress, a little bar just off the strip. i showered once and told lawrence to screw off and lied lied lied. i'm okay, really. everything is planned. just a vacation, then back off to school. but can you get me a fake i.d. too? no problem? thanks. now leave me alone. it was a bar that wanted to fit in, but couldn't. it had lights and a stage and a lot of drug dealers. because i was new and pretty and was apparently really fucking stupid, i let them buy me drinks. and i didn't do the shoot and spit the other girls did. so, no, i never saw him slip the pretty little pill into my green margarita. or martini. what the fuck is an appletini?
i had two broken legs again. maybe three. i never had anything to offer the world before, not really. the sun tanned me, so no one saw my scars. i stopped throwing up because i didn't have food anyway. and i just smiled because i didn't know what else to do. you slap make-up onto a little girl's face, she is still going to be that: a little girl. when she opens her mouth, the charade will be over and then everyone knows. that's why when you see them, with shivering knees and pale faces painted red, they never say anything. they blink, so you might see the terrified baby deer. but only if you're looking. close again and she is looking at you through spiky eyelashes, expectant. you speak, she nods. you play, she follows. once you press the folded green into her hand, you might see the baby deer again. but then the shutters close and she disappears. she wants to wash off her paint and step into a shower of steam, but she can't. maybe she can't afford to, or she doesn't deserve to. if i stepped into a cloud of steam, it would melt the thin ice that was keeping me suspended over a gaping hole. i limped around the las vegas strip for months, my eyes black and my lips scarlet. i forgot how to speak. when i did, i forgot how to listen. i spun into a whirlpool and the people there never want you to leave, they just don't want you to drown. little floaties, not a life support vest. that's all you get in a city with an ugly sign and black hearts.
but they are right. about the five people thing. when the homeless man leaves his bench to look for you, or when the showgirl misses her golden opportunity, or when the chapel owners miss mass. that night, i had everything taken from me. in a colourless haze, i don't think i ever objected. if i had, would it have mattered? no. i learned quickly the power one can hold over you. club owners slap you or drug bosses cut your nails too short or casino managers force you. but that was why a bench was left and an opportunity was missed and why no one pretended to prey. as those pills banged through my veins, as i drank more and more clear green liquid, as he touched me and i said nothing and my clothes were on the floor but his stayed, i learned they are right.
when chance showed up at my door, i said i was at my worst. rock bottom. i could go no farther. the only way to go is up, he said. but that goes to show you, he doesn't know anything.
the thing about my little las vegas circle, we are all aware we are the scum of the earth. addicts so crippled by disease that recovery is a faded tease, a riddle no one bothers to solve. we adapt, we learn and force our way through the mud. lawrence sold his career for fame and he lives on a bench, but he got a job interview for a mail room. crystal tried and failed, but i think she has a baby girl she isn't allowed to see. sam and kelly don't want to shake hands with the devil, not completely. but they still control a good part of the underground. i sold out and was hanging out in a yard. i sold my body because i have nothing else to offer. valkyrie, california told me that. so i adapted. i learned that i didn't have to paint my face blue or dance on stages or crawl into cars. it was kelly's idea. she floated it one night in the hallway outside of crystal's room. i was beating her at poker, because she sucks and no one else wanted to play. everyone else had learned not to play cards with me. "take you dirtiness and clean the floor with it." that's what you do, because there is no fucking way you can get your hands on warm, soapy water. sam could find a url, no problem. they liked masked control, lawrence told me. they were responsible for all of crystal's work and his aa meetings and the fighting with lawyers and everything else he never told me. he's still my favourite. so, well, what did i do?
i have nothing to offer the world. not from inside of me. expensive shampoo and fake nails and not smiling at a certain angle so my salivary glands don't swell has things to offer the world. anything else was taken that night. don't spew naivety on me, it's difficult to get out without peanut butter and i don't have any with me. shit happens and you deal with it. i don't sit alone in the dark crying, wondering why it happened to me. it happens to almost everyone. i did what every successful resident of las vegas did: realized my level of scum and buffed it until something pretty showed up. when you have hip bones and empty eyes and a compelling talent for making noise, it's not difficult. your brother has probably seen me. your father definitely has. maybe even you, if you watch that shit with your boyfriend because you're afraid he's thinking about someone else when you're underneath him. he probably is. and because i have nothing to offer the world, it never keeps me up at night. i don't have nightmares or doubts or long, whispered ramblings about self-respect and not having any. i am merely using the only thing i have in order to make money. someone tried to propose to me once. i should have said yes. i could get a fantastic deal for a wedding.
i charge by the minute now. sometimes live, usually not. i can chat but i prefer not to. if you want me to do something, i will. you just have to pay for it. i only breached the code once and invited someone over. that was a real night, i think. because his chapped hands and cool breath made me feel pretty. i found a floatation device in a whirlpool that is going to kill me eventually. but it's not going to right now. i forced the hand and snatched control from someone. because not standing on a corner or moaning in a studio makes me classy, innovative. i can freely sit in a hotel room, several stories above the strip, and order room service. or tell lawrence that he needs to get a fucking haircut. or shuffle a deck of cards. or drink another paralyzer. or do whatever i want. because i remembered the original reason i refused to leave las vegas - the ability to be someone new. i think people get caught in their whirlpool and forget that. they let the sewers gobble them up and struggle not to drown. it's too bad. it's cheaper to pay for a website than for bad make-up or lighting charges or having an agent. porn is a disgusting industry. but god forbid i do it myself.
what did you think i was going to tell you? i am not one for details. ask me and perhaps. probably not. chance is wrong. i'm not at my bottom anymore. where was he when i cried at night and called him? just once. he never called me back. i have one broken leg, one i rarely use and i walk with a limp. it's better than what valkyrie ever did. and i can pay my medical bills here. i live in the same hotel i work out of. i rarely leave. i drink in the bars downstairs and bet on sports with the executives here for a weekend of freedom. i sing karaoke and go for a run and buy a joke book. i share a room with an accountant who surrendered to war and drugs and money, who now works in a mail room. i spend my days and night sitting in casinos, cheating people out of money because i can. no one else knows i do that, though. not even you. pay attention, you can pick it up. i like magic, i play with cards and coins a lot. i love poker. i bet. and no one has ever beaten me at simon says. and the only reason i am not there, doing the very same thing, is because chance thinks something and has told himself that's reality. he always does that. i'm supposed to be sleeping when i want to play blackjack and go get pancakes with lawrence. i'm supposed to cry and beg for a second chance when i want to buy a top hat and laugh at a joke kelly tells me. but i can't. because i'm the little sister and i'm stupid and foolish and too lost for my own good. i got sidetracked for awhile, but i'm here to get better now.
one of my brother's ridiculous friends subscribes to my website. a lot of them probably do. but i banned him because he told chance. that's the only reason anyone found out. the entire drive back to valkyrie, i listened to him lecture about worrying and always looking and how i ruined everything again, because, once again, i broke the rules about being chance sanders' little sister. the only bit i believed was he jumped in his car and drove straight to vegas. probably because mom and dad aren't doing well and he wants to make them feel better by being the perfect child. none of it has anything to do with me being back in town. whatever. i hear the inferno hotel and casino is nice. and i have a laptop.
play their game and then disappear. i've done it before, i can easily do it again."
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the player
ALIAS asia, captain of the kgb.
YEARS OF EXPERIENCE when did marioe lemieux retire?
OTHER CHARACTERS because the flingers were upset.
HOW'D YOU FIND US? before then.
RP SAMPLE
YEARS OF EXPERIENCE when did marioe lemieux retire?
OTHER CHARACTERS because the flingers were upset.
HOW'D YOU FIND US? before then.
RP SAMPLE
once upon a time, the penguins were flawless. oh wait. they still are. the end.
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template created by anna of the industry. do not take without permission!
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