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Post by ALTAIR SABINA BENNETT on Aug 10, 2011 10:02:43 GMT -5
 Responsible.
One word you absolutely did not use when describing Altair. She was the olest of the Bennett triplets—and no matter how much they had thought about it when they were younger, she knew this to be true—but she had nothing to show for it, save for an apartment in her name. And though she knew she should have been cleaning up her act for her sisters’ sakes, selflessness was not something Altair was good with. She loved her sisters, there was no doubt about that, but Altair also loved herself, just like she loved the drugs and the partying and the rebelling.
Which is why most nights went like this. Coming up to a party dressed in her most killer outfit, white blonde hair pinned up and feet feeling perfect in her heels. She entered the door, blowing a bubble with her gum, and cracking it obnoxiously against her teeth. Still, it wasn’t loud enough to be heard above the music. And Altair wanted to be heard. Everything about her was loud—her personality, her clothes, her voice. Because she wanted to be heard, and wanted the attention. Deserved the attention. Which is why she felt at home whenever on the runway or the stage, all eyes on her.
Altair commanded attention.
But apparently, right now, that wasn’t true. People were too occupied drinking and screaming above the music to notice the Fire girl’s entrance. The place was dark, and unlike a lot of other parties, there weren’t glow sticks or guys wearing stupid fake crowns on their heads. There was the aroma of pot filling up the space and a stereo in the corner, a crowd gyrating in the middle of the livign room with the strobe light distorting their movements.
Already, she was bored.
And there were only a few things that could cure Altair’s boredom: fighting, drinking, and fucking. Drinking came first, even though she had already started off before coming to the party, chasing her meds with a lager. Whenever she felt that she’d overdosed, though, she purged the medication from her system. But tonight didn’t feel like that. Tonight, she felt her usual, languid high self. Unfortunately, drugs didn’t erase her temper and the violence she enjoyed oh so much. It just made her enjoy herself more when she did find herself in a fight.
Bottle of beer in her hand, she used her teeth to pop the cap off and downed half of it in one gulp. As she observed the crowd (they should have been observing her, what was wrong with this picture?) she noticed that a lot of these were Academy students. She scowled. A bunch of little fuckers, they were. High and mighty over her and her sisters since they were seventeen-year-old tenth graders from Britain. It was bad enough when someone threatened her or started slinging insults her way—god forbid you start talking about her sisters. You were more than likely to end up in a hospital. But these kids were a bit too drunk to come up to her and ask how the queen was, but she did notice a few people lean over an whisper into their partner’s ear as they danced.
Altair smirked. That’s right, they should talk about her. She was goddamn, fucking Altair Sabina Bennett. And Christ, did she need some entertainment. But what could occupy her in this shithole house at this shit party? She looked around, and a lot of the things she could have possibly broken for her own satisfaction were already in pieces on the floor. Well, whatever. She hoped up onto the table in an adjacent room, and hand on her hip, she declared, ”Who here wants to play a game of chicken?”
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Post by brett on Aug 10, 2011 13:47:36 GMT -5
Chicken. That was the first good idea all night. It was interesting, he never thought he'd run into a British girl into near-suicidal adventures. Especially in Canada of all places. With a cigarette in his mouth, he smirked. It wasn't often that he got the opportunity to thrill seek these days, and he was definitely craving an adrenaline rush. It really didn't seem like the rest of the party was too interested when it came to the intoxicated girl on the table's strange game proposal, but Brett was more than happy to indulge her. He'd kill for a chance to do something stupid and reckless right now. It seemed to be his mission to attempt to destroy himself time and time again, but that was half the fun, after all. The brightest flames always burned out the fastest, and Brett just wanted people to look back on him as the proof of that. He wanted to be like Kurt Cobain, or Sid Vicious, or James Dean, and it all started with cliff diving, or fighting strangers, or chicken in this case. This would be fun.
This party was probably the worst one he'd been to in quite some time. He hated the drinks, he hated the people, and he hated the music. He may have had attention problems, but this was pushing them to new extremes. He hadn't even found an attractive girl or boy to hook up with. That's how he knew the party was dead. Either that or he was losing his touch, and he swore he'd kill himself if that ever happened. Brett needed his charm, it was what made his life so entertaining. Without his ability to flaunt his appearance and personality around, he'd have no attention, and he needed that to keep himself sane. He craved the feeling of knowing a room full of people was watching, and more eyes seemed to be on this English girl than him. That meant that she was the competition. Usually he'd compete with them, or fight them if it was a guy, to get all eyes on him. But this wasn't worth it, instead he'd love to just get in a random car and try to collide it with hers.
Brett stepped slowly toward the table, taking a drag of his cigarette in the process, exhaling casually in the process. "I'm in. If you think you can compete, that is." When it came to competitions, Brett was one to constantly egg his opponents on. He always wanted to incite the most rage, that way people would try their hardest to bring him down. He didn't mind losing a game as long as the game was fun. With his attention span, it took a lot to keep him occupied, and if a person could do that for him, it didn't matter how it ended. The way he saw it, winning didn't matter unless there were wagers placed. Unless it was a title fight, no one really needed to see who would win a fight, it was just the gravy on top of the action. "I'm Brett by the way, and you are?"
Tagged::Altair
Outfit:: Click
Count:: 531
Notes:: This post is awful. >.< But this'll be fun!
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Post by ALTAIR SABINA BENNETT on Aug 11, 2011 11:46:36 GMT -5
This is how Altair liked it. On top. Of everything. When it came to fucking, she was on top, even when the guy thought they were the dominant one. Because he had come to her. When she was on the stage, all eyes were on her and her body and she had complete control over the seated arseholes. People thought that strippers were being exploited? She knew better. It was the men who threw their hard earned money at her that were the ones being exploited. In everything she did, she was the one in charge, the one in command. That is how Altair’s world worked, and if you tried to take that away from her, you would have hell to pay.
She had drawn eyes, of course, but it seemed no one was stepping up. Pussies. No one wanted to play with her, then? The bottle dangled from her manicured fingers and she addressed the partygoers with her usual critical gaze. What a motley bunch they were, all pretty pathetic looking. They watched her with hazy eyes that must have been similar to her own. Of course, she wasn’t piss ass drunk yet, the Vicodin was fueling her high. Only being completely out of her mind made her less confrontational than she was on a regular basis. Because she was happy. The drugs made her feel good and weightless and free. They helped her forget about her shit life and even though she knew there was nothing wrong with her, they made her feel perfect. More perfect than usual. And these fuckers just can’t compare. She tipped the bottle to her lips as she waited, lifting an eyebrow at the crowd.
Finally, a potential playmate stepped up oh so nonchalantly, cigarette in his mouth and looking like he wanted some entertainment. Instead of her usual anger when someone underestimated her, she leaned over to get closer to him, and said, ”I offered up this little game. You’re the one who should be worrying about competition.” Especially once he saw her ride. He looked young, her age probably, but she didn’t know if he was in Academy or any of that shit. And she didn’t really care. In any case, his age meant that like most teenagers, who must have had a piece of crap car. She didn’t. She wasted money that should have gone toward her sisters on her shiny Ducati, the one she would be riding against whatever he had. Jumping off the table, her heels clicking loudly as they hit the floor, she lifted her chin at this guy, whose name was apparently Brett. ”Altair,” she introduced simply. ”Follow me then, Brett.” The name came smoothly off her tongue like the smoke from his cigarette, and she ended her sentence with a smirk.
Altair led the way outside to where cars where scattered along the street, some even parking in neighboring houses. A crowd followed after them, apparently wanting to see this game. Before stepping out to the red motorcycle, she turned on Brett and said, ”We’ll use the highway leading out of the Hollow. There are no rules, except that if you scratch my bike I will fucking murder you. The first one to pussy out and pull off the road loses. Got it?” She put a hand on her hip and waited for his response.
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Post by brett on Aug 12, 2011 14:00:56 GMT -5
It never really occurred to Brett that he should be the alpha in every situation. Obviously, the thought of power intrigued him, but he really had no idea what to do to obtain it. He wasn't the type to take every room by storm, which this girl in front of him seemed to do seamlessly. She was wasted, and still she commanded a great deal of attention. If she wasn't the competition, he might have idolized her. She seemed to get the whole attraction by means of destruction thing down to a tee - something that all of his heroes were great at. Something he hoped to be great at one day. Most people hated their destructive habits, but Brett was always in search of more. Some would call it a death trip, but he liked to think of it as a more exciting way to live. Really, people with safe lives were the boring ones. He never wanted to be that. It was the reason he'd never be able to work at a desk, or get married, or have kids. Because they would force him to care about something. It would drive him to improve himself. And people like that were so dull. He'd never met a person with kids that he could have any fun with. It may have been a stereotype, but even rock stars mellowed out when they had kids. That or kissed a shotgun, but that was more of a rare occurrence.
The thing was, when it came to most challenges, Brett wasn't underestimating the competition, but failing to estimate them at all. Assuming that someone was weak never worked out for him, but if he treated everyone as if they were below him, they had a better chance of believing it themselves. That was the goal, to make people feel worse. There was no way he'd grow to be something fantastic, but as long as he dragged those with that kind of potential down with him, he'd succeeded. It was all about infecting others with insecurities and inferiority complexes, because at least then he wasn't alone. He wasn't miserable, but he could still use the company. "Forgive me if I'm not really nervous," he said skeptically. Really, he may have been at least somewhat nervous if it weren't for the alcohol in his system, dulling his senses. Brett made a note of the girl's name. Altair, that was such an interesting name. She had to be one of the most intriguing people he'd met recently. A girl who liked to play chicken at parties drunk with strangers. You really didn't see that every day.
It was true, he did have a shit car. But that was perfect for games like this. A beat up, electric blue 1989 Chevy Camaro that he'd bought used a year ago back home. It was something that he didn't even care about fixing if it got dented or ruined. It wasn't a collector's piece by any sense of the word. The thing had seen its fair share of injuries, and one hit to a motorcycle wouldn't really hurt it as bad as with a regular car. This was looking better and better. When Altair told him she'd kill him if he hurt her bike, he grinned. "Well I mean, that's really up to you, isn't it?" he asked confidently. It surely wasn't his fault if he collided with her. They were both playing a game where if you stopped, you lost. There was an audience this time, and Brett didn't want to lose in front of all these nameless and faceless strangers who he'd most likely never see again. "Lead the way," he stated, walking to his car.
Tagged:: Altair
Outfit:: Click
Count:: 618
Notes:: I really love how you described empowerment through sex trade in that first paragraph. I believe strongly in third wave feminism. <3
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Post by ALTAIR SABINA BENNETT on Aug 14, 2011 15:05:13 GMT -5
Altair addressed Brett with an inquisitive eyebrow. If she had already been pissed off for one reason or another, that little comment would have earned him a punch in the face. But not right now. Right now, he was a challenge. He was entertainment. She could live in the moment with him like she wanted to, and not give a fuck about the soon-to-come crash—whether it be motor vehicle or otherwise. ”We’ll see,” she replied, turning away from him and tucking a strand of white blond hair behind her ear. She didn’t like many things, especially when it came to people, but she at least acknowledged the fact that the guy had balls and that was a good thing. That he was able to be reckless and that he was able to face a challenge with utmost confidence. Atltair could usually sense when a person was putting on a show when it came to situations like these, but Brett was in the clear. Which meant any fight with him would be to see what he was made of and not necessarily because she was pissed to high hell.
She wore a smile—but it was not really a smile, because she never honestly smiled these days. It was more sardonic and bitter and even held a tinge of viciousness. ”And it’s up to you whether or not you’ll be able to even touch me.” For emphasis, she gripped his chin and shook his head a bit, releasing it shortly after. It was all a game to her. Even life in general was just this toy, lie a little kids puzzle to fuck around with. But unlike Rowena, she still cared about things. She still got her short-term thrills and fun. It was just that a high became necessary to even enjoy something. When had it become like this? She couldn’t really remember, and honestly didn’t care. But when she chose to think about it, she new that it was after her accident, after the surgery, after the introduction to godd’s gift to pain medication. It was after everything she ever wanted from this life fell apart.
He told her to lead the way, and she slid onto her bike, placing the helmet over her wild head of hair. She gunned the engine and pulled away, wondering how many people would be following in their own cars. She didn’t care that all of them would be drunk and hazards to themselves or others. She didn’t care about them. All she wanted was some goddamn fun in this shithole place with her shithole life. And so she sped all the way to the highway leaving the Hollow, a road usually empty, especially at a time of night like this. But of course, that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be at least a few cars using it, which suited their purposes. She wondered if Brett would pussy out now, realizing that since cars were few and far between, it would make him even more paranoid.
Pulling up to where it seemed a good place to start their game, she placed a heel down against the pavement and revved the engine three times, before shooting off down the road.
(*highfives* ohmygod, you are so fucking awesome. <33 btw, who should win? xDD)
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Post by brett on Aug 14, 2011 20:09:11 GMT -5
Brett was both intrigued and confused that Altair hadn't even shown the slightest bit of scorn to his comments. Most people would hate him by now. Maybe he'd found someone who could actually keep up with him. Without a mental aspect it'd mean that he had to work twice as hard to beat her, but how hard could that be? She was on a bike and he was in a car. If they were to collide head on, she'd probably crack his windshield on impact and leave a dent in the hood or the fender, but over all he was pretty much safe. It would have been worse if she were in something larger like a Hummer. He'd be scared as hell if he were up against one of those monsters. Not that it would stop him. The thing about Brett was that everything was just meant to be an accomplishment for him. And everything was done just for the sake of accomplishing it. No other incentive, it was all so he could say that he did it. Sometimes it wasn't even about succeeding. Some of his favorite stories were the ones where he lost. But that wasn't going to happen tonight. Certainly not. As she turned away from him, he decided to try to get her riled up one last time. "So what do I get if I win?" he called after her. Playing the childish 'I need a prize' approach should piss anyone off. It would have gotten him angry, anyway.
Surprisingly enough, Brett didn't even mind the thought of hurting this girl in a car accident. Usually he was the kind of boy who wouldn't dream of hurting a girl, but if she was willing to challenge him to a game as high stakes as this, there was surely no way she didn't know what she was about to get into. Especially on a bike. It just wasn't a bright move. This was crashing one vehicle into another. Most people on motorcycles tended to avoid things like that. Maybe that's how she won before. Maybe this was a mind game in itself. Maybe she was that good. Better than him. Why was he so paranoid tonight? Even in life or death situations, he usually wasn't this much on edge. He'd have to calm down if he wanted to win. And oddly enough it was Altair touching Brett's chin that helped him feel at ease again. That was his way to stop speculating. It was obvious that she was messing with him now, and he could stop thinking. That was very good, because he needed a clear head to make these things more fun.
Jumping in his car, he followed close by, making note of the other cars following in the rear view mirror. It was funny, the same people who weren't willing to even respond to the girl's challenge were now their spectators. It definitely gave him the attention that he craved. He should make deathwishes public more often. An audience was always nice, no matter what for. In all honesty, the cars that were actually using the road didn't bother him at all. Mainly because he figured he was bound to get injured anyway. His car was bound to be destroyed. So what did it matter if he involved someone else in that misery for a moment. While people may have scorned random accidents, it certainly woke them up. He was doing the drivers a service by driving daringly toward them. He pulled up beside the girl. "Any rules you'd like to establish before we start? Other than the bike thing, of course." he asked with a bright grin.
Tagged:: Altair
Outfit:: Click
Count:: 613
Notes:: *highfive* xD I really don't see Brett ever stopping. So I think maybe it could be a draw or his victory, your call.
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Post by ALTAIR SABINA BENNETT on Aug 15, 2011 20:34:32 GMT -5
Brett asked for a prize and she lifted her thin eyebrow. So that’s how he played, huh? She could have been snarky and told him his reward would be living, or philosophical and said that it would be the thrill of it. But she chose option three, which was to roll her eyes and say, ”Acting like you’ll win, huh? Tell you what, on the off chance that your piece of shit can best my Ducati, I’ll buy you a six-pack.” That meant if his car—and him—were in one piece on the way back when they passed a liquor store for beers. This was Altair being generous, but it was also her being insanely cocky. Because she was sure that she’d kick his ass, and she wouldn’t need to hold that up. However… ”When I win, you’ll be getting me that six pack.” She smirked at that, any previous traces of anger concerning his little deal gone now that she knew she’d be getting more than the thrill out of it. She was well on her way to getting completely hammered.
And it seemed that he kept asking questions. She fucking hated questions, but luckily she was too high to even really give him shit about it. ”What, you want more rules? Fuck the rules. Even the bike thing, because you know what, when I win and you so happen to have touched my bike, you’ll be paying for repairs while recovering in the hospital. Clear?” Altair didn’t fuck around in anything, even when it came to games like this. She gave it her all, and Brett would see exactly what that meant soon. Never doubting just how fast her motorcycle could go—it was a goddamn Ducati, people put them on pedestals and worshipped them—she assessed his car with a snort and a shake of her head. Oh well, it wasn’t about speed anyway. It was about how drunk and stupid you were, but in their minds, it was just how brave and kickass you could be when driving.
Altair shot off, not caring if he realized that he should also be driving. The wind blew her jacket open as she sped down the highway, grinning behind the helmet. She looked to where Brett was, and revved the engine though there was no need to go faster. It was stupid and it was reckless and it was everything that described Altair. The first car gave her no problem at all as it came at her from the opposite direction, she just swerved smoothly out of the way, her bike tilting dangerously to the side. She quickly recovered, and continued on down the road, making sure to watch to see if Brett had gotten into an accident yet. She would feel no remorse or anything if he did, either. He was the one who took up the challenge and decided to drive, and so it would be his fault if anything happened to him. Unfortunately, the next town seemed to come up too fast and the two were forced to stop when the highway turned at the mile marker.
No fucking way. She took off her helmet and shook her hair out, glaring at the car next to her. A draw. A fucking draw. This had never happened to Altair before, and she was pissed about it. But not so pissed that she’d drag Brett out of his car and beat him up in the middle of the road. No, she dismounted and walked over to the car and leaned into the window. ”We’re splitting the cost of beer.” Before she went back to her bike to head to the party, she said, ”You’re pretty decent.” Not as good as her, of course, but that was probably the best compliment you could get from a self-absorbed bitch like her. She led the way back to town and to the liquor store where they got the beer, and they ended up back at the party, people patting the two of them on the back and exclaiming just how amazing they were. Damn straight, you better respect. The hard feelings about the draw were drowned in booze as she grinned at Brett and said, ”You need a new car, by the way. It’s a piece of shit.” Leave it to her to be so blunt.
(*waves draw flag* ;])
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Post by brett on Aug 17, 2011 14:30:02 GMT -5
So it was clear - this girl was impossible to get to. That was really impressive. He admired her for that, though it was kind of boring in a situation like this. Nevertheless, he actually was getting a prize out of this, and he hadn't expected that to really work. So that was a plus. Granted, if she had told him that his prize was the fun he'd have driving against her, he would have agreed. Anything on top of that was just better, regardless of how small the prize was. Brett raised a brow when Altair proclaimed she'd be winning and he'd be paying for her beer. He was extremely skeptical about that. If anything, he was going to destroy her. He was hard to keep up with when it came to anything where adrenaline was concerned. Brett flicked his cigarette butt into the road. He was ready. When it came to risks and destruction, Brett was the be all end all. He was a hurricane. In his head phrases like these were reminding him of just how great he was, it was how he achieved and maintained hype in challenges. The excitement and anticipation were probably the best part of little adventures like this. Because anything after tended to leave no surprises. Unless his car somehow went airborne or flipped over or something, but what were the odds of something like that ever happening in a competition with a Ducati? Slim to none.
When it came to rules, what he was really hoping for was some sort of clarity on what they were doing. He wasn't sure chicken was the same in Britain or Canada as it was in America, and that meant that he really had the disadvantage. No rules meant that he'd just have to follow her lead, and it was tough to win when you were taking notes like that. He laughed when the girl told him he'd be paying for her bike. "Because looking at my car, I must have the cash to fix a bike, right?" he asked rhetorically. Brett didn't really have a lot of money. He had enough to support food or cigarettes when he needed them, but that was about it. He didn't work, so it was tough to afford anything else. Not that he really cared. Brett was low maintenance in most cases.
Suddenly, the girl was ahead of him, and it looked like this would be more of a race than the head-on challenge that he'd been familiar with. That was disappointing, but he was still determined to emerge victorious no matter what. Pushing the pedal to the floor, he was slowly catching up to her. For him, avoiding cars was a bit of a challenge. He had a friend back home that liked to drive on the wrong side of the road for fun, and could do this expertly. Brett was not that lucky, but at least he'd figured out how to maneuver his car at high speeds already, so it was at least a little less of a challenge than it could have been. Swerving in and out of lanes and trying to keep an eye on Altair's bike was enough to get his heart pumping. This was probably the most fun he'd had in quite some time. He actually almost crashed into a car at one point, which only made this whole endeavor more exciting. His hands were clenched around the steering wheel with white knuckles, as he tried to just keep up with the girl. Losing just couldn't be an option right now. He was next to her when she stopped, and had to come to a screeching halt to stop. Establishing parameters would have been a good idea too, but that was all hindsight.
Brett was sincerely as surprised as Altair when he figured out that they had tied. Softly chuckling, he rolled down the window as she approached and he tried to collect himself. Coming down off of an adrenaline rush was always difficult for him. It was like a withdrawal symptom. It was the loss of everything good from his body and becoming sedate again. Brett hated the feeling that he was losing excitement. It was like he was dying a little inside. They'd be splitting the cost, but that was cheaper than buying it himself, he supposed. He really didn't care about drinking any more tonight, but beer was already discussed, and he wouldn't go back on his word. "You're not too bad yourself," Brett replied with a smirk. After a trip to the convenience store, and paying for the beer, he followed a whole crowd of cars back to the party. Then came the attention from strangers that he loved oh so very much. That was the best reward of all. With a beer in his hand, he took a swig as Altair talked to him. "Believe me, I know." he said with a smile. He didn't like his car much either, but it got him around, and it wasn't like he could just replace it.
Tagged:: Altair
Outfit:: Click
Count:: 847
Notes:: I totally thought of the driving at each other kind of chicken. Altair totally should have won this >.<
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Post by ALTAIR SABINA BENNETT on Aug 17, 2011 15:36:18 GMT -5
Altair wasn’t thinking of Brett when she chose not to elaborate on rules, that they may have different ways of playing this game. He should have realized when he saw her shiny, expensive Ducati that she had a different—and yet equally—dangerous idea in mind. So she wasn’t going to humor him with any further explanation. Even though it was rhetorical, she smirked and said back, ”Sell your own ride then, I don’t care.” There’s a lot of ways someone like him can make money. His body was what she first thought of, though on the streets they preferred a little gussying up. Drugs was another way to go, and she could direct him to people who could help him. Already she was savvy about the Canadian underground, worming her way into things that no one should find themselves dealing with. It was how she got her money, after all—shady business, walking the streets, she was a redlight vixen. And yet all the money she made went to herself, to her pretty red Ducati, to her clothes, her make up, her meds, to everything but what she needed it for. Her sisters. They were her everything, and yet she still had to be a selfish bitch, lying to them about what little money she brought home.
At least she could say she was impressed by Brett, which was coming a lot from a self-centered bitch like her. She was used to a lot of pussies in this country so far, dull-eyed teenagers who said they wanted to have fun and yet sat around getting stoned every day. That wasn’t fun to her. Her drugs were needed, in a way she hated, but she used them for the exceptional high they gave her. But this was real fun, this was her excitement, it was the thrill. Something that other people wouldn’t go about doing normally, because they knew that oncoming headlights could be the light of death. And they were afraid of it. Altair wouldn’t admit it, but she was, too. She was terrified of fading away, especially before her sisters did. She felt that since she was the oldest, she needed to be there for them, even though it was Syria that held them together like a glue. So why did she do this reckless shit without a care for the consequences? Because it was the only thing she had left, the only thing that made her feel good again. So she had to applaud that he matched her recklessness with his daredevil antics. Not a lot of people did that anymore, and it was about as much respect as you could get from a smashed British bitch.
She snorted when he returned the compliment. ”Of course I’m not,” she said in her usual cocky manner. No thanks from her, of course not. She just took it for what it was, because she knew just how awesome she fucking was. Really, her god complex was the only thing keeping her from becoming destroyed like Rowena. She lit up a cigarette, switching between that and drinking beer. ”Tell you what,” she drawled out around her fag, fingernail clinking against the glass of the bottle. ”Since I don’t get bored again, why don’t you offer a game this time. These bunch of tossers can’t hold my attention for long, but I’m willing to give you a chance.” She turned to him and raised her eyebrows, blue eyes actually cool and not enraged as usual. But they were sharp like broken glass, never quite dulled by the medication she always needed in her system. ”Entertain me,” she said with a wink, and she could have been insinuating something else. She just wondered if he could catch on. If not, who cared, it would just be another one night mystery to her.
(we should have clarified that. *headdesk* LOLOLO for a future thread, we could have them meet each other at the academy. xDD)
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Post by brett on Aug 17, 2011 17:20:31 GMT -5
Brett always hated people who answered questions that didn't require an answer. But this one was actually entertaining. He turned away without answering. Brett grinned and shook his head, laughing to himself as got to his car. He didn't want to start an argument about a hypothetical, because that would have just been ridiculous, but his car was probably worth less than a pack of smokes at this point. It had too many miles, too many dents, and was just too awful in general to earn him any real money. It wouldn't have been able to pay for Altair's ride to be fixed, that was for sure. Then again, she only knew his first name, if he damaged her bike, what was she going to do? As long as he didn't give her a chance to see his plates, he'd make a safe getaway and never see her again. Still, it all depended on the course of this game. He may not have even come close to her, or vice versa. It was just a matter of seeing where everything led them.
Brett cared a little too much about what people thought about him. Sure, he thought that he was fantastic. He thought that he was the greatest guy on the face of the earth, but that didn't make it true. It took a lot of confirmation to make his insecurities go away. Either that or a lot of booze. Things like coming back to a party and having all eyes on him meant the world to him, but he wasn't sure if he deserved it. He felt that he had to earn that kind of attention, which is yet another reason why he was so happy he'd taken up Altair's challenge. It made this party worth going to, just when he'd thought that it'd been the worst party he'd ever attended. Now people were excited. Now people wanted his attention. But he'd talk to the girl he raced against first, because she was certainly the most fun person here, not that it was much of a challenge.
This girl sure knew how to take a compliment. Still, at least she wasn't the type to fish for praise by disagreeing with whatever someone else said. That never ceased to get on Brett's nerves. Suddenly it was his turn to pick out something to do. That was interesting, most people would have quit after they got out of that kind of race alive, but here was a chance to keep it going, and that was definitely something that Brett would kill for. But then it seemed like Altair had something even better in mind, and Brett was never the one to pass up an opportunity like this. Altair was really attractive, and seemed like she'd be a great fuck. Brett tended to be right about things like that. He had a kind of intuition, and it was telling him that he'd be an idiot to pass this chance up. He smirked, putting an arm around her waist. "Gladly," he said confidently. When it came to anything physical, Brett wasn't nearly as insecure. It all just came naturally to him, as long as he was reading the signs right. He moved to kiss her neck, waiting to see how she's react. This night just kept getting more interesting.
Tagged:: Altair
Outfit:: Click
Count:: 552
Notes:: Oh well, it's in the past now xD. And yes, definitely!
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Post by ALTAIR SABINA BENNETT on Aug 17, 2011 19:25:02 GMT -5
Did Altair think it at all sad that one of the only places she could honestly haunt and feel liked she belonged was parties? Maybe. It was the only time when she was actually tolerant of other people, when she could look at someone and not immediately see them as a face to smash in. Part of it was the glory of Vicodin, of course, the other part booze. And another part was the fact that she could find people like Brett, people who didn’t care about consequences or the future and lived off the adrenaline rush of the moment. She wouldn’t admit any of this, though, because it was a weakness. Being dependent on anything was a weakness. And besides, she never let anyone in to what goes on in her head. No one ever gets to see Altair’s inner workings, what goes through her mind. She wasn’t guarded or broken or any other sob story shit—she was Altair Bennett, your worst nightmare.
Her ideas of fun were vast and numerous and usually dangerous. But this was something different, this was something she was good at—so much so, she’d made an occupation out of it. Other than violence, the common denominator of her life was sex. It made her pretty up front about fucking, about every carnal desire. Whenever the mood suits her, she made her move. And it looked like Brett was on the same wavelength, as she learned when he snaked his arm around her waist. She leaned in and brushed her lips against his, ice blue eyes meeting deep brown one. There was no ifs ands or buts for Altair, she knew what she wanted and she did what she could to get it. But it looked like there wasn’t going to be much convincing for Brett, because she felt his lips on her neck and she tilted her head for more access.
Pulling away, her smirk stayed on her face as she set the bottle down on the table and led him to one of the bedrooms upstairs, intentions now completely clear. Hopefully what would also be clear was the fact that this was for fun. No commitment, just reckless and drunk behavior. Maybe they’d do it again, and that was just fine. Fuck buddies were okay by her, but if the other person involved thought she wanted more, then that was their problem. All Altair wanted to do was fight and fuck, like some ate and drank. This was what she did, what her life was built off of, and she wasn’t about to stick to any kind of commitment. Commitment meant giving yourself over, and she wasn’t going to hand herself—heart and soul—to anyone. Even if they were as sexy and tempting as Brett. She was as immovable as they got. In any case, she closed the door, ready to show him the night of his life.
(*fades to black* >> I shall PM you~)
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