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Post by ALTAIR SABINA BENNETT on Sept 19, 2011 21:13:11 GMT -5
 It wasn’t a party, it was a bore.
Altair couldn’t do cold turkey. She knew she couldn’t. Even after she flushed the rest of her pills down the toilet, she understood it wouldn’t be as easy as that. Why would she change so quickly after having lived her entire life like a disaster? For Rowena. For the only person who ever mattered, or one of the only people. The pain in her chest made her yearn for the Vicodin, but she tried her best to hold out. You are not fucking dependent. You don’t need the pills. But everything was so lucid lately, so really. It wasn’t the rush or the thrill, it was the devastation and the wreckage—the aftermath. Where are you now, Syria? she wondered as a guy sat next to her on the couch. A Marlboro was in her mouth, beer between her french manicured nails. This was Altair, put-together like the model she was, like she used to be. Her hair was the glamor, her clothes the style, and she was the scene. That wouldn’t change, either.
Where did you go?
She tried not to think. It got her nowhere. All she really understood that the girl was gone, disappeared, and there was nothing she could do to take anything back. She could go over her life and all the sisters’ mistakes and found the perfect moment to have said something. She could have found Syria and took the bottle away, and said, “You’re not fucking leaving me.” But there was no use in soul-searching. She was gone. That was that. She was the earth and the ash. Nothing is beautiful in death. But oh, she was sure pretty little Syria would stay the same in the coffin. That’s what held her over, most of the time—thinking that the girl would never fade.
Breath was hot in her ear, she took a long drag of her cigarette. She couldn’t do cold turkey. All she could do was sit and stir and try to get over it. A hand on her knee, sliding along the denim of her jeans to her thigh. And she spoke low: ”Get off of me.” The words were cool as she held the cigarette between those manicured fingers (oh, Syria would have loved them, gush about how cute they were) and blew out smoke like a chimney. ”C’mon baby, don’t be like that,” he said, leaning in to brush his wet lips against her neck. Pulling his hand away from her leg, she bent it back into an uncomfortable position so he was pinned against the cushion of the couch. Her knee was placed in between his own as she bent over, using her dominance for all it was worth. ”I’ll be however I want,” she said, before walking away, bottle dangling from her hand, cigarette in her mouth. And she was all Altair, as usual.
Just different.
Just changed.
Altair walked outside, into the backyard. The dark sky hung above her, dotted with little specks. Are you there Syria? The orange glow was dimmed by the light overhead on the deck. Blowing out her final puff, she threw down the butt and stomped on it with her heels. She’s not anywhere. It didn’t matter where the girl had gone. All that mattered was that she’d left. Altair leaned against the wall. It was hot. She almost felt the need to take off her jeans, but the tank-top was doing well to keep her cool. Probably because it wasn’t much to speak of in terms of covering up. It used to be Syria’s. She was wearig a dead girl’s clothes. Why did she have to be so morbid lately?
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Post by brett on Sept 21, 2011 19:40:11 GMT -5
Brett had been drinking. Not that it was anything new. He was drinking before the party, and if he wasn't completely shitfaced, he'd be drinking afterwards. Most of the more boring parties usually ended with him drinking with some close friends, or strangers, or alone if no one was around. If no one had the time to drink with him, it wouldn't stop him from having a good time. A few months ago it probably would have, but he was becoming more and more dependent on it. He wouldn't call himself an alcoholic, but he wouldn't dare try to stop drinking either. What would be the point of that? Brett doubted that he could live sober. It was hard enough surviving in those moments of clarity between binges. Needless to say, Brett's confidence was through the roof, and as long as he didn't kill all of his brain cells tonight, he'd probably have a good chance in going home with a lucky girl or boy. It was moods like this that always led to something fantastic. There was always an adventure, always a sexual escapade or a vicious fight, and it always managed to keep him satisfied. It was those adventures that he looked back on nostalgically, and each and every one began with the phrase "I was so wasted."
Needless to say, Brett was just looking for some action, and wasn't really succeeding at finding any, not that that was new. Most of the parties in the Hollow ended up being the most dull experiences. Still, being an optimist, Brett attended each one as if it'd lead to something incredible, because a lot of them did. He'd met some interesting people at parties. He'd engaged in debaucheries and escapades and they were what his life was built on. So of course, Brett never said no to a party. Even if it wasn't going to be good. Even if he knew that it would suck, and that he was wasting his time, there was still free booze and a sliver of hope that something spectacular would happen. If not, he made it happen. All he needed was to find someone who thought like him, or to find an audience who would want to invest all of their attention in one of his antics, and he'd be golden.
Brett found himself in the kitchen. It was always the room that he frequented at parties. It was always the room that contained social lubricant. He'd set his sights on a pretty girl, and had begun to chat her up. Between flirtations and pretending that he cared about what she had to say, he was downing his drink as much as possible. He needed it to keep up with hearing her babble on about her zodiac sign, and her dreams for the future. All he wanted was to get laid. It wasn't too much to ask, was it? Why didn't more girls come to these things with the same idea? By the end of the night, it usually led to the bedroom anyway. Worse yet, after ten minutes of hearing this chick chatter on and on about things that he couldn't give a fuck about, her boyfriend showed up. As much as Brett wanted a fight, that bitch didn't deserve the trouble. Shaking his head and laughing, Brett left the room to go outside. He really needed a smoke about now. Was he diluted to think that he'd have gotten somewhere today? Maybe he was off his game. Maybe he just couldn't notice because of his heightened blood alcohol level. Well, at least he wasn't tearing himself apart over this like he would have if he were sober. Stepping out the door, he hardly noticed that anyone else was out there with him, let alone that it was Altair. He was too caught up in his own thoughts right now, and that was hard enough to survive in a rare case of sobriety.
Tagged:: Altair
Outfit:: Click
Count:: 660
Notes::
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Post by ALTAIR SABINA BENNETT on Sept 22, 2011 18:06:10 GMT -5
Even though Altair liked to practice her powers, she knew better than to do it when she was in some random person’s house where anyone may see. When she smoked on school grounds, though, it provided an oppurtunity. She found, strangely enough, that she liked her powers. After so many years of neglecting them thanks to her parents, she found her fire was something she actually loved. Absently, she wondered how Rowena and Syria felt about their elements. Oh. It was times like these she felt that she needed the Vicodin, or that she needed to do something stupid to endanger herself so she could forget. Just for a moment. For one second. And sometimes, when she looked at her phone, she pretended that she could just push the speed dial and when it picked up, Syria would be on the other end. Talking to her. And sometimes she’s tempted to do so, just to say goodbye.
But she knows. She’d accepted it, as angrily and reluctantly as she had wanted to. Altair turned cool blue eyes when she heard the door open and snorted. ”Hey shithead.” It may not have been a term of endearment, rather spoken as an Altair-style greeting. But it wasn’t anything really meant to be insulting. Altair didn’t really go out of her way to do that anymore. Why pick fights when she was trying to focus on her family? Of course, one word can get her on your bad side. But right now, all she wanted to do was gather the pieces of her fragmented life and piece them back together. She continued to smoke, not bothering to make conversation with Brett. She wasn’t a very friendly person, after all. Even if she could tolerate you—as she did Brett—it was difficult to coax even a few words out of her, unless you were her sisters. Sister. There was that gut feeling of sadness again, and not even the beers she had that night could fix it. You don’t need any of it. Mind over matter was so much easier when it didn’t involve addiction. Think about Ro. That made it easier, if just by a little bit.
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Post by brett on Sept 23, 2011 14:34:50 GMT -5
Brett had never experienced a death that really affected his life. He probably never would. He wasn't really close to people. Brett was an island, and constantly made sure not to open up to people. He wasn't in to all that kind of mushy junk. Sharing feelings just wasn't something that he ever wanted to do. He also hated it when other people tried to share things like that with him. He was detached, and even his family didn't share a strong bond. His parents provided him money and shelter when he was back in the states, and his siblings just stayed out of his way. That was pretty much how his life played out. He'd die alone, and he was almost okay with that. Really, Brett refused to depend on anyone but himself, and he didn't think that anyone would ever even think of depending on him. Really, he'd never really no what mourning was unless someone somehow convinced him that addiction to another person was acceptable.
Hearing a British accent was enough to tell him who was greeting him with an insult without looking. Most people would probably be able to tell from the use of shithead as an acceptable way to greet someone, but Brett had his share of bad publicity around the Hollow, so it could have been anyone that he'd never called back, or that he'd fought in the past. He rubbed people the wrong way a lot, and that meant that anyone looking for a conflict would probably call him shithead, or a fag, or a cunt, and they'd receive a conflict. This one wasn't a challenge though, at least he hoped that Altair didn't want to fight him like she kept suggesting. He didn't like fighting girls, even if they were as vicious as the fire girl. Brett decided to give up on thinking and focus on social interaction instead. He wasn't at a party to just be upset about striking out. He was too good for something like that. He was too drunk for something like that. Intoxication led to happiness with Brett, and that meant never letting little things like wasted time get him down.
"You're kind of a bitch, you know that?" he joked in a cool and calm manner. He put a cigarette in his mouth, and then struck the flint wheel of his lighter, which may have been a mistake. Having just insulted a fire elemental, bringing a flame close to your face never seemed like a good idea. Still, she'd hopefully be in a good enough mood to let it slide. After all, he was only joking. The fact that he had to justify this to himself said a lot. It said that he was paranoid. It said that he'd be happy not to have his hair singed, his skin burned, or his cigarette destroyed. The last of those options really seemed the worst. Controlled destruction of one of his favorite vices would just lead him to rage, which wouldn't be good for anyone.
Tagged:: Altair
Outfit:: Click
Count:: 507
Notes:: Altair's monologues are so depressing </3
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Post by ALTAIR SABINA BENNETT on Sept 23, 2011 21:07:44 GMT -5
Out of the corner of her eye, Altair watched as Brett lit up and almost snorted at his comment. She did shake her head, though. ‘Kind of a bitch’? Okay, she’d take that. She didn’t intentionally go out to be a bitch, as others may think. Sure, she picked fights and did stupid shit when she felt like it, she smoked and drank and partied and disregarded things she should have been paying attention to (really, it’s too late)—but Altair didn’t wake up in the morning and think of ways that she was going to set the world on fire. She didn’t plan who she was. Just as Brett didn’t plan bumping into her. She watched the matching orange glow next to her for a moment before continuing the conversation for the sake of conversation. One person she actually could tolerate was here—why not take advantage of it?
”So I’ve heard,” she said nonchalantly, almost matching his coolness. People liked to take note of that, like she wasn’t aware of it. ”I prefer sarcastically inclined. But you should give me more credit than that.” Altair didn’t smile as she said this, even though she could in her usual snarky way. It was her humorless sister that usually saw that. But she wasn’t always humorless, and she wanted that back more than anything. Things needed to get better. ”That a problem?” Even though she liked to provoke him and play with him, she wasn’t really planning to follow through unless he riled her temper. These days she was no longer looking for fights, really—okay, she was trying not to look for fights, but it would take a bit of time to convince herself that it’s okay to be calm and cool once in a while. So that she didn’t continue to fuck up, so that she didn’t have to leave Rowena or worse—have Rowena leave her. She wasn’t an emotional person save for anger, but when it came to grief…it had stricken her hard, like a slow turning upon the rack.
I can forget. ”So are you totally plastered yet or do you need a few more drinks in you?” she asked the Thunder boy, trying her hand at conversation. Still sarcastic as usual. She couldn’t escape that, even if she wanted to. It was who she was. Altair, the bitch as Brett had said. She was fine with it. What she wasn’t fine with was the fact she was still so goddamn weak that she couldn’t keep herself from thinking how could it would be to get high right then, just so she didn’t think about…her all the time. She needed something, something more than the beer and the drugs and the fast shiny bike. She needed Rowena, but the girl wasn’t here. She had Brett, a guy who she realized she really didn’t know anything about. And he really didn’t know anything about her. Save for the fact that she was a stripper and had a nice bike next to his shit car and liked the Vicodin. He didn’t know that she had lost one of the only two people who were important with her. It was almost strange, but she didn’t really think about it as she flicked ash to the ground.
[*sobs* oh, i love being mean to charries. >D]
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Post by brett on Sept 25, 2011 17:07:54 GMT -5
Brett took a drag of his cigarette when he realized that it wasn't going to blow up in his face for what he'd just said. He'd seen Altair manipulate fire to mess with people before, and he didn't really want to be on the receiving end of that. Especially since thunder was weak to fire, as he found out while being charred and slapped around by a kid two years his senior. He shook his head when the girl pretty much shrugged off the comment he'd just made. Apparently she was used to that observation. Well, that was good. At least it wasn't news to her that she was kind of hard to get along with from time to time. Really though, he enjoyed her company, even if the rest of the school seemed to have a problem with her. Not that he knew what most people in the school thought of her. He still wasn't part of the rumor mill, and didn't know what kind of reputation she had. It was probably a lot like his, but he never seemed to get insulted, so why would she? It had to be the way she acted. She just never cared, and while Brett found that appealing, and made him crave her attention, other people probably hated that. Brett wasn't normal by any stretch of the word, after all.
Blowing smoke out of his nose, he laughed. Sarcastically inclined? That was such a positive spin on what other people might find a very negative trait. She was right, he had to give her more credit than that. Hell, she was the most interesting kid that he knew. She was pretty, and he always had a good time with her. He'd never admit that though. He wasn't even sure why those thoughts were running through his head at the moment. He never thought so endearingly about a person. It was disgusting. He wouldn't let it ever get out that he felt for another living breathing human being. He wasn't emotional. He didn't feel. That made people weak. He didn't need that. "You're certainly more than just sarcastically inclined. You've got that whole exciting rebel girl thing down to a tee. I should really congratulate you on that one." That was actually true. He admired the fact that Altair was cool and dangerous and a rebel. Still, it was funny that she kind of seemed like she came straight from a teen movie from the 1980's. "Not a problem at all, just an observation," he stated looking at at the cigarette in his hand.
Brett smiled at Altair's next question. He certainly wasn't sober, but he was building a quick tolerance to alcohol, and it was getting harder and harder for him to get wasted fast. It wasn't really a problem, it meant that he could match some pretty girl or boy drink for drink and manage to have them wasted while he was just a little more than buzzed. Still, it made it a little more difficult to get wasted, and to do something super exciting. It meant that he thought more. "I'm gonna need a hell of a lot more booze before I get wasted," he said candidly. He really wished that he could get something like Everclear in British Columbia. It may have tasted awful, but at least he wouldn't have to drink so many of them before he got the effects that he wanted. He took another drag, and blew out more smoke. He needed something better to do with his time.
Tagged:: Altair
Outfit:: Click
Count:: 593
Notes:: Sorry this one took so long.
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Post by ALTAIR SABINA BENNETT on Sept 25, 2011 19:55:56 GMT -5
Strangely enough, nowadays it was easier to tolerate people. Not everything was an offense, because now she didn’t care about what people said. Of course, the subject of her sisters was still off-limits, but she was more willing to be civil with people. If not still aloof, of course. She wasn’t the most sociable people, and she knew that. Apparently Brett too. And it was a good thing that he understoodd it, otherwise things would probably not work out between the two of them as…well, she guessed he was an acquaintance. Friends? Could she make friends? No, she didn’t think it was within the realm of possibility for her. She was a selfish person, even if she didn’t set out to be. The only other person that she put herself behind was her sister. Her triplet, not her twin. And if you wanted to piss both her and Ro off, just refer to them as the Bennett Twins. Just try.
Altair’s pride helped her view herself in such a positive light. And that pride could not be shaped or taken away by anyone else. Because as those teachers said in grade school, if you’re not confident in yourself, who else will be? ”I’m flattered, really, by how much you seem to adore me,” she said dryly, but then again, what wasn’t a dry comment from her? ”And I excite you, huh? Well I guess you should be thanking me in that case.” She tilted her head and looked at him, as if expecting that thank you from his mouth. It was just toying with him of course, and soon she was blowing out smoke again, snorting at his next comment. An observation? Well then, she guessed that wouldn’t be cause for a fight. Shame.
Far from drunk, Altair smirked at what Brett said. ”Too bad there’s nothing but cheap booze and pot,” she commented. She’d take a hit off a joint if she felt like it, but the only drugs she was actually into was Vicodin. According to her shrink, apparently it was the most common drug addiction. Congratulations, Altair, you’re a part of the majority. With Rowena it had apparently been heroin, and that actually chilled the Fire bitch. That was deep shit that her sister was into, and to be so ignorant… Of course, she wasn’t completely ignorant. She knew that there was something wrong with all her sisters, she just paid no mind. Let them handle their own life. And now Syria… and now Syria. ”I’m sure there’s someone here who can provide, though.” She did have a dealer, after all, and this was more of a passing comment than anything, spoken in the same breath as the smoke.
[don't worry and take your time. <33]
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Post by brett on Sept 27, 2011 19:53:12 GMT -5
It was funny that he wasn't even sure how he felt about the girl, but her dry comment about his apparent sarcasm seemed more than accurate. Adoration probably wasn't the word that he would use, but there was certainly some affection there. God, he needed more beer. He was thinking far too much. Thinking never brought him anything good. It led him to awful decisions. Thinking brought out the worst of him. If he never thought, life was a breeze. Thoughtless Brett was the Brett that slept with anyone he wanted. Thoughtless Brett was the one who people liked. He was the one at parties, and he was the one who had all of the adventures. The Brett that thought overcomplicated things. He was like Jekyll and Hyde, and beer was his crimson vial. As long as his blood alcohol content was through the roof, he was happy. Sober, he was liable to fuck things up. His whole life tended to go wrong when he thought. Before the miracle of alcohol, Brett led such a boring life. Now he was living it up every chance he got. All he needed to keep things doing well was a shitton of booze.
Brett never needed to be confident in himself. People did that for him. He was attractive, and awesome, and fun to be around. He could convince himself that he was confident with a lot of alcohol, but otherwise he was as insecure as they came. Alcohol seemed to be a huge factor in his life, and that factor was steadily growing. Brett felt that if he could get people to believe that he was worth their confidence, that he'd eventually get his own. That theory hadn't worked thus far, but surely it would sooner or later. He wished that he could actually have Altair's level of confidence. If he could be like that, he'd be invincible instead of eating away at himself from the inside. Still, he was a good actor. "You're lucky you're even getting an acknowledgement," he said flatly. He didn't throw compliments around, just like he never apologized. It made the times that he actually dished out one of those more special.
Brett shrugged. Cheap booze and weed hadn't done him wrong in the past. Then again, he wasn't much for marijuana. It made him too apathetic. He didn't care about much usually, but when he was smoking a joint he just couldn't care about anything. He got stoned, and then he was no longer social. While that meant not thinking, there wasn't a point when it just meant fading into the background. When Altair stated that there might have been someone who could provide something that could kill his clear thinking, he took it as a suggestion. A damn good suggestion at that. Brett needed something soon, or he'd end up finding a way to torture himself. "Think we could find one?" he asked. As self-destructive as Brett was, he wasn't good at finding drugs. It was probably the reason why he'd only tried weed and the things that doctors had given him. He didn't know where to look or who to talk to, but Altair obviously did.
Tagged:: Altair
Outfit:: Click
Count:: 532
Notes:: For Brett rambling so much, you'd think there would have been more content =/
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Post by ALTAIR SABINA BENNETT on Sept 27, 2011 21:23:46 GMT -5
Snorting, Altair scuffed her heel against the cement of the porch. ”So bloody lucky,” she said. She didn’t need other people reaffirming what she already knew about herself. But the way Brett said that, it seemed as though he did. She couldn’t be sure though. But after associating with someone for a bit, you started to notice things they did or ways they acted. Gestures and body language and all that. Usually, she didn’t care enough to observe. Not really, anyway. If she wanted a good fight or a good fuck, she’d need to observe. And Altair was more street smart than anything. Of course, she paid so little attention in class it was a saving grace. Could she tell everything about Brett? No, of course not. And she wouldn’t be the better for it anyway. The only person she understood even a little was Rowena, and it was because they shared an umbilical connection.
Altair was really trying her best to get off the drugs. She was staying away from the Vicodin, but sometimes she substituted with bud. It wasn’t really the same, though. And during those times, she didn’t know what to do. At least you’re not like Rowena. She hated to think of her sister that way, as a junkie that she could look at as an example. Because that’s not how she saw it. She saw her triplet as a piece of herself that had managed to destroy herself so bad. Like a slowly crumbling wall Altair felt that she needed to spackle over. At least it’s not heroin. Altair almost snorted at that, but then she thought of the way Rowena would scratch at her arms and glare at nothing as if the very air offended her. All humor left her then. The girl was getting better, she reassured herself. They were getting better. Slowly, but it was soemthing.
Could she help him out? The humor returned, small like the glow of her cigarette. So he wanted something from her? No, not from her of course, from the people she knew. And she knew a lot of people. Luckily, she managed to break away from a certain group of people before she got in too deep. She only used them for the drugs and violence, after all, but she knew if she requested it would be easy enough. She stepped up closer to him, her blue eyes sharp like an icicle. ”What’s in it for me?” Altair asked, turning his usual challenge back on him. Was she serious? No, not really. It shwed in the smirk that tugged at her lips, the way she twirled her cigarette a bit. It wouldn’t take much of an effort on her part to hook him up. ‘Shithead, meet Brett.’ And that would be that. Altair didn’t even realize that this could destroy his life, didn’t care. She wasn’t looking out for anyone else, after all.
[it's all coolio, brah~]
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Post by brett on Sept 29, 2011 19:45:18 GMT -5
One of Brett's greatest fears was being read. If someone could tell what he felt or thought, they could pretty much have him at their mercy. He was already a marionette, it was just that no one had found out how to pull the strings right in the past. Had someone noticed that he was insecure, or that he didn't like most things about himself, or that he drank to make himself more tolerable, it would probably ruin him. Granted, it actually probably wouldn't have surprised anyone, but it would still have been enough for Brett to destroy himself. Even worse would be if someone could utilize what he felt to get him to do whatever it was that they wanted. He wasn't submissive by a long shot, and to be dominated was the worst thing in the world to him. If anyone could figure out that he did half the stuff he did just to make strangers like him better, he'd be dead. It was a shame, but it was the hand he was dealt, and he couldn't really fix it. Not that it mattered much.
Brett could tell by Altair's personality that she really didn't care about the fact that he'd complimented her, no matter how special that may have been. That was fine. He didn't care. Okay, he did, but that would change once he further intoxicated himself. That was the great thing about any drug, beer included, they could make your worst problems go away for a little while, and Brett's worst problem was pretty much the fact that Altair seemed to mean something to him. Brett wanted a lack of connection with people, and it seemed that Altair wanted the same damn thing, so why did he crave her attention so much? He had to stop with that. Really, it was going to destroy him if he didn't. Half the reason he drank was because of that inner monologue. That constant debate over things that wouldn't matter in the long run. He probably wouldn't even remember the girl in a year or so, and if he did he wouldn't care about her. It was just how life worked. Nothing mattered. You move on, and everything rights itself. It just would take time. Time that he didn't have. He needed to swallow whatever he could get his hands on now.
Brett couldn't help but snort a laugh when the fire student threw his typical comeback back into his face. "Isn't my company enough?" he asked jokingly. He liked to think that he was gracing everyone with his presence when he was drinking. Even if that was way off, it was still a nice thought. He threw a real offer out there too. "What do you want that I have?" It was open ended, and he'd probably even say yes to most choices. Brett had a lot, but nothing hard to really get on one's own: money, booze, cigs, articles of clothing, even his body was on the table if Altair wanted it. The fact of the matter was, Brett really could have used some pills at the moment, even if he'd never taken any in a recreational sense. It was time for something new. Something exciting. Something that would take the edge off and make him stop thinking. Then again, he had no idea what he was getting into. Brett knew that this could potentially destroy his life entirely, but he also really didn't care. He just needed fun now. Anything later could wait.
Tagged:: Altair
Outfit:: Click
Count:: 588
Notes:: <3
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Post by ALTAIR SABINA BENNETT on Sept 30, 2011 18:06:12 GMT -5
Altair’s eyes kept steady on his. There was almost a hint of playfulness in them, but it was hard to tell what was what when it came to her. She was straightforward in everything she ever said, however. ”It might have to do,” she said, tone unreadable. She smirked. ”I don’t see anything you have that I can’t get anywhere else.” Could he bring her sister back? Could he make her stop wanting the Vicodin? Could he stop her from making any more stupid mistakes? No. That wasn’t in his power. Then, thinking of a way he might help her forget, she shrugged. ”I’ll think of something later though.” Besides, asking for something was like admitting weakness. And Altair didn’t do that. She didn’t need anything in her life, didn’t want anything, not that those who associated with her knew. Only Rowena had insight to any sort of weakness, and even that made Altair uncomfortable. Because she was the older one, the one who was supposed to be well put-together, assertive, sure—her weaknesses shouldn’t exist, not to her sister.
Dropping the cigarette to the ground and snuffing it out with the heel of her stiletto, she opened the back door and entered the kitchen area, and god it smelled terrible. Like booze and pot fornicated to have a bile baby. She looked around, well aware that the guy she was looking for was already there. If she hadn’t seen him around, she wouldn’t have brought it up to Brett who apparently wanted something more for tonight. And she’d oblige, simply because she needed a distraction. That’s what her life was full of, she finally realized—diversions and stupid stunts to take her mind off the fact of the matter. Her sisters and her were in trouble. They were new kids on the block, they were the fallen ex-model Brits that had stepped into Canada with a whole lot of hell back home. And now it was down to two. Distractions were still needed.
Finding the guy she was looking for, dressed in a wife beater and talking too a pretty brunette chick, Altair stepped up to him and hooked a finger through his belt loop, tugging on it hard. He looked momentarily surprised before looking at her, leaning back as if he hadn’t seen the Fire girl in a while. In actuality, he really hadn’t. ”Altair, baby, how’re they hanging?” She gave him a dry look and replied smartly, ”Lower than yours.” He laughed, the brunette forgotten but moving on quickly to another guy to converse with. And that was life—finding distractions, moving on. The man—his name was Barry, and he used to be on her speed dial—put his hands on her waist, swaying her side to side, slightly. She rolled her eyes, the expression definitely teasing, finally jabbing a thumb in Brett’s direction. ”He wants something from you,” she said with a small smirk. ”What, do you hate me now?” he asked as if offended, and she leaned up as if about to kiss him. ”A little bit.” Barry turned his attention to Brett then, expectant.
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Post by brett on Oct 3, 2011 18:55:06 GMT -5
Leaving debts unpaid and up in the air never sat right with Brett. It meant that whoever he owed could abuse him at any given time. And he wouldn't even say no. Brett may have been a lot of things, but he wasn't someone to go back on a deal. If someone was going to be good enough to do something for him, then he would do whatever they needed done, regardless of what it was. He just wished it wasn't left up in the air. Even if the request was ridiculous and suicidal, at least he wasn't left worrying about it. For all he knew, Altair was concocting some kind of elaborate torture plot to rob Brett of everything he loved just because he asked for her help in scoring some drugs. It may have sounded bizarre, but he wouldn't have put it past her. Altair was hard to get a read on, maybe she was some kind of deranged sociopath out to ruin lives. Maybe he just needed to get as far away from sobriety as humanly possible. Brett just sighed in response, shaking his head. "Alright, sounds fine," he stated flatly, looking up at her.
Now it was time for Brett to pretty much follow Altair around and trust her for a moment. He took a really long drag of his cigarette, which he hadn't smoked a satisfying amount of yet, and dropped it to the ground, extinguishing it with the ball of his foot. It seemed that the random encounters that Brett and Altair tended to share often ended up being some kind of game of follow the leader. He followed her into drag racing. He followed her out of detention and to a skin joint. He followed her to a club. And now he was following her through this party in search of someone to hook him up with something that could provide a decent buzz. It wasn't that it was such a bad thing, it was just that Brett wasn't used to being so submissive. He was always the alpha. He was always the pack leader. Altair just had a way of forcing him into a secondary position, and Brett wasn't really sure how he felt about it.
It was interesting to see Altair act with what could be confused with affection toward the guy who Brett supposed was the dealer. It was interesting to see Altair act with anything other than apathy. Soon came the awkward moment when Brett was expected to speak, and had no idea what to say. He wasn't sure what the etiquette for drug deals was. He'd seen deals for weed go down, and it was always so shady. Code words were needed. This was different. This was out in the open. Still, within seconds, and seeming perfectly calm, as was his strong suit, Brett spoke: "Hey man, are you holding?" He didn't care enough to ask if the guy had pain killers or uppers or downers, or anything else. He just wanted something. He just wanted whatever it was this guy had with him. Brett was never one to be picky about that sort of thing. Just like he wasn't picky with booze, he just took whatever it was that he could get his hands on.
Tagged:: Altair
Outfit:: Click
Count:: 548
Notes:: So close to Brett's destruction point. I am ever so excited. xD
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Post by ALTAIR SABINA BENNETT on Oct 4, 2011 15:36:28 GMT -5
Altair didn’t have any plan to get anything from Brett later on, not unless she felt like fucking him again. Time would tell. That was her personality at least. Que sera sera, or something like that. She was on no set path, she didn’t have any decisions she needed to make, there was nothing really that she had on her mind for her future. What she wanted out of life at this moment was her sister’s health, and that was it. Brett couldn’t give her that, so there was truly nothing she could ask of him. Even if he could somehow fix her shitty life, she still wouldn’t ask. Altair was a prideful person—prideful people didn’t ask for help. They just endured therapy and listened as a balding man in a Cosby sweater tried to pull personal information out of them for one-hundred bucks an hour.
Barry treated Brett like an old buddy that he knew, threw an arm around his shoulder and leaned in close. Altair just put her hands in her pocket, minding her own business. She did it well, actually. She’d ignored her sisters for long enough, and one of them had overdosed. But she wasn’t thinking about that for Brett. She didn’t immediately think ‘overdose’, no. And if he did end up killing himself, would it matter? She figured she’d probably miss his presence in her life for a little while. It was actually nice to have someone outside of Ro that she could tolerate. ”I gotta dime, that cool?” Barry asked with a smile like he was the friendliest of guys. Altair was tempted to ask for that dime, she really was, but she knew better. She’d behave, or she’d damn well try.
[Because of PB's TOS, I think we should fade to black. BRETT, ENJOY YOUR ADDICTION, KAY? <33]
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