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Post by PARKER DANIEL CARTER on Nov 23, 2012 10:29:50 GMT -5
It was never truly quiet in the common room, even when the place was absent of students the fires still crackled away in their hearths, the flames casting flickering light out over the room. It was a place that had become so familiar to Parker now, nearly four years had passed since he'd started at the Academy and it definitely wasn't the first time he'd sprawled out on a sofa and decided to die slowly. One arm was curled around his head, doubling up as a pillow and a shield from the light that seemed so adamant on breaking his brain. The slow, rhythmic pounding of his skull just made the night before seem hardly worth the effort or the money he'd poured into it. Suffering through a hangover was never fun, especially when the crash was off something a little more powerful than liquid spirits.
The night before had been somewhat hectic, or so he assumed anyway, several hours had been wiped from his memory and he didn't really have a clue what he'd been up to, or how he got back to the dormitory for that matter. The last thing he remembers is that seventh tequila shot, the sour of the lemon and then waking with his face full of couch cushion. Apart from lifting his head enough to peer around the room and confirm his whereabouts he hadn't moved. A wriggle of his toes made it obvious that he was also one shoe down, a fact that didn't bother him so much compared to the spinning of his entire world.
Parker had no idea how long he'd been crashed on the couch, considering that he hadn't been bothered by another fire student yet he doubted he'd been there long. Enough time had passed that he was finally able to muster the energy to roll over onto his back though. He carefully kept one arm flopped over his eyes as a groan passed his lips at the sheer effort of simply moving. Anybody would think he were genuinely on the verge of death, or at least have gone a few rounds with a professional boxer. Parker's just lazy and verging on becoming a hypochondriac whenever he's sobering up.
The sound of footsteps weren't a problem to him, it wasn't the first time that he'd crashed out in the common room and it probably won't be the last either. Not to mention his pride is pretty much undentable, there's nothing anybody can say to him to bruise this ego. Mostly he knows a little social interaction could maybe kickstart his brain into working like a normal human being's for the day.
"Kill me now.." His voice sounded a little croaky even to his own ears, "or get food. Coffee and food would be good." If not less likely than the first option given to whoever had arrived, he doesn't know of many people who'd play nanny for him.
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Post by hound on Dec 1, 2012 20:37:11 GMT -5
"TELL MUMMY I'M SORRY,
THIS LIFE IS A PARTY"
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[/FONT] - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - [/b][/center] Makism’s last few days had been the whirlwind trip. He needed to come back down from the high he’d worked up on the whole ‘holiday season’ thing. This was his first trip back to the dorms, and over his shoulder he’d slung his new rucksack filled with holiday cookies—mom’s specialty. It was funny how the family dynamic was now that he wasn’t around so much. Damien had been away as well, and his mother seemed so much happier when they were home. It’s like the stressed out woman he’d always known had been body snatched by someone bright and cheerful. Hell, he’d take what he could get.
The young man is dragging a suitcase behind, as well. It’s heavy, clunking along in its state of overstuffedness. Makism had gotten clothes upon clothes, as well as a new skin for his laptop. It had been a good Christmas and a good break. He was excited, that much was for certain. He was already wearing the new sunglasses from his sister, the new shoes from mom and dad. The young man had an affinity for clothes, and it was one he had to embrace. Hell, he liked to dress up.
Today, however, he hadn’t. He’d just dragged himself off someone or another’s couch and stumbled on back to school. The dorms had been re-opened from the holiday, so he was free to come in and finally greet everyone as a leader. He’d do it and he’d do it well. Makism was convinced that he could get everyone to love him for the next two years, and if he couldn’t, he’d try his heart out. The creature has darting eyes and a spring to his step as he drags his bag through the common room, looking for the next spot of trouble.
There he was, collapsed on the couch. Parker. A grin crosses the green eyed boy’s face, raking a hand through his messy, dark hair. It hadn’t been combed recently, but it made the man look even more devil may care. He’s savoring the feeling of being rested, if a bit hung over. Just a bit, though, no different than most of the days he rolled out of bed. Hell, it was an accomplishment to get out of bed on any given day. The young man’s eyes are alight as he hops up on the back of the couch, feet resting on Parker’s thighs.
"Murder or caffeine… quite the conundrum." Makism’s voice is gentle, tone playing gently. He’s smirking, resting down on his heels a bit more heavily than a moment ago. There’s no mistaking that it’s the young leader sitting, the air around his head a sort of authoritative in color and organization. He’s confident and cool, completely aware of what he’s doing.
[/size][/blockquote][/blockquote]
"Talkin'."
[/size] - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - [/b] [/center][/FONT] words: 460-ish
tag: Parker!
outfit: clickie!
notes: <3
lyrics: opposite of adults by chiddy bang
credit: morganxo@ caution 2.0 [/size] - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - [/b][/center][/color] "I'M NEVER GROWING UP!" [/b][/font][/size] |
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Post by PARKER DANIEL CARTER on Dec 13, 2012 6:03:38 GMT -5
The holidays hadn't really been all that enjoyable for Parker. Oh sure he'd been spoilt rotten with presents, he'd made sure of that by giving his father a detailed list of exactly what he wanted. Other than that the entire holiday had been pretty boring really, his father had flown him over to England for Christmas, he had to work on some big case and hadn't even bothered to apologise for pretty much abandoning his son in a hotel room. It left Parker in another country with nothing much to do but take advantage of the drinking age. It hadn't been pretty really, he almost set fire to a group of people before remembering his place. After that he spent most of his time in his hotel room.
Parker didn't really move much until those feet came down upon his thighs. It was then that a small grunt came from underneath the arm covering his face before that itself lifted and he blinked blearily up at Makism as if to make sure that it was actually him there. Even the sharpest of minds will take a little bit of concentration to figure out the little things after a heavy night out. There was no welcoming smile for the other Fire student, instead he pursed his lips and blew a childish raspberry up at Maks, not a very eloquent reply but it suited the time and the moment in his 'fragile' state of mind.
"There's only one right answer, ejit," he groaned his voice starting to smooth out from the croaky 'had-one-too-many-cigarettes-the-night-before' tone, "and it don't involve bloodshed." He swatted at Mak's ankle, actually adopting a small pout upon his lips. Usually around anybody else he wouldn't even think of pouting like a three year old girl, he'd consider it beneath him. But desperate times call for desperate measures, "c'mon.. Coffee? Or at least feed me, Maks, I'm dying here."
A little bit overdramatic. But then Parker has been known to be a bit of a hypochondriac.
"And I know I'm a state but get your feet off of me, y'fool," he prodded at Maks' ankle sharply, the familiar smirk back on his lips, "or i'll start biting, and god forbid I slobber on your jeans."
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