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| Headlines are a bitch; especially when they stalk you <Anderson> | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Sep 1 2010, 08:09 AM (309 Views) | |
| Alain Seraphine | Sep 1 2010, 08:09 AM Post #1 |
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9th Year Heracles; Transfiguration
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![]() Life for the youngest Seraphine, though it wasn't gold, it wasn't shit-tattered either like it once was. It wasn't even that long ago, which was perhaps the harder point to believe. Not that he was complaining, a reprieve to take a good breath of air was always vital to keeping alive and therefore, always welcomed. Always needed actually, but then fate hadn't proved to be the kindest of beings in his life, so he often reminded himself that just as quickly, all the good luck that had been awarded to him could be taken away just as quickly. Regardless, with the elation he had been feeling as of late, he doubted the worst could happen and eve if it did, it wouldn't matter, he had the drive and the confidence to handle any foul cards life dealt him. “Hey, thanks for the pack” he said over his shoulder as he opened his locker, setting down the pack of ice that was aiding his sore shoulder. King Kong, one of the many bouncers of the club, nodded and smiled, pearly white teeth nearly the only feature clearly visible against his dark black skin. The name wasn't a misnomer either, not only as dark as the night, but bigger even than the Egyptian guy part of security back in school. “Yeah, you know I got you...and I heard you're back with the old lady again.” Alain laughed and shook his head, taking out a pair of sweat pants and hoodies that needed washing. “Ho, don't let her smaller frame fool you, she'll hex if she ever hears you calling her old” “Please” King Kong snorted, completely sure of himself, “my school boy smile is irresistible. She wouldn't hurt me.” All done packing up, he closed his locker and turned to bigger bouncer with a side smirk, “maybe, but it'll probably be more 'cause you've always been so nice to her and have embarrassed me for her entertainment.” King Kong's laugh echoed through the hall as he made his way towards the cage. Although it had been a good night for Alain, it was also shorter, having only fought once. Actually, it was a pattern that was beginning to grow, ever since he Jezebel had giving him sanctuary and the relationship with Kyle progressing, he found himself going less and less to the fight club. It wasn't about getting trashed so bad 'cause his misery was so deep he needed it. It wasn't a need as much as an alternate escape anymore. It was for the better he liked to think, and yet even if his visits waned a little, he still went when the desire arose. Of course, he hadn't overlooked that direct confrontations with his family were usually the source of such need, but for the meantime, as he continued to heal and grow stronger with his ability, it was a form of madness he'd stick to for a while longer. Once outside, he walked past the parking lot, not having brought a car as usual. He had been on his way to the house when he found out that Eve was stalking around and so decided against it. The only predictable feature of his psychotic sister was the fact that she bored easily. By bypassing the house altogether and going straight the club would give him enough time to not only earn some money, but effectively get rid of Eve in the process. Now the only thing to consider was whether he should take a cab or just find a safe spot within the city to apparate from. “Augh, maybe not...” he muttered to himself as he shifted the pack of ice on his left shoulder. Hailing a cab would take to long and then there was all that sitting and small chit chat (if they cabby was anything like Bruce) and then getting home to only having to pay the man. Apparating it was then... After about twenty minutes of walking brusquely through darkened streets and even shadier shops, he picked up on the fact that he was being followed. It was the hairs on the back of his neck as much as the sensation of being watched and dogged that led him to that conclusion and after a couple of glances over his shoulder, height was definitely another clue to add. Whoever it was, he couldn't hide nor move around as stealthily since he towered over most people half of the time. In fact, he wondered by the way the man stalked, if he even cared to stay under his radar. But it was only a moment of reflection before he suddenly stopped short, dashing into a darkened alley to his right in hopes the man would follow him. He wasn't disappointed and it was then he turned on the man, facing him fully and he found it curious that the man was even taller up in person. Not that Alain was short, but the man had a good five inches on him, though his frame wasn't as filled out. Best not to underestimate him regardless. “Sorry to interrupt yur stalkin' effurts and do excuse me” he began, every bit with sarcasm, “bud I think I've got de right to know exacdly, why de fuck yu're following me.” He gave the man a once over, and attempted to beg him for one thing or another. He definitely wasn't working for either of his siblings, he didn't seem as organized and he didn't have a mobish look to him that would warner him being from any organized groups against the Malone Syndicate or even school officials or...hell, he couldn't peg him for anything. It was a tad frustrating. “And dun't spare me de details, I'm also interrested in who ju are too.” |
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| Anderson Braithwaite | Sep 4 2010, 07:17 PM Post #2 |
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Journalist
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He hadn’t planned on doing a story about the infamous Seraphines. To be fair, no one would; too many rumors, too many strange coincidences, too many reporters in hospitals or, with the select few, a more permanent home at the local morgue. There were a select few people that nobody wrote stories about. Bad stories, at least. Fluff, oh that was wonderful and alright, wasn’t it? The eldest Seraphine had gotten married the last season, that’d been a story. Ran for ages in all the gossip rags, and covered at least once in the more reputable newspaper that Anderson worked for. But dirt, the dirt everyone knew was there and didn’t know how to uncover, well that was a bit more difficult; needed more tactile sneakiness. Which is why, when Anderson heard that the brash Alain Seraphine, youngest of the corporate trio, attended Elysion University with his very own sisters… well he would have been stupid not to have looked into it; stupider yet to not have picked up on the estrangement between Seraphine family members. And he wasn’t a stupid man. One wouldn’t have known it to look at him, and he didn’t always acknowledge himself, but Anderson was good at what he did. What he did might have been limited to a specific field, chained down to one particular set of skills, in this case investigation, but he was brilliant at it. There was just no getting around it. When he set his mind to uncover something it became uncovered. The unfortunate part was how rarely he decided to set his mind to anything, and it was only getting worse with age. He didn’t want to grow up, or face the responsibility of accepting all those new changes and shifts, so he didn’t. Less work anyways, and he didn’t exactly care to work when he could be lying about the comfort of his own home instead. It wasn’t like money would ever be an issue. Oh father would bitch and gripe and spend long hours making speeches about how he was going to cut him out of the family money, but that was all it ever was. His sisters wouldn’t let the man do it anyways. They’d always been a tight group. Even despite his indulgent apathy towards making a living for himself he realized, like anyone else in his position would have, that it would have been a special type of challenged not to try and draw Alain Seraphine into the light a bit more. There was the possibility of danger, but he determined that as long as he approached it responsibly, tactfully and from the right angles, befriending the man maybe, then all should be alright. Of course this was why he was now sneaking down a dark alley in the middle of the night under the cover of darkness; after the very man himself, Alain Seraphine. He wasn’t one hundred percent positive how he’d gotten there, in all honesty. One second he’d been making plans to drop by on official business, ask for an interview right up front, and the next he’d been buying the dodgiest articles of black clothing that he could get his hands on. The fight club development had helped with that advancement. He couldn’t just outright ask the man why he beat the pulp out of nobodies, could he? That interview would end in a short rope, and fast; probably literally. No, no good there. So he’d gone to the fights for a few times in a row, and then he’d edged out a little bit more, one night picking up his things and casually strolling down the street after the man; out the side door, no car. Course not, that made sense. He wasn’t a small man himself, and he knew nothing about stalking. It showed. He wasn’t exactly bumbling his way through his first attempt, but typically when Anderson wanted something he used charm to achieve it, flirting his way into politician’s desk drawers and the like. It wasn’t really trained in him to slink down alleys and jump round trash cans. He wasn’t having a bad time of it though, or at least, didn’t think he was; right up until he had been stopped at an abrupt halt and begun to get yelled at by Alain Seraphine; maybe not so well then, really. The yelling gave him a second to try and think of a lie, but not much time, and he swallowed, edging back a step. He was taller, always was, but comparatively it didn’t really feel like that mattered much. He’d usually have rested in his own strength, even with someone like Alain but then, usually he hadn’t just seen the latter tearing someone apart in a club late at night. On the wrong side of town. Right. “John…” Smith wouldn’t work. What a crap lie. “Turner. I’m a fan.” What. He would have rubbed his own face in irritation at his bad falsifying of purposes if it wouldn’t have given him away so quickly. “Of the uh, the fighting, match, ring, thing.” He waved his hand about. “Thinking about getting into it is, uh, is all.” Like hell. “I’ve never been in this kind of culture though, don’t know exactly what I’m supposed to do.” He awkwardly laughed. “Reckon m’not supposed to follow you around though, am I?” People laughed when he said jokes like that. People were supposed to laugh. “Sorry, mate.” He took his hood down, rubbing a hand through his hair. “You’re good though. You’re really good. Look like you’ve been doing it ages s’all. Can’t blame a bloke for wanting that.” He kind of felt like that was leading into a sexual come-on. He didn’t have an issue with homosexuality, maybe because he’d been asked so often if he himself was gay (was it the scarves?), or maybe because sometimes flirting to get into a politician’s desk drawer didn’t come down to it being a girl on the other end. But it wasn’t exactly the angle he’d been going for on this one. Couldn’t blame the Kyle girl for getting with this one though; that level of testosterone would probably do it for any woman. God damn. |
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| Alain Seraphine | Dec 7 2010, 12:41 AM Post #3 |
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9th Year Heracles; Transfiguration
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![]() As he stood in the alley, clouded not only by the darkness of the night, but of the situation, he couldn’t help but remember all the times he had stumbled onto one of his sibling’s plots. He wondered if the man was part of one, but as he regarded the scenario, there weren’t any of the tall tale signs that were key to either Isaiah or especially Eve. He had come to know the distinct ring and out of focus feeling that always came with one of Eve’s illusions. Actually, the stronger he got with his own ability, the more acute his mind became to warn against the inconsistencies only he could detect within his sister’s illusions. Of course, she had years ahead of him in practice and application, and he had a long way to go to even consider being able to stop her illusions before they even happen, but the fact that he could already sense when she was forming them, still in her head, it gave him hope to continue and push the envelope everyday a little further. So far however, even as he focused on the man and their surrounding, everything checked out, at least as far as his siblings were concerned. Though he doubted it was mob related as well, after taking a good look at the man, he didn’t seem at all affiliated with any of that. So what then? Something school or even club related was the only think he could think of… Alright, so now it was just about listening to what he had to say, and…the man’s attempts felt awful. John Turner. It didn’t sound right or even look right for that matter and he expressed it as much as he gave the taller man a questionable look. For a moment, when he hesitated, he could have sworn the man was about to throw Smith along with John, but Turner was a safer option it seemed. Not by much however, as Alain’s face didn’t grow any less suspicious as the man went on. Yes, he wasn’t the King of people, not like Isaiah was, he couldn’t read through everyone with a single glance, but whether the taller man was trying or not, he couldn’t help but not buy a single shit he was trying to sell with his half cocked story. Story, excuse, whatever, none of it sounded right and he let the man know as much as he crossed his arms across his chest, standing to his full height and finding a way to look down on the man despite the fact that he had to look up to do so. “I know ‘t may seem impozible to think I haven’t lost a gray zell ‘r two wit all de head bangin’ I’ve done in ma day, but I’m no’ buyin’ any of de shit ju just threw to ma face” he stated simply, a hint of irritation and impatience laced with his lower tone. He wasn’t above yelling, but it didn’t seem fit his mood or the effect he wanted to convey at that moment. Controlled, menacing and dangerous, that was more along the lines he wanted to get through to the man. It was in those moments actually, whether Alain fully realized it or not, when the power of the Seraphine blood was most evident, intensity and authority that was synonymous with the family’s notoriety making up every single cell in his body. It was in his eyes, more than anywhere else, his jaw tight against the urges to pummel the man or leave abruptly. “If ju’re so interested in de fighting, match, ring, thing” he repeated, mocking how Anderson had regarded the Fight Club at first, “dan go back to de club, dey can put in on amateur’s night.” He regarded the man again, softening, if just a tinge. “Advice for de wise, next time, don’t follow a fightah down an alley, ju can get jurself in a serious mess if ju do.” He considered his next move, not knowing exactly what to do now. He made it clear he didn’t believe the man’s story, but whether he’d leave it at that or have a go at another lie he wasn’t sure, nor honestly was he in the mood to care either way. He wanted it out. “If ja ‘re really a fan, ju know where to find me. As of right now, Ah’m off shift” he said as he finally stepped forward, his body not as tense as it was before, but still cautious, “so de me a favah next time, don’t follow me after workin’ hours.” He stressed the last, pushing past ‘John Turner’ with his good shoulder, bumping him lightly but effectively as he walked past. What a night this has turned out to be… Now he just hoped the man knew what was good for him and would leave the sleeping giant alone. That hardly ever happened though. There was always something so enticing about poking what they shouldn’t, especially a sleeping giant. |
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| Anderson Braithwaite | Dec 7 2010, 01:42 AM Post #4 |
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Journalist
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He hadn’t been necessarily “frightened” by the man’s idea of a little stand-off in the alley way the other night. Two nights ago, to be exact. But then again, he hadn’t been necessarily comfortable with the idea of having his ass handed to him on a less than silver platter. He did sport. He played rugby, and to be fair, rugby was a fiercely hands-on sport. He lived and breathed bruises. And true, it would have been exciting to be able to say, “Yeah… just this random celebrity… beat me up,” but. It hadn’t been worth it, so he’d walked away. Or rather, watched the man walk away before making his own way back to the club, asking around a bit as he took relevant notes. How long there Seraphine baby had been playing there, how often he won fights, how often he lost them, the relevant. Then, then he’d gone home; wrote, for a few hours, smoking through a pack before he’d finished. The next day that he knew Alain would be at the fight club he slept well into the day, waking up in the afternoon and using the time to mike himself and then de-mike himself. It wouldn’t do to get caught wearing a mike. He could see it now. Him falling into the ring, getting his face smashed in, wires pulled out, his world going down in flames, and then he’d wake up in the river. Except he wouldn’t wake up, because he would be dead. That was the end of that. Grabbing a fresh notepad he walked outside, heading to his motorcycle and straddling it as he pulled on his helmet, starting up the engine. It was getting into the night when he arrived, and he hung back for awhile, waiting till the man started to fight before going round the back doorway and turning the charm on for the bouncer, oozing that power out of him as he leaned against the frame, quickly sneaking past him after just a few moments. It was so unbelievably easy to charm muscle-men; all that muscle, cutting off the flow to their brains… laughable. He pulled the same simple routines with the men waiting around inside, talking in low voices about Seraphine, the notepad left in his pocket as he listened. The fight finished outside and he stood up, adjusting his collar as he waited inside, leaning against the wall. His eyes ran over the man as he walked in, a tight smile playing at the corner of one of his lips. He waited till he had a towel over his shoulders before he walked over, nodding. “Alright, I lied. My name’s Adrian. I wasn’t really sure, obviously, how this whole… fight club thing worked. If you’re supposed to give fake names or not. Guess not.” He laughed, a little nervously, playing the part he’d stepped into awhile before, of perpetually anxious not really John Turner. “You’re brilliant, you know, I mean, I could never take any of the… I mean, I’ve never really, fights… big thing, you know? Dunno I’d be any good at it, heh.” Easy charm this time, sliding it smoothly, not bothering to overpower the man with it or anything. That’d be too noticeable, and he was already on the man’s radar. It was better to perpetuate oneself as harmless. “Sorry bout the other night, anyways, not smart. I’m just, you know,” he smiled, sort of blank, holding his hands a little apart from one another, “Big fan.” Damn it, he was being gay again. Maybe that was who Adrian-John-Turner-Coop really was! It was just a part of his character, not who he was as a human being. No, no. He was most certainly not gay. And either one of the two very fine, very sexy, very sublime leading ladies of his life would back him up on that. Right, so he was playing a homosexual man. It felt good to get that out of the way. Like he’d just come out of the closet! Not that he was equating his simple little struggle to an actual homosexual’s struggle, but he didn’t think it was something entirely minor either. After all, he’d gotten some concerned! “Maybe you could give me a few tips?” Pleasant, oh so pleasant. |
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| Alain Seraphine | Dec 16 2010, 12:48 PM Post #5 |
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9th Year Heracles; Transfiguration
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![]() Initially, upon entering the club, King Kong greeted him and from the get go the bouncer could tell Alain was in a funk. It wasn’t the moping as much as the bad mood, quick to snap back at anyone that provoked, even if slightly. Not that it was rare, but for the recent months, he had been better, dealing with life with a firmer and more confident hand. The past week had been worse for wear however, not having seen enough of Kyle and too much of Isaiah. Even with the new outlook in life, he couldn’t escape the bitterness that his siblings brought him, especially considering he hadn’t been expecting to see either of them anytime soon. Family visits; that usually explained the ferocity behind his fights. If anyone took notice of the wirework that drove the man, the link between the brutality in which he fought was direct to who he dealt with prior to stepping into the ring. Like clockwork, it never failed and neither did the blind rage that was fueled by family affairs. The moment he walked into the backdoor of the club, he knew he could discard the masks he had to hide behind throughout the day and revel in the need to plunge himself into a darker state of mind. It was a safer place than wearing emotions on his sleeves, the vulnerable kind that left him incapacitated in front of people. There were a few that were better at reading the turbulent waters underneath the calm sea, but even they were never subjected to the grunge that clung to him; the curse of the Seraphine blood that coursed through him. Tonight was one of those nights, no different from the rest that were a constant when he knew nothing but depravation from a wounded heart. He had only fought once tonight, but it was enough. His body had been imbued with the strength of his wrath, each blow harder than the next, lifting the man clear off the ground even as he was held in lock, nearly breaking the fighter’s back in half. It had been short, even by the club’s usual standards and he knew the money wranglers would gripe him about it later on, but he didn’t care. Tonight wasn’t about the money nor the sport, but the frustration and anger that needed a release. All of that which had first inspired him to partake in such a dangerous pass time to begin with. At least, his purposes for the evening had been satisfied, for the most part. Walking into the back rooms, he took a towel another fighter offered him, thanking him as his dabbed his upper body absent mindedly. Stepping further back into the fighter’s lounge, a man suddenly approached him; a slimmer tall man, with sharp features and captivating blue eyes…No, Alain hadn’t forgotten about the awkward stalker and his sour expression said as much. Adrian? Oh, so no longer, what was it, John Smith, Turner? Yeah, some ridiculous ring-a-tale like that. Well, he had to admit that it felt a better fit on the man, but whether he could trust that was the absolute truth or not was another thing entirely. He could have been lying about everything for all he knew, a scout for one psycho or another or perhaps even, could have been telling the truth just as easily. At that point, all he knew was that he couldn’t trust anyone at first glance. Brilliant. The man thought he was brilliant and he couldn’t help laugh, nothing loud or boisterous, but definite as he shook his head. Brilliant was his technology, the way he kept getting up every time life kicked him down. “Not brilliant, jus’…” What was he? “Brutal.” No Mercy. Tonight his felt many things, but brilliant wasn’t one of them. His smile waned then, the man or Adrian rather, had not felt compelled to stop and turn, leaving him alone as how it should have been. Instead he continued, a ‘big fan’ apparently and as he motioned about with his hands, Alain got the distant feeling that the man was keener on him than he anticipated. Wouldn’t have been the first, Merlin knew, along with Gabriel and Bruce (all too well he might add), but it wasn’t a strong feeling either. Just something, subtle almost, like a fleeting glance in the wrong direction. Now, he didn’t know what to make of Adrian. If he was at odds before, not it was worse and that tingle of uncertainty crept up his spine again. “Look,” he said finally, “I appreciate de whol’ fan thing, but honestly, Ah don’t do de mentor thing, nor tips, sorry.” He shrugged lightly, walking past the man as he tapped on the bar to catch the bartender’s attention. Within seconds, he had his favorite brew of beer in his hands, looking back as he spared the man another glance. “If ya really inter’sted in fightin’, Ah know a couple of guys dat would be more dan willing to take ju under deir wing.” Turning slightly, he tapped on the bar again, instructing the bartender to get anything Adrian wanted to drink and that it was on his tab. It was the least he could do, right? Sure, considering he was in no mood to socialize. “Oh ‘nd…” he started off handedly as he handed the man’s drink to him, “thanks for stalkin’ me during normal workin’ hours.” His smile though small, was not as stiff as it was before, a more natural pull of his lips that seemed better at ease. Brilliant? Yeah, brilliantly fucked up. |
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| Anderson Braithwaite | Dec 17 2010, 02:17 AM Post #6 |
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Journalist
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Oh, open your eyes, Anderson, he told himself, irritated. He really didn’t like playing lapdog to some macho, overbuilt brainiac, but he also didn’t like passing up opportunities. And whether because he’d created it or because life had been just that decent this was exactly that; so he stepped up to the bar, leaning over it. “I’ll take a beer,” he commented, watching the bartender, keen on that drink. The cold glass was slid over and he turned, resting on his elbows against the bar top as he watched Seraphine move back throughout the small back room. He was pissed off, that much was obvious. It wasn’t just him. He snapped at several other people as well, little jabs that made him raise his eyebrows. That famous temper, clearly. His brother had it in spades. Leaning the glass back he took another drink, propping his foot back up on the bar as he rested his knee forward, watching the man. Not brilliant, just brutal. It’d make a brilliant subheading, and he put it away for further use, putting a tack in it at the corner of his mind. A real man’s man and an eyesore to the people; it was always the same story; the rich stayed rich, for no real reason, maintaining the resources to keep them rich while the lower class stayed exactly that. He was aware of the socialist agenda and felt some strange empathy towards it, though as an upper class citizen of his own not so modest means he really didn’t have the cred to get unduly pissy over it. It wasn’t as if he’d really worked for any of his money. Then again, he wasn’t in the spotlight. Turning he grabbed a napkin, doodling a circle in the corner of it as he went over his options. There really wasn’t any point in staying the rest of the night, just to piss the Seraphine off more. Loud voices came from the other end of the bar and he watched two men begin to quarrel, over nothing in particular. He could envision it now; blood all over their knuckles, bruised eyes all around, maybe some cracked ribs, christ those always hurt. And those were professional fighters. He couldn’t even imagine what it’d be like if someone took him “under wing”. Dahlia would be fixing a helluva lot more then the occasional broken bone. His expression soured. He’d wanted a story. He hadn’t wanted to wake up mince meat. He turned back around, setting the half empty bottle down and glancing back over the room. For a second he thought maybe he’d missed him, which would have set to frustrate him, but as he was turning to leave he caught him out the corner of his eye, smiling a little. Walking over to him he nodded, waiting for him to finish pulling his shirt back on. “Thanks. For the drink. Sorry I bothered you.” Smiling, lackluster and disappointed he rubbed the back of his head with his hand, nodding again as he turned away. There was always another night. Not tomorrow night, obviously. Idina. Or was it Katharine? He’d scheduled them both on the same night once, that hadn’t been fantastic. Gone for Indian food and Thai on the same night, big mistake. He could eat his weight in rice, but when it came to that much spicy food… It’d be wise to just double check. He sort of hoped it was Idina. Then he could feel proper shit about not being good enough at his job and life and skill set! Or Katharine, then he could feel like a sleaze. It was awkward. He didn’t feel bad about being with Katharine when it came to Idina, but when it came to being with Idina and then having to face Katharine… nah. Not a good feeling. He tried not to think about those two in correlation with one another though. Because then what happened was what was currently happening, some sinking depression he didn’t really understand. He picked up a second beer on his way out the door, pausing as he leaned over the bar, popping the lid off on the edge of the mantel. Women. |
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2:41 PM Jul 11
