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Post by Renny on Jan 20, 2014 22:58:29 GMT
[ Aww, she's so pretty!
starting post coming~
so wait, are having them meet in the starting post, flash back kind of together, and then go onto them meeting up again. ]
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Post by Maple ♥ on Jan 20, 2014 23:01:30 GMT
{ Maybe they should just meet up and then we can go to flash back? }
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Post by Renny on Jan 20, 2014 23:02:06 GMT
[ okie dokie.
where are they gonna meet?
like school or a coffee shop or something? ]
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Post by Maple ♥ on Jan 20, 2014 23:10:33 GMT
{ Maybe a school football game? Like your character sees mine in the crowd? Or vise versa? }
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Post by Renny on Jan 20, 2014 23:12:21 GMT
[ okie dokie.
I'll finally write a post now xD ]
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Post by Maple ♥ on Jan 20, 2014 23:14:53 GMT
{ Okaeee  } |
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Post by Renny on Jan 20, 2014 23:37:25 GMT
Andrew Windsor Fitzgerald
Could anyone resist the charm. The beauty of him? Who was he? Ah yes, one of the more popular boys at in hell. Whoops, meaning, school.. He was not your typical rich kid, in fact, he was more than just that. He wasn't the typical All-American boy, with the messy blonde hair and the sparkling blue eyes. Oh no, he was something so much different. Let's begin by saying that he's Irish, meaning he's literally from Ireland. Over the years of living in America, his accent has faded a bit, yet it still has the touch of velvet softness. He's from Dublin, meaning he doesn't sound rough or scratchy. He sounds soft and elegant, proper and pristine. As for physical traits, he wasn't gifted with the extraordinary height, just falling below 5'10", but who cares about just below or barely scraping. He's 5'10. He had a shock of dark hair, pushed back, sometimes a little mussed from his fingers combing through the silky darkness of it. His eyes were dark as well, framed by long lashes. Overall, he was a looker. Almost doe-eyed, but he had a sharpness to him.
As if his looks weren't enough, Fitzgerald was extremely intelligent. Above-average. Verging on genius-status. He wasn't much for science though, despite his deep understanding of math, he considered himself more of a dreamer. A philosopher. He was a beautiful writer, drawing out the dark themes of his past into everything he wrote. However, no one ever knew it was him. Any creative writing thing he turned in either had no name, or he made sure his teacher's never let his name slip. If he wanted you to see it, you would see it. With this intelligence was given the impulse to lie, or give very vague details about himself. He was a master at manipulation, only a mind on an equal level, or close to his, could get past the words he spoke to get anywhere with him. Otherwise, avoid his questions and you were sent running in circles. But just because he was a secretive person by nature, and no one truly knew his story. Many speculations, yes, but no one truly knew. He was no saint. Not by a long-shot. He liked sex. He found it pleasing, especially with an excellent partner. He had girlfriends. His current one was a cheerleader. Small and dainty; Violet Robinson was his current toy. She was blonde, stereotypical, and extremely flexible. He'd worked his way through most of the student body since the one girl he'd actually liked moved. Juliet Dawna. The name still sent shivers down his spine. She'd been a fuck buddy of his. One of the many he now had, but he'd given her a part of him. Something he doubted she knew she had. It was a piece of his heart. That stone-cold heart. He'd been with her longer than he'd been with anyone. Girl or boy. She'd been close, when she had moved. He'd pulled back then, letting that shield come back up and it hadn't budged since the night she told him she was leaving.
If it wasn't for his current toy. Violet Robinson. He wouldn't have even been at the football game. It was one of the last home games, the air growing cold. Frigid. Icy. The leaves drifted down from the trees onto the path. His girlfriend was the varsity cheerleader and he usually came to watch the football [although it wasn't true football to him], 'support' her, and hang out with his friends. When he saw her. Juliet Dawna. The minute he saw her everything came flooding back. The magnificent sex. The long talks either together or on the phone. The fun they'd had. It made him almost want to faint. But so many things had been left unsaid. Things he hadn't said. Things he had wanted to, but just couldn't. They wouldn't work themselves off his tongue. And he'd thought she was gone. Forever. He thought he'd never see her again, but that was not the case. Andrew Fitzgerald could see her. The girl who'd left him. Not the first, but not the last either. |
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Post by Maple ♥ on Jan 21, 2014 0:02:04 GMT
.: Juliet :. Juliet Dawna was a bad girl. A very, bad girl. Boys flocked her, sexed her up, and then left the steamy bed room feeling like they had traveled to a different world because of her. She had a rep; one to uphold so that her Daddy always caught wind. The famous words of slut, whore, cheap, hooker - they weren't hurtful. In fact, Juliet took pride in those titles because yes, they described her. And yes, she was each of them to some context.
She was a preacher's daughter, born in raised in the church. A 'goodie' most her life until she got to high school and found sex. And weed. And alcohol. All things she was never exposed to while growing up and it hit her like a train. And because Juliet let curiosity always get the better of her, she explored these things like scientific experiments, enough to where now you could say she was addicted. She could always stop, and was able to easily. But most times she didn't want to. Not after she moved from her old home town in the city where life actually happened and she didn't live in the 'holy' little bubble her Daddy raised her in.
Once a southern girl, her accent had changed quite a bit from southern belle to suburban slut. Her looks never disappointed them men - and ladies. Her hair was jet black and long, waving down her back in loose curls most the time. Unless she was in a sex mood, it usually just stayed tamed and shiny. The iris's of her eyes were dazzling blue - deep and rich in sparkle and azure color. Not only was her body curled in a way that was slender in all portions and curvy in the best ones, but also stood at a height of around 5'8". Tall, slim, and felxible. Nicknames she'd gotten from lots of the douche's she hooked up with.
Age wasn't a problem to her; actually, she preferred older. She was a senior in high school and had slept with men older than her daddy, who was young so don't you fret. Juliet had no morals whatsoever, they'd all disapeared after her one and only true love had left from her life.
Yes, Romeo and Juliet could not be together at all, not even to die together. But her Romeo was named Andrew Fitzgerald, and she'd left him behind along with her old self almost two years ago.
But now Juliet was prowling through the football game - almost the last one of the season - and had one of her most recent play things arm draped over her shoulder as they slithered through the crowd. She was drunk, if you you need clarification. Because of a fight earlier in that day with her Daddy, screaming at her over her immortality and how disgusted he was of his daughter, Juliet had picked up a toy (who she thought was named Bret but he kept saying James. She was positive his name was Bret) and drank in the car from some stolen goods she found in her Momma's cabinet.
Little did she know her life was about to flip over on itself, because her Romeo was back and staring her down through the crowd, where she stumbled along and snorted at the dirty looks of others. Dark rings of eyeliner coated her eyes and her freckles were hidden by white cover up, making her seem almost ghostly and dark at the same time in the shine of the football spot lights beating down on the concessions stand area next to the bleachers.
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Post by Renny on Jan 21, 2014 0:18:01 GMT
Andrew Windsor Fitzgerald
Andrew remembered her like it was yesterday. The last sex they'd had was the best. Getting drunk off cheap wine, saying things that were now fuzzy. They'd probably smoked too much too, along with taking turns drinking out of a wine bottle in the big expensive cabin by the fire. They'd been so wasted. So completely and utterly out of it. But they'd sobered up enough to realize this was the last time they'd see each other. Andrew and her seemed to travel to a different world. One without pain and horror and anger and bitterness. They'd touched every place, explored with tongues and hands and lips and nothing had been a secret in that moment.
But like most spectacular things, it all came to an end. The fire died out until only embers remained. Their conversations grew silent. Sleep they'd been denying each other finally took over and all too soon was Andrew waking to the watery gray dawn light outside. He'd risen first, glancing over that beautiful body that was most certainly and always would be his. He then had started getting dressed when she'd woken. He was glad they were high and drunk and completely out of the loop during that time. He was certain he'd said things. Things about pain and darkness and anger that had filled his heart that he'd rather no one knew.
But right now it felt like he was the one drunk. Like he was high again on some type of cloud. He had never been one for hardcore drugs, but he enjoyed weed and getting high. It wasn't like his aunt and uncle cared. They were just as addicted to booze as he was. They were billionaires by his late father's extreme money. The booze helped chase the nightmares away, at least get him deep enough into sleep that they didn't dare search for him. He normally went deep into the land of intoxication alone. He couldn't control himself or what he said when drunk and didn't want anyone hearing him now did he? He worked to keep secrets as they were. Secrets.
When he saw her, to say the least, he froze. His blood went cold and his mouth dropped open. One of his friend, he didn't know who nudged him. "Dude, isn't that your ex-girlfriend?" Andrew merely glared in the direction the jibe had come from and began across the walkway next to the field towards her. She was drunk, he knew that, and why not? Her father probably had gotten into fight. The religious fool. Andrew stopped. He half wanted her to see him. To be shocked and to come running to him. The other half? He wanted to vanish. Vanish into some hole at the bottom of the ocean and be forgotten about forever. |
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Post by Maple ♥ on Jan 21, 2014 0:41:43 GMT
Juliet's feet slipped and a harsh giggle escaped her lips; the play thing she had gotten wasted with before grabbing her waist roughly to catch her. Her shoulder smacked into a person as she did this, making her growl out in anger. "Eh man, fuck you!" she exaggerated her 'you' and then a great smile erupted over her face. Maybe she was milking her drunkenness. On the surface of her inner self, Juliet didn't care for their harsh looks and rude rolling of their eyes. But below that surface, deep deep down, she remembered the times when she'd told her Romeo how she'd really felt. Broken. Internally and mentally. How her heart wasn't even there; void from her own body after she'd lost her virginity to a man who hit her afterwards. She was like the tin man, begging for a heart secretly though outwardly she was pushing everyone away and wasting herself as well. Not a real 'party' scene type of girl, more like the dirty, rebellious bitch you stayed away from if you were smart.
She hadn't been this bad with Andrew. He'd swept her off her feet and they'd spiraled back down hill; but together that time. it was a lot nicer to hit rock bottom with someone else who loved you gripping your hand. That's why she couldn't love any one anymore; no heart, it'd been taken away from her when she'd left her love on that dreaded, rainy day and watched him disappear from her sight near the cabin by the lake. Before that, pot and alcohol were just for special occasions. They'd got wasted the night before she left, but she'd remembered all of their conversations like they were inscripted onto the fleshy wall that surrounded the place her heart should of been. It left it's mark there, those conversation. They reminded her of Andrew's love every day, though that lust for him and obsession she urned for while in or out of bed with him was gone. Replaced by pot as a regular day activity and drunkenness as the night time version of that.
Since Andrew had last seen her she'd been bailed out of jail three times, wound up kicked out of her house about five, and woken up in bed with not just men - but women. And she didn't even like girls. But she was so accustomed to just doing whatever the fuck she wanted that it didn't really matter anymore. Nothing really mattered.
Soon she was walking past the 'preps' section of the bleachers, instantly eying their letterman's jackets and snarky attitude through her haze of intoxication. Her eyes flickered over Andrew - not registering it was him - because even if she was back in the town she'd moved from, some friend or fuck buddy of hers had told her he'd moved on. And she sure as hell wasn't waiting for him to come back.
"We fucking after the game Juliet?" her head whipped to the side, seeing the douche she'd snagged for the night; some preppy kid who got kicked out of his group of friends some time ago. He could easily be an ambercombie model and had a loose, sexy face when drunk. Juliet just shrugged her shoulders, biting her lip. Sensuality was a great trait of hers - she'd mastered it after having sex probably one hundred times in the past two years. Maybe more than that. She didn't know - or care - about that topic. They were now stopped somewhere between the bathrooms connected to the bleachers and the chicken wired fence blocking off the parking lot of the school. It was in perfect sight of Andrew, but in a dark enough corner no one would really think to look for two drunk teenagers looking to get some action with each other. That's what they were starting now - the douche sticking his tongue too far down her throat and trying to feel her up. Her body acted robotically, meshing with his even though she was supposed to feel sloppy and disoriented from their 'party' a bit earlier. But if Juliet wanted to, she could sober up enough to listen and act how she wanted - just like she had with Andrew those days so long ago. |
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Post by Renny on Jan 21, 2014 1:24:26 GMT
Andrew Fitzgerald
Andrew wished he could've erased her from his life. But she was as permanent as the scars on his wrist. He looked down at them, so pale and faint you'd have to look for them. He had moved on to different places. Less obvious places. He hadn't cut for a while, just got drunk. Cutting didn't release the demons in him. He had thought that it did when he met Juliet. It had been casual fucking at first. Kind of just the let's get to orgasm and leave kind of thing. He'd been smooth through the entire thing, didn't let his expression slip, until one night when he was leaving her, about to slid his shirt over his head when she asked why he lived with his aunt and uncle, not his mom and dad. That was the first shot. The first dose of curiosity into his beautiful Juliet's veins. Making her pester him for answers, even withholding sex, the little fucker.
Now all Andrew could do was think about the words she'd spilled to him. They were like things he'd written. They were like the scars etched on the inside of his wrist and on his ribs and ankles and hips and shoulder blades. She had no heart. She pretended she didn't care, but she needed one. It was one ripped away from her. If she was the tin man, then her Romeo was the Lion. He had no courage. No bravery to expose the darkest parts of him. Everyone had a dark side, but he doubted even Andrew could handle it. He was afraid of rejection. Afraid of being left. Afraid of what people could do if they knew him.
He knew she'd seen him, but she must not have seen him completely. Or she didn't recognize his face in the sea of blurry ones. But he'd seen those dazzling blue eyes, the first thing that had enchanted him when they met. But now they looked wild, like she didn't know what was going on. And that's why he did what he did next.
Some tacky idiot was shoving his tongue down her throat and no one woman should be manhandled like that. Sure, maybe a little, but only when consensual and they weren't both intoxicated. Well, at least not in a public place. Andrew could be rough, hair-pulling, growling, biting, but only when Juliet had liked it and wanted him to. They definitely always had a safe word. But this bumbling idiot was too much and Andrew, let's just say saw red. It kind of was odd. He usually didn't get into fights, because one he didn't like it, he liked control. And two, he wasn't very big. Medium height, slender yet well built, he was no football player [although NO, what they played on that stupidly marked field was not true football]
So, he stalked forward without even thinking and he yanked at the collar of the guy shoving his tongue down his Juliet's throat. The guy turned, let go of her, and that was when Andrew's fist [he didn't know how it got that way] met the guy's nose with a satisfying crack, sending him wheeling backwards and flat on his ass. Well. That was one way to get her attention. He was panting, and his hand throbbed. The knucklehead had a thick head, god, he was probably never going to do that again. While the horny idiot was rolling around on the ground, Andrew looked at her, looking a little shocked. "Hello again, Juliet." Despite what just occurred, his voice was soft. A little raw, and he swallowed, giving her a little half grimace, half-smile. |
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Post by Maple ♥ on Jan 21, 2014 1:40:20 GMT
.: Juliet :. Instead of being the shocked, surprised damsel in distress, Juliet let out an annoyed sigh, not registering who had just punched her douche. "That was definitely not," he lifted her finger, giggling a little at nothing in particular. "Rad." It was then that she actually set eyes on Andrew. Staring at him with one eye brow raised and her mouth open slightly, she looked rather confused and cloudy in her features, her brain trying groggily to gear up and begin working again. Looking frozen in that look, her eyes traveled over Andrew as she backed up against the fence, letting it's cold wires press into the open back of her slutty tang top. Her combat boots, tight jeans, and exposing shirt just complimented her bad-ass look along with her long curly hair and thick eye make up. She looked like a bitch. And oh wait, she was supposed to be acting like one. This was Andrew, the one she'd told everything to. Her first love. Her only love. The boy whole stole her heart. But instead of jumping into his arms and holding him against her tightly - her top lip curled upwards in a sarcastic 'thats cool' kind of way. Her chin stuck out and she let out a half hearted laugh. "Never thought I'd see you again." Her tone was bland as she crossed her arms over her chest and raised an eyebrow. He was different - as different as she was. He's thickened out in places she'd love to let her fingers explore and his hair was a big shaggier than she remembered - but she wasn't complaining. Her hands would like to run through those locks too. Come to think of it, him standing right in front of her like the adrenaline pumping in his blood sex god he was, made her want to pounce on him. But Juliet had no heart. She didn't even want to give him the time of day (except internally she was freaking out a bit, really deep down).
"You fucked up my toy for the night." she motioned towards the douche now writhing in pain on the ground next to them. She didn't move to help him - the puss who couldn't handle a punch. Juliet's tongue bit between her teeth, scanning Andrew up and down in judgement.
Her leather jacket which was slung over her shoulder as she moved to put it back on. He's not important anymore, stay cool. You're cool. Calm. Rad. Act like it.
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Post by Renny on Jan 21, 2014 2:08:38 GMT
Andrew Fitzgerald
Andrew noted the differences in her. She'd gotten a bit thinner, the curves she once held had melted into a thinner body. Her hair was longer, curlier than before. Her makeup thicker and her eyes wilder. He took a step towards her. She smelled distinctly of so much alcohol. He could smell it within a few inches of her. He still was two inches taller and he smirked. "I thought that vodka was saved for special occasions." He whispered, eyes trailing over her body. Hey, why not? She was like a sex goddess. Her body flawless. His eyes trailed up to her, they were dark and mocking, yet held a hint of truth.
Andrew coolly glanced over at the guy who'd managed to sit up, still spewing curse words. "He's not worth it if he can't withstand a punch from me." His voice was cool, like silk over steel. It was cutting, a bit mocking to her. He wasn't even a good-looking guy, then again she was probably had consumed enough vodka to make a 2 turn into a 8. He looked back to her, dark eyes still wide as they usually were. He sighed gently, glancing to see a bunch of people had come to form a slight circle around them, mostly gaping at the writhing pussy on the ground. He rolled his eyes.
"God, I fucking hate crowds," he muttered off hand, not intending for Juliet to even hear it. It was true, except this was nothing compared to what his extreme fear was. Claustrophobia. He hated the feeling, like he couldn't breath. He'd break down, curl up in a ball and rock back and forth. Especially if it was dark. Hence why he normally kept to open areas, and his room was so widely spaced out and large. He'd only exposed himself like that with Juliet. She'd seen first hand how much he was actually afraid. Reduced to a shaking mess.
He shook the feeling away by straightening his dark coat. He looked good, yet closed off, like he was in the conversation, but not really. But the moment he saw Juliet he felt like she was going to break him. He didn't want to see her. [ Andrew was such a compulsive liar ] but he'd never lied to her. And now he felt like with her in a state of shock of seeing him [why he didn't know, she was in the same town he'd met her at. like he'd leave.] and now wearing the sluttiest clothes he'd ever seen her in. Really, you'd have to be gay not to think she looked hot. He looked to her, watching her move to put on her leather jacket. Part of him wanted to stride over to her and kiss her like he meant, the other part knew she probably was going to blackout and he'd be forced to help her. God, wasn't he just stuck between a rock and a hard place [xD] |
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Post by Maple ♥ on Jan 21, 2014 2:37:07 GMT
.: Juliet :. Juliet just laughed at him, just as mockingly. "Like you would know anything about what's good for me," she popped the collar to her jacket, moving to finally help her poor bruised pussy off of his feet. He held his nose, shooting glares as Andrew, but he was too wasted to fight back. She dusted off his old letterman's jacket, turning her head to smirk at Andrew once more. "And how do you know I had vodka?" He knew because that was her favorite and he'd licked it off of her stomach multiple times when they'd been together.
She pressed her body to the jock's side, wrapping her fingers around him like a snakes coil. The crowd gathering around was getting kind of bored, seeing the action was over for the most part and began to disperse. Juliet lolled her head on her shoulders, meeting Andrew's gaze like she could give less a fuck about him. But she did. Oh man she gave a fuck. She wanted him to see past her bullshit; she wanted him to rescue her. But from what exactly did she need to be rescued from? Her own 'bad' decisions that got her laid and pissed off her Daddy? Andrew couldn't do anything drastic that would change her as person.
Or could he?
Her douche wiped the blood from his nose and Juliet patted his peck, looking up at him from under his armpit. "I'm pretty sure he could take you on if we wouldn't have smoked a bowl in my car," she smiled without showing her teeth and clicked her tongue at Andrew. "Life's a fucking special occasion," her arms drew out on both sides of her. She didn't know exactly what she was saying or doing anymore, just kind of babbling and being the bitch she was now. "So why not drink everyday?" she almost sang it, twirling a bit in douche's arms and stumbling into Andrew as she tripped on her own feet. With a haughty laugh and ran her hands up his torso like she used to do long ago. Even though it was tainted by the liquor, her fingers burned like fire at the feeling of him beneath her again. Her large blue eyes blinked up him as a sly smirk played on her lips. "You look nice," she patted his shirt front, then was quickly back to arm candy and helping him walk back towards her car. She needed to get out of there, sober up, and drive home before she broke completely at all the memories flooding her mind. She's ditch the douche on the side of the street if she had to.
"Good evenin' to ya," she saluted him and they both began to walk away. Little did she realize, her whole body was shaking horribly.
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Post by Renny on Jan 21, 2014 3:07:24 GMT
[ on my phone now, so my posts won't be as good Dx ]
Andrew Fitzgerald
"Oh for fuck's sake." Andrew thought, rolling his eyes. Part of him wanted to just leave her with the douche she was with. But the thing was, she was wobbling and daring. He knew she could possibly get herself and the douche killed. Not, that he cared if the idiot was injured. But Juliet. Oh hell yeah, he gave a fuck. A lot of fucks, probably too many.
He sighed, strolling forward and watched her wobble and the idiot stumbled, falling slightly away from her. Good timing. Andrew swooped in, placing his arm around her waist and supporting her. He was three seconds away from picking her up bridal style as he walked towards the parking lot. "God, Juliet. What the hell have you gotten yourself into?" He muttered, practically carrying her to the car. "You are in no state to drive." He added if she protested. She really wasn't in any state to fight him either.
Eventually they made it to his car, a sleek dark one that was kind of expensive. He opened the passenger side, fingers sliding into her pocket to remove her keys. He closed the door and walked around to the other side before climbing in and turning it on. He sighed, turning up the heat because it was cold outside and either she would sober up or fall asleep.
He hoped for the latter.
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}
