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Post by Sasha Cole on Dec 28, 2006 21:32:24 GMT
A refreshing sea wind blew across the beach, carrying the scent of salt water with it into the parking lot. It was a calming view, the golden sand framed in the distance by the rising and falling blue tide and the sun sitting on the horizon. It wasn’t late, but nor was it early, at least to those who cared at the moment and in that place, maybe around six thirty, but Sasha wasn’t known to carry a watch. With it being winter the sun set early in the evening and rose much to early in the morning for anyone to ever get a chance to sleep in. This fact, to Sasha, was nothing. He was hardly ever actually asleep when the sun peered it’s ugly head through his bedroom window every morning, and even if he was all it did was wake him from a nearly unbearable nightmare he was only happy to be disturbed in.
Currently, all he was doing was thinking. He perched upon his motorcycle, leaning against the handlebars and staring at the mixture of red and blue in the sunset in front of him. His slate eyes remained unmoving, yet at the same time no one could sneak up on him. He was completely aware of everything around him, from the stray dog that was sniffing around the garbage can a stone’s throw away to every car that passed behind his back, he knew of it. Call it instincts or whatever you will, he just didn’t trust people, ergo kept his surroundings always on the top of his contently moving mind.
Thinking, well thinking wasn’t something Sasha particularly liked to do in complete truth. It brought back memories or current problems, which only angered him most of the time. Everything he could find that kept his mind occupied ended up catching onto something else that only mad him remember how much he hated life. It was hard to find a reason to like living when you lived life by the day. Currently his only goal was getting through the day alive and without getting himself into trouble once again. Prison, let’s just say it hadn’t been fun and he didn’t want to go back too much, especially that he was now legally an adult and would go through with the actual punishment for any crime that he may commit. Then, when you actually thought about it though, life was hard when you didn’t have any drive to make it to the next day, a future if you will.
A deep sigh laced through his lungs as he pushed his frame from the top of his bike. Pulling his muscular frame from the vehicle he stood to its right and continued his lazy staring. Currently he was only clad in jeans, dirty from his time at the stable today, and a black t-shirt, just what most people were overly used to seeing him in. He was chilly, but not cold. Weather like this was something he just lived through for years and years and he wasn’t about to start wimping out on it now. Even with this philosophy his black leather jacket hung across his right forearm, covering the scars upon that limb but leaving the ink on the other open to the world.
Slowly he started forward onto the sands of the beach before he walked along the coastline. He hadn’t a clue where he was going or what he was doing, he was simply bored and wanted to get moving. Staying still for too long made him nervous, once again probably just old instincts. He took in deep breaths, letting the salty air fill his nose. He loved the smell of salt water, reminded him of his time in Brazil. He had liked living there, it was beautiful and now the smell reminded him of a time when life wasn’t as bad and he had appreciated a few things, as well as had an actual role model to look up to. He missed it, but he missed a lot nowadays. His head shook slightly as he stopped moving and turned to stare once again at the setting sun. Beautiful wasn’t a word he used, but calming he had to admit it was. Then, suddenly he felt the prod in the back of his head that he was being watched. At first, he ignored the feeling, hoping whomever it was would see his arm and intimidating look and do the smart thing and leave him alone.
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Post by ALEX KING. on Dec 28, 2006 21:57:40 GMT
She doesn't look, She doesn't see Opens up for nobody She figures out, she figures out Narrow line- she can't decide Everything short of suicide Nearly works, Never hurts
Oceans were always the perfect place for her to be, daunting and slightly intimidating. They reminded her that she was merely human, while it held the power of life or death. She'd finished community service at five, and rather than returning to the hell of her hotel room, she went here, to the beach. She'd been there for at least an hour, sitting with her notebook in front of her, and a black ink pen. She always wrote in ink. She figured if she had anything to say, it was best not to change it. But she hadn't written much-- a page at the most. Partly because she couldn't concentrate, also because the wind blew her papers about.
She thought, mostly. Of her mother, of highschool. Being the Runaway Validictorian, too. She still had those newspaper articles. She held one in front of her, the ocean's breezes making it billow in the wind as her blue eyes scanned the lines of text. There was a picture of her in it, looking like a lost little dog. She was staring at the sky, eyes glazed over, hands seeming to tremble slightly. There was a quote from her principal, and as she read it she folded up the paper. "She used to be so bright," the old man had said, "until she just let herself go to waste."
It hadn't been her fault, had it? She looked at the sand, tracing patterns in it lightly, wiping it off when she was done. She wore black pants, which swished comfortably around her shins, made of a stretchy material, probably cotton fibers and spandex, which had suprisingly not been stained by today's dish at the hospital-- lasanga. On her top half she sported a white hoodie, zipped up half way, over a black shirt. She didn't really dress to impress anymore. She had no one to impress.
She heard the rumble of a motor, and she turned her head to see a motorcycle, some mysterious figure seated atop it. She squinted her blue eyes slightly, in hopes to focus more, as the figure was some ways down the stretch of beach. She didn't stare too long, as the bike only reminded her of someone.
His name had been Sasha, or at least she was told that. A gang name, she figured, to go along with the snake tattoo on his arm. He'd been taken with some other girl-- my, some voluptuous sickening blonde. She'd never met her, only heard of her. Rene. That was her name.
He was so brilliant. Spoke at least three languages, thought not much to her. She'd only heard snippets of each, and it fascinated her. He was so mysterious, so intriguing, so complex. But she-- she could only assume she was easy sex. Alex didn't sleep around. She was chaste, honestly, at least more so than other girls. But she had thought-- Oh God, she'd thought. She thought too much. Too soon. Read too far into it. She always did that. Over-analyzed. And it left her so empty inside. But she couldn't stop it. It was a downhill spiral.
She pulled down on the back of her hoodie, not wanting her back to show. Not wanting her name, Alex King, to show. Tattooed on her back, as a reminder of who she was. Of course, it hadn't seemed so poignant back then. It was merely a drunken decision gone perhaps too far. But now, now she could find some sort of meaning behind it. Because that was what she did. She analyzed.
She picked up a handful of sand, feeling like a child. Immature, reminiscent. Ignorant. She let it run through her fingers, like time lost. Like the grains of sand in an hour glass. They were only given so much. She turned back to find the stranger had walked out onto the beach, staring at the sunset. She looked away, back towards the ground, dark hair falling in her face. It couldn't be him. She was imagining things. But the bike, the leather jacket. If only she could see his other side, to see if he sported the tattoos. But she couldn't, and so she only stared at her crossed legs, her empty notebook, her ink pen, and the small X she drew with her fingers in the sand.
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Post by Sasha Cole on Dec 29, 2006 0:01:24 GMT
The deep slate, almost dead looking pools refused to move from their spot against the horizon. Even though sun was aching his eyes to look at it, Sasha refused to remove his gaze. Pain, he was used to so much pain. Try having someone tattoo over scar tissue that was nearly refusing to hold the ink, it wasn’t much fun. And about the damage to his eyes, he didn’t care right now. His memory and sense of smell were pretty much gone by now, too much time on drugs back in the day, but now he just didn’t worry too much about everything else.
Sighing he finally shook his head slightly and looked towards the ground, which sat beneath his feet. He loved the beach, but did hate to walk in sand. Weird talk for someone who spent most of his time at the horse stable, where everything had sand or sawdust underfoot, for safety, but he just didn’t like it. Gave him the sense of vulnerability, that and one of things he had grown to trust was thrown away, the thought that the ground would stay put under you and give you the friction to move if you needed to.
Finally annoyed with the feeling that someone was watching him he turned to look towards where he assumed the source of his discomfort was, directly behind him. His orbs narrowed into a glare, through not as menacing as his usual glare was. In fact, it was almost kind as far as glares could possibly go. The way he turned he did in fact turn his left side towards the back of him, not caring in the least if his arm was seen by the world. If you didn’t want your tattoos to be seen get them on your back or legs, but your arms were going to be seen and Sasha had long sense accepted the fact. Hey, it wasn’t as bad as Rene had it; try hiding something on your neck. She had some work in front of her convincing Markus to do that one.
It took him a while to find what was causing his discomfort, but soon his eyes did fall on a female. He stared for a moment, partially giving her a “go away” vibe, but also trying to place her in his memory. Somehow she stuck in his mind, but he couldn’t place her at all. Someone, some girl, but obviously no one he found to be of any importance for he couldn’t put a name to the face or a year to their meeting. His memory was fried, he wasn’t going to sit around and deny it. Why try when you knew it was true? She was just someone that he had run into over the years he was sure: he had met many people, just like everyone else on the face of the earth.
Slowly he turned away, once again turning so his left towards her. He didn’t start conversations with people he didn’t know, or that he may have known at some point. He didn’t really enjoy talking with people, or most people. Sure, he could hold up hours of conversation over the phone with his friends back home, the other gang members, but with other people it was just hard. He didn’t know what to talk about; he only had so many stories he was really willing to share. Not many people would even partially trust him if they heard he was part of a gang or had been arrested, now would they.
He paced only a few steps quickly before slowing down. He didn’t know what he was doing, but something was drawing him towards the girl that made him reluctant to leave. Not to mention, where would he go? Strider was comfortable at the stable and going back would only aggravate him during the night and home was just boring. Heading off to the club? He guessed he could, but why bother? He wasn’t in the mood to drink tonight, weird but true. Slate orbs turned behind him for a moment before he just pushed hair from his face with his free hand once again and shook his head. Once again he moved forward. This was too confusing and too much to think about and ponder, he didn’t like it.
Had he known who it was, well he’d still probably be doing the same thing. He hardly knew Alex anyway, the only reason he even partially remembered her was her name. He had gone by Alex in his early years before telling everyone to call him Sasha. It had stuck with him, of course, but beyond that there was no other reason to remember her. The runaway valedictorian? Like he remembered that, at such a point he had been in prison with no news of what was going on at the school. Well, then again, if he had been around it was rare for him to know something like that anyway. He skipped too much school for that.
((Eh, sorry, not much to go off of. I couldn't find a reason for him to approach her without bringing him out of character a bit))
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Post by ALEX KING. on Dec 29, 2006 1:46:35 GMT
[ ooc. ugh. i'm having bleh time making a good "approach" situation, so i apologize for however long this post rambles x/ ]
Something is scratching its way out Something you want to forget about A part of you that'll never show You're the only one that'll ever know Take it back when it all began Take your time, would you understand What it's all about What it's all about [/right] Out of the corner of her eye, in that little furtive glance she'd given, she noticed him shift. It wasn't very noticeable, true, but she watched every signal, ever movement of his body that she could without flat out staring. He knew she was there. She flinched, not sure of the reason why, something about his stature. The cold nature, the feeling of dislike that he radiated. And then he turned. Her blue eyes widened, taking it in. She tried her best to look away, but she couldn't. So it was him. The snake, the horse-- she didn't remember that one, really-- all of them. They were all things she remembered. And suddenly it all clicked together. Her mouth opened, omitting the quietest of gasps, and she looked towards the ocean, not sure of what to do. Should she call out? No, no. That was asking for trouble. Besides, that would cause her hopes to soar, and she couldn't dare put herself through the crushed hopes that she knew would follow. She stood, mind racing, heart beating out of her skin. Thoughts, memories, feelings that caused a sharp pain in her chest. She felt dizzy, unsure, like a ridiculous boy-crazy little girl, not even a pre-teen yet. It was slightly shocking, this whole ordeal. The pages in her notebook flapped noisily, her hair blowing in her face. The wind had picked up, aparently, now fiercer than before. She frowned, hoping she wouldn't get sand in her eyes. And then, the notebook took flight, tumbling about across the beach. She muttered obscenities under her breath, trying to catch up to it, her feet sinking in the sand. It continued to tumble, its light pages and cover making its trip easy. She tried to push him out of her mind, just to catch the book that held her thoughts, words, and emotions. She had never intended on it being read, and she realized she should have used a computer. Then she wouldn't be in this situation. She stumbled a few times, feeling foolish, finally grabbing the book by its navy blue cover. She straightened herself, biting her lip. She'd gotten herself dangerously close, and she tried her best to look like she didn't notice that her hands and legs were shaking. She tucked her hair behind her ear, brushing the sand off her pants. She didn't know what to do; should she walk off, should she look at him, should she say something? The idea of walking off seemed quite attractive, honestly, but she stopped herself. She looked at him apathetically, just to see if maybe, just maybe he remembered. She tried to walk, but she was frozen, legs stiff, mind playing images from long ago like a slideshow on repeat. And she couldn't stop it. She wasn't even able to avert her eyes. She just stared, in some state of stupor almost, but her appearance calm nonetheless. It had been so long, she didn't know what he'd do, what he'd say. She built herself a wall, an emotional roadblock, trying to ready herself for anything. Whether it was him walking away, forever even, or-- She didn't dare think about it. She didn't dare. [/size][/blockquote]
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Post by Sasha Cole on Dec 29, 2006 4:20:48 GMT
The harsh wind picked up and Sasha couldn’t help but hunch his shoulders slightly. His bare arms took up the cold winter wind from the ocean and it sent a shiver all down his body. He hated to admit that he was possibly cold, but it was chilly, yet he was still reluctant to put on his jacket. Call him prideful, but he didn’t want to give in so easily to something as simple and calm as weather, it just wasn’t something he wanted to do. He could stand up against men with guns while he was unarmed, he could handle a little wind, correct?
He was about to just ignore it all and leave, maybe just go for a drive or something for the beach wasn’t doing too much for him today, nothing at all to be truthful. Taking a single step towards his motorcycle he heard a commotion behind him and turned to see the girl from before chasing her notebook, coming towards him. He had half a mind to go up and stop it for her, but well, today he felt like being a jerk; it just wasn’t a good day for the guy. He just stood there, staring down at her and the book then back up to the girl he sighed deeply and was once again about to leave.
The confusion was getting to him, thinking he knew her but not sure. Was he seriously expected to remember the faces of all the girls he slept with at one point? He never said it was a smart thing to do, but back in the day it was simply a rebellious act. His father hated it, ergo Sasha had to do it, just like he drug habits. Now it was just a day of weakness when being alone and seemingly unwanted just got to him and he needed to feel like someone wanted him. Of course, though, he never admitted that to himself, he was to obsessive with being fine on his own than ever admitting that someone being close just felt good. Oh no, he just wrote it out to the fact that he was still a teenage guy for another year.
She finally got a hold of her book and had ended up so close that Sasha had taken a step back. Currently, he wasn’t fond of anyone’s proximity. He look down to her and gave a small glare as she stared, but nothing that may say he wanted to hurt her, just that he was annoyed. For only a moment the two looked at each other, him always expecting her to turn and walk away but she never did. Once again Sasha looked her up and down before just pushing it all away. His arms crossed over his chest and finally he found a way to make his vocal chords obey him.
“Something you find interesting?” he asked, looking down to his own arm. He was used to staring, just not at people being so close to do so. It wasn’t like tattoos were that rare of a thing anymore, but having a whole sleeve did tend to get people’s attention. His weight shifted, currently he just wanted to hit himself for not being able to place her in his past, for he was almost certain he had seen her before, but alas, he had little to no clue about who she may possibly be. Finally he couldn’t stand it anymore.
“Do I know you from somewhere,” he asked, his baritone firm and possibly even a little mean as he awaited a response. He was determined to figure out who this was, even if he did have to resort to asking. Hey, in his defense, she had changed in the past two years, though maybe not too much. His orbs wouldn’t leave her form, they stayed glued to her, simply because he wasn’t going to trust her that easily.
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Post by ALEX KING. on Dec 29, 2006 5:05:28 GMT
Something is scratching its way out Something you want to forget about No one expects you to get up All on your own with no one around
She tried not to flinch, not to tremble under his stare. It was intimidating, to say the least, but she kept a steady gaze. The memories, some good, but most bad, flooding over the levees in her mind, over the emotional roadblock, reminding her painfully of what he represented.
His stature, so stiff, so apathetic. She wondered again, of what had happened in those many years after he left. Why was there a new tattoo on his arm? What had he done, where had he been? She felt nosy, thinking these thoughts, though-- nosy and selfish. It was none of her business, none of it. He was a completely different person, daunting and strong. She felt vulnerable, foolish, young and idiotic. Like she hadn't lived nearly as much as he had. I mean, she'd lost her mother. And he-- she could only imagine. But there had to be some explanation behind the frown, the scowl, the harshness.
His voice startled her almost, she'd expected him to just walk, or maybe kick sand in her face. She thought she remembered everything, but she couldn't remember anything the moment he opened his mouth. Interesting? What wasn't interesting. The fact that he spoke at least three languages? The fact that he was brilliant? The fact that he was here, right now, in front of her, not just some sort of apparition her delirious mind had projected. She couldn't really find an answer to suit her, but she felt ridiculous standing there speechless. So she let herself speak, awkwardly, true, but still words. The snake. On your arm. I've seen it before.
Oh, but why was it that whenever she tried to speak, she sounded so unnatural? So unfeeling. So awkward, lifeless. Like she didn't have a care in the world. She chewed on the inside of her cheek softly, the pain unnoticeable, calming even. She hated being so apathetic. She hated it, but she couldn't seem to change it.
His next question was better, honestly. Well, perhaps not better. Easier to answer. Clearer. She blinked, corners of her mouth twitching not quite into a smile, but turning up ever so slightly. Me and about thirty other girls, she said, calmly this time, her voice finally having a slight sense of-- could you say satire? Perhaps sarcasm would better describe it. She couldn't bring herself to go into further detail. She knew she was setting a trap for herself, being so cocky, and she kicked herself mentally for doing so. But she couldn't help it-- she wanted to see if he remembered. Make him think. And it wasn't smart at all.
The ocean roared in her ears, its waters growing dark as the sun continued to slowly disappear under the horizon. The salt stung at her nose, every sense suddenly aware of everything around her. They were no longer pushed aside as she considered everything that had happened. They took it all in, as if in a new light, trying to make sense of it all, in a frantic sort of way.
She wondered, briefly, where this would all end. If he'd just say, "Forget it," and walk off. If it was all meaningless, just another painful reminder of what she'd lost. Another harsh blow, another beating dealt. Just another punishment, making up for her years of ignorant happiness. She clenched her fist softly, trying to knock all of the thoughts out of her head. She kept her eyes on him, piercing and poignant, rimmed by dark circles from worrying. From being afraid. From life
[/blockquote]
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Post by Sasha Cole on Dec 29, 2006 18:06:47 GMT
He spoke and she stared, almost as if that was all she knew how to do, at least in Sasha’s eyes. It was getting tiring quite quickly, looking down at the girl expecting some type of response when all he was getting was her eyes looking back at him like she had no clue what was going on or how to talk to another human being. It was like she had only expected him to turn and walk away, but what could you expect with him? Did you really think he was going turn his back on someone who seemed so intrigued by him? Once again, it was a trust issue, nothing more. Never turn your back to someone when you didn’t know their intentions or reasons, it was common sense to someone who lived the life he had.
Finally some form of speech was brought past her lips. The words sounded distant, almost lifeless in some was, like she really didn’t know if they should have been spoken or not. Very slowly the words processed in his mind, he hadn’t been expecting something like that. The snake was spoken of and gently he peeled his upper left arm from its spot against his chest and looked to the inside of his bicep, staring down at the snake which had rested in the spot for so many years now. He was so used to the animal there it was nothing, just part of who he was, the horse, being so new, still tended to startle him some days, but the snake he had woken up to so many times he would probably feint if it was suddenly gone.
He stared at the coils wrapped around the horse’s front legs for only a moment before turning his head to look at her again. She saw it before eh? Well, that proves he probably knew her or had seen her at some point in time, probably. The gang was only situated in one place as far as he knew, and obviously that was pretty far so she must have been around at some point. Immediately after it all dawned on him he felt much more vulnerable in front of the girl, though not in the way she currently did he was sure. She probably had enough sense to realize it was a gang’s symbol, correct? Oh, how he wished he could remember her right now. This sense of exposure wasn’t shown at all though; he just looked at her in a way of asking if she was sure of her words.
At his next question he noticed the smile start to form over her face. His eyes only narrowed more as he looked down to her, glowering in her direction as if telling her to watch herself, but it didn’t seem to work as the words rolled from her lips, this time smoothly and calmly. At this his eyes softened a bit, but not enough to stop him from actually glaring at her, just enough to say he was calm, but maybe a little taken aback with such a response. He sighed deeply, but it would have gone unnoticed before looking her up and down again, trying to remember her as his mind put everything together.
So, she knew of the snake, so this was at least two years ago, probably a little more. Well, the girl’s memory was better than his own; he had to say that much, remembering a single guy from that long ago, but then again he had to say he wasn’t one you forgot too easily. Now, about thirty other girls, well me may be a guy but he wasn’t quite that dense, so he had slept wit her at some point, and currently she was seeming a little bitter about it, but what did he know. Well, he knew the timing well enough, he would have been in high school, and probably her as well, but her name was still escaping her.
He swallowed stiffly, but not nervously, more annoyed than anything one could say. A hand pushed back his hand before falling back into the crossed position against his torso. “Well,” he finally started, “if you know me then I think you would know to watch your mouth,” he glared down at her once again before shaking his head firmly. So, that kind of rubbed him the wrong way. So he had slept around a bit in high school, what teenage guy at that school didn’t? A sigh laced through his lungs again as he forced himself to calm down a bit. He didn’t want to fight his temper, not today. That was just tiring.
“But sorry, I still don’t remember ‘ya doll,” he said, giving his broad shoulders a shrug, almost apologetically. “Maybe a name would help?” he asked, but at the same time demanded. It was obvious she knew him well enough to know what his was, so this was only fair, in his mind.
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Post by ALEX KING. on Dec 29, 2006 20:52:54 GMT
If only I knew what I know I'd make it a point to say so To everyone that got me here And everyone that made it Clear I was dead wrong all along
[/right] As he glared, she felt that rising heat, the heat of regret. The heat of regret and stupidity-- embarassment, even. But she didn't want it to show, not to affect her. She couldn't bend, she couldn't stop. Just saying all of this was hard enough. She'd bitten off maybe more than she could chew, but she couldn't stop now, lest she choke. Oh, goodness, she was on with the weird analogies again. As she had spoken her first words, he looked at the snake. Was it as menacing to him as to her? Not at all, she figured. To him it was a good memory; to her it felt more like the promise of turmoil. Someone losing another. She tried not to look at it, tried not to focus on the fact that he could be a killing machine. Lord, he hadn't seemed that way back then. But it had been years. His glance, the questioning, it made her skin turn cold, as if it weren't already in the ocean breezes. He could see it, she was sure. The fact that she was shaking out of her skin. The fact that this-- he scared the crap out of her. But she hoped, just maybe, she could talk to what he had been. The genius. The guy she'd admired. But she couldn't seem to get there. Perhaps he was lost forever. And that scared her even more than his harsh glare. She shouldn't have been such a smart alec. But it had been all but too tempting. Her grin, her sarcasm. She was pushing it. She was putting herself in that vulernable position again. She had been cocky, and she was pushing it. But he was thinking. That had been her goal, to get him to think. Make him remember. But he couldn't, and that made her chest throb with an uncertain pain. She wanted to make it stop, but every time her heart beat it was there, as if laughing at her, telling her once again she was nothing. She was tempted, oh so tempted to tell him exactly what thoughts he was bringing up. The fact that she had thought he would remember, because she had thought he wasn't one of them. Because he had been brilliant, bright, intelligent. Had he thrown all of that away for some stupid gang? But she didn't dare. She knew where all of that would lead. She wanted to grab her things and leave, but she couldn't tear herself away. Alex King, she said. Was it her, or had her voice been shaky this time? Not emotionless, not calm, but more scared. She clenched her fist again, fingernails digging into her palm, as if in punishment for letting it through. She considered adding something else, such as "another notch in your bedpost," but that would be stupid and rude, and not to mention rather dangerous. The whole situation caused her mind to refill, a reality check, reminding her of when it had been, what had happened otherwise. Of being blissfully ignorant, arrogant even. And this was what she got for it. Him not remembering, him being annoyed. But in his shrug-- had she seen it? Some sort of little display of feeling. Apologetic, maybe? God, what was she expecting. Some sort of huge display? She couldn't, she shouldn't. Expectations always left her-- no, she'd been over this. She'd been over the fact that she shouldn't expect anymore, because you can't ever really get what you want. Maybe Mick Jagger had had a point when he'd sung that, even if he did have strange lips and tight pants. She folded her amrs as well, more because she was cold than an act of strength. She didn't expect to look like anything special. She was just a teenager, weak and rather short. He was much taller than she, as she stood only five foot six, and he at least over six feet. She didn't know what else she could do, what else she could do to bring anything back. But, she was just another one of them. And right now, it was all up to him, and his drugged up memories. So all she could do was wait. [/size][/blockquote]
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Post by Sasha Cole on Dec 30, 2006 4:38:59 GMT
The daunting, powerful slate orbs just remained unmoving as she seemed to squirm under nothing but a simple look from him. He loved the feeling he got when people acted like this in front of him, like her had all the power in the world and nothing could possibly take any of it away. He loved it; being feared and watching someone shake just because he was speaking to them. So, it may make him a bad person, insensitive or whatever, but to him it only made him human. In his mind the only person that you could ever really care about was yourself, no matter what you told yourself. He may sound hypocritical when you look back to the connection he had with his friends back home, but he just didn’t see it like that, for some reason.
Where had the old him gone? Well, in complete reality, most would probably call him calmer now than he had been before, but before he had been tied down by his father. Before she could see his intelligence, even if he rarely showed up to classes, but somehow always managed to pass the test. He was smart, why he denied that he didn’t know. He just didn’t want to seem the type that would always be the smart type; he preferred to be the one that just scraped by because he never showed up to class. It gave him a worse image, which he of course always liked. The less people thought of him the more they tended to leave him alone.
Now though, he was just the rebel that showed up missing completely one day. Some of the guys had said that it was a rumor he had died, and they hadn’t said anything to contradict it at all, they all found the stories people thought up too amusing. From suicide to an overdose to being killed by a rival member to being killed by his own father, he had heard very close to everything and it just made him laugh. Everyone at that school knew he was on drugs, he had shown up high once or twice and he and the guys would get a fix at lunch half of the time, but no one could ever prove it.
His mind snapped out of thought from the past as she spoke. He blinked a few times at the name, actually shocked that it rang a bell. Yes he remembered it, remembered her in some weird way, but not enough to say who exactly she was at that moment. He sighed deeply as he thought it over. Alex King, now, she had to have been a special one for him to remember at all, and all at once it seemed to come to him like being struck by lightning.
“Alex King, really,” he shook his head before shifting his weight slightly to the back of his feet, the heels so he could be look from a further point back without needing to step away from her. “You were fascinated by the fact that I spoke more than one language, correct?” he asked, giving her a small glare, but not like the ones before. It was kinder, somehow. He knew that what he had said may sound a little cocky, but it wasn't meant like that. He was just almost sure he had placed her finally, but did want to make sure. There had been something about her that stuck to his mind, even if it was only her fasination of him or that her name was Alex. He remembered the time way back when he had gone by Alex, but that was so long ago and no one dared to do it now.
In reality, he wasn’t too fond of his knowledge of other tongues, he thought he really did know a miniscule amount to be truthful. Most found that amusing if they ever heard that, being able to fluently speak five languages other than English and now snippets of two more, but he still didn’t like it. Currently he was teaching himself the Quebec dialect of French as well as working on his Arabic. He enjoyed learning languages, he was good at it and it made him feel like something could be accomplished in his life.
((Eh, that one was a little bleh. Sorry, I'm a bit museless right now))
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Post by ALEX KING. on Dec 30, 2006 5:56:49 GMT
I'm doing the best that I could Trying my best to be understood Maybe I'm changing slowly...
She was giving him power, she knew it. But she didn't care, if only because it was getting him to talk. She had never been intimidating, now was not the time to attempt it. Not with him, at least. She dared not try. It would only leave her-- fuck, how many times did she have to repeat herself?
But, in his change, she could sense something. She almost respected him. Well, maybe that wasn't the best way of putting it. But he seemed so much more mature than she remembered, less childish, calmer. Like he had lived beyond his years. It caused her brain to again wonder what had happened, but not so feverently this time. She began to feel maybe it was best she didn't know.
Oh, but to change. They'd both changed, she figured. Maybe both in the same way. No, she couldn't assume that. She couldn't make any assumptions about him. She had no right to do so, since she honestly knew nothing about him. But she-- she could think of the ways in which she had changed. She'd stopped feeling, because not feeling at all was better than hurting, wasn't it? She'd just stopped being interested, caring even. Because honestly, why bother? What did you get out of it? She was slower to trust. If we relied on others to make us happy, then, fuck, we'd never be happy at all.
She used to like school, people even. Used to be witty, some might even say charming. People liked to talk to her, get her views on different things. And she could go on for hours, just sharing insights. It had been her own view of contentment, really, just having people listen to what she had to say. People had told her she was a lovely speaker, and that they looked forward to her speech on graduation day. That was all before, though. Before her mom died, and she just shut down. She hid herself for a month, took her place at the podium that day, and ran. She didn't just walk off the stage. She ran, fled even. There was no place that scared her more than in front of them. All of those people that had expectations. She didn't have anything left to give them.
She had memorized the article that she clutched in her hand. From the beginning to the end. All of the quotes, everyone's views on what went wrong. Why she was such a failure. She'd read them, cried, laughed, scowled. Now she read them and didn't do anything. That emotionless sense, the fear of showing anyone anything true about her, the wall that had formed. It seemed like it would never go away.
So he remembered. His words made her feel embarassed, to an extent. Like she was some sort of groupie for him, which wasn't exactly true. She thought over her next words carefully, because most things that came to mind honestly sounded like she was a crazy stalker, not kidding at all. And really, she didn't want to have to go through that sort of exposure. Because she wasn't. She thought about him, true, but not to that extent. Just on a few lonely nights, namely a few nights ago, which had caused her to be arrested. She decided she wouldn't bring that up.
Yeah, that's me. It occured to her then that that fact was all he knew about her, or at least all he could remember. The fact that they knew so little about each other. He didn't know anything about her, and she nothing about him. It made the whole thing suddenly seem silly, and she hated herself for viewing it that way. But maybe it was nice, she considered, that he knew nothing except that she'd had sex with him, and that she had found him brilliant. That maybe that was for the best.
But she wanted to know more. Something about him pressed her on, made her abandon all fears, something she knew a great deal about. She was always afraid, afraid of trusting, afraid of caring. Afraid of being hurt again, left alone. No father, no mother. No real friends to speak of. But this one brief conversation made her almost close to happy, just having him there, seeing him again. Even if he was cold, put off even. Maybe, just maybe he was just as untrusting as she. Maybe it wasn't hate that burned behind those cold eyes. Maybe it was fear.
But that was ridiculous. What could Sasha Cole be afraid of? He almost seemed invincible to her, ridiculous if she really considered it. But he seemed the type that wasn't phased, wasn't hurt, didn't feel, didn't care. She wondered if that was the way to live one's life. Being completely guarded, and yet, so empty. But it couldn't be much more than what she felt now, because feeling empty was better than feeling... guilty?
[ ooc. pfttt. apologizing. tsk tsk, when will you learn that your posts generally kick booty? xD the end of mine was stupid. i ddin't really know what to say. silly rambling. ]
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Post by Sasha Cole on Dec 30, 2006 23:15:54 GMT
After his words it seemed like forever in his mind for her response. He was suddenly worried that he hadn’t gotten it right, but he couldn’t see how that was true. This was right, he was sure that was right. He actually remembered it, through he didn’t see why, and afterwards he had actually felt guilty about the whole thing, which, though he wouldn’t admit it, was probably the reason he remembered her. He had felt guilty for cheating on Rene, which was one of the weirdest feelings he had ever had surge through his system. That hadn’t been the first time, she the first girl, and it wasn’t the last, but he was one of the very few that he had felt guilty with. It wasn’t as through Rene didn’t do the same.
No, he would absolutely never admit it to his own stubborn mind, but the guilty feeling probably came from the fact that with her it had seemed to be more than sex. Not a sign of love, for even back then love was a debatable issue with him, but more than just another person for pleasure. He wouldn’t know how to explain it, his emotions are so messed up now, but it felt like it was something more, maybe because she had seemed to think it was. A stupid and incorrect thought, he was sure. Sex was nothing more, no matter who it was with or why, it just wasn’t. How could you believe otherwise when love was such a farfetched fairytale in your mind without being a hypocrite?
After what seemed like hours of waiting in his own mind she spoke and he gave a small smirk, his glare lightening. A cliché feeling to him, but he was almost proud of himself for remembering. Yeah, proud of himself for remembering, that just prove how pathetic he could be now. The thought was pushed away. He nodded to her before glancing over his shoulder as the stray dog from before knocked over the garbage can and, at the crash, ran off screeching at the top of his lungs. Sasha scoffed and shook his head before looking back to this Alex. He found that amusing, but then again he really disliked dogs as it was, so that had to be why.
In all reality, they hadn’t changed in the same way at all, and he could tell just by talking to her. She was now the old him, changed into what he had been, in some ways. Once again, explaining was hard, but she just changed to be more like he already was. She became cold, hating the world and untrusting, through probably not as much as he. It was hard to find any reason to trust at all when people who you once through had been your friends had tried to take your life. It was difficult to say the least. Sasha had changed, but he had only matured. He had lived beyond his years; anyone could say that. He had been through so much at the age of only 19, more than most people ever went through. Traveling around the world, going through what could have easily have been boot camp, death threats, deaths of the closest friends he had ever had, jail, the list went on and on.
Oh no, that wasn’t fear behind his cold eyes and emotions; it was indeed hatred. He had nothing to fear anymore, in his own mind. He hadn’t found something to be scared of in so long. It was just difficult when you couldn’t really find a way to make your life too much worse. So, he knew he was being pessimistic, in a way, not looking at any of the good in his life, but it was hard to help when you were overwhelmed with so much bad. Just, with Sasha, he didn’t get upset when looking at things like that; he got angry, which he almost always was.
“So,” he finally stated with some reluctance in his voice, was there something you wanted? You should be happy I remember at all, so...he paused, shaking his head slightly. Then he turned on the ball of his foot and started to walk away from her, but at the same time he jerked his head, motioning her to follow. So, are you? Happy I mean, or is it just regreat I see in your eyes?" he looked over his shoulder at her before stopping and waiting for her to follow.
((Aww, thankies but probably sometime close to never, lol. I rarely really like my posts))
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Post by ALEX KING. on Dec 31, 2006 3:45:48 GMT
She asks why Crying and broken And I say, "Two words: Love hurts."
She felt tired, all of a sudden. Exhausted by the surge of thoughts, exhausted by her slimmers of hope. Exhausted by remembering, and watching him remember as well. Her stance had softened slightly, no longer so sturdy, no longer as hard. Almost as if she was fading away, just through one single conversation.
Damnit, she'd been right. Or wrong, it depended on which way you'd viewed it. He'd remembered, true, but he hadn't really cared. It was what she got for all those years, for thinking she was special. It had been only a few nights, really, and he left every time it was over. Picked up his bag and left. And she sat, thinking it all over, wondering what it was she'd done wrong. She'd hoped-- that was what was wrong. She'd hoped and been some sort of twisted version of happy. At least, that was what she had thought.
She shouldn't have done it. Shouldn't have seen him across the parking lot, talked to him, gotten herself so caught up. Shouldn't have agreed to come with him, shouldn't have felt the ecstasy. And she shouldn't have let herself go that far. But she had, and she couldn't dwell on it. It was better that he remembered, she told herself, than if he had just forgotten completely. As he seemed to soften, she tried to let herself do so as well. She stayed wary, but less fearful. Almost relaxing, but not quite.
He seemed to find the dog interesting, and she let her own eyes travel to it. She felt something similar to sympathy towards the animal, watching it try to get by, but it wasn't long before the dog began to yelp and the sympathy melted away. She raised an eyebrow, watching its figure scuttle away, its barks diminishing in volume as the animal's distance grew.
What had she wanted? She'd wanted to talk, to forget, to remember. She didn't know what she wanted. When a kid is little, it's the norm to ask them what they want to be when they get older. And they fix themselves on some ridiculously elaborate fairy tale plan, telling you they wanted to be Queen of the Universe or something. Then they grew up, and focused on more realistic goals, getting an A next quarter, or a B, or even a C. Getting into some college, making it through your classes. Maybe even graduate on the Dean's List if you're lucky. It's all a matter of maturing, but at this point, Alex couldn't place herself in any of these. She didn't know what she wanted. She didn't even want to go to college, graduate, work on the paper. She did it, well, because it seemed what her mother would have wanted.
Funny she cared so much about her mother's opinions, even though she was dead and gone. Her mother wouldn't want her doing this, her mother wouldn't want her doing that. It was silly, she was in charge of herself. An adult. But she felt unable to make her own decisions, unable to think for herself. She felt as vulnerable as the little kid who wanted to be Queen of the World, but without the plans.
So what had she wanted? I-- I just wanted to see if it was you, see if you remembered, she said, not sure if she should continue. In a moment of rare courage, she chose to, figuring she hadn't much to lose. And, talk, maybe. The latter set of words was softer, but not at all weak sounding-- soft, but sure. She almost felt as if he was losing the edge, the cuthroat apperance of before, and that maybe-- just maybe, she could talk to him, not as a sex object from the past, but as a human being.
As he began to walk, she fretted, thinking perhaps she'd said something wrong. But the jerk of his head pushed these thoughts away, and she followed, her steps even and sure. She felt strange, walking by him, and this peculiar sort of feeling came over her. It almost reminded her of trust, but she told herself it couldn't be. She'd spent years hardening herself, trying not to trust, and in this one conversation, her foolish self had gone and forgotten all of it.
But was she happy? She could answer that one without any sort of thought whatsoever-- no. But, he wasn't referring to overall. He was asking if this bit of information had made her happy. Not much made her happy, really. Not much made her feel anything, save sadness. But she had felt happy, at least a slight bit, and so she answered. Well, yes. I'd rather be remembered for sex than not remembered at all.
Her words were true, really. If he'd said no, she didn't know what she would do. She didn't care to know why he remembered her, whether it was guilt, embarassment-- whatever it was. No, she didn't want to know at all. She was content with knowing he did remember, nothing more, nothing less. They say knowledge is power, but like anything that brings power, knowledge is danger. What about you-- are you glad you remembered?
She took it all in as they walked, the feelings that flashed through her mind faster than she could truly fathom. The confusion, the disappointment, the acknowledgement of what was true, and even odder than the rest-- the naive trust. She'd spent years trying so hard to take control of herself, keep herself from continuing down that downhill spin, to keep herself steady, no matter what the cost. And now, was she just throwing that all away...?
[ ooc. bleck, i edited this four times x/ ]
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Post by Sasha Cole on Jan 1, 2007 5:17:52 GMT
The salty wind continued to push against Sasha’s bare arms, only causing him to start to actually feel cold. Sighing he messed around with his jacket as she seemed to think about an answer to his question. Pulling it over his arms and onto his shoulders he just let it sit there, not fighting with the zipper. He suddenly felt hot as the leather came over his flesh, he wasn’t used to long sleeves and it just felt weird now, but at least now he didn’t have to hold the jacket. After it was adjusted he looked back to Alex slowly, letting his tired eyes look to her with their usual hating look, yet in some way it wasn’t as it usually was. The look that clung to his eyes was, for Sasha, still quite natural, but not hating, maybe irritated would be the best way to describe it, but even he didn’t know what the whole look really meant.
The random thoughts flooded his head before he pushed it all away. He thought too much, and all that did was confuse him. One of these days he was going to have to teach himself to stop letting his mind wander in and out of everything that was happening, or had happened, and just pay attention to what the other person was trying to let him know. He had never been able to make out much in his own mind, for his morals just conflicted with each other. Everything he thought could be contradicted by something else it seemed in his own mind, which was a complete lie about most things but who ever said your mind had to make sense to yourself?
She finally spoke and he just let his eyebrows rise slightly at the first sentence. Make sure it was him? Was he really that hard to mistake? Well, now he may be, with his arm covered by the leather, but when she had first seen him it would have been completely obvious, wouldn’t it? Well, he knew the horse was new, it could have thrown people off, he guessed. Most people knew him as the one who got his forearm done before his bicep, which in all reality was weird. Getting something on your forearm was a big step, hard to hide without making people stare, or at least that was true in a place where it wasn’t always forty degrees and you stayed outside all the time. He had wanted something special to finish the sleeve, something he actually chose himself instead of telling Markus to think of something and just put it on. Truthfully, a horse hadn’t been what he was planning, but now it just seemed like the piece was the perfect match for what he had always wanted.
She continued, saying she wanted to talk. Slowly he turned to her, already starting to walk away. Talking wasn’t something he had ever been very good at; at least not to people he hardly knew. Of course he and everyone back home would have a good time just spending hours talking, usually complaining, about something, usually their families, but with people who didn’t see his views or didn’t understand his anger problems, talking was just difficult to get right.
Then again, maybe it was about time to try. He knew she would think he thought of her as nothing more than easy sex, which wasn’t completely true. He would never think of a girl like that, not completely at least. Too many of his friends just happened to be females for him to be so perverted. No, she had been more; she had been an object to fuel his rebellion. Skipping school, drugs and tattoos could only get a guy so far. Now, was that any better? He doubted it, but in some way it seemed to be in his eyes. When looking through his view he had every reason to rebel as he had, just to get away from the grasp his father had so firmly over him.
As she followed his steps he smirked, happy she had decided to trust him enough to tag along. In all reality, he was a trustworthy person unless he had a reason to be out to get you and as far as he knew, he had no such reason with Alex. He wasn’t a prone to snap for no reason, just only after he was angered. Most people just didn’t believe this, only because he was angered so easily, the simplest word causing him to snap. A deep sigh laced through his lungs as he pushed it all away once again. There he went, thinking again.
Once again she spoke, responding to his second question. He looked back to her, slowly turned his head before shaking it slowly. She shouldn’t be happy, that was no reason to remember anyone. Personally, he would rather not be remembered at al, but that was just him. Most of the people he met were only bad memories and being forgotten by them would only follow being forgotten by him and them remembering only caused him to think that he should have as well, which most of the time was a complete lie. The people who remembered him were the people he had trapped against a wall and threatened death unless they talked, or something like that. They remembered him since he was just one, he quickly forgot since they had been one of many.
Once again, her voice pulled him out of the quiet abyss that was his mind. Slate orbs looked over to her and he smirked as the words sorted out into understandable English instead of just a mixture of sound that touched his ears. He gave a small shrug before leading her over onto a dock, which held only one boat. He stood at the edge and stared out at the sea once again, the sun almost completely under the horizon already. It couldn’t be much past seven, he still had time to hang around and waste time staring out and doing nothing.
“Glad?” he questioned, glancing to her with deep slate orbs once again before staring at the pool gently. “I don’t really do glad, it’s too much like happy,” he shook his head. That didn’t sound like he had wanted it to, like he didn’t word it all correctly, but there was nothing to do about it now. “I would say pleased though. I’m pleased that I remembered, is that good enough for you?” he didn’t look back at her, watching as the waves beat against the dock they stood on. The white foam formed by the water making pictures that could probably only be picked out in his own mind, which we all know is a little off.
“So, you said you wanted to talk? About anything in particular or do I have to come up with something?” still, he didn’t look at her. It wasn’t because he was trying to be rude or had any problem with cast a glance towards her form, he was just trying to keep himself from over thinking everything, and watching something, such as the waves, did in fact seem to help. A sigh filled his lungs again, taking in the sea air slowly and letting the scent fill him slowly, trying to flood his thoughts with only happy memories, if only for a moment.
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Post by ALEX KING. on Jan 1, 2007 21:57:22 GMT
For if I ever saw you I didn't catch your name But it never really mattered I will always feel the same.
[/right] Through the silence, she refolded her arms, taking note of the sand that had made its way between her feet and her shoes. Alex had an odd statement with shoes-- she didn't really enjoy wearing them. She found you could learn much more without them, feeling the earth against them. It may seem disgusting, but it was part of the learning experience. Part of remembering your place on this earth, part of learning a different perspective. And as the sand pressed against her heel, she took it as a reminder to watch herself. No, she wasn't worried about what he would do. She worried about what she would say, what she would do. Her foot seemed permanently stuck in her mouth, and it worried her, as most things did. For someone who tried to be so apathetic, she really wasn't very good at it. Thoughts of her mother pricked the back of her head, as if poking, teasing even. Thoughts off her mother's influence, really. She wasn't anything like her mother. Grace had been calm, level headed, kind. She'd known everything, been successful, even when she had been young. But, what sort of life would that be? She'd never been spontaneous, never really reached out beyond their sheltered life. And, maybe it was for the best that she and Grace were different. Maybe Alex wasn't supposed to be that way. His voice snapped her out of it, out of her self doubt, out of her realizations. She glanced at him, listening to his words, making sense of it all. She stopped as he stopped, staying behind him ever so slightly, giving him space. She never felt comfortable when people were right next to her, not when she was thinking. And she could only assume he liked his space too. At first, her pulse quickened as he stated that he didn't much fancy the word glad. Her brow furrowed slightly, but she listened. Pleased, he was pleased. She didn't ask further, she didn't want to know why. Good enough for her? She frowned, nudged the sand with her toes. It wasn't like she expected him to work for her, she was merely curious. But she didn't answer, just stared at the water. Thoughts attempted to consume her again, grab hold of her and drag her under. She resisted, but they came nonetheless. When she was younger she'd been taken out to the beach, and her mother taught her how to skip rocks. It took a steady hand and patience, but Alex had been impatient. She'd thrown the rocks in, watching them sink to the bottom each time, while her mother, calm as ever, let them glide across the water before making their descent. A part of her wanted to try again, to let the rock skip across the water, but she witheld herself. She couldn't bring herself to do so, couldn't face what would happen if she tried. She knew it wasn't about the rocks. She hadn't anything in particular to talk about, at least nothing that she felt compelled to tell him. She could in theory start with something blunt, such as his opinions on war, terrorism, anything, but she didn't. The foot-in-mouth sydrome waited like a tiger, ready to pounce, and she stayed wary of it. She pressured herself, but the boundaries leered in front of her like promises of disaster. She couldn't bring up anything about the past, anything that might cause painful feelings on either of the two's parts. But, she knew only of the past, only of what had been, and not what was. Foolish questions plagued her, such as, "Why did you join that gang?" or "What happened in the past few years?" She ignored them, didn't let them leave her mind, didn't want them to. She couldn't ask those questions, couldn't make him answer. It wasn't fair, it wasn't right. Why'd you chose Sasha? It was blunt, and foolish, but she was curious. For your name, I mean, she added, wanting to be clear. She knew it wasn't his real name, she knew he'd been called something else. She hadn't a clue what, but it wasn't Sasha. Why not something else? There was nothing wrong with it, but-- Oh, dear, she was fretting again. He didn't look at her, nor she at him. She let her gaze shift, from the white barnicles that were splashed constantly by the tide, to the purple horizon. She was transported, in a way, when she was at the beach. You were blinded by the salty air, too dulled by its sharp sting to notice the soft rank of pollution. You were taken away from other worries. The beach, the water even, seemed a lot like life itself; its waters were beautiful and calm on sunny days, but completely different on stormy days. The water could change in a heartbeat, could overpower you easily. It chided to you to remember your place, remember who you are, and she figured everyone could learn from it. But not many people did. [/size][/blockquote]
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Post by Sasha Cole on Jan 2, 2007 3:32:31 GMT
Silence, all that followed was silence. In completely reality, it bothered him very little. It was calming to have the time to just listen to the sounds of the ocean hitting against the wood he stood on with the soft droll of the cars in the background. Truthfully speaking, he didn’t like the city sounds. Bad memories weren’t what he would say it was, but they weren’t good. All he knew was that he shouldn’t be spending time in a city. Being in a small town may help more with his anger problems and calm down a bit more. When he knew everyone and there was nothing around that caused him to lost his temper or revert back to his old ways he may be able to start again, but now it just wasn’t working. What were you expecting from the guy? He was who he was and there was nothing that can change that, no matter how many counseling sessions you forced him to show up at or where you put him.
The thought was pushed away as he turned his eyes to his own feet before noticing a stone beside him. He scoffed, but continued to stare at it in the darkness. Just like her, his had been taught to skip stones as a child, though that was by his father. Yes, at one point the two got along and that was on of the rare days where Alexander had actually seemed to have time for the son he had once said was his whole life. Now all Sasha could do was laugh at the memories of him jumping into his father’s arms before saluting the other soldiers about him as they left. Now it was a joke, totally and completely.
When he had been taught he had figured it out very quickly, in fact, he had been very good at it. Then, over time, his strength grew and before long he had started to put too much muscle behind every rock he threw. It would hit the surface of the water before sinking into the depths. It wasn’t long before he had given up. There was no point anymore, what was the big deal about being able to skip a stone? Then again, maybe it was about time to try again, now that he was starting to learn his own strength, though he was still a little lost when it came to the fact that he was much stronger than most people out there. That didn’t mean he wasn’t consciously aware of his strength, it just meant that he didn’t know how much of his muscle he could use before he may hurt someone.
Finally she spoke and at first he didn’t even look at her, the words didn’t even transpose in his head, like it was some language he had never heard in his life, or anything like it. He just stared at his feet and the stone for a little while longer, lost in unconscious thoughts and memories. Then she elaborated and his mind refused to let him ignore the fae beside him for any longer. He blinked a couple of times before it finally sorted out in his mind. His eyes narrowed again before he looked over his shoulder at her before shaking his head and giving her a smirk. He looked back in front of him and let a sigh lace through his lungs once again, calming him a bit.
“Is I liked it too blunt of an answer?” he asked, giving a small shrug of his shoulders. Truthfully, he would have preferred her to stand beside him, other than behind. He didn’t like people to his back, but for some reason she wasn’t bothering him too much. It didn’t mean he liked it, but it did mean he could live with it. He just stared, wondering if he should really give a more elaborate answer. Most people he met now didn’t know that he used an alias and assumed it was his given name, but she had known him before and most of those people knew otherwise.
“Truthfully? It’s a pet name off my real name, Slavic or Russian or something like that,” he looked over his shoulder at her again, giving a small smirk before glancing back towards the pebble at his feet. The foot closer to it, his right, moved so the toe of his show sat on top of it and it scraped it along the dock before so it was closer to his other foot. Carefully he moved it so it was on the top of his other foot, easily as if it was something that was often practiced. He was just very coordinated. With that he put his other foot on the ground again before flipping the stone upwards and catching it in his hand. He didn’t seem to think it was very special he could do it, it was just something. In old times it wasn’t with rocks, it was with dropped bags of drugs or something like that, but he found it simple by now.
“I’m a second,” he stated, turning his torso once again to look at her, giving a small smirk, “I have the exact name as my father,” he sighed looking down at the rock in his hand once again. He gripped his fist around it, the cold stone felt like nothing in his cold hands. “And everyone who went to that school knows my father and I don’t get along very well,” he scoffed before bringing his arm across his body and quickly flinging the stone into the water. He watched it and much to his surprise it skipped once, twice, three times before sinking to the bottom. He shook his head and looked back to again.
“In all honesty, I just didn’t want something completely random. I just found Sasha one day and after a little while it was just who I was,” he said, looking at her as if she was trying to see if she understood what he meant. He kept his eyes on her before letting a hand run through his messy hair, pushing it out of his eyes. The arm fell back to his side before he had them both cross across his chest as he turned his entire form to look at her before just finding his lip with his teeth.
“Is that a good enough answer for you?” he asked, seriously wondering and willing to explain further if she wanted him to, for a weird change. He didn’t realize he didn’t give out his real name to be completely honest, then again, even if he did he wasn’t sure if he would give it up. He hated his name, and he did have quite a few reasons to hate his name and he would prefer to just change it, but for now it was what was written on his license and what he was listed as in the police files. But, he was sure it also said he had an alias of Sasha somewhere as well.
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