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Post by DAHLIA ROSE, on Dec 28, 2006 15:03:17 GMT
The small girl shivered and the sound of her feet stepping lightly against the ground ceased. She looked around the long, dark alley, the sound of a few water drops falling from a rooftop to the ground. It was eerie here and she hadn't the smallest idea why she had agreed to visit her father. Maybe it was because he sounded so terribly sad over the phone. Then again, it could've been because one, tiny part of her missed him. She thought she liked the first idea better. The more she thought about it, the more she didn't like the idea of going to visit her parents. Vanity hadn't and she was doing perfectly fine. But no, Dahlia was very different from her twin sister. They looked the same, except that Vanity kept herself more up-to-date in the fashion industry than Dahlia did. Dahlia could have cared less about that stuff.
She pulled the crumpled up and folded piece of paper from her back jean pocket and opened it up, looking at the address that was scribbled on the paper. She bit down on her bottom lip, wincing as it finally drew blood. Her petite body was clad in a pair of plain, destroyed blue jeans, a pair of nike athletic shoes, and a black, lacy tank top. Over the tank was a blue jean jacket. All in all, she just looked out of place. This outfit was nothing she would have worn when she was younger. When she was younger, she would have been forced to worn a ripped up hand-me-down dress and a pair of old Keds. This was like a luxury for her to be wearing Nike.
She gave a sigh and looked around the street before feeling a hand on her shoulder. She shut her eyes and bit harder down on her bottom lip, wincing as the hand's fingernails dug into her her shirt, to the skin. She turned around and looked a very tall, and handsome man in the eye. Her own navy blue optics looked scared and afraid and this guy hurting her just added to that fear. Her bottom lip quivered and she muttered an "ow" as he continued to dig his nails into her.
-eew, that was so blah, and sorry for the little bit of powerplaying.-
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Post by [x]noah blake;; on Dec 28, 2006 18:42:58 GMT
"Don't speak to me Noah. Don't talk to me ever again. I don't want to know you. You're not worthy of love, you're not even worthy of life. You're a worthless piece of dirt, hear me? You're dirty and everybody hates you. Who are you Noah? You're no one to me."
It's hard to sum one's life up in a few words. The ins and outs, trials and tribulations and fickleties of one's entirity. It was often difficult to even summon a conclusion of a person's personality, and usually, you found that the ones you knew, were living a persona, living their lifes through a mask, pretending. None more so than Mr. Noah Blake. However, the little boy, that he yused to be, used to be a happy child. A honest, genuine person, until his mother found a bottle of wine, and his dad experimented with white powder and found his belt was a good weapon. Oh he used to be hardworking, and a lovely little boy to speak to, of course, he was only the age of five and had a shy little side, which usually meant he hid away anyway, so no one really noticed a change, and if so only slight, in the way he began to behave. Yes, his mother was an alcoholic, his father an extreme and aggressive drug abuser. however this wasn't his biological mother, oh no, his actual mother was a snob called Lilian from London, England, who just happened to move to Los Angeles with her husband Alfie, to be people they weren't. But, the big city lifestyle got too much for them, and after the birth of their seconds son, Noah, Lilian Blake had an affair with a man called Thomason Hewitt. It was a mystery how he was found dead, hours after Lilian, both with single bullet wounds to their chest. Strange indeed, how one boy happened to see the murder of his mother. Little Noah Blake had decided to stay in and play on his own today, instead of taking a trip to the park with the nearby residents. He saw his father, clean a gun, wearing thick gloves, and watch as he waited for Lilian to enter the house, before shooting her dead, and leaving. Noah ran from the house and to the park, playing with the others, unaware that his father had gone to kill again. His older brother, Harry, was the one who 'found' his dead mother, and called the police, but, somehow, Alfie Blake was never captured, and lived to be an abusive father to his two beautiful sons. Was is because they owned their mothers trademark of black hair and green eyes? Their mothers features and elegance and shyness? Or simply because he had gone over the edge. If only the man hadn't have shot himself just before Noah's eighteenth, they may have found out. The little boys of Lovett Boulevard, turning up to school with broken bones, burnt skin and trash marks all over. The little boys who only had two pairs of clothing, and grew up without a single toy to comfort them, and no bed to retreat to, just a tattered blanket in the attic to warm them both. No food to bulk themselves up, just shreds of ham if they were lucky, and a couple of slices of stale bread for a week. Child abuse? Maybe. And you're probably thinking this is like something you might have read in a Dave Pelzer book, but no, it's different to that, because no one ever found out about it. The boys suffered in silence, a dread over them that one day they'd end up just like their mother.
Right now Noah Blake stood in an alley way in the backstreets of the place he'd lived all his life. He could look around and see himself only 6 years old, running down the streets, in a tattered bed shirt and underpants, crying and screaming, trying to let people know that he needed to get away to survive. But no one ever listened to a boy so young anf frail, probably just thought he'd had a nightmare or was trying to be bathed. A lot of people were they lived in those days were so stuck up they probably abused their own kids. For no one ever reported what they knew was happening in the Blake residence. So, this alleyway, he looked around cautiously, and slipped a knife from the back of his jeans, and removed it from a brown leather satchel, then stuck the handle between his teeth, tipping the satchel and shaking it before a bag of powder tunbled into his hand. He grinned, swapping the knife for the case, and using the sharp edge to slash open the plastic casing of the drugs and straighten it into a slim line on the back of his had. He let the plastic fall to the rain flooded ground and snorted in the powder, up his nostrils, striaght into his airways, seeping straight through into his blood, rushing to his brain and making him close his eyes, a smile twinkling against his perfect lips. If you saw this guy in the street, you'd know he was a gorgeous fella. He had dazzling eyes, cutesy little button nose, one of his mothers features, and perfect lips, which were always in a straight 'pout', unless that is, he was holding a wad of cash, driving a fast car, or taking home a pretty lady. Or ... taking cocaine. Coke was his weakness. In fact cocaine was the reason he turned the way he did. The reason he turned into a bad guy. Just like his daddy. He was an abusive, drug abuser. Something he swore never to become. But after, but after Harry threw himself in front of an express train, and his father blast his brains out two weeks before Noah turned eightteen, he needed a refuge and a friend of a friend of a girll that was close to him, gave him some drugs. He grew addicted. Took to it like a duck to water. So to speak ... metaphorically and all.
Buzz rippled through his veins like so many times before. and his head pounded with the highness. oh what a magnificent feeling. He blinked compulsively and turned his head sharply to the left, seeing a girl he must have missed walk by. She was heading for mob central. What was a little girl like her doing down here? He thought to himself, and let him complacent pout spread. Slipping the knife into the pouch, which he then pushed into his jeans at the back he rubbed his hands and straightened his tee, which was grey, showing a skull with Mickey Mouse ears upon it. He walked up to her, instantly lunging and gripping her small shouldrer, squeezing tightly so she couldn't escape, fingernails delving into her skin like a lethal vice. He used his other hand, the left to aside her hair. Emerald eyes scanned over her ivory neck as he let his nasal passages massage her sweet scent into his body he breathed deeply and sensually down her ear, whispering. "Little lady, what are you doing here?" His tone was mild, creating a false security for the girl. His voice so close to her ear dru allowed her to block out any other sounds and concentrate on him, a methos he'd learned whilst learning the tricks of the trade so to speak. He continued to inhale and exhale strongly. |
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Post by DAHLIA ROSE, on Dec 29, 2006 3:37:18 GMT
[gosh Elle, you're such a meanie. My post won't be half as good as yours. lol]
She shut her eyes once more as she felt his hot breath against her seemingly silk skin. Her hands clamped into fists and she shivered slightly as she felt his hand brush aside her hair. She felt as though her heart was pounding out of her tiny chest. The memories this guy brought back, it made her want to run, get away from this place. The darkness of it all was too much to handle. She parted her lips and let out a soft cry. "Please let go." She said in a faint, feminine tone, much higher than normal. She bit down on her bottom lip and squeezed her navy tinted optics shut and dug her own nails into her limply hanging arm, merely to transfer the pain, or just to make it go away. She didn't want to be here, not ever again. She thought she could give this place another try and now it was clear she couldn't ever return to this place. She couldn't even believe she had come here in the first place. Meeting her father would just be more trouble and hurt.
Her mind snapped back into reality as the pain in her shoulder increased. "You're hurting me." She added, this time, her voice a little louder, but equally highpitched. How could men like this be so terrible? What made them like this? Abusive, drug addicted, messed up? She hadn't a clue. She bent her knees, trying to break free from his grasp. It only led to more pain. Her breath quickened as she heard and felt him inhale and exhale against her soft skinned neck. She pulled her neck away to look him in the eye, jaw tightening. This was painful. She wanted him to stop. Why would he do this? The thoughts of her father, and mother, those terrible, terrible nights. They were overwhelming. As the flashbacks shot across her mind, she forgot where she was, forgot the pain, forgot all reality.
One night in particular was clear as crystal in her mind. It was before she was put into a children's home. It was about 3 days before, or something like that. Her father had just gotten home with her mother. Dahlia and her sister were on the dirty carpet, playing with an old puzzle. Her parents were fighting and her mother went up into their room, screaming and yelling. Her father was upset, really upset. His anger, it had always gotten the best of him. The two girls were brought up to be obedient and so they did whatever their father or mother told them. They knew what would happen if they didn't, and also if they did listen. It would end up the same way no matter what.
And again, it did. When he was angry, it wasn't pretty at all. She was scarred physically and mentally from it all, and the scarring mentally hadn't faded at all. The memories flashed before her and her eyes became blank and staring as she continued to look into the male's eyes, finally blinking. "I'm looking for a David Rose." She said in a monotone voice. It was the one she used to use when she was at school, or sitting alone in her bedroom in her corner, trying to talk her dad out of something. She hadn't used that tone in almost 5 years, since she left her house. These streets hadn't changed a bit. They were the same old run-down houses with the same old cracked roads, only it was strangely quiet here, in this part. Not being here in almost five years had made her forget what her home looked like and where it was.
She didn't actually was to see her father. She just wanted to get away from this guy, go back to her other home. With her sister, on the Kensington Hotel. That's where she really wanted to be. She had come her...just because, she guessed. Her sister sure hadn't encouraged it, or wouldn't have, if Dahlia would have told her about the little trip she was making over here. If Dahl would have told Vanity where she was going, her sister would have blocked the door to keep her from going, or put two big bodyguards outside the door to keep her from going anywhere. Vanity was the older twin, Dahlia's best friend, her protector, her everything. Vanity was her idol, everything Dahlia looked up to. The two used to be inseperable, now they were growing apart, partly because they were teenagers and Vanity was growing up. Not Dahlia. She was just that lost little girl, looking for a way out.
She blinked, the color coming back to her cheeks and skin. The pain came back too. An angry expression took over her features. "Just fucking let go of me!" She pulled herself from his grasp. His breath, the hotness, his grip, it had become much too overwhelming for even Dahlia to handle. She was usually patient. Not today. She was not going to turn into another guy's helpless, worthless little toy, not again, not ever. She thought this guy would be like that when maybe she could have been wrong. Maybe he was different, but that, she doubted. From the force of her pulling out of his grasp, she fell to the ground, a rock or two scraping across her skin. She winced but stood up, starting with a fast walk to get away from the eerie, dark place. She didn't even look back behind her, just followed the road.
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Post by [x]noah blake;; on Dec 29, 2006 13:27:20 GMT
"it was all so nice once baby brother. you'll know that when you grow up. i love you lots."
how could anyone love such a cruel person. Well, in all fairness, the boy wasnt cruel that long ago, he was only 5 when his eight year old brother said that. But he remember it as clear as he could remember traipsing the streets of Los Angeles pouring with blood. There was that day, where the police finally stopped him, and asked him what had happened, stupid Noah, replied that he'd fell from a wall whilst playing hopscotch with a girl next door. The police took him to the hospital, anyone could see that that wasn't a fall, and clearly was a second degree burn. His father did that, pressed an iron against the boys side, it was such a horrible pain, the heat was so high he couldn't feel the difference, just the most immense stinging, and then a tear of flesh as it was puled away, clothes stuck to the wound like a bumblebee to a flower in summer. Noah's was father wasn't mentally stable. If you catch my drift, he wasn't the most safe person to be around because of his 'mind'. Noah was always sure that if for once his father dropped the drugs, they could be a hapy family. It only ever happened once, and that was only when the social workers came to visit because of the burned boy. their dad took them to the Zoo in New York for the day, they were accompanied for three days by the social worker, Noah was so naive to believe his dad had changed his ways, only, when they got home, the social worker left, Noah experienced the worst beating of his life. His dad was like some wild cat, savage, with rabies or something. Noah looked into his fathers eyes, and what he saw was something so vague, so disgusting, he was ashamed. That's when he grew up, aged seven. Looking into his fathers eyes was like looking a dog in the eye .. a pitbull. He went beserk, and a lesson was learned, never to look into those stone cold black eyes again. his father's eyes were so brown, they were often mistaken for black, yet his hair was so pale and fluffy, just a quick glance would give all the wrong impressions. Noah came to the conclusion that that was why he was forgiven so much. Noah never saw the social workers after that. His dad was innocent again. The little Blake boy often found himself in tears, which only infuriated his father, so he saved his crying until he went to 'bed', his brother would always comfort him. Who knew that Harry wouldn't be around to keep his brother from going to far now.
Noah had been so lost in his dream that he'd not heard the squaking of the girl until she mentioned the man she was looking for, he inhaled sharply, just in time for her losing the plot, he released his grip just as she tumbled to the ground, and began scurrying away. What did a sweet litle child like her want with a bastard like him? He was an evil son of a bitch that was for sure. Noah blinked and jogged after the girl, he wasn't ever going to hurt her, he never hurt a fly that was for sure, too scared was little Noah. He was a boy that had grew up too fast, always trying to make a blue sky out of rain. He was such a little lost lamb. He bit his lip roughly and touched her shoulder gently. "I'm sorry miss, I wasn't going to hurt you .. I swear. But what's a girl so cute as you want with David Rose? No body ever tell you he's ... worthless." Oh how many times had Noah been called that. But Noah wasn't worthless, he was capable of love he was just suffering, his own pity had drove him to something ... or someone he never wanted to be and he tried so hard to escape from it. He wasn't worthless, he was just searching for someone to care for him. Because even he needed to be cared for, he often came to the conclusion that the only reason he ended up on the backstreets dealing weapons for 'David Rose' and some other mob shitbags was that he wouldn't get hurt down here by nobody. They'd leave him be if he was quiet, and that he was. |
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Post by DAHLIA ROSE, on Dec 29, 2006 17:16:58 GMT
She continued walking until she felt the hand on her shoulder. She cringed but turned around, hearing his calm tone. Dahlia, cute? She'd never been called it before, not ever. Well, Dave was good looking, but his personality was a monster. Had she really said she was looking for her father? No, no, of course not. She couldn't have. She heard his words and frowned, her scare ceasing. He was worthless? David? Well, wasn't that a shocker. He had always been worthless, to upset with the way he turned out that he took it out on his two daughter. She turned away from Noah and sighed before turning her head back to him. David Rose is my...father." She spoke, her tone fading at the end.
It was hard to admit that he was her father, her biological father and always would be. She liked to think that her foster parents were her biological parents, not Dave and Anneh Rose. She sometimes wished tha Dave and Anneh were both dead, gone from Dahlia and Vanity's lives. It would make life a hell of a lot easier. Dahlia sighed once again and looked at the male. Her expression was unreadable. You couldn't tell what was going through her mind. At this point in life, she was unreadable in general. She blinked and cleared her throat. Well, might as well take a chance in being somewhat social. "I'm Dahlia...Rose." She said, not bothering to hold out her hand. She wasn't going that far yet. One baby step at a time.
She let out a shaky breath of air and bit down on her bottom lip, gaze breaking for Noah's piercing one. She didn't know what to do at a time like this. She wasn't a hyper, talkative, social person like Vanity was. She was the quiet girl who only let out her social butterfly side to people who she knew and trusted very well. Let's just say that there weren't too many people in the world who had Dahlia's trust. Basically Vanity and her adoptive parents. She didn't have too many friends. She was considered weird at school while Vanity was out there being the hot, popular chick. Dahlia would have given anything just to be her sister, so that she could live life without any cares. She'd love to be anybody but Dahlia. Dahlia, in her opinion was so bland and 'blah'. Everyone else was lively and their lives had just begun! Dahlia was a sixteen year old, too afraid and alone to face anybody.
She needed help from her sister, Vanity was like her mother. True, Vanity was the older one, but Dahlia was supposed to be the spoiled baby girl. She hadn't ever gotten to live that lifestyle. She had been pulled away from the real world when she was little and she still couldn't put up a fight if her life depended on it. She was just a lost little baby girl. She didn't have any special person to go home to and chances were, she'd never change. She needed help, or something along those lines. She was becoming more and more shut down with each passing day. And coming to visit her parents sure wasn't going to help. She just figured that she could maybe trust him again if he had changed, but with the way this guy was talking, she was pretty sure he hadn't changed a bit. She was fed up with being his little toy. No way was she ever going to be going back to her run-down house again. Not now, not ever. |
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Post by [x]noah blake;; on Jan 1, 2007 13:32:25 GMT
"You got me into this mess you loser. Why are you still here? Doctor, I don't want him here. Get him out of this room. Please Noah just leave ... we can't fix things now ... we can't. You're broken, like a china dolls, into a million pieces, and it's impossible to put you back together, you don't belong in my heart Noah."
She made him belong. In fact, everyone made him belong. When he'd escaped his father's torture, Noah ran, just ran. He didn't know where he was going, but he just ran further through the city for hours, until finally he reached the beach, and he fell down, taking deep breaths and laughing. He was free, free forever of his demented father. So what the bastard had just shot himself, that was a good thing. Heartless? No. His father was the heartless one, he was the little boy lost inside who had wanted to escape since that first go, three days after him momma died. Nothing particular had happened, apart from his brother Harry had been pushed down the stairs and cracked his head open. He was bleeding so bad that Alfie finally agreed to take him to hospital, as long as he said he'd slipped on a toy at the top of the stairs, and then Aflie would tell the nurse they had so many toys all over the house and they were going through a difficult time with their momma just passing away. Noah didn't get to go to the hospital. Nor did he have any part in their little plot. Alfie just turned to him and threatened him. "Don't say anything boy, you didn't see nuthin'." It was a well known fact that Alfie Blake was perhaps the most ridiculously stupid man there ever was. He couldn't read, write or spell. He was severly dilexic and did'nt know his own name when he saw it. That's how the boys got away with writing so many private notes, they made sure to put little drawings on, so it looked as if they were wriiting stories. When their dasd asked, they'd use their imaginations to make one up, Alfie usually snorted, took the paper ripped it up and give them both a sarcastic rub on the head. "Clever boys." He'd say, in the most sickly sweet tone he could manage, then he'd go downstairs again, grab a beer sit on his sofa with a bag of chops or a sandwhich or the leftovers from his meal the night before, which was always a takeaway, bought from the child care money. Plus they had a lot after Lilian had left everything to him. Alfie was worse when he was drunk, because his blows where harder, ad he often went very crazy. Noah always envied the other kids on the block, they didn't have dad's like that. In the mornings walking to school with Harry, he'd see the other kids, holding hands with their daddy, and laughing as he told them jokes and whatever. He knew that his daddy'd be home with a bad hangover, and bruised fists. Noah hated alcohol, because as soon as a heard them cans crack open and that fizz of air, he knew he was in for it. In fact, some of his worst abuse happened when his dad was drunk.
Now he looked at Dahlia, catching her words and oepning his mouth. That son-of-a-bitch produced something so beautiful. He grinned and bowed to her smiling. He oculd be such a loser sometimes. "Noah. Noah Blake. Nice to meet you." He reduced into a thought, he loked over the girl, she looked young, but at the same time had the maturity, and that was making him doubt she was under eighteen. He folded his arms and lay against the wall, squinting. "Tell me, how does such an ... ugly man ... produce such a perfect ... beautiful girl." He said. He was such a flirt, but he was harmless, he knew how it felt to be abused, and didn't want to impose that on anyone. A grin spread across his face, this was a girn to show he was happy ... he had that smile occasionally, but it took a very special person to make him happy. And this was just happiness, because he was flirting. "How old are you?" Obviously. He wanted to ask because he wanted her ... oh, that's another thing about Noah. He's not scared of commitment, in fact, the more the better. He loved the whole aspect of it. It's just, no one was interested, no one could keep him on a leash, everyone was scared of training him. She'd been. |
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Post by DAHLIA ROSE, on Jan 2, 2007 17:22:59 GMT
She barely noticed the guy bow, but froze at his next words. How could she have been so stupid? She couldn't trust this guy! This time, she knew it was for fact. That's what happened when she tried to trust someone. It just didn't work. She was always wrong about guys. They couldn't be trusted and she was just beginning to notice that this guy was seemingly the same. She forced a tight smile, body still stiffened.
Her dull, olive green eyes smoldered, gaze flickering from the handsome figure in front of her to another, crouched over figure in the shadows. Her eyes, still smoldering, turned back to Noah. "My pleasure." She spoke in a flat tone, forcing herself to swallow against the lump that was forming in her throat. She was anything but predictable. Now she was going to cry? Well, it wouldn't be unlike her. It was something she was used to, something she did naturally, even when she was little. She didn't grow up learning to be calloused at first. Now, she was, but when she was going through that awkward adolescent stage, no way. She would cry all the time.
Now, she seemed to collapse in front of him. She broke inside. Her bottom lip quivered violently, but she held it by biting down on her bottom lip, a little harder than was necessary. The anger in her eyes disappeared almost instantly, the smoldering look being replaced by a simple expression of anguish. As he asked her age, it was just beginning to be too much. Her heart rate sped up quickly. She parted her pale, unusually ice cold lips and spoke. "...sixteen" She said, obviously speaking involuntarily.
She felt as though her feet were plastered to the ground. She couldn't move and clamped her mouth shut, biting down on her bottom lip once more to keep it from quivering. She wasn't sure if this guy was really trying to scare her, for the fun of it, or doing it on accident. Being the judgemental person she was, she went with the earlier judgement. I-I have to go." She stammered before turning on her heel, not even bothering to start off with a walk. She just ran. She didn't look behind her, just followed the faded and cracked pavement, looking at her feet as they hit the ground and disappeared from under her.
She wasn't watching where she was going, which would explain why she, unfortunately, ran into someone, someone that she wasn't happy at all to see. She looked up and swallowed, stomach churning. A smug smile was pressed onto his bottom lip and Dahlia wimpered once, holding her arms tightly across her to keep from shuddering. "Hi dad." She said faintly, waiting for the unpredictable male to do something else. [/blockquote] |
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Post by [x]noah blake;; on Jan 3, 2007 14:35:30 GMT
"Why do you keep thinking you can get away with everything you do wrong? You do everything wrong and expect everything to be right. You can't have it both way. You can't break me and keep me. I'm broken Noah, thrown me away. I'm trash now."
He hadn't ever wanted to become a man with no respect for women. He knew how his father had got with his mother sometimes when she was still alive, and he hated him for it. See, his mother was a reletively nice person just a little unfaithful and snobbish. But that's because his father didn't give her everything she needed, he didn't make her feel loved. it was one night after school that the huge argument started. She'd cheated on him again. His mtoher was swearing and shouting and saying how much she needed him to stop being so overprotective of her, that she wasn't his property and they hardly had a faithful marriage. Noah had been sat on the stairs, looking through into the lounge where they were. He saw it all, the way his father's hand smashed into her face and everything. It made him safer when his mom was at home, before the alcohol that was. She used to protect them and back them up. But things got too much for her and she became a victim too, and then she found those wine bottles and allsorts. she turned into a monster, and then he hated her too. He knew what it felt like to have useless parents. In fact, somewhere inside of him, there was still a little boy trying to escape and be nurtured and cared for.
His ear drums caught her words, just about. Sixteen? she was how old? He gasped a little and bit his lip. Oh dear. Now he really couldn't do anything. Then suddenly he felt guilty, watching her run away. He'd scared her away, he knew it. He sighed and slapped the wall with a flat palm so it didn't hurt too ad. continuing on he followed her tracks just to apologise, and sooner or later he came to the 'office' of David Rose. The wooden door was closed, so obviously he wasn't there, 'his door was always open'. Of course so prostitutes and dealers could come and go. He listened and heard her sweet little voice up ahead, and walked in the shadows stealthily towards the sounds. He heard his tone and stepped forward seeing him back Dahlia against the wall, pressing her hips. Old habits. The man laughed and pushed her aside, knocking her to the floor with his might, continuing on with his way. Noah ran to her and palced a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, about that back there I'm not going to do anything to you promise, I'm not like that, rally. I just .. I have issues." He pushed her hair back, it had looked as if the man had gripped onto it, as it was all ruffled, unlike a moment ago, he striaghtened it down and smiled genuinely at her, her eyes glistening, for once he actaully looked half decent. "Are you ok Dahlia?" his voice was sweet and gentle, and hopefully that would tell her that he was actually a good guy, not a guy like her father. "You wanna come back to my place ... um ... well ... not for ... um .... you're all like dirty ...I mean not dirty, dirty, but .... the mud and stuff and you could have some coffee and yeh." He looked down, completely embarressed by the mess he'd amde out of that. It wasn't even like he was asking her out, it was just a simple offor if she wanted a moment to rest and to get a little cleaned up and have a refreshing drink. He looked up and caught her eyes, smiling softly. "he's not worth anything that man. he's worse than my father. at least my father's dead and buried." he scowled and shook his head, refusing to get to worked up about it. "come on little lady. i promise i won't hurt you." he smiled and aided her up from his croushing position. directing her towards his apartment.
Once they reached it, he opened the door with his key and pushed it open. It had a sweet scent, probably from his many candles. Maybe that was a girly thing, but he just liked the effect candles had. But it also smelled like homecooking, yes, he cooked. A lot. And he was kind of, good at it too. "Wleocme to my humble abode." He smiled and laughed softly, closing the door behind them both. "I have a phone there in the corner if you have anyone you wanna ring, um, bathrooms right at the botoom, um if you wanna change into something i have a few spare shirts and shorts in the wardrobe just through the pine door into my room." He stated smiling.
- sorry for the tiny bit of powerplaying. |
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