((OOC: I was listening to this song while writing this post. Thought y'all might like it: Red At Night))
Night had fallen over St. Paul. It was a humid night that had most people either swimming or staying in their nice air conditioned basements watching whatever Fox had on for their Friday night lineup.
One boy in particular was not in a pool or nicely chilled basement. Brent Shanahan was quickly making his way out of the parking lot of Ray and Kim's Liquor Store with a brown paper bag in his hand and a skinnier wallet in his pocket. He was thirty dollars poorer thanks to a bottle of Absolut and paying some guy named Jeff to get him the bottle while he waited outside.
Brent made his way down the dimly lit sidewalk on Bayview Crescent towards the high school. The sounds of sprinklers watering the local yards, and the occasional car driving past were all Brent heard as he made his way on to the school property.
Brent pushed open the gate that led to the grandstands over looking the football field. He walked about 6 rows up and took a seat on the plastic bench that was bolted into the concrete of the overall structure. He unwrapped the bottle from the brown paper bag and stared at it for a few moments. With a heavy sigh he unscrewed the cap from the bottle.
This was it. This was the culmination of a world crashing around him. Brent tilted the bottle to take the first drink. He grimaced as the booze went down but all in all it wasn't that bad. He'd sooner take a beer over this but the situation called for the more potent stuff.
Brent stared out at the field in front of him as he sat, taking sips from the bottle every now and then. The sounds of voices faintly in the background was the only noise in the background.
High Lonesome
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High Lonesome
Stuff. Things. Stuff and things.
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DetectiveArcher†
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((Roy Archer continued from Cooling Down))
People always say, "It's not the heat, it's the humidity." What a load of shit. Hot, humid, whatever it was, Roy Archer didn't like it. Jogging at a brisk pace, the boy did his best to ignore the sweat slowly working its way down his body. As night fell, the streetlights illuminated the sidewalk, splashing large circles of light across the ground. The soft, repeated hiss of sprinklers matched his careful breathing.
His white t-shirt sticking to his clammy chest, Roy let his movements become slightly more exaggerated, hoping to get some air against his skin. Jesus, weren't workout clothes supposed to be easier to work out in? Passing behind the football field, Roy slowed his jog before coming to a halt.
Wiping a hand across his forehead, the young man paused a moment. Pulling off his glasses, he took the momentary lull in his workout to strip off the damp shirt. Rewarded with a sudden gust of wind, Roy languidly stretched, enjoying the cooling breeze. Damn, but didn't that feel good.
Shaking his head and shifting his weight from foot to foot, he prepared to continue with his evening run, when he caught sight of the figure moving into the stands. With a shrug, Roy resumed his steady jogging pace, running along the edge of the fence. Moving closer, he eventually picked out Brent Shanahan. It wasn't hard; the bright red hair was a dead giveaway.
With a quick wave, Roy called out to the familiar face, before easily scaling the chainlink fence and making his way over. He could use a break before the run back home. Besides, what was Brent doing here all on his lonesome, anyway? Tugging his shirt back on he hit the stands. Pushing his glasses back up onto his nose, he tilted his head in greeting, "Hey, dude. What's up?"
His eyes catching the bottle in Brent's hand, Roy cocked an eyebrow. Alone, in the bleachers, downing Absolut. Something definitely was on the guy's mind. "Don't suppose you want some company, do you? Nobody wants to drink alone, right?" he commented, nodding to the alcohol.
People always say, "It's not the heat, it's the humidity." What a load of shit. Hot, humid, whatever it was, Roy Archer didn't like it. Jogging at a brisk pace, the boy did his best to ignore the sweat slowly working its way down his body. As night fell, the streetlights illuminated the sidewalk, splashing large circles of light across the ground. The soft, repeated hiss of sprinklers matched his careful breathing.
His white t-shirt sticking to his clammy chest, Roy let his movements become slightly more exaggerated, hoping to get some air against his skin. Jesus, weren't workout clothes supposed to be easier to work out in? Passing behind the football field, Roy slowed his jog before coming to a halt.
Wiping a hand across his forehead, the young man paused a moment. Pulling off his glasses, he took the momentary lull in his workout to strip off the damp shirt. Rewarded with a sudden gust of wind, Roy languidly stretched, enjoying the cooling breeze. Damn, but didn't that feel good.
Shaking his head and shifting his weight from foot to foot, he prepared to continue with his evening run, when he caught sight of the figure moving into the stands. With a shrug, Roy resumed his steady jogging pace, running along the edge of the fence. Moving closer, he eventually picked out Brent Shanahan. It wasn't hard; the bright red hair was a dead giveaway.
With a quick wave, Roy called out to the familiar face, before easily scaling the chainlink fence and making his way over. He could use a break before the run back home. Besides, what was Brent doing here all on his lonesome, anyway? Tugging his shirt back on he hit the stands. Pushing his glasses back up onto his nose, he tilted his head in greeting, "Hey, dude. What's up?"
His eyes catching the bottle in Brent's hand, Roy cocked an eyebrow. Alone, in the bleachers, downing Absolut. Something definitely was on the guy's mind. "Don't suppose you want some company, do you? Nobody wants to drink alone, right?" he commented, nodding to the alcohol.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler DetectiveArcher.
Brent looked away from the field as he saw someone wave. Every part of him wanted the person to keep moving, but instead they started heading for the stands.
Wonderful...
As the figure approached and greeted him, Brent saw it was Roy Archer. Best way to describe Roy in Brent's mind was that Roy was a good guy.
Roy inquired about some company and Brent chuckled.
"Heh, company? Try swapping lives with someone. You know those kids who really have nothing to bitch about but they do anyways. Yeah, I feel like one those guys right now. I shouldn't be feeling sorry for myself Roy. I really shouldn't. Does that stop my head from taking every possible bad thing that has happened in the last two months and flashing the world's largest spotlight on each of those bad things? No it doesn't." Brent said with a slight smile.
Brent took another sip of the vodka.
"You're right though. No one likes to drink alone." Brent said as he offered the bottle to Roy.
((Brent Shanahan continued in Decisions, Decisions))
Wonderful...
As the figure approached and greeted him, Brent saw it was Roy Archer. Best way to describe Roy in Brent's mind was that Roy was a good guy.
Roy inquired about some company and Brent chuckled.
"Heh, company? Try swapping lives with someone. You know those kids who really have nothing to bitch about but they do anyways. Yeah, I feel like one those guys right now. I shouldn't be feeling sorry for myself Roy. I really shouldn't. Does that stop my head from taking every possible bad thing that has happened in the last two months and flashing the world's largest spotlight on each of those bad things? No it doesn't." Brent said with a slight smile.
Brent took another sip of the vodka.
"You're right though. No one likes to drink alone." Brent said as he offered the bottle to Roy.
((Brent Shanahan continued in Decisions, Decisions))
Stuff. Things. Stuff and things.
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DetectiveArcher†
- Posts: 163
- Joined: Mon Sep 10, 2018 7:45 pm
Brent shook his head. "Heh, company? Try swapping lives with someone." Furrowing his brow, Roy sized the ginger up and down. He certainly did look pretty stomped, for whatever reason. Giving a noncommittal grunt to fill the silence, Roy waited for Brent ti elaborate.
"You know those kids who really have nothing to bitch about but they do anyways," he began as Roy nodded. "Yeah, I feel like one those guys right now. I shouldn't be feeling sorry for myself Roy. I really shouldn't. Does that stop my head from taking every possible bad thing that has happened in the last two months and flashing the world's largest spotlight on each of those bad things? No it doesn't."
The distraught boy gave a sort of sad smile that tugged at his mouth, before taking another swig of the clear booze. Jeez, this guy was really in it, wasn't he? What was so bad about the last two months anyway?
"You're right though," the seated drinker muttered. "No one likes to drink alone." He offered the bottle to Roy. Well, best to settle in. Accepting the proffered alcohol, the dark haired athlete took a quick pull from the bottle. Giving a sharp exhalation, Roy did his best not to grimace at the burn of the vodka. He'd never much cared for the Russian spirit, but was polite enough not to say as much.
Instead he dropped himself onto the bench a row below Brent. "So," he started slowly, "what's the deal, dude? Lady problems? Trouble at home? Whatever it is, it's probably better to get it off your chest." Pushing up his glasses, Roy shrugged. "No one else around, so it's not like anyone's gonna find out. So, lay it on me, man." He downed another mouthful of the potent liquor, before handing it back towards Brent.
If the offer to lend an ear didn't work, maybe a little more liquid courage would do the trick.
((Roy Archer continued in Decisions, Decisions))
"You know those kids who really have nothing to bitch about but they do anyways," he began as Roy nodded. "Yeah, I feel like one those guys right now. I shouldn't be feeling sorry for myself Roy. I really shouldn't. Does that stop my head from taking every possible bad thing that has happened in the last two months and flashing the world's largest spotlight on each of those bad things? No it doesn't."
The distraught boy gave a sort of sad smile that tugged at his mouth, before taking another swig of the clear booze. Jeez, this guy was really in it, wasn't he? What was so bad about the last two months anyway?
"You're right though," the seated drinker muttered. "No one likes to drink alone." He offered the bottle to Roy. Well, best to settle in. Accepting the proffered alcohol, the dark haired athlete took a quick pull from the bottle. Giving a sharp exhalation, Roy did his best not to grimace at the burn of the vodka. He'd never much cared for the Russian spirit, but was polite enough not to say as much.
Instead he dropped himself onto the bench a row below Brent. "So," he started slowly, "what's the deal, dude? Lady problems? Trouble at home? Whatever it is, it's probably better to get it off your chest." Pushing up his glasses, Roy shrugged. "No one else around, so it's not like anyone's gonna find out. So, lay it on me, man." He downed another mouthful of the potent liquor, before handing it back towards Brent.
If the offer to lend an ear didn't work, maybe a little more liquid courage would do the trick.
((Roy Archer continued in Decisions, Decisions))
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler DetectiveArcher.
((Continued from One Pen Two Pen Red Pen Blue Pen))
Lucy continued clutching her notebook tightly to her chest as she crossed the moonlit fields of the Bayview High campus. Her face, having cooled down from its previous bright red state, continued to reveal the embarrassment she had felt a short while ago with its soft pink nature, whilst she kept her eyes focused on the ground ahead of her and nothing more. She silently replayed the situation over and over in her mind: the request for a highlighter; the dropping of the pencil case; the scattering of equipment; the quickly receded offers to help. Her face clenched in time with the scenario.
Eventually she arrived at the football stands. She usually cut across here if she stayed late in the library, due to the fact that her house was much quicker across this route than going out and around the front gates. Thankfully, there was no football game going on this evening, so she wouldn't have to hide behind the stands and risk stepping into something unpleasant. Of course, that's not to say it was safe to go behind the stands even when there was no game going on; in fact, if anything she was more likely to run into an even more unpleasant character, taking part in activities she'd rather not relive.
As she rounded the stands, her defensive observation of the area quickly noted two men up in the stands, the thin lighting revealing their location. Hastily pulling back behind the stands and out of sight, her heartbeat increased. She had no idea who these people were, but from what she could make out in the silent air they were up there drinking some sort of alcohol. Lucy would really like to forget how embarrassed she was not moments ago...
No, drinking her problems away was not the solution. If she started doing that, she could end up as some loser in the back alleys giving out hand jobs for five dollars. No, she would just go home and bury herself under her covers. Then she'd drift off to sleep, and wake up to another day.
Oh, who was she kidding? She'd never be able to fall asleep so easily after that humiliating experience. She had to do something to get her mind off it, and at the moment, it was the only thing she could think to do.
Slowly she turned around and back into the vision of the guys up on the stands. Traditionally, Lucy had always been slightly more open to approaching men than she had women; the whole of her tormentors being made up of girls as it were. As such, she slowly climbed up, step by step, until she was level with them, before nervously walking up to their vicinity. Avoiding eye contact and maintaining her grip on her notebook, Lucy meekly asked:
"Excuse me; would I be able to get a sip off of that? I could really use it..."
((Continued in Tending the Flowers))
Lucy continued clutching her notebook tightly to her chest as she crossed the moonlit fields of the Bayview High campus. Her face, having cooled down from its previous bright red state, continued to reveal the embarrassment she had felt a short while ago with its soft pink nature, whilst she kept her eyes focused on the ground ahead of her and nothing more. She silently replayed the situation over and over in her mind: the request for a highlighter; the dropping of the pencil case; the scattering of equipment; the quickly receded offers to help. Her face clenched in time with the scenario.
Eventually she arrived at the football stands. She usually cut across here if she stayed late in the library, due to the fact that her house was much quicker across this route than going out and around the front gates. Thankfully, there was no football game going on this evening, so she wouldn't have to hide behind the stands and risk stepping into something unpleasant. Of course, that's not to say it was safe to go behind the stands even when there was no game going on; in fact, if anything she was more likely to run into an even more unpleasant character, taking part in activities she'd rather not relive.
As she rounded the stands, her defensive observation of the area quickly noted two men up in the stands, the thin lighting revealing their location. Hastily pulling back behind the stands and out of sight, her heartbeat increased. She had no idea who these people were, but from what she could make out in the silent air they were up there drinking some sort of alcohol. Lucy would really like to forget how embarrassed she was not moments ago...
No, drinking her problems away was not the solution. If she started doing that, she could end up as some loser in the back alleys giving out hand jobs for five dollars. No, she would just go home and bury herself under her covers. Then she'd drift off to sleep, and wake up to another day.
Oh, who was she kidding? She'd never be able to fall asleep so easily after that humiliating experience. She had to do something to get her mind off it, and at the moment, it was the only thing she could think to do.
Slowly she turned around and back into the vision of the guys up on the stands. Traditionally, Lucy had always been slightly more open to approaching men than she had women; the whole of her tormentors being made up of girls as it were. As such, she slowly climbed up, step by step, until she was level with them, before nervously walking up to their vicinity. Avoiding eye contact and maintaining her grip on her notebook, Lucy meekly asked:
"Excuse me; would I be able to get a sip off of that? I could really use it..."
((Continued in Tending the Flowers))
Out of respect to Jerred, this thread will be closed.
Stuff. Things. Stuff and things.