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Post by TRACE ZACHARY LEWIS on Jul 28, 2011 5:11:15 GMT
 SINKING IN THE QUICKSAND[/color] just to walk right up to you[/size] outfit[/center]
Trace wasn't much a drinker, but at the moment's circumstances he kind of needed a drink or he was going to go mad. He had recently found out his first and only girlfriend who cheated on him was now living in Manuka and he was stressing the fuck out. He could barely hold himself together. Trace hadn't slept in days and had relied on coffee and caffeine pills to keep him up. He had just came to the bar after a quick trip to 7 Eleven for a energy drink. Trace had downed that while driving around. He felt restless and didn't know what to do with himself. Trace was up to two packs of cigarettes a day recently. That was just too much for him. He usually had about two a day.
And just randomly whenever he felt fidgety. Now it was just pathetic how many packs he was soaring through. All the caffeine pills and coffee weren't really working so he was getting pretty pissed off. He was recklessly driving all around town. Trace had spotted the bar and instantly parked in front of it, not really caring it was a fire hazard zone or not. He just parked and got out and basically ran in. He was so jumpy and his eyes were basically bulging out of his sockets.
Trace ran a hand through his hair as he sat down on one of the bar stools and ordered a Budlight and a shot of tequila. He couldn't even express how much he hated alcohol. It made him do some stupid shit. Half of his tattoos were the source of his alcohol problem when he was in his teenage years. He finally stopped getting completely wasted when he had gotten a tattoo of a penis with wings on his calf. That was the most recent of all the ones, not counting the ones he actually got sober. Trace gave a forced smile when the bartender slide his drinks to him. He slapped the money on the bartop and instantly took the shot of tequila and began sipping idly from the bottle of beer. Trace completely hated the taste of tequila, but that was what usually had him buzzing quickly. He tapped his foot impatiently, scoping out the room. There weren't too many people in there, considering it was the middle of the day. It only consisted of the daily drunks. This was his first time in here and he could already tell who probably came there daily.
Trace frowned, looking over at the bartender who had been checking him out when he wasn't looking. He narrowed his eyes and the bartender looked away with an embarrassed look on his face. Trace could tell he was checking him out because he eyes were wandering in unspeakable places. He could tell the different between a guy just simply sizing up another guy and a gay guy simply giving him a good old once over, letting their eyes linger.
Trace wasn't prejudice, so he didn't snap at him and just simply stared at the bartender for a few moments longer and looked away, trying to pay attention to what was going on on the tv set up above the bar. Sports were on. Trace used to be pretty into sports, but as he got out of high school it kind of got old. He used to just play with neighborhood kids sometimes. But Trace was never good with making friends when he was younger, the he couldn't remember particular faces.
Trace was getting pretty bored in there already, but he really needed to calm himself down. He knew was soon as the sugar rush wore off he was going to pass out. Trace could already see it. He might as well get wasted before then. He knew he'd find a new tattoo if he got drunk. There was no denying it. Trace was barely through his beer, but he asked for a few more shots of straight tequila. He downed those and just continued to just sip from his beer. Trace could already feel himself buzzing, which kind of made him feel slightly calmer.Trace just focused on the sports that was going on on the tv, not really paying to what was going on. His mind was just wandering and thinking up random things that had nothing to do with well...anything.
Trace put his elbow on the counter, leaning his face against his palm. He should have brought someone with him. Going to a bar alone was never any fun. Especially around this time when all the lame people were there. Trace continued to sip at his drink and he started to stare at the people around him. He pulled out his phone, just going through old text messages out of boredom. Trace randomly laughed as he read them, but instantly his smile fell. This day was just fucking stupid and boring.
OOC; Really sucks, but I promise it'll get better x)
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Post by westley on Jul 29, 2011 14:47:04 GMT
 THE TRUTH COMES OUT IN THE BREAKDOWNS( • M E M O R I E S M Y G O D T H E S E M E M O R I E S • )The chaos. That is what is in his mind whenever he goes after a supernatural, the way that he has to keep himself unhurt as well as attacking, how to shield himself as well as pouncing, which of course only came with the notion that the supernatural saw him, or caught scent of him approaching. That was when he panicked and the chaos began, but not all of his kills could be smooth. Nothing ever went as smoothly as you want it to, therefore that's when you have to anticipate things as well as fish them out. And right now was one of those chaotic moments, the faerie that Westley had been tracking had caught onto his scent, and the moment that the man turned a corner Wes grew suspicious, and rightly so. Because as he himself neared it, the faerie had shot out all guns blazing, but Wes had been expecting it. So, this is where he was now, facing the fearie that literally snarled at him and he knew that eh would not have to ever make sure if he was good or not, Wes could see the evil in his green, lifeless eyes, that had gone even darker with rage. Wes had to be clever about this, otherwise he might not make it out alive.
However, the hunter was not planning a death today, well not his own anyway. He straightened up, using a trick he had learned long ago from Ross. He looked like he had given up, like he had lowered his defenses, all the while the steel knife in his sleeve. The moment that the faerie pounced on Wes, he waited until the man was right in his face before slipping out the steel knife and stabbing him right in the heart. It was early hours, maybe about six am, it was getting lighter, but there were no people at all where they were. The shocked look was not a surprise on the mans face. They never expected a hunter to be so cunning, so clever, which really was only a trace of any brains. The faerie just had had a huge ego thinking that he could take Wes down without any fuss or bother. Wrong. Rule number one, do not underestimate a hunter.
With a sigh, he pulled the knife out of the now lifeless, limp body and kicked it to the wall in disgust. Wes didn't get any blood on him, which was good. He hated having to clean up that mess, especially when it wasn't his blood because that made it even more disgusting. He pulled out a cloth from his jacket pocket and wiped his hands, before pulling out his lighter and a bottle of vodka. He poured the vodka onto the body, before lighting his lighter and throwing it on top of the body with the bottle. He didn't need any fingerprints, or any memory of this faerie. He watched the man burn for a second, pulling out his packet of cigarettes and lighting one. As the smoke entered his lungs expertly, he already felt better. The slight light headed feeling that fags gave him had him relax a little as he left the body to just burn. In about an hour or so, there would be no trace of that evil bastard.
He knew that next time he would have to be more careful, that next time Westley would have to make sure that someone wasn't as bad as they seemed before they killed them. He knew he was going soft, but he could not help it. He would not want to kill anyone that was at all like Alix. She wasn't evil, so he figured some of the other supernaturals werent as evil as they seemed either. He wouldn't kill her, so he shouldn't kill them, but sometimes it was hard to let go of his prejudiced if that is what he had known all of his life. Wes took off his jacket, and roamed the streets a little. Not looking for any trouble, just wanting to relax a little, have a rest. It was too early to go to a bar, but he figured, fuck it. He needed a drink. Walking in to the bar, he made sure that it was all human, light and innocent. He had been there before, so he already had the place all sussed out.
Walking toward the bar, he ordered his usual, just a beer. It wad day time, too early for anything stronger. His blue eyes roamed the place a little, over all the familiar faces when they landed on a face that was familiar but in a different way. He wasn't a regular, but he was from Wes's past. He could tell that face apart anywhere, and a pang of guilt hit him instantly before he pushed it away. He was about to leave before he was seen by Trace, but then he called himself a pussy and told himself to man up. They were gonna come into contact one day. So, with a deep breath and beer and fag in his hand, he walked towards the guy he had called a friend all those years ago. "Trace, I see you still look as twelve years old as you did when you were twelve." It was true, the guy barely looked eighteen, but all the tats, fags and booze gave him a much more hard edged older exterior. But these things lie.
THEY DON'T MEAN ANYTHING OH THOSE MEMORIES
( • A S Y O U S P O K E Y O U R F O R K E D T O N G U E S H O W E D • ) W O R D S • idk
T A G G E D • circe/trace
O U T F I T • click!
L Y R I C S • memories by lion if ido
T E M P L A T E • PANIC! ITS LAUZ of CAUTION
N O T E S • these are notes. aren't they pretty?
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Post by TRACE ZACHARY LEWIS on Jul 31, 2011 4:17:47 GMT
SINKING IN THE QUICKSAND [/color] just to walk right up to you[/size] outfit[/center]
The sports on the tv were very quickly growing rather boring and unentertaining. But they weren't in the first place. Watching sports wasn't actually as fun as playing them. His boredom and restlessness burned a whole in his chest. Trace could barely sit still. The coffee was kicking in finally and the alcohol was slowly oozing to his brain. Trace sipped from his bottle, setting it on the bar top temporarily. The bar scene really wasn't for him. All people did was sit there and sit in their own problems. That was exactly what he was doing and it was the worst thing yet. Trace sighed, looking around the bar again. There were a lot of fat and very pedophile looking men. And a few women. They were also in maybe their mid thirties or forties. Trace was never good with guessing ages.
Trace twirled his finger around the rim of the bottle, staring back up at the tv. He reached into his pocket, his eyes still on the tv, and pull out his pack of Newport. He pulled out one lone cigarette and just placed it between his lips. Trace slipped the pack back inside his back pocket. He didn't bother to the light the cancer stick, it just felt calming to actually have it in his mouth. Odd thing, but it did help a little with his nerves. He just wanted to keep moving and keep his mind off of things.
Trace couldn't handle just sitting there. He asked the bartender for another shot. Trace knew he was just cleaning out his wallet with all this alcohol, but he didn't really give a fuck at that moment. The bartender slid another shot at him and he downed it. He pulled the unlit cigarette away from his mouth and slid it behind his ear to just save it for later.
Trace continued to sip at his beer. The shots weren't really getting him anywhere. It took a lot of alcohol to get him wasted. He was tipsy, that was no lie. When Trace really was drunk he usually was how he usually was. Just a little more daring. He'd say rude things he usually kept to himself or he'd just simply so waste his money on things he didn't need. Like the countless amount of tattoos he found on himself. Trace continued to drink his beer silently, glaring over at the bartender who was still openly staring. He had no idea how attracted so many gay guys. It wasn't like he was leading them on. Trace shook his head and ran his hands through his hair, now staring into space. As soon as he needed things to do, there was not a god damn thing he could find.
He slammed his head angrily on the bar top, hearing people grumble next to him. Trace lifted his head up, adjusting the cigarette that was behind his ear. He nearly shit himself when a voice appeared next to him. Trace looked over slowly to match the voice to it's owner. Pure shock and surprise filled his face as he looked at his old friend. As soon as the shock wore off a little, anger slid in. He was seeing all these people from his past who just dropped him like he wasn't worth shit. Trace couldn't help but laugh at Westley's comment though. Westley had been so close to Trace before his parents had died.
Trace didn't really understand how it would feel to have someone you truly love die, but he knew you shouldn't treat your friends like they were worthless just because you were suffering. Trace wasn't going to let the past get in front of them though. He was only pissed off at Farah, because she was someone he actually loved. Bros before hoes was his new motto. He wouldn't say that aloud in fear of being hit by his many female friends.
Trace actually looked at Westley. He was very similar to Trace. Tattoos, witty attitude, and cigarette hanging from his mouth. Trace understood why they got along so well when he was younger. He took a sip of his own beer, glancing up at the ceiling. Trace looked back at Westley putting a mock look of disbelief on his face."Oh mah gawd. Westley really taking time out of his day to talk to me. I feel so worthy." Trace said sarcastically, but had a smile on his face either way. He raised his eyebrow, chuckling a little and looked back over at the tv briefly."And you Westley, look no different. Besides, you know, all the tattos." Trace ruffled his own slicked back hair, making it as wild as it usually was. IT being all out of his face was irritating him. Trace gave a little smile to Westley and took another sip from his beer.
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Post by westley on Aug 5, 2011 15:34:37 GMT
THE TRUTH COMES OUT IN THE BREAKDOWNS( • M E M O R I E S M Y G O D T H E S E M E M O R I E S • ) It has been a rather long while since Wes has been in contact with anyone from his past. After his parents were killed, he had abandoned them all to become a hunter, to kill what was evil and unnatural, int he mean time shutting out everyone that had meant anything to him in any way. Maybe that had been an idiotic thing to do. Maybe that was why he felt angry most of the time. Of course, he did have those few friends that he went travelling with, but he was never there with them. He was always in his own little world, thinking about his next kill, he never fitted in. And that made him feel lonely. Lonelier than he had in a while, even though Beth was there, it wasn't the same. However, Wes was too proud to go back to those from his past. The ones that he had abandoned without second thought. So now, standing here, with Trace right in front of him felt strange, because he didn't know the reaction which he would receive from a long ago friend.
Wes had been a total ass to Trace and they both knew it. He felt guilty, but he was too proud to apologise. Believing that what he had done had been right. He still did, because in the end, those that he left behind were lucky. Anyone that he ever got close to got killed by one of them. So he wasn't about to apologise for doing the right thing. He refused. "Oh mah gawd. Westley really taking time out of his day to talk to me. I feel so worthy." Wes had expected as much, sarcasm for the other boys voice. Though what he did not expect was a smile. He took Trace in. Now at twenty one, he still looked like a teenager. Gangly, bad skin and unnecessarily slicked back hair. Tattoo's covered most of his arms, much like Wes, but he wondered whether they actually had any history behind them. Every single tattoo that Wes had had history. A story behind it.
Wes couldn't help but grin back a little. He had missed him. "Not really, was passing by, thought might as well. Don't over think it." He winked at the younger boy before plopping down to sit by him, knowing that he probably won't be shooed away. It was weird how after all this time he felt rather comfortable with Trace. Even in this shit ass bar, with a fag in his mouth, it didn't feel as awkward as Wes had expected. It was nice. Wes grinned at the tattoo comment. It was true. He had a hell of a lot of tattoos and he found them if only slightly addictive. "Not quite Trace. I do look different." He pointed at the most recent scars on his cheek. Three marks that looked almost like claw marks, that had been carved out in his skin in a moment of white hot rage and Westley's fingers gripping the heart of the bastard that was there when his family were killed.
"Killing leaves you looking different everyday." He said, taking a puff of his fag and sipping it over with beer. He wondered whether Trace would be surprised at Wes's out there way talking about murder and taking lives. But they deserved it, so really, it wasn't killing at all was it? An eye for an eye, that was the way Westley saw it. Looking at Trace, he noticed that he looked strange. As if he had been taking things, which only brought smirk to Wes's features. "Still living the rock star life? Make sure you don't end up like one." Wes himself enjoyed a fag and some booze here and there, but he never took drugs or anything of the sort. Most rockstars do end up dead from this sort of life style, it was Wes's subtle way of telling Trace that he still cared, no matter how much he hadn't showed it.
THEY DON'T MEAN ANYTHING OH THOSE MEMORIES
( • A S Y O U S P O K E Y O U R F O R K E D T O N G U E S H O W E D • ) W O R D S • idk
T A G G E D • circe/trace
O U T F I T • click!
L Y R I C S • memories by lion if ido
T E M P L A T E • PANIC! ITS LAUZ of CAUTION
N O T E S • these are notes. aren't they pretty?
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Post by TRACE ZACHARY LEWIS on Aug 5, 2011 20:42:03 GMT
SINKING IN THE QUICKSAND [/color] just to walk right up to you[/size] outfit[/center]
Trace couldn't find it in himself to be an ass to Westley. He sure wanted to make sure he knew how much he had hurt Trace for just abadoning him. Westley didn't deserve that. He was a good guy truly, he just had gone through stuff Trace couldn't even imagine. Trace had no idea how Westley had felt after his parents died. Trace tried to console him after it had happened, but Westley had dropped Trace so quick he couldn't even try and be a good friend anymore. He usually tried to avoid thinking back to then. It was hard losing such a close friend, but he had dealt with it. Trace just gave Westley a warming smile and began to tease him like he would any other friend. Just because they didn't speak anymore didn't mean Trace stopped caring for him. Trace took a sip of his beer, looking up at the tv for a seconds and peering back at his old friend.
Trace laughed when Westley teased right back. He shook his head, even after all this time they could just sit back and be like how they used to. Trace would have never imagined his would ever even Wes again. After his little comment on Westley's tattoos, Trace actually got a look at them on his arms. He had way more than Trace had, that was for sure. Half of Trace's tattoos were from drunken nights. Trace actually had gotten a penis with wings tattooed on his leg. He was thinking of getting it removed, but having it there was just a constant reminder of why he couldn't drink as much as he used to. Trace's blue eyes went back to Westley's face when he spoke and moved to the scar he was pointing to. Trace's eyes widened.
He stared at for a few seconds, Trace hadn't even noticed it at first. but as he got a closer there were three scars going straight down his cheek. He frowned slightly, he had known Wes had become a hunter. Well, Trace knew now. Back then he had no idea of what was in the world. He knew nothing of the other species. Trace had pieced it together after awhile and not he understood."Holy shit, who did that?" He squinted his eyes. Trace knew no human could cause a scar like that, unless they had like razor shark nails or something. He leaned back, leaning his arms on the bar top, drinking some more of his drink. Trace couldn't imagine Westley killed anyone. Actually he could, but he'd rather not imagine it. It was just odd.
Trace winced slightly when he started speaking about killing. He just nodded and started to stare off into space with a blank look. Trace knew Westley hated nonhumans and it was just a little weird because all of Trace's friends weren't human. Plus a lot of them weren't exactly the most innocent and loved to tease hunters. Trace already had a friend die from hunters ambushing him, so if any of his other friends were killed he had no idea how to react. Trace snapped out of his thoughts and put on a small smile,"Look at you, being all bad ass." He laughed, he wasn't going to let those depressing thoughts overpower him. So he kept the lightness in the conversation going.
Trace laughed at the next comment that was said. He knew he looked a wreck. Trace hadn't slept at all, he was so stoked up on caffeine pills and coffee and all that. He just couldn't sleep, Trace was so good at suppressing thoughts and feelings except when he was most vulnerable. Which was was he was sleeping obviously because he couldn't control his mind when he was passed out. His eyes flashed over to his friend,"Psssh, yeah. Y'know, snorting cocaine and hitting up those hookers. Total rockstar." He said with thick sarcasm, chuckling lightly."Ah, no. I'm just tired of fuck." Trace ruffled his own hair, sighing loudly. He knew there were probably horrible bags under his eyes and he probably appeared much paler than usual. Trace needed to stay awake or he'd kill himself. He blinked a few times and stared at the bartop emotionless.
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Post by westley on Sept 1, 2011 16:37:20 GMT
THE TRUTH COMES OUT IN THE BREAKDOWNS( • M E M O R I E S M Y G O D T H E S E M E M O R I E S • ) For Westley friends had always been so so important. They were special, someone to care about, yet he knew that if he got close to anyone that they will end up hurt by something supernatural. It has always been this way and Wes hated it. All of them, every single person that he cared about that had died had been killed by a supernatural. So, it was better to keep people at arm's length, and that wasx what he had done with Trace. He cared about the guy too much to get him killed by things that he hunted, he wouldn't allow it. The boy may think that Wes had abandoned him, but it was because he didn't want to see him hurt. That was all. But Wes wasn't grat at revealing his feelings, so that was left unsaid no matter how much of an explanation trace had wanted.
He hadn't imagined that Trace would be so shocked at his scard. He just blinked at him for a second. "If you think that's bad, you should see the one's on my back." He said with a chuckle, but he hadn't been laughing when he got the large unever gashes into his back that were so deep they had reached his bones. Now it seemed like a dream away. "It was the fucker that helped kill my family. You should see the other guy." He was speaking light heartedly about the situation, yet his heart clenched in pain at the memory of his parent's and those bastards. But he had had his revenge, and in turn met someone who he could bare to care about because they could take care of themselves. It was wrong, with who he was, but it would be a secret and he wouldn't have to worry about it. Wes took a long drag of his cigarette, greedily pulling in the cacerous fumes.
Wes didn't see his job as badass at all. He saw it as a necessity. As something to kill his thirst for vengeaqnce. Otherwise his dark thoughts and frustration would overwhelm him and the hunter didn't want to know what would happen then. "Badass indeed. I don't know where you get these things from, but I think the booze are getting to your brain a little." Westley rolled his eyes in amazement at the boy. Trace Lewis looked like a wreck. He looked like a drug crazed man having run away from rhab or some shit. It looked bad, and Wes grew a little worried for him. Even Wes didn't look so tired, even in his line of work. Wes was surprised at how light their conversation was, how comfortable. He enjoyed the fact, after not having seen Trace for so long it was so good that they could just start again from where they left off. Even though the hunter did not deserve it.
"Right." Wes echoed the human's sarcasm level. Snorting cocaine. Wes could believe it, but he doubted it. Even Trace wouldn't stoop so low. "How is that working out for you?" Wes cocked an eyebrow in amusement. Yes, Trace looked as tired as anything, but Wes wanted to know more. "Tired of what? Life can't be that bad? I mean you've got money to waste on fags, and you're young enough to be good looking enough to get laid. What more do you need." This was a total sentence of teasing, Wes didn't believe a single word of what he just said, but he wanted to knw what he had missed in Trace's life. It was painful how close they had been, and it was Westley's fault that hey had separated, but in moments like these Wes wanted to know his best friend again.
THEY DON'T MEAN ANYTHING OH THOSE MEMORIES
( • A S Y O U S P O K E Y O U R F O R K E D T O N G U E S H O W E D • ) W O R D S • idk
T A G G E D • circe/trace
O U T F I T • click!
L Y R I C S • memories by lion if ido
T E M P L A T E • PANIC! ITS LAUZ of CAUTION
N O T E S • these are notes. aren't they pretty?
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