LANGDON, tatum grant

[tlangton]

TATUM GRANT LANGDON !?

'I feel so much better now that you're gone forever. I tell myself that i don't miss you at all.'

hey there! so, tell us all about you... let's start off with the basics. what do we need to know?

You can see him through the two way mirror. He sits, both of his hands resting palm down against the cool metal tabletop, fairly close together, restrained by handcuffs. He is looking down, his unruly hair falling over his face, his features obscured by the dim glow of the single light bulb hanging from the ceiling. The room is lonely, and you have to fight down a small pang of pity for the poor teen, though you can't understand why. He, after all, has no company besides the recorder and microphone sitting on the table in front of him. "Begin." A voice booms over the loud speaker, making you jump slightly. The convict moves his hand ever so slightly, and presses the record button, which sets off a series of questions for him to answer. For the first time, he looks up, right at the two way mirror. A small shiver goes through your body as he stares at you; it's as if he can see into your soul. A smirk spreads across his lips as he leans forward and purrs into the microphone for all to hear..

"Hello, detective, lovely day we're having, isn't it? From what I'm told, this is my final test. If I pass this, I'm free to go. You've had control over me for the past three years, wasn't it fun? I assume you're going to analyze every word I say for an excuse not to grant me my freedom, but I can assure you, detective, you will not find one. The last thing I want is to waste your time, so I will begin answering your questions now... My birth name is Tatum Grant Langdon, however, only my mother uses my complete name. Most have chosen to call me Tate. I am nineteen years old at the moment, but I will be twenty next month. My freedom is a very exciting birthday present, might I add. I am very clearly a male, and a heterosexual one at that. I have been in this facility for the past three years, but I can assure you that my sexuality has not altered during my stay. Ah, yes. A large part of the reason that I am sitting here today is because I believed myself to be a firetamer. I have chosen to ally myself with the darkness, though, these humans can't come to accept my being. I chose to not, however, disclose whether I still believe myself to be in posession of fire. And after extensive hours in the facility library, discussion of my personal standings in my illness are not taken under advisory when my freedom is being determined. So, detective, I trust that me being a firetamer won't affect my release. Only make you uneasy." -smirk-

so, a little birdy told me that you're pretty gorgeous... describe yourself.

When the teen sits back in his chair, clearly pleased with himself, your blood runs cold. Now it's clear why he is here in the first place. You nervously glace over at the detective standing next to you. This kid- Tate- is a madman. The way his voice reverberates through your body, the cold and calm purr of his voice, even his cocky little smirk. He knows that he's a creepy little fuck, and he loves every minute of making you uneasy. He seems not to blink as he glares at the glass, awaiting the next round of questions. "He's insane." You mutter, the slight hitch in your voice is enough to make the detective give you a sideways glance in return. "That's the reason why he's here in the first place," He states the obvious, the monotone of his voice telling you that he doesn't want to deal with someone who so easily succumbs to Tatum's mind fucking. Clearing your throat slightly, you give a small nod. "Let's move on with this. I don't like this kid.." You shudder slightly as Tate's grin spreads across his lips at the fact that he gets to describe himself in greater detail. He raises his hands and puts them behind his head, casually leaning back in the metal chair. You can only picture the way his muscles ripple and flex under the bright orange inmate uniform. You immediately push the inappropriate thought from your head as you try to focus on the issue at hand. The detective wouldn't like you fantasizing about this madman..

"A little birdy? Or your pathetic female officers? -smirk- They've mentioned that I look like Evan Peters. Though, I have no inkling of who he is whatsoever. My eyes are dark brown. Cold, hard, and unforgiving. People get uneasy when I look at them. I can make my eyes large and round, though. It'll give me the innocent little-kid look. I don't usually do that, though. I always get told that I always look under the influence, as if I just got finished smoking weed. -chuckle- That's just my natural look, I guess. -shrug- As for my hair, I don't let it get longer than it is now. Just long enough to be able to cover my eyes if I so please. It's somewhere between blonde and brown. Dirty blond, I suppose. I don't put too much effort in my hair. It does as it pleases. The last time the facility's nurse checked, I'm exactly six feet tall. Around 130 pounds. My body is pale, almost has a porcelain look to it. I'm not a scrawny little kid though. I have muscles, clearly. Or your female detectives wouldn't enjoy watching me while I did my daily activities as much as they do -grin- I work out in my spare time, mostly focusing on my arms and midsection. Please, let me know if you'd like to see, detective. I'll gladly stand and show you. -pause- No? Suit yourself. As for clothes.. It's been so long since I've been able to dress in my own clothing. Lose fitting jeans, any color. The last pairs I owned had several worn and ripped spots, but I didn't do that for fashion. Just a t-shirt, or rather, no shirt. For shoes.. the last I had were black converses. Simple things, I don't like to over do it. In the winter, I did have a motorcycle jacket. Black leather. I wear anything, though, as long as it's a dark color. I have no piercings or tattoos.. I'd rather keep my body... unblemished. Though, I do have a few battle scars. A few fights here and there. One on my side, near my hip. Another more towards the back. -shrug- But that is all.."

i'm sure that your personality is something else completely, tell me all about your self, can't wait to hear it!

A small groan escapes your mouth, and the detective turns his scrutinizing eyes on you. "Problem, detective?" He asks smoothly, to which you shake your head no. "I'm just not looking forward to listening to him describe his personality." For the first time, the detectives mouth twitches to show emotion. A small, nervous grin replaces his stone cold expression. "You're in for a real treat. Tatum likes to talk about himself. This might take awhile." You nod again, acting like you understand completely. But inside, you cant help but feel somehow attracted to this convict. There's something oddly sexy about him. A carnal, animalistic sex appeal that only grows with every word he purrs into the microphone for all to hear. You just want it to be over. You want the judge to lock him away, in a singular cell for life. So he can't unleash his sex appeal, nor his crazy 'fire taming' or whatever he called it. It sounds completely bizarre, though you can't help your growing curiosity. Shit! You have no idea how the other detective has put up with Tate's craziness for the past three years. And to remain so calm? Or maybe he's doing what you're doing. Hiding you're comments and feelings from the other. Glancing at the clipboard hanging on the wall, you feel an overwhelming sense of thankfulness as you realize the interview is almost over..

"Things I like? -bites lip- Well, I do like the metal genre of music. Though, I find myself recently being partial to country as well. It's so.. emotional. A part of me loves human emotions. Just like I enjoy people watching. Studying emotions and actions is quite fun, if you haven't tried it. As I mentioned earlier, I like women. My favorites are the young ladies who walk around with small skirts and high heels. they are typically blonde with large breasts. -Sits up, completely serious, all smartass-ness gone- The kind whom are bubbly and happy all the time, and who love being treated like a goddess. One of my weaknesses are spoiling women. If I take a liking to one woman, I want to buy her everything. I want to give her the world. -Sits back and relaxes again- I haven't found my princess just yet, though. Other various things I like include Harley-Davidson motorcycles, leather jackets, Indian food, fire, and when I find myself bored, i do like to draw. Now for the things I do not like.. -pauses- I don't like piercings or tattoos on women. Why blemish their beautiful skin? I don't really like alcohol, or any type of drugs. It messes people up. Complications are something I try to avoid. Authority, clearly. -grins- The beach, the smell of hair dye, Chinese food, birds, and overly nice people are things that I dislike. I also don't really like lollipops, but I have seen a woman or two eat them, and i must say, there is definitely a sex appeal to them. -pauses- Strengths.. Well I'm physically strong. I've demonstrated the fact that I can be very persuasive. I'm a good liar, if I do say so myself. Weaknesses.. well birds are the number one. I hate the little fuckers. I'll do anything to avoid them. Women are also a weakness of mine, as I mentioned earlier. My obsession is a weakness, as well. Once I get focused on something, I tend to keep a good eye on it, most of the time to a fault. I don't see it as an issue, but others clearly disagree. If not, I wouldn't be here. -chuckle- Family.. I don't have many family members left. But I do love my mother with all of my heart. I'd do anything to protect her, even go to extreme lengths to keep her safe. If you manage to get on my favored side, I can be quite handy. I'm loyal. There's no question about that. If you're on the other side of my feelings though, woe to you. I'm not religious, at all. My mother brought me to church once or twice, but it never really stuck. I belive that someone created us, and put us all on this planet for a reason. But who or what that being is, I cannot say. So therefor, I tend to disassociate myself with religious beliefs. "Romantic or brooding?" -chuckle- Well I do have my moments, if the right girl comes along. But i'll let that subject end their. As for the war.. I associate myself with darkness. Therefor, I have strong feelings that humans should be enslaved to us higher species. -shrug- But that's just my... -smirk- crazy view on life. -runs hand through hair- Shall we move on, detective?"

i would love to hear about your past, i'm sure it's oh so interesting...

The detective clears his throat and curtly, even though the convict cannot see him behind the two way mirror. He grabs the clipboard and scribbes a few notes before glancing at you. "Now all that's left is to listen to the lunatic tell us his life's story. This ought'a be fun." He pulls up two chairs in front of the window and motions for you to sit. You do sit, even though you're nerves are telling you to pace anxiously around the office. "This might take awhile. You'd better relax." Leaning into the microphone, the detective presses a button and speaks loud and clearly, "Mr. Langton, please tell why you're here, in your opinion. And your past. Include whatever you'd like, and likewise, omit what you'd like. Begin." The convicts look changes slightly to a more thoughtful one, as if he's trying to get his timeline together in his head. But then, his eyes drop to his familiar hooded, stoned appearance. His mouth twitches into the permanent smirk that usually occupies there twenty four seven. Tate knows this will be entertaining, and he tends to make it so. Taking a small, deep breath, you try to relax, but the first word that is uttered between those sensual lips of his almost makes you sweat. So far, he hasn't said anything too crazy that would force him to remain locked up, and that fact is making you uneasy. Hopefully he'd slip up during this last question, and set your mind at ease. Not likely, but you could always hope.

"This is gonna be a fun one... Are you ready to hear my whole story, detective? The past three years all boils down to this. Try not to look worried; don't let anyone know that you're desperately picking apart my words to find some shred of information to keep me in this hell hole.. Anyhow- let's continue to the question at hand. My existence. I was born on September 16th, to my mother, Michelle Langdon. She was with her boyfriend, my father Les, at the time. I don't know much about their relationship, or my father in general. All that mom has told me is that he left a few months after I was born. She said he couldn't handle the stress of having a child. They were both really young, I think they were barely out of their teen years. But anyways, she said he was killed in a car accident when I was about two. It doesn't matter much, since I never knew him to begin with. -shrug- I don't know how my mom did it. She has a nursing job, working with the elderly. But some how, she had plenty of money. Growing up, I never really questioned how we got everything we did. We lived in a huge house on the rich side of town. Just us two. Now that I think about it, though, I'm pretty sure her father- my grandpa- was helping her out with money, that's how it all worked out. When I was around thirteen, I got sick of being teased for being the rich kid. I started dressing differently. Dark clothes, messy hair. Not really giving a fuck, you know? I was always on my own, though. I was even made fun of for being different. So whether I was the rich snobby kid, or the gothic outcast, I was being made fun of. This was constant. From sixth grade up until my senior year in high school. Around that time, my mom had started dating some guy named Richard. He was a complete asshole, He was only using her for her money, and maybe for some other.. favors. -shakes head- She was madly in love with him, though. She was the one who taught me to always respect a woman, and provide for them. She taught me that they should be treated like princesses, especially when they're in love. But anyways, me and Richard always got into arguments. He liked to drink a lot, and I think he's the reason why I dislike alcohol so much. But he used to complain, yell, and mentally abuse me almost as much as the other kids in school did. There was only one safe place, deep in the forest. I would sit, alone, by a stream, and just brood over my thoughts. It was there, after one of our many arguments, that I learned of my fire taming abilities. I had a lighter, lighting small twigs on fire and dropping them to float down the stream. One thing led to another, and before I knew it, I was doing things with fire that i'd never dreamed possible. Life went on, though. I found a girl I really liked. We dated for about six months, and I really thought I loved her. She loved me, too. Everything was good, I spoiled her rotten, and we both loved it. Her mother hated me, though. She thought I was the scum of the earth, even though she only saw me a few times. She clearly didn't pay attention to the 'don't judge a book by it's cover' rule. But, for the sake of my beautiful girlfriend, I ignored it and just focused on our relationship. Everything was going amazing, I had a beautiful girl, a healthy mother, and the horrible things at home and school just faded into the norm of everyday life. Until my girlfriends mother decided that enough was enough. She put an end to our relationship, forbidding her to see me. And she listened. She betrayed everything she'd told me about loving me, and having a future with me. She stopped taking my calls, and seeing me after school. I showed up at her house a few times, but she never came to the window nor answered the door. My love for her turned into obsession, or at least, that's what the therapist called it. Her mother called the cops and had me arrested a few times, and even got a restraining order on me. That just added fuel to the fire. "Stalking" as they called it, became part of my every day ritual. I'd go and wait outside her house, and just watch her bedroom window. And hope. Hope that she'd remember what it felt like to be with me, and to love me like she claimed she did. I came home one night, and I found Richard in a drunken stupor. For the first time, he laid a hand on me, giving me a fierce hit to the face, splitting my lip open. Mom didn't say anything.. but I don't blame her. He was so friggen drunk that he probably would have beat her. I'm glad she didn't say anything to him, though. I put her safety before mine, and I'd do it again any day. But that pushed me too far over the edge. I had enough of the constant teasing. In school, assholes talked about me. Laughed, threw things at me, wrote things on the bathroom walls. Even the teachers started to dislike me because of false rumors. My ex's mother, hating me based on looks alone. My step dad who used my mom even though she worshiped the ground that he walked on, mentally and physically abused me, and gave me countless hours of grief.That's when it all went down hill. The next morning, it was a friday. I had school, but I didn't go. I went to my step fathers workplace. He was the manager of some stupid computer company. I went down there, and casually walked in. No one even glanced my way. I went into his office, opening the door slowly. He didn't even look up until I was right in front of his desk. Before he could even utter my name, I pulled the small bottle of gasoline from my jacket and dumped it over his head. With one match, I set him on fire. As he burned in his office, I turned and left the building. Just like that. I painted my face in my favorite design... a black and white skull. I slicked my hair back, and went to the school. I found every single fucker who ever made fun of me and caused me pain. Gunned them down, and showed no mercy. The best part was when I cornered the group in the library. The jock and his cheerleader girlfriend. You should have seen the expressions on their face as I looked under the table at them. The best part was when I put the bullet through her boyfriend's skull. Finally, they felt the pain i'd been feeling for the past years. I thought of keeping her alive, but then said fuck it. She never thought twice about making my life hell. I finished them all off. By that time, everyone was on the phone with the police. I thought about going to my ex's house, but I decided against it. As much as I hated her mother, and her a small bit for obeying, I still loved her with all my heart. I went home and sat on my bed, and waited. I made sure my mom was at work when I got home. I watched the bedroom door as I heard the riot squad of cops beat down my front door then make their way upstairs. It was seconds before they kicked my door down too. I had already laid out my seven guns down on the ground, in front of me. I was willing to go. They all had their guns trained on me as I slowly stood up to face them, doing as instructed. I wasn't prepared for my mom to come bursting into the room, though. Apparently she'd heard the commotion on the radio and sped home. Her embrace was so warm and loving as I stood with my hands in the air. She was crying hysterically, asking why I did what I had done. I didn't answer her, and the police approached to separate her from me. All of the cops burst forward at once, tackling me down to my bed and handcuffing me. The last thing I said to mom before they dragged me out was "I love you." And I meant it, and I still do. I can't wait to leave this place and give her a hug. It's been so long, and you don't understand how it is to only be allowed to see a loved one from the other side of a glass wall. I heard that Richard didn't die, and is just horribly disfigured now. Serves him right. I also heard that my ex girlfriend has moved on with her life. Good for her. I hope she's happy. Now, I will tell you that I regret my past decisions, and that I am a changed man. Whether I mean it or not, You'll never know. You just have my words to go on. I hope you enjoyed my life, but story time is over. I'm ready for my freedom now, detective." -sits forward and smirks-

who is the amazing mastermind behind the likes of you?

"I'm KACIE! 18 years old, from the East Coast. I've had LOADS of other charries, but right now, i'm reduced to my tatum here and beautiful Farah Nollan<3 I've been a member since like.... forever ."

[excerpt from a thread with FARAH NOLLAN.]

The horn of the car behind her had blared, and very rudely ripped Farah from her absent thoughts. Biting her lip nervously, she removed her foot from the break pedal and started at an acceptable pace down the road. She was, in no way, looking forward to going to get Trace. The guy in the car behind her was now throwing his hands up in the air and wildly yelling at her, but to that, she just smirked lightly. Seeing people freak out usually made her laugh, and right now, it was a welcome distraction. But to her dismay, the man switched lanes and sped past her, leaving her with a dirty look and a middle finger salute, which she gladly returned with a pleasant smile. The smile faded though, as she came to yet another red light. It seemed that she was hitting them all, today. Reaching down to the middle console, she pulled out her box of cigarettes and her lighter. Farah quickly lit one, gently tossed the paraphernalia back down, and leaned her arm on the window frame. Taking a drag, she rolled her eyes gently. Her over active mind was telling her that Trace was going to explode with anger the moment he saw her. That would result in either her exploding back, then leading to a huge fight, or her breaking down and crying. She gave an amused snort before lifting the cigarette back up to her lips and inhaling the sweet sensation deep into her lungs. She hated crying, and would fight from Hell and back to avoid doing so. As the light turned green a few seconds later, she realized that she'd been holding her breath for way too long.

Farah let the smoke drift out of her mouth between her slightly parted lips, loving the burning sensation that was now filling her body. Her nerves had begun to settle down, thanks to the smoking, but spiked back up once she took the turn onto his street. She cautiously pulled in front of his house, and slowly raised her hand to the steering wheel. Her fingers nervously traced the trade mark that was imprinted on the smooth black surface, before she allowed herself to apply a slight pressure to signal that she was there. She sat back in the seat, finishing her cigarette. Trace emerged from the house and approached her car just as she took the last drag and let the stub drop to the ground out her window. "Listen.. I know you're probably super pissed at me. But please, don't say anything. Not yet." Farah's words came out as one long jumbled sentence, an obvious sign that she was nervous as hell. She rolled her eyes at herself, sarcastically thanking her cigarette for it's calming effects. Putting the car back in drive, she took off, towards their destination. She hadn't told Trace where they were going, because she didn't want to give him any reason to back out of this meeting. This was an important one. "I'll explain everything. Just don't speak until I'm completely done.." After taking a few more breaths, she tried to give him a little bit more of an explanation.

After the short, silent car ride, they eventually turned off of the main road. Farah tried to ignore any confused or annoyed looks that might have been coming from his direction. As they drove, she lit another cigarette. She wasn't sure how everything was about to come out. She had prepared a whole long speech to tell him, but now that the time was actually here, she was a mess. It was a wonder that she could even drive. She took several turns, and went down a few confusing twisty roads, and every mile that they got closer to the destination, her anxiety rose. Finally, she slowed and pulled to the side of the road, along the forested edge and got out, grabbing her phone and her box of cigarettes. Going to the trunk of her car, she pulled out a small duffel bag. "I don't wanna get cold. You never know how the weather is out here." She explained with a small shrug. It was about six o'clock in the evening, and she had no idea how long this little meeting would last. Farah was always prepared. Walking towards the trees, she turned and looked back, offering up a small smile. "C'mon. I know where i'm going."

She followed one path after another, leading him deeper into the forest. After about ten minutes, it was evident where they were going. There were rocks all around. Huge rocks, with flat tops. Some were almost three times the size of her car, then others were barely big enough for one person to sit on. She led him to the biggest one and sat down in the middle of it, looking up at him with an almost child like excitement, forgetting momentarily why they were here in the first place. "It's nice to just come here and relax." Farah said, as she turned on her bum and faced away from him, dropping her bag on the rock and looking over the view. From where they were sitting, you could see perfectly over an almost valley-like area of the forest. The forest floor dropped away from them, because the rock stuck out almost like a cliff. It was like an old pond had dried up, and left an empty bowl lined with dirt and leaves. Small animals darted in and out of holes made either in the ground or between two smaller boulders. It was one of the most secluded spots on the island, and also one of the most hidden. To humans, at least. Farah closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. She had to explain to Trace who- No, what- she really was, and just hope to every god possible that he wouldn't run screaming. But for now, she'd sit. Sit and listen, and take in what he had to say about the place. "Well, I know I told you not to talk until I did. But I'm curious to hear your opinion. You like the scenery?" She asked him, a small grin twitching at the corners of her lips as she turned to look at him over her shoulder. Pulling her legs up to her chest, she wrapped her arms around them and laid her head down, keeping her deep brown eyes concentrated on him.

[ALLY]