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Post by eli daniel ackerman on Aug 19, 2010 11:36:42 GMT -5
  WAVING FROM SUCH GREAT HEIGHTS."Come down now," they'll say.
Eli's stomach had managed to hold off until the afternoon. Normally, his will-power and his hunger respected one another and formed a wonderful team, letting him pass through his kitchen, his food-filled cupboards, and his refrigerator without roaring in a needy, attention-seeking fashion. And today was no exception. The boy had foolishly woken up late. A whole two hours late, meaning the list of chores had been laid too-neatly on the counter. A neon green post-it note (ensuring Eli couldn't have missed it) had been placed upon the growing list. It held an anything-but-friendly suggestion: Get up earlier, stop being so lazy, don't stay out so late... Eli had crumped it up and thrown it away immediatly. His wicked step-father had filed enough complaints about his wife's son's behavior to know that the boy didn't give them so much as half a glance.
But today it wasn't the condescending lifestyle criticisms that annoyed him the most, the list of demands was getting to him. Eli put up with grocery shopping, he put up with getting gas (his favorite chore, as it meant he got to drive the Camaro), he put up with cleaning the house, he even put up with Dan's fastidious opinions about the time and energy consuming landscaping work as of late. For the first time (and hopefully the last time) Eli wished he had listened to Dan and gotten a summer job (even though this 'summer job' would surely carry into weekends of autumn). That way he might have gotten paid more than the penurious few bills that came his way at the end of the week. For the size of the house they lived in (and the paycheck to match) Eli considered the small sum to be extremely stingy. Was he surprised? Not at all, but regardless...
That was all beside the point. The point being, the amount of work that filled today's sheet of paper would take a large amount of time. And so he had, very reluctantly, skipped breakfast. He had lost enough time sleeping, showering, and giving the eager dog a pathetic little walk (Eli would take Duncan on his preferred late-night walks to make it up to him). And, incredibly, the boy had done everything. He had tackled the cantankerous lawn mower, mastered the stubborn sprinkler, heaved the accumulating pile of stones into place to create a perfectly manicured lawn, picked up a list of the deemed necessary items (duct tape, toothpaste, batteries, Dan's expensive and disgusting organic peanut butter) from both, yes, both the grocery store and the drug store, filled all three cars with gas, pumped every bike tire full of air, removed and replaced any sticking-out nails from the porch, painted the shutters, and was driving home (suddenly not quite comfortable in the Camaro rather than his own car) when his patient stomach erupted in a destitute roar.
Coicidentially enough, the Camaro was drifting by the string of restaurants residing in the town. There were a limited number of restaurants in Trenton, but the boy wasn't picky as of right now. Eli checked the time, taking his eyes off the road for a matter of seconds to glance at the watch hugging his wrist. Being in military time (unfortunately a setting that he had been trying to fix for two years), it took a second moment of hesitation to figure out what time it really was. He had five minutes to get home, have everything completed, and the car in the garage by the time Dan got home, the way his step-father liked it. But the drifting scent of restaurants he was inhaling distracted him. Eli's decision was made quickly: Fuck that, I need food. Flicking the turn signal, he pulled into the parking lot. Cash in his pocket was still a new concept, but he was quickly getting used to it. Now the quadri-yearly tradition of eating out was becoming a bi-monthly occurance.
Eli cut the engine, placed neatly within the boundaries of a parking lot. The slightly tinted windows and sun visor had provided protection from the sun thus far, but Eli balanced a pair of his friend's sunglasses on the bridge of his nose as he stepped out of the car. He was locking the car when he realized these borrowed shades would probably never get back to Jason in Detroit, and suffered a pang of guilt to go along with his hunger. But the hunger was overpowering, now. He needed food, and that's what he would get. Making a beeline for the front door, the boy didn't turn his head to see if any of his classmates were hanging out outside. Normally he would've halted to greet such people, friends of his, or at least acquaintances. But not today. There was no time to stop and chat, he was a hungry man! At least he had his priorities straight.
EVERYTHING LOOKS PERFECT FROM FAR AWAY."Come down now," but we'll stay.
STATUS; complete.[/size] WORDCOUNT; 812.[/size] TAGGED; open.[/size] JAMS; wrapped in piano strings -- radical face.[/size] NOTES; hooray for threadage![/size][/center] |
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Post by alphonzetta remus innes on Aug 19, 2010 13:04:26 GMT -5
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Alphie didn't eat very much very often. More than anything, her meals tended to consist of scraps and leftovers from her father's meal. She rarely cooked for herself when she cooked for him, never ordered for herself when she ordered in, and never ever sat down and ate with her father. When he was cramming food into his mouth, he grew critical. She was too skinny, her clothes were too revealing, the house was a tip, the reception on the TV was crummy, and when was she going to do the laundry? It was almost as if he'd forgotten that he had a daughter, and thought he lived alone with a maid, a skivvy, that would come in and clean up after him and see to his every whim. Sometimes, she wryly thought to herself that one day he was going to ask her to pleasure him. If that ever happened, though, she would actually move into the flat that, to all of her clients and in all legal documents, was her abode. She may be a prostitute, a dealer and a stripper, but she had her morals, her principles, her scruples. There were things that even she wouldn't stoop to, and that was one of them.
She did, however, manage to get out of her room, and ergo out of the house, without incident this early afternoon. Mainly because she climbed down the surprisingly well-maintained trellis outside her window and then peeked in the living room window to check her father's state, but that was beside the point. He was passed out, sprawled on the couch in his disgusting old clothes speckled with bits of food that had come flying out of his mouth during one of his tirades earlier in the day. Apparently, he viewed her as a slut (he'd seen one guy of the four go upstairs with her the previous night, and heard fewer) and thought that she needed to cover up, eat more, wear less makeup, and stop 'going out at all hours of the night' although he actually had no idea that she was doing any such thing. Once in a while, it seemed, he wanted to feel like a real father, so Alphie played her part, arguing back, putting on the tears that were expected of her, all the while thinking awful thoughts that one should never direct at someone you're supposed to love. Well, if you think I'm a disappointment, imagine what I think of you. Fat, lazy, drunk, and totally without a clue. Just piss off and die already, will you?
Alphie had a car. In a garage. Across town. It wouldn't take that long to walk, but by the time she got there, there was really no point - she would have walked past everywhere of interest anyway. Her car was only there for the rare occasions when anyone wanted her for the night as an escort, one of the many perks TJ offered to his regular contacts. It was good pay. Really good. Mainly, that was why she did it. Also, she did it because more often than not, it was a good place to network and canvass for suppliers and clients. Plus, she got all the free booze she could drink, despite being four years under the legal age.
Although she walked pretty slowly and was stopped a few times for various requests, some as mundane as 'do you have the time, dear?' and some as subtle as 'what time tonight, babe?' (the endearment being sarcastic, of course), it only took her twenty minutes to reach her favourite place to eat. She had a craving for donuts, although there was no particular reason for it, and she normally craved rather healthy foods. Alphie never fought with her instincts, though, because they had served her well many a time, and so she approached the counter and ordered four glazed donuts and a cup of coffee. A twenty dollar bill more than covered the cost, and a five dollar tip put her in the server's good books, and she moved with ease over to a free table. Most people now were finishing work, popping in for a coffee, or illegal carb loading before heading home to husbands, wives and kids. She was lucky to have found a table, but didn't acknowledge it, keeping her eyes on her savoury treats and bitter beverage.
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[/blockquote][/blockquote] status: complete word count: 740 date&time: 20th august, roughly 5:30pm tag: eli ackerman outfit: clickersnotes: heyyy. i'll be your stalker for the duration of your stay :3[/font][/size] |
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Post by eli daniel ackerman on Aug 19, 2010 14:06:47 GMT -5
WAVING FROM SUCH GREAT HEIGHTS."Come down now," they'll say.
Despite its slender self in the large pocket of the boy's jeans, Eli felt the vibration of his phone. Surely it was Dan, home a matter of minutes early, wondering where his car was, and wondering why the deprived, walk-less dog was being so 'obnoxious'. Eli paused with his hand on the door handle, seriously contemplating if he should tell his step father where he could go, and what he could do to himself whilst there. Though that would be a serious offense that would probably get his use-of-all-doors-to-the-house priveledges revoked for a day or two. Ignoring the call would merely make his car keys "lost" for a while the next time he made the mistake of leaving them out, and half a week later they would turn up, with Dan claiming they were places that Eli legitimately never set foot in. The attic, behind the boiler, in the spice drawer. "Maybe the dog took them there," had been his most recent excuse for the more-than-occasional loss of the keys, despite how implausible the reasoning behind that one was. Eli rolled his eyes, let the phone ring, and pulled open the door.
He saw her almost immediatly. No, not the cute cashier beaming the practiced smile awaiting to serve him. The girl sitting at a table. It was hard not to notice her, as her looks stood out from the general high school girls of the town. Stood out in a good way, that is. She had been introduced as Ali, and since their first meeting, as one could call it, Eli had found out a bit more about the girl. Alphonzetta Innes was a very peculiar person, just as her name might suggest. The girl was confusing. But confusing in the most alluring way possible. It was over instant messaging where the two had had their first conversation, and it was one that Eli had kept fresh in his memory when meeting other people who were to be his classmates at the end of the summer. From the start he knew that she was in few ways similar to the rest of the town, but conversations with everyone else made every statement all the more true.
Suddenly, he forgot about his hunger, the still-vibrating phone in his pocket, and the punishment that would be awaiting him when he got home. He quickly ordered a small coffee (it had been a tiring day, after all), leaving the once-smiling cashier girl flustered and annoyed. Eli understood her eye-rolling as she handed him the change. He knew from experience, service with a smile was hard to maintain at a bustling coffee shop, especially with businessmen and women barking orders. Orders, not requests. Attempting a small smirk of an apology received an empty smile with a glare that read 'get out of line'. She didn't have to tell him twice. Eli was off, making a beeline past all the filled tables towards the chair across from Ali. She had seemed friendly enough in her boredom, but perhaps the same attitude towards him wouldn't be transferred into real life.
"Hey, Ali," he greeted, having reached the table. Standing awkwardly, he wondered if she even remembered who he was. Thankfully, even in his distracted state, his observational skills were enough to help him out. "There aren't any open tables, do you mind if I sit with you?" He offered a sheepish grin and a friendly sort of shrug.
EVERYTHING LOOKS PERFECT FROM FAR AWAY."Come down now," but we'll stay.
STATUS; complete.[/size] WORDCOUNT; 577.[/size] TAGGED; alphonzetta.[/size] JAMS; transatlanticism -- death cab for cutie.[/size] NOTES; i sincerely apologize for this post. the next one will surely be better...[/size][/center] |
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Post by alphonzetta remus innes on Aug 19, 2010 14:58:59 GMT -5
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Coffee wasn't something Alphie drank very often. She was pretty much buzzing most of the time, and she didn't need the extra nudge towards a coronary that caffeine would have given her. She had been quite good about her habit the past couple of days, though, only getting through half of the blow she'd normally take. She just hadn't been in the mood. Perhaps it had been staying up all night talking to one Eli Ackerman on the local messaging site, distracting her enough that she hadn't even thought about taking drugs herself, although she had sold a couple of baggies through her bedroom window. She hadn't even seen the shaking of her hands, so occupied was she at trying to amuse him, typing faster despite the tremors. She hadn't slept much, though, and she felt like she needed a more legitimate buzz this time, and so she had come to place she had frequented with her mother as a child - Dunkin' Donuts. The familiarity of the colour scheme soothed her almost immediately, and she laughed at the juxtaposition.
If a place was to calm you, then shouldn't it be an opium den or a waiting room? What was the use in trying to calm people that were trying to jump-start their hearts enough that they didn't fall asleep at the dinner table, listening to how their wife had bought (yet another) something new or their child had drawn a picture that was nothing like what they said it was supposed to be. Shrugging the thought off with a mild shake of her head, she took a sip of her coffee and immediately regretted it. She knew there was a reason she had stayed away from the brew for so long. It was disgusting. It needed milk, cream, sugar, something! It was more bitter than a woman divorcing for the fourth time because her husband was cheating on her with her daughter, and that was saying something. Resisting the urge to scrape her tongue with her fingernails, or stick it out and pant like a dog, she got up, went back to the counter, and quietly asked for some cream and sugar.
Pouring in the sweetness with unusual haste, Alphie almost dropped a full unopened packet of sugar into the murky brown liquid, managing only to save it by the very tips of her fingers. Her nails, in fact. The bottom edge of the packet was damp, so she ripped it off and poured the tiny white grains in, stirring until the slight gritty resistance disappeared. Only then did she sit down again and take another sip. Better, but still not as good as she remembered it being. The last time she had had coffee, it was in a place so expensive that it went past pretentiousness and just became pure eccentricity and ego-grooming. That coffee had been heaven. Or perhaps that had been the innumerable flutes of champagne beforehand. Either way, this experience was taking a turn for the worse, and was likely to turn her off coffee altogether. Sober, she would remember this cup of java, shudder, and drink some tea.
The only thing that made it any better was the surprise visit by the very person she had been thinking about only moments before. Alphie smiled her lopsided grin, abashed that he may have seen her odd behaviour, and she shrugged and gestured to the chair on the other side of the small circular table. "Sure, feel free. Just don't sit on Bob. He's my imaginary friend. He's been sat on enough today." The sparkle in her eyes was enough to tell him that she was kidding, but there was always the chance that he'd get straight back up and walk away. She wasn't, after all, people's most popular choice of companion. Not in light, public places anyway. "How've you been anyway, Eli?" She asked, sure to use his name so he knew she hadn't forgotten.
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[/blockquote][/blockquote] status: complete word count: 670 date&time: 20th august, roughly 5:30pm tag: eli ackerman outfit: clickersnotes: it's kay. mine sucks more >_>[/font][/size] |
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