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Meh, just some intros for my roleplay characterrrs. |
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One more sip of coffee, and he would be out.
Just..one more.
Oh god, he couldn't. Too good. Gotta steal.
"Max, get to work! Right now!" Shrill scream from his younger sister. Okay, so he still lived with his family. Fresh out of college, what do you expect? Maxwell- Max Bridges wasn't the best teacher ever. He tried.
Zipping up his highlighter yellow sweatshirt halfway, he probably was the only teacher who dressed exactly like the students. He was twenty three and small, about five ten with the face of a nineteen year old. His students- he could never tell if they liked him or not. Honestly, Max didn't care that much either. The male ran a hand through his dark brown hair, fluffing it up once more as he shut the door, taking the coffee cup with him. Hazel eyes spotted his car from the sidewalk. Usually he pretended he wasn't related to his family. Way too odd.
"Ugly carrrr," Max whined, "start or I'll hit you with a sack." The Focus he drove shined like black glass, how could he hate it? Obvious. It made him stand out even more. Today he was garbed in a watermelon green tee shirt with said sweatshirt, and pale blue jeans that clung to his thighs and flared at his calves. Underneath were regular socks and original black converse. Stepping on the gas, Max had driven to school rather smoothly, his coffee gone even before he got to the parking lot. Blinking a little, he frowned. Way too warm today. His English class was definantly watching a movie.
"He was an 'obby' name!"
Peachy-pink tinted lips motioned in a rather annoying speed. In a mound of thick white-blonde hair, the look today was a choppy, fluffy style, twin pieces in front of his ears almost touching the feminine shoulders of Dylan Ratchford.
Dressed in a rather tight black and white striped long sleeved shirt, he stared blankly at the little figure in the mirror, clad in said shirt and a pair of lime green and blue striped shorts that ended right after his knee. They had once been light brown and ordinary until the boy bleached it twice, and got it tailored and painted on it. With a grin, bright blue and pink braces sparkled in the morning sun. In a quick pace, Dylan slipped on knee-high orange and purple socks. Tiny feet went into a pair of white K-swiss Verstad sneakers and the Hello Kitty player playing Dane Cook reruns fell onto his messy bed, along with matching pink headphones. The bubbly, boyish voice, only described as either annoying or cute, squeaked quietly
"Idea, idea!" He grabbed a highlighter yellow shirt from the floor and ran out the door of his room. Dylan hopped down the stairs and bolted outside to greet a black limo with the door open.
Big house, limo, crazy clothes. He was a rich-kid.
Slipping on the shirt, it revealed blue and green glow in the dark dolphins on the front of the boys chest. He looks absoloutly silly, but that was okay. From his height of five six, he wasn't too tiny, or too tall. Average, he guessed.
Dylan slid into the limo, the vehical itself shining like black glass. Once again fixing his fluffy helmet hair, said boy flicked away the long diagonal fringe to reveal deep, spicy green eyes. The lashes that lined the optics were naturally blonde, but today had dark, almost violet raspberry pink mascara on to make a big difference on his pale skin. Makeup was only an option to Dylan, today he had just gotten bored with his look. He touched the Naruto headband tied to his neck, smiling at the gleaming metal as a purple painted fingernail lifted it.
"Young mister Ratchford, to school?"
"Uhhhh, yeah. No. I'm Dylan-'ee! And-and-and, 'yesssireee, I'm-'a 'goin to school!" He grinned at his driver before politely closing the door, snuggling into the pleather seat. his backpack was in the seat opposite from his, a note from his father on the front pocket. 'Have a nice day', it read in his /secretaries/ handwriting. An ugly frown was pasted on his usually happy face. Being the second son of a Record Company owner wasn't as fun as it sounded like. There were the concerts and bands, but what else? Rumors, no talking in person, all cell phone. But really, it wasn't that bad. He didn't cry over it. The subject just bothered him slightly.
The school at the corner, spicy green eyes brightened, a braces-full grin forming instantly.
At least everything was right there.
Even from the start, he knew his mother wouldn't accept him. Grown from the nightclub and nine months later have a child who was born with a weak heart. She would be gone everyday, a nanny coming to the weathy house to take care of him. Who would have known that all the money would go down the drain, sending Trent to a foster home of the already poor Weber family. Growing up was hard, not being able to play video games or buy a computer. But instead he played with his new sister, made dinner when his new mother was sick.
The time came when her husband died, all the other neighbors supported them. Soon there was a donation to keep them running, and from there life was easy.
Trent woke up early that morning, scratching his head and rolling off his bed. The nest of a thick comforter and pillows looked so good right now, but he had wax in his hair and a grimy feel on his skin. He padded quietly outside of his room for the bathroom. His family- scratch that, his new family had by now known that Trent liked to sit in the tub at times, staring at the tiles and be there for hours on end.
"Oh disco, you make my body go,
Oh baby, look what you do to me."
Trent entered quietly, words flowing from his lips silently as the imaginary beat took over.
His shower was long, taking his time shampooing his hair and washing his face. Like said earlier, he woke up early, four o clock in the morning. The air was still chilled as he walked out of the room. Oblivious, he walked straight to his room and shut the door to get ready for whatever the day was going to give him. Brushing his hair, fat water droplets fell to the rug as the pink Goody brush (pink for a helping donation factor) glided across his contioner-silky hair. It curled against his pale neck, sending water down his back and into the towel. From his vanity, the mirror gave him the reflection Trent never liked to see. The reflection of someone who didn't have too many friends, but loved the ones who were close; someone who didn't go outside much, with skin lacking peach pigments; someone who looked strongly like his mother with half lidded, depressed green eyes and classical nose. Trent made a face, applying Vaseline onto his lips before getting up to his closet.
He slipped on a long sleeved white shirt, and over it a black ordinary tanktop. Both clothing pieces slung down onto his waist and crinkled, sleeves covering half of his thumb. Grabbing a random pair of pants from the floor, he slipped it on smoothly, the dark blue jeans clinging to his thighs and got wider towards his calves. His signature bomber vest was nowhere to be seen, deciding it was downstairs or lost, he never knew.
Trent yawned, staring at his air-drying hair. It was getting pretty long, the black, purple, and light brown patches of dyed hair showing pieces of his natural dark brown locks, although the new dirty blonde streaks didn't help much. At the sides it was long, down to his chin, then came out in random and jagged points at his neck. He had a side fringe, getting the idea where all the scene kids did, but he didn't bother to rethink it. He had been silent this whole time, not the one for words. Walking out, the time was already six, the sun peeking out from wherever it was. He didn't mind, the day was going well enough already.
 Krione · Wed May 02, 2007 @ 01:20pm · 1 Comments |
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