(QUINT) I hate u 4ever

cinder
Retired Staff

[M:-3652]

1,371 POSTS
last seen Jan 15, 2020 18:46:07 GMT -5

I dream of a reality where my dreams may come true - 23 y/o in 2020 logging in and laughing

(QUINT) I hate u 4ever Dec 31, 2009 19:41:22 GMT -5

Post by cinder on Dec 31, 2009 19:41:22 GMT -5

a little note: twin, I want my hostage soon, get it?

Brie Dreamer was angry. Red-hot, pounding migraine, beating hard, adrenaline-pumpingly angry. Why, you might ask? Did her little gang, the Anti-Uprising, suddenly die out because some Uprisers had gone and killed all her members? No. That wouldnt bother her as much as... it did (the members could be replaced with better looking, smarter Capitolites if such a thing as a smart Capitol-person existed. Brittany wasn't too sure about that but she could get by with just her brains and their money/bronze) She glared at a group of teenage girls decked out in the neon colors that they adored this season. Gone with the earth-tones and plant-fiber, leafy clothing. In with the obnoxious, too bright colors that Brie really did hate after spending so much time in a brightly lit, 'happy hospital,' where those same colors acted as a disguise. The designers of the hospital had believed if they made it colorful and fun looking people would forget about all the nuts and weirdos who lurked within. It hadn't fooled anybody outside or inside the walls of the too-old-to-be-active-Career guarded facility that she had spent some of her crucial teenage years at.

The peppy teenage girls walked by Brie. She had been standing next to a bench in the middle of the City Circle just shaking from anger. One of them, a young, dark-haired girl touched her arm and locked eyes with her. Mariah, a member of the Anti's. She smiled reassuringly at Brie and waved her friends away. Her smile was huge and her whole face acted as a mask to keep away the concern. Obviously the ditzy teenage girl had been working on her lying skills, although the words that poured out of her mouth were serious, she looked like she was simply telling Brittany about her new friends or a cute boy. An innocent conversation between Mariah and her older sisters friend. Brie couldn't help but respect the little girl. One day she would make a fabulous politician or gossip-column writer with all that hidden talent in the lying/back-stabbing world of the Capitol finally manifesting itself. This girl was a true winner with the right bloodlines and raw talent that took people far in life.

"Brie, dolly! Don't look so angry, its going to screw up your face. Calm yourself, stop shaking--you're scaring people," she cheerily announced in a voice just loud enough for people to hear the tone but not the exact words. "Don't bring attention to yourself. Whatever it is, just let it go, kay? I'm going to go get some ice-cream with my girlfriends but If you need somebody to talk to..." A knowing smile accompanied by a playful wink filled the sudden silence, "You know where I live." The stiletto-healed, scantily clad fifteen, maybe sixteen year old ran off and offered up some cute, cheeky excuse to her friends who all immediately perked up. They clasped each others hands and ran off giggling.

Hatred for the silly little girls filled her very being, but none of those bad, bad, bad and ever so strong emotions showed on the womans face now. She herself was an expert at lying. Years and years of social games (and some time trying to fool her therapist at the happy hospital by repeating the mantra 'I am okay. I am happy') had honed her skills in that department. It was so annoying being the only person upset in a world filled with brain-dead, wannabe famous boys and girls with not a trouble in the world. They didn't understand anything that was going on behind closed doors, nor did they care. It was all about buying clothes until you had to go home because the bags were so very heavy, and eating until you puked it all up and started a second to eight course of the meal.

What Brie really hated more than everybody else, was herself. She was no dark hero or villain by nature. She was a cute girl, a teen when she started getting into such heavy stuff. Why had she assumed t he responsibility of creating a new political world and taking all the power from the current, god-awful President. There was the obvious answer which was everybody else is too stupid to do it, so why don't I do it myself, but politicians were clever. They knew things and some were even brilliant masterminds, so why did Brie need to be the best of them all? Why did she force herself to join and later betray the Uprisers. She was in too deep, there was no getting away from her problems now, but why had she started all of this in the first place.

Power. Excitement. Nobody likes a boring life, but there were the Hunger Games and lavish parties to attend. Nothing was enough for Miss Dreamer who always had her head in the clouds and couldn't bear to live in a world she hadn't impacted to the greatest extent. Utopia was always just out of reach and although she hated to admit it, Brie didn't think shed ever be happy during her human life. There would always be another obstacle in her way and it was no fun destroying said obstacle. Why even bother if Brittany was sure she had a life of desperation and depression ahead of her, so much anger and sadness.

It was a good question, but not one to contemplate while sitting stupefied on a lonely bench. Already people had noticed the pretty girl sitting by herself and staring at the ground. It was the middle of the day. Mariah was right, she was drawing attention to herself. Finally Brie got up, daring anybody to meet her emerald green eyes, just because she was going to act nice and normal didn't mean she wanted anybody coming over to her to talk. That would lead to bad questions like are you okay, and what was that about. The leader of the Anti-Uprising could not risk such things, she hurriedly walked away, the only sign of her lingering anger shown only in the rigidness of her back and the fists that were her hands.

After all, her favorite shoe designer had just closed up shop and that made Brie very, very angry.

ooc- if you didnt get it shes ticked off because her favorite shoe designer has stopped designing ^^ thats why her mood is black.

Arcadia, Illiana, Kade, Thea, Jezebel, Cassedy, Marina, Ronan, Karina

Quint
Retired Staff

[M:4320]

658 POSTS
last seen Aug 7, 2014 15:08:30 GMT -5

q u i n t

(QUINT) I hate u 4ever Jan 8, 2010 20:02:46 GMT -5

Post by Quint on Jan 8, 2010 20:02:46 GMT -5

Malcolm got out of bed. That’s about as simple as one could say it. But if one had included the fact that he opened his crusty eyes, sighed, glanced at the nude woman lying asleep beside him, and stumbled out of bed, along with crashing into the bedroom wall. Then, only then, would the moment be completely evaluated and presented. He dragged himself over to his desk, where the bottle of kill devil stood where he had left it last night. He had hardly remembered anything from the previous night. Only the few intoxicated moments where he had consumed more than enough scotch and where the woman had practically “attacked” him.

He closed his eyes, stretching out his limbs. “Had a good enough time?” No, it wasn’t the girl. In fact, if one were there at the moment, depending on the type of person and whether they had enough respect for themselves or women in general, they’d either be staring at the undressed woman on the bed or wondering why Malcolm Chamberlain was responding to a conversation that didn’t seem to be taking place between anyone.

“Yes, I suppose so. Though I could say I’ve had better,” Malcolm said, examining the bottle. He threw himself down onto his chair. It’s leather was absolutely wonderful. Imported from Italy. He had decency to take what the workers in the Districts brought him.

“Better women?” the voice questioned.

“No, you idiot. Kill devil. I could’ve had more spice. Not strong enough for me. It was absolutely putrid. Or at least to what I remember.”

“No, no. It was quite delicious. I believe you should compliment Richards. He prepared it in your honor in fact.”

“Graves, just shut up will you? He prepares everything in my honor.”

“Well, I was just saying. You should take sometime to actually compliment him instead of always snogging with every girlfriend that you can maintain for more than a week.” Dayle Graves got out of bed. While the girl was sleeping, he leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. No, she hadn’t felt it. And no, not because she was sleeping, but because Dayle, in reality, or at least in anyone other than Malcolm’s eyes, he didn’t exist. A coexisting alter ego, really.

“Enough Graves. I’m absolutely positive and completely sure that Jenny....Janice....” Malcolm paused between the names, still trying to recall the girl’s name.

“Alice,” Graves corrected. “Seriously, you’ve really got to start appreciating this girls. You don’t even care. And what do you know? You care more about your furniture than these poor girls. For God’s sake, Malcolm, you even import them from other countries.”

“Look,” Malcolm said, still not as sober as he should’ve been. “This girl...Marion....”

“Alice,” Graves corrected again.

“Okay. This girl, Alice will leave Panem satisfied and after leaving my party, she’ll be happy to tell all her friends in....Italy?”

“France.”

“Ah, France....France? I really could’ve sworn it was Ital---”

“Damn it Malcolm. You’re too drunk to even remember the poor b**ch you slept with or even where you bought her from.”

“Well, look it at here, Graves. I have a valid explanation. I...I?”

“Just shut up. Shut up, Malcolm. You’ve got to pull yourself together. Go find your brother. Talk to him. You haven’t seen him in more than a decade.”

“I don’t give a crap about that fool. Damn his eyes.”

“You listen to him every day on the radio.”

“Shut the hell up.”

And with that, Malcolm gagged and ran over to his bed room window, where he aggressively vomited downward and out of the window. Ironically, it was just about to fall onto the head of what appeared to be a very, very angry girl. A girl known, but not yet to Malcolm, as a Miss Brie Dreamer.

[/center][/size][/size]

Last Edit: Jan 8, 2010 20:03:22 GMT -5 by Quint

When you look into an abyss, the abyss also looks into you.

[/size][/i]

cinder
Retired Staff

[M:-3652]

1,371 POSTS
last seen Jan 15, 2020 18:46:07 GMT -5

I dream of a reality where my dreams may come true - 23 y/o in 2020 logging in and laughing

(QUINT) I hate u 4ever Jan 8, 2010 23:42:41 GMT -5

Post by cinder on Jan 8, 2010 23:42:41 GMT -5

ooc- I stick my thumb out at you Quint, I swear I do. Possibly I suck my thumb at you ^^ Whatever that ancient Shakespeare insult is. 'The Ye Olde Birde'

Anyways.

Shoes, so many four inch or higher, studded, leather, silky, strappy, bulky, boot-cut, sandal shoes floated through her mind. There was the Italian leather pair she had, with the red heels and the silver studs adorning them. They had been beautiful, simply a masterpiece of Rozalinda's latest line. There would never be another design by Rozcui & Li. So wrapped up in her own misery was she, that Brie, nicknamed Dreamer, for her day-dreaming tendencies, did not notice the man above throw open his window. And hurl.

It happened every now and then, a drunk Capitol citizen would decide it would be funny to vomit on a person below. For awhile it had been a sort of sport, how fast and heavy the puke was--how angry the targeted person got, and how many times they cursed were all parts of the elaborate game. Matter of fact during these times of vomit-mania, it had become rather fashionable to wear rain-coats over your clothing so that none of it got ruined. Brie herself had been fourteen when she was first hit, and luckily had been wearing a transparent, hooded cloak when the stuff came crashing down. That had been the first time she'd ever flipped somebody off. Brie darling, you just give them the bird, her old friend Calliope had exclaimed as soon as she realized puking out windows was the latest trend. If anybody sees you, they'll think you're brave enough to stand up to the hooligan, but not mad enough to physically come after them. Anybody would be angry, but not everybody has the self-restrain to hold back. It would be the perfect response! You would be idolized by anybody watching for being so classy even though your dad was... hesitation. Well you know what I mean, Dreamy!

The sound of a retching man did not register until the vile stuff was about to come crashing down on her. But she was trained, she had learned to fight when she had been locked up in the District hospital where so many nasty, nasty men had resided--waiting for a morsel like herself to walk down a lonely hall all alone at night. If she had screamed there nobody would have come--it was a torture chamber after all; crying for your momma was a common nightly event that guards and doctors were wary of, but not exactly perturbed by. They would simply close their office door if the screaming started to get annoying. There, Brie had learned to react then think. It wasn't a dainty sport played for fun, you did not have time to hesitate, thinking was not involved.

It was all about your instincts.

Hers were honed, her fighting skills and finely tuned senses making it possible for Brie to dodge, she through herself toward the side of a building, pushing off with shoes that Rozalinda had designed. They were boots, basic and black, but so useful and beautiful. Brie had placed the tip of her stiletto heal to a few peoples heads and threatened to drill through unless they ___. She loved them dearly, more than she could ever love a human man, at least. It splattered against the ground a few feet away from a bruised, scraped woman who felt the forces of darkness swirling around her, anger building up inside that pretty, shapely body of hers.

Her lip curled up in a ferocious snarl, a battle cry emitted from somewhere deep inside her. It was lucky that nobody else was around except for the hurling man and herself. If anybody Brie knew, if anybody who had ever even seen her, saw this, they would be in for a surprise. She did not cuss him out, the words wouldn't make much sense to somebody who had just barfed so much and was obviously hung over. Maybe if she had been closer to him, Brittany would have screamed and stomped her foot--gotten the guy to whimper from the major migraine she would cause, but no, no, no. She had a better idea--something better than giving him the bird, or yelling, or anything else violent.

She was going to just walk away so that nobody would get hurt. Brie placed one foot in front of the other, wincing at her ankle-pain. These shoes were not made for dodging. The twenty-something year old looked down at her throbbing foot to inspect the wound, see if her shoe looked scuffed up. She screamed. Her Rozalinda designed shoes, her precious, baby heels had hurl drops on them.

She did not even realize what was going on until the sound of fists pounding on a door reached her ears. She had not stopped when she entered the building, she didn't know if she had broken in or simply walked through the door. Heck, Brittany didn't know if this was a house or apartment. All she knew was that in a few seconds a dumb drunk was going to have a mean Brie to deal with.

ooc- well uh, Brie certainly disturbs/scares me a lot -points at cowardly self-. Id hate to be you right now Quint because she wnats revenge against all of Malcolms affiliates too. You included ^^

Arcadia, Illiana, Kade, Thea, Jezebel, Cassedy, Marina, Ronan, Karina

Quint
Retired Staff

[M:4320]

658 POSTS
last seen Aug 7, 2014 15:08:30 GMT -5

q u i n t

(QUINT) I hate u 4ever Jan 9, 2010 22:01:51 GMT -5

Post by Quint on Jan 9, 2010 22:01:51 GMT -5

He hadn't cared enough to look at the scenes outside the window. But it wasn't until he heard the bombastic pounding at the door that he was surprised. He turned to Graves, still delicately relaxed in his chair. Malcolm raised his eyebrows at the alter ego, thinking that perhaps that the non existing mason would provide a good enough answer.

"What do I do?"

"Go answer it, you imbecile."

"No, you go answer it," Malcolm snarled.

"I don't exist, remember? She can't see me!" hissed Graves. Malcolm sighed and rushed forth to throw on his clothes. Adjusting his tie, he lifted his neck, staring into the ceiling.

"Here. Make yourself useful, will you?" He handed Graves the end of the tie. "I can't seem to figure out to adjust his wretched thing."

The ego stood up, laughing, and snatching away the tie, he quickly began to place the knots, finishing off the last piece of clothing taking part in Malcolm's attire the current evening. Malcolm went forth, and was about to go down the flight of stairs to the door when he stopped.

"Well, aren't you coming?" he said, remarking Graves, who stood still in his chair.

"No, I'll just stay here. Keep Alice company." He delightfully sighed and threw himself on the bed. He turned and stroke the girl's cheek.

"Ugh. You disgust me."

Malcolm ran down the stairs, nearly jumping down the 3 flights. His mansion, though it didn't appear so, rather looked like several little apartments stacked up and aside each other. Though those, as the passerby, wouldn't notice, perhaps mistaking it for an opportunity to find a better home. There were even times where people had knocked at his door, asking if there was vacancy in the "apartments". Until which he had to explain that these weren't apartments, but rather his own home. His mansion.

He threw open the door, realizing that he still had not managed to groom his natural bed head. He sighed and said as followed. "Yes?"

When you look into an abyss, the abyss also looks into you.

[/size][/i]

cinder
Retired Staff

[M:-3652]

1,371 POSTS
last seen Jan 15, 2020 18:46:07 GMT -5

I dream of a reality where my dreams may come true - 23 y/o in 2020 logging in and laughing

(QUINT) I hate u 4ever Jan 13, 2010 22:26:23 GMT -5

Post by cinder on Jan 13, 2010 22:26:23 GMT -5

Her heart still beat wildly, her breath hissed out of slightly parted lips curled up in a feral snarl. There was no room in her brain for anything but anger, yet already she found a cooler, more calculated part of herself taking control. And plotting.

Several plans of action ran through her head as she waited. And waited. How long does it take one stupid, gagging drunk to make it down a flight of stairs or two? Her infuriated mind asked through the red fog t hat had overcome her. Brie's very being quivered as she waited for her moment to... to... Once again the question of what exact crime she was about to commit ran through her head.

Murder was too risky although Brittany Dreamer was certainly murderous at the moment. Getting thrown into jail, or rather secretly killed by a government agent in a manner that would make it appear as though she had killed herself, didn't seem like much fun. If the guy she went after was rich or famous then that was the fate the awaited her. Even in a fit of madness Brie would not dare to invoke the ancient oath all shoe-loving girls made at one point in their life. The shoes matter more than men. The shoes must be protected--your size might run out when it comes to shoes, but a man is one of many. They never run out so choose the shoe over the man. That little mantra still did not excuse murder. Well maybe it did considering these were her precious, precious ones, but if she were thrown in a cell/picked off, the Anti's would be left to that District man. Her Second in Command, Saxiphone Loopy, or Saxifrage Lupin. Whatever his name was.

So murder was not an option--what else did that leave. Yelling, beating up, and spreading vicious rumors about... That would all have to do. Brie could always claim that it had been self-defense against a drunk man trying to take advantage of her. There would be holes in her little plan, like the fact that most Capitol girls could not throw a man across a room, and how on Earth had Brittany developed the muscle to do so, but that could be worked out in time. Her father might have been an Avox but her mother was a dainty, stupid woman. The Capitol adored her type and would hate to invoke any anger-related emotions in a lady like the original Dreamer woman.

"To Hell with it, Ill go on a whim..." she muttered through clenched teeth. Enough of this uber-boring murder-excluding planning. Brie was infuriated and this guy deserved to pay. She drew back as finally a skinny, pale, gaunt dude opened the door with an utterly cheerful, peppy, bright 'Yes.' As though he hadn't just unknowingly picked a fight with one of the most powerful non-Capitol government women of this city.

Her green eyes glowed with malevolence. She grasped at stray thoughts, trying to come up with something menacing/witty to say to this guy, but her mind was too busy plotting sinful revenge. She clenched her right hand into a fist and drew her left hand back, preparing to slap him across the face. The small part of her mind that was coherent sighed and chastised her. Why couldn't she keep the violence for the Uprising? It was simply in Brie's nature to use her physical strength rather than mental prowess.

ooc- ugh. I feel like that was a cheap copy of my last post but Brie hasn't done anything new since then.

Arcadia, Illiana, Kade, Thea, Jezebel, Cassedy, Marina, Ronan, Karina

Quint
Retired Staff

[M:4320]

658 POSTS
last seen Aug 7, 2014 15:08:30 GMT -5

q u i n t

(QUINT) I hate u 4ever Feb 14, 2010 23:15:42 GMT -5

Post by Quint on Feb 14, 2010 23:15:42 GMT -5

Malcolm l Graves

What appeared to be a very angry girl stood at his door step. A very, very angry girl. Malcolm looked down from the plain awkwardness of the moment, then noticing the micro drops of vomit stained on her shoes. "Oh jeez..." He rolled his eyes and scratched his head, like a primitive ape. "You know...I could pay you if you like? I'll buy you new shoes; whatever you want?"

He slipped out his wallet, but it was then, oh what a horrible moment, that he vomited, spewing waste all over her shoes. Malcolm quickly wiped his mouth, his eyes wide open with horror. "Oh sh**..." And with those words, he shut the door, quickly bolting the door, and commencing his flight up the stairs.

Meanwhile, Graves sat there, laughing at the poor man. "You're a dead man, Malco---"

"Shut up, Graves," Malcolm hissed while sprinting up the staircase. "Oh god..." he sighed while upstairs. "That woman is going to kill me. As if she didn't look infuriated enough at the door way." Yes, yes it was true. Malcolm Chamberlain, respective heir to the Chamberlain Fortune, one of the richest men in all of Panem, and the famous throughout all the Capitol, was a coward. And a dead man.

[/size]

When you look into an abyss, the abyss also looks into you.

[/size][/i]

cinder
Retired Staff

[M:-3652]

1,371 POSTS
last seen Jan 15, 2020 18:46:07 GMT -5

I dream of a reality where my dreams may come true - 23 y/o in 2020 logging in and laughing

(QUINT) I hate u 4ever Feb 15, 2010 17:43:41 GMT -5

Post by cinder on Feb 15, 2010 17:43:41 GMT -5

He had closed the door and left her standing there with a present. More vomit. Her shoes were ruined. She pulled them off, her disgust greater than her need for revenge at that moment. Brie let them hit the floor and finally started to think in that calculated, menacing way she had been wanting to. She padded over to one of the windows in her socks, minding the throw-up, and touched it. Something about the size of this guys pad alluded to his wealth, and wealthy people almost always had shatter proof windows.

She looked at the front of the mansion. Taking in its beauty as she also planned a route. Up the wall. She could climb well enough, and that man was really, truly dead now. She walked back over to her shoes and grabbed them carefully. A cruel smile lit up her face as she walked over to the other side of the street and judged the distance from there to the window. Her upper-body strength was going to be tested now. Brie was confident she could throw the shoes into the house, using that same window Mr. Richie Rich had used to vomit out of.

She aimed, and finally propelled the right-foot shoe into the air, marveling at it as it sailed through the air and hit the wall a few inches away from the window. It fell to the ground and Brie tried not to scream as she heard the sickening snap of something breaking. She focused on throwing then ext shoe over a little to the left. She tried not to laugh as the shoe actually flew into the mans house, and instead focused on waiting and watching for the hungover loser to appear at the window. God I hope he doesn't hurl again. I left my bag at his front door and if he gets that wet I swear Ill actually blow my cover and call one of those assassin-esk groupies that make up my wonderful Anti-Group to take care of this vulgar excuse for a human being. Or maybe Ill just break the heel off of my shoe and drive it through his brain myself. That might be a bit more fun and take a heck of a lot less time...

Arcadia, Illiana, Kade, Thea, Jezebel, Cassedy, Marina, Ronan, Karina