darak dwarryhouse ; frankel/zori ; white elephant

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Avalon
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last seen Oct 24, 2016 10:04:26 GMT -5

when i plant a fat ass cracker bitch i expect her to stay planted

darak dwarryhouse ; frankel/zori ; white elephant Jan 9, 2016 12:39:38 GMT -5

Post by Avalon on Jan 9, 2016 12:39:38 GMT -5

Darak Dwarryhouse
Howling began to travel around the house, followed by a sudden crash, of what I presume to be something metal. Howling, we don’t even have a dog? Trying to remember the last time I had peace in this house, would take me to the time I was in my Mother’s womb. Never has this house been quiet, or I have any little time to myself; it is impossible. The whole lot of them are psychopaths, who like to make as much noise as possible. Little bratty kids, who need a clip around the ear. They think they’re all special, they’re all far from it. I am the only one with a brain in this house.

Dragging myself out of bed, I ought to do something, seeing as there must be a lot of activity downstairs. Maybe I’ll be able to slide out of the house, without one of the snotty punks noticing me; I can’t deal with being in their presence today. I’ve been studying them all for a while now, trying to figure out why they somehow better me. All these tasks our parents throw at us, yet them lot somehow succeed in them. Then there is me, usual falling at the starting line, I can’t understand it. I am far superior, far intelligent and athletic than them, yet they always thrash me in these tasks.

Pushing my bedroom door shut, the hinges would begin to groan, sounding a painful creaking noise. Even the house has to make some sort of loud noise. Thankfully, the lumbering noise has not alarmed any of my siblings about my departure, so far I am in the safe zone; now for getting down the stairs. Silently slinking down the stairway, I could see all the commotion in the kitchen, the sound from earlier. They’re chasing each other around the counters, pans on their heads; what morons. These are the ones my parents love so much, they’re such delinquents.

Successfully, I’ve gotten down the stairs, without a bat of the eye from any of the animals. Sliding out of the door, I must’ve been spotted. ”Hey Dar…” Swiftly closing the door behind me, I’d ignore the unidentified culprit, I don’t want to converse with them. Finally, I am free, outdoors; away from the prison I call home. What was I going to now? It must be late evening; the only usual places busy during the night…are the bars.

Drinking isn’t usually my forte, but it helps relax my mind after having disruptive day (which Is every day.) Today I haven’t done anything. I’ve lived up to my name as hermit and have been busy in my room. They tease me all the time for not getting about the house, I don’t care, I don’t want to willing acknowledge any of them. Although I know I won’t be able to succeed on my own, I need my own gang of friends, if I want to get anywhere. Lately, I have been failing with my plan of gaining acquaintances but there is still time.

Shuddering at the excitement of my planned mischief, maybe I’ll be able to pick out a few from the bar. All the bad people hang around the bar. I need to make myself too big, superior, someone for people to look up too. Adrenaline coursed through my veins as the plan unfolded in my head. Pounding through my chest, I could feel my heart pulsating into my ribs. I was excited with my plan. Nothing will go wrong, I just need to stick to it and it may just play out well.

Bursting through the bar door, I could already feel the eyes setting of me as I stepped in. Smirking at the various faces, I’d walk calmly across to the bar, my chin raised. Glancing around at the various figures sat at the tables, I’d try to pick out any suitable ones. Many seemed to match my criteria. Reverting my eyes back to the bar, a menu would flash in front of my eyes. I need to pick something hard, something that will show that I can hold my alcohol. ”Your most strongest liquor please, in it’s ideal size.” Rolling off my tongue, I’d try to make out that I have a high etiquette. I can’t seem like a dim-witted poor ass.

Resting my arms on the bar, I’d place myself on the stool, while flashing a wink to the person sat to the right of me.

Darak you need a friend, anyone just anyone. Someone to support you...to help you.And most importantly drag you out of this deep pit of loneliness that you've buried yourself in.

marguerite harvard d2a (zori)
d6a georgie cham 🍓🐢 frankel

"solitaire something you consider rare"

credit to zoë

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darak dwarryhouse ; frankel/zori ; white elephant Jan 28, 2016 0:08:47 GMT -5

Post by Deleted on Jan 28, 2016 0:08:47 GMT -5

Teena Pemmican

I would say on a scale of one to ten, most people that walk into my dad’s bar fall somewhere closer to zero. Wait. Maybe that’s too mean. They would at least round up to one because that probably wouldn’t be very fair. Okay, let me start over. The people that come into our bar all kind of look like that if you smelled them, you’d get the taste in your throat. You know the feeling. Like when you walk past a pile of trash and for a second the smell is so bad you start to gag a little. Not that there’s anything wrong with having company in the bar. It makes sweeping up and cleaning a little bit easier. I get to make up the stories as to why they’re so sad. Or sometimes I like to imagine that they’re not sad at all; they’re on a secret mission to drink as much as they can before they pass out head first onto the wood of the bar.

Today isn’t much different. There’s the one that sort of has the shifty eye—you know that thing, where they look at you but you never know if they’re looking directly at you? It’s always bad because sometimes he’ll turn his head and I’ll say what? and then he furrows his brows because he wasn’t looking at me at all. And I wonder well how am I supposed to know your one eye was looking somewhere else? It’s not like my eyes look in two different directions. I’m just trying to be helpful? But he’s not quite as bad as sleepy, who sits at the end of the bar and will snore through the afternoon after my dad gives him three or four drinks. One time I stood outside the bar and you could still hear him through the glass.

Every now and again we get someone that looks like they’re in the wrong place. It happens just as I’m bending over to put some dust into the dust pan. A tall, handsome, remarkably well put together man slides right up to the side of the bar. And I think about how in that moment I’d walk up to him and tell him how amazingly handsome he is and then we’d laugh, and then he’d say Teena where have you been all of my life? And then we’d ride away on his horse which is conveniently sitting outside, but then we’d wait to get married because we should know each other first before we do that—and then the sun would set. The sun always sets when something really romantic happens.

Of course my glasses droop down on my nose and I spill some of the dust onto the floor thinking about this daydream. It’s kind of all I have here—not that it’s a bad thing. Most people don’t even have that much, so I’m pretty lucky that I can escape for bits and pieces of a time. I wonder what he must think of this place—and why he would want to drink. It’s not something that I really understand, because it doesn’t seem to do much good for the people that choose to do it. But maybe it’s just something that I have to learn to enjoy. That’s what dad says, until he gets a look at the guy face down at the end of the bar.

“Heeey.” It’s about the only word that I can get out of my lips. My dad has gone—sometimes he leaves me to tend to the regulars because it’s pretty easy to fill their orders (which are usually just a variation of ‘more’). I can feel my under arms already getting moist. Does anyone else sweat this much when they talk to someone so attractive? It has to be a natural body response, like closing your eyes when you sneeze. “Heeey.” Did I say that already? I fumble with the dust pan and move around behind the bar. “Are you here to drink something?” Smooth.

d6a georgie cham 🍓🐢 frankel
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darak dwarryhouse ; frankel/zori ; white elephant Feb 6, 2016 7:50:55 GMT -5

Post by d6a georgie cham 🍓🐢 frankel on Feb 6, 2016 7:50:55 GMT -5

Darak Dwarryhouse
Glancing around the bar, there are variations of personalities in here, why am I even here? I’ve just ordered a beverage, that could likely knock me clean out with one sip. This isn’t me; this plan wasn’t very well thought through. I should just escape now; get out before I make a fool of myself in front of these hardened faced folk. These regular drinkers whose bodies are already seventy-five percent alcohol. It doesn’t matter if I scrap my plan; I can pick it up somewhere else, find other people somewhere else…or just go home. Go home, lock myself in the room and continue with the drawl of a life that I have already set myself up for.

But I can’t just tattle out now, like a scared little child, they’ll think I am some pussy ass bitch. I am here now, I must stay put. I must stop giving up, it’s only a bar…lots of different people go to bars. lots of different people. LOTS OF PEOPLE! Shifting my eyes around the room, I can feel the eyes pulsating onto me. They’re all staring at me; I must look a yellow flower in a field full of green ones. I stand out too much…there are too many people in here.

Clasping hold of the bar, it feels as the walls are slowly confining me together as though trying to trap me for eternity. Sweat trails down my forehead, halting at my brows. This really isn’t the place for me. Socialising with people is not me. My plan was a ridiculous idea but it’s too late to throw it out now, I must run with it and see where the conclusion takes me. Maybe this liquor will help ease my paranoid mind; I am told the beverage does all sorts of things to the brain. This one time it may just do me good.

I’ve always backed out of things, I made myself who I am today…well I had an input in it, my family did most of the work. Setting those ridiculously dangerous tasks, no wonder I used to always bail out. Despite my life being as dull as dish water but I am still grateful for it, at least I am still kicking on and living. I am only seventeen years old, maybe a miracle will present itself to me in a couple of years and kick my life into the direction that I want it. Right now I am sat at the cross-roads, pondering on what way to go. Or maybe I haven’t even reached those cross-roads yet, I am probably out of bounds on the path of life. Or whoever is guiding me is telling me to take a U-turn but I can’t hear them…they must shout louder.

Watching the faces in the bar, a female would catch my eye, wearing glasses and sweeping. She must work here…yes she must work here. I have never worked a day in my life, yet I don’t see the working lifestyle to be a bad one for me. It will help me get out of the house after all and earn some cash for myself to spend.

Continuing to watch the girl, I’d swipe her straight out of my criteria; she is not the type for me. Her continuous “heeey” helps her march right out of that. Although do I even have a type? I don’t see that many girls and boys, besides my family….and well they most certainly not my type. I have never fantasised about such a thing, I know my brothers had strung together the perfect woman but I have never…

“Are you here to drink something?” Awakening from my thought, I’d look to the one who spoke…it’s the girl. Frowning at her ridiculously stupid question, I’d remove my arms from the bar, crossing them. ”No I came here for the free fucking seating…of course I am here for a drink…” Too harsh but it’s too late to catch my words now.