[size10 [b He] was nothing but trouble, a boy brewing with anger at the world. his life was spent bouncing from different juvie centers, to jail, and barely escaping prison. now after finishing an 8 month stint, he's back in town and [i trying] to make good on his promise he was done with crime.
[b She] left the old town of Utica as soon as she graduated from highschool, tired of having to take care of her 3 siblings while her mom barely managed to balance 3 jobs. Now that he mom is sick, she's decided to come back and help her siblings who resented the girl who thought she was much bigger than the town.
[b Two] old old friends, that split that summer before highschool, now both in the same town. They swore never to talk about what happened that summer. Him beating Nelson up so bad the boy ended up in a wheelchair. Now facing each other, can they manage to escape the feelings they once held?]
-so, yeah it's a pretty loose plot. we can brainstorm a little on small details from their past just refrain from obviously godmodding
-doesnt matter how much you write, just give me [i something] to work with and please dont write more than you have to, i get [s bored] easily
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Daxton and his father shared a lot of the same facial features. His father had aged well, a handsome man hazel eyes that shined like honey. His hair was thick and greying, slicked back in the same style he'd worn for years. He could pass for a bit younger, but the fine lines at the corner of his eyes told his age. Thick calloused hands from days of working at the auto shop gripped the leather steering wheel.
"You getting in?" The man suggested, a mumble almost. He didn't sound happy or upset, there was no emotion in his voice if anything. That was their relationship, strained and confusing - no brightness, just a thin line of connection. He hadn't realized he'd been standing there that long, finally lugging the door open. It creaked, and he felt the car sink some when inside.
"Thanks." He quickly averted his eyes, staring out the window as the man drove off. It was a silent ride for the most part, music playing to fill up space. His dad still favored country music. They used to fight about that. They fought about everything damn near. He was trouble. His father hated constantly having to pick him up from the Principal's office, all those late night phone calls to bail him out of jail - having to get him a lawyer. For most part he had to deal with Daxton's problems just as much. He shuddered at the memory of summer. That'd put him in some hot shit.
He was glad to hear that they'd moved, make his dad's life somewhat easier. The music had been turned down now and he realized his father was talking to him. He listened with half an ear; he was going on about rules. He'd be working with his father at the shop 'no living for free'. He had a curfew, in by 11.
"11?" he challenged, his voice louder than before, but left it at that just by the look his father gave him. No fighting, keeping his hands out of people's pockets, and partying was an absolute no. While he didn't like it, Daxton knew this is what he'd have to deal with until he'd made enough to leave. He was on probation though, it'd be a while before he could even surpass past his town. Permission. Everything required permission.
Eventually they pulled up the road that led to his family home. If anything, his dad made sure to maintain it. It was beautiful, two story home with rich brown paneling. The grass healthy and green and the street from his childhood still stood tall, the tire swing sturdily hanging from a thick branch. The two got out of the car and began toward the house before heading inside.
"Here," his dad mentioned, shoving a pair of keys into his hand. One of them looked familiar.
"I can't drive you around like a chauffeur," he grumbled. "House key and your car's in the garage.
"Dad," Daxton started, "Thanks." His father had already started up the stairs, already trying to get away from him before stopping and looking over his shoulder.
"Don't mention it." Gripping his keys tight Daxton looked around the house. The wood floors clean and polished and family photos hanging on the walls. He heaved a sigh, he needed a drink.
Walking out the door, he made sure to lock up. He looked up at the sky, in between a purple and orange. It was cooler now, not as hot as earlier. It was a long ride from the prison into town. He figured Mike's bar was still open. It was a staple in town. Heading toward the garage he pulled up the door. He could already see the outline of the black Camaro underneath the grey tarp. A proud car man, he doubted his father didn't make sure it stayed in prime condition. He'd even patched up the holes from the bullets shot at him. He hopped in the front seat, running his hand over the steering wheel. A smile stretched across his face, now this felt good. The air inside was a bit stale, but he got used to it. After toying with the radio some, he eventually landed on a rock station and pulled out.
The bar was easy enough to find, Daxton had no trouble navigating the streets of Utica. He'd parked on the street, running his hands over his arms. It was a little chilly, but a shot or two would warm him up. Music and conversation spilled from the inside. He followed the noise, into the dim lit bar filled with locals, some he could recognize immediately.
"Well I'll be, son of a bitch!" He'd heard Mike's loud voice bellow. Strutting over Daxton gave the man a smirk, pushing his hair back before giving him a solid handshake. Daxton was nowhere near as strong as Mike, his arms were well toned though, thin underlying of muscle and his shoulders broad. He'd never lost in a fight, anger only making him stronger.
"Mike," he chuckled out. "How you been?"
"Good good, how's life on the outside?"
"Never better, can't think of going back." Daxton mentally shuddered at that thought.
"Yeah I bet. I got new windows too, so don't you even think about getting into anything."
"What'll you have, on me - a little welcome home drink" He knew he'd have to run up a tab, seeing how he only had that twenty-three dollars to his name. He'd have to see what he still had in the bank.
"Double shot of Jameson." His eyes scoured over the familiar bar, landing on the clock. It was a little after seven. [ Elven o'clock]. Mike placed down the glass of amber brown liquid. His first drink in months. He looked at the girl next to him, she looked familiar. "Anyone sitting here?" He motioned toward the stool next to her. Thinking he saw a shake of hair he took the seat and greedily tossed the drink back. He coughed some, the burn intense as the liquid coursed through.
"Oh, don't tell me you don't know who this is?" Mike mentioned, raising his brow with a smirk. Just another look was all it took. "Simone?" Daxton inquired. She'd grown up, definitely not the sweet seventeen girl he knew. She'd lived just across the street from him. He knew with the tattoos and long hair he definitely didn't resemble his younger self. "Wow," was all he could say staring at her. What'd come of her?
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[center [Quicksand [size13 Simone sat quietly on the train, as people quietly chattered around her. Her head rested on the window with her headphones in; listening to a song from Florence and the Machine. She was headed home to Utica, not by choice but rather a sense of duty. Her mother had grown sick since the last time she'd been in the quiet town, and while she was sure her family would rather someone else come to take care of everything, with her father long gone the responsibility fell onto her shoulders.
Simone had been studying journalism in Chicago when she got the call. Her mother had cancer, and the outlook wasn't so good. Her three younger siblings weren't quiet old enough to take care of themselves, and her mother begged her to come back, just until something more permanent could be put into place. Reluctantly Simone agreed to take a year off and come help her mother, but not without the push back her siblings had for her though. They believed she abandoned them for better things, and perhaps in a small way she had.
The train screeched to a halt in the little town, and Simone sighed and collected her things. Even if she was unwelcome she would make the best of it all here. What other choice did she have, she was leaving her life behind to return to her old one.
[left [pic https://imgur.com/7xcz2Jo.png]]
There was no one to pick her up from the station, so she needed to find her own way home. However first, after a long trip, she needed a drink. It was after six pm, so why not. She would be going into a warzone of insults when she got home to her family, and she might as well be drunk enough to deal with it.
Simone haled a taxi, [b [#8a79f6 "Mikes Bar please."]] She said as she climbed in.
[b "Sure thing miss."] He replied putting her luggage into the back of the cab. He smiled at her. [b "Just visiting, Miss?"]
[b [#8a79f6 "My mother is sick, so I'm just here taking care of a few things."]] Simone sighed and buckled in, before opting to put her headphones back in, not really feeling up to sharing her life story with a cabby.
The cab ride went on in silence, for the few minutes she was in there. Her mind occupied by all the work she was going to have to do, and the exhaustion that was already hitting her. Simone was grateful that the cab ride was only ten minutes before they pulled out in front of the bar. [b "Here we are, that will be fifteen dollars and thirty cents."] Simone reached into her purse and pulled out a twenty for him, [b [#8a79f6 "Keep the change."]] She said and jumped out to grab her things.
The bar didn't look busy, which was nice. It meant that it would be decently quiet in there aside from the music. She dragged her things inside and sat up at the bar. [b [#8a79f6 "I'll have a Long Island please."]] She said sweetly, leaning onto the counter.
[b "Simone O'Farley, is that really you? I havent seen you since you were what? Twenty-one?"] The bartender said loudly with a smile.
[b [#8a79f6 "Yes it's me. How are you Mikey."]] Simone answered, feeling a little embarrassed.
[b "Wow, wow. Things have been good. Business as usual."] Mike shrugged as he poured her drink and slid it across to her. [b "Here ya are. I heard about you mom, I'm sorry.]
[b [#8a79f6 "Thanks Mike, I appreciate that."]] She said softly as she leaned on the bar, sipping at her drink.
Daxton impatiently tapped his fingers on the counter, watching through thick black bars as the short heavy-set woman rifled for his belongings. He sighed in relief, the last time he would see bars like this if he could help it. His time at the Utica prison was, well it was shit. It did him good to play the good guy or else he would've had to complete his full two year sentence.
"Emery," the officer barked. His eyes lifted from the chipped grey counter. Dark brown eyes looked briefly over a nametag that read 'Jefferson' before meeting her gaze.
"Twenty-three dollars in cash, brown leather wallet, gold chain . . ." He willed the woman to read his belongings off quicker, was satisfied when he lazily scribbled his signature on the form, tugging the bag through the thin slit. "Restroom to your right, when you're finished we'll buzz you through. Got it?"
"Got it," he'd mumbled under his breath. With his free hand he pushed into the bathroom, locking the door behind him, wincing at the bright white lights that shined against the too white sink and floors. The inmates' bathrooms didn't look like this. "Damn," he whispered, a small smirk tugging at his lips as Daxton found his reflection in the mirror. It'd been a while since he saw himself in a mirror, only catching sight of himself briefly when he'd gone to the infirmary. His first few months here weren't exactly. . . confrontation free. He almost didn't recognize the man in the mirror, now twenty-six as of two months ago, his hair hung awkwardly in his face, still short on the sides from a recent cut but the front way too long. He'd shoved calloused hands through the stringy mess, willing it to stay put.
"You okay in there?" The familiar voice through the door brought him back to reality. Right, a minute ago he couldn't wait to get the hell out of here, why was he stalling in front of a mirror?
"Uh - uh yeah, 'm almost through." Daxton cleared his voice, even the slow southern drawl in his voice sounded foreign outside those concrete walls. Daxton began to strip, his body riddled with tattoos, most he'd gotten from nights of binge drinking and partying at night. He'd only one that mattered, his mother's name swopping against the side of his neck. Cancer. What a bitch. His white shirt he'd been wearing when he was booked smelled a bit stale, but nonetheless it was clean. Removing the rest of the jumpsuit, he shrugged on a pair of black jeans, disappointed he'd lost some weight as they barely held on to his hips. Stuffing his feet into a pair of ratty of black Converse, he shoved the contents from the plastic bag into his pockets, took a deep breath and walked out. Finally, a free man.
[center [b _]]
He'd been standing outside in the hot sun for nearly an hour when he'd heard a rattling coming from across the parking lot. Thick clouds of smelly smoke trailed behind the beat up rusted blue pickup truck. It'd been months since he saw his dad, the man who had made fewer trips to visit him. He'd only recently started answering his calls; that was the term of his release. He had to live with his father, a man he hated, was now once again responsible for Daxton.
Heaving a sigh, he watched as the truck came to a stop. Here to being kind of a [i free] man.
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