` find ( your ) way (o)

[damien]

People who didn't know Damien would say that he thinks he's all that and a leather jacket, that he thinks he's a badass that is six feet, three inches and weighs a mere hundred fifty or something of the sort. Had he actually cared or wondered what people thought about him, he would have realized that they would have thought he's a self-centered, arrogant and manipulative prat who enjoyed picking on others to make him feel better. While most of the assumptions were right, he didn't pick on others to feel better, he didn't need to. The world was filled with bumbling idiots- while out of six billion people in the world, he had yet to meet someone with some sort of comprehension of the world 'common sense'. He wasn't bullying anyone, he was only telling them what's wrong with them. While most people whispered it behind their backs, he said it straight out- and he's the jerk for doing it. He never had anything to be jealous of- therefore he didn't need to feel better about himself. It was true that part of his sociopathic tendencies may had rooted from the fact that he hated other people for having things he didn't, he was now old enough to be a man and control his own life, and while others remain upset and wished for something more, he didn't. All those others who crumbled under his words weren't going to get any remorse from him. He'll pick a fight with anyone with pleasure- having more bruises and fights then he could count.

But all those things were, to him, options for him to use for defense. His antisocial behavior meant that when someone wanted to sit there and pretend to play hero, or walk beside him to make him open up to them as if they actually convinced themselves that he cared earned them a laugh or two from him. Naturally, they were all for the wrong reasons but it didn't matter, the point was that he only attacked because he didn't want people near him. They always had the urge to slide up and try to read him like he was some sort of check out from a library. Morons. It may not help that he often went out to a club looking like he did- but it wasn't his problem if they picked the wrong person to talk to. But now there really shouldn't be an excuse for something to bother him, he didn't head out to the little pretty Smithsonian park for an intervention.

Stuffing his hands into his pocket, he leisurely took a step forward, his eyes leveled to the horizon in front of him as he walked, his black boots scraping the concrete of the worn sidewalk with slow drags of his long legs as he moved. He dipped his head back, his teased hair and feather earring dropping behind his shoulders as the wind toyed with it relentlessly, tugging at the scarf he was wearing around his neck impatiently. His icy blue eyes slid over the empty, star-dabbled sky over to the partially hidden crescent moon- it's too weak to be really seen but strong enough to break through the rolling clouds that was being blown in from the east. Overall, compared to every other day he was experiencing in Forks, it was fairly a nice Saturday night. He grunted at the thought and looked ahead again, absently listening to hear if anyone was coming.

His hands slid out of his pocket with a cigarette box. Thin fingers quickly flipped open the top, taking one along with the lighter that was inside before he lit it up. Dropping the Zippo back into the cheap Marlbolo paper case, he placed it into his jacket pocket before he took a slow drag of the stick. He was trying to quit, he even brought the patches to help him, however coming from someone who had, not for once, resisted temptation, he couldn't help himself- it didn't last long. Breathing out the smoke from his slightly parted lips, he continued to walk down the trail, nearing the end despite the fact that he had only walked for a little over half an hour. The cicada's songs were the only thing he could hear as he stared ahead, idly wondering what time it was and if he should head back to his car.

WORDS:734 TAGGED:OPEN NOTES:FU MUSE!THE HEADER IS THE SEX ICON ANDY BIERSACK ALONG WITH BVB LYRICS,AND THE PURE UNADULTERATED FUNK THAT MADE THIS TEMPLATE IS YOURS TRULY. STEAL MY SHIT OR LEAVE OUT THE CREDIT WILL RESULT IN ME COMING AFTER YOU AND CUTTING OFF YOUR PRETTIES WITH A BUTTER KNIFE.

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[sloan]

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background: url(http://img43.imageshack.us/img43/6352/2634830zf2w0o9y.jpg); border: 1px inset #858585, bTable][atrb=style, width: 500px, bTable] [atrb=style, padding: 10px 50px 10px 200px; color: #858585; font-family: Times New Roman; word-spacing: 1px; text-align: justify; background: url(http://i1088.photobucket.com/albums/i326/whiskey_lullabies/scollins.png) no-repeat left bottom;]Soft pink rays of sunlight fled from the peak, falling out of eyes view and back around the bend of the horizon. He had let the last few rays of sunlight dance across his skin, letting a soft glow, not a sparkle with direct light, erupt from his icy flesh. It was odd to watch it, and with his keen eyes he could see that his skin was not completely solid; it appeared almost like quarts, a soft milky rock that was almost translucent, but not quite. His finger tips graced across the skin of his forearm, no give to the flesh as he pressed down a little. So unlike the tanned skin he had less than two years ago. Perched on the side of a building, he watched the small town of Forks, an odd name if he would say himself, move slowly and sluggishly as if covered in a thick goo, making every movement hard for them. This town was dull, boring. But most of the people he had recently fed on were just so delicious; he had yet to come by a human who had smelt of tainted blood, scum who had ruined their crimson liquid with drugs and alcohol. Sloan hated the tinged taste of it. Thats why, for the night at least, he would stay in this small town. He knew though if he ate too much, in this small populous town, people would notice quicker than if he had stayed in Port Angeles or Seattle. Oh, how a simply feeding could get so complicated. The wind blew lightly through his tossled golden brown hair, messing it further. It had been awhile since he had brushed it, or done anything to it really, but since he didn't sleep, only hunted and moved from town to town, it didn't take much to keep his appearance in check. He cared a lot for his appearance when he had been human, he remembered slightly, having the urge every once in awhile to go check his hair in a mirror or even a window he happened to pass by. His blood red eyes scanned over the park which he observed for the past hour, no one in it after the sun had set. It was somewhat nice of a night, in temperate placed of course. In the span of the last couple of months, since he had left Ireland, he had traveled across a lot of North America. New York, California, Texas, Mexico, Ontario, British Columbia, and now Washington. He found himself wanting to go to colder places, places that over them all reminded him of home. Texas was too warm, California and Mexico the same. New York was fun, as was Canada. Washington was mostly boring. A flicker of movement and the sound of leather boots tapping against the sidewalk in a leasurly walk alerted Sloan that someone had entered into the park. He watched in excitement as possibly another victim walked by. He wasn't exactly thirsty, but any blood was good, no matter his hunger. Sloan let himself fall from the side of the building, landing quitely on the balls of his feet. He left his black jacket undone, but shoved his hands in his pockets, pretending the slightly cold wind that often blew bothered him, when in reality it did nothing than mess up his hair. He followed behind the boy, who pulled out a smoke and lit it. Sloan sighed. Perhaps this town's blood wasn't as clean as he expected. n o t e s : nom nom nom t a g g e d : d a m i en

[damien]

Damien's icy eyes were dark as he walked, the smell of whiskey and cigarettes made up his usual scent. What's what he always smelled like- youth and whiskey. Upon arrival at Forks he had come to realize that no one really was quite like him, they didn't party twice as hard and strutted around talking about true love. A silly thought, the human had once thought- he could think of a few reasons why something like love wasn't real. Hell, in a more general perspective, love can be as pure as snow and innocent like a virgin, however it can make someone bitter and cold when the person they had loved had never returned the feeling. And thats just a passing glance. They weren't kidding then they said that love could kill. And yet many people in Forks still held that silly little thought inside their simple minded head. He scoffed lightly, taking another slow drag as he pulled out his arm and tapped his fingers, allowing the excess ashes to cascade to the cold cement before taking another one. The movement had become repetitive, like a steady heartbeat of a relaxed body- much like how a child often was lulled to sleep by his mother's steady drums- he felt more at ease every time he took a drag, breathed it out, took a few breaths and started again. So at ease, however, that he never realized that he was no longer alone- only about three seconds after his reaction time should have kicked in. With with the nicotine, he was still sharp.

It wasn't the sound of footsteps, nor the breaths that were let out from parts lips, no it wasn't what pulled Damien out of his thoughts so quickly. It was the shuffling of clothing- the shifting of fabrics of a jacket that called to him and beckoned his head to move to the side, eying the figure from the corner of his eyes before he turned back ahead, steadily ignoring him. It didn't matter what the other figure did nor say- if he kept his trap shut he wouldn't have to snap back for him to piss off, if he did happen to say something that rubbed Damien the wrong way (and trust him when he admits that almost everything that doesn't regard his girlfriend and future son does), well.. his reactions isn't hard to guess.

But where could his person come from? The late teen may not pay all that much attention when it came to people around him, but years of running from illegal gatherings and vandalizing it was clear that he was almost always on his guard, his walls only lowered when he was spoke. Perhaps that was it? Haphazardly smoking three packs a day and suddenly his concentration was cut short in half? Pursing his lips, he turned his head the slightest inch to the left- watching the one behind him- if he really was taking a walk Damien must look like he's loitering, glancing over his shoulder and to the figures two times in a short span of three seconds or so. But there was something about him that really got to the human- he wasn't sure what it could possibly be, but that feeling lingered, lacing into his conscious and starting to dominate his thoughts in a way that not even a cigarette seemed to help, and had he any whiskey- he was sure it would do nothing also. And that was something serious. He didn't like it.

That, and, he realized for the first time- the boy was trailing him. He was too close to Damien to look like he was doing his own thing.

Turning back ahead, he grunted and tapped the end of his cigarette, one hand still in his pocket and the other holding the cigarette-, almost slack at his side as he moved. He turned and looked ahead, the familiar expression of indifference plastered and painted across every lines and angles of his face. 'What do you want, prat?'

[/color] he snapped irritably to the person behind him. [/justify]

WORDS:681 TAGGED:OPEN NOTES:DISTRACTIONS!THE HEADER IS THE SEX ICON ANDY BIERSACK ALONG WITH BVB LYRICS,AND THE PURE UNADULTERATED FUNK THAT MADE THIS TEMPLATE IS YOURS TRULY. STEAL MY SHIT OR LEAVE OUT THE CREDIT WILL RESULT IN ME COMING AFTER YOU AND CUTTING OFF YOUR PRETTIES WITH A BUTTER KNIFE.

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[sloan]

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background: url(http://img43.imageshack.us/img43/6352/2634830zf2w0o9y.jpg); border: 1px inset #858585, bTable][atrb=style, width: 500px, bTable] [atrb=style, padding: 10px 50px 10px 200px; color: #858585; font-family: Times New Roman; word-spacing: 1px; text-align: justify; background: url(http://i1088.photobucket.com/albums/i326/whiskey_lullabies/scollins.png) no-repeat left bottom;]Sloan walked slowly, his deep crimson eyes watching the figure in front of him patiently. He saw the heat radiating off the man before him, mostly off the cigarette he was holding in his fingers, relaxing further and further with each puff. He could see now that it was almost as if he was tensed, all the muscles in his back tightened. Stress perhaps? Sloan knew nothing of this boy, though. Maybe he was very laid back. But the longer he watched, the more aparent it was that Sloan was probably right. Though Sloan was out of his newborn phase, and had recently fed, the human before him still made his mouth water. Sloan wasn't as lustful after blood as he was his first year, but he was still a vampire after all. The heat from his body, Sloan could almost feel it though he was a good seven or eight feet behind him. His breathing was light, soft, as he took long inhales from his smoke. Sloan wanted him. He did not care for human life, so what was stopping him killing this boy right now? The boy tensed, and Sloan knew what had happened. Even though human senses were not as strong as a vampire, and it had taken this boy a few moments to realize Sloan was following him, he knew the boy had felt someone watching him. Ice blue eyes looked over his shoulder, watching Sloan with almost a hatred in his eyes. Sloan smirked. This would be quite a fun kill, he thought to himself. Over the span of a few seconds, the boy looked once, twice, before addressing someone by the word 'prat'. A word commonly used in British and the UK, it made Sloan smile. Apparently British curses had made their way across the pond. "Oh, nothing. Just taking a stroll. Isn't that what you are here for? Sloan's strong irish accent coated his tone. Sloan smirked once more. n o t e s : nom nom nom t a g g e d : d a m i en

[damien]

Damien grunted and continued walking, refusing to slow his step nor walk any faster. Fairly, he would admit to himself that he's quite a compulsive and neat type of person, therefore would never keep himself in a situation where he would have to deal with someone's shit. And that's exactly what the person behind him was doing. Who was he trying to see by that? the human didn't take the bait, instead he snorted and took another slow drag, the smoke billowing out in front of him before heading in the direction of the wind, watching it silently before he spoke up once more.

'Sorry, did you want me to clean up the shit that you're spilling everywhere?'

[/color] he snapped at the other, his tone dark and dry. He turned and gave the make a highly dry look followed up by a scoff. His hand slid out of his pockets and thumbed the belt loops of his leather pants as he moved. Tapping the end of the cigarette, he eyes flickered from side to side as he moved ahead, looking for a trail that would lead him back to the car without having to turn around and face the boy. Surely he wouldn't be able to do it without resisting the urge to punch in and break his nose. 'Whatever you're trying to sell, not interested, run along now,' [/color]he added a moment later, his body completely relaxed and his tone deadpanned.

The boy wasn't American, Damien was though, but his friend was British, often bringing over his rather odd dialect that intrigued him. The words slipped by form time to time, but he rarely every used them. But what's the use of knowledge if he didn't plan on making good use of them? Of course, being a loud, obnoxious, self-confident person that he was (who else could he be but American?), there was a lot of words he could use to describe the boy, and 'annoying' didn't even make it into the top ten.

Normally, had this been a girl who crossed him, this would have been quite different. He had a tendency to flick a switch and turn on his fake charms and lie his way into her bed just as quickly as he should shut it off. But this wasn't a cute girl, it was a boy, and if that wasn't a good enough reason- well, he didn't need a reason; nothing about him seemed appealing to the human at all. Little did he know, the vampire before him found him rather appealing in a much different way.' [/justify]

WORDS:432 TAGGED:CLOSED NOTES:GOD DAMN, I HATE THIS POST!THE HEADER IS THE SEX ICON ANDY BIERSACK ALONG WITH BVB LYRICS,AND THE PURE UNADULTERATED FUNK THAT MADE THIS TEMPLATE IS YOURS TRULY. STEAL MY SHIT OR LEAVE OUT THE CREDIT WILL RESULT IN ME COMING AFTER YOU AND CUTTING OFF YOUR PRETTIES WITH A BUTTER KNIFE.

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[sloan]

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background: url(http://img43.imageshack.us/img43/6352/2634830zf2w0o9y.jpg); border: 1px inset #858585, bTable][atrb=style, width: 500px, bTable] [atrb=style, padding: 10px 50px 10px 200px; color: #858585; font-family: Times New Roman; word-spacing: 1px; text-align: justify; background: url(http://i1088.photobucket.com/albums/i326/whiskey_lullabies/scollins.png) no-repeat left bottom;]Scoffing at him, the boy walked away, trying to keep his eyes off in any direction but behind, where Sloan stood. Sloan continued to walk at his leasurly pace, not bothering to walk faster. He didn't need to keep up with this boy. No one was within the next few miles, and no one would hear him screaming of that would be the case. An easy kill. Sloan continued to smile as he followed the boy, knowing that tonight might have been the last sunset he seen. Sloan hoped for the boys sake he enjoyed it. The spunk this boy put out made Sloan wonder vaugly if this boy was like him, or could be like him. Maybe it was his own smug attitude and emotions influencing this boy. Sloan had realized over the past two years of his 'new life' that he had the ability to influence someones emotions with his own. Often he did it on accident, but most of the time it was on purpose. Sloan tried to hold it back for now, to see if it was this own boys attitude who made him act this way, or if it was Sloan's own. "Oh, your feisty. What is it that is in your ass to make you be so rude to me?" Sloan said in a mocking tone, laughing at his own words. He sped up a bit, and within a half second was just two feet behind the boy. "Do you have a problem with me?" He wondered if his accent in America led people to believe he was just some stupid tourist. Obviously this boy had something on his mind, or maybe it was what Sloan had said before; simply something stuck in his bum. "Because honestly, I shouldn't be someone you should be talking to in such a tone." Sloan said, his voice becoming darker, more sinistar than it had before. His eyes and expression became more serious, but inpossible to read. n o t e s : nom nom nom t a g g e d : d a m i en

[damien]

Damien strolled ahead absently, noting that both of them haven't even bothered to moved any faster nor any slower. Any, of course, both of them hadn't bothered to slow or quicken their pace to match the other, instead they both continued walking, one behind the other. How odd this had turned out, if anything should happen, if Damien was shot or murdered, any time would have worked while they were talking. But his pride and his sense of thinking that everyone is under him didn't allow him to break off and run, though a part of his mind screamed for him to do so now. If he went down, he went down swinging, if he died, he wouldn't break and scream. That's just how he operated- if there was a fight, who was he to show weakness? He didn't strut around and put up a front that he was strong and tough, he was better then them, and would be willing to prove it.

Uninterested, he lifted the hand that held his cigarette, wrapped around his wrist was a leather watch, chains hung loose around it as he spared the face a glance. 'Nothing anymore, but an hour ago.. another story,'

[/color] he drawled casually. His head was quick (for him) to snap to the side as the vampire suddenly was closer, he could feel the sounds of his clothes right behind him, and now it has the human on edge. He sneered. 'No shit I have a problem with you, I told you to skip off and piss someone else off and yet you're still here,'[/color] he observed, disdain written all over his expression and in every look he gave the vampire.

He eyed the other boy before looking away, he had already had his fair share of fights, that look was give to him more times then he could count- like other things- it didn't bother him so much that the tone was threatening, telling him he should back down while he still could, but it the predatory look that was given to him. He arched a brow and snorted. 'Oh, on what grounds? You better back your ass right out of my face and change that tone,' [/color]he challenged, unable to submit even if he wanted to. Other then sex, he would never submit to anything. He lifted his hand and took and slow drag before looking away, parting his lips as he tilted his head upwards and blew it out, the smoke catching the draft of the wings. He still sounded completely deadpanned, but he stiffened, ready for a fight. [/justify]

WORDS:436 TAGGED:CLOSED NOTES:GOD DAMN, I HATE THIS POST!THE HEADER IS THE SEX ICON ANDY BIERSACK ALONG WITH BVB LYRICS,AND THE PURE UNADULTERATED FUNK THAT MADE THIS TEMPLATE IS YOURS TRULY. STEAL MY SHIT OR LEAVE OUT THE CREDIT WILL RESULT IN ME COMING AFTER YOU AND CUTTING OFF YOUR PRETTIES WITH A BUTTER KNIFE.

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[sloan]

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background: url(http://img43.imageshack.us/img43/6352/2634830zf2w0o9y.jpg); border: 1px inset #858585, bTable][atrb=style, width: 500px, bTable] [atrb=style, padding: 10px 50px 10px 200px; color: #858585; font-family: Times New Roman; word-spacing: 1px; text-align: justify; background: url(http://i1088.photobucket.com/albums/i326/whiskey_lullabies/scollins.png) no-repeat left bottom;]Sloan smiled wider, excited now about how the boy was acting. Sloan had come across a few covens in his time; usually not really a coven, two or three people band together to hunt, or because they were mated. Sloan had become slightly lonely. Not lonely in a way where he craved the attention of others, and needed a companion, but he thought it would be more fun to have someone like him around. And so far, this boy, who he had not caught the name of yet, seemed to fit the part. A fine vampire he would make. Sloan would train him, unlike his own creator had, who he had never met and hopefully would never meet. The idea of meeting his families killer, and his creator, made his anger flare and boil in his nonexistant blood. Sloan wondered if this boy would even want to stay with him once he was changed, but if he didn't, Sloan would just search for another human who was relitively like himself. It wouldn't be too hard, and since Sloan had the rest of forever to search... It didn't affect him much. It would be fun to have another vampire to talk with, not that Sloan talked much. From the way in which this boy walked, talked, and acted towards Sloan made him a very good candidate for Sloan's very own 'coven'. A coven in which Sloan would be the leader, and no one could stop them. Sloan would have laughed at the thought if, at this moment, it wasn't so possible. "I'm sorry for bothering you. I will leave you be now... Enjoy this night." Sloan said, smirking. Either tonight or tomorrow night, depending where in which this boy went after now, he would catch him. "Enjoy your life." Sloan added before walking away in the opposite direction, his eyes flickering with excitment. Sloan had never changed anyone before, so he wasn't sure if he was able to. But, practice made perfect. n o t e s : nom nom nom t a g g e d : d a m i en