Post by RYDER COLE on Aug 4, 2009 15:40:33 GMT -6
Ryder Samantha Cole
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I want to hold you close
Soft breath, beating heart
As I whisper in your ear
I want to fucking tear you apart
bad cop:
for the record - state your name and any aliases you go by.
Oh goodie, another record. I'll bet you have a whole folder on me by now. Name's Ryder. Yeah, I know it's weird. That's why I picked it, it's unique. Not like Laura. That was my birth name. Laura Samantha Cole. Like ew, gag me. Clearly my parents wanted a nice little cheerleader to wear nice little dresses. Instead they got me. I'll bet their proud. [sarcastic laughter]
state your age. [pauses] your real age, smartass.
Jesus, what's the big deal? It's not like I'm gonna lie, you could just check my driver's license. I'm twenty-four.
state your occupation or what you consider it to be.
Well... I suppose technically I'm a hunter. But not one of those stupid, goody-goody hunters out to protect mankind, yada yada yada. They hunt people like me. I hunt people like them. It's a lost cause really though. I mean, mankind, well, we're pretty much fucked. Unless we help the other side.
Oh, and on my off nights, I'm a dancer. The kind of dancer that spends her nights grinding up against a metal pole while men shove dollar bills in her G-string. I could give you a demonstration if you wanted [eyelash flutter]. No? Well maybe you should just come see one of my shows then.
good cop:
so what was it like growing up with a family like yours?
Oh joy, the good cop/bad cop routine. You could do with a few less BigMacs, you know that buddy? Send the other guy back in. He's more atractive. [pause] Please? [pause] Oh fuck it, fine then. What was the question again? Oh right.
My family was alright. Mom was a major jock in highschool and just wanted her little girl to be every bit as pretty and popular as she had been [sarcastic laugh]. We never saw eye to eye. My dad was just as bad. And my older sister, well, she was just perfect. Good little Amy, always did what she was told. I did sometimes. Honestly, if you think I'm fucked up, it's not really my parents' fault. They were normal.
See I had this friend, Robyn. Aw man, she was a riot. We used to smoke together, drink together, cut class together. She really got me into all that. Call it peer pressure if you want. I don't really think it was that. I was just interested. Anyway, we did it all together man. [laugh] Good times. She got me into the whole scene and fuck it if I'm not way happier for it. People, they live in these little boxes made out of rules and they confine themselves and deny themselves and try to fit this little mold. Fuck the mold. Impulse control is a sham.
Oh right, history. Sorry, got a little off track. Okay, so me and Robyn finished highschool and got a nice little flat together in a rough part of LA when we were eighteen. See, Robyn was a hardcore drug dealer, so money wasn't really much of a problem. And I had started dancing by then, so things were going pretty good for us. She was a hardcore addict man, coke and that shit. Honestly, the drugs never quite did it for me. I just chain smoke.
My parents? I still talk to them from time to time. They're not exactly proud, but I guess being their daughter and all they love me and all that shit. Anyway, they're always wanting me to come home. They think I'm on drugs. I'm not.
And Robyn, well... look man, that's a bit of a sore spot. You can't do so much shit and come out okay. She over dosed. Not intentionally. We were at a party. I moved out of the flat after that, got a slightly nicer place. I ended up with all the money she had. She didn't have a family, or if she did, she never mentioned them. I don't hang out with druggies anymore.
thank you for offering up that information. so share with me something personal about you.
When I was eighteen, I lost a bet with a couple of friends and had to go see a therapist for a day. Man that was crazy. I think I just about made her go insane. I have a bunch of addictions you see. I have a very addictive personality. You wanna know what they are? Well alright then, for the major ones, we got cigarettes, alcohol, and last but not least; sex. That's the best one. I didn't even know there was such thing as a sex addict, but acording to this therapist that's what I am.
On the more pleasent side, I'm a fucking good friend. Friends are family you chose, and I'd never leave a friend that needed me. Honestly, I'm also a bit of a hopeless romantic, the sex addiction just sorta gets in the way of that.
bad cop:
so what fancy things can you do? be specific, punk.
Oh goody, you're back. [eyelash flutter] I missed your handsome face.
Well, I am especially gifted. See, I can hurt people just by touching them. It's pretty special. I could just reach over and touch that pretty little arm of yours and you'd be writhing in pain. I could also heal you, but I might need a reward for that.
i bet you think you’re the best, huh? better than everyone else.
No way buddy. I work for a seriously badass vampire. I've seen some seriously badass shit. But I'm deffinatly bettter then most humans. Much better. Quite nearly a supirior species actually.
good cop:
so what are your likes and dislikes?
Well, I like dancing. Proper dancing, not just pole dancing. And I like smoking. And getting drunk. And sex. But then, I suppose I wouldn't be addicted to those things if I didn't like doing them, now would I? Honestly, I also kinda like causing people pain. I'm seriously sadistic. It's almost erotic, when you have someone in some much pain they can't do anything but gasp and cry and writh. What I don't like is stuck up people, nice people, all-around good people or virgins. Virgins are no fun. And I really don't like virgin-drinks, because they have no alcohol, and that's the best part.
i’m wondering – do you have any distinguishing features?
Well, I got my nose broken last year, so it's a bit crooked. And I have several tattoo's, up my arms and stuff. I don't remember getting most of them, so I was probably drunk at the time. I actually have the name Chris tattoo on my left butt cheek, but I have absolutley no idea who the hell Chris is. Other then that, I suppose you could say I'm built like a dancer, because I am one. Athletic shape, long limbs.
so, are you seeing anyone special? or have anyone in mind?
Like I said, I don't really see people. Because... you know, the addiction. And I never have anyone in mind either. That's the funny thing about an addiction. Just about anyone will do.
are you sure you don’t want some coffee, Ryder?
Better not, caffine is addictive.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
NAME/ALIAS: Alexis
AGE: 17
RP EXPERIENCE: A decent amount
ANY OTHER CHARACTERS?: Alexander Tristan Carr
ROLEPLAY SAMPLE:
The moonlight cast beautiful shadows against her face, Tristan could appreciate that. He could even appreciate the way she slept with her lips slightly parted, breathing gently, with her chest rising and falling in slow movements that were somehow gracefull. He could appreciate the way her small body was curled up and without the cover of blankets made him want to move closer and hold her to him. But if he did that, he'd have to stay the night. And if he was still there in the morning, he'd have some explaining to do about the fact he would then be unable to leave the appartment, lest he explode into a pitiful pile of ash. And if he shared that little secret with her, she would think that made them closer. Connected. And then she would expect things Tristan couldn't give her. But of course, there was a much less sentimental, much more practical reason for leaving. He was hungry, and the sound of her blood pumping through her jugular vein, just beneath that flimsy, creamy flesh was driving him crazy.
So instead of pulling her to him, either just to hold her and listen to her breething or to sink his fangs into that fragile neck of hers, he slowly eased himself out of her bed. He didn't need to worry too much about waking her. He'd tired her out pretty good and anyway, vampires tended to be very quiet. And graceful, although Tristan was a little bit unusually ungraceful for a vampire. As he dressed himself in the corner, he took a look around the girl's room. He hadn't taken much notice of it at first, being obviously distracted with other matters, but now he payed attention to every detail.
It was pink, which was off-putting. There was the occaisonal black accent piece, but for the most part, everything was pink. The bedsheets, the pillows, the walls, the carpets, the stuff-toys (what kind of twenty-year-old woman still had stuff toys?), the door, the desk, the closet, most of the clothes. Tristan shuddered a little bit and felt much better about leaving. Clearly this girl had an obsession problem. He finished pulling his shirt on and spent a moment straightening it and then his hair, trying to make it look a little less like he had been doing... well... exactly what he had been doing. Then he crossed to floor to the (pink) window sill and found the latch to open the window. He eased it open, praying it would creak. If she woke up now... well, really it wouldn't make much difference, he'd get out before she could even get out of bed, but still... it would make him feel like a little bit more of an asshole, which was how he already felt. Sort of.
But thankfully, the window did not creak and mere moments later Tristan was out of the Barbie room and on the street below. Ha! That would confuse her in the morning. The guy she'd taken home from the club the night before was gone and her 11th floor window was mysteriously wide open. Tristan chuckled a little to himself, imagining her confused face when she looked outside in the morning. He wondered if she'd be very upset. He doubted it. Afterall, she'd picked him up at a club. What had she expected? Marriage? He laughed. If she was upset, it was her fault for being unrealistic. Or that's what he told himself.
Seeing as the sun would be up in a few hours, Tristan decided his best bet now was to start heading home. He had time, but really, he'd already had his fun for the night. And getting home earlier was smarter these days. Hunters were more common in the hour or two leading up to sunrise, trying to catch all the vampires that were hurrying home. Not that all hunters were bad. The ones that picked sides, they were alright. They tended to work with vampires and were more pre-occupied with killing their opposition. It was the crazy ones who thought all campires should die that worried him. They didn't care if you were a fucking saint who just got unlucky. They'd hunt you down anyway.
But as he passed through Griffith Park, he decided that maybe it wouldn't hurt to stop for a bit. He had plently of time afterall, and he had always loved that park, ever since he got to LA. And he had a pack of smokes in his back pocket, and a smoke would be nice. It might help to relax him.
So, finding a nice grassy area, Tristan sat down on the dew covered grass and lit up a cigarette. Before he'd been bitten, he hadn't smoked. He'd started soon after coming to LA. He was fairly sure he wasn't addicted, he didn't really think the vampires could have addictions to anything other then blood. But he certainly smoked a lot. Not that it mattered, it wasn't like he could die from lung cancer. And there was something theriputic about it, about the simplicity of it. Tristan took a good long drag on his cigarette and fell back on to the grass, starring up at the stars. At some point, he'd known the names of the constellations, but now they were escaping him. He took another drag on the cigarette, closed his eyes and thought about how it was a shame he'd forgotten his iPod at home.
So instead of pulling her to him, either just to hold her and listen to her breething or to sink his fangs into that fragile neck of hers, he slowly eased himself out of her bed. He didn't need to worry too much about waking her. He'd tired her out pretty good and anyway, vampires tended to be very quiet. And graceful, although Tristan was a little bit unusually ungraceful for a vampire. As he dressed himself in the corner, he took a look around the girl's room. He hadn't taken much notice of it at first, being obviously distracted with other matters, but now he payed attention to every detail.
It was pink, which was off-putting. There was the occaisonal black accent piece, but for the most part, everything was pink. The bedsheets, the pillows, the walls, the carpets, the stuff-toys (what kind of twenty-year-old woman still had stuff toys?), the door, the desk, the closet, most of the clothes. Tristan shuddered a little bit and felt much better about leaving. Clearly this girl had an obsession problem. He finished pulling his shirt on and spent a moment straightening it and then his hair, trying to make it look a little less like he had been doing... well... exactly what he had been doing. Then he crossed to floor to the (pink) window sill and found the latch to open the window. He eased it open, praying it would creak. If she woke up now... well, really it wouldn't make much difference, he'd get out before she could even get out of bed, but still... it would make him feel like a little bit more of an asshole, which was how he already felt. Sort of.
But thankfully, the window did not creak and mere moments later Tristan was out of the Barbie room and on the street below. Ha! That would confuse her in the morning. The guy she'd taken home from the club the night before was gone and her 11th floor window was mysteriously wide open. Tristan chuckled a little to himself, imagining her confused face when she looked outside in the morning. He wondered if she'd be very upset. He doubted it. Afterall, she'd picked him up at a club. What had she expected? Marriage? He laughed. If she was upset, it was her fault for being unrealistic. Or that's what he told himself.
Seeing as the sun would be up in a few hours, Tristan decided his best bet now was to start heading home. He had time, but really, he'd already had his fun for the night. And getting home earlier was smarter these days. Hunters were more common in the hour or two leading up to sunrise, trying to catch all the vampires that were hurrying home. Not that all hunters were bad. The ones that picked sides, they were alright. They tended to work with vampires and were more pre-occupied with killing their opposition. It was the crazy ones who thought all campires should die that worried him. They didn't care if you were a fucking saint who just got unlucky. They'd hunt you down anyway.
But as he passed through Griffith Park, he decided that maybe it wouldn't hurt to stop for a bit. He had plently of time afterall, and he had always loved that park, ever since he got to LA. And he had a pack of smokes in his back pocket, and a smoke would be nice. It might help to relax him.
So, finding a nice grassy area, Tristan sat down on the dew covered grass and lit up a cigarette. Before he'd been bitten, he hadn't smoked. He'd started soon after coming to LA. He was fairly sure he wasn't addicted, he didn't really think the vampires could have addictions to anything other then blood. But he certainly smoked a lot. Not that it mattered, it wasn't like he could die from lung cancer. And there was something theriputic about it, about the simplicity of it. Tristan took a good long drag on his cigarette and fell back on to the grass, starring up at the stars. At some point, he'd known the names of the constellations, but now they were escaping him. He took another drag on the cigarette, closed his eyes and thought about how it was a shame he'd forgotten his iPod at home.
