Post by jiinxx on May 30, 2010 12:50:45 GMT -6
Shapeshifter Form.
.OOC Information.
OOC name -- Jiinxx
Activity Level -- Moderate - High
Current Characters-- N/A
How you found Wasted Skies-- Browsing through random forums xD
.Character Information.
Full Name -- Chase Xavier Consorcio
Nickname -- He usually is refered to as Chase, though, those who know him better come up with other random names. (I.e. Chaser, Chasey, Chasinator, etc.) One of his most infamous alter egos is 'CX'.
Gender -- Male
Age -- 21
Job -- Bartender at The Lonely Fox
First Form -- German Shepherd
Second Form -- Arctic Fox
Last Form -- Gray Wolf
Likes --
Dislikes --
.Character Appearance.
Eye Color -- A mixture of steel gray and ocean blue
Eternal Trait -- Eye Color
Height -- 6'1"
Weight -- 170 lbs
Overall Appearance --
Voice: Deep and lazy. Usually slurred, whether he is drunk or sober.
Hair Color: Naturally a shade of medium blond, with soft brown lowlights (occasionally, usually on a dare, he will dye his hair to an icy white blond. . . Or get highlights. Depends on the dare. . . and how drunk he is)
Description:
Taking after his mother in looks, his face is very serious, with steely oceanic a shocking contrast in comparison.
Let's talk about his eyes for a second. They are definitely his best feature, in his opinion. They are usually cast in deep shadows, highlighted with medium/thick eyebrows. He has thick, black eyelashes; not too long, but not too short. When he smiles, at the corner of his eyes there always appear two slight creases, drawing more attention to his eyes, and it's main attraction; the color. His eyes are blue, but not just any blue. It's a shade of the color, somewhere between sky and aqua-marine. But what makes it so special is that they are so bright, so surprising, and that they are nearly transparent in direct sunlight - mesmerizingly so. Additionally, they attract gray/steely highlights, making them all the more hypnotizing.
Moving on.
Chase has short/medium length, medium blond hair, which is usually spiked or simply left alone; rarely will he ever brush it, except on 'special' occasions. His nose is straight for the most part, with the exception of a tiny bump in the middle. He has strong jawline, on the side of which starts the begin of a dull pink scar that trails down to the base of his collarbone. Also, he is known to grow a goatee, as well as the little triangle of hair just below his bottom lip.
His body isn't overly special - but it sure as hell is something to look at. He has well-toned muscles, and a nice deepening shadow of a six-pack - all leading down to that trademark 'V'. He has a couple tattoos here and there, and silver chain(s) dripping from his neck, wrist, and pants, but nothing too flashy.
Ref. Pics:
1.) community.livejournal.com/hollow_ar...268.html#cutid1
Clothing: Chase usually wears baggy jeans (dark demin only) and sweats. With his jeans, he always wears a black belt. Normally wears either fresh white sneakers, black shoes, or both black and white. A rare red or orange might be thrown into the mix every once in a while. His shirts are two-three sizes too big, but on occasion he'll wear a fitted wife beater. Dress shirts always fit him appropriately. He never wears long sleeves. On some of his other shirts, he might roll up the sleeves on a particularly hot day. Other days he'll be with no shirt at all.
Accessories: He wears a simple silver Rolex watch on his left wrist. On his neck is a thick silver chain, either long or short. Sometimes he'll wear a hat, which he has a great variety of. He carries a thin switchblade in his shoe and two razor blades in his wallet. He is never without his 'go-anywhere' gun; a .22 Magnum Mini Revolver made by North American Arms.
Other: He has three tattoos; no piercings. He has one tattoo on his upper left bicep that is basically a fancy design that encircles his arm. There is also one on his back. It starts at his neck and ends at the base of his spine. The picture is a series of bar ranging in length and width. The top is where it is the thickest and longest, and as it continues down, it becomes shorter and thinner. He has one more inside his right forearm. It starts a little below the crease of his elbow and stretches onto the palm of his hand. The tattoo is a picture of a lengthy dagger; nothing seems to be too special about it.
.Personal Character Information.
Personality --
Interests: Chase likes collecting different forms of ammunition. . . and pictures. Of anything - pictures of everything. Just pictures in general. He loves music - mostly anything except country, heavy metal, and most rock. Painting - on occasion - is something he also enjoys. Watching movies, laser tag, football, soccer, and going to the shooting range are all things he likes to do. He's also interested in girls in thick, black eyeliner.
Hobbies: He has a numerous amount of hobbies, drinking being his most favorite. Some may disagree, and say that getting drunk is not a hobby but, for Chase, it most definitely is. Playing soccer is one of his more 'normal' hobbies. He also collects exotic glass bottles, all of which he ends up melting down, selling, breaking, or using for other various reasons/projects. He's also really big into the whole black market thing. . . These are just a few of Chase's hobbies. . .
Chase can most definitely be labeled as the dangerously silent type. He is very intelligent, and usually thinks before he speaks. Meaning, he doesn't necessarily say the first thing that comes to his mind. He rather think how - if he were to say what he wanted - the words would affect the person(people) they were meant for. Certainly proud of this one invalid trait, he takes pride in his adequate level of self-control, whereas his father, has none. His father is rash, where he is not, and as mentioned before, usually thinks before he speaks. Chase's father much rather just say whatever is on his mind at any given moment, whether rude - well, always rude - or the occasional polite-but-rude-around-the-edges.
Every person from his blood-line is born with a terrific temper, and raised off of it's influenced words, as well. When he is in one of these violent moods, he has little control, and is very difficult to contain. From previous occurrences, Chase will, for a shorter term, 'kirk out'. If someone talks shit about him, well, he'd just plain get up in their face(s) for it. Not always the 'brawn over brain type', Chase might just stick to a verbal battle, unless his counterpart makes a really rash moved and then, and only then, will he strike out. Of course, you have to hit a nerve for this sort of behave to take place. Somewhat of a smart ass, in spite of his intellectual nature, he has a harsh tongue. Verbal battles, it seems, can almost pass for one of his hobbies.
He, like the many Consorcioes before him, and sure to be after him, are flirtatious. . . When they want to be. If he sees something he likes, he'll go after it, and in the end, get it. No matter how many times he has to 'try', he will keep pushing again and again. And again. Once he gets what he wants, however, he usually trashes it the next day, or whenever he is finished. Females are no stranger to this. He doesn't necessarily have an attraction to them if and when he flirts, or whatever it is he is doing. Chas just likes to feel in control. . . experience that rush of power. . . Mind games equal fun.
However, Chase does have a secret 'soft side'. Get him anywhere close to tight knit family or well-known friends, he can pass for one of the guys down at the bar and grill. Naturally, this position is hard to acquire in his life, and therefore rarely shown. Those who have seen it, and experienced it, know all too well that they have established an unofficial rank of trust. . .
Let us elaborate on this trust issue for a second. Trust, to Chase, is on the top list of his priorities. Above everything else -- friends, family, lust, love -- is trust. So, to be placed is the category mentioned is extremely important, and most definitely work to whoever has acquired that ranks' benefit. Chase would, in short, do almost anything for you, as long as it doesn't put his life in immediate danger. Trust is this worlds' most prized possession, and without it, you have nothing. So be it with Chase. . .
He is vicious when it comes to his possessions. Or anything dealing with him, for that matter. If someone were to threaten anything that belongs, or belonged to him, they'd be in for nothing less of catastrophic. I guess we can say that this sort of behavior is a male attribute because it's as if once he had something, he'll always have it, and it will always belong to him and no one else. Ever. No matter if he still wants it or not. If he had it, and doesn't want it any more, it still can never belong to anyone except himself. Some may call this a form of jealous. Chase calls it ownership.
One thing he can't stand, is a liar. . . though he lies himself. Double-standards? Hell yeah.
History --
Chase's childhood was based in a run down orphanage in Cambrian, located on desolate, gray streets nobody cared to frequent. It wasn't a surprise, then, for him to have been raised by his fellow peers and learn what little, stumbling knowledge they had of their own species as well as the humans that seemed to be oozing through the very pores of their world. The administrators who ran the house were too busy trying to bring more kids in and adopt the older children out to worry about their education and basic needs. Thus, the inhabitants of 'Cheery Smiles' ran wild.
All the children in the orphanage were shape shifters, since this was a time before the war and the humans overran Cambrian. They grew up together and taught one another the knew things that they learned they could with their bodies. They stole food and clothing when they needed it; they took tiny trinkets and thrifty weapons just because they could. On these various outings were the times that they practiced what they had learned that day or the last. Whether it was changing the color of their hair, or making one's nose crooked when it's usually perfectly straight, they did it all.
Chase became an expert at half shifting. He could change his skin color, the set of his eyes, the sound of his voice. He could make his ears into the ears of a wolf. He could grow a tail and sprout voluminous feathered wings. These simple parlor tricks became his go-to escape when it came to the weekly brawls behind the crumbling orphanage. The spoils of war were always his when he entered the contest; when it came to half shifting, he was unmatched. When it came to shifting fully however, that was another story. He didn't practice it often, and so his shifts were usually long and drawn out. He didn't worry; he didn't need to shift to get what he wanted.
Life was tolerable until the war. Until the war, their was no worry larger than what food item he'd take for supper that night. Until the war, he could walk around town with his head held high because he was known on the streets and popular with the inhabitants of the town he grew up in. When the humans came, and eventually took over, he could do nothing but hide. Hide in his human form and work a human job. Live a human life. Do normal, human like things.
Breathe, eat, sleep like a human.
Until he went on night runs with his fellow orphans. That is, the ones who are still alive.
.RP Example.
It was four o'clock on a Friday afternoon in June. The high school children had just been released not a half an hour before, and it was hot. Dripping sweat, hot.
Brilliantly colored blue eyes stared at the deteriorating building, watching as the last of the groups of kids that collected in the parking lot disappeared off of the school ground. Chase was standing across from Harlem High on a street corner, leaning back against a stop sign with one foot propped onto the metal pole to maintain his balance. He wore a shredded wife beater and dark denim jeans that were two sizes too big for him, secured by his usual black belt. One hand was in his pocket, and the other was hanging down by his side, busy flicking open and closed a folded piece of white notebook paper. He didn't look suspicious, as he stood there, occasionally eying the school and then looking over his shoulder every once and a while. He looked as if he were waiting for a bus; nothing sketchy about that.
If only that were what he was doing.
Ironically, a metro bus whizzed past him without even stopping, leaving behind a cool breeze that ruffled his hair and tugged at the paper. Chase blinked, pulled his hand out of his pants pocket and raised it to his chest so that he could glance at his watch. He took his foot off of the pole and pushed himself forward, folding the paper this time and tucking it into his back pocket. Not even checking to see if any cars were coming, he began to swagger into the street, crossing two lines before he made it to the brown grass on the other side. Once there he looked behind him, hesitating for only a moment before he kept walking. Into the empty parking lot; past the vacant school. He walked until he got to the bleakly tan color temporaries, where he made a sharp right and began to walk a little faster over a pale pebble path that led to the baseball field. When he came to the metal fence, he didn't even stop to think before he scaled it with ease, throwing both legs over at the same time and letting his hand loosen its hold as he fell lightly to the ground. Ten seconds more and he was in the home team's dugout, taking two stairs at a time down into the pit. When he got there, someone was waiting for him.
A tall Italian male immediately pushed himself off of the wall, slipping one hand into a coat pocket that looked entirely too hot to be wearing in the blistering weather. Beads of sweat had already started to drip from the back of Chase's neck. He ran a hand through his hair casually as he waited to the man to bring whatever it was out of his pocket. When he looked again, he saw the shiny flesh of plastic casing a leafy green substance, a hint of which was visible to him. Instantly the man slipped the bag back into his coat and held up an empty palm instead. Chase knew what the universal sign meant, and it was not long before he placed three crisp one hundred dollar bills into the waiting hand.
The exchange didn't take long. The Italian was gone as soon as he pocketed the money and gave Chase his purchase. Right now, Chase was alone in the dugout, sitting on the last wood-rotted bench closet to the cool stone wall. His feet were perched on the bench in front of him, and his head was leaning against the chipping blue cement. In his hand was the folded piece of notebook paper, and a medium Ziploc bag filled with one ounce of marijuana. Sitting there, Chase was fiddling with the bag, zipping it open and closed and tossing it lightly into the air with one hand, while turning the paper over and over again with the other.
He sighed, and soon enough he started to bump his head back against the concrete, eyes focused and staring at the same exact spot on the crumbling ceiling. Open, close; open, close; open, close. Again and again he opened and closed the paper, so much so it became hot and wilted in his hand. Open, close. Open, close. Open. . .
Chase looked down at the open sheet of paper, across which was scribbled a cell phone number in sloppy handwriting. The one hand had released the plastic bag and was now holding a cell phone, fingers numbly dialing the digits written on the limp paper. For a second he stared at the phone after he pressed call, as if it were alien to him. After he heard the first ring he raised the phone to his ear. An accented voice answered on the fourth ring. "I got it," Chase's thick voice sounded strong and sure. He felt neither. There was a pause on the other line, before a faint note of laughter sounded, followed by a click and a dead line. Chase put his phone down beside him, sliding it close when he ran it against the bench. He sat there for minutes that seemed to mimic hours. When he pushed himself to his feet, instead of his phone in hand he had a couple of twenties. He started to walk out of the dugout, surfacing on top of level ground. He ran his free hand through his hair. He needed a drink.
A shriveled piece of notebook paper floated to the ground behind him.
.OOC Information.
OOC name -- Jiinxx
Activity Level -- Moderate - High
Current Characters-- N/A
How you found Wasted Skies-- Browsing through random forums xD
.Character Information.
Full Name -- Chase Xavier Consorcio
Nickname -- He usually is refered to as Chase, though, those who know him better come up with other random names. (I.e. Chaser, Chasey, Chasinator, etc.) One of his most infamous alter egos is 'CX'.
Gender -- Male
Age -- 21
Job -- Bartender at The Lonely Fox
First Form -- German Shepherd
Second Form -- Arctic Fox
Last Form -- Gray Wolf
Likes --
- -Skky Vodka
- Everclear
- Crown Royal
- Patrone Tequila Gran Platinum 750ML
- Frozen Mint Daiquiri
- Alcohol in general
- Money
- Fast cars
- Girls
- Fighting
- Fights (street and boxing)
- Racing (cars and horses)
- Race Tracks
- Gambling (occasionally)
- Football
- Spray paint
- Poker
- Winning
- One-night stands
- Rain
- Thunderstorms
- Darkness
- Night
- Crowded locations (closed in or open)
- Music
- Guns
- Knives
- Fire
- Hot objects
- Pictures
- Cash
- Italian Food
- Anything Banana flavored
- Nice clothes
- Shoes
- The color red
- Expensive merchandise
- Art
- Making things
- Math (when sober)
- Action movies
- Egyptian cotton bedsheets
- Silk boxers
- Thursday
- Peanut Butter
- Rubberbands
- Wolves
- Tattoos
- Velveeta Cheese
- Lacey lingerie
- Silver
- Old tv shows and cartoons
- Tuxes
- Girls with brown hair and blonde highlights
- Green eyes
- Blue eyes
- Girls in red dresses
- Girls in sweat pants
- Bars
- Strip Clubs
Dislikes --
- Girls with wierd accents
- Morning
- Monday
- Bright places
- Sunglasses
- Thin lips
- Commitment
- Change (Money)
- Checks
- Drugs
- Doctors
- Police
- Rules
- Following directions
- Plastic bubble wrap
- Hot jelly
- Girls who smoke
- The smell of weed
- Spoiled milk
- Biology
- Arrogant people
- Shy people
- The sun
- People who believe in ghosts and superstitions
- Ireland
- Anything oval shaped
- V8 Fruit Juice
- Golden Oreos
- Neon colors
- Cheap Lingerie
- September
- Small pieces of paper that are not 'Post-its'
- Mohawks
- Stocking caps
- Gold
- Cheap liquor
- Being sober for more than 48 hours
- Reruns
- Long-sleeved shirts
- Hairy people
- Girls who are taller than him
- Grey sharpies
- Purple pens
- Homosexuals
- Homosexuals who try to talk to him
- Ugly people who think they look better than everyone else
- Girls who act snotty
- Girls who are clingy
- Girls who call him 24/7
- Girls who can't take a hint
- Spiked choker necklaces
- Plastic bags
- SEGS
- Blood Tests
.Character Appearance.
Eye Color -- A mixture of steel gray and ocean blue
Eternal Trait -- Eye Color
Height -- 6'1"
Weight -- 170 lbs
Overall Appearance --
Voice: Deep and lazy. Usually slurred, whether he is drunk or sober.
Hair Color: Naturally a shade of medium blond, with soft brown lowlights (occasionally, usually on a dare, he will dye his hair to an icy white blond. . . Or get highlights. Depends on the dare. . . and how drunk he is)
Description:
Taking after his mother in looks, his face is very serious, with steely oceanic a shocking contrast in comparison.
Let's talk about his eyes for a second. They are definitely his best feature, in his opinion. They are usually cast in deep shadows, highlighted with medium/thick eyebrows. He has thick, black eyelashes; not too long, but not too short. When he smiles, at the corner of his eyes there always appear two slight creases, drawing more attention to his eyes, and it's main attraction; the color. His eyes are blue, but not just any blue. It's a shade of the color, somewhere between sky and aqua-marine. But what makes it so special is that they are so bright, so surprising, and that they are nearly transparent in direct sunlight - mesmerizingly so. Additionally, they attract gray/steely highlights, making them all the more hypnotizing.
Moving on.
Chase has short/medium length, medium blond hair, which is usually spiked or simply left alone; rarely will he ever brush it, except on 'special' occasions. His nose is straight for the most part, with the exception of a tiny bump in the middle. He has strong jawline, on the side of which starts the begin of a dull pink scar that trails down to the base of his collarbone. Also, he is known to grow a goatee, as well as the little triangle of hair just below his bottom lip.
His body isn't overly special - but it sure as hell is something to look at. He has well-toned muscles, and a nice deepening shadow of a six-pack - all leading down to that trademark 'V'. He has a couple tattoos here and there, and silver chain(s) dripping from his neck, wrist, and pants, but nothing too flashy.
Ref. Pics:
1.) community.livejournal.com/hollow_ar...268.html#cutid1
Clothing: Chase usually wears baggy jeans (dark demin only) and sweats. With his jeans, he always wears a black belt. Normally wears either fresh white sneakers, black shoes, or both black and white. A rare red or orange might be thrown into the mix every once in a while. His shirts are two-three sizes too big, but on occasion he'll wear a fitted wife beater. Dress shirts always fit him appropriately. He never wears long sleeves. On some of his other shirts, he might roll up the sleeves on a particularly hot day. Other days he'll be with no shirt at all.
Accessories: He wears a simple silver Rolex watch on his left wrist. On his neck is a thick silver chain, either long or short. Sometimes he'll wear a hat, which he has a great variety of. He carries a thin switchblade in his shoe and two razor blades in his wallet. He is never without his 'go-anywhere' gun; a .22 Magnum Mini Revolver made by North American Arms.
Other: He has three tattoos; no piercings. He has one tattoo on his upper left bicep that is basically a fancy design that encircles his arm. There is also one on his back. It starts at his neck and ends at the base of his spine. The picture is a series of bar ranging in length and width. The top is where it is the thickest and longest, and as it continues down, it becomes shorter and thinner. He has one more inside his right forearm. It starts a little below the crease of his elbow and stretches onto the palm of his hand. The tattoo is a picture of a lengthy dagger; nothing seems to be too special about it.
.Personal Character Information.
Personality --
Interests: Chase likes collecting different forms of ammunition. . . and pictures. Of anything - pictures of everything. Just pictures in general. He loves music - mostly anything except country, heavy metal, and most rock. Painting - on occasion - is something he also enjoys. Watching movies, laser tag, football, soccer, and going to the shooting range are all things he likes to do. He's also interested in girls in thick, black eyeliner.
Hobbies: He has a numerous amount of hobbies, drinking being his most favorite. Some may disagree, and say that getting drunk is not a hobby but, for Chase, it most definitely is. Playing soccer is one of his more 'normal' hobbies. He also collects exotic glass bottles, all of which he ends up melting down, selling, breaking, or using for other various reasons/projects. He's also really big into the whole black market thing. . . These are just a few of Chase's hobbies. . .
Chase can most definitely be labeled as the dangerously silent type. He is very intelligent, and usually thinks before he speaks. Meaning, he doesn't necessarily say the first thing that comes to his mind. He rather think how - if he were to say what he wanted - the words would affect the person(people) they were meant for. Certainly proud of this one invalid trait, he takes pride in his adequate level of self-control, whereas his father, has none. His father is rash, where he is not, and as mentioned before, usually thinks before he speaks. Chase's father much rather just say whatever is on his mind at any given moment, whether rude - well, always rude - or the occasional polite-but-rude-around-the-edges.
Every person from his blood-line is born with a terrific temper, and raised off of it's influenced words, as well. When he is in one of these violent moods, he has little control, and is very difficult to contain. From previous occurrences, Chase will, for a shorter term, 'kirk out'. If someone talks shit about him, well, he'd just plain get up in their face(s) for it. Not always the 'brawn over brain type', Chase might just stick to a verbal battle, unless his counterpart makes a really rash moved and then, and only then, will he strike out. Of course, you have to hit a nerve for this sort of behave to take place. Somewhat of a smart ass, in spite of his intellectual nature, he has a harsh tongue. Verbal battles, it seems, can almost pass for one of his hobbies.
He, like the many Consorcioes before him, and sure to be after him, are flirtatious. . . When they want to be. If he sees something he likes, he'll go after it, and in the end, get it. No matter how many times he has to 'try', he will keep pushing again and again. And again. Once he gets what he wants, however, he usually trashes it the next day, or whenever he is finished. Females are no stranger to this. He doesn't necessarily have an attraction to them if and when he flirts, or whatever it is he is doing. Chas just likes to feel in control. . . experience that rush of power. . . Mind games equal fun.
However, Chase does have a secret 'soft side'. Get him anywhere close to tight knit family or well-known friends, he can pass for one of the guys down at the bar and grill. Naturally, this position is hard to acquire in his life, and therefore rarely shown. Those who have seen it, and experienced it, know all too well that they have established an unofficial rank of trust. . .
Let us elaborate on this trust issue for a second. Trust, to Chase, is on the top list of his priorities. Above everything else -- friends, family, lust, love -- is trust. So, to be placed is the category mentioned is extremely important, and most definitely work to whoever has acquired that ranks' benefit. Chase would, in short, do almost anything for you, as long as it doesn't put his life in immediate danger. Trust is this worlds' most prized possession, and without it, you have nothing. So be it with Chase. . .
He is vicious when it comes to his possessions. Or anything dealing with him, for that matter. If someone were to threaten anything that belongs, or belonged to him, they'd be in for nothing less of catastrophic. I guess we can say that this sort of behavior is a male attribute because it's as if once he had something, he'll always have it, and it will always belong to him and no one else. Ever. No matter if he still wants it or not. If he had it, and doesn't want it any more, it still can never belong to anyone except himself. Some may call this a form of jealous. Chase calls it ownership.
One thing he can't stand, is a liar. . . though he lies himself. Double-standards? Hell yeah.
History --
Chase's childhood was based in a run down orphanage in Cambrian, located on desolate, gray streets nobody cared to frequent. It wasn't a surprise, then, for him to have been raised by his fellow peers and learn what little, stumbling knowledge they had of their own species as well as the humans that seemed to be oozing through the very pores of their world. The administrators who ran the house were too busy trying to bring more kids in and adopt the older children out to worry about their education and basic needs. Thus, the inhabitants of 'Cheery Smiles' ran wild.
All the children in the orphanage were shape shifters, since this was a time before the war and the humans overran Cambrian. They grew up together and taught one another the knew things that they learned they could with their bodies. They stole food and clothing when they needed it; they took tiny trinkets and thrifty weapons just because they could. On these various outings were the times that they practiced what they had learned that day or the last. Whether it was changing the color of their hair, or making one's nose crooked when it's usually perfectly straight, they did it all.
Chase became an expert at half shifting. He could change his skin color, the set of his eyes, the sound of his voice. He could make his ears into the ears of a wolf. He could grow a tail and sprout voluminous feathered wings. These simple parlor tricks became his go-to escape when it came to the weekly brawls behind the crumbling orphanage. The spoils of war were always his when he entered the contest; when it came to half shifting, he was unmatched. When it came to shifting fully however, that was another story. He didn't practice it often, and so his shifts were usually long and drawn out. He didn't worry; he didn't need to shift to get what he wanted.
Life was tolerable until the war. Until the war, their was no worry larger than what food item he'd take for supper that night. Until the war, he could walk around town with his head held high because he was known on the streets and popular with the inhabitants of the town he grew up in. When the humans came, and eventually took over, he could do nothing but hide. Hide in his human form and work a human job. Live a human life. Do normal, human like things.
Breathe, eat, sleep like a human.
Until he went on night runs with his fellow orphans. That is, the ones who are still alive.
.RP Example.
It was four o'clock on a Friday afternoon in June. The high school children had just been released not a half an hour before, and it was hot. Dripping sweat, hot.
Brilliantly colored blue eyes stared at the deteriorating building, watching as the last of the groups of kids that collected in the parking lot disappeared off of the school ground. Chase was standing across from Harlem High on a street corner, leaning back against a stop sign with one foot propped onto the metal pole to maintain his balance. He wore a shredded wife beater and dark denim jeans that were two sizes too big for him, secured by his usual black belt. One hand was in his pocket, and the other was hanging down by his side, busy flicking open and closed a folded piece of white notebook paper. He didn't look suspicious, as he stood there, occasionally eying the school and then looking over his shoulder every once and a while. He looked as if he were waiting for a bus; nothing sketchy about that.
If only that were what he was doing.
Ironically, a metro bus whizzed past him without even stopping, leaving behind a cool breeze that ruffled his hair and tugged at the paper. Chase blinked, pulled his hand out of his pants pocket and raised it to his chest so that he could glance at his watch. He took his foot off of the pole and pushed himself forward, folding the paper this time and tucking it into his back pocket. Not even checking to see if any cars were coming, he began to swagger into the street, crossing two lines before he made it to the brown grass on the other side. Once there he looked behind him, hesitating for only a moment before he kept walking. Into the empty parking lot; past the vacant school. He walked until he got to the bleakly tan color temporaries, where he made a sharp right and began to walk a little faster over a pale pebble path that led to the baseball field. When he came to the metal fence, he didn't even stop to think before he scaled it with ease, throwing both legs over at the same time and letting his hand loosen its hold as he fell lightly to the ground. Ten seconds more and he was in the home team's dugout, taking two stairs at a time down into the pit. When he got there, someone was waiting for him.
A tall Italian male immediately pushed himself off of the wall, slipping one hand into a coat pocket that looked entirely too hot to be wearing in the blistering weather. Beads of sweat had already started to drip from the back of Chase's neck. He ran a hand through his hair casually as he waited to the man to bring whatever it was out of his pocket. When he looked again, he saw the shiny flesh of plastic casing a leafy green substance, a hint of which was visible to him. Instantly the man slipped the bag back into his coat and held up an empty palm instead. Chase knew what the universal sign meant, and it was not long before he placed three crisp one hundred dollar bills into the waiting hand.
The exchange didn't take long. The Italian was gone as soon as he pocketed the money and gave Chase his purchase. Right now, Chase was alone in the dugout, sitting on the last wood-rotted bench closet to the cool stone wall. His feet were perched on the bench in front of him, and his head was leaning against the chipping blue cement. In his hand was the folded piece of notebook paper, and a medium Ziploc bag filled with one ounce of marijuana. Sitting there, Chase was fiddling with the bag, zipping it open and closed and tossing it lightly into the air with one hand, while turning the paper over and over again with the other.
He sighed, and soon enough he started to bump his head back against the concrete, eyes focused and staring at the same exact spot on the crumbling ceiling. Open, close; open, close; open, close. Again and again he opened and closed the paper, so much so it became hot and wilted in his hand. Open, close. Open, close. Open. . .
Chase looked down at the open sheet of paper, across which was scribbled a cell phone number in sloppy handwriting. The one hand had released the plastic bag and was now holding a cell phone, fingers numbly dialing the digits written on the limp paper. For a second he stared at the phone after he pressed call, as if it were alien to him. After he heard the first ring he raised the phone to his ear. An accented voice answered on the fourth ring. "I got it," Chase's thick voice sounded strong and sure. He felt neither. There was a pause on the other line, before a faint note of laughter sounded, followed by a click and a dead line. Chase put his phone down beside him, sliding it close when he ran it against the bench. He sat there for minutes that seemed to mimic hours. When he pushed himself to his feet, instead of his phone in hand he had a couple of twenties. He started to walk out of the dugout, surfacing on top of level ground. He ran his free hand through his hair. He needed a drink.
A shriveled piece of notebook paper floated to the ground behind him.