SHE SAID IT'S LOVE BUT I DIDN'T GIVE A FUCK /

[leon emerson delcambre]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,background-image:url(http://i52.tinypic.com/otj5sn.jpg); width: 390px; height: 450px; -moz-border-radius: 40px 0px 40px 0px; border-radius:40px 0px 40px 0px; opacity: 0.8; border-right: #7298ac 15px solid; border-left: #7298ac 15px solid;] He watched as the clear liquid splashed into the ice cold glass. Blue eyes followed as the bartender expertly placed the cup inches away from the nozzle of the bottle, only to have the alcohol waterfall down. With ease, the glass was slid in his direction. In his head, if this whole music shit didn't pan out, Leon was determined to be a bartender. Booze and tits all night, every night, right? Hey, it almost sounded so good he was contemplating making that career shift that instant, but the clink of the glass against the silver of his watch ripped him out of his reverie of alcoholic madness and women. Slim fingers, long ago calloused by the strings of his guitar, gripped the icy beverage. The feel of warm skin against the frosty surface bringing him some odd form of comfort. Something about sitting there, with a shot of vodka at hand, felt a bit homey. Well, that was a bit of an overstatement considering he associated homey with anywhere he could drink alcohol. Still, it was kind of nice to be away from sweaty band mates and hoards of people. Leon was all about the party scene, the fucking, the hands grasping, reaching, hoping to catch just one piece of him, but it was these moments, where he was alone to wallow in his alcoholic misery, that he found himself the most comfortable. Funny, the juxtaposition of his party persona with that of him, sitting at a bar by himself. Either way, it didn't matter which city he was in, or even what country, wherever there was alcohol served, Leon Delcambre was sure to be just inches away from reaching it, if he wasn't already there that is. It wasn't like he was a stranger to this particular city though. Los Angeles, the city of angels, with it's bright lights and fake tanned barbies. He almost knew it as well as he did Vegas, or even his hometown in Ireland. So of course, the first thing he had done when he stepped foot on the gritty streets of L.A. was find the nearest bar. In typical Leon fashion. He didn't like that feeling he had accumulated. The way his skin felt tight around his bones, or his lips dry. The feeling he got when he was far too sober, and not at all intoxicated or high in the slightest. That bubbly, lightheaded feeling, that one where he felt he was floating on cloud nine, that was the one he enjoyed. Not the jittery one that had him tapping his fingers on the armrest of his chair at an annoyingly rapid pace. Like he had been only a couple hours ago. He brought the glass to his lips, and tilting his head back, let the vodka make a scorching path down his esophagus. He winced for just a millisecond, and gave his head a firm shake to stop the world from spinning. He'd lost count of how many shots he'd taken. Funny how the brain played tricks after the third one. For all he knew, he was probably still on the third one. Regardless of the fact that he was in fact alone, this bar wasn't his usual scene. It wasn't the one filled with girls whose tops were two sizes too small, or skirts so short he didn't even think skirts was the appropriate term for them. Instead, he'd found himself in this little bar. Looked like it housed more so of the L.A. locals than the socialites or tourists. It was nice really, except Leon wasn't that into nice. But hey, alcohol plus leon equates "I don't give a fuck." By this point, his mind was kind of hazy on the details of his being in that location. Had he texted someone? Asked them to meet him there? Or had he really been that desperate for a drink that he'd plowed his way into the nearest bar he could drown himself in? Fuck it. He couldn't remember and he wasn't about to start. It's not like it mattered much. As long as he was drinking, Leon could make just about anywhere be his playground. He tugged absentmindedly at the sleeves of his fitted leather jacket and couldn't help but feel warmth consume him. It was much too warm in the small, cramped bar, and as the night progressed, it wasn't that the room was getting smaller, the crowd was just getting bigger. He signaled to the bartender for another round of whatever the fuck he was having by this point, and downed it down. Turning around in the rickety, oak chair, he took in the blurry faces. Some smiling, others with deep, furrowed looks on their incognizant faces. He didn't recognize a single hallow face. Shocking, considering the guy felt like he knew half the goddamn people in L.A.. Then again, that's what L.A. was for, wasn't it? All about the networking, knowing people, getting that in that resulted in rubbing elbows with the hollywood stars. As he watched the people tinker about with one another, he delved into the left pocket of his slim, washed out jeans, picking out his pack of menthols and a silver lighter. He flipped the top open, and picked one out of the few he had left. Lighting the nicotine, the cigarette made its way to his lips. Taking a drag, he let the oxymoronic cool feeling of the smoke barrage his lungs. God, he just hoped the night would prove itself to be a little more interesting than its current status. Judging by this place, it didn't look like he was going to get lucky. Not a pair of a long legs in sight. He couldn't help but pout at the notion. He had a thing for long, slender legs that seemed to go on for miles on end. God hated him though. So his night was looking like the bottom of his glass, and a crowd of strangers with hazy faces. Fucking hell. tag: OPEN words: 1006

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made by hay shay @ caution!

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[asher sebastian blake]

[atrb=style, width: 435px; height: 600px; background-image: url(http://i55.tinypic.com/344eas2.jpg) ;] ------------------ julia kelly didn't go to bars, and she didn't drink. she liked to think of herself as refined, but in reality she was scared of what she would do while she was drunk. she had drank alcohol in the past, but she'd never been drunk and she wasn't really ready to try it out. maybe she was a little naive for her age--nineteen and never been drunk, never smoked a cigarette, never tried drugs, and was inexperienced when it came to the opposite sex--so much that she actually got really flustered just by talking to a guy she wasn't related to and found even remotely attractive. unless he was in a relationship. oh, and if he was in a band--that nervousness would be amplified even more. these little rules weren't something she tried to make up, they were something she really tried to get rid of. julia really hated feeling the way she did--she didn't act nineteen, she was acting like a socially awkward twelve year old. it sucked, especially considering the fact that she was an intern at a record label, which meant that there were guys in bands where ever she looked. attractive guys in bands. it was evening and yet she was waking up. she took a moment to silently freak out to herself, forgetting if she'd taken out her contacts, until she blinked a few times and her vision still hadn't cleared. julia touched around her nightstand without bothering to look even though she probably would have been able to see well enough, knocking a few things over, finally grabbing the thin black framed glasses. she slipped them on over her eyes and onto her nose, the room becoming clearer to her now. she sighed, glancing at the clock and wondering how she'd fallen asleep. the light was still on and her laptop was within her light blue sheets, kicked to the foot of her bed. vaguely, she remembered taking her glasses off momentarily to wipe the lenses, but she must have already been half asleep by then. "jesus christ," she groaned to herself, pushing herself out of bed. she knew she would never be able to sleep tonight, or do anything productive. she stumbled to the door, stopping to catch a glimpse of herself in the full length mirror hanging on it. tall, a skinny dancer's body. the stereotypical ballerina, only she didn't dance anymore. she convinced herself that she would never give it up like her sister did when she got married and moved out, but she didn't really have the time at the moment. either way, what she lacked in social grace, she made up in her physical grace. pushing her fiery hair out of her eyes, she tried to smooth out the wrinkles in her plain t-shirt that had formed from her nap, too lazy to change. she did, however, will herself to put in her contacts, always hating the sight of herself in glasses. she was walking, because she didn't really have the money for a car. plus she had spent her teen years in new york, and had gotten used to walking everywhere. public transportation was something julia always tried to avoid if she could--obviously, knowing julia, creepy strangers were one of her biggest fears. she wasn't good at having conversations in the first place, let alone with a complete stranger. not that people usually talked to her randomly on the bus or train, but the people who did usually were the ones who scared julia to death. no, she preferred walking unless it was absolutely necessary that she take public transportation. anyway, it wasn't like julia even knew where she was going. she was still feeling slightly groggy from her impromptu nap. not too far from her apartment, she passed a bar--and even though she normally would have passed by it without another thought, she still felt a little sleepy and it showed in her face. it wasn't a bar that looked like a place julia would have been scared of before. there were no girls in skimpy clothing in sight, no drunken bar fights. she wavered for a minute, unsure of what to do. it wasn't something she'd usually do, but naps got her in a crappy mood. too early to go back to bed (not that she would be able to), too late to be productive. she was stuck in the middle. she reached downward, running her hand down a thin, pale leg, a weird habit she had somehow developed from dance, how she used to bend down and grab her ankles to stretch when she had a short break. that was julia--made up of her little quirks and habits, not much else to her. stood up straight again, her shoulders back, another habit from dance. with a soft, lush voice, she asked for a coffee, noting the bartender's odd look in her direction, something she had been expecting. she was going to be up all night, that was something she already knew would happen. she rested an elbow on the counter, her chin in her palm, long, bony fingers against her cheek. julia sipped at her coffee, her gaze shifting to scan the bar. she was an observer, julia, rather than someone who took action. no, julia liked to watch. she knew people's names who didn't know hers, or even people who didn't know she existed. not that she admitted to that. her eyes locked on one face that she recognized, a face she'd recognized from forever. "leon?" she managed to say out loud, even though talking wasn't something she had been planning on doing that night. she had been ready for another night of being that redheaded girl in the corner, observing and not participating. what she was good at. this is 973 words for ellie as leon. also this sucks omg B|.

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