[center][img]http://media.tumblr.com/3df1a9fc0d9918b8175ff5d3f84021cd/tumblr_mw6gftCJqF1rru28vo1_500.gif[/img][/center]
[center][h1][color=BurlyWood]Alan Woodard - Present Evening - Lake Tahoe Ski Lodge - Tahoe City[/color][/h1][/center]

[color=Burlywood]There was something about the ambiance of the middle of the night that always put Alan in considerably high spirits, though this particular night might have had something to do with his thought process taking him to the third exceptionally hot chick that he was going to get to bang that day if he played his cards right; and Alan [i]always[/i] played his cards right. 

The area was dark, quiet save for an occasional squirrel chatter or gust of wind tossing around a plastic bag along the streets and causing the dead tree branches to rattle together. The air had that fresh smell to it as the snowfall had let up considerably and was dry once more save for the occasional snow dump from the grand Douglas fir branches that littered the area, simply holding too much weight on their feeble twigs. Though, the more Alan walked, the more the trees thinned out and the buildings took precedence, sheltering him somewhat from the bitter bite of cold making his middle-of-the-night stroll all the more pleasant. The city-scape was something he was familiar with. Trees and open terrain? Not so much.

Rounding the corner of the ski lodge and heading towards the main road that would take him back to town, the street lamps illuminating the parking lot became significantly dimmer with each step he took away from the lodge, counting on the light of the moon and it's reflection off of the fresh layer of snow to keep him from running into things (like more snow or his own two feet). Hailing a cab to take him into the city wasn't exactly a practical option as of yet; the lodge was far enough 'out of the way' that cabs didn't frequent the area (especially during the middle of the night) and calling one to pick him up would no doubt take a couple of hours. More than once Alan had learned the cabbie ways from his life spent in Manhattan. He didn't mind the physical activity of walking long distances either. His current pair of shoes, bought new just a few weeks ago probably already had a hundred or so miles to them making them look in dire need of replacing, which he didn't have any problems with. He may have been a bit of a stickler when it came to spending his 'hard earned cash' when he could just lift whatever it was that he wanted, but a good pair of brand new shoes wasn't something he liked to mess around with, and would [i]gladly[/i] spend his money on a couple times a month; he had quite the collection of semi-new shoes back at home filling up the majority of his closet.

Alan always enjoyed his late night strolls. With his job practically forcing his personality into being a people-person, driven by large crowds at all hours of the day, that didn't go without saying that the playboy magician enjoyed a moment or two of peace and quiet to himself. More often than not, Alan could be seen walking the streets of Manhattan in the middle of the night, hands stuffed into his worn jean pockets and whistling to himself a merry tune that often-times put off those very few he did pass along on the streets. Occasionally, his good mood didn't set well with those that came out in the night and on more than one occasion Alan found himself waking up with a busted lip in a trashcan miles away from where he had remembered being last, but nothing too serious. He was smart, resourceful, charismatic... he didn't have too many problems with others...

A distinctive clicking sound cut through the air like a hot knife and Alan froze mid-step as he felt the cold steel of a .45 Long Cult being pressed into the back of his neck.

"The boss don't like it when you don't pay on time." A cold voice sounded behind Alan. Without even a chance to swallow the breath that had got caught in his throat, Alan's small frame was thrown a good five feet to the right until his chest was pressed up flat against a cold, brick wall. The sudden impact had Alan seeing little spots of white, but as he was trying to blink them away, the barrel of the gun was pressed back into him, this time between his shoulder blades as a second pair of hands wrenched his arms out from in front of him and pulled them with unnecessary force back behind his back just below the gun.

"Two days now, the boss has been waitin for payment but you know what? I don't see none..." A second voice said, sounding a lot deeper in pitch than the first. A waft of cigar smoke was blown into the side of Alan's face, causing him to cough and sputter a bit when he wasn't too busy grimacing in pain from getting his shoulders twisted back into an uncomfortable angle. "So, which pretty lady are we gonna have to take for collateral? You've had quite the day today, Alan, quite the pick of women."

Alan closed his eyes, feeling another hand (what he assumed was the free hand of the man with the gun) hold onto the back of his head tightly and pressed his cheek even more flat against the brick wall. His teeth grit, a quiet exhale of pain coming through his lips, but he was more worried about the gun pressed into his back than a few scrapes on his cheek... though the latter would tarnish his otherwise flawless complexion considerably...

"Noneofem. Look. I got your money. My pockets are full of crap I can pawn off. That's where I was headed, actually. Right now. To get you guys your money. There's no need to bring anyone else into this-" Alan tried.

The pistol was pressed into his back even more, so hard, in fact, Alan was sure he would get quite the bruise there when all was said and done.

"The boss don't like gettin jerked around, kid. Get your shit together, or we'll be back on less hospitable terms..."

There was a slight push and Alan's body was finally released, the gun barrel withdrawn and his arms and head his own again. Turning to look the two mobsters in the eye, Alan was immediately greeted with a fist of bronze knuckles to the face, splitting open the skin underneath his cheek wide open and forcing his eye shut as the swelling had already set in. The impact had Alan thrown back into the wall again, but the structure of the brick had him from falling over completely. His hand shot to the side of his face, hissing out in pain as his legs slumped down until his rear met with the asphalt. By the time he had gathered his wits again, the two men were gone with nothing but the stench of their cigar smoke and the nice shiner on his face to remember them by.

"Fuckin' pricks..." Alan grimaced as he forced himself back up to his feet. He wiped the cut on his cheek with the back of his sleeve, now only having one eye to his use he wasn't sure by the amount of blood on his sweater if the cut had gone very deep, but there was no way he was getting laid looking like this.

Okay, so maybe getting involved with a loan shark when he first arrived to Tahoe City was a bit of a bad idea; but the two hookers and amount of blow he had managed to buy with it was certainly worth it at the time. Feeling his pockets suddenly growing very heavy with the weight of random trinkets he had nicked throughout the day, Alan altered his course and began to seek out the closest pawnshop he could find. The alcohol and food could wait for later.

After about an hour, his search came up fruitful in finding a pawnshop hidden in the deep recesses of the downtown area. Upon entering the convenient twenty-four-hour shop, his senses were immediately infiltrated by the smell of stale vomit and something sickeningly sweet, making his stomach lurch with some sort of familiarity. He had been in a drug home long enough to know [i]exactly[/i] what that smell was. Despite being with his foster family for less than a year, the smell of heroin wasn't one he could easily forget. Truly Alan would have left the entire drug world behind in that shithole of a place when he ran away from them, but it had been a literal 'out of the frying pan and into the fire' once he took on the life of a street magician. It seemed that coke, heroin, meth... all that sort of stuff just came with the trade, and to save himself from being yet [i]another[/i] disappointment to someone he looked up to, he followed in his mentor's footsteps and got involved. So stepping into that shop had Alan immediately thinking that he just might leave the shop with just a bit more than a thick wad of cash tonight.

Approaching the bald man at the counter with a cheery smile despite the stinging pain of his face, Alan began to fork over the various little trinkets of his days work at the lodge. Since each and every item seemed to be of a 'unique' style, the shop owner had to look up the items and ring them up individually, giving Alan plenty of time to look around and what it was the man had to sell. There wasn't anything awe-inspiring or any 'secret treasures' that immediately caught his eye; though in Alan's experience that was the case ninety percent of the time with [i]any[/i] pawnshop. He looked over the items with lack of interest, only giving him something to do while he waited and eventually came to the glass casings which more often than not held the more valuable items. His gaze lingered on a particular [url=http://s3.amazonaws.com/cloud.scoutmob.com/shoppe/products/52222/original/03_a__MG_2159.jpg]necklace[/url] that caught his attention, though he wasn't sure why.

Squatting down on his haunches to get a better look at it, he realized that the small, wooden, dark shape inside of the expertly crafted lighter wooden cirle was a snowflake. His mind immediately brought him back to the pool when he had been checking out Eliza's ass on more than one occasion, and the tiny little birthmark on the back of her right thigh that looked... nearly [i]identical[/i] to the shape he was now looking at. The thought alone had something stirring in his pants, but he ignored it as the gruff voice of the pawnbroker caught his attention, alerting him that he had finished and had come up with a price. Alan stood and walked back to the main counter, spending a good five minutes bartering prices. He had been in the business long enough to know when he was being cheated, and this guy no doubt thought that Alan would be an easy one to rip off, but much to the older man's surprise, Alan had quite the vocabulary and know-how to finally agree on something appeasable after Alan had dropped a subtle hint for exchanging a bit of the money owed to him for some heroin. Agreeing, the man ventured into the back room, giving Alan the perfect opportunity to return back to the necklace. This was just something he couldn't pass up.

Hopping over the counter like he owned the place but with the silence and dexterity of a pronounced thief, Alan pulled out a bobby pin from one of his pockets and popped open the lock of the glass casing at the back. Reaching his hand inside, he took the necklace by the gold chain and locked the glass cabinet back up tight, stuffing the new item into his pants pocket as he hopped back over the counter. He rested his elbow on the counter and rested his chin on his hand, looking just as bored as ever for when the pawnbroker returned with his prize.

When the pawnbroker came back with a small box about the size of a glasses case, Alan took that and the remaining money owed to him and hurried back outside. Not that he was worried about being caught with stealing the necklace, he just had a hankering for some hard alcohol that he knew would help ease the tight knot now forming in the pit of his stomach with the knowledge that he had to figure out something for the loan shark and his band of 'merry men'.

Now back on the streets where the street lamps kept the sidewalk fairly lit, Alan eased up a bit, enough to wrap his mind around the next task at hand. Alcohol. He found an open liquor store not too soon after, and five minutes later Alan was walking back outside with a cheap bottle of straight up Vodka, no longer giving two shits if it was what Eliza would want or not. Daria seemed to like her drinks strong, why would her friend be any different?

He was lost in his thoughts again. The weight of the case of heroin in his back pocket coming down harder on him than the stolen trinkets had, but not for the reason he would have initially thought. The drug world reminded him back to when he was exceptionally hesitant about the whole thing but his hesitation got that look in his mentor's eye that he wasn't at all unfamiliar with; the look of disappointment; the look his own father had for him when he was still made out of wood. Stopping to rest on a park bench, Alan tore into the brown paper bag and popped open the lid to the vodka bottle and took a long, hard drink. It had been quite some time since he had thought about his father last, but each time reminded him as to [i]why[/i]. He could hardly stand it.

"If only you could see me now Papa..." Alan said out loud to himself, holding the bottle between his legs on the bench as he stared down the winding path of the central park area until it got swallowed up in the darkness. "Betcha you'd be right proud of me, wouldn't ya, Old Timer?" Shaking his head, feeling the sting of hot tears coming to the corners of his eyes, Alan remedied himself by taking another good, long drink.

Alan wasn't stupid. He [i]knew[/i] for a fact that he had fucked up his life considerably. His path had been corrupted so much, twisted into something unsalvageable that there was no way he could return home now, never to be able to look upon his father's face and get to hear the words he had longed to hear from him ever since he had been created with the magic of The Blue Fairy. 'I'm so proud of you son.' No. Even [i]if[/i] Alan suddenly had a change of heart and started to follow the rules of being 'selfless, brave and true' The Blue Fairy had given him before he had been sent to this world, nothing he could ever do now could amend what he had done in the past, nothing could ever make his father proud of him.

Pressing his lips back to the bottle, he took a third, exceptionally long drink, chugging the contents until the bottle was nearly empty and into his stomach as though it were water.

"I aint goin home." Alan then said out loud to himself after parting with the bottle for need of air, gasping for breath as his good eye closed down tightly with a tear squeezing out of the corner. His eyes shot open, his legs pushing him back up to standing as his head dropped back and he was looking up at the starry-night sky, finding the North Star he oftentimes associated with The Blue Fairy. "YOU HEAR THAT? I AIN'T EVER GOING BACK!" He shouted at the top of his lungs. Anger fueled his blood as Alan threw the near-empty Vodka bottle across the park until it collided with a tree, the force shaking it's branches and dumping a fair amount of snow down by it's trunk.

His legs gave out and Alan sunk back down onto the bench, holding his head in both of his hands and looking down at his feet, though his eyes were closed, and let the silent tears fall.[/color]