Hey Im Jordan

CLOSED.

@Dirty Pretty Lies

Leon Christopher Brycen

Leon Christopher Brycen

"Bitches love me cuz they know that I can fuck"
-Barack Obama

---

Name:

Leon Christopher Brycen

Nickname:

Leo
Chris

Birth Date:

02/02

Age:

17

Gender:

Male

Sexuality:

Straight

Relationship Status:

Single

Occupation:

He ain’t got time to work, too busy

Classification:

Senior

Role:

Jock

In Depth Appearance:

The shortest of his friend group--at 6’2”, not a short man by any means, Leon is nonetheless attractive, with short cut sometimes sandy blonde, sometimes light brown hair--depending on how the light hits it. His eyes are a bright blue. Not quite as muscular or as a cut as his peers (especially Wolfe and Ender--it’s hardly even fair, those two are like machines), Leon is still attractive.

He dresses in standard clothing, t-shirts, jeans. He’s a teenager, not a fashionista. Ender can catch these hands.

M Y Q U I R K S

Habits | Quirks | Oddities

• Carries a pack of watermelon hubba bubba gum around with him wherever he goes
• Has a bag of Hershey’s kisses in his locker. He has his reasons
• Always wears a watch on his left wrist. Has since he was 12. It basically doubles as a calculator. It’s lit
• Has a preference for beanies

Hobbies:

• Air hockey
• Arcade games
• NBA 2k16
• CS:GO
• Paintball
• Skeet shooting
• Street racing

Likes:

• Winning
• Spinning in desk chairs
• Motorcycles, specifically of the KTM and Ducati brands. Harleys are okay too, but those are more for cruising--which he does yearly, with his father, across the country.
• Ranch flavored corn nuts
• Garlic parmesan oven roasted potato wedges. What? They’re a delicacy. Blame Ty. Kid can cook
• Black and orange color schemes. Halloween is homie’s shit, ok?

Dislikes:

• Burned bacon
• Cold waffles
• Unmelted butter
• Trucks
• Wal-Mart

Fears:

• Going deaf
• Death by explosion
• Losing all of his teeht

Personality:

♦ Romantic ♦ Womanizer ♦ Optimistic ♦ Sucks cock

At his core, Leon is a romantic. Yep. That’s just the way it is. He likes the idea of flirting with a woman and courting her, and to be honest, he’s pretty good at it (maybe it has something to do with the rumors that Leon is like, the second coming in the bedroom), but he ain’t about that relationship life. He likes to have sex and he likes the act of courting, but he doesn’t like the idea of being tied down to one person. Maybe, in the future he’ll be a wonderful husband, but for now…

He’s in it for the nookie, yo.

Still, though, Leon is brightly tempered, and easily entertained, to the point that he’s almost the most popular of his group. Unlike Ty, who’s annoying, Wolfe, who’s angry, Ender, who’s brooding, and Connor, who’s self-absorbed, Leon is approachable and open to conversation with just about anyone. He’s the least elitist of the Elite (though Ty would basically happily talk to anyone, no one would happily talk with Ty), and makes a point of being friends with everyone and dicking as many as he can.

---

D E F I N I N G M Y P A S T

History:

Son of an aircraft engineer and a successful real estate agent, Leon has lived the most quiet life of the Elite. He never did anything fancy, his parents were never loud or overly successful, they were pretty… normal, in comparison. But that didn’t stop them from doing the important thing: being good. They gave Leon a comfortable life, kept him happy, fed, warm, even spoiled a bit. It was nice, and he couldn’t complain. Besides, their choice of residence in Beverly Hills put him on the same street as Ender, Connor, and Wolfe--who he would quickly become fast friends with the lot of them.

Leon has always been the best with women, from even their younger years, when he got a kiss in second grade and not a single one of the others could. It’s a talent, and one that he’s very fond of. Over the years, it helped that he seemed to be a natural at bedroom warfare, so to speak, and that he happened to hook up with gossip-y girl after gossip-y girl. He was a legend, after a certain point.

Eventually, it got so bad that it annoyed and frustrated the other boys, who were starting to feel like their masculinity was in jeopardy as a result of Leon’s popularity, and they began the now ever popular habit of saying that Leon sucks dick. If he’s gone? He’s sucking dick. If he leaves? Off to suck a dick. What? You have to deal with your problems somehow!

This has led to Leon having to defend his honor as best as he can, and at least stop them from saying it while he’s standing there. He doesn’t suck cock! Most likely, anyway.

At around 14, he gained a penchant for motorcycles, starting at first with dirt bikes, something he picked up from his father on a trip to the Glamis sand dunes, where he learned to ride. Ever since then, Leon has decided that anything with two wheels and a motor is his bitch. When he turned sixteen, he didn’t go for his driver’s license, Leon went straight for his motorcycle license. He’s a highly skilled rider, capable of racing, freestyle, or just cruising.

Leon participates in more than a few underground street races, which he tends to win. He has fun doing it, and will probably do it all his life. Additionally, he rides at a few FMX compounds scattered across the state, and spends time at the Glamis sand dunes. Motorcycles are fun. It’s his main hobby, and what he does with most of his free time.

It’s fun. And exhilarating. And there are tons of chicks at the get-togethers.

He occasionally shows up at the meets with Ty, who enjoys street racing himself, but is more accustomed to 4-wheel vehicles.

---

M I S C .

Extracurricular Activities:

Foosball. Left wide receiver

Extra:

DID YOU READ THE RULES FAM? STOP RIDING MY DICK

Anything Else:

1
2
3

---

CLOSED.

Ender

Erick James Anderson

"I ain’t a killer, but don’t push me
Revenge is like the sweetest joy next to gettin’ pussy"
-Makaveli the Don

---

Name:

Erick James Anderson Jr.

Nickname:

Ender
Don’t call him Erick if you aren’t looking to get your fucking ass beat.

Birth Date:

10/16

Age:

17

Gender:

Male

Sexuality:

Bisexual

Relationship Status:

Engaged to the game

Occupation:

Nope.

Classification:

Senior

Role:

Jock

_{^{”You should see the other guy…”}}

In Depth Appearance:

Ender is far and away the best dressed of his friends. He knows when things match, when they don’t, and what to wear. He’s fancy, it’s really that simple. Button up shirts, ties, slacks. That’s what he wears on a day to day. Being well dressed is fucking easy and frankly, there’s no excuse.

He can always be found wearing a small chain around his neck, with a small, smooth, circular piece of metal hanging from it.

He has a soft face, framed by short brown hair, with dark brown eyes. Like the rest of his friend group, Ender is fit and attractive. The only issue Ender has is nine out of ten times, he has a fight mark on his face: black eye, crooked nose, bruised cheek. Some people are into it, some people think it makes him look gross. C’est la vie.

M Y Q U I R K S

Habits | Quirks | Oddities

• Slaps the wall of a doorway twice whenever he walks into a room.
• Despite having pin-straight, knot free hair, always carries a comb
• Listens to Wanted Dead or Alive by Bon Jovi entirely too often
• Randomly shows up at Connor’s house in the dead of the night to sleep over (to the point that he has a key to the front door)

Hobbies:

• Airsoft/paintball
• Basketball
• Ending things

Likes:

• The Elite
• Ending things
• The way the emos dress. /fa/ as fuck
• The crisp crunch of a pringle.
• The smooth, refreshing taste of Sprite
• The nice crinkly noise paper makes when you tear it out of a binder

Dislikes:

• Ty’s accent
• The way his homies dress. Not /fa/. At all.
• Kettle corn
• Stuff getting in his teeth
• The way dollar bills smell
• Pretty much everyone that’s not directly a member of the Elite

Fears:

• Big ass
• motherfucking
• snakes

Personality:



♦ Cocky ♦ Short Fused ♦ Fashionable ♦ Distant ♦

Ender is a product of his upbringing, first and foremost.

If his relationship with his father was better, or if his mother was alive, maybe he’d be a nicer person. But, his relationship with his father is fucking terrible, and his mother has been dead for just over a decade. As a result, Ender is an emotionally short, distant young man with far fewer redeeming traits than his downsides. He’s good at football, and he knows that. In fact, most of his personality can be found in what he does at the beginning of each play: Ender will walk to the line and raise his hand, pointing a finger gun at the opponent’s quarter back, then fire. Bam. Ended.

He’s an alright dude to hang out with, once you get over his general abrasive and aggressiveness. He’s been described as a ‘nail-file of a person’ (Ty’s doing. Never again). He’s extremely close with his friends, not with other people, though even the rest of his group will admit that Ender is the most distant of the lot. He disappears randomly for long periods of time and can be hard to get ahold of, despite thousands of texts and hundreds of phone calls.

---

D E F I N I N G M Y P A S T

History:

Irish and Italian. Same name as his father.

His father used to be a professional football player, for the San Francisco 49ers, and won four Super Bowl rings before sustaining an injury that kept him out for just over a half a season. When he came back, he couldn’t perform quite as well as he did before- due to a variety of reasons, and, like any self-respecting Irishman would, he took out his frustration on the bottle of alcohol, his wife, and his then 5 year old son. Suddenly second string, his rage was beyond what Ender and his mother had seen in the past.

He beat Ender’s mom. She died, and so did their unborn child.

Quietly covered up by an excellent legal team and Ender’s father’s friends in high places as a fall down a flight of stairs, the son and father moved out of SF, heading south while receiving pay from the Niners, thankful for the good championships they’d won under his father’s initial run and leadership. They wound up in Beverly Hills. Ender had just freshly turned seven, and hit it off quite well with his next-door neighbor: Connor. The two became fast friends, a friendship that went beyond that--they were brothers, and they would ride together die together for life.

Though it stopped for a little while after they moved, by the time Ender was 10, his father was back on the bottle again, and Ender found himself escaping the home (really, it was more of a prison) that he lived in by running off and staying the night at Connor’s. When he turned fourteen, he’d spent so much time at Connor’s, that Connor’s parents chose to just give him a house key. He basically lived there anyway, and showed up at random, awful times in the middle of the night--and to be honest, they were getting sick of being woken up by the door bell.

His father thrashed him constantly. In fact, one could go so far as to say that Erick James Anderson Senior blamed his injury, the loss of his wife, and the loss of his unborn child on Ender. Connor would often question the bruises and cuts on his friend’s body, but Ender would shrug it off and say ”You should see the other guy,” because… Ender wasn’t weak. And he wouldn’t let anyone know what happened to him. He didn’t need help.

Didn’t want it.

At thirteen, Connor decided that Ender wasn’t an Erick. He was… an Ender. After all, he was the second best football player (behind Connor himself) that Connor had ever seen, and a play with Ender was a game winner. So… Ender he became. The young teen latched onto the nickname obsessively, going so far as to get physical with people who called him Erick instead. He wasn’t like his father. He didn’t want to share the same name as him, and he hated that people insisted on reminding him that he did. So, Ender he was. And Ender he would stay.

By the time they reached high school, and their group of friends grew, even the teachers just called him Ender. It was nice. He liked it, appreciated it.

To this day, Ender honors his mother--a woman he only has bright memories of, and the only person he knows for sure has ever cared about him--by listening to her favorite song ‘Wanted, Dead or Alive’ by Bon Jovi, and by wearing a chain with a piece of steel hanging from it.

Pressed into the steel is his mother’s fingerprint.

Since he received it at the funeral, Ender has never taken it off, and likely never will.

---

M I S C .

Extracurricular Activities:

Football.

Extra:

get off my dick

like anyone who’s irish and italian, ender is catholic.

He drives a 2016 Dodge Viper. A present from his deluded father meant to make up for all the torment he’s caused Ender to suffer. It didn’t work, and, even beyond that, the torment continues.

Still, rides nice.

Anything Else:

ender’s aight

---

CLOSED.

Wolfe

Wolfe Andrew Kingsley

"They don’t want none."
-CFO$

---

Name:

Wolfe Andrew Kingsley

Nickname:

his name is wolfe that shit is badass do you really think he wants to be called anything else?

...sentinel. his friends call him sentinel

Birth Date:

09/09/1997

Age:

18

Gender:

Male

Sexuality:

straighter than straight he’s the straightest dude you’ve ever seen trust me on that
he’s straight

Relationship Status:

Single

Occupation:

A mechanic, but he aspires to be a firefighter

Classification:

Senior

Role:

Jock

In Depth Appearance:

Wolfe carries himself with such an air of confidence that it’s almost overbearing. He’s tall, standing at about six foot four and a half, and he’s muscular, overly so for a highschooler. He takes good care of himself, and has a strong, sharp jaw line.

He traditionally wears tight t-shirts, and tank tops/wifebeaters whenever applicable. No, he does not beat his wife. He isn’t even married, stupid.

For pants, he prefers black jeans. Not because he’s edgy or anything. Just a preference, back up. He also likes to wear gym shorts. They’re comfortable.

M Y Q U I R K S

Habits | Quirks | Oddities

• Has a tendency to ramble. It’s not his fault, he’s just better at talking than everyone else.
• Is very, very good at skipping rocks
• Carries an old Yu-Gi-Oh card in his wallet. It’s a lucky charm.

Hobbies:

• Golfing. Mini, mostly, he can’t afford the real shit
• Ultimate Frisbee
• Basketball
• Paintball
• Laser tag
• Boxing

Likes:

• Fresh french fries
• Fans. The mechanical kind, not the human kind
• NBA 2K games
• Captain America
• Mountain Dew Black
• Soft serve vanilla ice cream

Dislikes:

• Alyssa
• Audrey
• Evelyn, in that order
• Whenever Ty speaks
• Flowers
• Cold French fries

Fears:

• The fuck is fear?
• Y’all pussies fear shit?
• Fuck off
• Okay, fine.
• Cthulu, sometimes.
• Yes that’s it fuck off

Personality:

♦ Bad-ass ♦ Prideful ♦ Loyal ♦ Vengeful ♦

Pride.

Wolfe is dangerously prideful, and will hold a grudge with someone who’s injured his pride almost forever. It’s a hard hole to dig yourself out of once you’re in it. Wolfe gets his revenge in small ways, or big ways, depending on the type of crime against him. To the people that are lucky enough to call him a friend though, Wolfe is fiercely loyal, and would likely take a bullet for any other member of the Elite (yes, even Ty), though few other people have attained that level of friendship with him.

Wolfe’s generally not the most well liked of his group of friends, and that’s largely due to the way his personality is. He just comes off as a gruff, intimidating, apathetic young man who probably has anger issues. Once you get to know him though, he’s been described as a big teddy bear (Ty’s doing, only said once. Probably never again.). Wolfe likes the picture he’s painted of himself as an unapproachable badass. It means less people try to talk to him.

He doesn’t like talking to randies (people he doesn’t know very well), and only does it when absolutely necessary.

---

D E F I N I N G M Y P A S T

History:

Wolfe Andrew Kingsley. His name alone makes it seem like he was destined for greatness from the beginning…

Unfortunately, when you take his initials: WAK, you get the actual reality of his existence: whack.

Wolfe is originally from Alaska, born to a young woman who’d lived all her life there, and a young man who’d came North for work with his younger brother. During his childhood, he grew up in a log cabin that his father and brother had built upon deciding that they liked it here, and would stay. After making oodles of money working on oil pipelines, the brothers had purchased a decent chunk of land and set to their next task: striking it rich with gold. Wolfe was homeschooled for most of his childhood, due to the remoteness of where his parents had chose to raise him.

Despite this, once his father and uncle struck it rich (and they did, finding a huge strain of gold in the Bering Sea), his mother insisted that, at the least, she and her family move down to society, to give Wolfe a chance at a more social life, noticing that the young boy was becoming more and more of a recluse as the years went by. As a happy wife tends to lead to a happy life, Wolfe’s father agreed and they moved down to southern California, with his father spending time in Alaska to continue working, but ultimately having a 50/50 stake in whatever their company found, as per the agreement he’d made with his brother years ago.

Now 14, Wolfe was beginning school in an environment he’d never experienced before: public. Living in a huge home, and ultimately finding that he kind of liked it here over the barren snow of where he was born and raised, Wolfe found his ‘clique’ fairly quickly; that of some kid named Bryant O’Connor and the dude that was always hanging around with him: Erick Anderson--sorry, Ender Anderson.

Regardless of how much he prefers life with his squad, Wolfe takes almost the entirety of each summer to go back North to the family land and live. Hunt, sleep under the stars, build a fire, track, look for gold.

Be a man.

It’s in his blood.

---

M I S C .

Extracurricular Activities:

he plays foosball

the devils game

Extra:

Yeah, but I mean… come on. This is like my sixth character...

Anything Else:

Wolfe has a license to carry a concealed firearm.

Also, he’s cool.

---

@Dirty Pretty Lies dj khaled voice another one

CLOSED.

@Dirty Pretty Lies

Ty

Bartimaeus Lucian Locke

"I was hatin' on the world as a little boy
I was lovin' all the girls as a little boy…
It’s time to blow their minds."
-Limp Bizkit

---

Name:

Bartimaeus Lucian Locke

Nickname:

Ty
Luci
T

Birth Date:

10/07/1998

Age:

17

Gender:

Male

Sexuality:

Straight

Relationship Status:

Single

Occupation:

If you ask him, he’s a self-employed game changer

Classification:

Senior

Role:

Jock, duh

In Depth Appearance:

Standing just under his father, at 6’3”, Ty is rather tall, with short black hair and icy blue eyes. He dresses in shirts that are loud and covered in graphics, jeans that cost more than your car, and shoes that cost more than your house. He has an expensive pair of Oakley’s sunglasses that he’s almost always wearing(including inside and at night), and on the few occasions that he isn’t wearing them, they hang from the collar of his shirt. He has a different baseball cap for almost every team in the United States, and a few for record labels he’s fond of.

Admittedly, Ty has a bit of a babyface. But, hey, it gets the panties wet and in the long run, that’s what matters.

Ty is very expressive, often responding to questions or comments with his facial expressions rather than replying with words. His hands move a lot when he talks, and he almost always maintains eye contact with whoever he’s speaking with. There are often little smirks and other suggestive motions when he’s talking to a ladyfriend. He’s very good at moving his eyebrows around, perhaps because of genetics, perhaps because he spent 79898574398574397432648739215907 minutes practicing in front of the mirror. Who knows? Not you.

M Y Q U I R K S

Habits | Quirks | Oddities

• Always wears black sunglasses, even inside or at night
• Chews on straws from soft drinks after finishing them
• Has a large assortment of baseball caps, and usually wears a different one for almost every occasion
• Can roll a coin over his knuckles and does it fairly often
• Has a shoe collection worth way too much money; relaces every pair with different colored laces\
• Can moonwalk
• Knows every Shady Records, Aftermath Records, Funk Volume, and Strange Music song lyric by lyric.

Hobbies:

• Ordering shoes, and then relacing them
• Baking.
• Sleeping. Does that count? It should.
• Watching movies
• Gettin’ lit
• Freestylin’

Likes:

• Female British accents
• Girls that wear glasses
• Ritz crackers, especially the garlic butter kind
• Old Spice’s swagger line
• Terry Crews
• Irish Spring bodywash
• Eevee and its evolutions
• The doge meme
• Ice Cube’s music
• Magik
• Phil Collins
• Rap music

Dislikes:

• Standard laces in his shoes
• Ice Cube’s movies
• People who won’t fuck off when told to fuck off
• European men
• Axe for men shower gel (especially the chocolate kind)
• Scott Summers
• Nintendo products(only likes Mario Kart)

Fears:

• His father
• His grandfather
• Being sent to the military academy

Personality:
♦ Expressive ♦ Self-entitled ♦ Brave ♦ Annoying ♦

Ty is an expressive young man. He prefers to use gestures and facial expressions to show how he feels about things, rather than telling how he feels. As a result, a lot of people don’t know what the fuck he means or what he wants or what he’s saying. He can be confusing at times as a result, but… he doesn’t give a shit.

About anyone or anything, other than himself. He’s self-entitled, on an incredibly short fuse, and extremely egotistical. He knows he’s good, at everything he does, or at least he truly believes he is. His results are usually alright, but his methods can be… abhorrent, from time-to-time. He has a lot of raw potential, but it’s unhoned and will likely remain such unless he gets some kind of motivation to mold into something… less shitty.

For now, though, he’s a young man. He hates the world, and the world hates him, as far as he’s concerned. He’s come to the conclusion that life sucks, and the only good that’s gonna come out of it is sticking it in nice butts. And in that respect, he does a pretty good job for himself. Girls are pretty easy at parties, drugs and alcohol are excellent inhibition lowers.

In most situations, he’s pretty brave, with only a few things really bringing fear out of him. He’s too concerned with winning(or changing) the game of life to care about being afraid. The only things that really scare him are the things that can take him out of the game: his father, his grandfather, and the military academy they both attended as children(although at this point, Ty would be one of the older ones.)

---

D E F I N I N G M Y P A S T

History:

”Aight, so you wanna hear about how Ty ended up in Beverly HIlls. ‘bout how I became the PILLAR of the community you see before you today. You prolly heard people say that I’m a spoiled little punk.

Alright, well check it out, ‘bout six years ago I was livin’ in the comfort of Brooklyn, chilling in my mom’s house on a World of Warcraft account, only popped out when I needed some more cash and to have my rich mom bail me out. See, my dad wasn’t around all that much, acuz he’s an active duty member of the United States Military, stationed in South Korea. So it was just me and moms, k?

Anyway, so I quit WoW when I turned thirteen because I found that tha streets were callin’ me, yo. Look, long story short. I joined a gang, yo. Something straight outta Fresh. Ya’all ever seen that movie? No? Look it up you degenerates, gotdamn. Point is, little homie in that flick is a drug dealer at age twelve. Just like YA BOY. I was slinging dope before I even kissed a girl. So anyway, I keep at it. I’m fifteen now, I got a girl on each arm, I’m a player, yo. Just like Tech, yo. I’m rollin in the Benjamins by this point, you know how it be.

So, anyway, yo. I’m failin’ school. No biggie, no worries. I’m making that money, yo. But then the unthinkable happens. Did you know that they don’t have to tell you when they’re a cop? I thought that was how it worked!

Totally got snitched on. No big, tho. Cuz apparently, I guess moms has got this turbo rich family back in Beverly Hills. Like turbo rich. They bought ‘em off. All charges dropped. Course, dad came back and whooped my ass. Moms got me out of it by deciding she was gonna send me back to live with her family. The Greens, or some shit, I dunno. I’m just kidding. I know. You know. If you don’t know, then turn on the TV every once in awhile when you’re done masturbating.

So now I’m in Beverly HIlls. This is two years ago, I think? I don’t remember. I drink too much. Anyway. I move in with this hot blonde, too bad she’s my cousin or something. And this ain’t Game o’ Thrones so I ain’t bout to dick her. Her friends however… They keep it 100, let me just put it that way. And she got this crazy ass bald dude always on her dick. He’s chill, though. Anyway, I met her friend Connor, who introduced me to his homies: Wolfe, Ender, and Leon.

Now we all five homies. We dem boys in da hood. We’re The Elite. The best of the best. The pinnacle of perfection. Closer than brothers. Cept for Leon. Leon kinda sucks dick…

But I ain’t slingin’ dope on the corner no more. Nah, I got this Green money funding my ‘adventures,’ yo. Just chillin’, sleepin’ with as many blondes as I can get my hands on. What? I like blondes. Bonus points if they wear glasses.

It’s been almost three years I been livin’ in these parts now, and dammit I ain’t goin’ nowhere. The homies is here. I go back to the east coast every once in a while, just so mom knows I ain’t dead. Dad’s back in Korea. We don’t talk much ever since he, y’know, SLAPPED THE SHIT OUT OF ME.

That’s my story, yo.

Peace late.

---

M I S C .

Extracurricular Activities:

He plays football, running back.

Extra:

no >:(
Yes. :(
Just listen to this song ok youtube.com/watch?v=zEZBeHsgVrs

Anything Else:

hes the best

---

one.

CLOSED.

@Dirty Pretty LiesSheets.

SoS: Semblance of Suburbia

@ApokalipseOkay.

SoS: Semblance of Suburbia

@Dirty Pretty LiesNo, it's organized by the club. Not all of it goes to the academy.

SoS: Semblance of Suburbia

I started it.

SoS: Semblance of Suburbia

Thirty households. Thirty letters. One boy. One bicycle.

It was going to be a long morning. Surrounded by the titanic homes of Lakewood Summit, the young messenger was on a mission. Deliver all the letters, don’t come into work for the rest of the day. He hadn’t needed to be told twice. After all, he hated the country club. The people more than anything. He was young, just over fourteen years old, but he’d be damned if the residents and people he caddied for at the Summit Country Club weren’t exactly pillars of society (despite what they might claim themselves). IN fact, quite the opposite was true: they were rich and stubborn and demanding and full of themselves and just generally all around not nice people.

Some of them had little facades they put on, yes, but it was really just… a game to these people. The game of life, and frankly, they were all winning in their own ways. Winning more than he and his family were, at least. The size of their homes alone spoke volumes to him. The residents of Lakewood Summit may be assholes (at least to a normal person), but… they were rich assholes.

The houses were so big. No family, let alone a single person, had any business living in homes this large. What purpose did it even serve? Gigantic. Titanic. Enormous. This entire place made no sense. Honestly, he was surprised he was pedaling through the streets so cleanly, without being stopped, especially given the time of day. Checking his watch and the letter bag, the boy looked at the rising sun, just barely cresting the eastern skyline. If he kept the current pace, he could be out and on his way by no later than 6:48 AM. (Approximately.)

---

---

He was, strangely so, right. One last letter, delivered to the final house. 6:46 AM. It’d only taken him roughly an hour and a half. Now, freedom called him. He pedaled quickly, wanting to escape before they roused and flooded the streets, checking the mailboxes to see the letters he’d stuffed into them:





The invitations were tucked away carefully in stark white envelopes, and stamped shut by hand the night before. The wax that closed the letters was shaped in the symbol of the country club, which the boy thought was rather generic, but it wasn’t really his place. Plus, the head of the country club paid him. In cash. Every week. No complaints here. Regardless, each letter was addressed to ‘the head of the household,’ same as it was every year. Ten years now, the art auction had happened.

Shrugging his shoulders, the boy flashed his badge at the security gate(something given to him by the head of the club), which worked. With a simple shrug, the security guards opened the gate to him, and he rode past it. Escape! As he rolled down the road to the summit, he could feel tiredness start to overtake him--he wasn’t meant to be up this early--but, waking up had given him the opportunity to not go to work and be a busboy for the club during the party. He didn’t understand why the letters needed to be delivered the day of the gathering, but he wasn’t nearly as fancy as the people who lived in the houses behind him.

Secretly, he thought that for the best. Life in the Summit was probably stressful…

SoS: Semblance of Suburbia

@ApokalipseOkay, feel free.

[@Everyone]

just so we're all relatively on the same page, i've finished my last character (haven't posted him yet), and i'm gonna try to have the IC up tomorrow night.