Trinais Member
STATUS: To all my RP buddies, I'm gearing up for Camp Nanowrimo in July! My RPs will be slowing down this month and next. PM me for a quick response to an RP I'm in! 11 yrs ago
- Last Seen: 6 yrs ago
- Joined: 12 yrs ago
- Posts: 479 (0.11 / day)
- VMs: 0
-
Username history
- Trinais 12 yrs ago
Status
Recent Statuses
11 yrs ago
Current
To all my RP buddies, I'm gearing up for Camp Nanowrimo in July! My RPs will be slowing down this month and next. PM me for a quick response to an RP I'm in!
1
like
11 yrs ago
Back to the grind! Unavailable to post from 3:30 to 10:30 PM EST! Your Fortune: You will find something lost long ago!
11 yrs ago
Working tonight! Unavailable to post from 3:30 to 10:30 PM EST! Stay classy, Guildies!
11 yrs ago
Work tonight! I'll be unavailable to post from 3:30 to 10:30 PM EST! Will check threads and posts during breaks.
11 yrs ago
Work tonight! I'll be unavailable to post from 3:30 to 11 PM EST!
1
like
Bio
Roleplay addict, I work two jobs which unfortunately cuts back on my roleplay time.
In my limited free time I GM one ONLY WAR tabletop game, play a shopaholic Zeltron in a Star Wars game, and try to resist the urge to write long stories as the aftermath usually plunges me into a dark and unhappy depressed state.
Or maybe that's normal!
In my limited free time I GM one ONLY WAR tabletop game, play a shopaholic Zeltron in a Star Wars game, and try to resist the urge to write long stories as the aftermath usually plunges me into a dark and unhappy depressed state.
Or maybe that's normal!
Most Recent Posts
Pounding the door until he heard the toilet flush was a good way to persuade Anton to actually flush her sick down. A single stall ladies room was within state regulations for a place this size, but only just. So when Anton opened up for Ryan, he was swinging so fast that he fell forward, spinning on his heel just in time to catch himself before clipping his face on the porcelain sink.
"Christ Anton, you blew through that stuff, puke it down, then want more? If you weren't... well, you, then I'd say you're looking at killing your liver."
Ryan knew for a fact, however, that there was no more of the 'Jet Fuel' behind the bar to be had. He'd have to go to the cooler for more.
"Avery? Can you take over for me while I get more J-F for Anton? Thanks lovely!"
"Christ Anton, you blew through that stuff, puke it down, then want more? If you weren't... well, you, then I'd say you're looking at killing your liver."
Ryan knew for a fact, however, that there was no more of the 'Jet Fuel' behind the bar to be had. He'd have to go to the cooler for more.
"Avery? Can you take over for me while I get more J-F for Anton? Thanks lovely!"
<Snipped quote by Trinais>
Trinias. I'll make a respond for your character and kind of take over so your character can go back somewhere.
Thanks@CallaLily! If I post after 4, you guys can take it as a sign I called in sick lol
Cuz I gotta woooooooork. I may call in sick though, stupid spring cold >.<
Alas, I have one more post in me before :30 and then I have to gooooooo.
"Special's not up yet," Ryan said to Avery, watching as Anton downed her vile concoction and demanded more. Ryan just shook his head and put the whole bottle on the counter for her. "Southern Fireballs at two-for-five tonight. Russian Reuben sandwiches for six bucks, just as bad as always."
Ryan gave Avery a wide berth as she moved across the bar. It was hard enough being a waitress at a place that didn't serve alcohol. Her tips might be a little higher here, but sooner or later someone became a drunk asshole and the nights got interesting.
Speaking of assholes, he pulled his phone out as it vibrated in his pocket.
Heading to studio. Call tmrw?
"Hey Avery, what do you buy someone when you need to say 'Sorry I've been an asshole lately?'"
But Ryan didn't stick around to hear the answer to that one. Anton had already plowed through the potato-based jet fuel he'd given her and was making for the ladies room.
"Oh fuckberries." Ryan slipped out from behind the bar, following in Anton's wake until she went into the ladies room. And he dared not cross that threshold.
"Anton," Ryan yelled, pounding the door. "Anton, I can hear you puking in there! Flush the damn toilet this time, all right?"
Ryan gave Avery a wide berth as she moved across the bar. It was hard enough being a waitress at a place that didn't serve alcohol. Her tips might be a little higher here, but sooner or later someone became a drunk asshole and the nights got interesting.
Speaking of assholes, he pulled his phone out as it vibrated in his pocket.
Heading to studio. Call tmrw?
"Hey Avery, what do you buy someone when you need to say 'Sorry I've been an asshole lately?'"
But Ryan didn't stick around to hear the answer to that one. Anton had already plowed through the potato-based jet fuel he'd given her and was making for the ladies room.
"Oh fuckberries." Ryan slipped out from behind the bar, following in Anton's wake until she went into the ladies room. And he dared not cross that threshold.
"Anton," Ryan yelled, pounding the door. "Anton, I can hear you puking in there! Flush the damn toilet this time, all right?"
All the jet fuel!
On a sad side note, I'm heading to job #2 soon. Will have one more post up before I leave and then I'll be MIA until tomorrow.
On a sad side note, I'm heading to job #2 soon. Will have one more post up before I leave and then I'll be MIA until tomorrow.
I invented a vampire clan a couple posts back Parry will be visiting when they go. Will update this post with the name.
Edit:
"The Rusty Steak Knife club? The place run by the Rikkers Clan?"
Billy Rikkers was de Lacy's number two Vampire enforcer in the city right before Nemsemet woke up. He used to be number one, but de Lacy caught hint of a coup brewing in the clan and had used a bottle of Parry's blood, walked halfway across the city with a dozen lycans, and bust in on the noontime negotiations of who would run what when Billy Delanou unseated the asshole-in-chief. Billy Rikkers had too many friends to allow de Lacy to knock him off directly. But his biological son and newly made vampire Sebastian Rikkers, had 0 friends of note outside the clan. So Billy had to watch while de Lacy dragged his boy kicking and screaming out the back door, burning up like beef brisket in the sun while de Lacy just stood there, fangs bared in a smile at his treacherous rival.
Edit:
"The Rusty Steak Knife club? The place run by the Rikkers Clan?"
Billy Rikkers was de Lacy's number two Vampire enforcer in the city right before Nemsemet woke up. He used to be number one, but de Lacy caught hint of a coup brewing in the clan and had used a bottle of Parry's blood, walked halfway across the city with a dozen lycans, and bust in on the noontime negotiations of who would run what when Billy Delanou unseated the asshole-in-chief. Billy Rikkers had too many friends to allow de Lacy to knock him off directly. But his biological son and newly made vampire Sebastian Rikkers, had 0 friends of note outside the clan. So Billy had to watch while de Lacy dragged his boy kicking and screaming out the back door, burning up like beef brisket in the sun while de Lacy just stood there, fangs bared in a smile at his treacherous rival.
I just got called retarded. That burns.
But hey, at least I have you folks here, you calm my mental instability.
I'd be inclined to say that someone with such an adorable avatar could not be so in the least.
"What time do you think you're going to be back tonight?"
Goddammit, Ryan knew he was going to ask that question. And the worst part was, he heard the change in Michael's voice on the other side of the phone when he asked it. The upbeat chattery voice he'd had a moment ago when discussing his latest art project at the Community College was gone. Ryan could see him now, his face tinged with paint, tanned skin smudged with red and white and blue, pacing in front of a canvas barefoot and shirtless while he stood on a white sheet in their loft. Now Michael sounded like he was treading eggshells. Or broken glass.
Ryan had to take a very loud pull on his cigarette to buy himself a moment to think. The Monthly Pack meetings were a necessity. Not just because of his status as a Beta, but it was a condition for his moving in with Michael. Bad enough he felt like he'd abandoned one family to start another, but Michael was definitely suspicious about the "fishing trips" he went on every month.
"I, ah, won't be back until morning," Ryan said cautiously. "Group meeting, you know? We're going down to the river to catch trout."
Silence.
"Right," Michael said. "Trout."
"Or whatever we can catch. Fish is fish." Please don't get pissed. Please don't get pissed!
"Whatever. Call me when you get back. I'll probly be over in Portside getting my gallery showing set up."
Click.
'I'll be there for the gallery!' was on the tip of Ryan's tongue when Michael hung up.
But that was that. Ryan shut his phone down, tossed the cigarette against the back wall of the building, and shuffled back inside through the kitchen. He wanted to hit someone. Something. He couldn't help feeling pissed at Michael for not giving him one night a month to be himself. At the same time, he was completely pissed at himself for not telling Michael the truth. It wasn't a guarantee that Michael would run for the hills screaming if he knew Ryan was one level above an "extreme closet Furry" as he'd once put it. But it WAS a guarantee that he'd be forced into their club if he found out what Ryan moonlighted as.
There was no dancing around that fine line. So Ryan kept lying to Michael about fishing trips, despite never buying a pole or tackle ever ("The club has extras, so why spend the money?") and always bringing home stuff from the Market ("No bights last night, babe. But I'll make you dinner!") The whole reason Ryan kept lying to Michael was to give himself a taste of the real world. What his life might have been like if Topeka hadn't happened. He was getting the full package of human relationships now- especially the "lying to one's spouse about some deep dark secret" thing.
At the bar, Michael spotted Stephen hiding in the corner and instinctively poured him a cold PBR, sliding it to one of the servers to send his way.
When Anton showed up and asked for her Fireside Flamers, Ryan had to roll his eyes. He popped open a bottle of California red, then opened an underside fridge where he kept "the good stuff" chilled. The bottle of vodka he pulled out was on special order for Anton A.) because it was $70 a bottle and B.) because she was the only person in this state crazy enough to drink it. All the other vodkas he kept were way too weak in her opinion, and she'd let Ryan know. "Anton, you know this stuff is practically jet fuel, yeah?"
Goddammit, Ryan knew he was going to ask that question. And the worst part was, he heard the change in Michael's voice on the other side of the phone when he asked it. The upbeat chattery voice he'd had a moment ago when discussing his latest art project at the Community College was gone. Ryan could see him now, his face tinged with paint, tanned skin smudged with red and white and blue, pacing in front of a canvas barefoot and shirtless while he stood on a white sheet in their loft. Now Michael sounded like he was treading eggshells. Or broken glass.
Ryan had to take a very loud pull on his cigarette to buy himself a moment to think. The Monthly Pack meetings were a necessity. Not just because of his status as a Beta, but it was a condition for his moving in with Michael. Bad enough he felt like he'd abandoned one family to start another, but Michael was definitely suspicious about the "fishing trips" he went on every month.
"I, ah, won't be back until morning," Ryan said cautiously. "Group meeting, you know? We're going down to the river to catch trout."
Silence.
"Right," Michael said. "Trout."
"Or whatever we can catch. Fish is fish." Please don't get pissed. Please don't get pissed!
"Whatever. Call me when you get back. I'll probly be over in Portside getting my gallery showing set up."
Click.
'I'll be there for the gallery!' was on the tip of Ryan's tongue when Michael hung up.
But that was that. Ryan shut his phone down, tossed the cigarette against the back wall of the building, and shuffled back inside through the kitchen. He wanted to hit someone. Something. He couldn't help feeling pissed at Michael for not giving him one night a month to be himself. At the same time, he was completely pissed at himself for not telling Michael the truth. It wasn't a guarantee that Michael would run for the hills screaming if he knew Ryan was one level above an "extreme closet Furry" as he'd once put it. But it WAS a guarantee that he'd be forced into their club if he found out what Ryan moonlighted as.
There was no dancing around that fine line. So Ryan kept lying to Michael about fishing trips, despite never buying a pole or tackle ever ("The club has extras, so why spend the money?") and always bringing home stuff from the Market ("No bights last night, babe. But I'll make you dinner!") The whole reason Ryan kept lying to Michael was to give himself a taste of the real world. What his life might have been like if Topeka hadn't happened. He was getting the full package of human relationships now- especially the "lying to one's spouse about some deep dark secret" thing.
At the bar, Michael spotted Stephen hiding in the corner and instinctively poured him a cold PBR, sliding it to one of the servers to send his way.
When Anton showed up and asked for her Fireside Flamers, Ryan had to roll his eyes. He popped open a bottle of California red, then opened an underside fridge where he kept "the good stuff" chilled. The bottle of vodka he pulled out was on special order for Anton A.) because it was $70 a bottle and B.) because she was the only person in this state crazy enough to drink it. All the other vodkas he kept were way too weak in her opinion, and she'd let Ryan know. "Anton, you know this stuff is practically jet fuel, yeah?"
© 2007-2026