- - - YOU SHOULD SEE ME

[azrael arik mytaka]

WELL I SEE A FACE COMING THROUGH
the haze, i remember him from the crazy days

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• • • • • • • • • • • NATALIE RODREGEZ ![/font][/color][/font][/size][/center]

As far as his blindness went, Azrael had never actually given it much thought. While he lost the sight in his left eye at age eleven, he couldn’t really remember having to adjust to the change. He still had full use of his right eye, and the only real difference between before and now was that he couldn’t judge distances. He had no depth perception any more, so he often tripped or bumped into things. It was even worse when he was drunk; his vision blurred and he was too incarcerated to pay try and judge distances. Azrael didn’t see being blind in one eye as that big of a deal, to be honest, but that didn’t mean he openly told people. Besides, all it really took was common sense to figure it out. A scar running down his eye was sign enough, not to mention the fact that it was discoloured and the pupil never adjusted to the light. Then again, common sense was rare in these days; poetic irony. Really though, was being blind in one eye that big of a deal? He was still allowed to drive, much to his surprise, and he was adjusted to it just fine. His hearing wasn’t superhumanly enhanced because of it either. His senses were all average but for his sense of smell. Years of smoking had destroyed it. Azrael had no real idea what his smell was like, which was a pleasant blend of cigarettes, hard liquor, and Dark Temptation.

There were a lot of things wrong with Azrael and he knew them all. He knew exactly who he was, from his silliest of strengths to his most profound weaknesses. He had a superiority complex but at the same time was very insecure about himself. He felt like he could only be hated, thus he pushed people to dislike him even though he knew otherwise. He was blind in one eye and had some minor nerve damage on his left side. He could drink like a sailor and had mastered the art of hangover cures. He was good with guitar but his voice could use some training. He was very aware of who he was, which actually gave him some self respect. In his experience not a lot of people could say the same. What he couldn’t say for himself was that he was willing to change the faults in his personality. He saw no reason on changing the fact that he was rude to almost everyone he met and always spoke in a sardonic tone. He wasn’t about to change his pessimism and that he pushed people away. If people didn’t like him for who he was when he was quite happy with himself, they could go die in a ditch for all he cared. Dying in ditches seemed to be a theme for him between death threats and the “accident” that had killed his mom and brother.

The way Azrael held himself was a bit odd. He stood tall, at six feet and three inches, and proud to show off his superior feelings but his shoulders were almost always hunched. No matter how tough he tried to be, anyone observant could see the insecurity he held himself with. Standing tall with hunched shoulders and a lowered head, that wasn’t very superior of him. One hand was dug into the pocket of his stud and patch covered hoodie, worn over top of a black muscle shirt that was over a red sweater. In the other hand Azrael held a cigarette he wasn’t technically supposed to have, the pack and lighter in the pockets of his white pants. The pants were held up by a red studded belt and a cassette buckle, his hair hanging in his and framing his face in an almost elegant way. Bored and irritable, Azrael puffed away as his cigarette and walked around the lawns. He had no real intention in mind other than wandering, maybe running into Jack or someone else he could take out his frustration. Usually he would just stay in his dorm and bother the fuck out of his roommate but it wasn’t interesting to him today. He wasn’t sure what he wanted right now. He wanted…Something entertaining. “Fuck,”

[/color] he sighed to himself as he wandered, flicking the now finished cigarette and pausing to light another one. [/justify][/blockquote]words: 724
outfit: clicky!
lyrics: the who, bell boy
notes: - - - [/blockquote][/size]

[natalie may rodregez]

when the devil wants to dance with you ,
YOU BETTER SAY NEVER

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because a dance with the devil might last you forever[/color][/font]
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On a typical day Natalie could seem just like your run of the mill seventeen year old. With some problems, and all of that jazz. If one were to see her out in the world they wouldn’t be able to guess that she went to Rosedale, that she had serious problems, that she’d tried to kill herself not but three years ago, had lit her foster parent’s house on fire, and been the root of a couple dozen fights during her time as a ward of the state, and had started, or well, finished at least a dozen more since her admittance to Rosedale. She wasn’t the simplest of people to be around, even if she could seem it at her best times. Not that she wasn’t easy going, that mustn’t be misunderstood, because if Natalie was anything she was a very laid back individual and could spend time with just about anyone. She just, was a lot more than she appeared, or at least, a lot more than she’d ever shown, and a bit more crazy as well. As was typical for people who were a bit off that could easily pass as a mentally stable and sane person, there was that gleam in her eyes, that ever so slightly crazed gleam that only a few people could actually catch, people who shared the gleam, or at least, knew how to look for it.

Since starting school here, there was one thing that Natalie had been made very aware of, it was like a playground in this place for the mentally fucked up. No one here could be sent somewhere else, because this was the somewhere else where people were sent. Truth be told, Natalie hadn’t felt so at home in her entire life, not at any of the foster homes, with the people who wanted to adopt her because she was just the prettiest little girl, or even in the centers. This place, with all of these other nut cases, people who were fucked up in so many different ways, this was where she felt at home. Even with that, she was itching to leave. There was no way in hell that she was going to be stuck here until she was twenty, no fucking way, she’d burn down the place before she let that happen. No, she was making progress, a lot by the standards that her shrinks used, and if she played her cards right she’d be outta this prison before she was nineteen. That was the plan at least. A plan that was working more or less.

Well, except on days like these. Days where she was in a terrible sort of mood, days where she wanted nothing more than to cause trouble, get high, have a lot of crazy sex, and then if she had some time catch something on fire just for the hell of it. She had a sort of love for fire, that much was sure, but not so much that she’d been diagnosed as a pyro, at least, not quite yet. Hopefully not ever because that most certainly wouldn’t go along with her plan of getting the fuck outta dodge.

For the time being, there she laid on the top of a table on her stomach, book in her hands. Not a book that she had to read, no, this one was more for her own self-satisfaction. Hells Angels was the title, written by her idol, of course, Hunter S. Thompson. Sunglasses her hiding those bright blue eyes of hers, and her hair was left to do its own thing. A cigarette was placed between those full lips of hers, painted a deep red as was typical for her.

She was in a mood, but thus far, nothing was causing her to perpetuate her lashing out. Though, she couldn’t ignore the sort of tingling on the back of her neck that told her that someone that she didn’t particularly want or not want to see was going to be coming her way sooner rather than later to interrupt her me time. Oh well, thus was life, and she would deal with it when it came. Probably not in very lady like ways, but it would be dealt with all the same.

711 WORDS
AZRAEL TAGGED
THISWEARING
template by LISA@GBBS, lyrics by immortal techniqueCREDIT
I think these two are gunna be a blast NOTES

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[azrael arik mytaka]

WELL I SEE A FACE COMING THROUGH
the haze, i remember him from the crazy days

[/font]
• • • • • • • • • • • NATALIE RODREGEZ ![/font][/color][/font][/size][/center]

Azrael honestly had no idea what normal was anymore, after spending so long having one of those lives that was right out of a Hollywood film. For him, that was normal, but for the rest of the world it was a bizarre thing to think about going through. It had taken Azrael a long time to figure out that not everyone’s lives were like his, and that not every parent hurt their children like his father had. He had assumed that all families were broken and angry until he had gotten old enough to see otherwise. He remembered being little, about five or six, and going to a friend’s house and being blown away with the relaxed and content atmosphere of the place. His friend had two very happy parents and got along with his siblings, and Azrael had never thought that that was possible. He had done a very good job at seeming like his family was your average, traditional family after that. Upon realizing that there was something wrong with the life that he had been given he hadn’t wanted people to find that out. Young Azrael, the one people had seen the second he stepped outside of that door, was nothing like what he was now. If you were to talk to someone who knew him back then, they could be shocked to find out that he was here at Rosedale. He had seemed so sweet and harmless and happy, which he was when he was outside of his house.

He had once been very good at manipulating people, an innocent and harmless child who wove people around his finger tips. As much as he tried, he couldn’t manipulate his father, but he could do it to everyone else. He had easily been able to get his friends to do the things he wanted, be it have him over for supper or lend him the sorts of toys that Azrael would never be able to have at home. Mind you, a child manipulating another child was a very simple thing to do, as were the things you could get someone to do at that age. Manipulating a parent was pretty simple for him to do as well. Adults thought children as powerless, so it wasn’t that difficult to lead them along when need be. Azrael wasn’t that person any more. He was beyond manipulation and instead beat anyone who didn’t do what he wanted. He wasn’t the person who acted kind to get what he wanted, he just ordered people instead. There was no kindness left in the boy, having taken a hike when Azrael instigated the car accident. He had gotten away with murder, so of course he was going to stop being nice and start being his true self. The fact that people still knew nothing of the true events of that evening astounded and excited him. He enjoyed being the only one who knew what really happened, even if his father blamed him simply because it gave him another reason to hate Azrael.

Bored and thus irritable, Azrael’s eyes scanned his surroundings for someone to bother. At this point he didn’t really care who it was, so long as he had someone to occupy his time with. Being bored was the worst thing for him to have to face and usually ended in a lot of violence toward whoever happened to be around. (Usually his room mate or Jack.) Leaning back on his heels and turning to look to his left, which he couldn’t see out of that eye of course, a smirk grew on his face with who he saw. He stalked right over to her and sat down on an empty space on the table near her legs, snatching the book out of her hands. “Whatcha’ readin’?”

[/color] he asked despite not caring in the slightest. He inspected the page with a risen brow before dropping it on her stomach, though he had been tempted to throw it at her face. “Shit, that’s what,”[/color] he answered for her. [/justify][/blockquote]words: 675
outfit: clicky!
lyrics: the who, bell boy
notes: - - - [/blockquote][/size]