Title: in for the kill
Description: tag: daphne!
JACKSON OLIVER INGRAM - January 31, 2010 04:44 AM (GMT)
Jackson walked through the mall bleary eyed and hungry – hungry for baked goods, and not his own. There was something about eating someone else’s food that made it taste so much better, perhaps it was the knowledge that you didn’t have to exert any amount of effort into making it, or maybe it was because what you were eating was made by someone who was probably more skilled at cooking than you were. Whatever it was, Jackson was high, and he was craving some dainty little desserts – or maybe a cake, who knows what Jackson could buy when he was starving.
He groaned and looked around as he heard his stomach growl loudly. Did anyone else hear that? Or were they all too preoccupied with their own day-to-day lives to happen to even notice him let alone hear his stomach growl? It wasn’t like he cared, let them not notice him! He was on a mission – a mission for sweet, sweet food.
He smelt it before he even got there – before he could even see it – he stopped in the middle of the mall and inhaled deeply, smiling after he had gotten his nostrils full of that sweet smell. It smelt like – Jackson couldn’t even describe how it smelt it was so ... out of this world. Yeah – that’s what it was!
As he came to the front of the bakery he stopped with his hands on his hips and looked up at the sign ‘Bleeding Heart Bakery’ it read, and below was the quaint bakery with few customers in it. Jackson was often surprised when he went here, why weren’t there more people inside purchasing the lovely delicacies that were made – or he hoped that they were made – right behind the counter? The percentage of the population that liked baked goods couldn’t have been as slim as he thought it was, perhaps more people came in whenever Jackson wasn’t there.
As he walked in, standing in front of the counter with his hands at his side and his head tilted back looking at the menu, he began to think not of what he was about to eat, but why they named it ‘Bleeding Heart Bakery’. It sounded like some sad, broken hearted rehab of some sort – or a support group. Maybe when they had decided to make the bakery, the owner had been suffering from an aching heart of some sort, and had decided that they were going to bake goods in order to heal the broken hearts of others.
He clucked his tongue and giggled as he walked up to the counter and ordered two chocolate éclairs, 2 cinnamon buns, and one petite chocolate cake roughly the side of his palm. His voice was slow, and the employee probably thought that he himself was slow when in reality he wasn’t, he was just very high.
He waited to the side for the rest of his food after paying (apparently they had run out of cinnamon buns and needed to make more, which was fine with Jackson because they would be warm and soft and he could eat while he was waiting) and watched as people came and went, or sat down with each other and conversed over little things in their life. Jackson bit into a chocolate éclair and smiled, oh the joys that baked goods could bring one when they were high.
DAPHNE LAUREL APOLLO - January 31, 2010 05:51 AM (GMT)
Daphne wandered around the labyrinth that was the American shopping mall. Colors and stores and people zoomed by as she walked at her usual brisk pace, stiletto heels clacking on the shiny waxed tile floor. What was she doing here? Nothing in particular, really. Today was a slow day with no missions or recon or anything fun like that, so she decided today was going to be for herself. She had a few extra bucks to spend, so she figured why not buy more clothes and shoes she didn't need?
As closed off as she could be, Daphne sure loved to be around people. Especially people she didn't have to explain herself to. The looks she got when she walked through the mall sufficed enough for human interaction. She enjoyed being a head-turner, even if it wasn't always in a good way. This isn't to say that she's ugly, because she isn't; she's just, oh, flamboyant with her style. For example, today's get up is a black and leopard print leotard covered by a small, sleeveless leather biker jacket. A plethora of leather and studded bracelets and bands adorn her wrists and patent, thigh high leather boots adorn her feet. Large sunglasses cover her eyes, as they usually do when she is out. In Vegas, this looks normal, but the tourists must think she's mentally unstable.
She toted a few shopping bags and a shiny over-sized leather bag in her hands, half a day's worth of shopping well-done. Pressing a button on her phone, she noted the time. Just a little after noon...time for some food. She hadn't realized how hungry she really was. Preparing to head off to a sandwich shop, her mind was taken elsewhere when she smelled something divine. Turning her head to see the source of the smell, she saw a bakery. So that wonderful scent was freshly baked cinnamon rolls. It was so tempting, but--oh, hell, like she was going to stop herself.
She made her way into the relatively empty bakery and set her sunglasses atop her head. It was a little surprising to see it so empty, because it smelled so, so, SO good. Might as well beat the rush, anyways. Pulling out her wallet, she ordered two cinnamon rolls. That smell was just too influential for her to bear. She walked over to the opposite side of the store after paying; apparently the rolls weren't done yet. The boy--or was he a man? She couldn't tell--in front of her was eating a chocolate eclair, she could smell it. She gazed down at him, more so the eclair, though that shock of red hair on his head kind of got in the way.
JACKSON OLIVER INGRAM - February 1, 2010 01:09 AM (GMT)
As Jackson mowed down on his deliciously tasting éclair he noticed someone walk in – a girl. He almost dismissed her for just another girl until he got an eyeful of what she was wearing; he sputtered a little – coughing as he almost choked on his éclair. After trying to hack a piece of his éclair out of his oesophagus as discretely as he could, he took another look at the girl. She was perhaps the most outlandishly dressed person he had ever witnessed in his entire life. Was – was she wearing a leotard? Oh, that was rich.
He watched her curiously; still working on his éclair (they were rather big). She was rather daring to be wearing something like that out in public. He gave her mental props for being so damn confident. That was definitely a leopard print leotard, damn, that was just fucking crazy, she even had accessories to match! This girl was something else entirely. Those clothes! In this state of mind he couldn't get over it, everything was so outrageous!
He listened in on what she was ordering (two cinnamon rolls) and watched as she came to stand beside him. Damn, she was taller than him! He looked down at her feet and found the source of her height. Aha! High heeled leather boots that when up to her thigh, mhm that was fake height right there! Fake height! He laughed (his laugh didn’t really sound like a laugh, more like a ‘mfff’ seeing as there was éclair in his mouth) and looked down at the ground, rubbing his eyes. He didn’t want to insult the girl, but her whole get up was tripping him out.
When he looked back up he saw that she was staring down at him, except not directly at him, her attention was more focused on the piece of éclair still left in his hand. Was she hungry? Jackson was starving. Should he share? He still had one éclair left, a chocolate cake and two cinnamon buns on the way, should he offer her some? Would she even accept it now that it had his gross, pot smelling saliva on it? He shrugged and decided to go for it, after all, he didn’t know her so it wasn’t a big deal if she refused the éclair.
“Want some?” He asked, holding the éclair up to her and smiling, it was better to be polite than to be rude.
DAPHNE LAUREL APOLLO - February 1, 2010 06:00 AM (GMT)
She noticed the daywalker in front of her in line staring at her. She smirked, soaking the attention up as if she were a sponge. The more the people stared, the more confident she got. And the more confident she got, the wilder her outfits would end up being. It was just one big, vicious cycle. It was like the Circle of Life. Got enough metaphors? Good.
Oh, and he reeked and REEKED of pot. She smoked it every once and a while herself, but she could definitely notice when someone else smoked it a lot. Especially if they did recently; by the spacey expression on his face, she was assuming he was as high as a kite right now. Not that she was one to judge, really. She couldn't if she was a user, too. Though she did have to admit the smell made her hungrier and hungrier.
And then...he spoke to her. Her attention fell back down to Earth and she looked down at him, both figuratively and literally, her eyes narrowed. Seriously? Did he just ask her if she wanted to eat his slobbery, gross, half-eaten eclair? This was just fundamentally wrong; only in Vegas would a high firecrotch with a sweet tooth offer a hooker-look-alike his already half-eaten eclair. She had to hold back a laugh at the thought.
"I'm fine," she finally said after a few moments of just staring at him incredulously. Like she would ever, ever take up his offer. Her voice was closed off and impersonal, showing hardly a smidgen of emotion.
JACKSON OLIVER INGRAM - February 1, 2010 08:27 PM (GMT)
Jackson shrugged when the girl refused his offer. “Alright then, more for me!” he said, shoving the last bit of éclair into his mouth with an impish grin on his face. He had hoped that she would have refused so that he could’ve eaten it all to himself, but it wouldn’t have been too disheartening if she had accepted, seeing as he already had a surplus amount of sweets in his bag.
He licked his fingers and wiped it off on his jeans and looked around – ah, his cinnamon buns were ready! He grabbed the bag greedily, opening it and inhaling deeply – ahhhhh, wonderful! He pulled his head out of his bag and looked back up at the girl with a smile, “Cinnamon buns are probably my favourite baked goods ... Do you have a favourite?” He said quietly. The girl's clothes were outlandish and an eye sore, and she seemed like an outward bitch but Jackson didn't want to judge - after all, he didn't like it when people pegged him for some awkward ginger with a knack for baking and an eye for drugs.
He stood patiently, waiting for the girl to answer him and get her own cinnamon buns (he wasn’t one hundred percent certain that that was exactly what she was waiting for, but he was pretty sure that he overheard her order a cinnamon bun). He had one bag in his left hand with his éclair and chocolate cake, and his right held his two cinnamon buns. He nodded his head slightly to the soft music coming out of the speakers somewhere hidden in the store, he wasn’t quite paying attention to the words but it was soothing in a way.
As Jackson stood there, waiting patiently for the girl to answer him he spotted a luxurious looking chair in the corner by the window. It was plush and striped, something that Jackson hadn’t expected to see in a bakery. He eyed it and then the girl, he really wanted to go sit down before someone else got to it, but he didn’t want to just walk away and leave the girl all by herself, that would be rude. He bit his lip as he thought of what to do, to sit, or not to sit was the question, but what was the answer?
“Uhm – hey, so see that comfortable looking chair over there?” He backed up to stand beside her and pointed in the direction of the chair, “yeah, well I’m gonna go sit in it but I don’t want to just leave you here by yourself so I’m offering you a chance to come sit with me if you want. I mean, you don’t have to of course, but I guess it would be nice. But, I mean, we don’t even know each other so it would probably be weird if we sat together but that’s what meeting new people is all about right? Yeah, uhm, so I’m going to go sit and maybe you’ll join me once you get whatever you’re waiting for?” He ended his little rant with a higher voice and shrugged with his hands palm up before walking backwards towards the chair (almost tripping over his feet in the process).
When he got to the chair he put his bags on the table in front of it and sank into it, putting his backpack to the side between the window and the chair (keeping it out in the open wouldn’t have been a good idea). He stretched his legs out far and pulled out a cinnamon bun, licking his lips and trying to find the best place to start eating it. He eyed the girl casually, wondering if she would accept his offer or leave him be like a stick in the mud.
DAPHNE LAUREL APOLLO - February 1, 2010 09:26 PM (GMT)
Her lip curled in disgust as he finished devouring his eclair. The kid was a little strange, to say the least, but she'd peg that on the drugs. Who knows if he was like this when he wasn't high, though? He could just be an odd duck. It would match his hair color, anyways. She didn't say anything, just yet any ways.
And then he talked to her again. What, did she have a huge sign on her back that said "chat me up?" She ignored him for a moment, grabbing her own bag of finished cinnamon rolls. The smell really was crazily, intensely delicious, and she could feel herself react. Her mouth salivated a bit, and her stomach rumbled deeply and distantly. She hadn't been able to get bakery goods in a long, long time, let alone a decent meal. Today was different though. Today, she had money. "Not really," she said curtly in reply to his question. Though she didn't seem pleasant on the outside, she couldn't just leave the kid hanging.
Now that all of those loose ends were tied up, she was all ready to leave--but, of course, something had to be in her way yet again. And, yet again, it was the ginger kid. She let out a small huff as she listened to him speak. Did he seriously just invite her to go sit with him? Again, she felt like laughing. He probably wasn't any better than she was, but she was still looking down on him. She wasn't comfortable already, with everyone seeing them talking. But seeing them sitting together? That was a different matter entirely.
Not even bothering to answer him, she stepped aside as he made his way over to the chair and started to walk out of the store. Her sunglasses slipped down over her eyes once more, but she paused outside of the bakery. This was the crucial moment, this was the decision time. What would be the worst that would happen if she sat with him? Well...she could think of a lot of things, but that wasn't the point. The point was that sitting with him wasn't going to kill her, and after all she'd been through she was pretty sure she could take it. What else did she have to do anyways? All of her friends were busy right now, hence why she was shopping alone.
Letting out another small huff, she wheeled around on her stilettos and made her way over to the chair the kid was now lounging in. Her pride mildly bruised, she lowered herself into an identical armchair opposite him. Saying nothing, she set her bag onto the table and pulled out a cinnamon roll. Using a napkin as a makeshift plate, she gingerly bit into it, making sure not to mess up her lipstick. She was just dying to know what he'd say next.
JACKSON OLIVER INGRAM - February 1, 2010 11:33 PM (GMT)
Jackson frowned slightly when he watched the girl walk out of the bakery. So Jackson hadn’t really expected her to come sit with him, but a part of him had hoped that she would have. After all, being high and alone became kind of depressing after awhile, and he didn’t want to look like a complete loner in the bakery.
He looked away from where she had left and back down at his cinnamon bun, ripping a piece off and taking a bite. Damn that was good shit. If he could find some pot that tasted like that he’d smoke it any chance he got. Imagine that! Drugs that tasted like baked goods – man, he had to find something like that.
When he looked up from his cinnamon bun he saw that the girl was sitting across from him. He narrowed his eyes and shifted them from side to side. She was sneaky. He watched her take a dainty bite out of her cinnamon roll, it was like she was eating with the queen or something – or maybe she just had proper etiquette. Jackson shrugged, etiquette schmeduette, he could get by without being neat and tidy.
“Glad that you decided to join me,” he said, taking another piece off of his cinnamon bun and putting it into his mouth. “My name’s Jackson by the way and I would shake your hand but my fingers are all covered in icing and I don’t think you’d want to touch ‘em.” He told her, looking at his fingers that were shining slightly with icing. He licked them and took a napkin out of the basket on the table and wiped it off as well as his mouth, mineaswell look somewhat presentable in front of a new potential acquaintance, right? Although, she probably thought he was some fat ass ginger kid who liked nothing more than annoying strangers into sitting with him. But that was fine with Jackson; he’d prove her wrong if she stuck around.
“So, what’s a crazy cat like you doin’ in a mall all by her lonesome?” He asked, lounging back in the armchair. He wanted to kick off his shoes and cross his legs but this was a public place and he wasn’t sure that the owners or this girl would appreciate his somewhat smelly feet. He eyed his cinnamon bun and took another huge piece off and plopped it into his mouth, closing his eyes as he enjoyed the taste of the bun. Mmmm. Good food was good when one was sober, but when you were high they were fucking delicious.