Favorite Bands: none of the deep stuff you all like; Linkin Park, everything classical piano, etc.
Favorite Color: hunter green/metallic blue
What you most likely will post here: I'm writing a story, and probably some crappy teenage poetry, lol..
Anything else you wanna say: I enjoy reading, and drinking coffee. I play piano. I also enjoy watching movies. I play a lot of pool, and I have deep dark secrets; the likes of which would rot your mind if you were to discover. I'm also insane about punctuation and grammar.
A little sample of my writing (Chapters 1 & 2 from the first season of Sanctus City)
Don't read it if you can't handle what basically equates to softcore porn in words:
Jarrod Clarkson slowly opened his eyes to acclimate himself to the sudden change in light. The smells of sex and alcohol filled his nostrils. He opened his eyes and found himself laying next to Sarah McMillan.
"Oh damn," he said to himself.
Sure, Sarah McMillan was any guy's dream to have a one-nighter with. If Jarrod had been straight, or even bisexual at that, he could have appreciated this win; but he wasn't. Fuzzy details of the prior night seeped into his mind. He cursed his stupidity again, having realised that she'd seduced her way into his bed by betting he wasn't man enough to last 2 minutes with her. Not only had he proved her wrong, but had lasted nearly 2 hours. He didn't feel clean. He was gay in and out; but this new development brought new questions to the table.
Catalina Grishenko took a dustrag to the countertop, as she wondered what kind of bar was opened to 7 in the morning. More to herself than to the void all around her, she blankly lectured,
"Whose in hell idea was it to make me do clean up duty," as she heaved a garbage bag from the can, "I should get out of here... I need to leave so bad. This place, "she opened the alleyway door, "is killing me slow. But where would I," she stopped short and screamed.
"HOLY FUCKING SHIT POPSCICLE!"
She stumbled back into the bar and dialed 911.
"Hello... oh shit, um, this is Catalina Grishenko," she stammered in her mixed Spanish-Russian accent, "I need to report a murder."
The body lay stiff and long since cold in the alley, his soul demanding jnustice. An FBI agent stood over the corpse with an absolutely blank expression on his face,
"I've seen too much death I guess... this should bother me more."
Suddenly he heard someone running behind him. He spun on his heel to see this newcomer; a young kid relatively speeking.
"Agent Averet, the mortician is on his way; he just wanted to make sure we collected all the external evidence."
"Ok. You're in charge here. Right now I have a terrified bartender to deal with."
Averet took his leave and went into the door. A fair skinned hispanic girl sat at the bar, crying her eyes out.
She nodded and he could tell he wasn't going to get a decent response to any question today, so decided to comfort her instead.
"Don't cry Catalina. It'll be alright."
He was trying to be comforting, but couldn't feel the meaning to his words. His cell phone rang abruptly.
"Agent Averet, that man that was murdered was murdered by the same cerial killer you've been following."
The fencer lunged forward as Averet parried the blow.
"How can you be so sure?"
Averet made a slashing thrust as his opponent replied,
"I know serial killer behaviors when I see them. That poor bastard wasn't the murderer's first pop."
They both pulled off their masks and exited the track for the locker room.
"Wow, it's been a while Tom."
"Your fault, not mine Greg; or should I say Agent Averet."
"Professional fencing just wasn't for me, I made a coice."
"You certainly did."
He came out of his over armor and turned his back to Averet. He untied Tom Blackburn's corset and even without the constriction on his waist, he was razor thin and muscular, the perfect fencer's build. Averet turned around and untied himself as Blackburn headed to the shower.
"You know, you could still come back."
It was at that moment that Averet had ever considered if he'd made a mistake.
Jarrod held the coffee in his hands as he watched Aaron Delianus sip at his. Fine, he wasn't looking at the coffee, he stared at Aaron's lips. Without even looking, Aaron called Jarrod out.
"Jarrod, stop staring and just kiss me."
Jarrod felt emboldened and kissed him lightly, tasting sugar on Aaron's lips. Neither broke away until the waiter set down two new cups.
"Oph, please... this is Sanctus City, everyone's gay or bi, or just open minded enough to be tolderated. Continue."
The waiter walked away as Aaron grabbed Jarrod's hand.
"Jarrod, no matter what, I'm always here for you.. always."
Averet entered the morgue to meet the examiner. His phonecall seemed urgent.
"I'm glad you're here Agent Averet."
"I'm sorry, I don't believe we've met,"
as he extended his hand.
"Christophe Al-Adonai; pleased to meet you. Anyway, I thought you'd like to see this."
Al-Adonai moved the material off the murdered man.
"Got an ID yet?"
"No, but look here," directing Averet to look at the man's leg. Averet could smell semen; the man had been raped to boot. In his skin, Averet saw scratched in tiny letters:
AOL Private: 103961241138916, 7PM, Mon.
"So what now Mr. Averet?"
"That's my business to figure out."
Yeah, it needs a lot of polishing, but whatev. Have a nice day,