fading fast ((OPEN))

[jorel aaron decker]

The streets were crowded, civilians traveling in all directions on the sidewalks. Cars waited impatiently for the godforsaken driver in front of them to start paying attention. With the same thoughts going through all the drivers' minds, altogether they created quite a din. Bars, Restaurants, and Cafés would be closing soon, but still contained a fair amount of people. The street was lit by the open businesses' windows; the street lamps were too dim and mistreated to add to the light. No stars could be seen in the sky. The moon was hidden behind tall skyscrapers. That's how Los Angeles had always been. Hollywood always lit itself. It never needed the stars or the moon. LA was its own Universe.

Something inside of him missed the stars, those little specs of light that followed you everywhere. They always reminded him that there was more out there, that there was so much more to see. But now, with millions of people in this city and thousands on this street, he felt alone. More alone than he could say. More alone than could be expressed. More alone than could be thought. There were hundreds of people beside him, moving like fish through a river. They all had somewhere to go; something better to do; someone better to talk to. He could feel their warm bodies pressed up against him, but he might as well be walking beside a brick wall. He would have preferred a brick wall. Then, at least, he knew it would listen. It didn't have a choice. But, he wanted someone to listen because they wanted to listen to him, because they cared about him.

None of these people cared about him. This was LA.

These people were so heartless. His people were so heartless. They cared about themselves and anything that affected them. Nothing else. That was how you survived in this town. Actually, that was how you survived in any big city. People that were born here had learned to live with it; live like it. People that came here, delusionally seeking stardom, either chose to conform to LA's stone-hearted ways or run back to their hometown with many a penny lost.

He was suddenly wrenched from his thoughts by a shove in the back. He stumbled forward, thankfully, into nobody. After biting back a string of profanity, he looked around and saw a man in suit-and-tie shoving people away to get to the street. He scowled. It was people like that that succeeded in this freaking messed up world. It made him want to lodge his fist in that guy's throat. No, he wouldn't. He already had compiled too many warrants this year. And police didn't take, "He deserved it," as an excuse. He stood and brushed off dirt from his hands on his jeans. He stood still too long and was soon being dragged north by the current of people. He then took refuge from the relentless swarm in a small bar, McAlister's.

He claimed one of the stools that ran along the bar. McAlister's was poorly lit, mostly by neon signs and television screens. The bar with covered in cup rings, but was otherwise sterile. He was among 8 or 9 other people in the bar, not counting the one bartender and waitress. He motioned for the bartender and quickly received a cold beer. He then slipped the man the money from his beer fund. He looked woefully into the meager contents of his beer fund and considered substituting money normally used for cab-fare. Maybe I could walk... he thought desperately. His brain knew such thoughts were futile. His apartment was in West Hollywood, miles from here. He resigned. "Guess this is a one-time thing, buddy." He had long since stopped caring what strangers thought of him when he talked to himself or, in this case, beer. He looked at the beer soberly before tipping it back and sending its foamy, fiery contents down his throat.

Words :: 663
Tags :: none
Muse :: Pour Me -- Hollywood Undead

[chance christopher caine]

It had been one hell of a day for Chance Caine and he knew that he should just head home and go to bed but unfortunately a little bar caught his attention before his car did so he instead altered directions and made his way inside the building. There weren't a ton of people there but there were a few. Most of them were with a couple of friends and seemed to be pretty absorbed in their little group conversations. Normally Chance would be looking to be social and meet new people but today he was perfectly fine just sitting at the bar and enjoying a drink or two before heading home.

He took a seat towards the end of the bar where no one else was sitting besides one guy who was by himself as well. Taking his leather jacket off, he hung it on the back of his chair and sat down, ordering a beer before looking at it for a moment after the bar tender set it in front of him. Picking it up in one hand, he tilted the bottle a bit as if he were studying the label intensely before finally tilting the bottle back and taking a long swig of the liquid and then setting it back down on the bar, his hand still keeping a hold on it. A soft sigh escaped Chance and he tilted his head to glance over at the other guy that was sitting alone and drinking a beer as well.

"Great night, huh?" he called to the man, lifting his bottle up a bit before setting it down but then taking another drink of it. Chance felt completely wiped out after running around all day for a shoot and then for a lunch meeting with his agent and then after that a casting audition for a big upcoming movie they wanted him for. All in all, it had been a productive day but a crazy day. And crazy days weren't always that fun. Luckily it was over though.

Chance let his light blue eyes remain on his bottle of beer and he couldn't help but wish that he had a girlfriend to go home to that he could talk to and not just have to entertain like the girls he would simply sleep with. How pathetic could he get. Here he was, in a bar out on the far side of town and he was wishing for a girlfriend. This really had been a crazy day for Chance. Finishing off his beer, he ordered another and ordered another for the guy sitting near him.

"To a better night." he said to the man as the bar tender set the new beer down in front of the man and then put another one in front of Chance as well.

[jorel aaron decker]

Bars were a pretty contradictory place. There were the people in the booths, dining and laughing with friends, without a care or trace of misery. There were also the respectable singles, easily distinguishable from others in the bar, that had nothing more on the brain than the hunt. And then there were people like him; people that came here so they didn't have to think about their misery. The most common escape was alcohol. Or, having a lengthy overly-emotional conversation with the bartender. But that wasn't him, nor was it ever going to be. And yet still, there were the oddities that came to bars with no apparent intentions. They were alone, came in with a perfectly cheery attitude, and their sites weren't set on the opposite gender. Jorel happened upon such a particular oddity.

"Great night, huh?" His eyes glanced over at the man in mid-swig. After setting the beer down, he muttered incredulously, a noise that could be translated as, Yeah, right. He otherwise disregarded the stranger and became lost in a permanent, circular embellishment in the bar surface. Thoughts trailed through his mind endlessly, about every topic relatively relatable to any situation he had had in the past two or three years. Some were vastly unrelated, like, I wonder if Jordon paid the rent yet... He became so lost in that insignificant little cup ring, so lost in himself, that he barely noticed when the stranger chimed, "To a better night." He looked up just in time to see the bartender place another perspiring beer bottle in front of himself and in front of the strange man.

He blinked up at the man, his brow furrowed and mouth lost for words. Why did this man show him kindness? He half thought of rejecting the beer, but knew it was against his moral fiber to do so. Almost in defeat, he mumbled out the first reply that came to his mind, "...Thanks." Slightly regressing, he added, "I think."

The addition of 'I think' was nothing short of habitual. He was not accustomed to cordial generosity. Hell, any generosity at all. Where he came from, you worked for shit, and he held grudges against the suit-and-tie of the city because of their lack of such working qualities. However, he wouldn't let himself consider that his hatred may be based on jealousy. No, that wouldn't be right should he consider it. He wasn't jealous of them; he didn't want a suit-and-tie. He envied them, if nothing else. He wanted that luck. But then, he thought, anyone wants what they never had. Similar thoughts trailed on as he cautiously handled the man's donation.

Words :: 487
Tags :: chance christopher caine

[chance christopher caine]

Chance felt rather defeated and he leaned back in his chair a bit, staring off as he thought over all of the shit he had to do tomorrow. A sigh escaped his lips as he leaned forward once more, his elbows resting on the bar. When he had spoken to the stranger, a thick layer of sarcasm encased his words as he finished off his first beer before taking a drink of the second one and the staring at the bottle that he held in his hands for a long moment. He knew that he probably shouldn't stay at the bar for that much longer because he would need to get home soon and go to bed. Especially when he had a photo shoot and an interview tomorrow. A slight groan escaped him as he rubbed his head with his fingers and sat up in his chair.

When the bartender gave the other guy the second beer Chance had ordered for him, he heard the man utter a thanks followed by something else that he paid little mind to. Turning his head to the stranger, he raised his own beer bottle in reply before finishing the last of it in a long swig. Setting the bottle down, he shove his head when the bar tender asked him if he wanted another one and instead he pulled out his wallet and handed the bar tender his black American Express card before sighing once more and leaning his arms on the edge of the bar.

When the bartender came back with his card, he handed Chance a piece of paper to sign and then thanked him as he left a tip as well before putting the card back in his wallet. With a final look around the bar, he rose to his feet and took his jacket off of the back of the bar stool before beginning to pull it on.

[jorel aaron decker]

He caved.

He finished his first beer, tilting it back and swallowing its contents with a gulp. He placed the beer cap in the pocket of his jeans, like always. He caught the generous benefactor in his peripherals as he raised his own beer in response to Jorel's feeble thanks. He thought nothing of it. He wrenched open the cap of the second glass bottle and expected to hear the man speak. He did not. Jorel drank the beer, again listening for the man's inevitable inquiry of charity in return. None came. Jorel glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, but only saw him hunched over the bar sipping his beer. He continued to look curiously at him as the man nonchalantly drank his ale. He turned back to his own drink, grimacing in concentration.

What was this guy's angle? Was he trying to gain his trust? He thought about the money in his wallet, until he realized there wasn't much. Well, no problem there. Did he know who he was? He glanced at him briefly. No, he wasn't afraid of him. His fingers tapped on the glass beer bottle in thought. Movement caught his eye and paused his thoughts.

The man slid the bartender a credit card after rejecting another beer and again rested his elbow against the bar curve, sighing. Jorel thought of asking just then what he was up to, but stopped himself. However, his mouth moved with unsaid words when the man signed the receipt, stood, and stuck his arms into his coat. His arms darted to the man.

At first, the only thing he would say was, "What?" Deciding he needed to say more, he continued, "That's it? No favors? No entailments or implications?" His face contorted to show some sort of confusion and accusation, something even he couldn't have identified should he have the chance. He felt like some fooled child, wrapped up in this man's unapparent plans. As much as he didn't want to involve himself, he couldn't help asking what this oddity had in mind. Sometime it was just worth taking the chance.

Words :: 354
Tags:: Chance Christopher Caine

[chance christopher caine]

Chance had just finished signing the receipt that the bartender had handed him and he placed the paper and pen back down on the bar before taking his black American Express and slipping it back into his wallet and then placing his wallet back into his back pocket. He sat there for a moment, physically exhausted and not really wanting to move or get up but then he thought of his comfortable bed at home and that was enough to make him slowly climb out of his bar stool and even slower, pull his leather jacket on over his t shirt. When his jacket was finally on, he fixed the collar before the man that had been sitting a seat or two down from him came towards him, demanding to know what his angle was.

Confusion was clear on Chance's face and he was too tired to argue with this guy about buying him a drink and being nice. As he finished fixing his jacket, he put his hands in the pockets of his coat before looking the man in the eye.

"What. A guy can't be a decent person and buy someone a beer without having an alternative motive?" he asked, furrowing his brows a bit as he look the man over, still not sure where his sudden frustration and outburst had come from.

Chance have lived in LA for his entire life and while he wouldn't say that people being nice to one another was a common occurence, it did happen ever once in awhile. Apparentely it didn't happen enough to this guy because eh was questioning Chance like Chance was asking him for a kidney since he had bought him a beer. Some people just really needed to lighten up a bit.

[jorel aaron decker]

The generous, albeit tired-looking, man looked him directly in the eye. This did concern him slightly. Not many could be so courageous and forward with someone they just met while still having the courage to look them in the face and deal with it. His feelings about the gentleman were confused. He was both impressed and suspicious about the man's generosity and courage. Jorel looked him over. He didn't seem the suit-and-tie type, which gave him some credibility points, but he still had money to spare. He was either lucky, foolish, or honestly successful. He pushed the last option aside. People of honest success existed, no doubt, just not around here. Not anymore. He then considered why the man was so courageous. Again, the thought of ignorance and foolishness came to him.

This man doesn't look ignorant or foolish. He may be courageous because of wealth, he thought. He then rejected it. No, he's not a suit-and-tie. He had stumped himself. The only answer he could conjure would be that the man had come across some money either luckily or in an honest, genuine way. Or by charity. It seemed most likely that the man was lucky, but Jorel dared not ask him yet. His thoughts were developed only on appearances and initial actions and therefore he could not be categorized legitimately.

A short span of silence followed the man's words as Jorel thought upon the inner mechanisms of the man's self, with no definite progress. Deciding to answer the man directly, he sighed simply, "No. Not in my experience."

Such was true to an uncontroversial level. He was born and raised in the worn, torn outer reaches of Los Angeles. He loved this place. It was his home. But, at the same time, he hated it for what it made honest men do to themselves and everyone around them. Los Angeles turned people into monsters. However, it did discern the ones who could withstand LA's beckonings from the spineless bastards who could not. Of the two, he had yet to decide which this man was.

Or, which he was.

Words :: 378
Tags :: chance christopher caine

[chance christopher caine]

Chance was still rather cofused at the strange reaction this man he didn't even know had to his small act of generousity. Made him think twice before buying someone a beer. He knew that there were men out there that didn't like to get things handed to them and liked to work for everything so that way they felt like they deserved it but still. At some point you had to suck up your pride. But what confused him the most was the fact that the stranger had taken the beer, accepted it and drank it and then came back to Chance to question why he had bought him a beer. If he had such a problem with it then why didn't he just reject it? Chance would never know and he didn't care enough to ask the man why.

"If it will make you feel better, you can pay me back for the beer." he replied simply, raising his brows lazily as he waited for the man to answer. Chance just wanted to figure out this disagreement so he could get home and go to bed. His day had been crazy and now that he thought about it, he was considering climbing into the hot tub that was sitting on the balcony that extended off of his balcony. That would definitely be a good way to end this slightly crazy day. He pushed the thoughts of home and his hot tub away though as he pulled his attention back to this man, waiting for his answer so he could be on his way. There was one thing that Chance had learned from this experience though. He wouldn't be buying a stranger a drink unless that stranger was an incredibly attractive woman.

[jorel aaron decker]

"If it will make you feel better, you can pay me back for the beer."

Thoughts and movements were minimal, lost somewhere within himself where he could not release it from. His brow was furrowed, somewhat mirroring the expression on the generous stranger's face. Also noted on the stranger's face was his sagging, tired-looking eyes. In this respect, he felt sorry for this man. He imagined his eyes looked that way for the majority of the day; it was at night that he fully awoke.

As for the conversation, the reply he owed the man, he was beyond words. In no uncertain terms did he want to pay for his own beer, no one ever wanted to pay for something if you didn't have to, but he owed the man at least some reply for the small, rare action of generosity that was shown to him. At first, he rejected the idea of giving in his pride and admitting thanks. He then remembered the very emptiness of his beer fund. There was no way he could pay for this beer and his rent, which opened up a whole new hole of woe inside of his soul. Regardless, he sucked air into his lungs. It was his turn to be generous. Crap.

He leaned over to the bartender and slid him a debit card, murmuring to him, "A beer for this man, if you please." The bartender nodded and trotted off. He turned to the man. "Alright, alright. I guess my rent can wait." He smiled a little at the man, almost ironic because it was near completely devoid of happiness.

:: MUSE WAS HORRIBLE I APOLOGIZE ::

Words :: 302
Tags :: chance christopher caine