I Think I'm Still Drunk{OPEN}

[Clopin Jacques Laroche]

* CLOPIN ( JACQUES ) LAROCHE ,







What... time...

Oh God, the sun!

With a whimper befitting a recently wounded puppy, Clopin rolled away from the sun, covering his eyes and cursing fluently in French when he landed on the previous night's lucky lady. He gave absolutely no inclination to enjoying her at the moment, instead shoving her further over to allow himself another pillow to hide his head under. "Motherfuck... how much did I drink?" He wailed into the bed.

She looked at him as he flailed, as if wondering whether this was the same suave individual who had coerced her home during the evening. "I dunno. We were pretty drunk, I think." He glared at her as she made a point to stretch, showing off as much as she could without being blatantly slutty.

"Pretty drunk? Non, mon amour. I think I'm dying. You can go now, okay? I'd rather die by myself." Clopin waved a hand at her and rolled back over, letting his eyes adjust slowly to the sun as she said something, waited a moment, then stormed out after throwing on her dress in a hurry. God... what time was it?

His hand fumbled for his alarm clock.

3:13

Oh Jesus Christ. No wonder he was hungry!

His typical routine of showering and taming his hair was cut short to a cold dunk in the sink, some halfhearted shampooing, and hauling on the same dress shirt and jeans he'd been wearing last night. The loud yellow top and purple trousers didn't exactly speak his dulled and painful mood, but he didn't want to dig around.

Getting to Main Street involved three incidences of almost getting nailed by an oncoming car, once requiring Clopin to deftly leap and slide over a bonnet. The further he ventured from home, the more alive he began to feel, until he reached the tea house in decent spirits again, ordering a cup of whatever the hell the had on hand.

He made impatient grabby motions as they went about pouring it, and tossed a few bucks at them when it was finished. Clopin sidled outdoors to one of the nice tables they had set up on the sidewalk and settled down, pouring unhealthy amounts of sugar and cream into the beverage before taking a long sip.

"Ah, c'est merveilleux!" He crowed to himself, feeling the hangover taking a backseat as the traffic milled by as always. Several eyes wandered over the ruffled-looking man, though, when you're wearing garments better suited for the circus life, you get used to it.



tagged , No one!
words , A fewww
lyrics , run this town - jay-z
credit , rora @ hos

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[Javier Aric Redman]

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{ YOU HIT ME ONCE, I HIT YOU BACK }
y o u g a v e a k i c k, i g a v e a s l ap ,

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Javier Redman had hit a man with his car. And he felt no guilt, no slither of remorse for what he had done. This wasn’t an account for being a bastard, because if the man had hit someone, he wouldn’t just drive off. Of course he’d care, probably more worried about the possibility of incarnation than someone’s health, but there would still be care. But just because he had hit someone, didn’t mean they’d been struck. Nor did it mean that it was Javier’s fault. He’d be cruising along the roads leading up to the Main Street of Walten when it had happened. Suddenly some garish purple trouser figure rolled across the bonnet of his car without so much as an apology, sauntering off with an ease as though everything that had just happened, well, didn’t. It wasn’t behaviour that Javier took with ease, hazel eyes darkening to a malevolent black as he’d restarted his car from the emergency stop he’d performed, all the whilst knuckles white against the steering wheel as irritation consumed him. What kind of idiot just ran into the road without warning? Javier knew that there were some in the world that catered to be called idiots, but behaviour like that just stooped his opinions of those around him to whole new, and considerably lower, levels. Even presently, hanging behind the slow paced traffic of the typical Main Street block, Javier sat back more stiffly than his usual, casual disposition, evidently still lingering on the recent, and dismaying past. He was a man irked by those he viewed incompetent, never quite a classist yet jumping at the chance to bar those denser and sillier as second rate compared to his standing. Part of his mind killed itself to even focus on that freak of a man (and another part screamed incredulity at the pairing of yellow and purple), displeased that someone so socially irrelevant held some control over his thoughts. No matter how much he focused on the car in front, or stared at the display on his dashboard, his irritation was just not budging. In the seclusion of his car, Javier swore loudly and sharply, something he wouldn’t have done if not safe behind tinted windows.

What had been a day that was effortless was fast taking a decline for being one he’d only remember later in the night as one that had made his blood pressure rise. Javier was aware that he’d threw away his calm exterior, the grip of his heart and the worried glances out of the window was enough to instil a sense of mild fear over the grown man. A part of him, almost as prominent as his contentment for a buffoon, was rife in his mind and as he indicated into a side road, pulling up, he exited his car quickly. Men were nothing but boys grown up, toys following the same tradition and as Javier bent down to inspect the bonnet of his car, his bottom lip quivered, torn between retaining an air of carelessness and fighting the urge to literally bite his bottom lip in return. Of course he was bothered about his car. It had cost him a small fortune, A beautiful piece of construction with it’s Italian leather interior, glossy lack exterior and fitted with all the unnecessary traits that made it nothing more that a technical decoration. So what, Javier figured, if it had maximum speeds that the roads would never allow him to dabble in? The fact was he liked, no, loved his car and he was extremely materialistic in displays of wealth. Large hands smoothed over the bonnet almost tenderly, vastly uncharacteristic of Javier, who handled most objects with a slight roughness behind his touch, indicating power. Never had he touched a woman or a man as softly as he touched an inanimate car, but then in all likelihood he loved this glamorised hunk of metal far more than he’d ever loved a person. In his mind there was nothing wrong with that, and it worked to his advantage.

It was fortunate the bonnet still retained its immaculate appearance, and you’d better believe Javier inspected closely. Not even willing to imagine the sheer hellfire of what he’d have done had the car been in any shape less than perfect, with the sleeve of his cardigan he buffered a slight smudge into shine. The mystery man, however, was still not forgiven. Javier’s irritability however, was lessening. Occasionally, as he walked up the street he caught glimpses of purple or yellow that made his heart thump louder, yet the colours were never together and so Javier breathed relief. Stress was impeccable to have in a place of work, not so much socially, and the man was fully aware of how easily his buttons could be pushed. In that moment deciding he deserved some sort of break, paper bag in hand, he stepped through into the tea house, ordering a cup of coffee and half wishing, make that a full wish, that he’d brought along a little something to spice it up with. Maybe he should have found a bar, but even he had his limits. At 3 in the afternoon it was far too early to be drinking alone.

Exiting the tea house, Javier manoeuvred round those who tucked in their chairs, only politely nodding in thanks before finally he was seated himself. He placed the bag flat on the table, where the fold of red silk slipped out, causing him to push it back. Silk, Javier had gathered, was a luxurious mess. Heaven against naked skin yet damned wretched to try and clean when you lacked the professional qualifications. Such a simple task as a trip to the laundrette had somehow along the way turned into a near crash, need for anger management and as another contrast had now become simply and excuse to mull over a cup of coffee. There was barely any time to raise the steaming cup to his lips, the bottom opening to take in the rim before sharply Javier just held it there in front. Though it was physically impossible, at the sound of a French drawl, the half Spanish man imagined he was a cartoon and a vein throbbed predominantly. Of course the accent captured his attention, it was French. Who didn’t love a bit of the French, Javier himself had dabbled with a few back in New York, and this was the first he’d heard in Walten. A place that was surprisingly diverse in its foreign imports, he had to say. It was only interest, and the accent was far from his reason to stop drinking. The man, the Frenchman to his immediate left, was wearing yellow and purple- together. To culture Walten may have been diverse, but to fashion it certainly wasn’t. Javier didn’t even bother telling himself to breath, not actually wanting to hold back the coolly ferocious “L’idiot.” It was true, the man was an idiot, dressed like a clown and running over cars as though the city were a playground. If under the disgusting ensemble Javier couldn’t already see he was well developed, he would have imagine the other man was a child. So he’d spoken loudly, enough for others around him to glance over quizzically, but that was the price you paid when wanting to be heard.

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TAG clopin laroche
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[Clopin Jacques Laroche]

* CLOPIN ( JACQUES ) LAROCHE ,







Tea was better than coffee for several reasons. First of all, Clopin just preferred it. Secondly, it didn't keep you awake half as much as coffee. Lastly, it was delicious and perfect! All in all he had to wonder why anyone would want to drink coffee at all when there was a good cup of tea somewhere with their name on it.

But, then again, some people were just indescribably strange. Somehow their brains went haywire and decided that coffee tasted better than tea, and the unaware sods went along with it. A sad cycle, but one that Clopin was in no position to change. He was, after all, only interested in keeping himself out of trouble for the most part.

"L'idiot."

Clopin looked up abruptly with a furrowed brow. He turned in his seat to identify who was calling him an idiot, his lips curled into a less-than-pleasant frown. When he spotted the nay-sayer, of course, his grin was back in place and Clopin leaped out of his seat with an extra bounce for good measure. He sauntered across to the other table and made a great show of sitting down and crossing his legs, smiling pleasantly all the while.

"Now really, Monsieur. That's not very nice to say in public." Clopin said happily. "Mon Dieu, imagine if I had been offended! That would be an awkward situation, oui?" He laughed aloud then and sipped his tea, enjoying the extra sugar he had added before pressing on, drumming his fingers against the tabletop. "Lucky for you, I'm hard to offend, mais... I wonder if I offended you, mon amour?"

Now that was a thought! Clopin always seemed to be stepping on toes, and by the look of this guy, it wasn't hard to irritate him. Which was absolutely perfect, if you wanted to relieve stress by pissing someone else off. Not that he would ever do that! That would be absolutely deplorable.

Tsk tsk.

"If I slept with your girlfriend, I am very sorry, and I am sure it meant nothing!" Clopin announced brightly. "And she probably wasn't all that good anyway, so I wouldn't want her back! Eh? You feel better now, Mopey?"



tagged , No one!
words , A fewww
lyrics , run this town - jay-z
credit , rora @ hos

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[Javier Aric Redman]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
{ YOU HIT ME ONCE, I HIT YOU BACK }
y o u g a v e a k i c k, i g a v e a s l ap ,

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All of this could be what he needed. To be seated at the side of Main Street, almost idyllic as eyes watched the passing movements of the world. Movement had always been a particular fascination of Javier’s, due to the fact that understandably he had always been one to take a step back into a background. Situations, he thought both as a businessman and as someone drinking coffee were best left solved by those who have complete viewing of them. That wasn’t something you could do by throwing yourself in as the front runner, the poster boy of life. He could have been. Javier knew that. A delicious amount of charm and attractiveness, how easily he could have stepped into such a role of recognition. And yet the man who could have ruled the world instead chose a life of subdued obscurity, a shadow to the King, yet all the whilst ready to take the throne. It was a guise that Javier missed. The dramatics and confusion in which he alone caused in a workplace was exhilarating to his twisted sense of enjoyment, an enjoyment that now, in his ‘retirement’, was no longer a part of his life. No, he’d reached the top and faced a revolt, fleeing New York and coming back home not quite a bruised man, yet someone who often questioned whether this homely, childhood town of his was worthy of his being.

It was hard to focus. Especially when the source of his every frustration paraded himself no more than a few meters away. The shaggy haired man wasn’t usually as brash and bold as he cursed bitterly in French, usually he lost respect and that was all. But today he was particularly frustrated by such idiotically behaviour and was hardly going to swallow his opinions. If the man had been wearing an Armani or some suit of expense then the situation would have changed. A suit a symbol of power, Javier would have taken the step back, submissive in decorum to gain an acquaintance and the influence that same character possessed. How on earth this man, with his clashing colour scheme, French drawl and overall look of someone haggardly choosing to go without sleep ever held ay ounce of influence over this town was a question Javier flatly acknowledged. With no doubt that this Frenchman, with all his accented words and careless, was worthless to him, Javier felt no need to hold back and would certainly not do so. A part of him glowed with a satisfied pleasure, the other man appearing to him as a stress ball personified.

Javier did not expect the man to amount to his stress rather than relieve it. Nor had he expected the other to leap into the seat at his table with all the bravado of someone who probably made another wear a mask of themselves when having sex. Confidence was something to be admired, though when some had in leaps and bounds, in Javier’s view it was a positive trait turned vulgar and trashy. The dark haired man chose not to react, even though his nostrils flared slightly as the other took a seat. No matter how irritated he got, Javier had always been able to retain a sense of calm, to impressive levels. How the other man was able to sit and act as though he’d done nothing wrong amazed Javier, even though he knew the logic that the Frenchman wouldn’t have seen him through the black tint of his cars windows. That didn’t give the man justice, and Javier, normally a far sneakier aggressor, suddenly felt the urge to kick the other mans chair until he fell of it. Almost cooing pleasurably at the thought of that happening, he felt his left leg itch in anticipation to make that thought cross into reality. Javier merely scowled silently at his body, eager to act out, and was thankful that he had always held more faith in his mind over his body.

“A situation is only awkward when both parties feel shame. I assure you, if you’d been offended, I really wouldn’t have cared,” Javier spoke airily, eyes never once flickering to the others, instead taking hold of his coffee and giving it a leisurely sip. The mans other words just clarified the importance of Javier remaining calm, his every refusal pinpointing that he would remain as collected as his aggressor. Determined that the frivolous Frenchman would crack before he, Javier relinquished his avoidance, looking up with a charming smile well practiced and effortless. No matter the pleasantries he appeared to display on the surface, inside he was incredulous at this mans behaviour. It was perfectly clear that Javier was somehow annoyed which led to being offended. What kind of buffoon questioned what was so evidently plastered in front of them? Javier was actually thankful for the man being so blasé in his attempts to stir his irritations, since such attempts fell as being pathetic to Javier, causing nothing more than humour.

He went back to sipping his coffee, holding it as his lips as slowly they parted blowing it coolly. Holding the mug slightly tighter than he would have done, Javier made a point to reel in his instinctive reactions to the man, unable to contemplate the thought of losing. Oh how classic, Javier mocked silently, had the other actually played the ‘girlfriend’ card? The man was unable to retain the roll of his eyes. “If that’s your perverse self flattery needed to convince yourself you’re actually any good pleasuring a woman, then by all means continue.” He leant back in his chair, stretching out for a newspaper left of the other table, drawing back and unfolding its pages, commencing a casual read. It was all about appearing unaffected, and though Javier looked at the pages, he wasn’t reading them, more so spinning all manners of words and snide insults to use at his disposal. “Isn’t that sort of talk out of character for a fool?” he enquired, scandalously looking the others clown-ish attire up and down with scrutiny; “shouldn’t you be juggling or blowing raspberries at children? I’m sure the lack of intelligence needed for that suits you wonderfully.”

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