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ansem125 · Jun 19, 2011

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Osheaga · Jun 19, 2011

RE: Living Together Is The Name Of The Game {ansem125 and Oversea}

Traditionally, Walcott would spent Friday nights playing sociables at unlikely downtown bars with her favorite crew of wannabe Irish men. However, someone belonging to a different social demographic desired her attention that billowy Autumn evening. She had received a hastily written text around 8pm, virtually the instant she stepped foot out of her place of employment. Though Walcott was a science major, she was a very blessed artist with a creative hand and an outlandish sense of idealism. A friend who manned a blossoming tattoo parlor had asked if she could stop by and help him arrange a design that a patron asked for. In exchange, he would touch up one of her tattoos. A steady income had been something she lacked lacked so, in a nutshell, Walcott was in no position to turn him down.

Without fail Walcott - dubbed by her last name rather then her first, Emanuele - would be up early on Saturday mornings to read the paper, sip on a luke-warm mug of hot chocolate and skim through any assignments due that week. But on this particular day something had compelled the exotic South American beauty to submit to her fatigue. Though a deep sleeper by nature, Walcott was disturbed by the sudden appearance of an unusual anomaly - a tongue flicked gingerly in and out of her ear followed by the pressure of a scaly paw on her collarbone. She peered downward, her sight obscured by the girth of her bust and a long, reptilian tail. Her strikingly light, ginger-ale hued eyes opened wide to get a get a view of a fully grown iguana. Her pet and companion. God only knew what would happen if others discovered their third roommate.

She let forth a content chuckle, sat up and draped the tropical creature around her neck where he seemed perfectly content. Weightlessly she glided into the hallway where she could hear a shuffling - then towards the kitchen which had been small, but sizable for two people. She hadn't yet noticed Matt's position until she took note of an article of clothing laying disdained on the floor near the foot of the fridge - a pair of black laced undergarments, certainly nothing that belonged to her. She nudged them out of the way with her foot, glanced briefly at the rugged looking man then pried the fridge door open. Nothing. A few half-opened beers, a left-over TV dinner and a lone slice of government cheese.

Osheaga · Jun 20, 2011

RE: Living Together Is The Name Of The Game {ansem125 and Oversea}

Any useless questions Matt would sputter, Walcott would never reply. She reveled in the silence and would leer into space with an almost glazed over look to her eyes. The iguana - named Tequila - made no sound of protest when Matt reached out to touch her. She merely tilted her head and flicked her tail which swayed in a motion resembling that of a pendulum.

Walcott could best be described as an independent philosopher. She seldom mingled with people. Hell, if it weren't for her lack of steady cash flow, she wouldn't have been caught dead with this scruffy Matt character. "I have no plans." Her voice fluttered from her throat with a wordless Brazilian twang paired with strength and power. It, needless to say, was a unique and passionate tone. She stood idle for an instant, running her hand through her unusually short, jet black hair. Her fingers got caught in a few stray curls, no thanks to her being Brazilian. Truthfully - and much to her chagrin - Walcott was experiencing vehemence. Generally she would go out and buy food seeing as Matt was too busy entertaining guests. She mad an unhealthy habit of eating out at fast food restaurants which was wreaking havoc on her metabolism.

Without much further hesitance Walcott glided over to the cupboard where she carefully lifted two plates to reveal five neatly folded bills. She thrust them - almost gently - into Matthew's chest, her eyes dancing with an almost distasteful hue of olive. "Go get some groceries," she half-commanded. Her fingers curled around the bills which folded at the creases underneath the weight. "And clean yourself up. You look disgraceful."

Osheaga · Jun 20, 2011

RE: Living Together Is The Name Of The Game {ansem125 and Oversea}

By the time Matt had returned, Walcott had taken advantage of his absence to take a well-deserved shower. It was refreshing not having to untangle her lion's mane like she used to. In fact, it was painful recalling the hard bristled hair brushes she'd break from combing through her wild curls. With more then three fourths of her ethnic mop chopped off and discarded, she felt a literal weight lifted from her broad shoulders. There would always be this one stubborn curl - described as the "Superman curl" by students - that could fall into her view from time to time. No matter how she tried to flatten it out, it would spring fourth with a fervent vengeance.

She was curled up on the couch with her laptop, briefly perusing some meager Facebook message that was sent out to virtually everyone on their side of the campus. It read HALLOWEEN PARTY 2011 entirely in capitals; the list of participants was borderline ridiculous. She knew these campus parties tended to get out of control, but it was an opportunity to relax and if anything, have a few free beers. She closed the laptop and stood just as Matt announced his presence, neatly laying it on the chair and collecting her handbag which had been flopped over nearby. "Welcome back," she replied flatly, her South American twang shining true and blue as per usual. "I'm going to the liquor store."

Her keys chimed almost musically in her mitts as she buttoned up her mahogany colored peacoat. The last button was always the most troublesome, but she managed to fasten it up over her top which had ridden low enough to see the healthy curve of her breast. She suspected that Matt would likely be inviting himself along. At this point in time she had been so heavily medicated (due to a knee injury from rugby) that she didn't quite give two fucks.

Osheaga · Jun 21, 2011

RE: Living Together Is The Name Of The Game {ansem125 and Oversea}

Admittedly Walcott enjoyed her boyishly short hair. The ethnic curls were charming; she resembled some manner of 1960's pinup girl with skin the shade of coffee rather then cream. She wasn't fond of, however, Matt's rugged, calloused fingers touching the ringlets. It aggravated her. The best she could do was take a step back and watch him with a gated leer as he meandered through the door with his keys in tow. He was quite the demanding fellow. But, she supposed that's why they got along - she was equally, if not anymore, demanding.

The drive was fruitless. Walcott took command of Matt's stereo, flicking back and forth between a modern rock and retro pop station. Though the volume was down low, she could pick out the makings of what appeared to be a Depeche Mode single. After a decent fifteen minute drive the liquor store came into view - a neat, popular and sizable shop in a plaza squeezed between a supermarket and an HMV music store. She waltzed in, greeted by a waft of cool air and the chatter of weekend-revelling patrons.

The first thing she sought after was a bottle of sambuca. Traditionally it was a type of liquor used for shots but Walcott had an acquired tasted for more potent liquors. Aside from the disgusting, almost repulsive burn of black licorice, the alcohol itself tasted like fire. She glanced over the top of the shelves - inadvertently keeping her eyes on Matt who was likely prone to get into some mischief - and caught the sight of a not so familiar face.

A notorious, no good thug that went by the name of Elias London.

Osheaga · Jun 21, 2011

RE: Living Together Is The Name Of The Game {ansem125 and Oversea}

In a nutshell, Elias was a sociopathic lunatic that believed he had the right to whatever he desired. He was lascivious, arrogant and worst of all, tyrannical, a personality trait that Walcott was infamous for. That being said, Elias was heavily attracted to her; smitten, one might even say. At the time he was hungrily eying a bottle of rum when her siloutte passed out of the quarter of his eye. His lips curled into a smile, revealing a set of perpetually perfect teeth. Like a wolf stalking a doe he glided soundlessly through the isles, pouncing just as Walcott had reconciled with Matt. His eyes were dark and lusty but held this gentlemanly charm that was unusual for him to exhibit.

"Emmanuele," he breathed. He caught the husk in his voice, straightened his posture and ran a hand over his scalp - there was no hair, just remnants of jet black peach fuzz and a stringy grey toque that sat on his crown. "I didn't realize you liked sambuca ... all along I've been going downtown, drinkin' it alone and here you are - an angel with a pint." He smiled which grew flat when he caught wind of Matt. "'Sup," he greeted dismissively, nodding his head. "So you're going to Tobin's Halloween party tonight? You never party! I heard you get wild when you do, though!"

"I think the circumstances this time are a little different."

"Fuckin' right! Dress up, eh? And bring caveman here with ya." He playfully - almost provokingly - patted Matt on the head. "I'll see you ladies tonight. And caveman! Go just like that. You look great."

Walcott heaved a heavy sigh and flattened her one, stubborn curl slick against her scalp. "Yeah ... yeah, I'm ready to go."

Osheaga · Jun 21, 2011

RE: Living Together Is The Name Of The Game {ansem125 and Oversea}

Walcott's only reply to Matt was "It's undecided."

She was cryptic and vague; she seldom made her plans apparent unless it benefited her in some manner. However, she heavily doted on the notion of attending. Because she was saving up her money to move back to Brazil she hadn't grown attached to too many people save for one or two who she could consider good friends.

It was last minute, but if she decided to attend, she figured she'd have a half-assed costume to put together in about two or three hours stops. She was creative, though, and figured she could conjure something up with relative ease. Even though it wasn't Halloween yet - hell, Halloween was a good week and a half away - university students were just making up excuses to throw themed parties. There would likely be several other Halloween parties that week alone; god knew what manner of foolishness would occur on the 31st itself.

She began unfastening her jacket and disdained it on the couch, eying her quarters for a split moment then briefly giving Matt one last overlook. It was a look he would likely decipher as, "Obviously I'm going."

Osheaga · Jun 26, 2011

RE: Living Together Is The Name Of The Game {ansem125 and Oversea}

There was no better sensation then ambling through the outskirts of campus on a mild Autumn night with a potent buzz and a half-full bottle of Jack Daniel's. Of course Emmanuele Walcott was a coherant drunk, but she didn't attend wild social functions for the soul purpose of having a drink. She liked to observe people; document how foolish they acted under the influence and how they went about presenting themselves. She would sit in silence, watching, and when she was sated she would join in the festivities.

The party itself could be described as a giant clusterfuck. The house - an infamous frat house on campus - was dressed to the nines in tasteful Halloween themed banners and decorations. Streamers and ribbons were hung loosely on the walls with neat arrays of strung bats draped from the ceiling. The costumes varied from suggestive and scanty to horrific and overdone. Walcott had found the median. At home she discovered an old pair of ram horns a friend used for a play. They were big - but virtually weightless - and coiled into a tight, dial-like spiral. She teased and flipped her curls so they covered the band and made her mane appear wild and unruly.

The make-up and outfit all fell into place afterwards. In fact, Elias was the first to notice her ostentatious costume. "Satyr, right?" he noted silently, his smile reflecting the lusty intent brooding within his mind. He was noticably disheveled by her outfit; her top, a tight bandeau, made her breast appear fuller and more voluptuous then they naturally were where as her bottoms, skin tight denim jeans, accented the curvature of her marvelous ass. She gazed - uninterested - at an antsy Elias while she took a long, unusually drawn out sip of her sambuca.

Osheaga · Jun 29, 2011