Don't Spill The Nuts -LARS

[*england]

[atrb=width,375,true][atrb=border,0,false][cs=0][bg=000000] The ducks were easy to knock off the plank that they flew back off of. Mitchell was a good shot and no matter what anyone said, he could wipe the floor with the Duke. He'd gotten all of his info about guns and how to shoot from Lars. It took him an hour to get the shooting down to hit on target, though he knew he could have done it in a quicker time when he looked back on it. How simple and so second nature it had been. When he's pissed and needs to let loose he usually goes shooting. The only problem was, he couldn't stop unless he hit something, so this game was child's play and he won the big white teddy with blue bow around it's neck for Sasha. She was one of the band members that liked seducing her guitar with fingers and her body. A deviant in her own way, she wanted the bear and she knew England would get it for her. Reaching in his jacket he fished out a pack of smokes, pulling one out and placing it to lips before fire struck the end. What a good feeling it was to have poison shoot into your lungs and know you wouldn't die from it. He was already dead. The pack was put back along side the metal Zippo with the words Fuck You etched in it. Sasha was all squeely with her jumping up and down, and it even landed him a smooth kiss on the cheek. Yeah, even if she wanted his junk he wouldn't have given in. You just didn't fuck friends to get off. A kiss, sure. A kiss was a kiss but a lay was a different tune. The cuff rose when he brought his arm up, checking the watch for the time. He'd show up soon, and now England would have to break away from the group. They would ride some coasters and maybe get some photos at the fun house, but Mitchell had other things to tend to. For instance, seeing Lars. He hadn't seen the old chum for quite some time. In fact, the last time he'd seen him had been before Mitchell left for New York, and he could have sworn he saw him with a woman, but he couldn't be positive about that one. By the time he made his way over to check, he was gone. After that incident he had half a mind to call him, yet as always, he was called to do something. He was tired of it all. So this move would be good, because he could relax for two weeks and goof off before he had to go back for more money making crap. As long as they played their kind of music, he didn't really give a shit. Mitchell turned and let the fag hand from the corner of his mouth as he spoke. "I'm gunna head to the loo.....go on without me yeah?" He turned before a protest of his actions could be made, his fingers moving to take hold of the cigarette, taking a hit and letting it rest between fingers as his arm lay by his side while he walked. The place was too fucking big for his liking. Too many pieces of food walking around. Once in a while he smelled something he really liked. As if it were cotton candy. By the end of the night, one of these people were going to wind up dead.

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Wearing THIS and I'm thinking about how much I want to ride that rollercoaster. Wanna know how many words in this post? 586 but the next one will be better. Yup, I hate starting threads. Who's up next? LARS TRELL Bitches!

[Ellie]

[atrb=width,350,true][atrb=border,0,false][cs=2][bg=0f232e] Giselle had Ziggy at the groomers, and then was scooting her around to the private obedience class and then after, she sort of hinted on wanting a new pair of heels. The dog had more diamonds and pearls on it than Giselle did, but his wife was thoroughly happy and exited for the little girls' night out. She was such a polar creature. Lars let her be, bidding a goodbye and reminding her not hesitate call him if she needed him. Rather, 'you better fucking call me if you find yourself in a mess'. He always felt like big brother when he reminded her that he was there if she needed him, but it was true. They were married now, and he rather her give up an inkling of pride rather than risk her life. But for the most part, he wasn't worried. She was more than capable in taking care of herself. So he decided to act on the phone call and have a night out of his own. He didn't have his hopes up though, old friends didn't seem the same anymore. Mostly because he wasn't the same. He was still pretty much the same old guy, he'd just grown the fuck up - stopped pitying and acting like some victim of his own demise. Well, that's what he knew he'd stopped doing, a few years ago that just consisted in living heartlessly, killing and fucking heartlessly, mostly. He was different now. Still the same old asshole, just one that realized he was wasting his time pissing years away like that.. and might as well start living for something instead of passing each day for nothing and no one - not even himself. And whether he'd like to admit it or not, he'd become more refined, a nicer fellow over all. It didn't take much to swing him back to his old punkass ways, though. But he was accustomed to dressing up and acting a certain way around Giselle's friends, acquaintances, business endeavors, whatever have you. She might as well stuff him in a closet when they came around, because no matter how much of a high-class facade he put on, he couldn't very well hide the slacked way in which he walked, the lazy curve in his upper back and not to mention the piercings and skin covered in tattoos. It was almost a silly effort - but he went along with it anyway as best he could when he had to. While he was in the car, Lars weaseled around for his phone charger and other random things like the radio. Sports cars were hardly fun when you had stop and go city traffic. But finally he arrived. After paying the admissions fee and buying a ticket or two just in case, Lars wandered around the park. The sun hadn't set all that long ago... he hadn't awaken all that long ago either. But it wasn't like he was groggy or anything, hardly. He'd had a very good amount of feeding the night before to hold him over until sometime after midnight. So now the question remained... where to look? Lars figured not trying ot look was the best way to find him, so he refused to do so. He just bought a large coke and sipped away at the straw as he amused himself with the crowd of humans and occasional other being, very scarce - but still, their traces were evident. Just as he suspected, not looking was the best way to find him, because there he was... well the back of him. His hair was longer, but Lars could tell it was him. And by the very rare change that it wasn't - well he might regret doing this. Reaching over to some carny booth, Lars plucked out a light wooden ball - convinced the Carny all was well - before tossing it to his old friend's back, "I'd fucking love to drop some Batman-Ras quote right now, but I'd end up looking like a fucking idiot. How's it been, man?" THIS IS TAGGED TO ENGLAND. ELLIE HAS BEEN LISTENING TO THE USED AS SHE WROTE THIS 671 WORD POST HERE WHERE LARS IS WEARING THIS, AND SHE'D ALSO LIKE YOU TO KNOW, copy cat ~.

[*england]

[atrb=width,375,true][atrb=border,0,false][cs=0][bg=000000] It seemed that people really did easily piss him off. Getting pissy wasn't something he liked doing, but it came so easily. He needed a beer. Something ice cold and freezing his hand to where it would shatter. Feel the splendor of it calm his throat and sizzle his insides. Yes, a beer sounded wonderful. "Bloody Christ!" He shouted out after something hit him square in the back. He wanted to stretch his arm just to reach it, only he stretched his back inward and outward to calm the slight sting. England turned around to view the source of who had thrown it Probably some little punk who was messing with people while mom was looking away. "I'd fucking love to drop some Batman-Ras quote right now, but I'd end up looking like a fucking idiot. How's it been, man?" This crooked parted lips grin happened in seconds. The bugger was lucky he was a friend and not some Jimmy Jack kid who could have gotten the shits kicked out of him. So he let out a laugh of sorts, making his way toward Lars and rustling up his hair after jumping on his side and landing on feet right after a noogie was given. "What's up mate...." He pushed him sideways with his own body shot, laughing in his wicked way. "Well would you look at you.....If i hadn't known any better, I'd say you were on your way to a nice clean up." He picked at his clean shirt and over looked him. England had a slight nerve to talk with his vest and tie and pants, but at least his pants were wrinkled and his jacket was in reference to the twenties. And what the fuck was he drinking? Seriously? Was that a fucking ring? No ruddy way. "Whatchya got there? Some new kind of style to wearing jewelery?" He would pick on him because he never thought Lars would be the type to get married. Maybe life hit him hard, he wasn't so sure. No of course not. Even though people changed over the course of time, and yeah, even vampires, he was sure he was going blind. "You are in serious need of some sun." He joked. Not that Lars was unusually pale, oh no he wasn't, not to Mitchell, but he joked because he was a vampire, and every time he saw Lars in the early years of their acquaintance, he always opened his brashness with that. It sort of broke the ice for his own self awkwardness. "I was thinking of an ice cold beer.....Seems these people frown on the ice cold......." He huffed. "How can you stand it here? Everywhere I go there are thousands of French people who do not like it when you do thinks that aren't the French way." He mocked the entire French accent in English, throwing a bit of the snooty tones in there. He was a funny bastard sometimes, but hey, he was honest. And he was curious. Eh, to each his own right? Though a man had looked at him in a rather maddening way that told England that he heard what he said and he didn't much care for it. So, he wriggled his brows and showed teeth while sticking out his tongue to the side like a mad man. He jumped as if he farted and walked away from him as quick as possible, laughing after and almost hunching over. He always liked scaring the mortals. Lame. Maybe he'd find the poor bastard later and suck him dry just for looking at him. That or either lock him in King's cage. The band was fond of King, but he was still spooky in the presence that he liked human flesh and bone. thank God they were dead, because they were rather delicious looking. He'd have to bring him something back from this little reunion at the Amusement park. Amusement Park. Amusing indeed. "So...whatchya been up to? I was sure I'd find you here living comfortably in your old ways....clearly I misjudged." He gave a snarky raise of the brows and enjoyed picking on him. Joking with him. Eventually the banter would die down once Lars thoroughly gave him one back, and it was usually something that did make England shut up.

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Wearing THIS and I'm thinking about how much that hit in the back was. Wanna know how many words in this post? 717 Whatchya Say? Pffft, Never that. Who's up next? LARS TRELL Bitches!

[Ellie]

[atrb=width,350,true][atrb=border,0,false][cs=2][bg=0f232e] Lars just threw his head back with a loud, "HA!"

[/b] at Mitchel's accusation of him looking cleaned up, "Sure, if that's what you call deciding to stop pretended to act fucked up.. when you can't even fucking get fucked up,"[/b] he chiseled back. Truth. Pretending to be some fuck up he was before he was turned had grown tiring much too long ago.

Lars allowed the rest of the third degree with an upturn in his lips as he sipped on his straw until he had downed his coke in it's entirety. Typical, really, England's reaction. Everyone who had known him previously noticed much of the same changes in quality. Lars understood, though, he was a totally different person, almost. Those who were actually close to him on an emotional level in the years prior might not have been so surprised with the outcome they would have before them. But for his fun-loving friends that, even though would be by his side and call whenever, weren't aware of all his interior, the "new" him could be a bit of a brain rocker. It was a male thing.

So, after throwing the cheap cup to the trash some feet away, Lars just wagged his left hand, smirking proudly. He let the sun comment go, because honestly he wasn't sure what it meant, and it sure as hell wasn't hilarious. So it wasn't worth the process of thinking something to come up with as a retort. "Mhmm,"[/b] Lars piped, bending his tattooed wrist into his friend's face in an overly feminine way, "Hitched. But it wasn't a big fucking deal or anything, being official just meant something to my girl, so, y'know, whatever. I love her,"[/b] Lars shrugged, trying to stress how he didn't feel heavy by the fact.

Just as Giselle's peers didn't accept Lars totally, the same went for Lars's, he observed. Anyone who had the power to tie Lars fucking Trell down by his left ring finger was either a spawn of Satan or the best girl in the world. And with he way his peers viewed marriage in general, they usually assumed the prior. And even though Giselle was fine around him, her around his friends was a total different story. Some could look past her money and her clean cut, fine attire, while others were bent on jealousy. Of him or her, Lars wasn't sure, though. And it would be stupid to rule out the fact that Giselle didn't exactly get along with people well, or rather, people didn't persevere enough to see past the first bitch impression they got. Lars had the same circumstances, more often than not, and he was pretty sure England, too. See. We all have more in common than we thought.

Lars giggled in response to England's distaste in France, just nodding his head and stepping toward a large tent he figured had a few kegs, "Well, it's a lot like New York,"[/b] he stated simply, "So I understand them, even if the vast fucking majority are pompous asswipes."[/b] Lars wondered idly why England would be in a place he didn't care for, then remembered his profession, if you could call it that. He made money, so Lars figured being in a band was a job. Lars's father was a musician, but he always referred to what he did as a hobby. Andrew Trell thought "job" had a negative connotation. His father was peculiar like that. He also attempted in pushing Lars towards the same interests, or hobby rather in music, but the fact of the matter was, Lars didn't have those musician tendencies. He obtained great music taste, but as far as musical talent went... it was zero.

Lars licked his lips as a young girl scurried by to meet up with her group of friends. Loaded up on endorphins and pheromones, yummy. He was brought back, though, when Mitch spoke again, "Oh... Yeah, a lot of shit went fucking down when I was living in London, like, life.. changing shit," Lars clarified simply, "But I see you're still the same old asshole, control's are good,"[/b] Lars grinned, "You still got the whole.. fucking, band thing going on? How you guys doin'?"[/b]

THIS IS TAGGED TO ENGLAND. ELLIE HAS BEEN LISTENING TO NINE INCH NAILS AS SHE WROTE THIS 727 WORD POST HERE WHERE LARS IS WEARING THIS, AND SHE'D ALSO LIKE YOU TO KNOW, your god is dead! and no one cares! if there is a Hell, I'll see you there! NIN rules :3.

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[*england]

[atrb=width,375,true][atrb=border,0,false][cs=0][bg=000000] "Sure, if that's what you call deciding to stop pretended to act fucked up.. when you can't even fucking get fucked up," How England's smirk had foiled his irking sensation once again. Mitchell shrugged to these words simply because he just didn't care. For years he had been who he was because he was always tired of people looking at him like he was from another time period. Since the eighties that had been when he really started delving into his talents more and more. If Mitchel were to get wasted, he'd have to drink fsome magical blood that was made specifically to get vampires high. Some new age drug shit. His tolerance as a vampire were so incredible that it took a large amount of blood to even fill his appetite. "Hitched. But it wasn't a big fucking deal or anything, being official just meant something to my girl, so, y'know, whatever. I love her," Spoken after he waved it about his face. Another smirk moved over lips once more and Mitchell simply shook his head side to side a couple of times. He was shocked of course, anyone would be, or should be really. Chicks were like that. Funny n' stuff. Wanted a ring, or something that let them know you really did love them. A piece of paper was a piece of paper, but that didn't mean you couldn't stick your dick in someone else. It just meant it was now official in the eyes of the law. Pffft.It was all bollux in his book. "well...I guess ya gotta go with what you feel eh?" Mitchell chortled once over. Then he had seen Lars that night. "Well, it's a lot like New York," Lars spoke out again after Mitchell's eyes were directed away from an ongoer. Oh how they walked about so carelessly, when all along that had much to fear around them. It wasn't just the humans that were dangerous. "So I understand them, even if the vast fucking majority are pompous asswipes." To that he chuckled, letting out a quipped laugh as hands were shoved into pockets. The way he walked was slack, but he stood up somewhat partially straight. "Oh... Yeah, a lot of shit went fucking down when I was living in London, like, life.. changing shit," Everything always changed, but to conform to something that was different than you or your beliefs, that too could be shrugged away, but Mitchell didn't really have any beliefs. He just knew what he knew and loved who and what he loved. London, his sister, his music and his friends. "But I see you're still the same old asshole, control's are good," Lars grinned as England smirked on the side of his mouth."Some things never change." Most of England never did change. He was the same old asshole and he loved every part of it. Now more so than ever. "You still got the whole.. fucking, band thing going on? How you guys doin'?" A nod with an mhmmm was sent his way, hands were removed from those pockets, and replaced it's emptiness with anther smoke. It was just something to fill the void with his lips. "Tours ended, just some opening shit but coming along...So I'm killing some down time here, thought I'd look you up and see what's new. Been a while old man." He teased. Lars wasn't older than him, but he was sort of someone he looked up to if you could make such a claim, thought England would never admit that. Being on the road was always hard, especially when he couldn't keep an eye on his sister, but he had often made her come with him just because he was under handed like that. "Guys are great, their uh...." He turned his head to peek out from fabric. "Their off riding the carts or something." A cheeky smile protruded through when he turned back to face Lars. "So....nuff of the small talk eh? Tell me you've not eaten." He was aching to sink his fangs into some of those fuckers out there, and around closing time he'd see to it he did. Eventually he'd wrap it around to hey, why don't you pick up a fucking guitar and join the ruddy band. Lars always got that question pushed in his face, and Mitchell would one day accept the fact that no meant no. No never meant no in Mitchell's book. If it had he would have died of starvation.

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Wearing THIS and I'm thinking about how much that hit in the back was. Wanna know how many words in this post? 753 Whatchya Say? Good Gravy Who's up next? LARS TRELL Bitches!

[Ellie]

[atrb=width,350,true][atrb=border,0,false][cs=2][bg=151515] Lars just sort of nodded lazily as Mitchell dished out his latest career news. He shot him a playfully weary look at the 'old man' jab. Lars wasn't particularly sure if he should take that literally or sarcastically given how young he really. England was almost one hundred, Lars reasoned, so therefore he had a good seventy-five years on him. Oh yeah, Lars was fucking ancient. He felt older, however, and given the multitude of near-death experiences in the past.. three years in being with Giselle? His brain was not truly fixed to this "immortality" mind frame. He still viewed himself lucky if he lived to Mitch's age. Maybe everything would mellow out eventually and the couple wouldn't have to be ready to rip some mother fuckers' throats out every time they ventured on a date. It happened every once in a while. Realistically, though, Lars doubted that would ever happen. The pistol hidden under the waist band of his shorts, modestly covered his sweater was a testament to that. The item hadn't left his side since it aided in eradicating the earth of the late Jack Audley. Call him paranoid, but it surely hadn't been a wasted effort. He used it more than he should. It'd been a gift from his father, though, and he's owned it since he was human. With the limited bonding time he and his father had, Lars learned to shoot and drive. Thank God for the heated summers in upstate New York. He'd never used it until recent years, though, at least not for anything dire. He'd tipped Mitchell on long range point shooting some time in their past, or at least he recalled. Lars hadn't met Mitchell until after he was turned, not long after, actually. He was one angry, angry, bitchy, asshole fledgling, then. So it was no coincidence they got along. For that reason, Lars was internally weary to nod his head vigorously at the thought of hunting. He'd been through a multitude of phases in his eating habits, and currently, Lars wasn't comfortable with brutally 'playing' with his food, if you will, as he once was. In fact, the majority of the time, now, Lars preferred to leave his victims simply unconscious in stead of draining them totally. But he was hungry, and not afraid to sink his teeth into flesh and inflict pain to the human race anymore. So he walked on and piped up, "Nuh Uh! I'm fucking starving, man," he spoke, his large, hazel eyes darting around him, eying all the young possibilities, "And these tank topped chicks are starting to kill me all over again," he said low, his eyes growing a shade darker as his upper lips quivered when another stupid Frenchie Fry swaggered in front of him. It wasn't that they tempted him sexually, they just tempted his hunger... and well, if you counted in the fact that he was a vampire, they were almost one in the same. THIS IS TAGGED TO ENGLAND. ELLIE HAS BEEN LISTENING TO BEYONCE AS SHE WROTE THIS 478 WORD POST HERE WHERE LARS IS WEARING THIS, AND SHE'D ALSO LIKE YOU TO KNOW, Uhh, yeah. That's the best I could come up with x: .