---* my toxic valentine

[finn]

FINNEGAN. SHANE. TURNER.


( JUST TAKE OFF YOUR WINGS, THEY COULD )
( NEVER GET YOU QUITE AS HIGH AS I DID )

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----FINNEGAN DIDN'T KNOW WHAT WAS worse. waking up at six am every morning in a prison cell, or waking up at four am every morning in his own childhood bed. slapping his alarm up, finn started normal procedure of pulling on jeans and a t-shirt, dirty or clean and head down to the kitchen of the motel his parents ran. you see, finn was a cook. admitting that he was talented would be admitting that this ex-con was actually good at something other than stealing cars and getting girls. and besides, he felt like a complete tool cooking. like he was some martha stewart housewife. upon his arrival back from the state prison, finn was forced into the culinary career track by serving breakfast to the guests who stayed at the hotel. the best part of it was, he got paid. didn't even have to fill out that bullshit application, because to say the least, the question where the job application asked, 'have you ever been convicted of a crime?' seemed to be the deal breaker at most employment places. thus having been to prison twice, first time for drug paraphernalia and the second for stealing a car. finn was still slightly surprised he was actually hired onto the cooking staff at the country club. well, surprised until he actually met the other cooks. illegal immigrants and ex-convicts. the two biggest things they had in common where they were society's rejects and they made really good food. despite the fact that finn hated cooking for rich people, it paid well. and, he got to see hot babes in bikinis. maybe, he should have been a pool boy.

it was still dark aside as he left his room and walked past the doors to other rooms. the motel had actually been doing quite well the past few weeks. which was surprising because oceanside motel wasn't exactly a hilton. fuck, it wasn't even a best western. the only thing his parents' motel had was it was literally right on the beach. it had all the customary things too. like color television, a hot tub, and an outdoor pool. but why swim in something that barely pushed six foot deep when you could just walk the five steps and swim in the pacific? it had good deals too. competing with the likes of days-a-way hotel aka valkyrie's brothel. but, finn came to the conclusion that if you didn't have enough money to spend your vacation at the expensive The Inferno Hotel and Casino, but you had too much integrity to contract an std at days-a-way, then you settled on oceanside. and hey, they served free breakfast daily between 6 - 10 am. yeah, free. what free things did you get in the world today?

so why did finn get up so early for breakfast that wasn't even going to be served for another two hours? because he was making breakfast for the masses. it was free food after all. it was basically a buffet. seconds? thirds? fourths? finn had to make excess food as if everyone was going to have thirds. and it did kind of suck he was doing it by himself. but, he did get territorial, since he considered oceanside's kitchen his. yeah, he had an entire kitchen to make scrambled eggs, sausages, bacon, biscuits and gravy, and among other breakfast-y type of foods. finn went inside the lobby and unlocked the door to the kitchen. turning on the lights, he was greeted with stainless steel counter tops and shiny stoves. he started going through the fridge, [that pretty much had to be restocked daily] and pulled out the things he was going to need. he was getting started right away. usually after about an hour his mom or dad would poke their head in to make sure finn was, in fact, in the kitchen and not passed out in someone else's bed gearing up for one killer hangover. or sometimes, he got visits from bevin to keep him company while he cooked. and by 'keeping him company' she did exactly that. she just sat on a clean counter top and talked to him. he would say though, it was probably only when she was high. why else would you willing be up at four in the morning. you'd think finn would be slightly more concerned that his sister got high on occasion. but, he did it as well. he was also a small-time pot dealer. though really, he only sold it to friends and girls he wanted to sleep with. so, finn and bevin both shared a hobby of getting high. one thing finn couldn't do was get pregnant. and when it came to boys and his little sister, then he got concerned. haha, like that one day he broke that robbie wallace kid's arm. the little pussy. though it actually seemed like a waste since bevin turned out not to be pregnant and she was just late with her... you know. but he remembered the day with robbie. his girly cousins, riley and reed, came with him. though the whimps didn't contribute anything useful in the demise of the boy that had sex with his sister. those precious turner brothers thought they ran the neighborhood. well, riley had his damn legacy, and reed thought he was hot shit because he owned some slut bar. that other little runt was still at some rehab. finn actually only recently heard the addict was back through bevin. he couldn't imagine if regan tagged along to the alley-way beating because riley and reed basically had to pry finn off the little punk. ah... good times that was. he probably should have gotten arrested for that too.

his dad came in when it got close to six and started shuffling some of the food finn finished cooking out into the dining area of the hotel. finn nodded to the beat of the music playing on the radio he turned on. he stayed pretty much like this for the next couple hours. he moved from stove to stove scrambling eggs or flipping pancakes. sometimes, he sung the song if he recognized it. it wasn't till it was around 9 that his father came in less and less to refill containers for the guests of the hotel. then his father came in and said, "someone wants to see you? should i send them in?" finn's back was toward the door. "yeah, sure," he called over his shoulder. he heard the door swing shut and then swing open again. he turned around and widened his eyes slightly. "i'm guessing you're not here to compliment the chef on his cooking." because when ex-girlfriends visited you at work, that was never a good sign.

______________

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STATUS, complete
CRED, format and graphics to me
LOCATION & TIME, oceanside motel - the kitchen, november 2007
LYRICS, 'toxic valentine' - all time low
CLOTHES, i'm lazy. jeans and a black t-shirt.
TAGGED, remy silver, yo.
I SAY, making this post made me really want to eat breakfast foods.
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[River Connolly-Sakahrov]

( REMY BLYTHE SILVER )

NOVEMBER, 2007. EARLY MORNING. OCEANSIDE MOTEL.

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when we were young,
THEY SAY THE DEVIL'S WATER, IT AIN'T SO SWEET
YOU DON'T HAVE TO DRINK RIGHT NOW. BUT YOU
CAN DIP YOUR FEET EVERY ONCE IN A LITTLE WHILE.
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- - - WORK WAS NOT

[/b] something that was foreign to one remy silver. some worthless smartass who was incapable of letting go of the past might say it was. but we all know that it would be bullshit. she wouldn't even have to tell you it was bullshit. you should just know on your own. more than anything, it would be a lie. she got up each and every morning, knowing the amount of work she had to accomplish in the allowed hours. she often left her now cramped apartment before the sun rose, often not returning until darkness had long claimed the sky. and no, she wasn't out during all hours of the day and night for shits and giggles. fifteen minute breaks during each of her shifts; snarfing down a quick lunch when she had school. the useless fucks who are out the door at seven, back at ten, who pretend to be dog-tired are not only useless, but lying fucks as well. she knew better than anyone what a full day felt like. springing from a morning high to an afternoon sex fest to an evening float in vodka did not a hard day make. anyone who claims it is requires both a reality check, and a dire need for a new brain. pity much of valkyrie was stuck in the state of mind.

she'd gotten out of it, you know. just look at what each day of her life is. definitely not thinking a hard day involves sex, drugs and bubblegum pop. within only a couple of months, she had cleaned her entire life up; swept it into a neat little pile before burning it. she had been fresh off of life as a silver. not an easy task to adjust to the real world. imagine to yourselves, folks, how it would look seeing tristan silver attempting to find a reasonable apartment, and a job. can't? her younger sister had become a worse version of what remy had been when she was sixteen, just before she got kicked out. it was almost sad. almost. in the end, remy blythe had been forced to eat her pride. shut the fuck up and march into the restaurant she used to basically own, and beg for a job. bussing tables, washing dishes, kissing ass - anything would have sufficed. then she had to do it again, march into the local - gasp - public school and arrange some sort of online program. the worst was when she unlocked the broken door to her apartment for the first time - the cramped little hole in the notorious hitten apartment building. she had swallowed her enormous head and got out of it.

oh right. where were we? the actual point to all of this. oh, yes. work. not foreign to remy silver. ugh, don't even call her that anymore. anyone with a brain knows the surname of 'silver' in valkyrie, california. the day she got kicked out, any wished association with such...yeah, not happening. she got up every single damn day, sucked up her pride, and went to work as just another blue-collar slave. day-time hours were wasted serving rich people overpriced, often stale, french cuisine as valkyrie's swankiest, 'le fluer violette'. just enough time to run to her shared apartment - best friend brett kennedy, she liked that part - to change in to some semi-revealing outfit. dancing on a bar for a living wasn't all that bad, she had to admit. being a coyote at locally run 'bad seeds' was a hell of a lot more fun being a waitress. it was the lack of sleep that fucking sucked. it was being labelled as just another blue-collar slave that fucking sucked. it was not having the life she was supposed to have that really, really fucking sucked. but, you know, it's a pattern. it might all fucking suck. you have to admit that it probably does. but none of that really matters. what matters it getting your rent paid on time, on getting to spend your time with other people who also knew that it fucking sucked. don't go judging forty year-old servers at a diner - they know they ain't living it up like a lawyer. but, as you better know, it was a pattern. she woke up knew what everyday would bring, but she did it anyway. everyone else did. they smiled toothy smiles, maybe winked, before getting screamed at by some lawyer and his cranky wife. it wasn't a foreign policy to her.

that was why she got up that morning. she was learning to know how to smile and deal with it. three years, she should. don't even go saying that. it takes awhile to recover from a crash like from silver girl to unpolished waste. her mother called her that everytime she was stuck as their server while dining at the restaurant. smile and just take it, right? well, when you have to. apart from learning how to make swallowing your pride as a profession, she was also learning how to like her life again. it had taken a good long while. but, finally, remy silver was beginning to actually like her life again. she liked the people in her life, she liked living with her best friend, she even had to admit to sometimes liking her jobs. everything was just easier when it was simple, streamline. any unadded waste she just couldn't put up with. she opened her eyes that morning, knowing that she had to continue purging her life in order to get it how she wanted.

her alarm didn't even go off. her dark eyes were greeted by darkness that foggy morning, mind silently cursing itself. not working the day shift plus no alarm usually means sleeping in. i guess not. fuck. stumbling up from her mess of sheets and blankets, the coyote blindly felt around her small bedroom for the lightswitch. flick. a little better. glancing up at the quickly dying lightbulb, she made the mental note to buy some before work. maybe. not even bothering to change her clothes - pyjamas are for losers - remy tiredly ran her hands through her long, dark hair. she needed a better job. this place was too damn cramped. half-tripping over the couch as she attempted to venture to the kitchen for coffee, she made the other mental note to find one. three jobs would fucking suck even more. hardly bothering, she didn't end up making coffee. her mind wasn't thinking that far ahead yet. all it was planning was what she was going to be doing very shortly. remember getting the waste out of her life? yeah. quickly scribbling to brett, she felt her way into her leather sandals. much too lazy to actually turn any lights on. breathing a light sigh, remy threw her car keys and wallet into her worn, albeit designer, purse. knowing how her life was, there was a good chance she wouldn't see their cramped little apartment until the next morning. someone would find something for her to do. managing to unstick the rickety old door, she locked it securely and quickly escaped the building. finally.

breathing the fresh air of the morning, the silver girl pushed her hands into the pockets of her shorts. the very thought of driving was forgotten. gas was so god damn expensive. what's with this economy, eh? she always wanted to live in canada. pulling her sunglasses over her eyes, blocking out any sense of sunlight, she easily found her way down to the beach. when you live in the shaks, there ain't a whole lot to do other than solicite. the beach is the only place some angry chinese neurosurgeon isn't cursing you. damn economy, damn government for not letting doctor chen actually practise medicine. poor guy was stuck owning a restaurant. nice one, government. got to love the american system. hah. the same grim smirk on her face as she approached the destination she had been denying for days, remy sighed again. she'd been promising herself over and over she'd confront the asshat of all asshats. walking up the steps to the local oceanside motel, quietly asking to see one finnegan turner, she followed the only one she could assume to be finn's father toward the kitchen. "i'm guessing you're not here to compliment the chef on his cooking." an unimpressed expression finding its way onto her face, her heart gave a painful twang. there was a reason she had never really gotten over finn. even with the bullshit he'd pulled. "how could you guess?" her voice toneless, she planted herself at the front of the kitchen. crossing her arms, she simply watched him. "miss me?" taking a few steps forward, she averted his gaze as she inspected their stainless steel surroundings. picking up one of the clean mixing spoons, she pointed it at him threateningly. "thought it was time i cleaned up the bullshit from my life. looks like you're first on the list."[/size][/font][/blockquote]STATUS,, complete.
TAGGED,, finn the finfin xD
LENGTH,, 1531 words.
CLOTHING,, clicketh.
NOTES,, ew, rant. yay, femy. :]
CREDITS,, format and graphics to me.
lyrics to the killers - "when we were young"[/size]