--* baby, just shut-up and drive

[DJ Hadley]

DJ HADLEY

[/size][/color]

-------------------------------------------------------------------
HEY GOOD-BYE, I GUESS I MESSED UP AGAIN
THOUGHT I'D CHANGE, BUT I'M STILL THE WAY I AM
I KNOW I'LL ALWAYS BE THE SAME, I ACCEPT THE BLAME
FOR THE SORRY STATE THAT I'M IN.[/color]
- - - - - - - - - - - -[/center]

- - - WHAT TIME WAS

[/color] it? He had no idea. The sun had risen, obviously. Due to the warm rays shining through the spaces between the slats on the blinds, Dallas James Hadley had discovered the sun was up and burning. Had to have been for awhile; it had been bothering his eyelids for much too long. There was the stiffling, humid air hanging around, refusing to leave. It was nearing impossible to breath in here. The quaint little hotel room he shared with his little sister, Hayden, always got humid and stuffy at a certain time in the day if they didn't keep the windows open. Guess what? No one had opened any of the windows. Groaning lightly, the university freshman threw one of his pillows onto the floor, willing his mind to drift off into oblivion again. Like that ever worked. But, like any other teenager, he tried. He tried for a good thirty seconds before growing bored; not to mention overheated and nearing suffocation. Letting another groan escape his vocal cords, DJ hasitly pushed himself from flat on his back into a relatively straight standing position. Turning his blue eyes to look behind him, at his bed, his forehead creased slightly. Yet again, he had slept atop the itchy bedspread, on his back, his feet flat on the floor. The only sign of disturbance was the mutlitude of pillows thrown across his half of the room. Merely shaking his head, the drag-racer ran a hand through his messy hair, still attempting to grasp some sort of conscious state. He hated getting woken up.

But, what time was it? He still didn't know. All he knew was that he shouldn't be here, half-asleep. He had a list a few miles long of the junk he had to be taking care of. School, homework, lectures, fixing his car, work, getting fired from work. Rinse and repeat. Not that he did half of it. He simply didn't care. School? Did anyone honestly believe that the Hadley boy was going to begin attending class because he was in post-secondary? Right. If anything, DJ found himself cutting class more often than he did the previous year. The professors didn't give a flying bat what he did, as long as he handed in his work and past examinations. Thus, he was not present on the attendance roster more often than not. Class was boring. It's not like he was learning anything. Some guy with a trippy beard was the president for awhile. Facinating. If he cared, he would look it up online. Could school boards even comprehend the fact that all professionals checked the textbook while out in the "real world"? Calculators and Google had been invented for a reason. The only real responsibilities plauging the life of the nineteen year-old were two things: his car and his work. The only important factors in his life. Anyone with a brain knew that DJ Hadley and a shiny '67 Impala never went one place without the other. Anyone else with a brain also knew he controlled the dance floor at the local Bare nightclub. Other than that, his schedule was freed. Completely cleared. He liked it that way. He just didn't like not knowing what time it was.

Feeling around his surroundings for his cell phone - the only source of time, it seemed - and finally locating it in the pocket of his wrinkled jeans, DJ creased his forehead again when the screen lit up. 5:49 P.M. Fuck. Honestly? Hayden hadn't messed with his phone again? Don't ask. When it comes to Hayden Hadley, just don't ask questions. Speaking of his stupid freak sister, where was she? Learning from the influence of the family - not at all, actually - she had randomly began cutting her classes, too. Great reputation the Hadley's were gaining. Even if she had attended ( like he actually kept tabs on her ), school had ended nearly two hours ago. It's not like she had anywhere to go. DJ knew as well as the next person that Hayden Hadley was lacking in the social department. Her only friends, she was either publicly trashing or was getting sick of. Whatever. Let her stumble in whenever she felt like it. It was a change of scenery not to have her stalking him. Raising a hand to grip his head again, he aimlessly looked around the room. Made him dizzy. Had he honestly knocked back that many shots earlier that afternoon? There was very little to do in the middle of the day, at your workplace. Don't judge. Hangovers never bothered him until the next morning. Whatever. It was 5:53 P.M. now. Seven minutes.

Seven minutes until what? He was having some trouble remembering, despite half-spinning around the hotel room, attempting to locate his belongings. What were his keys doing in the sink of the mini-kitchen? Shrugging himself into his leather jacket, ignoring his overly wrinkled t-shirt, DJ pocketed the keys, eyes searching for his shoes. No way he was working that night. He'd gotten yelled at by the manager that very afternoon. He'd gotten fired. Again. If he worked tonight, said manager would be calling him up right about now, screaming at him for being late. Getting fired meant to come in early next shift. It was a good balance. Car thing? Probably. Ever since he and Hayden had moved to Valkyrie, DJ had been heavily involved in recreating the local underground drag race scene. He prided himself in being one of the top ranking racers, thank you very much. Speaking of which, Hayes owed him an explanation as to where the hell he'd been. He didn't believe what magazines said. Splashing water onto one of his hands, quickly running it through his hair to encourage the melted gel, creating a messy mound of spikes, he made a mental note to make a list of things he should actually do. Like interrogating the rich jackass. Well, that could wait. He had four minutes to go be somewhere he didn't know where it was.

Firing himself into his squeaky clean Impala, DJ jammed his keys into the ignition. Well, that would have been a good rush if he didn't have an addition to deafening volumes of aged hard rock. Jumping a good four inches in the air as another ACDC track blared through the speakers, he ignored the sound levels as he pulled from the otherwise half-empty parking lot. You grew numb to too-loud music after awhile. It sounded comfortable a minute or two after the initial shock. A grim smirk crossing his face as he navigated his way through Valkyrie's dark back streets, keeping a sharp eye out for a parking lot with a little too much activity. He controlled half of this world, it was no trouble locating the latest meeting. Crookedly parking his Impala alongside a particularly rusted Pontiac, the drag-racer easily parted through the crowd of half-naked females and cocky males with too much testosterone. Perhaps it had been late even when he only had seven minutes. The beer was already spilling onto the stained concrete, and people had struck up a number of fires out of steel drums. Some things never change. Rolling his eyes, DJ absentmindedly slapped hands with whoever was sober enough to see he had actually bothered to show up. They knew him, he didn't have to know them. Cracking a beer bottle, swinging the rusted bottle opener around one of his fingers, he simply pushed his way toward one of the barrel fires. There had to be someone here sober enough to actually be involved in something. This many people meant more than hanging around being fuck-ups. A race, perhaps. Or a fight circle. He certainly didn't know. Nor did he know the time.[/size][/blockquote][/font]STATUS,, complete.
LENGTH,, 1332 words.
TAGGED,, maggie!
TIME & PLACE,, october 3rd, 2007; the streets.
CLOTHING,, clicketh.
NOTES,, worst ending the history of v-side. i wasn't sure what to do. xD
CREDITS,, format and graphics to me.
lyrics to live on arrival - 'hello, good-bye'.

[Magdelena "Maggie" Corinthos]

MAGDELENA GABRIELLA ESMERELDA CORINTHOS
THE STREETS, EVENING, OCTOBER 2007

[/font][/center]

-----magdelena corinthos was not what one would call normal. she was in a class all her own, the thing is that you would never know had you not seen what she was capable of first hand. almost no one in valkyrie knew just how vicious maggie could get when pushed and just how little it took to take her over the edge. she wasn't even crazy. she couldn't even blame it on a genetic predisposition for insanity. she was just cold, calculated, and smart enough to hide it all with the innocent-ish little high school girl cover. it was brilliant in all sense of the word. no one would ever suspect her. no one would ever think that the new girl, the quiet one who never really spoke out of turn was a deceitful, manipulative drug dealer. her every move was calculated. it was as though her brain was a computer and calculated certain outcomes within moments of thinking up a scenario. she knew when to move in and when to play her role. maggie corinthos was fucking brilliant and could have been anyone she wanted to be, had she not been dead set on proving herself to her father at a young age. oh the life of a drug lord's daughter.

-----life had always been good to her back in tijuana. the police were always after her father but had never actually managed to get a shred of evidence on juan corinthos sr. with how many cops he had on his payroll, maggie was about 99% sure that would never happen. no one could touch the evil bastard and that was just the way he liked it. no one ever got close enough to do damage and those who did never lived long enough to tell a soul. how did she know? maggie was her father's greatest weapon, even if he hated to admit it. maggie was everything to her father except for a valuable asset. don't misunderstand, maggie was an asset in every sense of the word. she was devious but cunning. she could save her father's men with just a little prudent planning, even saving her father's ass a time or two. but he never acknowledged her. that was juan sr.'s first mistake, not letting his daughter in. juan was a firm believer that the drug business, or any other business for that matter, would not, should not, or could not include women. he liked his little wives to stay at home cooking dinner and raising children, not bagging cocaine or selling it on the streets. but that was exactly what maggie was best at, dealing.

-----dealing was the reason why she was in these shitty streets in the first place. the back alleys and the shak streets were some of the best places to sell, and no one ever suspected her. she was the shadow on the pavement, the hobo sleeping on the bench in the park, she wasn't noticed. that was the beauty of it all. so here she stood, walking down the street to meet up with a client, a small stash on her but nothing huge. no one was on the streets as she cut through an alley, popping out on the other side of a long row of buildings that overshadowed a bustling street, one overrun with racers and their cars. just the kind of place she liked. this was the kind of place that maggie would prefer to hang around in. bunches of people huddled together, getting drunk and searching for that adrenaline rush. who didn't like that? who didn't want that? if she could maggie would live her life that way, but things were never really that simple.

-----she was quite the chameleon tonight in her strappy white dress, strappy black shoes, and her vampish makeup and accessories. she felt like herself for the first time in weeks and god was she loving it. with a devilish smirk maggie stepped out of the alley shadows and into the mob, easing her way to the nearest flaming trash can. she hinted that she was dealing, rolling her eyes at the scoffs until someone bought from her. "that's more like it." she said as she exchanged money and got a few more deals out of the matter. once she's sold about five or six bags maggie started turning people away. there was always a reason to her madness, that was never really madness in the first place. she didn't want to cause too much of a scene. too many dopers in one place made people curious and maggie liked clients, not just people who would hit her up on the side. legitimate clients with substantial wallets, something she wouldn't find here. the races was a good way to get the word around and maggie had sufficiently done so. now was a time to let go and have a little fun, as much as maggie corinthos could have.

-----she walked away from the mob without so much as another look back, ignoring the few people who were promising to pay her later. what kind of idiot did she look like? she wandered a little until she saw the car. that gorgeous hunk of vintage metal called to her like a singing canary. "67 impala yeah?" she said to the driver as she admired the car. damnit. this was almost the exact same car she'd wanted her father to buy her, almost down to the color. instead she'd gotten a brand new sports car. thanks pops.

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status • finished
words • 1138
tagged • DJ !
clothes • evilness!
listening to • -- - --.
notes • really choppy. i'm still trying to get a feel for her evilness so this post kinda blows monkey chunks. sorry :[

[/font][/blockquote][/blockquote][/blockquote]

[DJ Hadley]

DJ HADLEY

[/size][/color]

-------------------------------------------------------------------
WHO IS TO KNOW? WHO IS TO SAY? WHO IS TO
CHALLENGE THE THINGS I AM IN MY WAY? LOST INSIDE
THE AIR I BREATH. ALL THE SIGNS ARE TURNING GREEN.
LOST IN THE WAYS I CHOOSE TO BE.[/color]
- - - - - - - - - - - -[/center]

- - - THE LONGER HE

[/color] stood there, staring into the pathetic excuse for a trashcan fire, the longer he wanted to continue staring. The smoke had stopped bothering his eyes months ago. The triumphant cackles of the flames had long blended the noise around him into a blurred whisper, hardly audible. The roar of the sparks as someone threw beer atop the fire provided the only sounds he was paying attention to. Staring into a fire had always been DJ Hadley's idea of musing, ignoring the rest of the world. Fire was alive - always burning and eating at its fuel, constantly wanting more. It was unpredictable, different everytime. When he stood there, pretending to be cohesive, nothing else really mattered. He was infatuated with fire - everything about it. You couldn't tell it what to do. You could only ever stop it by destroying it completely. It was alive, it had a spirit of its own. Just watching as the flames licked away at the driftwood, turning it to ash almost immediately, allowed him some grim satisfaction. At least someone around here could get something done.

The same grim expression on his face, occasionally paired up with a smirk, DJ haphazardly threw bit of old newspaper at the base of the fire. Whatever was within reaching distance, it ended up inside of the fire. Part of him had no idea why he had even bothered finding his way here tonight. These...things were basically the most fun he ever had, true. He loved everything they were about - let's keep that out on the table. Only, as of late, his mind had been so irritatingly heavy, it didn't seem worth it anymore. Absentmindedly taking a sip of his beer, he cracked a smirk in response to what he thought he heard someone say. Pretending to be in the moment was a talent of his. A good one to maintain. His eyes, however, were continuing to stare right into the center of the flames. The longer he watched the fire, the more unaware he became. At some point, he would have absolutely no idea what was going on around him. It was like being in a drunken haze, only after one too many shots of hard liquor. Those were the ones that hit his system fast and hard. It was like the few moments between being sober and falling over drunk. Doing multiple shots in a row hits you, but you're typically fine until then. And, at the moment, it seemed he was on the fast track toward that haze. The pounding music was a distant rumble. The constant chatter was white noise.

Said constant chatter only stopped being that blissful white noise when the cool, sticky sensation of beer touched his skin. Really? Taking a moment to regain himself, DJ looked down at the darkening stain in the middle of his T-shirt. His beer bottle was lying on the ground somewhere, no doubt in a shattered mess. The rest of the amber liquid was probably busy staining the ground; the remainder doing its job on his Zeppelin shirt. It was safe to say he wasn't staring into the fire anymore. Spinning his eyes 'round, only to be shoved backward by the back of some burly gentleman he didn't know, the drag-racer swore softly. Honestly? Backing up another few steps, he managed to take knowledge of the situation. Someone had tackled someone else, causing a number of bottles to crash to the ground, leaving shiny shards of glass everywhere. This wasn't the place to be fighting. He didn't care about that - he fought people all the time. Doing it around booze, fire and women? Really fucking classy. Scanning the gathering crowd, noticing both the rolled eyes and looks of fear, DJ sighed again. He wasn't in the mood. Carefully stepping around the glass, he approached the two brawling males. Well, attempting to. They were holding one another by the collar, daring the other to actually take more than a swing. Was this a hockey game? "Leave it," he snarled impatiently, barely forcing them away from another. "Fighting is fifty yards behind me. Waste each other away there." Pointing behind him, eyebrows furrowed and eyes dancing, DJ stared daggers at them. Hearing more than a few mumblings, several of which wished him to the scary place down there, he shook his head. He missed that white noise.

Crossing his arms now, eyes remaining steely as he watched as a dozen or more people disbanded and ventured toward this new fighting circle, he shook his head again. Being one of the minds behind the entire scene entitled him to a certain amount of authority, which was nice. Having people shoving roughly passed him, however, was not. Fishing the rusty bottle opener from his jacket pocket and toying with it again, he looked around for another beer. One he could actually finish. Cracking the top, he gripped the neck of the bottle loosely. Matter officially solved. He could hear the malacious cheers of the crowd to his left, could make out the smoky shadows of the fighting morons. The general noise level was beginning to even out once again as people moved around, finding their original places. Drinking, cracking inappropriate jokes, badly flirting with the half-dressed girls - back to normal. Raising his bottle to his lips, drinking a bit of the liquid, he turned back to the fire again, fully prepared to get lost in the smoke once again. "67 impala yeah?" Or, perhaps, not. Someone was actually talking to him? Without Hayes here making an ass out of himself, it was rare for DJ to converse other than threaten people. About his car, nonetheless? Ninety-five percent of Valkyrie knew the stunning piece of metal belonged to him, always had and always will. Turning, his eyebrows raising when he saw the source of the question, he chose to shrug, eyes continuing to examine her. Out of all of the sluts here, damn. He could appreciate an actual level of beauty when he saw it. Moving his eyes up and down her petite frame appreciatively, he pulled his keys from his jacket pocket. "Forty years and still making tongues hit the floor. She belongs to me, yeah." Flickering his gaze toward his prized possession, DJ pocketed his keys and toyed with the bottle opener yet again. "What's a girl like you knowing jack about cars?"[/size][/blockquote][/font]STATUS,, complete.
LENGTH,, 1081 words.
TAGGED,, maggie!
TIME & PLACE,, october 3rd, 2007; the streets.
CLOTHING,, clicketh.
NOTES,, SO sorry for being so damn late</3 and for the fact it sucks. xD
CREDITS,, format to me, graphic to ruby.
lyrics to mercy drive - 'lost inside'.

[Magdelena "Maggie" Corinthos]

MAGDELENA GABRIELLA ESMERELDA CORINTHOS
THE STREETS, EVENING, OCTOBER 2007

[/font][/center]

-----maggie wasn't much of a big talker. never had been, probably never would be. talking implied that you wanted people to know about you or your life. talking implied that you had stories to tell or random bits of word vomit to say. maggie was pretty good about keeping random and meaningless crap to herself. in fact she didn't usually say anything unless she really had to. it was just a better way to live in her opinion. when you quieted yourself you could hear just about anything you needed to about life on the outside. clients, opposing dealers, troublemakers and the like always gave themselves away with how much they chatted on about things they found to be worthless. sadly enough maggie knew very little of a conversation to actually be worthless. depending on what you heard, you could decipher and analyze anything about a particular person's life. what they liked, what they didn't, even the kind of coffee they preferred. nothing was sacred anymore and maggie liked it that way.

-----even though it sounded like maggie was some creepy, super quiet little stalker, she didn't care enough to actually follow people. what she learned she'd picked up from small snipits of people's conversations that she would pick up. how creepy would that be if she actually did follow people? hah! but she wasn't crazy enough for that. in her own little way maggie probably wouldn't even consider it stalking, it would simply be a form of analysis and observation. you know, recon for a later date if need be. it was only with the dangerous ones that maggie actually paid attention but there wasn't much need to worry about that on a night like tonight. folks were too busy soaking in the booze like a sponge to remotely be a threat. though it did nothing to completely put her at ease, knowing such a thing did kind of take the edge off. the drunken brawls around here were amusing at least. the haphazard toss of a wavering, clenched fist. oh yeah that just got her good didn't it...well no, but it was fun to watch blubbering drunks flopping all over one another. as if that was actually something to fret over. honestly some of the sounds coming from the women around here watching such fights. it was like someone had lit their hair on fire. such stupidity really just took any scrap of fun out of all of it and maggie quickly found herself turning away from the fight to eye the gorgeous 67 impala parked a few feet off.

-----and boy did she admire that car. it was beautiful. the kind of muscle that could really make a girl swoon, the kind that maggie could appreciate. any guy with a halfway decent taste in classic muscle cars had to at least be worth the extra attention yes? she leaned over the hood, examining the car with an appreciative eye, not caring how the dress hiked up to reveal more thigh or how he could most likely see right down the front of her dress. the only thing keeping her attention was that car, and it was noticeable. "well it's nice to see that some idiots around here have a little sense of what it right in the world of cars." maggie said in her slightly husky tone. when you didn't talk too much that tended to happen. thankfully for maggie it sounded more sultry/sexy that bullfrog-ish. she chuckled at the question, pushing herself upright and tipping her head to one side as she raked her fingers through her brunette locks. her eyes finally rest on a few beers and she grabbed one, pulling off the cap with her hand. "i appreciate." she said before taking a swig. "i'm the only sane one in my family. everyone else wants the newest version of some foreign sports car. me, i would have been happy with something like this beaut." she motioned to the impala with her beer, heaving a jealous sigh. "you lucky bastard."

-----maggie gave a little smirk but turned, more like ripped, her gaze from the car to view the driver once again. he was good looking, that was a sure thing, and his choice in vehicles was undeniable. for the first time since she'd landed in valkyrie maggie was intrigued, even if it was remotely so. "please tell me that you race this thing." she said biting her lip in anticipation. oh what she wouldn't give to see what this black little monster could do in a knock out drag race. to see that real american muscle spank any other souped up foreign job like a toddler with it's hand caught in the cookie jar. it was just the kind of thing that would make her day, week, or even year.

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status • finished
words • 1024.
tagged • DJ !
clothes • teh evilness!
listening to • new divide - linkin park.
notes • lmao he's so got her hook, line, and sinker with that car.

[/font][/blockquote][/blockquote][/blockquote]

[DJ Hadley]

DJ HADLEY

[/size][/color]

-------------------------------------------------------------------
WHO IS TO KNOW? WHO IS TO SAY? WHO IS TO
CHALLENGE THE THINGS I AM IN MY WAY? LOST INSIDE
THE AIR I BREATH. ALL THE SIGNS ARE TURNING GREEN.
LOST IN THE WAYS I CHOOSE TO BE.[/color]
- - - - - - - - - - - -[/center]

- - - IT WOULD BE

[/color] wrong to say DJ Hadley didn't like coming here. He did. It was the most fun he had. The people who were heavily involved in Valkyrie's drag-racing scene were all about fun. They were reckless blockheads who didn't give a fuck about you unless you could win a race. Or fuck a racer. Whichever was your more natural talent. No one could judge him here. They were just as bad as he was, probably worse. No one came here to think and have a nice long chat. People came here for a good time - a good time involving cheap beer, out-of-control fires, and half-naked women. The fight circles and racing was just a plus. That's why he came to these. After all his months in Valkyrie, it had become a nice routine. Everytime he stepped out of his Impala and joined the circles, he knew what to expect. And that was a nice feeling. Telling your brain to shut the hell up, even for a few hours, was the way his companions dealt with their own issues. Forgetting about all your personal bullshit was half the reason anyone came here, save the cheap beer and trashcan fires. And that's what made it fun. Everyone had their own reasons for being here, their own issues to forget about. Everyone came here for the exact same reason: for a night of fun.

"Fun" is how he dealt with everything. Everytime DJ was doubting something, he went out and got smashed. Whenever he was overly stressed, he drove his car as fast as it could possible go down some abandoned street. A good time made him forget about everything. It was better to not deal with his issues with other people who weren't dealing with theirs. Coming down to hang with the drag-racers and their company was a good way not to deal with things. Like I said, these people were all about a good time. It didn't matter the situation or the company, a good ol' round of illegal adrenaline rushes was on the agenda. No one judged him here. If he could supply a good time, nobody cared. And it felt good. If people began caring, things would be a whole lot less rough. Remember that "fun" bit? Yeah, that's what was important. Leave your personal crap at home was rule number...six. He could be around people who drank too much, who drove a little too fast. Common ground. And that was fun. Every racer here had, usually, those two things in common. Half the time, the drinking and driving had nothing to do with it. It anything else offered the same high, line him up. We know his thoughts on drugs. Just say no, kids. Coming here meant he got to forget. And that offered up the most fun of all.

Toying with the neck of his beer bottle, DJ examined his surroundings. Just from thirty seconds of looking around, he could tell most people here were here for the exact same reasons. Sometimes, a few jokers would swing by, thinking they would fit in. They didn't. If you were intentionally smiling and messing around, you could go to a house party. There's probably one down the street. The smiles here were fake; they didn't reach your eyes. The jokes were intentionally inappropriate. The fires were out of control for a reason. Behind all of that, you could see haunted eyes. You don't drag-race, or get involved, unless you have a reason to. Everyone had their own. These people, they were damaged. For whatever reason, they weren't quite okay upstairs. And that's just the way it was. It had been that way from the beginning, and he was personally going to see it was going to stay that way. Chewing the inside of his cheek, staring out through his own haunted eyes, the New Jersey native breathed a light sigh. If he had come here tonight to forget about everything, it wasn't really working. His mind was still bugging the hell out of him. Turning his gaze to see the newly formed fight circle he had forced them to create moments earlier, he shook his head. Sometimes it felt good to pound the shit out of somebody. Sometimes it just hurt you more. They were terrible fighters, anyway.

"well it's nice to see that some idiots around here have a little sense of what it right in the world of cars." He smirked. Seems he wasn't the only one to be thinking tonight. Tearing his eyes from the circle and looking back over to Maggie, eyesbrows raised, he offered her a little shrug. "I would give some of them a little more credit. This idiot made a good call." A wry smile crossing his face, he pointed to himself with his bottle. Most cars here were rustbuckets, he had to agree. It took a special kind of racer to make those things really purr. Some of the not-as-wasted racers had that special touch. "No one in my family even knows what the newest models are. She's all they know." Pressing his foot against one of his Impala's front tires, he nodded. It was true. The only car Hayden ever knew was his Impala; it was still the only one she ever accepted as an acceptable form of transportation. "you lucky bastard." Scoffing at her words, DJ turned back to face Maggie completely. "I've had her since I was fourteen, maybe fifteen. Took more work than I remember to make her acceptable. Visit a junk yard, new girl." A side-smirk now on his face, he cocked his head to the side. He had, after all, scrounged his car from a junk yard just outside of Princeton way back when. Good times.

She liked his car. He could tell that much. Couldn't tell much more. Taking a moment to examine Maggie with raised eyebrows, DJ shook his head with amusement. It had been a long while since someone had been that facinated by his car. Entertaining. Swinging back his beer bottle haphazardly, draining the remainder of it, he pitched the bottle to the side. Hearing the jingle of shattering glass again, he shoved both hands into the pockets of his jacket and leaned against the hood. Continuing to play with that bottle opener, he looked over at her again. "please tell me that you race this thing." Really? "She's just here for show. Everyone only appreciates this fine machine." Teasing sarcasm lacing his words, he tilted his head to the side again. "Of course I race her. And fucking destroy everyone else 'round here." Half of a smile curling its way onto his face, DJ withdrew his hands from his pockets to knock against the hood. He loved that sound. Withdrawing his quickly-emptying package of bland cigarettes, he concentrated on lighting it. "And what would you be knowing about the local racing scene? Aren't people, I dunno, above it or whatever?" She didn't give him that damaged, haunting vibe. She was more productive than that, he guessed.[/size][/blockquote][/font]STATUS,, complete.
LENGTH,, 1213 words.
TAGGED,, maggie!
TIME & PLACE,, october 3rd, 2007; the streets.
CLOTHING,, clicketh.
NOTES,, late and all over the place. good one.
CREDITS,, format to me, graphic to ruby.
lyrics to mercy drive - 'lost inside'.

[Magdelena "Maggie" Corinthos]

MAGDELENA GABRIELLA ESMERELDA CORINTHOS
THE STREETS, EVENING, OCTOBER 2007

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-----unlike what many were bound to think, maggie wasn't just here to forget. she'd shown up originally with a plan in mind, with a job at hand and that was to deal and get out. but the air around this place seemed to attract her like a moth to the flame. this was a group of people who didn't give a shit about life unless it came at them one quarter mile of a time. no thinking involved, no calculated ways of talking to people or doing things. it was all about how you drove and who won. who wouldn't love that. it was the kind of environment where the pauper could beat the prince and become the king, if you liked those kind of analogies. maggie didn't really care about any of that. she liked places like this. ones without a care in the world. places where the adrenaline rush reigned supreme and everything else was put on the back burner. who really wanted to live their lives stressed out and struggling with everything? unless you had that kind of masochistic attitude, no one really chooses to live miserably. after all isn't that practically the meaning of life? to find that happiness and desperately hold onto it? maggie wasn't sure, but she certainly wasn't one to let an opportunity to have some bit of fun in her life pass her by. especially with the way things had gotten. all of this stress with her father and the business, selling the product and putting a happy smile on her bastard father's face. it wasn't something high on her list of shit to do. sure maggie enjoyed dealing. it was her way into the business and it was the only bit of the business that her father would trust her with, aside from all of that it also proved a little bit of a thrill. but this place? this was like a feeding frenzy for her nerves and she loved it.

-----not many opportunities like this had presented themselves to maggie, ever. aside from things associated with the business like learning to fight or shoot a gun, there weren't many car chases and exciting shootouts from her end of the business. she was on the outside looking in on all of the exciting, heart-pounding things that her family got to do. maggie wanted to be a part of that so badly but since she wasn't you could say that she had some of the boring, more frivolous jobs in the business. it was like everyone else was working jobs like the celebrities would while maggie's version of jobs were something to be compared to working at an old folk's home. it was boring, there was often drool involved, and there was no spark. worst of all, there was no spark. that was what maggie had been searching for this whole time had it not? that was one of the sole reasons why maggie had aspired to take on her father had it not? sure maggie was also in it because it was a sexist environment that she'd been shut out of, something she'd had no opportunity to even strive for. all she'd wanted was a chance. now that she'd gotten one, maggie was seriously seeking that sense of thrill that her job was supposed to provide but just...didn't. she wanted to feel that adrenaline pumping through her system and shocking her senses. she wanted that little sense of danger that she could just run with. she wanted it all, and now, around the shak streets, maggie was beginning to think she'd found it. the blood, sweat and tears, the fighting circle that had taken place, all of it thrilled her.

-----maggie had to make a point to calm herself or she'd really look like a newcomer. this was a prime spot to deal and she didn't want to lose it just because she looked new to the place and couldn't handle it. true, she didn't have as haunted of a past as most of these low life's did. maggie wasn't about to deny the fact that she wasn't like most of these people, but she was eternally annoyed by her father and had spent the eighteen years of her life trying to live up to his standards and impress him. having to do that alone, damn near drove her to the brink. maggie was getting very sick of her father's ways. she was sick of the way he looked down his nose at her like a flea. most fathers, and i say most instead of all, would build their children up. they would be happy that their children aspired to even be something and would push them along, helping them along the way. that would never be the case for juan and his daughter. maggie could never seen the man being kind or generous toward her. it was like seeing pigs fly or something, completely out of the question.

-----maggie looked over at the guy with the decent car as he smirked. well fine then. "yeah, you did. congrats." she said flippantly. her eyes narrowed at him as he spoke about visiting a junk yard. well maybe maggie hadn't put in all the time to find a decent muscle car, but she had her own reasons for that. "i got what my father bought me, and to be honest, i was happy to scam him out of whatever money i could. i'll get to it some day but for now, i have more pressing matters." she chuckled slightly at his sarcasm, because if she didn't take it in a light-hearted manner things weren't going to get pretty. "good to hear."

-----"i like the idea of the adrenaline rush. i don't get it much and let's just say i'm looking for it." she said as she stepped away from the car, running her fingers through her hair and giving it a little fluff. "and i'll always try something once, before i judge it that is."

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status • finished
words • 1238
tagged • DJ !
clothes • wearing!
listening to • shut up and drive - rihanna.
notes • sucky, sucky, sucky. my sincerest apologies.

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