she only smokes when she drinks:; [OPEN]

[Mystery O'Brian]

mystery o'brian
well you know those times when you feel like there's a sign there on your back,
says "i don't mind if you kick me, seems like everybody has"
you step off the straight and narrow and you don't know where you are
use the needle of your compass to sew up your broken heart.
♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠

Life. What a really strange combination of events thrown together in the most half hazard way possible. Seriously, it seems like as soon as you get something figured out and know where you are and where you’re going, fate or destiny or God just goes, “HA!” and mixes it all up again. For example, say you lived in California; land of sunshine, celebs, and beaches. Say you went to one of the most prestigious high schools in the state on scholarship and lived with your aunt and cousin, who were the most amazing people ever, and your uncle, who was great for the most part. You had some great friends that you could depend on, even if you weren’t the most popular person on the face of the planet. Let’s say, in this hypothetical situation, that you were happy with the way your life was turning out, even if you had known since you were five that your mother died when she gave birth to you, and your father couldn’t stand to look at you, because you just reminded him of her, and so had given you to his brother and sister in law, giving up the chance to raise his daughter. As Mystery O’Brian sat on the edge of the pier on a chilly November morning, she laughed bitterly at the thought of how naive she’d been when she thought that life would be able to stay that way for forever.

The thing with George O’Brian was that almost immediately after sticking his only daughter with his brother was that, soon after, he’d fallen off the face of the earth almost completely. No one heard from him for six years, when Philip finally got a letter from his youngest sibling. But it wasn’t what he expected to hear. Instead of asking about his daughter and how she was and expressing interest in seeing her, he only said that he’d fallen on some hard times and begged for money. Philip refused, and as George got more and more belligerent, Philip made the decision to uproot his family from all they’d ever known in Dublin and move them to the states. So, again, George fell off the map. Mystery never knew that her father had tried to contact them; her aunt and uncle thought it would be better for her that way, especially when no one in Ireland really knew where the O’Brians had gone. So when George showed up at the door three months earlier, everyone was stunned, especially Mystery. Here, after eighteen years, was the father she’d never gotten the chance to know. As much as Thomas and her aunt and uncle told her to be wary of George, Mystery couldn’t help but be ecstatic that he was here. Finally she could feel like her father actually wanted her to be around. So when, after a few weeks of getting to know each other, George begged Mystery to go back to Ireland with him, she accepted the offer without much thought.

And at first, Ireland was everything she remembered it to be. Her dad left her alone a lot during the day, saying he had business to take care of, but she didn’t mind. After all, it had been years since she’d been in Ireland; having some time to explore wasn’t exactly the bane of her existence. So she spent the first weeks wandering around Dublin, getting reacquainted with people she had once known; people who, mysteriously, also told her that she should keep an eye on her father. She came to find out why a few weeks later when, to shorten a very long, complex story that she didn’t want to think about anyway, he’d used her to try and absolve a drug deal that he couldn’t pay for. She’d found out that most of the mornings he’d been gone ‘doing business’, he was really in a bar or basement somewhere getting drunk or high on something. Not even wasting time, Mystery packed her things, called Thomas to tell him she was on her way, and left for the familiarity of Valkyrie, California.

So, here she was, sitting on the pier in the middle of winter, watching the sun rise. Mystery swung her feet back and forth absently, leaning against the bottom rung of the banister that protected people from falling of jumping off. Thomas told her again and again that she shouldn’t blame herself for what happened. After all, her father was the one with the problem, not her. But Mystery couldn’t help but play the ‘if’ game. If she’d never gone to Ireland, if she’d left sooner, if she’d never let her father back into her life, if her mother hadn’t died when she was little, things would surely be different. She wasn’t sure she even believed half of those things, though. Besides, mulling over what could have been didn’t change anything. It just made you crazy. Reaching over to her bag beside her, Mystery pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. It was something she’d started in Ireland that had just started out as something to do. Another life experience, if you will. But since she’d gotten back, she’d found that it really did make her feel better sometimes.

Guarding the tip from the wind with one hand, Mystery clicked the lighter and tried to get the end of the thing to light. It took her three shots before it finally started burning, and she took a grateful drag, wincing as her phone rang next to her. Picking it up, she shook her head to herself and answered it. “Hi, Thomas.” She said, taking another drag. “I’m out at the pier. I’ll be home soon.” She paused and frowned, listening to her cousin on the other end of the line. “No, I’m not smoking.” She said sharply before pausing again. “Ok, fine. I am. But it’s not that big a deal. Yes I know it’s bad but…Yeah, fine. I’ll be home soon.” Sighing, she flipped the dreaded phone closed. She’d considered leaving it at home this morning, but didn’t want Thomas to worry about her. Everyone had been so paranoid since she’d gotten back. Like just because her father had let her be… whatever had happened by that guy that she’d just go throw herself off a building or something. “As if.” She mumbled to herself, taking another drag and staring back out at the horizon as the sun finally started to show itself.

status:; complete!
word count:; 1,081
date/time:; november 3rd, 2007
clothes:; here. <3
credit:; song to rodney atkins - going through hell
notes:; i'm baaa-aaack. <3[/size][/font]

[Cassidy Slade]

( CASSIDY TAMARA SLADE )

NOVEMBER 3rd, 2007. MORNING. THE PIER.

[/size]
-----------------------------------------------------------
shrouding every scene i'm cast in,
CAREFUL WHEN YOU'RE FEELING OUT OF YOUR MIND
YOU SHOULD TRY TO REMEMBER, THE STORM LINES
IN THE SPOTLIGHT, 'TILL YOU'RE FEELING, ALL RIGHT
-----------------------------------------------------------[/color][/center]

- - - SHE DIDN'T REMEMBER

[/b] a whole lot of, well, anything. the past forty-eight hours were a memory. a blurred memory. a very, very blurred memory. although, i suppose, that's how it was much of the time. cassidy tamara slade didn't remember things too clearly. the past two years, for the most part, were another very, very blurred memory. when she opened her eyes that morning, her mind was completely blank. the events of the previous hours were a mystery to her. scary as hell, right? at the beginning, it had been. two years, remember ( not that she would )? she had long grown used to only having a vague idea of the past days. it was nothing new, anymore; very much expected. all that stood out was the candy-colored pills in the bowl she, and several others, had been picking from the entire night. the blue and white one had sent her right over the edge. she remembered that, too. so, when she opened her eyes on the third day, her mind was in a blissful fog. random flashes played before her eyes, but never made any real sense. anytime that something was starting to seem familiar, it was lost in another drug-induced haze as she popped down another colorful pill. that was the way things worked now. she pushed her mind right to its limit, taking some experimental new drug. as soon as her high was beginning to fade, she'd do another hit. the things in front of her were supposed to remain a fogged, candy-colored haze.

it wasn't. on the contrary, her line of sight was filled with faded ceiling tiles. it was the third day. her high had long gone down. there was no candy-colored pharmacy to blur things into oblivion again. huh. everything was the same foggy memory she had grown so accustomed to. three days ago, she had arrived at a house party down in the shaks, and that was the end of that. like always, she stayed out well after the party had ended. the moment the power was cut, she rounded up several other stragglers and went out in search for the next good time. by four in the morning, there was always another party. she's been dancing outside of the circle for two full days - out of contact, certainly not out of mind. normally, she was gone for a day; a solid twenty-four hours at the most. it had been awhile since she'd gone out for two days. expect a worry-filled speech from her haggled mother later, no doubt. breathing a sigh, the indie darling closed her eyes, wishing for the ceiling tiles to disappear. those were the same damn ceiling tiles she stared up at almost every night she decided not to go AWOL. so, she was at home. made sense. somehow, one of her fellow drug-inducers had located her new 'family's' home, pushed her inside and into bed. her mother never actually succeeded in finding her daughter. it was always some self-richeous addict who decided to play hero. okay - day three, at home, in bed. morning? the ceiling tiles were a hushed, dusty color. definitely morning.

huffing another breath, cas ripped the heavy comforter from her frail body. immediately raising into a sitting position, she swung her legs over the oversized bed and touched the cold, wooden floors. they creaked. this house was disgustingly enormous, and the floors creaked? right. quickly rubbing eyeliner from her tearducts, she examined her surroundings. her bedroom - her haphazardly packed boxes were still stacked in a corner, long forgotten. she doubted she even knew anyone was aware she was here. everytime she suddenly appeared at home, her mother made sure to tidy her room in the middle of the night. the woman had the compulsion to watch her only daughter sleep. judging from the fact that her sandals were kicked right inside of the door, and her leather jacket was a crumpled mess on the floor, charlotte whateverhernewlastnamewas had not been in to touch cassidy's belongings. good. it was a creepy thought, anyway. listening carefully, hearing no movements or voices, the actress lightly slipped right back into her wrinkled jacket. wordlessly slipping into her footwear, hardly paying attention to the rest of her haggered appearance, she snatched up her phone, wallet and package of cigarettes from the dresser. making as little noise possible, she then slipped through her door, shut it carefully, and snuck down the sweeping staircase. sneaking out of the house was so much easier from the main level.

not even bothering to lock the front door behind her, cassidy remained silented as she sprinted down the too-long driveway and down the street. why the fuck couldn't she live on her own again? it's not like her mother paid rent a day in her life. slipping her aviators over her tired, black-rung eyes, she slowed her gait as she slipped farther away from the stupidly-large mansions. nothing wrong with living in, you know, five bedrooms. twelve bedrooms and ninety-six bathrooms was a bit excessive, don't you think?whatever. she didn't even care anymore. the ambrose estate she was now forced to live in was much too large and dusty for her liking. nothing wrong with a small apartment. she missed having one. a sardonic smile crossing her face, cas easily lit her own cigarette. where was she, anyway? three odd months of living here, she had never taken the time to actually explore the town of valkyrie, california. her agenda had her back in los angeles, on her own, six months after she was released from that stupid rehab facility. it was coming up on that time; nothing had changed. ugh. pushing one of her hands into the pocket of her well-worn shorts, the other toying with her cancer stick, cassidy continued on her merry way, not really paying attention to where she was going. this was a small town - sooner or later, she'd think of somewhere to go. maybe downtown. it was disturbingly early in the morning; there had to be some overly stressed company men scurrying around, trying not to be late for their meaningless work. they were fun. as the scent of the ocean, however, soon became apparent, it was clear she was in the opposite direction. the beach was fun, too.

pushing her sunglasses up into her messy hair, she breathed in the refreshing air. it was hardly crowded - she thought she saw a surfer half a mile down the beach. strolling toward the pier, she continued to smoke her cigarette. she'd never really thought about it before, but it was strangely relaxing here, early in the morning. it was quiet, untouched. the complete opposite of her life. felt good to be in the presence of such contrast. turning her light eyes toward the second figure, who was watching the sun rising, she stopped walking. interesting. cautiously taking a few steps forward, so she could lean her arms on the railing, cassidy looked over to the girl. "early morning smoking is a sin, y'know." a smirk on her face, cas took another drag of her own cigarette, exhaling the dark smoke as she spoke. [/size][/font][/blockquote]STATUS,, complete.
TAGGED,, mystery<3
LENGTH,, 1223 words.
CLOTHING,, woot.
NOTES,, this is gonna be fun<3
CREDITS,, format and graphics to me.
lyrics to finger eleven - "good times."[/size]

[Mystery O'Brian]

mystery o'brian
some pray that one day christ will come a'-callin'
they light a candle and hope that it glows
and some just lie there crying for him to come and find them
but when he comes they don't know how to go
♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠

Mystery swung her feet idly off the edge of the pier as she took another drag from her cigarette, clicking the dead ash of the end. She watched as the tiny pieces floated down onto the water and the waves took them over, thinking about suicide. It was funny to her that her family seemed to think that she was going to off herself just because her father had decided to show himself for the good-for-nothing lowlife he was. Yeah, okay, so she’d thought about it at one point. But even thinking about it freaked her out. The whole concept of death was something that had always terrified Mystery; so you live for a while, have good/bad experiences, and then one day it’s just over? What’s up with that? Of course, there were those who believed there was some kind of life after this one, whether in heaven or right back on earth. Mystery wished she could believe in something that much sometimes. As much as bible-thumpers drove her crazy, at least they had some kind of belief and understanding about what happened to them when they died. The concept of God, however, was something she couldn’t get past. If there was some sort of higher power out there who loved all his children, then why did stuff like rape and murder happen to people, believers or not? Besides that, she wasn’t a believer herself, so what happened when she died? No…suicide definitely wasn’t on her to-do list. She was entirely too skeptical to leave the after-life to chance.

She wondered, looking down into the dark morning water, what people thought of her. She had always tried to do her best to be a good person and do what she thought was the right thing to do. Her aunt and uncle had brought up both O’Brian children to get good grades, be kind and courteous, never speak a bad word to anyone around them, and to defend the principles which they thought were right. But Mystery had been thinking lately; what dictated right and wrong? Sure, she had her ideas of the concept, but so did her father and the bastard loan sharks he’d been dealing with. They obviously thought that using daughters to get what they want from fathers is exactly the right way to do things. Wasn’t there supposed to be some sort of unwritten cosmic rule about the things that really mattered in life? The things that dictated opening doors for girls, or helping old people across the street, or not raping and pillaging villages. Of course, the rules had obviously changed since the fourteen hundreds, but they had their own cosmic rules back then, too. So why was it that in the new millennium, where they created everything under the sun to help people do as little as possible, they couldn’t figure out how to get people to just leave each other alone and be nice?

Be nice? Who was she kidding? This was the twenty first century.

God, she was going to give herself a migraine. Pushing the end of her dead cigarette onto the pier to put it out, she pulled out another and lit it, taking a long drag and blowing out the smoke. Things needed to get simple, fast, or she was going to explode. Even Thomas, who had always been her rock, was too tense for her to deal with right now. What she really wanted was to just escape for a while. To just get away and feel nothing. It would be a hell of a lot simpler than actually trying to figure out what was going on in her head right now, which she couldn’t even begin to guess. As a matter of fact, her aunt had recommended that she go see someone to talk about her problems, but she couldn’t see the point in doing that either. If she couldn’t understand what was going on, she couldn’t imagine how anyone else, even a professional, could.

Of course, there were all sorts of ways to forget your problems in Valkyrie, California. Probably more than anywhere else in the world, in fact. The problem was the fact that she had spent so much of her time being good that she highly doubted anyone would believe her if she said she wanted to get into some kind of trouble. But hey, who could really blame her? Living a life that was completely and utterly revolving around doing the right thing got really, really boring after a painfully short amount of time. Mystery wondered how people could actually go their whole lives without doing anything that was exciting. Mormonism came to mind. Not that she had anything against Mormons, she didn't, but it was amazing to her that they could go their whole lives without doing drugs, getting in fights, having random sex, or even consuming caffeine. She honestly had a respect for people that had will-power like that. The people that had the sort of control to never bend to their own faults that might lead them to a life of want and desire and listening to the small part of their brains that would bring them to sin.

Sin. Now that was an interesting word. Mystery took another drag of her cigarette as if breathing in the concept. For reasons she didn’t understand herself, a small smile crept onto her face. She was so lost in her own thoughts that she didn’t even notice a girl walk up behind her until she started talking. Mystery jumped slightly, smacking off still burning ashes onto her jeans. “Shit.” She mumbled, brushing them off and taking a slow breath to calm back down. “You’re one to talk.” Mystery replied to the girl and looked up. She had seen this girl around before. Her name was Cassidy…Something. Blade? Slade? Slade. That was it. Cassidy Slade. She had some reputation for being a real party girl. Mystery found herself smiling again; fate had sent her a guide for her latest quest at just the right time. “Besides, a little sin never hurt anyone.” Looking back over the water, she put out her second finished smoke and folded her arms back over the railing, trying to figure out if Cassidy would help her or not.

status:; complete...finally. D:
word count:; 1,049
date/time:; november 3rd, 2007
clothes:; here. <3
credit:; mamma who bore me - spring awakening
notes:;asia-face. i suuuuuck D: i'm sorry this took so long. the next one won't, i promise.[/size][/font]

[Cassidy Slade]

( CASSIDY TAMARA SLADE )

NOVEMBER 3rd, 2007. MORNING. PIER.

[/size]
-----------------------------------------------------------
shrouding every scene i'm cast in,
CAREFUL WHEN YOU'RE FEELING OUT OF YOUR MIND
YOU SHOULD TRY TO REMEMBER, THE STORM LINES
IN THE SPOTLIGHT, 'TILL YOU'RE FEELING, ALL RIGHT
-----------------------------------------------------------[/color][/center]

- - - CASSIDY SLADE had

[/b][/font] never, ever, done boredum. not since she was six months old, too stupid to even know how to keep her drool in her mouth. life starts when you turn three - your brain can actually remember memories, you can walk, and can maybe even form a full sentence without any missing vowels. and you can pronounce consonant properly. how fucking annoying is it attempting to understand some toddler speak? she hated babysitting. but, whatever. she just did not do boredum. it was...boring. and who, really, likes being bored? even as a child, if she didn't have something to constantly entertain her, she was off causing enough trouble to entertain herself. and cassidy slade being left alone to entertain herself was always a formula for disaster. once, when she was like, twelve, she had some small part in a film that was a failure of fail. everyday for two weeks, there was rarely an underpaid adult around to babysit her. we'll just end the story when she lit the entrance to someone's trailer on fire. it only got more dramatic from there. her mother grounded her for a month. and then forgot about it two days later, but still. as a twelve year-old, that just sucks. and that was when she was a prepubsecent reading seventeen magazine. who reads that anymore? the same people who read j-14. now, at eighteen, anyone could pretend to imagine what the hell she would do to entertain herself. lame as it sounds, no one else was going to do it for her. people stop caring about you once you get your own agent and own apartment. people really stop caring when you drive all of that down the toilet, and have to move in with your sad excuse for a mother and her twisted new family. to her, all of that was boring.

see? as cassidy got older, it took more and more to satisfy her thirst for activity. before she had began to experiment with drugs and alcohol, she had done film after film. remember 2005? she had like, six movies out that year. but then you try cocaine at your sixteenth birthday party, and it all goes to hell. drugs had become the only thing to keep cassidy out of trouble. contradictory, ain't it? if people left her the hell alone to live her life with her addiction, things were simple. no one had any idea she was an active user for months. but then her mother calls her; a week later, every tabloid in the country had some grainy photograph of her splashed on the cover. ugh. those weeks were so annoying. see, cas had never really cared that all of hollywood knew about her drug addiction ways. she had been a user for months before, but never actually took steps to hide it. some tmz photographer probably caught her several times, but no one ever cared enough. indie films are epic films, but people rarely pay attention to the actors. michael cera and ellen page. facinating examples of the boring people showcased from the indie world to the rest of hollywood. just because everyone knew about it, didn't make her want to stop anymore. wow. some gossip-y agency won't work with the drug addict. cry me a river. someone else will. socialites who need a sandwich mocking her at after-parties. they did that before. she honestly could not give a fuck about the rest of hollywood. she had formed her own little circle, established herself in her chosen line of film. what else did she need? because, addict or not, cassidy slade was an actor for a living, not a celebrity. being famous had nothing to do with why she became an actress. duh.

she just happened to be a bored actor. that was the point of all of this, wasn't it? eh. cassidy hadn't been bored back in los angeles. even as 'a disgraced ex-actress', she was enjoying her life. she was one - left the hell alone, two - free to have her addiction like always, three - definitely not an ex-actress, and four - away from her god-awful family. for as much fuss her parents made over her, she was a hell of a lot happier when they weren't hovering over her shoulder, making sure she answered every question on the test. or that she didn't copy for the kid next to her. but for the fourth time, her annoying, personally disgraced, brother appeared on her doorstep in the middle of the night. she didn't remember everything that happened, but the bright, artificial lighting of the lobby of some random rehabilitation facility were scarred into her mind. everyone, even cas herself, knew that she couldn't live her life again once she got out. carter himself drove the two hours from l.a. to valkyrie, dropped her off on her mother's new husband's montorous doorstep and let her officially be introduced to life under house-arrest. ever since she got a divorce, charlotte slade had made her daughter her number one priority. no more partying, no more living on your own, hopefully no more acting, and definitely no more drugs. when cas was at 'home', she was rarely left alone. her mother wasn't even pretending not to be meddling in her business. she asked her about everything - where she was going, who with, why. my fuck it was irritating. charlotte just did it in that simpering, sweet voice that made it sound like she was only curious. right. because charlotte slade is ever curious. charlotte ambrose? slade-ambrose? whatever. she didn't pay enough attention. point is, being in that empty mansion was torture. putting the boredum aside, it was still torture. whatever happened to getting a little privacy?

which would probably bring us here. early in the morning, at one of the most deserted places in valkyrie. people were sleeping right now, not jogging. brain damaged businessmen go jogging in the morning. even charlotte slade-whatever wasn't willing to forego her precious beauty sleep in order to make sure cas was still present that early in the morning. she just did in the middle of the night, being creepy. good thing she liked horror movies. there would be an annoying lecture when she finally strolled back around, but it was easily ignored. freedom for the time being. grounding a girl like cassidy slade never got her to stay in one place. giving her a little space, she'd be much more inclined to actually follow some of those rules. er, guidelines. captain barbossa had it right - rules are more like guidelines. continuing to nonchalantly smoke her cigarette away, cas only turned her eyes to look at her company when she swore. “you’re one to talk.” smirking at mystery's words, she took a moment to look the girl over. "i'm a walking hypocrisy. the same people who tell you what the hell a sin is, and what's not, also thought the earth was flat." she wasn't a religious girl. bible thumpers annoyed her. turning her head to look out to the ocean again, she caught mystery's smile out the corner of her eye. arching an eyebrow, half-looking at her, cas threw the remains of her cigarette to the ground before quietly lighting another. “besides, a little sin never hurt anyone.” smart girl. exhaling the dark smoke sharply, she lightly held the cancer stick between two of her fingers, prodding at the burning end with her opposite index finger. "truer words were never spoken. why do i believe that you're usually too scared to practice a little sin?" still not looking at her, cassidy smirked again as she spoke.[/size][/blockquote][/blockquote]

-----------------------------------------------------------

STATUS, complete.
TAGGED, mystery<3
LENGTH, 1309 words.
ATTIRE, woot.
NOTES, oh, you do not <3
CREDITS, format and graphics to me.
lyrics to finger eleven - "good times"