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Jack Jackson

...well, it's better than fuckin' jail. Kinda. Wait, what's that about a goddamn horse?

0 · 307 views · located in Utah

a character in “Brat Camp: Turn-About Ranch”, originally authored by Iye Khara, as played by RolePlayGateway

Description

Name: Well, if you wanna be an insufferable shit about it, her name is Jacqueline Jackson. But y'know, fuck the name Jacqueline. It's unnecessarily long and has a completely redundant 'q' in there-- she can't stand names with a q in 'em. Dumbest letter in the whole alphabet, that fuckin' thing... But she digresses (it's a bad habit of hers). In lieu of the immensely moronic 'Jacqueline', she prefers the vastly simpler 'Jack'. Why not? It's short, monosyllabic, to the point, it's what any name needs to be, and what more names should be like these days. Jack Jackson. It just... works, y'know? Got a nice vibe to it.

Age: Jack's made it to seventeen years old, which she (rather appropriately, actually) takes quite some pride in. Now, the years have done quite a number on her, and she was never one of those people who tended to look younger than they really were anyway-- if anything, she's the type ya look at her and you're convinced you're lookin' at a twenty six year old guy. And she wouldn't mind bein' a twenty six year old dude-- heck, it'd be to her benefit. For one she wouldn't have to deal with all the bullshit of being in a female body, and for another, bein' twenty six, she wouldn't be stuck in this shit hole eating trail mix and raising motherfuckin' horses for chrissakes.

Country: Ever heard of the Gorbals? It's in Scotland-- in Glasgow, specifically. And if you've never been there, all you need to know is it's about as nice as any other places whose name combines 'gore' and 'balls'.

Yeah, um, you figure that one out for yourself.

Reason for being send to Turn-About Ranch?: She was on the run. And, well, let's just say she did a few things while on the run that... aren't particularly legal. A nice, succint list of charges includes vandalism (She was unaware that people don't like it when you spraypaint "FUCK THE POLICE" across the side of their house, nor did she realise the police might take exception to that as well), theft (hey, if nobody's lookin', it's fair game, right?), robbery (to her credit, she did ask the dude nicely the first time, and it ain't her fault he got all uppity about it before she took it from him), assault with a deadly weapon (okay seriously guys, when did a steel pipe become a deadly weapon? Anybody?), possession of a deadly weapon (referring not to the aforementioned steel pipe but to a knife she tried to pass off as a plain old pocket knife... if you'd seen the damn thing, you may or may not realise why this excuse failed to pass), illegal possession and usage of cigarettes and alcohol (fuckin' A, did you expect her to go all that time without her old friends?), battery (she doesn't get this one-- the fuck is she, a nine volt or some shit?), and jaywalking (okay, she admits it, she's guilty on that one). She likes to throw in murder when she talks about it, because for fuck sake, that list is boring as fuck by itself and needs to be spiced up a bit. And anyway, she's not lying. Well, not really. Attempted murder, maybe? She had no intention of releasing her fingers around that pig's throat when his cop buddies tore her offa him. If they hadn't, he'd be in the goddamn ground by now and she'da been free instead'a in this shithole.

But she's not. They caught her, after eight months on the run committing any crime she had to to survive (and a few that she... really didn't need to). Needless to say, that whole mess up there deserves jail time-- juvie for sure, at least. But alas-- t'would not be so. They did offer her a choice, though, and juvenile hall, or perhaps jail, if any more crimes were uncovered (and there were other crimes to uncover, she knew that damn well), was one of the options. But see, thing about the jails in Scotland... they're not the roomiest places around. Which is to say, they're fuckin' packed, and the law has enough trouble fitting people in there and funding the damn institutions without an overlarge juvenile delinquent adding just one more mouth to feed and another body to crowd the prisons even more. Nope, they weren't too keen on that, and really, they just wanted to get fuckin' rid of Jack. So they gave her a choice-- prison, or this place called 'Turn-About Ranch'. Which sounds like some gay-ass place from some sorta Western romance drama or some shit, but as it turned out, it was a place where you... uh, raise a horse. "What the fuck did you just say?" Jack shot back upon hearing this, almost certain she was just hearing things again. Nope. They said it again-- her choice was between prison and raising a fucking horse. Now, I don't know if you've ever been in prison, or if you've ever raised a horse, but there are a few key differences between those two activities. Now, Jack'd never been the most animal friendly of sorts, but fuckin' A, between that and jail, fuck it, she'd go and raise the goddamn horse.

They never told her that, for one, the place is a motherfucking prison all its own. Now the food, she don't mind. Oatmeal for breakfast-- and shit, beans and noodles for dinner? Compared to how she was eatin' on the run, this here is fine fuckin' dinin'. But the whole sitting still thing... yeah, that don't sit well with her. See, Jack's not very good at sitting still. Especially not when she's sitting still around other people-- that gets... kinda difficult. So whenever she can, she sneaks in some work out time. Crunches, push ups, squats, planks, whatever she can do, she'll do it, gives her somethin' to do. As for the binder they give her to write shit in...

Well, she's been writin' in it. And all I can say is... it's not for the faint of heart.

Picture/description:

I'd say Jack looks like your average seventeen year old Scottish delinquent, except that would be disregarding the fact that Jack doesn't look like an average goddamn anything, and fuck it, she's happy about that. Who the hell wants to be average, or blend in with the crowd? Fuck that: Jack figures you ain't shit if people don't notice you in a crowd, and people... well, people notice Jack in a crowd. That's kinda something that happens when you tower at least a head over everyone else in said crowd, which Jack, coming in at a healthy six feet and seven inches, delights in doing. Of course, she's never felt anything but angst over being six feet and seven inches tall-- seriously? Six foot seven? She couldn't be just a couple inches taller, hit seven feet, that was too fuckin' much? But hey-- at least she has the build to back it up. She ain't no fuckin' beanpole, that's for sure. Jack's got the general body build of a heavyweight boxer (which she used to wanna be back when she were a wee 'lil fucker, actually, so that worked out nicely, eh?)-- shoulders nearly thirty six inches across, biceps wider around than most people's legs, a solid wall where most people have an abdomen, and a general bulk that weighs in at a little more than three hundred pounds. Yep, Jack is a biiiiiiiiig girl, and she glories in it, loves the idea that she's bigger than other people and uses it to intimidate, bully, and overpower.

By most other regards, however, Jack reflects her Scottish heritage, and not only in her accent, which is so impenetrably thick she might as well be speaking Norse for all anybody can fuckin' tell. Her skin's a pale sort of tone, almost ivory-ish, where it isn't covered by the plethora of shit that Jack's stained her body with in the meantime-- tattoos, scars, shit, even birthmarks, the whole fuckin' shebang. The birthmarks are pretty much just port-wine stains though, found in splotches across her throat, her back, couple on her arms-- they're a tad darker than the rest of her skin, and the rest of her blemishes are so much more... 'obvious' that most people never notice the birthmarks. Now, when it comes to tattoos, Jack is by no means the 'inspirational quote across my left ass cheek' type, don't get that idea-- you won't find 'live every day like it's your last' tattooed on her stomach or some shit, 'cause she's already got a tattoo there of a huge chunk of flesh missing, exposing rib bones dripping with blood. Also, if she lived a day like it was her last, she'd probably get fuckin' killed. She opts for grotesque things, or band tattoos, or just 'fuck it, why the fuck not' tattoos-- because seriously, why the fuck not? What, is she gonna have to someday look good for an employer or some shit? Like fuck she is. Hell, even if the tattoos don't scare away any 'reputable employers' (meh, fuck 'em), the scars probably will, 'cause they're just as in-your-face as the tattoos. Namely, she's got one on her face that she's almost comically proud of, stretching across her cheek and across the left corner of her mouth. She likes to say she got it in a knife fight. But then again, Jack likes to say a lot of things.

Strangely befitting of someone of her stature and general attitude, Jack lacks any semblance of soft, delicate features--instead, her face is angular, rather as though it had been formed not of flesh and blood, but sculpted of marble and bronze, with sharp, defined features. Resting at the centre is a rather small nose, slightly pointed, with a significant crook at the dorsum to indicate that it's been broken in the past, probably more than once. Not a very pleasant sight--in fact, if there's anything attractive about Jack's face (though it may be a stretch), it's her mouth. Set between slight dimples, shielded on either side by vague but emergent laugh lines, her mouth is remarkably expressive--and even though that wide range is generally wasted on a perpetual scowl, when she does see fit to let show the occasional smile, it's almost beautiful. Beneath a high, wide forehead are a pair of eyes afflicted with what is generally known as 'complete heterochromia': that term, however, is about ten syllables too long for Jack's taste, and she prefers the vastly simpler term "fucking mismatched". And they are. Her left's an almost pleasant woody shade of green, the other a vastly less pleasant, kinda weird, mottled brown. Sometimes it freaks people out. She loves that. Her hair, on the other hand, is a rather more simple affair--in that she doesn't have very much. She's always kept her hair cut to a pretty short, slightly uneven shave (because she cuts it herself and obviously she ain't no goddamn hairdresser), with a wiry texture and a tendency to spring up entirely untamed; it's a faded sort of black in colour, certainly not brown but also not quite fully black, but she just says it's black because it's her hair goddamn and if she says it's black you better be damn well sure that it's fucking black.

Other: Jack is a Buddhist. I shit you not, she is a straight up Buddhist. Okay, so... not really. She says she's one, she believes (or desperately wants to believe) in reincarnation, she used to carry around rosary beads when she was on the run (she's still pissed that they took 'em away from her), she sometimes mutters koans and sutras that she's memorised, and she tries meditating, sort of as a way to keep herself under control so she can make it through this goddamn thing and get through Level 4, after which she'll... what did it say? 'Be welcomed back to her old family'. Which is to say, she'll be free again, baby, no fuckin' family, no fuckin' police after her, and best of all, no motherfuckin' horses.

Also, Jack objects to being called a girl. It's not some kinda dumb tomboy thing, don't think that. She's just... so incredibly distanced from any semblance of gender identity, the very idea of people really being male or female beyond the physical baffles and confuses her; she personally has never thought of herself as either a man or a woman. So, to put it in perspective, calling Jack a girl to her face would be like someone walking up to a guy and greeting him with 'hey gurl' completely seriously, or coming up to a woman and greeting her with 'what's up my man'. It doesn't piss her off, it just confuses her. Unless you keep doin' it, then it gets to the pissin' her off part.

In keeping with her distanced gender identity, Jack is asexual, perceiving no significant difference in male and female beyond the body and therefore perceiving no 'real' difference between the genders. She has virtually no interest in sex, looking upon sex with men or women as unusual and flat out weird (and upon heterosexual sex as even more than that, as an invasion of the body). People seem to continually mistake her for a lesbian, however. She doesn't understand how that happens.

Also, "I shall turn about my behaviour". Jack, on the other hand, probably won't.

So begins...

Jack Jackson's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Jack Jackson Character Portrait: Mike Stinster Character Portrait: Gage Rogers Character Portrait: Serenity Calvert
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Exeric followed closely behind two others that had entered 'Brat Camp', or whatever it was called. She didn't like it one bit, since it didn't at all look like camp. To her it looked more like prison. They were obviously making themselves comfortable, so Exeric took a seat on the other side of the fire, her deep brown eyes fixed on Mike, then at Gage as he introduced himself to Mike.

She thought she'd just plop herself in the conversation to save her seeming anti-social. "Hey. The name's Serenity, but you can call me Exeric" She said, her voice coming out much more quiet than she'd wanted. Exeric palmed her forehead and sighed. She cleared her throat. "Uh, I mean, I-.. Ah, whatever". She gave up. Being all 'meet and greet' with others wasn't something she was great at. Infact, she was pretty terrible.

Her eyes scanned the area. She snorted. 'What a dump..'

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Matvei Markovich Character Portrait: Jack Jackson Character Portrait: Mike Stinster Character Portrait: Gage Rogers Character Portrait: Harlem Faye Character Portrait: Serenity Calvert
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#, as written by Leon21
Matvei Markovich


Well, this was pleasant. Not. Matvei pursed his lips, looking around the small camp. Now, why had he chosen this place over jail? Jail certainly seemed like a far nicer alternative. At least you have fairly decent rooms there. The wooden cabins did not seem to be very nice. There were probably spiders and all sorts of other pests living in them. With his luck, he'd probably get bitten by a black widow on his first night here. And, at least in jail there were people who were fun to manipulate. Judging by the teens who were already gathered there, Matvei decided he'd be lucky if some of them were able to form coherent sentences, much less pose any sort of challenge to manipulate.

"Can you please take off these handcuffs, love?" he murmured, speaking just loud enough for the probation officer standing behind him to hear. He still wasn't sure why that man was here anyways. It wasn't like either of them were enjoying being here, after all. Did they not trust him?

The handcuffs and probation officer immediately answered that question.

Matvei tilted his head slightly as he heard only a grunt from the officer in reply. Standing at 6'3", he was a couple of inches taller than the officer. Then again, Matvei was usually a couple inches taller than just about everyone, something which he liked. "Really, hun, the grunts aren't that flattering. At least try to form decent sentences. I know you're intelligent enough to do that. Now, darling, please take these handcuffs off. It's not like I can get away if you do. The security here would probably have me lying on the ground with a bullet in my leg if I so much as glanced at the exit. Besides, these handcuffs are becoming rather embarrassing. They don't suit me."

There was a satisfying click as the officer unlocked the cuffs, taking them off of Matvei's wrists. He brought his arms to the front of his body, stretching his shoulders and rubbing his wrists, his lips curling into a slight smile at the corners.

"Thank you, love," he chirruped, giving the officer a peck on the cheek. He couldn't help but laugh at the blush that appeared on the officer's face. "What, did they forget to warn you about my habits?" he said. The officer did not reply, and instead shoved him forward, clearly deciding that they were walking too slowly.

"What charming manners you have," Matvei muttered angrily, his pleasant facade suddenly gone. He stalked forwards, heading towards the circle of cabins. Arriving there, there was an exchange of paperwork between a man standing there and his officer, and then a stack of clothing was shoved into his arms along with a gruff command to get changed in one of the cabins and then enter the circle. "Good grief, these are hideous. Did the concept of fashion sense not reach this place or something?"

The glares he got were enough to shut him up. "Fine, fine, I'll go change."

A few minutes later, when he walked out of the cabin, his officer had disappeared. The man who had been standing by the cabin pushed him over to the circle. Matvei stumbled slightly, shooting a glare back at the man once he regained his balance. "I can understand English, you know. You didn't have to push me," he muttered under his breath in Russian, his mother tongue.

There were already a few people sitting in the circle by the time he got there. He sat down on one of the stones, scanning the small group. "Well, hello," he started amiably. "Do we all want to introduce ourselves, perhaps? I'm Matvei Markovich. I apologize for my hideous clothing; normally I would be wearing something that flattered my appearance much more. They just don't have much fashion sense here, it seems. Who are you guys? Why are you here?"

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Alison Keegan Character Portrait: Matvei Markovich Character Portrait: Jack Jackson Character Portrait: Baby Stewart Character Portrait: Mike Stinster Character Portrait: Harlem Faye Character Portrait: Serenity Calvert
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Alison Keegan

She had assumed that this 'Roundy Round-Up Wackadoo Ranch,' or whatever it was called, would be miserable, boring, and smell like horse shit. Well, it seemed that she had been completely right.
After being sent on a plane all the way over to America, she had been brought by some taxi driver - obviously, her parents couldn't be assed to ask her rich relatives to drive her there, or they were too ashamed of her to - to the ranch, whilst he looked at her as if she had just told him that all she wanted for Christmas was a pair of crocks. So, not very pleasing.

When she walked into the wooden cabin, there were a few people - or delinquents - sitting on wooden benches by a camp fire. One of them, a male with a Russian accent, was speaking; "-we all want to introduce ourselves, perhaps? I'm Matvei Markovich. I apologize for my hideous clothing; normally I would be wearing something that flattered my appearance much more. They just don't have much fashion sense here, it seems. Who are you guys? Why are you here?"

"We're here because we're just some delinquent shits that need to be bored out of their minds in order to learn the goodness of being kind," she said from where she had been leaning against the door frame. She began to walk towards the camp fire as she continued, "Alison Keegan at your service." She looked down at her joke for an outfit, which she had changed into at the airport, and had to agree with him.

He had a tall and willowy build, with long, almost white hair that hung in curls around his pale head, this almost making him look like a female. His icy cold blue eyes looked like they could stare into your soul. Allie narrowed her eyes slightly as she tried to read him up. She sat down between this Russian guy, Mattie, or whatever his name was, and the blonde one that had just began to speak, "If you fancy my name, it is Baby."

Allie had to admit, she almost laughed at that one. Baby? Wow, her parents were very creative. We just had a baby, what will we call it? I know - Baby! She was assuming that it was just a nickname she had given herself. Allie furrowed her eyebrows slightly as she took in yet another person to share the ranch with. This girl was taller than Allie, though that wasn't saying much. She had thick, blonde hair that fell down past her shoulders, with a pink and purple streak through it. Allie decided she was probably one of those partying, drinking, smoking scene/emo girls. What was the difference between scene and emo, anyway? Was it that scene people were happy, and emo were sad or something? Allie had no idea.

The next person was also female, with a slender build and brunette hair. She was quite tan, too. Allie hadn't any idea why she was here - she looked like all those prissy cheerleaders in her old school. Though, then again, Allie probably didn't look liken someone that was probably insane.

Next was a guy with ruffled brown hair, who looked like he hadn't eaten in weeks due to his hollowed out cheek bones, and the fact that his ribs were showing through his clothing. She decided that he probably had an abusive home of some sort, as they either didn't feed him or he ran away from home, according to his appearance, though he may be anorexic, possibly.

Next was a very masculine female, someone who Allie immediately decided that she didn't want to mess with, even if she had made a habit of it. She looked like some sort of stone statue, rigid in place, and even sitting down Allie could see she would loom over her. There were tons of reasons why she could be here, none of them good.
Then again, Allie was basing this all off their appearances, following stereotypes, so she couldn't be sure.

A guy next, with black hair in a sort of emo style, as Allie liked to call it. Another tall one, too, probably ten or so inches taller than Allie. At least he didn't look very muscular, he looked more withdrawn, someone who preferred his own company.

The final person in their 'rebel squad' as Allie had decided to name them was also a male, with dark brown hair. She didn't like how he seemed to already be comfortable around the rest of the group - as did some of the other members of their little squad. Though maybe that as just jealousy, ever since she was little, Allie had always felt uncomfortable around strangers, even if she did hide it under a carefree persona.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Alison Keegan Character Portrait: Matvei Markovich Character Portrait: Jack Jackson Character Portrait: Baby Stewart Character Portrait: Mike Stinster Character Portrait: Gage Rogers Character Portrait: Harlem Faye Character Portrait: Serenity Calvert
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Harlem raised his head at the sound of an angry voice. The...female... that was speaking was anything but attractive. 'Man, that is one big bitch' he mused to himself. He didn't want to seem like a wimp or nothing, but he would certainly try avoiding a fight with that one. Not that fighting was generally his thing, but he'd be especially fervent about not pissing off her. Then again, wasn't it just a week or so ago he'd been attempting to kill himself? Well here's the opportunity! Bam. Suicide. Right there.
He looked around at all the other people who had since joined around the fire. Yep, sure enough, they were a bunch of weirdos. Like the overly-masculine looking female with the horrible accent if that wasn't enough.
Some blonde chick... wait, no, dude. He faintly recalled somebody complaining about fashion and figured it must be that guy. He didn't really think it was right, that guy looking so damn pretty. No guy should look that damn pretty, and what was he, a fucking elf? What could such a pretty little guy like that possibly done wrong to end up in a place like this?
Some scene chick with the world's stupidest name... Scene kids. They had to be some of the most vain people on earth. This chick sure didn't look like she had much substance to her.
The other two girls looked pretty harmless. What the hell could girls like that do that would result in them being sent here? From what he had gathered, this place was pretty hardcore. What, petty theft? Skipping school? He couldn't imagine it being worse then that, and those things didn't seem bad enough to be sent here about.
There was some emo kid and another guy. In his eyes, the only one who looked like they really belonged in this place was that butch-as-fuck chick. Yeah, he didn't think she belonged anywhere else other then jail...or an asylum. Somewhere with bars.
Harlem's body was still in agony. He wondered how long it would take for something to happen. Was he just meant to sit here all day, watching weirdos interact? What was the lesson he was meant to learning? If this was all he had to do, well, it was pretty shit but he'd imagined it to be a bit more brutal.
Maybe he could sneak off round about now. Nah, some of those guards who'd brought the others in were still hanging about. Man, he just wanted a fix and then he could deal with this shit, maybe. Even just a smoke and this pointlessness would be a bit more bearable.
"What the fuck is even happening here?" he said, growing impatient. He doubted much of a response from the weirdos around him. If he didn't know, chances are they wouldn't either.
His breathing was getting more intense as his craving peaked. His agitation was making his head throb. He stood up impulsively, scanning his surroundings for escape, and not finding a solution, kicked the seat he had been sitting on. Spontaneity can be very stupid. His foot and ankle suffered for his rash actions but the pain just made him angrier. He sad back down, gripping his hair, near-on tearing it out. This was sheer torture, and pointless torture at that. He didn't even see no fucking horses.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Alison Keegan Character Portrait: Jack Jackson Character Portrait: Baby Stewart Character Portrait: Gage Rogers Character Portrait: Harlem Faye
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Baby had shut her eyes, her fingers slowly circling her temples in a massaging way. She had already gotten a headache. If these people weren't giving her one already, she was suffering from the lack of meth and tobacco in her system. The other teens around her did not seem all too much for her to handle, but her eyes flew open when she was addressed by a masculine tone across the way from her.
"Baby? You gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me," The voice rang out.
The blonde girl sighed half-heartedly. "It's not like I picked the bloody shite." She said, rolling her eyes. She wondered where the lesbian, male resembling girl got off. She was just reeking of problems, but she did not bother Baby in the slightest. No one did. And if the brute of a girl were planning to break her neck she would stand her ground and welcome whatever would come.
I fuckin' hate my name. She growled inside her head. She recalled once when she had just gotten off of the bus from school - when she was still allowed there, that is - and had been heading home when another group of kids her age had pushed her down. The lead male had stuck his own thumb in his mouth and began sucking on it dramatically.
"Wah! Wah!" He had mocked. "The little slag is going to run home to her mummy like that Baby that she is." Quickly following, they had begun to jump the small girl leaving her to limp home with a black eye, a puffy cheek, a cracked rib, and a twisted ankle from trying to be dragged.
Her mother had hurried over to her with a warm towel and had begun dabbing her eye with it. "Just brilliant, Baby. What have you gotten yourself into this time?" She had complained.
"It's not my fault!" Baby defended. "It was those tosser's that caused this." Her mother had brought her palm in to swing on her already swollen face.
"Where on Earth did you learn such foul language as that? You're really going to the dogs, babe." Her mother had turned away and began to complain to her father, 'That ankle biter of a daughter of yours is really something.'
Baby was so furious she had grabbed a fork and had surged it into her mother's waist. "Piss of, ya tallop! It's your blooming fault for naming me this disgrace!"
Her mother had been pregnant at the time and she had done damages to her uterus causing her mother to miscarriage. She had been only fourteen at the time.
Baby pulled herself out of her memories. From what she could tell by the judgmental looks she was receiving she was already being judge by her appearance. Probably being called, scene or emo or whatever the kids called it these days. She could not stand labels, but that was all people were good for was placing a certain title to a certain way people were or how they dressed or what they liked.
Baby scowled and pulled the red hood up over her head, repeating the motion of pulling the sleeves past the palms of her hands.
Everyone was getting so acquainted with one another. A male that had previously been screaming for everyone to put a sock in it was now greeting another. Pretty bipolar in my opinion. She thought to herself. Another male that was only sitting two people from her had kicked over his own perch and now seemed to be in pain. The blonde merely looked at him. She felt bad. He seemed to be suffering in his head worse than she was. At least she could slightly control her impulses. Even though every fiber of her being was pushing her to find the nearest sharp object and jab it into the buff girl's eye.
She stayed quiet, though resting her chin on her curled up fingers, her arms resting on her knees that were brought as close to her as possible.
She would have given anyone the clothes on her back for a few squares. Alas, she doubted that they even allowed anyone else into the camp that was not there to be tortured and forced to care for giant dogs with hooves.
She looked past the other 'campers' and observed the cabin, taking in every aspect, as well as anything that could turn into a make-shift weapon if need be. There was a possibility, though, that they had 'round the clock room surveillance to keep sure that there was no one up 'past their bedtime'. But if she studied their usual routines, maybe she could figure something out.
After sizing up the room she looked around the group again and shook her head, but the movement would have hardly been noticeable to the human eye it was such a small action. She had a feeling that not even one person would go out of their way to care about anything that she had to say at all. The only people that somewhat seemed like her was the spazzing guy and the other dude who also had a few piercings of his own. Maybe the girl with the more of a bronze hair color who had just recently entered, but other than that...

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Jack Jackson Character Portrait: Baby Stewart Character Portrait: Gage Rogers Character Portrait: Harlem Faye
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Harlem looked to the emo looking guy who had spoken to him. "Look, man, I don't mean to be rude, but unless you can get me a fix, or get me out of here, I don't give a fuck who you are". Maybe it was rude. He wasn't usually like this, it was just these fucking withdrawals. Well, okay, at no point in his life would he be happy to be here, would he find it fine and dandy to be forced to participate in this weird horse shit. And sure, he actually doubted he would even acknowledge any of this people if they were anywhere else, but normally he would be at least a little more approachable. Certainly wouldn't be kicking chairs, that's for sure.
He smirked at the scene chick with the absurdly stupid name's crude response. Well, fuck. The chick's around here certainly couldn't be described as 'ladies', by any means.
His hands still pulled at his hair. This was one of life's funny things. In this situation, when his head was throbbing like mad to the point he would gladly die to have it over with, all he could do was rip at his hair. It was basically automatic, and yet, it seem just about the most stupid thing one could do to attempt nursing such an ailment.
He really wished he had his music. Music made everything much better. Being able to drown out this lot's useless jibber-jabber would be a good start. It was doing his head in. I mean, seriously, couldn't his folks wait until he'd kicked the h. before they shipped him off here? Couldn't they at least give him somewhere a little more homely to be while he got clean?
Yeah. That was probably his fault. His dad had been very lenient (especially for such a fuckhead of a man) and allowed Harlem to get off the stuff before sending him here, even though he'd nearly offed himself on it. But you know, he couldn't resist the weightless, sweet temptation of heroin when it only required him jumping from his window and walking a block to get it. Yeah, after the second time he did it, he ruined his chances of a peaceful comedown.
But come on. This should be illegal. You can't just deprive somebody of something which has basically become the bane of their existence, can you?
He needed to stop thinking about it, needed to distract himself, but he was in absolutely no mood to engage in idle chatter with an all manner of delinquents.
Maybe they were all just in here like him, for drug use. Nah. The others didn't seem to be writhing in knots or sweating from the inside out. What, then? He wouldn't put violence past the butch chick.
Harlem was going to make sure he was away from that chick by at least 5 meters at all times. Even that didn't seem enough. Nothing like a overbuilt, foul-mouthed, psychotic dyke to scare the suicide out of a suicidal person. Harlem's new middle name was optimistic! Okay, well, not quite... Not even close.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Alison Keegan Character Portrait: Matvei Markovich Character Portrait: Jack Jackson Character Portrait: Mike Stinster Character Portrait: Gage Rogers Character Portrait: Harlem Faye Character Portrait: Serenity Calvert
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Serenity watched the group with a harsh glare, her fingers curling themselves around the edges of her shirt. A nervous habit. They really weren't the most social bunch. Despite her violence issues, she really wasn't that aggressive towards others. It was only when they annoyed her that she would 'unleash her wrath', as he mother called it. Every little curse or dig, every little flinch and movement made her tighten her grip on her shirt. It was kind of like being surrounded by a bunch of loonies.. Actually, it was exactly like being around a bunch of loonies.

They were communicating alright, but it wasn't exactly pleasant for anyone. Such a shame. It was already a sucky experience to have been sent to the stupid camp, and no one was making it better by arguing. They could atleast make it better for themselves and get along for just a short amount of time.

Serenity bit onto her bottom lip in frustration, listening to every little comment. It wouldn't be easy, but she thought she might as well have given herself the role of peace-keeper among the group, regardless of how much of a hard task it seemed to be at that time.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Alison Keegan Character Portrait: Matvei Markovich Character Portrait: Jack Jackson Character Portrait: Baby Stewart Character Portrait: Mike Stinster Character Portrait: Gage Rogers Character Portrait: Harlem Faye Character Portrait: Serenity Calvert
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Mike sat silently, staring at the fire before him. He heard the others talk, but did not attempt to make contact with them. No, he would certainly not. He would behave, and go home and go back to who he was and what he was doing at home. That be just so much more better, and yet, he realized why his parents had send him here. He had been destructive, expelled and run into trouble with the police. His parents had said this would be better, and he would learn how to behave. And they had hoped he would return anew, and now old. Mike had to see about that just yet.

He looked up from the fire as someone walked in. An old looking guy, friendly looking, but he was sure the man would be the biggest problem around here. And then the man spoke.

''Right, boys and girls,'' the man spoke as he clapped his hands together and looked at them, ''I am Brandy, and I shall explain the rules and make sure you'll follow them. Within a few minutes, you'll be stripped from every juwelry, piercings included. We'll wash your hair and bring it back to its natural colour. If you don't agree on it and won't remove them, it will have consequences. From tomorrow on, you'll be ordered to stay in a stone circle, make your own breakfast and dinner, above your self-made fire. You may not talked unless you are asked something, and you may not leave the stone circle unless asked to. But tonight, you may just sleep. We have no mattresses, so you'll be handed a blanket and that's all you'll have. I don't want to hear any complaining, swearing, there will be no drinking alcohol or smoking cigarettes. Again, no talking unless asked to from tomorrow on. Now, if I call your name, you will follow me and remove every juwelry and anything that can harm me, or one of the staff.''

Mike looked back at the fire and nodded simply.

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Character Portrait: Jack Jackson Character Portrait: Baby Stewart Character Portrait: Serenity Calvert
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Baby watched the two guys go back and forth, a light chuckle ringing from her vocal chords at Harlem's reply. But the smile on her face fell short. She could use a fix too. It was driving her insane. Especially the lack of tar in her lungs. When she breathed into her mouth she could still taste the after-smoke on her breath and it was a tease to say the least. If only she had not started so young, maybe then she would not be as addicted as she was.
She was near growling in frustration when the door ajared and a man who addressed himself as 'Brandy' began pipping off about what they were about to be going through. She listened, but kept her gaze on the fire in front of her, her eyes following the flames that licked around the edges of the wood.
Her neck snapped to look at the man, her face had a 'are you kidding me?' way about it. They seriously had to take her piercings from her? It was all she had left. Not to mention they were going to strip her bangs of the pink and purple, leaving her with her natural bleach blonde hair. That did not bother her very much, especially not compared to the idea of ridding her body of all jewelry. She would feel so naked without it all. She had enough holes in her body that you would not be able to count them all on both hands, so it would be a longer process than anyone else would have had to go through.
She doubted that Javier Bardem over there would even have any jewelry to hand over. On the thought of the girl, Baby was reminded of a character that she had once read about in a book series. It had been about the Gods and Goddesses in mythology and their kids that took place at a camp and the adventures they had. The girl she compared her to was named Clarice and she was a child of Ares.
Baby would have laughed if it weren't for the boss figure that loomed over the group. She had a feeling he would punish her for not making noise when she was told she could.
She sighed and began unscrewing one of the balls on her tongue bar. She reconnected them and began making a small pile of them in her right fist. She figured that most of them would have expected her to be the last one to be willing to give in to letting someone have her piercings, that she would have thrown a fit over it all. Sure, she was not in the slightest bit happy about it, but she was not about to see what punishment meant if she was already being forced to cook her own meals (probably over a fire) and was left with merely a blanket and her arm to rest her head on. Besides, she had obtained most of the piercings over two years ago, so they would not be closing up. However her nose was a different story. Even though it had been the first piercing she had received, if she were going to be here over a few weeks, she would have to get it repierced.
She was removing one of her gauges when Serenity asked if they would be getting them back before they went home. Baby immediately stopped taking out her piercings and gave a hard look towards the guy that had been forcing her to do away with them in the first place.
She had already assumed that they weren't going to be allowed to have any alcoholic or tobacco products, but did he know what he could do to someone by making them quit cold turkey like that? Was he aware that someone who had been smoking since they were eleven and that consumed ten cigarettes nearly everyday could possibly have an arrhythmia? Yes, that would be rare, but not to mention all of the other side effects of not having that or her precious angel dust would be keeping her awake with the jitters every single night, then again, her lack of methamphetamines might make her sleep for two days straight. Although she had not been using as long as she had been smoking, it was probable that the hard drug would surpass her withdrawal from smoking. But she was going to be one anxious bitch, that was for damn sure.
He had just finished speaking and she rolled her eyes, looking back down at the fire pit again. This felt like grade school. "Okay children, when I call your name alphabetically please come up to my desk and give me my present for teacher appreciation day." She scowled as she stared down the rising smoke above her.
This was just getting better and better.

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Character Portrait: Jack Jackson Character Portrait: Baby Stewart Character Portrait: Harlem Faye Character Portrait: Serenity Calvert
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Harlem felt somewhat relieved when the guy called 'Brandy' entered the picture. Well, at least something was about to happen now, and that was a lot better then sitting around with this lot. His feeling off relief subsided after the man had finished speaking, however, and the feeling was replaced with anger.
Yeah, yeah, he didn't actually think they'd be allowed to smoke or drink here, but man, that didn't stop him from craving a cigarette so bad it hurt. The fact it wasn't, by far, his only intense craving made it a hell of a lot more difficult to bare. His didn't currently have any dye in his hair, so that wasn't a problem, but his nose ring would have to go and he dreaded the idea of having it pierced again. He'd had other piercings before, sure, but none had been as difficult to go through as the nose piercing, which he'd had done twice already it the past. It would almost certainly close over. He was glad his only other body decoration at the moment was his tattoo, and they couldn't very well remove that now, could they? He felt sympathy for the scene chick as he watched her remove her large quantity of piercings. She was going to lose a lot of metal.
He agreed with the chick who'd asked about what happened to the jewelry. The pendant around his neck, a pentagram filled with intricate symbols he didn't understand, was a ward against people hiding their true nature. He wasn't even sure if it worked, but he was quite fond of it regardless and would hate to lose it. He wasn't going to take it off until he was sure he would be getting it back.
It would turn out he was right about this place being hardcore. The food, bedding and level of freedom wasn't much to be hopeful about. No swearing? Not that he had a particularly crude mouth, but cussing was kind of habit for him and he was already being forced to break enough habits as it was. Not talking he could do. He wanted to vocalize as little as possible as it was, so that wasn't going to be a real issue. But really, no swearing? He doubted he could even stick to that rule. How could someone automatically rephrase their entire vocabulary just like that?
He didn't even get the entire purpose of this ranch place anyway. What, they thought they cold shape his entire character and change him from the inside out? Fuck that. He wasn't planning on being anything other then what he was, good or bad. Though, he imagined it wouldn't be that difficult to pretend; just follow rules, keep quiet and do what he was told. Then he could leave this place.
Maybe it was good he was being forced to kick the smack. He'd seen several of his friends destroyed by it's beautiful temptation. One chick he knew was out selling her body to afford her fix and he couldn't say that was a good thing. One of his mates had told him that heroin makes you content with the way things are, and that's the only reason it was bad. So yeah, maybe he was going down the wrong path and this was a good thing.
Nah, fuck that. He'd just about kill for a hit right now.
Harlem had to laugh at the butch chick claiming to be religious, and Buddhist at that? Yeah, sure. That was a joke and a half. He hid his laughter against the back of his hand, unsure if laughing was against the rules. The less trouble he got into, the sooner he could leave.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Alison Keegan Character Portrait: Matvei Markovich Character Portrait: Jack Jackson Character Portrait: Baby Stewart Character Portrait: Mike Stinster Character Portrait: Gage Rogers Character Portrait: Serenity Calvert
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Alison Keegan

Just when things seemed to be not that bad, the muscular woman blew up. Not literally, that would have been cool, though.
As if Alison wasn't already completely irritated, the yells coming from this very.. burly girl wormed their way into her ears, resulting in a mild headache. Nothing she couldn't handle, but still annoying. Then they all started complaining - maybe they had just realized that they would have to spend a month, maybe more with these people. Allie was just starting to realize it, too.

People started to settle down slightly when an old man walked in, and Allie immediately decided he was perverted, for no other reason than the fact he worked at this shit hole. He clapped like a seal to get their attention as he began, ''Right, boys and girls, I am Brandy, and I shall explain the rules and make sure you'll follow them. Within a few minutes, you'll be stripped from every juwelry, piercings included. We'll wash your hair and bring it back to its natural colour. If you don't agree on it and won't remove them, it will have consequences. From tomorrow on, you'll be ordered to stay in a stone circle, make your own breakfast and dinner, above your self-made fire. You may not talked unless you are asked something, and you may not leave the stone circle unless asked to. But tonight, you may just sleep. We have no mattresses, so you'll be handed a blanket and that's all you'll have. I don't want to hear any complaining, swearing, there will be no drinking alcohol or smoking cigarettes. Again, no talking unless asked to from tomorrow on."

Her piercings had to go? Well, now, Brandy, it seemed that they had stumbled along a little problem there. Already, without hearing the rest, she knew she was going to be pissed with whatever the rest of his speech was. Now what was he saying, a fucking stone circle? What are they - actually, no animal lives in a stone circle. Make food, yadayadayada.. wait, she couldn't make a fire. I guess she'd just starve herself then. Then a blanket, well it was an upgrade from this little 'hut.' Then there was the no talking, complaining or swearing.. pssht, yeah right. Alcohol and smoking, none of that bothered her.

"Now, if I call your name, you will follow me and remove every jewelry and anything that can harm me, or one of the staff.''
As soon as her name was called, Alison stood up and walked over to the old guy.
"No hair color, and I can't take out my earrings, Mr.. uh.. Brandy. If I do they'll get infected. It's not pretty," she shrugged, in a whole 'It's not my fault or my problem' kind of way before continuing. "Oh, and here," she handed him the cheap ring she had bought before she arrived here, and then slipped off the necklace her mother had given her as a going away present. She didn't really give a damn about either of those.

She threw them on the ground at her feet. "I know out here you've been living off horse shit for your whole lives or whatever, but I don't know how to make a fire," she added sharply. "We weren't all raised in the wild you know, we're not animals." She rolled her eyes, before turning around.