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Dante Knox Pike

So, what did you do to make people think you need therapy?

0 · 374 views · located in California

a character in “Notting's”, as played by cass-isnt-here


Dante Knox Pike
(He doesn’t actually smoke.)

Just call me Knox.
He has none. Though, people who don’t like him have a fond tendency to call him hard-ass or cold-hearted bastard. He does prefer to go by his middle name though.

Human, not like he chose to be human. Life would have been so much easier if Knox was a dog or a cat instead of a human.

He’s 30 years old, so Knox is pretty much set for life much to his pleasure.

Male, unless, of course, I’ve been lied to all my life.

Caucasian, he doesn't really know. Knox is American; he could be anything really. He thinks there might be a large dose of German blood in him, but no one in his family really knows.

Asexual. He's never been attracted to either gender in his whole life. Also, yes, Knox is a 30 year old virgin. Not that he wants you to know. His sexual identity confuses him a lot. It’s a touchy subject for him, its best if you don’t talk to him about it. He’s never dated or had a stupid crush for someone. It’s a surprise Knox had his first kiss when he was only 13 years old. Of course, it was a dare because that’s what stupid kids did when they were thirteen. Knox doesn’t even remember who he had to kiss. Just the fact that the person has really dry lips.

Romantic Interest
I'm too busy with work to deal with dating.
He's actually terrified of the concept of looooove.

He resides in a two-bedroom apartment that is close to his office. The apartment complex is now only a few years old and has a slick, modern look to the buildings. He lives on the top floor, next to the fire escape so that when there is a fire Knox won’t get killed.

It's best not to go inside his apartment because it is forever a disaster zone. There is always a stack of dishes pleading to be cleaned and put away in their respective cupboards, piles of “Psychology Today” and other psychology related material is scattered haphazardly around his “cozy” living room. This area, which has walls covered with papers relating to his more difficult patient, contains two black leather couches and a table buries under papers and books. The couches are probably the worst for wear pieces of furniture in his apartment, because Knox has designated them to deal with all of his violent anger. He’s already thoroughly destroyed two other couches and his current ones are nearing their end. There is also a lovely hole in the wall the size of a fist just next to the door. This lovely hole was created when Knox found out that Syl was being bullied because of her love for science.

His room is the focal point of his untidiness. Knox has clothing clean and unclean strewn across the plush carpet that is littered with stains from instant noodles and coffee mugs filled to the brim. His bed hasn’t been made since it was first put in the room piled with six pillows and millions of blankets. Next to his messy bed is a large chestnut closet that can’t be closed all the way, if you dare look inside you’ll find that over half of the hangers actually have clothing on them because the majority of his clothing is either laying on the bottom of the closet or is on the floor. Knox also has random glass-like objects lying on the bottom of the closet waiting to be place in their permanent resting place. There is an odd pile of glass jars that are stacked up in a systematically order across from his bed. He plans on having the wall covered in stacked jars varying in size and shape, which are glued together so no one can “accidentally” knock them over with their stupid clumsy bodies. A few of the jars hold random objects such as one hold a broken pen that has been taken apart while another contains colorful candy wrappers. Against the wall next to his obsession is a huge book case filled with, can you guess, books. The books are arranged in some sort of unseen order that only Knox understands, the shelves are contain books of all genre from science fiction to political leaders to how media effects child development.

The only time Knox has a fully stocked kitchen and his lovely abode seems like it doesn’t inhabit a hobo is when his twin siblings stay over during their breaks from college. Atticus always goes into full out cleaning mode and tries to tackle the mess known as Knox’s apartment. The room they share has two twin sized beds shoved against opposite walls. While they are staying it is painfully obvious who has which side with Harper’s love for boy bands who wear more make-up than most 50% plastic cheerleaders, she makes sure that her side’s walls are completely covered with their posters and has her nightstand covered with piles of gothic accessories and manga while Atticus being the boring, preppy sort of person that he was only has pictures of him and his friends, a few posters of scantily clad women, and his beloved fish tank.

Looking at Knox, the first thing you could say is that he needs a haircut. He understands that his hair is too unprofessional to possible be the mop for a therapist. But that doesn’t motivate him to go to the salon and cough up twenty dollars. He certainly doesn’t want to deal with the agitating chatter of the hairdresser, plus a person touching his hair makes him extremely uncomfortable. Making haircuts a grueling process, so he will forever be pulling up his hear into a short, sloppy ponytail. With this hair style, a multitude of gray hair falls messily over the upper half of his face and sides.

His hair color is odd; in certain lightings give it an assortment of hues ranging from eton blue to glaucous, however, it always retains its silvery color. Surprisingly it isn’t his natural hair color, seeing as to how he hates salons and that his isn’t that old, but Knox has always had silver hair due to his mother buying hair dye in an over abundant amount while she was going through a crazy hair phase. Now he’s just used to his mom dying and re-dying his hair all the time to the point where he has forgotten what his natural hair color is.

Even though his silvery hair messily falls into his face, it doesn’t mask his alluring almond shaped eyes that seem to be able to pierce through anything. His eyes captivate and hold other peoples’ gaze with the almost entirely washed out silver in his irises. In certain lights, his eyes can capture a yellowish-green hue to them giving them the allusion of being the eyes of a snake or some other reptile. Knox’s irises begin as the palest of silvers that isn’t white and slowly progress into darker shades until the color drastically changes to a thin ring of black surrounding the silver.

His hair isn’t the only unkempt aspect in his appearance. Knox often goes to work in in wrinkly black slacks and a crumply white, button-down shirt with its sleeves rolled up. It’s a surprise he even buttons his shirt properly, actually, half the time they aren’t this is mainly due to the fact that he doesn’t function well until its noon. His non-professional attire mainly consists of ratty, over-washed jeans and any clean t-shirt he can find. His wardrobe is dreadfully boring in both style and color, but he doesn't care what other's think of his appearance, however, Knox has to have pockets in his pants or he’ll have an inner panic attack. He has an odd attachment to pockets. No matter what Knox wears; he seems to always have the sexy I-just-got-out-of-bed look.

Even though his clothing gives Knox an air of being a lazy bastard, he will surprise you in just how much muscle he contains under the haphazardly put on clothing. If you could get him to take off his clothing, you'll find yourself drooling over a muscle laden, tall body. Knox has a well-defined set of abs, broad shoulders that are packed with unseen muscles, it is all lean muscle and he's spent hours maintaining a body that can deal out damage if needed. He spent so much time due to a paranoid fear that he will be jumped or mugged one of these days.

Majority of people would think Knox would easily be in the seven foot range, but in real life he's only 6'5, which is still outrageous. He doesn't seem to have an ounce of fat on him, mainly because Knox has a tendency to get so involved with his work that he forgets to eat. Luckily, his secretary remembers and makes sure he at least eats lunch. Even though he misses meals on accident, Knox is far from being considered anorexic. He makes up for the lost meals by eating an amount that would scare normal humans.

Not only is his body a sexy example of genetic variation gone right, but his face is also captivating to look at. One could study his high cheek bones, sharply pointed chin, and a large, overflowing-with-personality nose and say that Knox has an elegant look. Well, that would get a snarl from him. And what a pretty snarl he gives with those thin, pale pink lips. His lips are where you can figure out what emotion he is currently experiencing because they are always twisted in some sort of a grimace or sneer. It’s rare to find his mouth turned in a genuine smile; Knox is willing to give fake, polite smiles when the person he is around is emotionally weak. But other than that he isn’t one for smiling, even if he is genuinely happy.

If you think about it, Knox’s dyed hair, rumpled clothing, hidden tattoo, and the fact that he has his ears pierced would indicate he’s still living in his teenage years trying to rebel against some unknown force. Unfortunately, that would be so incorrect Knox wouldn’t reframe from telling you to go cliff diving with a cinder block tied to your neck. The dyed hair and disheveled clothing has always been a part of his appearance. However, the tattoo and pierced ears are a product of Harper’s meddling. It is a major feat that his sister was able to get him to pierce his ears, this occurred during his 25th birthday when he drank himself into oblivion because earlier that day he had failed a test even after hours of intensive studying.

Knox isn’t what you expect a therapist to be like; he isn’t painfully kind and doesn’t go to great lengths to make sure you are comfortable. However, he puts in a lot of time and effort into his patients and makes sure to cover up most of his rudeness and irritation, if he’s gaged the person as being too emotionally/mentally to handle those certain aspects of his personality. Knox would hate to have caused one of his patients or anyone for that matter to cry because below all of his insults and blunt behavior he actually cares incalculably for other human beings. He is quick to becoming loyal to his patient and once he is loyal, he will stubbornly go to inordinate lengths to make sure they solve their issues. That means hours and hours of hard work from both parties. When he’s set his mind out to help a person, nothing will deter him from his goal because he is as stubborn as an alpaca like that. During work hours, Knox’s manner towards his patients is a distant politeness. In sessions he will mask most of his true emotions with a polite smile or thoughtful frown depending on which was appropriate. Normally, he will attempt to manipulate his personality to accommodate with his patient’s needs.

Knox is a natural workaholic. Ever since he was in preschool put in the most effort in his finger paint and always listened to his teacher’s warnings against eating glue while the other children didn’t. The teachers in school always loved/hated Knox; he would be at the top of the class in grades but got into numerous arguments with teachers and fights with other children resulting in many detentions. As a child he had a sparse amount of friends because of his attitude, now that he is an adult he has even fewer friends; mainly due to the fact that Knox isn’t a social butterfly nor is he willing to talk to people even if they catch his attention. Outside of work, he is much less willing to put up a polite mask or beat around the bush with sensitive things. Knox is painfully honest and straight to the point about what he thinks when he isn’t at work. He isn’t one for meaningless conversation and only makes himself talk to another human, who isn’t blood related to him, if he has a something to accomplish.

When he categorizes something as work, Knox puts in all of his ability into accomplishing the activity as soon as he gets it. He always thought school and work was the same exact thing so he always put in the most amount of effort. With this mind set, he was able to achieve a bachelor degree in only three years and a doctorate in five years. Many people who know about his achievements have put him on a pedestal of being a super human or robot seen from the future to make those around him jealous of his abilities. Unfortunately, Knox finds their admiration annoying and offending, which causes him to bluntly tell them to “fuck off’. Ironically, cleaning and working aren’t synonyms in his vocabulary; if he thinks a certain activity like cleaning isn’t work, he tries to avoid it like it’s the plague.

Knox is not a daydreamer. He’s too much of a realist to be into that whimsical wishy washy shit the government is trying to get everyone to buy into. He more often than not actually uses logic in his actions. Not his emotions. He isn’t one to wear his emotions on his sleeve, Knox has experienced enough of life to know when to trust someone, when to run the fuck away, when to drive someone away, and when someone betrayed his trust. The real world calloused his emotions or maybe having to deal with the emotional strain of his patients has. He isn’t some ludicrous teen who thinks that everything in the world revolves around their petty drama. At this point in his life not much surprises him, Knox knows where he stands in the life and doesn’t give a shit what others think about it or him.

While Knox isn’t a dreamer, he does have an overactive imagination. However, he doesn’t allow himself to get sucked into the world of conspiracy theories in public. This paranoia that the government is going to turn everyone’s minds into a pile of submissive mush was instilled by his Grandpa Mac’s numerous tales and suspicions he had avidly listened to as a small, naïve child. Knox understands that these thoughts are generally useless, but they entertain him when he has free time. It also gives him something to talk about with his grandpa and other family members.

Annoying Knox is easier than singing your ABC’s, especially if you don’t know the English language. Then just start speaking your native language drastically loudly in his ear and you’ve accomplished the goal to irritate him. He always gives a lovely reaction when something/someone annoys the living hell out of him. Knox often starts shouting eloquently put together insults and twists his mouth into the prettiest snarl or scowl known to man. He doesn’t go red-faced and spit doesn’t spew from his mouth as he’s spouting random shit about the aggravating human/object; Knox somehow maintains his attractive features while telling someone off. This is just how he acts when he’s annoyed or frustrated.

Surprisingly, actually causing him to be furious is a much more of a formidable challenge and a highly dangerous one at that. An angry Knox is worse than facing a horde of zombies who haven’t eaten human flesh in over a million years and you are a prime slab of meat for them. When he’s truly angry, he gets violent. You do not want a 6’5 tall, muscle-packed to be ready to carve a hole into your face with his hand. So, don’t piss him off. How would one avoid such a feat? Simple, don’t dehumanize another human being, don’t physically harm someone smaller than you, and do not fuck with his family.

Family is the most important aspect of life to Knox. They are the ones he knows he can count on when he’s screwed up. They’re the ones he can spill his true emotions too. They are the ones who truly understand what he needs. They are the ones who see past his mask of annoyance or indifference. He is willing to jump off a building if it were to keep his family alive. Hell, Knox is willing to sacrifice the human race as long as his family was allowed to live.

Knox is an adrenaline junkie. He finds immense joy in activities such as bungee jumping or skydiving. The rush and pseudo danger is his outlet for all of his stress and other negative emotions. The only time you could possibly imagine him yoo-hooing is while his is falling to the ground from a thousand feet in the sky. These “simple” pleasures are the only time he truly lets loose and laughs.

Mother (Clea Pike)- A bio-engineer who has an odd obsession over anything Smurf-like. Clea also likes to pretend to be a hippie, but she normally gives up. She also has a knack for making up outrageous stories when she doesn't want to tell the truth. Clea enjoys being a single mother and has come to thinking that being bound to another person through marriage seems terrible. Knox obviously got most of his handsome genetics from his mother, but definitely not her height. His mom stands at an underwhelm height of 5’5, but she makes up for it in personality. She has naturally stick-straight mousy brown hair and almond shaped eyes that are the same tone as Knox’s eyes.

Father (Unknown)- But Clea always tells Knox that he was a mad scientist who got radiation poisoning. He, of course, doesn't believe her. Knox’s theory on his father is that he either ditched her after she got pregnant with Knox or died around the same time Knox was born. But he never bothered diving into the past to find out what exactly happens. None of his siblings share the same dad because of his mother’s lack of wanting commitment.

Sister (Sylvie Pike)- Sylvie is at the annoying age of 12 and is in love with the media, much to Knox's displeasure. Syl also enjoys talking in a nauseating voice and chiding her brother on his lifestyle. But she shares Clea’s love for science and often gets teased by other kids her age. Syl looks more like her father, who she meets with once a week; she has dirty blonde hair and hazel eyes that are almost green.

Twin Siblings (Harper and Atticus Pike)- They are now in college and a decade younger than Knox, partying and thinking they are the best at everything. Well, Atticus thinks that way. Harper is too busy using her new-found freedoms getting millions of tattoos and pierces to think that way. Knox always liked Harper more than Atticus with her anarchy-will-rule-the-world attitude. Unlike Harper, Atticus has oddly preppy ways. At least he is an animal rights activist on the side. The twins have similar heights of 5’7 and both have brown almond shaped eyes, however, that is where the similarities end. Harper has vibrant neon blue hair that stops just below her shoulders while Atticus has his natural mousy brown hair.

Grandfather (“Mac” Pike)- Mac is an 84 year old man, whose real name has slipped everyone’s mind. It has even slipped his own mind, or so he says. Through many tellings and retellings of stories about his past one would think Mac has live 100 different lives being an astronaut who never got to go into space because his personality was too grounded to being a taxi driver who got into an argument with Frank Sinatra on what “good” music sounded like. He also shares his millions of conspiracy theories and always loves it when you actually pay attention. Mac has an interesting character that Knox has been trying to decipher all of his life.

Knox has an inking of a hot air balloon splayed across his left shoulder blade. The design is simple enough, but the details in the basket and the way to wind hits the balloon is astounding. If you look closely; you can see how the basket is worn and slightly damaged. How the ferocious winds are battering against the instruments used to keep it in flight. The color scheme for the balloon is an array of pale greens and vivid blues stripping vertically.

Knox isn’t normally a sentimental sort of person, but he does have a personal reason for getting the tattoo and a corny one at that. He was having a tough time in college, while he was getting his doctorate, and Harper forced him to take her to the tattoo pallor without their mom’s knowledge. Harper goaded him into getting a tattoo while they were there. Knowing her brother, Harper suggested in a sly manner to get something that would remind him that with work he can do just about anything. Being to foxlike person Harper is, she was able to convince him into getting a tattoo, which now has taken residence on his shoulder blade for the rest of his life.

He dog sits for a neighbor in the apartment complex because they always seem to be gone on some sort of business trip. Knox has only seen his neighbor once when the deal was made and the neighbor was wearing a humungous black hoody, with the hood pulled over the person’s head so he couldn’t distinguish the person’s gender. Unfortunately when the deal was made, Knox didn’t realize what sort of demonic dog he had to deal with. Imagine his horror when he went the neighbor’s door and found a small corgi giving him the evil eye as the dog sat obediently next to the metal door that was pretending to be wood. Beside the demon dog was a note explaining all of the dog’s habits and how to properly take care of ‘Rufus’. In the next few days, Knox learned all of Rufus’ weird-assed habits that annoyed him to death. Like his love for chewing the table legs, barking in the middle of night to try to attract other lady dogs, and taking over Knox’s beloved bed and causing all the blankets to fall on the ground. Now, he has to frequently dog sit that abrasive, wolf-like dog because he made a stupid deal with the devil.

Knox is ambidextrous, though he prefers using his right hand to write because to seems to draw less attention to him. He has a callous on his middle finger of his right to prove that fact; the callous itself is bothersome and causes his finger nail to be formed in an odd shape.

Computers are Knox’s worst nightmare. Whenever he has to look up something about one of his patients, he constantly discovers that his computer has contracted a virus or malware has wiggled its way through the firewall. After a few minutes Knox finds himself shouting at the “gum clogged, ancient piece of rubbly shit that needs to meet a sludge hammer”.

Sleep is the third most important thing to Knox after work and his family. He takes his eight hours of being dead to the world very seriously. Also getting in the way of his sleep will result in having to deal with him bitching non-stop until he sleeps. Then he’ll be constantly suspicious that you are going to try and ruin his beloved sleep more. While asleep, Knox has the air conditioner unit set for 60 degrees. There isn’t any rhyme or reason why he does that, but as an outcome he ritually buries himself under a pile of blankets and snuggles against his pillows. Although, he makes sure that his work cell phone is always turned on and the ring is on the highest setting.

Knox has a deep and completely irrational fear of birds. There’s something about how sharp looking their beaks are that make him seriously believe that they are going to peak out his precious eyes and processed to eat his brain then throw it back up for their stupid bird kids. Whenever he sees a bird he immediately starts running away in the opposite direction or he’ll freeze up and glare at the bird in suspicion until it flies away with its evil, filthy wings.

He is also afraid of children under the age of five. It is an odd fear, but Knox is terrified that he might hurt the child or the kid will puke on him or something. He’s more afraid for their general well-being then them actually being so young. He’s a bit of a worry wort when it comes to youngers. Although, changing a baby’s diaper is pretty damn terrifying.

When he’s lost in thought, mainly due to work related issues, he chews on the end of his writing utensil. With his sharp teeth, Knox tends to cause countless pens/pencils to break under the pressure of his teeth.

This was indeed taken without Knox’s permission from his stalker! Oh wait; he doesn’t have a stalker, as far as he’s aware.

So begins...

Dante Knox Pike's Story


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… spouse of the four victims was found sitting on the soiled carpet floor, staring blankly at a wall that had been previously covered in blood. Mr. Thomas, the suspect, is now in questioning and has also been put through a psychological examination. There was a bit of doubt for the examination, but when the autopsy came back saying each victim had their heart removed shortly after their deaths the judicial court issued a psychological examination. The results were shortly released stated that Mr. Thomas suffers from a brief psychotic disorder….

Fucking alarm clock and their fucking need to use public new radio to fucking wake people up. The voice grated against his poor, sensitive ears due to lack of use over eight hours of sweet oblivion. Knox growled in the general direction of the fucking radio, but didn’t bother do things like open his eyes or get out of bed. How dare that clock wake him from his beloved unconscious state. Oh, yeah…Knox was needed at work in a few hours.

He mulled over the idea of preparing, or trying to prepare in his case, for another day at work. Instead, Knox snuggled into the over feather stuffed pillow he was currently hugging against his bare chest, drowning out the annoying broadcaster’s voice with the warmth and comfort his beloved bed graced him with. The warmth that his body gave off was soaked into the blankets and pillows, which lay precariously around him; rebounding the warmth back at him. Knox allowed a sigh of content vertebrate from his larynx.

Knox really didn’t want to leave his beloved bed. All he wanted to do was let his mind wander, which it was at the moment. He wondered what triggered the Thomas to have a psychotic episode. What made him carve out his family’s hearts? Maybe he found his wife cheating on him…or maybe one of his daughters got pregnant. Maybe his son turned out gay and he walked in on—Oh wait, there were only four victims…all of which were his family. But those were only possible triggers. In this case this vat of slimly, negative emotions slowly compounded over a long period of time. Every stressful event poured in a bit more of bitter emotion, until the human succumbed to it.

It was funny how people reacted to stress. It was also sad how easily people can snap, but, on the other hand, the human mind can take quite a bit of emotional/mental trauma. The human mind was so fucking fickle in that way, it could endure witnessing a person in next to nothing slaughtering another human being and not give a shit. Yet, something as insignificant as dropping a cup could cause someone to go ballistic. The indifference could easily be explained that the person had no attachment towards to victim, hell; Knox didn’t feel copious amounts of empathy towards the heartless, nameless victims. On the flip side, a person reacting so vehemently for something that seems nugatory likely used the insignificant object as a representation of another human. Or they’re just a touchy, cantankerous person. Either way, it flaunted the fact that humans were selfish; what a surprise there.

The beginnings of a gnawing, stinging pain skirted the edges of his mind as he continued on with psychoanalyzing the murderer when it was much too early to be thinking clear, coherent thoughts. Knox growled in annoyance when the aching sensation decided to make itself known to him.

Pressing nimble fingers against his temples, he exhaled slowly before cracking open his eyes. The piercing brightness bore their way through his poor retinas causing him to wince and silently begging for his pupils to adjust to the unforgiving intensity of the light. Once his pale eyes became accustom to the harsh lighting, due to the lack in curtains, Knox glanced at the still going alarm clock. It displayed, in the customary red, the cruel numbers: 7:46 AM. He narrowed his eyes into a glare as he attempted to fire the clock on fire for the offensive time it proclaimed loudly.

Abruptly, Knox was reminded that he still hadn’t turned off the radio once it started playing an obnoxiously, artificial song.

He sneered in disgust at the alarm clock before slamming his hand violently against the snooze button. Yanking back his hand Knox muttered incoherent curses towards the odious clock while clutching his poor hand against his bare chest that could easily melt the prudeness off of the prudeyest prude ever known to mankind. After a few moments of nursing his now bruised hand, Knox unceremoniously extracted himself from the millions of blankets and pillows that found their way onto his back. He shivered slightly once the frigid air hit against his shirtless body. Surprisingly, the unreasonable, Siberian temperature didn’t cause the slightest smidgen of annoyance.

Walking over to the chestnut closet, Knox cautiously peered into the dark container of clothing and possible harbor of arthropods. Once he deemed it pest free, he then continued onto the perilous task of finding decent work clothing, while trying not to fall back asleep and get hypothermia due to the drastically low temperature. Finally, the droopy-eyed, thirty year old man located a slightly wrinkled white button-down shirt and a pair of gray crumply slacks.

There is no need to inform you of what occurs in the next boring ten minutes, filled with walking into inanimate objects, mumbled curses, and mundane tasks of getting ready for work. But as a result, Knox is completely dressed with his button-down shirt in a disastrous state of being buttoned incorrectly and leaving buttons alone in the cold without their counterpart. Currently, the almost comatose male was struggling with his boring blue tie. After a few moments are awkwardly twisting and turning the evil piece of cloth, he gave up and let it rest around his neck.

After the tie fiasco, Knox accomplished in getting his stubborn silver hair into some semblance of order. At last, he could go to the diner and get his daily dosage of caffeine….oh wait, he still had to find his suit jacket and briefcase, which should both be near the door. Venturing out into the small living room, in a manner that would trick anyone into thinking Knox was besotted, much to his annoyance he noted that only his briefcase was in its proper position. He grumbled to himself about stupid fucking little things all having their fun annoying the shit out of him.

In his half asleep stupor, Knox trudged through his small apartment in search of his stupid jacket. Stupid social rules demanding professionals to dress up like stuck-up bastards. Yes children, adults also have to follow stupid rules on attire so that they don’t get yelled at or fired by their jackass bosses. Moronic adults and their desire to have a say on every minor aspect on life, it’s as though they want to infuriate him.

Oh, hah! There was his gray suit jacket…laying on one of the shelves of his refrigerator…How the hell did it get there? Maybe a ghost had decided to take part in the “LETS ALL ANNOY THE SHIT OUT OF KNOX FOR HIS WHOLE LIFE” game and moved it while he was dead asleep. Or it could have been the government testing Knox’s memory by changing its position in the middle of the night. Whatever reason it was, Knox had his jacket.

Shrugging it on over his poorly put on shirt, he picked up his briefcase as Knox lazily sauntered out of his messy apartment. He got out of the apartment complex without having to deal with other humans or annoyances; he was also able to avoid falling completely asleep while he was in the elevator.

Once outside, Knox dragged his feet in the direction of where he had parked his car yesterday evening. His pale gray eyes glared at the piece of junk known as Kereta, name dubbed by Harper during her linguistic phase. One of the corners of his thin lips curls upwards remember how she listed all of the reasons why he should listen to her ingenious idea of naming to scrap of metal. He traipsed towards the sun-bleached red car. Myriad of dings and scraps marred the paint on the car; there were also a number of dents from Knox’s absolutely amazing driving. No one knows how he got a license with his skill. No one knows how he still has his license.

The tiniest of smirk played on the edge of his lips as a memory washed over him. It was of him driving his siblings to some zoo and their expressions were priceless. Knox dug around his pant pocket for his car keys; luckily, he found them with ease and unlocked the car. Sliding into the car he tried to find a place of put down his briefcase. Knox glared at the piles of random paper and books before shoving them off of the passenger seat and set down his case where it will hopefully stay safe.

He maneuvered his way out of the parking lot and began to weave his way through morning traffic. Due to his lack of complete alertness, Knox had to swerve out of the way a few times when he started to nod off. He also almost ran a red light, but luck decided to help him for once and he noticed the blazing red light. After a few more miles of him artfully driving like a madman on crack for the past month, Knox had finally arrived at the diner he visited every weekday morning. Pulling into the tiny parking lot, which only had a few other cars, he glanced around the familiar background.

The small building was covered in windows; it had a retro feel to the place what with its trapezoid-shaped sign and neon words “Eye-Opener”. Knox walked in through the side entrance and settled himself in the vomit pink colored, corner booth away from the sparse elderly people who were chattering loudly and chomping on their soft foods. There were a few fake plants hanging from the ceiling and all of the shades for the windows were completely pulled up letting in annoyingly bright light.

Knox sneered in the direction of the old coots when they noticed him and started collectively snickering at his disheveled appearance. The evil, white-haired humans often took it upon themselves to annoy him about his love life or lack thereof and criticized his attire. Unfortunately for Knox, these old people weren’t shy or shameless about how much they torment him. They were lucky they weren’t younger or else he would have punched one of them by now.

As if on que, a woman who appeared to be well in her seventies walked towards his table. She has a wild hairdo that fit well with her insanely colorful outfit, filled with patterns that would make the disco era cringe in fear. The old hag had an evil smirk splayed across her wrinkly face. “Hey dearie! I see you still haven’t fixed up your appearance! In my day, working men weren’t allowed to look like a hobo when they went to work. They wore clothing—”

“Shut up old lady. You’ve recited the same fucking lecture a million of times,” Knox growled out while he rested his forehead against his closed hand.

The old lady’s smirk fucking widened and went on in an annoyingly nauseating tone, “That’s no way to speak to your elders, you ungrateful brat! I was giving away perfectly good advice! But yooou! You and your rude manner! Hmph. You really need to get laid.” With that, she walked away trying to hold in laughter when she heard a thud from where Knox was sitting.

Knox couldn’t believe his ears. Did that old lady really tell him to get laid? Please tell him he was hallucinating. Anything would be better than knowing at the old lady really said that. His face was planted on the table in an attempt to erase that horrid comment from the old lady. After the initial shock wore off, irritation settled in its spot. He sent a glare towards the old people table that could cause a 5 ton pro wrestler to cower in fear, clutching a teddy bear in an attempt to ward off the evils known as Dante Knox Pike.

Scowling in annoyance, Knox closed his eyes and allowed his hand to support his head. Vaguely, he wondered where the waitress….Wendy? Whitney? Wilma? Her name started with a ‘W’, but Knox couldn’t quite remember. Anyways, where was she and why hasn’t she poured him his coffee? She was always diligent in making sure he never had an empty mug, not after how he scared her to death when she left him un-served for half an hour. He shook off the uneasiness that had settled itself in his stomach and rested his eyes.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Dante Knox Pike Character Portrait: Linus Finnley Character Portrait: Coraline Marlie Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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She gnashed her teeth. Her fingers clicked, subconsciously clawed and dangerous. White molars mulled tirelessly against adjacent molars, dragging clear as if they were grinding ivory dust to trade off to toothless-beggars loitering black market streets. It sent a dull ache through the connecting intersections of her jaw – an ache that made her want to throw the blaring fucking alarm clock clear through the spattered window. Whose bright idea was it to buy a machine that sounded like an incoming ship, blaring it's fucking sirens? Oh yeah. Linus bought it. Initially, she'd thought it was endearing: poetic, even. Throw her a life jacket. Sweep the lighthouse' light across her before she was completely overcome – somewhere she'd be safe. More than that, it reminded her of soft touches, fingertips dipping across bird-bones and a jingling laughter she was hard pressed to forget. She was foolish. She was tired. Her sleeplessness shuttered her eyes closed, tightly. When did it become so hard to drag her lazy ass out of bed?

Wooden bracelets flashed on her thin wrists – probably the only bird-like thing about her. Everything else screamed something else, something inexorable and bawdy: firecracker. She swam in a sea of beautiful women with bigger tits, plumper lips, blonder hair, but still she crackled with an energy they lacked. It didn't matter. She didn't belong in the gender-spectrum. Those women never interested her, anyway. A half-snuffle half-snort puffed from her nose as she dragged her knuckles against the laminated flooring: click-lock boards, installed herself. She was handy like that. Her eyes, like two pieces of rusty pennies, glinted in the darkness of her three-bedroom apartment, in search of her half-empty packet of Cordon Bleu smokes strewn across her nightstand. Cardboard righteously massacred from her many attempts to calmly extract one of the damned things and carelessly tossed on the floor in front of the rubbish bin. She'd clean up later.

Behind the tightly closed curtains, she could feel the time passing and her thoughts drifted back to the blaring siren invading her ears. A tightly-wound snarl rumbled from her throat as she immediately shifted forward on her belly, much like a beached seal, and slammed her hand across the alarm's snooze button: off off off. “Y'know I'm gonna' throw your dumb ass out, right?” She threatened groggily, rubbing casually at the corners of her eyes to instill some kind of wakefulness. She wouldn't. She knew she wouldn't. Clearly, it was her fault. Her eyes rolled, then met squarely with her curtains. Small tubes of light filtered through a myriad of burnt holes littering it's front like a smattering of unwanted freckles, ugly ashen brown at the edges. If anyone asked, she'd blame it on the imaginary moths. Admitting that she often investigated the burning properties of matches and cigarettes would only raise eyebrows, and even if she didn't particularly give a shit about what people thought of her... it wasn't something she'd want to get into. Oh yeah, lady, burning holes in your curtains? Perfectly normal.

The tattooed woman clucked loudly, rolling her tongue ring against the inner ribs of her teeth. It sounded like rosary beads running down the corner of a table, comforting, rhythmic, a xylophone of repeated noises. Instead of resuming her hourly routine of staying-the-hell-in-bed-and-not-moving, Linus heaved herself up like an awkward sack of potatoes and swept the curtains open to reveal the full effect of the blazing sun, straight in her face. She probably would've hissed if she were some pansy vampire from Twilight. Wasn't she supposed to schedule an appointment today? Or was she supposed to attend something important? Return a call? Whatever. It'd come back to her if it was important enough. She moved away from her bed like a zombie: all limp limbs and a vacant, droning expression. She wasn't a morning person – didn't even want to experience “waking up.” It was a waste of time. Where the hell was Coraline, anyway? It hit her. Suddenly, like a freight train. Oh yeah, Linus was supposed to contact her therapist. That was Dr. Pike, otherwise known as Knox. They were on a first name basis because they got along pretty well, but she didn't like calling him Dante. Too stuffy. Too biblical. Linus knew Knox was some kind of therapist badass or whatever. He understood that she wasn't some damage, kicked puppy who was feeling sorry for herself. If it were her choice, then she wouldn't even attend the mandatory sessions. But, like all things, it wasn't in her power. It wasn't her choice. They both played their parts, perfectly. Nobody deserved to know. But she gets lonely. A lot. She wasn't taking nothing at all out of the sessions. At least, Linus was learning more about herself – maybe, more than she'd care to know.

She doesn't like people much. She supposes it's rather obvious. She would get tired of hearing someone's voice. She hated people who talked too much. It's like people who overstayed their welcome – but, it's not really like that with Knox. They had a mutual understanding and mutual dislikes. With him, it felt like there was a balloon in Linus' chest cavity, swelling and filling with air. It's not so bad a feeling. With him, it's confidential. With him, she doesn't need to put up any fronts. It's unnecessary. Her lazy limbs automatically carried her through the motions of her morning routine: quick shower, brush teeth, scarf down a bagel with herb and garlic cream cheese and get her silly ass dressed in whatever was conveniently in arms reach. Blue All-Star chucks? Check. Oversized grey band T? Check. Pair of ripped jeans? Check. Old leather jacket? Check. Linus didn't bother checking how she looked in the mirror: didn't really care, not one bit. She snapped her phone open and stomped down the stairs, flicking through names and numbers and addresses until Knox' name came up. Then, she promptly dialed and announced that she'd be meeting up with him later. Split coffee or something.

She never bothered to ask if his schedule was clear.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Dante Knox Pike Character Portrait: Thyme Sinclair Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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#, as written by Cayleen

You know how everything always goes your way? Neither does Thyme. That’s why it didn’t come as a surprise when the insistent, loud, and overall obnoxious banging that roused him from his sleep continued on and left his practically pleading prayers of silence left unanswered. An audible groan sounded from the tangle of sheet and limbs as the blunette stiffly turned in bed to sandwich his face and blue locks between mattress and pillow; a futile attempt to ward off unwanted sound and hopefully earn himself a few extra minutes of a much needed, and very much desired, unconscious state. The irritated noise resounded off the fading walls, mingled with the ever persistent din that served to be the bane in the Scot’s existence at that given moment, and then thundered back to the disgruntled heap that was Thyme.

“Thyme! I know you’re in there!”

Thyme groaned louder as he recognized the annoying and terribly feigned American accent. “Fuck off, Nessa.” Was his intended response to his sister’s irritating antics, but, considering his face was pressed into the mattress, came out as unintelligible garble.

The insistent thundering continued undisturbed, but was now accompanied by a very unwanted addition of an American poser’s voice. “Don’t make me break this door down, Splendid!”

Thyme’s eyebrow ticked at the insufferable nickname. Did she really have to go there? Don’t get him wrong, Thyme loved his kid sister, but sometimes -most times- he just wanted to kick that stick already firmly implanted up her arse so hard it pierced through her skull. Honestly. All she ever did was nag and complain to him about how he’s wasting his life or how he’ll never get a job looking like that or how he should eat this or shampoo with this and blah, blah, blah. The list goes on. But really, it was His life. And fyi, he can to get a fucking job looking like he did. In fact, he started his first day today. Pause. One beat. Two. Shit. Thyme pulled his green gaze from the welcoming embrace of the back of his eyelids and glanced at the bedside clown-clock. Flashing across the admittedly creepy piano-key grin of the clown in digital figures the time read 7:52. Had he really slept through his alarm? Oh, wait. He hadn’t even bothered to set it. Looks like he’d be late to his first day of work... Meh.

As he was readying himself to succumb to the sweet temptations of sleep once more, the banging at his door suddenly stopped. Huh. She had given up a lot faster than he would have thought. Usually she’s so stubborn and hell-bent on getting what she wanted… Thyme blanched. There was no way she would have given up this easily. The sheets were untangled from his limbs as he quickly dragged his disgruntled frame towards the door. He flung it open and was greeted by a smug smile. Thyme frowned as his evergreen orbs searched his sister head to toe. No gun or hammer to smash the knob off… No wrench or lock pick… She was just standing there in her stark white blouse and pinstriped skirt as if she hadn’t been threatening to break down his door moments ago.

“Finally.” Nessa smiled dryly up at her elder brother as he leaned against the doorframe in nothing but an off-white T-shirt that hung loosely to his frame and a pair of navy boxers. “We need to talk.”

Thyme made no notion to reply or even show he had heard his sister, but instead reached out and snagged the thin glasses from his sister’s face. He examined them lightly before perching them on his nose. “Why do you wear these? You don’t even need glasses.”

Nessa scowled up at her brother as he disregarded her last statement and clawed at her glasses. After a brief quarrel amongst siblings, the glasses were returned to their rightful owner and Nessa stood straighter, clearing her throat and freeing invisible dust from her professional-looking attire. She allowed the glare that adorned her face to soften as she took a deep breath and looked to the corner of Thyme’s door. “You know I love you, right? That I only want what’s best for you?” Thyme scrutinized his sister with wary orbs. What was his sister getting at? “Well… I do. And I feel that you aren’t really making any progress in your life,” Thyme let out a heavy sigh. Here we go again… This is where his sister would go on and on about how he should be making something of his life, how he should be out in the world, acting like a grown adult. She would talk for hours on end listing every flaw and habit she felt inappropriate for a grown man to harbor and then continue on to tell him how to fix them; what new habits he should adopt… Like actually folding his clothes and even talking to people… Thyme involuntarily shuddered at the prospect. “So I signed you up for therapy.” …What? Thyme froze mid thought and stared at his sister. Had he heard correctly…? Therapy? There’s no way he had heard her right; she wasn’t that much of a fucking prick. Well sure she always wanted to be in control of every situation, like his life. And yes she always seemed to enjoy getting under his skin, but she wouldn’t have gone this far. Right? Of course not. It had to be her idea of some twisted joke. It was her just wanting to get her older brother all riled up and huffy. “Right, right, right. And I’m a servant to the flirtatious fish god.”

“…What?” Nessa arched a brow quizzically at her brother before shaking her head “I’m serious, Thyme. I signed you up and this is exactly why. You can’t take anything seriously.”

“…You signed me up for therapy -without my permission- because I like to joke around.” Thyme narrowed his eyes.

“Not because you joke-“ Thyme raised his hand in a futile attempt to cut his sister off. “But because you need to grow up. Your bloody nineteen, Thyme! And-“ Nessa bit her lip, effectively cutting off the flow of her worried words, and furrowed her brow. She was not about to tell him why she was so worried about him all the time. At the suspicious arch in her brother’s brow, Nessa averted her eyes to the inside of her brother’s apartment. She noticeably flinched as her gaze landed on the many unsettling clown figurines before shaking herself slightly and turning back to her brother.

“And what?” Thyme’s interest in the conversation was reengaged. It wasn’t often his sister seemed unsure of herself.

“And nothing. I signed you up for therapy and you are going. Your first session is in a few hours. At 10:15.”

“But I have work.” Not that he gave a shit; his first shift ended before ten anyways. But Nessa didn’t have to know that. At the questioning look his sister gave him, Thyme elaborated, “I landed a job at the coffee shop down the block.” He shrugged nonchalantly and began to turn. “My shift starts in… Like 5 minutes. So fuck off. I gotta get into ‘uniform’.” Thyme sneered at the word and began to close the door in his beloved sister’s face but was stopped as a slender arm darted out and knocked his aside. Before he could reach for the door again, Nessa had already wormed her way through the doorway and was standing behind him.

“Your first day and you’re just going to allow yourself to be late?” Thyme shrugged at his sister “See, this is exactly the attitude that’s gotten you fired all those times before. Do you expect to get anywhere in life hopping from job to job constantly? Honestly-“

Thyme rolled his eyes as his sister went off on her ranting tangent and turned towards his room to get changed. He scowled down at the heap of clothing piled on the floor at the end of the bed before stalking over and grabbing a loose T and a pair of well worn, dark jeans. Haphazardly throwing on his ensemble, Thyme turned a look of distaste upon the red-brown apron given to him by his new job. They insisted upon having the employees tie these ridiculous looking pieces of shit around their waists. If it hadn’t been for the conveniently placed pockets, Thyme could have said he detested the thing.

“Thyme! You just walked off while I was talking!” An irritated -well, more irritated than usual- Nessa appeared in the bedroom doorway, hand on hip.

“Hm? You were talking? I must have mistaken your horrible American accent for the bat screeching outside.”

His sister let out an exasperated sigh, “First of all, my accent is just find, and second, its morning. There is no bat screeching.” Thyme just shrugged and halfheartedly responded with his fallback ‘right, right, right…’. “Now hurry up, I have classes later today and if I’m going to drive you to work and still make it to school on time we have to leave now.”

“Drive me?” Thyme frowned at his sister, “I never agreed to that.”

“I have to make sure you actually go to work today. And I want to know where you’re working.” Thyme simply looked at his sister. Why the hell does she need to know where I work. “So that way I can check up on you and make sure you actually go to your therapy session.” Ah… Thyme’s scowl darkened. He didn’t need therapy. He was a perfectly healthy, normal male human. Ha. He almost laughed aloud at the thought. Normal… Pfff. Why the fuck would anyone want to be ‘normal’? Normal today meant wearing slutty clothes and getting drunk off your ass. After all: ‘YOLO’. Whatever the hell that meant… Your ovaries like obscenities? Hmm… Maybe.

His thoughts were once again cut short as his arm was firmly grasped and he was pulled effortlessly from his apartment. He was too busy pondering the meaning of that mysterious acronym ‘YOLO’ to put up much a fight (not that he could if he wanted to… the stick), that he didn’t realize that they had already arrived at the café/dinner he now worked at until Ness interrupted his thoughts –again- . “Thyme, get out of my car. I’m going to be late for my classes.”

“Yorsh or lewd omens?” Nessa stared blankly at her brother before motioning for him to get out. Thyme blinked a few times, gathering his surroundings, before unbuckling and, being the considerate brother he was, sticking a thoroughly licked finger into his sister’s ear and twisting.

“You’re so immature!” His sister wiped furiously at her ear while burning holes through his head with her eyes.

“Only for you.” Thyme smirked, mood exponentially lifted, and slid out of the small black car. He sauntered through the double doors and was greeted by a disgustingly cheerful mood and a flood of stomach-churning, peptobismol-pink. His nose scrunched and his signature scowl returned as the unmistakable ‘old person smell’ wafted to his nostrils. Choking back the urge to gag, Thyme made his way to the counter where one of his new co-workers resided. The painfully average looking girl glanced up from her magazine, popping a large bubble of pink bubble gum, only to look back down, completely disregarding Thyme’s presence. The blunette stared mercilessly down at the young woman, not letting up until she looked back up again. She sighed and looked up from her beloved zine “Who’re you?”

“New.” Thyme gestured down to the ugly cloth tied around his waist. The girl regarded him for a moment, smacking her gum, before instructing him to ‘just go wait tables or somthin’’ and handing him a small notebook and minuscule pencil. Thyme inspected the wooden sliver he had been handed in light distaste; how the fuck could anyone write with this? It was practically the size of his little finger! He disapprovingly shook his head as he wondered over to the only unwaited table. Thyme stood near the end of the distastefully coloured booth, still regarding the pencil and waited for the booth’s only occupant to order. When said order never came, Thyme sighed exasperatedly, “Yee gonna order? Or just sit there and waste all our oxygen.”