ᴛʜᴏᴍᴀsɪɴ on RolePlayer.me - www.roleplayer.me/1391882 ᴛʜᴏᴍᴀsɪɴ
“Che la mia ferita sia mortale”

27 years old
New Orleans, Louisiana
United States

Last Login:
June 19 2019

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roleplay business
i lied, it’s personal

line lxwlife

[ R: 00 | S: 00 | OM: 03 | D: 00 ]

writing tends to lean towards the more raw side, I like descriptive insights and long paragraphs. Writing with me means you can get your basic three paras or a whole damn book. Depends on how I’m vibing off what we’re doing.

The last white line vanished with a deep inhale, her red head popped up and threw back from the bathroom counter in blinking awe. Both inked hands gripping the edge tight as she waited for the burn to dissolve into her system. Shoulders twitching as a shake rushed through out her body from head to toes, her blood itching in the veins beneath her skin. Slowly she looked back down and came to face garish reflection in the bathroom mirror. Grey eyes are dimming as they study her face, a mangled mosaic of bruises that she leaned towards to map every detail. The area around her nose had swelled up and a knobby lump grew at the back of her skull where it struck the floor under Nash’s fist. Across the high span of her cheek bone was red and blue jutting out from under her eye. Thin adhesive strips held the small splits on the peak of her cheek and the bridge of her nose together, but not by her hands. Far too carefully placed and done with patience. The pain was stifling, making Thomasin let go of a strangled sigh as her head heavily dropped and braced her weight on her arms. Waiting for it to bleed away so she didn’t have to muscle through it anymore. So it wouldn’t distract her thoughts of the task at hand. Her three minutes to mend her damaged pride. Ginger locks are pulled back and out of the way, her large, gold hoops sat by the sink with chunky rings in the center. She hears Nash’s voice outside just as a warming numbness spread. Pushing away from the counter, she stalks from the bathroom and into the garage. Steel gaze meets her friends’ and while they were dulled of life, the rest of her jittered, revved and ready. Obviously in the depths of some good sh*t when she doesn’t even notice the slow drip of blood falling on her upper lip. She doesn’t say anything at first, not wanting to lose her head space as that predatory stare is turned onto the Prospect now. At her sides, her fingers tick with anticipation. The hair on her neck stands like hackles, his nervousness is like blood in the air. Weakness that she was raised to look down on. Tommie began a slow saunter towards him. “Oh hoo~..” She mocks in fake delight as she watches his eyes narrow and his arms shake out with fists. “Look it that, Warner. Maybe he’s Moonie material after all.”
Sarcasm is strong in her tone. He didn’t deserve to prospect, she had no idea why Nash was even entertaining it when nothing was ever asked of her. The thought crosses her mind just as she c*cks her fist back and fires. Starting it off with a loud pop then she and the other male go into a snarling fury at each other’s throats. And while Thomasin was pure assault, the prospect is still stuck in his she-is-a-woman state of mind, defending and trying to hold out and she was going to make him regret that. Dearly. He tries tearing her to the floor, making her boots skid before her legs finally go and she topples. Before he can get the straddle on her wild bucking, her hands fist both shoulders of his cut and pulls for another headbutt, a trademark lowife move. White explodes in her eyes but her intent is still sharp. Driving her knee into his groin once for affect and then a second for good measure. Panting and sweating, new bruises blooming on her freckled skin, blood from scathed knuckles and reopened lips. Her hands grab his neck and she shoves his head down against the cement floor. Feeling him grunt in his throat as she squeezed. Her eyes detached, tongue pressed to her top teeth as she kept her arms locked and flexed to the point that they shook while he struggles. His slapping hands and desperate grabs make her flinch but not ease up. Watching his face turn red, redder, purple...

Gators made strange noises when they talked to each other. Purring and making the water rumble around their scaley bellies, sometimes while hissing, sometimes while snapping at each other for elbow room. Thomasin pulled up to the hatchery and flashed her lights a couple times. Leaning to the side with her elbow propped in the open window. Gently running the pad of her thumb across her bottom lip as she waited. And waited. Thomasin flickers her headlights again and this time her signal is taken and the metal gate rolls open, allowing her to drive through. Vincent kept security pretty tight so that his ‘babies’ were kept on an ideal diet so there wasn’t any random body dumping. No one came through these gates without DeLuca knowing about it.
So when she pulls up and catches a different tattooed male coming out to greet her, she’s not just taken a back for a moment but rolled her eyes back and thudded against the seat. Taking a breath, knowing she needed to get this sh*t done before day break and get back to the Moonshiners’ clubhouse. Take a breath, exhaling sharply as Tommie pushes the door open with her foot. The rusty hinges groan. Standing in the illumination of her headlights as she stared at Hutchinson. Her jaw locked into place, wondering where exactly her and Vincent’s communication got f***ed up. Something told her, Hutch wasn’t going to want any part of this. Or have any part of her being there. Whether or not he was the father to her unborn child. Thomasin was more than sure that Hutch didn’t want her to keep it. She, herself, was unsure to what exactly she was going to do. One of the main reasons she hadn’t talked to him about it at all since she stormed out of the clinic.
Gun metals eyes pierce him and are the last to turn away and head to the back of the truck bed. “Just go back inside.” She says while coming around to the back of the truck. Tailgate dropping with a bang. Steps up the corner of the bed, hands grabbing the bungee-corded sack. Huffing and pulling the limp dead weight nearly three times her size. She’d drag the bastard her damn self before trying to get Hutch to help her. The male was too good. Too clean. “And ya best - tell that - f***ing reptile.” Grunts between pushes, talking about his boss while pushing and yanking the body to the edge. “He better - tell me when sh*t’s - gone - south.” Hops down, arms trembling from exertion, sweat beading from her hair line and trickling down her neck and chest. Panting heavily. The air feeling even muggier than before but there’s an icy coldness in her belly that came with touching a dead body. Or, at least what she thought was a dead body when she puts her back to it. “I ain’t gonna stand here and beg for yer f***in’ help.” Ever. “Either go back inside or get the f***in’ pen-”
The words are strangled out right in her throat. Eyes popping wide open as something was suddenly wrapped around her throat and her feet were jacked off the ground. The Brother of Mayhem and snarling in her ear as her feet flailed and she tried prying her little fingers under the bungeecord being squeezed around her neck. The textured material rubbing raw into the skin and completely cutting off her air way. Already winded and light headed from dragging his heavy bulk in this Louisiana heat, it doesn’t take long for the edge of her vision to start blacking out. Baring her teeth and going into a wild panic, hands giving up to trying to get breathing room on the cord and slapping desperately on anything she could.

Thomasin pauses for only a moment with her hand on the door knob, exhaling a slow breath as she touched the side of her hand to her belly. “S’gonna be fine..” She murmurs partly to herself, mostly to the soft stirring in her womb.Then busts through the door. Heart pounding, nerves wired.
Two men, plus the one sagged and sacked in the chair were what remained in the room. Pulling the elongated barrel up, the shouting began. But her rabid barks were louder than theirs and rose above them. “Put the f***in’ - EY! PUT YER F***IN’ GUN DOWN YA SONNA OF A BITCH OR IMMA BLOW THIS OLD BON RIEN’S BRAINS T’F*** OUT!” The adrenaline was like a hot shot right into her veins, staring down the barrel of the gun pointed at her while keeping her own on the older male. He stood calmly while looking her over. Taking stock of the little woman in front of him with, cold, calculating eyes. Grey eyes clash with his in the mounting silence. “Untie him. Now.”
“Ye got little girls coming to save ye now, Fergal?” He chuckles and it makes her hair bristle on her neck and arms. “Going to shoot us both, lass? Think ye’ll be able to pull that off? I can have him shot. Right here, right now.”
“Then f***in’ do it.” Thomasin uttered back, taking a loaded step forward. “Still gonna f***in’ shoot you’s.”
Another laugh from him. “A lot of big talk.. From a wee girl.”
Sucked on her teeth a moment, dropped her aim a few inches, and pulled the trigger with a silent pop right into the old guy’s knee cap. “You’s startin’ t’piss me off! You’s wanna test that Irish luck, keep f***in’ talkin’!”
Grabs his knee and howls in pain, blood spilling between his clasped fingers. Spitting through his teeth. “F***in’ - bitch!...Untie - the bastard!”
She slowly started to side step towards the chair once the grunt cut Ferg free and moved back with his hands up. Her heavily inked hand snatches the blackout bag off of his head and her eyes glower. Peering down at the bruised and swollen face. Looking like a chunk of hamburger meat. “C’mon, Ferg… Get yer ass up, les go.” Slaps his shoulder a few times to hurry him, then tries hooking him under the arm and pulling him to his feet. Palming at him blindly while keeping gazes with the boss a few feet across the room. Afraid of looking away to end up eating a bullet.
A strange craving for beef jerky hits her out of nowhere.
Sirens come blaring down the street. “F***!” She hissed through her teeth, shoving Fergal towards the open door. Steadying her aim between both hands now as she backtracked with him. “Go! Go, go, go!” Thomasin growled, dashing out behind him and sprinting out towards the building’s back emergency exit.
Glances over her shoulder just to see the old man’s grunt come hurling out of the room, gun in hand. Takes the hard right for the exit when the gun goes off behind them. Her whole momentum getting thrown off as half her body got slinged shot forward. Pain like hot shards of glass exploded into the back of her shoulder, making her scream. Her legs stumble into a sloppier run as she helps body slam her smaller weight into the exit door and they dump out into the back alley.

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Stylesheet: High Times || Graphics: Moi

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rap sheet

Full Name:Thomasin Mary Walker. pronunciation tom-UH-sin. mar-EE. walk-ER. meaning Thomasin Aramaic name meaning twin, probably to embody the boy child Liam always wanted but knew he'd never have. Mary Hebrew for bitterness, beloved, or wished for child, likely her mother's idea. Walker English name meaning to tread || D.O.B. | Age: OCT 23, 1991 | 27 || Title: The Lowlife || Pet Names: Tommie, T, Tom Tom, Cinnamon, Red, Little Bit || ID Number: LAJ00254 || Affiliations: Moonshiners MC prospect || Signature: Large T and some waves || Gender: Female || Gender Role: More masculine than feminine || Deathday: TBA || Birthplace: The Big Easy, Who Dat Nation || Zodiac: Scorpio ♏ || Ethnicity: Acadian-Caucasian || Blood Type: O || Dominant Hand: Left || Face Shape: Oval || Eye Color: Grey || Hair Color: Copper || Hairstyle: Simple || Skin Tone: Ivory || Complexion: Freckled || Make Up: Minimal if ever. || Body Type: Then & angular || Build: Long limbs and torso, narrow with sharp curves. || Height: 5’2” || Weight: 120 || Cup Size: 34 B || Shoe Size: 7 || Birthmarks/Scars: Freckles for days, small scars acquired over time. || Distinguishing Features: Her eyes are like windows to the storm inside. || Health: Fair. || Energy: Enough to get sh*t done. || Memory: Holds grudges in her sleep. || Special Senses: Intuition || Allergies: None || Handicaps: Elementary grade reading level. || Medications: “medication” || Phobias: Small spaces, excessive touching. || Addictions: Menthols, drugs, tattoos, cacti, vegan smoothies. || Mental Disorders: None, but has poor anger management.

     ᴛʜᴏᴍᴀsɪɴ's Details
Body type:No Answer
Ethnicity:No Answer
Characters: Thomasin Mary Walker
Verses: Grunge. Gang. Crime. Drama.
Length: Multi Para, Novella
Genre: Crime, Horror, Psychological, Real Life,
Member Since:April 20, 2018

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   ᴛʜᴏᴍᴀsɪɴ's Blurbs
About me:
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Baby Daddy

Status: It's Complicated
Sexual Orientation: Bisexual
First Started Dating: 00/00/0000
Official: 00/00/0000
First Kiss: 08/18/2018 | Rougaroux Inn
Song Dedication: Song Title - Artist
Lyrics: "Fa-la-la-la"
Love Songs: Song Title - Artist | Song Title - Artist | Song Title - Artist | Song Title - Artist | Song Title - Artist


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Thomasin Mary Walker

That feeling you get right before a storm hits? Yea, that's her walking in the room.

Hey darlin', sleeping on the black top. Hey darlin', running through the trees, honey. Hey darlin', leaving for the next town less my sense catches up with me.

season one

In early October, Liam Walker’s bitterness was challenged when the nurse dropped a quiet, red headed and freckle faced child into his arms. The man who always wanted a son stared down at the child with a stern face and furrowed brows, but a lump swelling up in his throat. With such a complicated pregnancy, his wife, Rene Walker, was told it’d be best if she had no more children. So there would never be ‘another try’ for the young couple. It was hard for both of them to swallow, but the sudden love was even harder.
Unfortunately, that didn’t entail a healthy upbringing. Liam Walker was a harsh and complicated man that raised his daughter to be the ideal son he always wanted.
To his wife’s dismay, who wanted to call her Juno, he names her Thomasin. She hoped having a child would curb his wayward habits of drifting from bar to bar, not coming home for days or weeks at a time, but it didn’t. He still got into fights. He still got into trouble with the cops. He still didn’t get a real job, he was had no intentions of ever leaving behind the life that was so ingrained into his being. Not when the money was good for it in New Orleans. What burned the young mother even more was his insistence to start bringing their little daughter out to the swamps where he and the rest of the guys handled their dirty dealings and he started teaching her to be look out. It’s not all he teaches her. Liam molds his little girl into a fierce, no limit soldier. He shows her how to properly make a fist, how to smoke, how to load and shoot his shot gun, that blood will always be thicker than water, and above all else; to never cry.
Thomasin is only eight years old when her mother comes into her room late in the night with a black eye and says she’s leaving but she’d be back soon for her too. She never comes back. Thomasin’s convinced her mother abandoned them, that's how her father spun the story anyway. Rumors went spread like a wildfire, raging in flames then suddenly burnt through and forgotten.

season two

She’s in middle school when her father is called and ordered to come down to the school and pick his daughter up. She’d gotten into her first fist fight and lost when the other, larger child popped her in the nose and busted her upper lip open down the middle. They leave the school and the whole drive back Thomasin can feel her father seething. Because she’d lost. It’s not long afterwards that she began to regularly skip school and let her father wrap more barbed wire around his daughter’s mind. She grows up harsh and mean, known for lashing out without word or warning when faced with adversary without thought of consequences, if any. Most of the time it was with people she began to regularly hang out with or the other men that did business with her father.
With a fifth grade reading level, drop out was always in her future, teachers have been pushing her forward just to get her out of their classroom since her final years in middle school and high school was no different. She’s hardly enrolled longer than a year before her father decides to just sign the papers rather than deal with the school pestering to come in for parent-teacher conferences. Liam instead starts taking Thomasin on more dealings where she learns the shady trades that came with liquor bootlegging. That along with checking the still hidden in the bayou and how to maintain them. By the time Thomasin is a teenager she completely idolizes him and would storm through anyone who so much as even looked at him the wrong way. It finally pays off. Liam finally realizes his work is done one night while he sat with his daughter in a mostly dark kitchen and held a bag of frozen veggies to her cheek. Pressing too hard and pronouncing the bruising more than helping. He was crouched in front of her when looked down at his daughter, her face still angry and grey eyes distant. “You did good…” Comes the first and last praise she ever had. Thomasin let herself go soft, a rare sight since she was little, and lean into father. He lets her stay like that for a long time. It will forever be a private moment Thomasin would never forget and always cherish. But she will always be fighting for his approval until the day she dies and without hesitation.

season three

A lot of people hated her father. Rivalries were with other distilleries and so many double crossed over the years. Anything could happen when you headed out alone as she found out when she was fifteen years old and found a man trying to dismantle her father’s stills. She finishes becoming an adult in juvenile hall after beating the man with a heavy duty, thirty-inch monkey wrench. He was able to ID her but not remember why he was there and Thomasin refused to give up any information on the illegal distillery to protect her father in exchange for a shorter sentence on house arrest. On her eighteenth birthday, she’s released from Juvie and picked up life right where she left off. A little more bitter to the world than before. Liam welcomes his daughter home with open arms. To him, having a daughter released from a sort of prison was just another right of passage to be called his child.
Now twenty-seven her father is finally arrested for his illegal activity and is facing at least fifteen years in prison and maybe more. All the money laundering, tax evasion, accounts of fraud all rolled in with his multiple schemes had finally caught up to him. Thomasin, stressed and wondering what she was going to do now that she was alone. A dangerous thing to be in a town like this one. With her father's enemies looming, she knew she needed a safety line. The Mongrels MC was that line, bar fighting her way into their sights as someone worth recruiting. She is still hesitant and distrusting just as much as they are about letting her into the fold as a woman. But don’t confuse her with being afraid. Meeting this scrappy redhead, anyone will tell you that she is a force to be reckoned with.

season four

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Cinnamon and sugary and softly spoken lies, you never know just how you look through other people's eyes.

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ᴛʜᴏᴍᴀsɪɴ's Friends Comments
Displaying 10 of 19 comments (View All | Add Comment)

Jun 10th 2019 22:36


Jun 8th 2019 20:22

Adriana was an optimist but she wasn’t completely naive. Since the escape, Broken Creek had been hanging in a fragile balance. Mostly it had turned into the residents against the world. Those who had grown up in the town or who had lived there for a while had decided that the only people they could trust was each other. It wasn’t completely surprising given that they’d always been close-knit. This kind of mentality was dangerous though and it was a powder keg. All it would take is one wrong move and everything would blow up. The situation was tenuous at best and if she wanted to survive it then she needed to be ready.

Adriana didn’t know Thomasin well but if her story was to be believed she wasn’t an escapee just one of the unfortunate visitors who’d gotten stuck here, trapped with the rest of them. From what Adriana had observed she was the kind of woman who didn’t take anyone’s sh*t. Hell, if she looked up the definition of tough she was pretty sure she would find a picture of the redhead in there. Most of the residents seemed to be wary of her, judging her for her appearance certain that she was lying and had come from the prison. But to her credit, Thomasin didn’t back down. That was the kind of person she needed to be because eventually when the town found out that her brother was one of those who had escaped, they would turn on her.

She’d struck a bargain with her promising extra food rations in return for lessons fighting. Back in Texas, she’d asked her brother to teach her to fight, to use a gun but he had been completely against it promising her that she would never have to worry about any of that with him around. The problem was he wasn’t around now though and it was better to be prepared. Today Adriana had snuck some extra loaves of bread from work and added some of the fruit she’d gotten from Green’s into a tote bag as she made her way towards the woods where they were supposed to meet. It would be better there where no one would see them otherwise it might get people talking.

Jun 3rd 2019 20:28

Hi and welcome.  Name is Kassie I would love to get a SL going with you my line id is submissivetotheshoes  

Jun 3rd 2019 00:27

Hello, hello!
I'm Devin, and I was reaching out to introduce myself and to hopefully get to chatting/discussing on LINE. My line is richandsad if you're down to connect.

Side note: I think we used to talk way back when. I could be mistaken, but ahaha.

Feb 7th 2019 16:04

oh, that dash of french sprinkled into her speech caused that sinister smirk to creep to an even further peak. the slight smoldering vestiges of cigarette let a thin trail ghost beneath olfactory homes, worn and warped sneakers extinguishing it with heel's discretion.  


"oh, i feel you," that ember stomping heel initiated a slow zombie strut towards the woman standing opposite, "i put plenty of pretty canaries and their sunny songs to bed for telling stories better left unsaid," the strut came to a halt but a yard's length from flesh chimney.


"ain't never been much of a orator myself, y'know? wouldn't have much of a head left if i ever was."



Jan 31st 2019 21:53

 Bleeding hours were few and far between while in the company of a loquacious Irishman like Kellen Quinn; who buried away the passing time with stories about his life in Ireland, long before Jamie had even been born – a life that made Jamie’s childhood at St. Catherine’s orphanage look like he had spent his youth at the Taj Mahal. There were far less things Jamie was envious of; the poverty the Quinn family had faced surely outdid the nothingness Jamie had. Jamie had been envious still, despite the hunger often gnawing at the Quinn boys’ stomach, that Kellen had once had a family. Something Jamie had not grown to know…

 “An’ I says to the lass ‘If you mean the glasses, I got ransacked a few weeks ago! All the f***ers – oh, those scalawags – wanted was all me glasswares, and I tried to stop them. ‘Oh, please,’ I says, ‘I need me glasswares, I’ve got me eye on a lovely little lass, y’see, and she won’t want to be suckin’ in all my grimy Irish diseases from me bottles!’ and lad, you should have seen her face.” Jamie doesn’t offer the older man much of a reaction, the flick of his thumbnail against the butt of the cigarette to rid the end of his lit cigarette from spent ashes. The sort of short-lived laugh he often gave anyone who annoyed him near enough. There was no lingering sense of that irritation though, no growl or the follow through of a passing warning – like the rattle of a snake’s tail. The laugh is empty otherwise, void of even amusement – despite the crooked grin that favours the side of his face that is nearest to Kellen. “Oh, you would’ve liked her, Jamie, me boy. You really would have. She picked up me Jameson and poured it all over me. I’ll tell you, I’ve never seen a lass so red….well ‘cept when you were holdin’ onto that blonde Skip whore.” There was a lull in his voice, the pause had once been unsettling to Jamie – it often meant trouble while Kellen looks starboard, past the lad and washes his thoughts out to the nothing but the lull in the water. “D’ya remember that, Jamie?” Kellen’s fingers wrap around the neck of his bottle and he pulls a long swig from it. “What can you do with a drunken sailor…” His drunken Irish brogue muddies the sing-song in his voice, slurs the song lyrics as he carries on and moves away from the card table to steer the board closer to the approach of the port.

 For a man close to fifty, Kellen hardly acted it and hardly looked it, either. The salt and peppering in his dark hair was the only real indicator, that lied in stark contrast to his youthful appearance and captivating antics. Jamie often thought his partner preferred simply to hear the sound of his own voice as he droned on and on about nothing and everything. One story turned to three, and doubled back again to finish the first, which was where he was now. Boot up on Kellen’s card table, the thud from the rubber heel causes the older man to glance over at him. “Really she was mad ‘cause she had seen you comin’ back t’the boat, she did.” Jamie’s exhale is accompanied by a laugh, the hilarity is not lost to him.

 “Don’t blame me. I never forget you’re a conman, Kelly. Born and bred. Just ‘cause it sounds fancy doesn’t mean you know sh*t about what you’re talking about.” The spent cigarette is tossed overboard and in turn he receives a note of Kellen’s laughter in exchange for his quick retort. “So, what’d this motherf***er do, anyway? We never talked specifics and if you want it clean and quiet and personal, I think you owe me as much.” The information had not been withheld, stored behind a lock and key and just out of Jamie’s reach. The conversation had been blunt and quiet, while Kellen rubbed at his tired eyes with the heel of his hand. The lad was no contract killer but was no stranger to murder. He had killed enough men to shake away the shock it had initially pulsed through his body the first time he pulled the trigger and looked dumbfounded at a scrambling Kellen, tripping over stolen artifacts and millions of dollars worth of jewels. That had been nearly seven years ago when Jamie was only twenty-one and fresh-faced out of the Navy.

“Oh, lad. Come here.” Jamie’s already lazily made his way over to the other. “You remember when we had double-crossed Cahill and his wee brother right in that Bangkok whorehouse? Of course you do, you’ve got to be the only lad with the absolute unmitigated gall to laugh in that cunt’s face when he threatened you…” Kellen’s hand grips Jamie’s broad shoulder in playful affection – proud of him. Kellen doesn’t need to close the ritual of his foreboding story. Now, with a proverbial bounty over his head in Ireland – Cahill O’Doherty was truly a force to be reckoned with; a prodigal son of a high ranking man in the Irish Mafia; involved in the IRA with enough force to knock men like Kellen Quinn out like a reed standing defiantly in the force of a black sea gale. “He’s a bit of an oily bastard, Jamie. He’s got a daughter – a wee thing about your age, I’d suppose. I got me paws on some information and she’s in a f***in’ MC, Jamie. You’ll have to get close to her to see it through, lad.”

 There was a vast melancholy in the canticles of wraiths. Melancholy as infinite as the ocean, as endless as those long winter nights on the cold Kamchatka sea and yet that ghastly sadness, that mourning for their own with irredeemable appetites, can never move the heart for not one phrase in it hits at the possibility of their redemption.

 S i l e n t   t r e a t m e n t; the fantastic devastation of unwanted silence. That heavy slink and how it hangs with purpose; mean and easy. Jamie’s tongue is well trained in the sit-still. Is silence not an act of violence, too?

 Ghosts are like shadows and the wraiths of men were sleek gray figures of a congregation of a nightmare. Kellen’s voice was but an aria of casual apathy now made audible to Jamie’s ears while he fumbles in the fog of his swelling rage. This was the rendering he would suffer, damned to relive his life and see everything in RED.


   New Orleans was the last place Jamie wanted to be. After running guns from Boston to Ireland thrice over, they had taken a breather in the city. Jamie had spent nearly every dime – thousands of dollars in booze and cocaine – and he wasn’t even sore about blowing all of his money (like Kellen said he would, knew he would, and ensured Jamie would again be indebted to him). It was coming down of the coke, and how sick he had been. How the thought of New Orleans made his stomach lurch and tie itself into a tight, cold knot.

 He’d never cared for the crowds in big cities and navigating through New Orleans was often less than desirable – Jamie was only sunny when he was left alone. Or well past buzzed enough to numb himself to the intrusion of his personal space. Bourbon street was busier than Frenchman’s street, but the energy lingered the same. Drunken tourists and locals looking to victimize tourists. Scam them out of a few dollars for beads or pluck a wallet from a pocket. Navigating had never been an issues for Jamie – one of his few impeccable skills had always been his keen sense of direction. The rental car Kellen had arranged for him was enough, and he could scoff at the initial plan that Kellen was supposed to get Jamie in and out clean…except for a deciding factor that had sent the Irishman to the Bahamas after he’d dropped Jamie off at port. Navigating these uncharted waters would prove to be difficult.

 Jamie was no conman and save for a careful white lie about nothing in particular, and a very carefully fashioned lie to instigate – he was often left stumbling over his words and stuttering while he fished for excuses and lies. Jamie fell wordlessly behind and followed Kellen’s bold golden posture with an almost unconcerned brawn. It was long since driven in his head that men like Kellen were exalted and blessed and a foolish young man like Jamie should feel lucky enough to even be vaguely associated. Jamie was never quite convinced by the incandescence quite like his business partner managed to be. Jamie needed no finesse, and while a younger version of himself often protested, begged Kellen for a better cut and to learn – an option Jamie was never rewarded. Now he was here. In the idling car outside of some MC with the same defect weapons in the trunk that had been started the grudge match Cahill and Kellen in the first place.

 Callous fingers grip at the steering wheel, hard enough that his scarred knuckles burn white and then he releases his grip, sinks into the seat further and cuts the engine. In his pocket there is a carefully written note he’s supposed to hand to Thomasin regarding the selling of the weapons. Coded, Jamie is sure – he hasn’t bothered to pull it out of the envelope, but he knew Kellen opted to write it, so Jamie didn’t f*** up his hellbound journey to revenge with nothing more than his own chicken scratch.

 Maybe it wasn’t a lie…how many times had he scouted an operation. Carefully observing crooked men in back hole places like this, in worse ports in foreign countries. Hustling Americans had always been the easiest; even for a particularly green Jamie Sommers. He had always been as equally audacious has he had been observant – but he’d never been boisterous. He could slip under the radar, passed as every other rude American even though he had buried that thick, telltale Bronx accent long before he had come of age. Places like this were often rough and once the soles of his boots hit the sticky bar floor Jamie’s quick about heading to the bar. She was easy to spot; long locks of amber hair and the dapple of freckles on her skin, and more he was sure, hidden underneath the plethora of tattoos. 

 “You Thomasin?”


Jan 29th 2019 17:47

obsidian pits mimicked hers all the same, deadpan and desolate gawk meeting hers with an intangible intensity. carcinogenic plume flushed freely from her tiers, his lungs readily inhaled what venomous vestiges managed to haze past dispassionate display just to recycle now near non-existent smoke.

"sounds romantic," subdued but certain smirk pulling at lips' corners, "got any cutesy scars to show for it?"


Jan 28th 2019 16:45

oh, goddamn. those f***ing freckles
have launched my entire brain
on an incessant spiral of 
untold dials and aisles;
got me like a pile of 
stomach bile.

is this what they call lovesick?

Dec 25th 2018 21:49

Cajun Shrimp.

Nov 30th 2018 17:26

Step, step, turn.. step, step.. turn

Pacing. Madison was pacing around the dark house, palms clammy and she thought they were itching. Her heart pounded irregularly, and the blonde was sure she was about to fall over. She started counting each step she took, in an attempt to distract her. She got to forty-seven, but had lost track after that. She was mumbling under her breath, mostly trying to drown out the new found noise in her head that was nearly suffocating her. She was hot, and miserable and somehow had managed to rip everything but her tank top and underwear off. "You can't be here alone... yes.. yes you can.. you're fine.. shut up.. it's fine.." The words flew off her tongue in a way that was almost startling - her own voice causing her even more discomfort.

Clearly, her mental stability had declined - and the scars on her wrists were proof of it. She had an isolated incident in Florida, and apparently, she only talked about a certain reptile and her need for relief, for seven days. Until of course, the medicine the hospital had force fed her kicked in. Her Vacation went to ruins, and she found herself back in Louisiana. The only person who knew of her return being, Thomasin Walker.

The two were close, but not a braid each others hair while gossiping close. Close in a sense that they had an understanding about each other, and respect. The blonde had forgotten about the dozens of messages she had sent just an hour earlier to her; until there was a loud banging on her front door. The sound making her yelp, scrambling to the floor with a loud thud. "No.. Nobody is home!" She screamed back; gulping dryly. "C..come back later!" She nearly begged as she curled into the corner by her kitchen table, knees up with her face buried into them.
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