~I'm drinking coffee on a trampoline~
- Posting Speed
- Multiple posts per day
- 1-3 posts per day
- One post per day
- Online Availability
- 3pm - 1am (GMT / BST)
- Writing Levels
- Preferred Character Gender
- No Preferences
- Monsters, supernatural, fantasy, romance, criminality, slice-of-life (modern or set in past, usually with some twists)
Most 18-year-olds had probably hit the town during the night, enjoying their last night of freedom before university started up after the summer. In fact, Brandon knew full well that there had been a plethora of drunk teens on the town, stumbling about and making out crudely against any building wall they could find. He knew that because he'd seen them with his own eyes, even though he hadn't been taking part in any of those 'shenanigans', as his mother would say. He didn't really like the taste of alcohol, anyway.
No, instead of being a normal teenager and dancing about with a couple of mates at some club with a beer in hand, he'd been scouting out the home of a business owner in the city, waiting for all the lights to go out before making his move. The downside to not planning something like this out properly was that he triggered almost every alarm he could, he had no idea where the valuables were even kept, and, given the fame the businessman possessed, cameras and police cars pulled up to the joint before Brandon had even had a chance to properly search through the drawers for some fancy Rolex watch or diamond necklace. Not that it had really troubled him. The more police that turned up and the more media outlets that arrived, the more of a rush he got from it all.
That much was pretty obvious from the pictures plastered in the newspapers today, and the videos shown on the news of the businessman's 'night of terror', as people had decided to label it. Admittedly, Brandon was tempted to set the main image being circulated around as his phone's screensaver - a picture of him in his mask with his middle fingers crudely raised directly at the camera. It couldn't be seen, but Brandon knew he was grinning under the mask, enjoying every single second. He'd gotten away unscathed, as usual... but the businessman and his wife were being treated for some pretty severe burns, and the man's one-of-a-kind Jaguar had been lifted and tossed at a few policeman by Brandon. Not that he gave a fuck about the police.
It was what he was currently looking at on his laptop, actually. A news report on the attack from the night, with the reporter dramatically delivering a speech on the 'evil' that currently 'tormented London' while flames engulfed the house behind her. By 'evil', Brandon was aware he shared that platform with Skyler... un-fucking-fortunately.
Hearing the door creak open, the teen lifted a head curiously from the pillow before realising the man that entered was probably the roommate he had been told he was sharing with. Now, Brandon had only been at the dorm for a few hours, but he'd clearly already settled in. A few Red Bull cans were tossed near -but not in- the bin, his half-opened suitcase was dumped carelessly and he'd made full use of the bed already, laying in it with only his jeans on, but apparently, he didn't care about greeting a stranger topless with popcorn kernels all down his front and around his mouth.
"Hey, dude-- Skyler, right? I was told you were comin'-- but late, ain't cha? Thought you'd arrive at ten, like me," he shrugged, wiping his hand on his jeans before thrusting it forward with a wide grin. "I don't bite, you can shake my hand, mind. I ain't gonna wrestle 'ya. The tats are nothing, I'm a teddy bear, really~"