- Posting Speed
- 1-3 posts per day
- One post per day
- 1-3 posts per week
- One post per week
- Writing Levels
- Intermediate
- Adept
- Advanced
- Preferred Character Gender
- Male
- Female
- Transgender
- Primarily Prefer Female
- No Preferences
- Genres
- Modern, Romance, Fantasy, Scifi, Drama, Action.
Carter Yamanashi | Location: Carter and Cecilio's House/Kitchen | Interactions: Cecilio
It was a safe haven. The exact goal that Carter had vied miles and hurdled countless egos to achieve. So much flattery tossed one way and tediously picking apart another's mind the other way, so much tip-toeing every moment he ate and slept and uttered a single damn word--so much. And hell, he did his job right; no one else could pull this shit off better than the swagalicious Queen C herself. So yeah, he'd done it. Huzzah hoorah and all the other "ah"s. Victory, biatches.
Except he felt far from triumphant.
What was the point of establishing his life, when the point of living was to find Maya? Three months. Three fucking months and he had yet to take a step closer to DC. The first month passed with relative normalcy; he upheld the signature sass, class, and all that scrumptious ass. All of the swirling miasma caking against his skull like plaque remained invisible to his group's eyes, just as he wanted. Then came the second month and along with it a bubbling anxiety. The signs had started off small and easy enough to hide. The random jiggling of the leg as he found himself waiting in one spot for whatever reason. The extended smoking periods out on the back porch. The somewhat shortened tolerance for, well, anyone's petty bullshit; if it wasn't his own special brand of 90210 playful drama, then he didn't want any part of it (aside from watching in the background and sipping tea, obviously).
And now, the third month. There wasn't much of a change from the second month phase. Well, except that Walty was getting chattier and more antsy, which Carter perfectly understood. Maya was his daughter and the Japanese American's goddaughter; they were fucking worried. Sometimes--rarely--Carter would slip up and accidentally reply to his best friend out loud. It was pure luck alone that he hadn't done so in front of someone else... and it would stay that way. Or so help his lavish dildo and flavored lube collection. It was hard as hell finding those!
Carter was currently located in the kitchen of a home--one that he shared with the tall glass of sugar, rum, and Italian spice (Cecilio). Maybe even a hit of lemon juice. Vodka? Yeah, vodka. Either way, it helped being roomies with the man, as he proved to be wonderful eye candy, especially when Carter needed a fun way to pick up his mood. And let's be honest here, Cece honty is way too easy to get all riled up and flustered. Poor baby gonna die of a heart attack before I get around to offering him a happy ending, he thought with a chuckle. Okay. Fine. He technically had offered one last month, but the insinuation had flown straight over Cecilio's head. Figures. Casually, he blew a cloud of smoke through the window, which he had enough courtesy to open beforehand, his legs swinging back and forth idly from his spot atop the counter. Eh--he should probably step out soon. Scrape up what he could about the area, whatever dirt he could compile, and hopefully convince Dex that staying here for much longer was... against their favor.
Heh, good luck with that, Queen C. Mount Cinnabon's fucking attached to his place tighter than a fresh gay's ass. Rolling his eyes, Carter snuffed out the cigarette before shouting out, "Cece hontyyyy! I'm heading out, don't miss me too bad~!" He hopped down and started heading for the exit, though he moved slowly in case Cecilio needed anything before he left.
Inventory
On person
P226 Sig Sauer (10/10 loaded)
Sylvie's Machete
Backpack
AR-15 (21 x 5.56 rounds, 1 mags)
1x Jug of Benzene Oil
Handful of Industrial Wipes
Strip of dirty cloth/fabric
Industrial Flashlight
Personality/Internal-wise
Fabulousness
Bittersweet memories
Undeniable (yet still denied) fondness for Evie & Hero
Beef with Dean
Walter's ghost plaguing his mind
It was a safe haven. The exact goal that Carter had vied miles and hurdled countless egos to achieve. So much flattery tossed one way and tediously picking apart another's mind the other way, so much tip-toeing every moment he ate and slept and uttered a single damn word--so much. And hell, he did his job right; no one else could pull this shit off better than the swagalicious Queen C herself. So yeah, he'd done it. Huzzah hoorah and all the other "ah"s. Victory, biatches.
Except he felt far from triumphant.
What was the point of establishing his life, when the point of living was to find Maya? Three months. Three fucking months and he had yet to take a step closer to DC. The first month passed with relative normalcy; he upheld the signature sass, class, and all that scrumptious ass. All of the swirling miasma caking against his skull like plaque remained invisible to his group's eyes, just as he wanted. Then came the second month and along with it a bubbling anxiety. The signs had started off small and easy enough to hide. The random jiggling of the leg as he found himself waiting in one spot for whatever reason. The extended smoking periods out on the back porch. The somewhat shortened tolerance for, well, anyone's petty bullshit; if it wasn't his own special brand of 90210 playful drama, then he didn't want any part of it (aside from watching in the background and sipping tea, obviously).
And now, the third month. There wasn't much of a change from the second month phase. Well, except that Walty was getting chattier and more antsy, which Carter perfectly understood. Maya was his daughter and the Japanese American's goddaughter; they were fucking worried. Sometimes--rarely--Carter would slip up and accidentally reply to his best friend out loud. It was pure luck alone that he hadn't done so in front of someone else... and it would stay that way. Or so help his lavish dildo and flavored lube collection. It was hard as hell finding those!
Carter was currently located in the kitchen of a home--one that he shared with the tall glass of sugar, rum, and Italian spice (Cecilio). Maybe even a hit of lemon juice. Vodka? Yeah, vodka. Either way, it helped being roomies with the man, as he proved to be wonderful eye candy, especially when Carter needed a fun way to pick up his mood. And let's be honest here, Cece honty is way too easy to get all riled up and flustered. Poor baby gonna die of a heart attack before I get around to offering him a happy ending, he thought with a chuckle. Okay. Fine. He technically had offered one last month, but the insinuation had flown straight over Cecilio's head. Figures. Casually, he blew a cloud of smoke through the window, which he had enough courtesy to open beforehand, his legs swinging back and forth idly from his spot atop the counter. Eh--he should probably step out soon. Scrape up what he could about the area, whatever dirt he could compile, and hopefully convince Dex that staying here for much longer was... against their favor.
Heh, good luck with that, Queen C. Mount Cinnabon's fucking attached to his place tighter than a fresh gay's ass. Rolling his eyes, Carter snuffed out the cigarette before shouting out, "Cece hontyyyy! I'm heading out, don't miss me too bad~!" He hopped down and started heading for the exit, though he moved slowly in case Cecilio needed anything before he left.
Inventory
On person
P226 Sig Sauer (10/10 loaded)
Sylvie's Machete
Backpack
AR-15 (21 x 5.56 rounds, 1 mags)
1x Jug of Benzene Oil
Handful of Industrial Wipes
Strip of dirty cloth/fabric
Industrial Flashlight
Personality/Internal-wise
Fabulousness
Bittersweet memories
Undeniable (yet still denied) fondness for Evie & Hero
Beef with Dean
Walter's ghost plaguing his mind