just take the damn photo ;; drake

[gareth nash brace]

After suffering from lack of sleep for five days, Gareth was finally up and about again. And by up and about, he meant that it was a weekend; the perfect time to take some pictures. To anyone else, that may have seemed suspiciously like homework, seeing as a photography student was the one taking the pictures, but it was what came most naturally for him. His camera had always been there for him, through the disguised family shit and everything else. Sure, it may have been considered a bit old these days... but that was why he had another one for school. This old piece of junk was simply his weekend camera, and it still took nice pictures, so why would he get rid of it? Of course he wouldn't; Gareth was oddly sentimental like that. Patting the bulky picture-taker comfortingly, the twenty year old hummed to himself, completely out of key. This is why he had never been interested in music; he could just never pull it off. It always came out sounding like a wheezing dog, even if he was playing an instrument. Photography was much safer for him, only requiring steady hands and a knowledge of what made a good photo. The steady hand part of the equation was good training for skittish Gareth, too.

Montmatre was a pretty place, no one could deny that. Sure, it had a lot of dark alleys and people had been beheaded on top of it, but... it was still nice to take pictures of. Gareth tilted the camera up slightly, aiming for the top of the hill and waiting for the cars to stop rushing past the lens. Once all was clear, it was a simple movement of his finger to produce a photo, and then a whole lot of waiting while the camera itself spat out the white square and the photo appeared. Yes, it really was an old camera, but the student was patient enough that he could wait a few short minutes to see the result. The waiting paid off this time; the picture was great, the lighting hit the hill in just the right way. He'd have to stick this to his fridge or something. He certainly couldn't send it to his family, but he didn't think about that much anymore. He had things like school to deal with, after all; when did he have the time to worry about the family that he had left behind? Gareth took a few more photos before turning back to the street, planning on getting something to eat in a nearby café.

It didn't really work out that way, however. Sometimes Gareth could compare himself to that dog from whatever movie (squirrel?), he was just so easily distracted. He wasn't as... hyperactive as the Disney character, but his plans often veered horribly off course, for the better or the worse. Now was one of those times, and, of course, his camera played into it. Well, not the camera itself, but... oh, he should just stop rambling and get to the point. A little brown bag was sitting across the street, like someone had lost their lunch or something along those lines. But it just look so perfect, folded at the top the exact same way as those lunch bag cliparts. Who was he to deny his camera a perfect picture? This was even better than his shots of the hill; the bag was just so photogenic. Leaning against a wall, Gareth brought the hideously old camera up to his eye again, focusing on the brown bag. Sure, maybe he could be a little obsessive over his art at times, but wasn't every great artist? He managed to get about five good shots of the lunch bag before he felt something (or someone?) slam straight into his side. Ouch?

[drake andrew sailers]

I'll tear you down, I'll make you bleed eternally
Can't help myself from hurting you when it's hurting me

____I don't have wings so flying with me won't be easy____

Black Nikes moved down the sidewalk in an unnatural rhythm. Hands jammed in his coat pockets, shades hiding his bloodshot eyes, head down. The drug dealer had been in France no longer than a year and already he wished for nothing like he did to blow it off the f*cking globe. Set fire to Paris first though, watch all the artsy students and prostitutes run like the worthless heaps of decaying matter that they were. Perhaps killing half of them would be satisfactory; I mean, how many thousands of people could you murder before all the blood and the screaming began to look the same? If so, he'd let what was left of them watch as he set himself on fire. Broadcast it all over the world...especially Chicago, Illinois.

No...scratch that.

Drake frowned, staring at the ground as it passed him by about a foot ahead of his toes. He needed some pussy. And some...stitches. He rolled his shoulder, the bandage tugging at his wound felt oddly nice. His mind tried to venture back to that night but he immediately halted its progression. Drake's depression was deleterious enough as it were. He'd managed to rake those coals out of it's flame quickly enough to keep it from feeding it much. It cost him the skin on his hands...And he certainly wasn't going to allow them to fall back in now. So...pussy....yes....he needed to find him a nice, pampered house cat somewhere nearby. There was a cafe down the street that had served as a honeyhole for him before. Perhaps he'd go fishing.

No sooner did he finish the thought did he nearly find himself face diving into the concrete. He stumbled, catching himself with a palm to the wall. "What the hell is this? A picnic plaza? People walk here, get off the fucking sidewalk with your scrap toaster shit." Or whatever it was the parked cadillac ass was holding. Drake was a bit harsh at times...all the time...But even he wouldn't have snapped so bad over simply bumping into someone (his fault, even), had it not been for his leg. It was cantankerous enough without help. And a spike of pain shot up his spine as a result of the collision. Had he actually fallen down he would've been tempted to reach for his 45.

'cause I'm not an angel

[gareth nash brace]

The collision hadn’t been too painful or upsetting for Gareth, but judging on what was being yelled, the person that had ran into him wasn’t very happy at the moment. Some part of his mind was saying that they were being stupid, shouldn’t they have been paying more attention to where they were walking? Even if Gareth hadn’t been standing there, they might have ran into a wall or something. Luckily, the main part of his mind was saying that he could have hurt someone, and that he should apologize as soon as he caught his breath. ”N-no… sorry,” he mumbled, checking to make sure that his old Polaroid camera was still attached to the strap around his neck. He wouldn’t want it to break; that would be hell on earth, and probably give him a reason to blow up on whoever had tripped over him. But it seemed to be fine, so no harm was done. To Gareth, at least.

”Are you okay?” he asked quietly, watching Drake. ”I know I shouldn’t have been standing in the middle of the sidewalk… but there was this really great photo opportunity and… well…” Why was he rambling like this? Did he just feel guilty and therefore have a need to explain himself? That was probably it, because Gareth would never talk this much otherwise. Sighing softly, he looked over at Drake again. ”Do you need help…?” Standing up, needing a conversation, whatever. Gareth just felt horrible about tripping the guy, and he looked pretty beat up too, though… Gareth didn’t see how just tripping could make someone look that way. But he simply didn’t like hurting people, even if it was accidental, and even if he hadn’t caused it, he still liked helping people that were hurt.

notes forgive my failmuse. it's short, i know!