What Separates Me From You //Mila//

[Garrett Brookefield]

Garrett Brookefield

Rain. Just a drizzle. Yet it made enough noise as it speckled Garrett Brookefield's window with crystalline droplets to awaken him from sleep. He yawned, and took the time to crack his knuckles before rubbing bleary eyes with his left hand. He stared for a moment at the ceiling above his bed. Cracks were beginning to show in the grayish white paint. He thought for a minute about calling a repairman, and then chuckled drily as he reminded himself that those weren’t exactly easy to come by these days.

Garrett shook his covers off and rolled out of bed. The floor felt cool through his socks as he walked across it to his bathroom. He splashed water of his face in an attempt to clear the last vestiges of sleep from his eyes. Running Water. He never thought such a thing would be a luxury. Then again, there were a lot of things he had taken for granted only two years ago. Two years. Two years ago and the world had finally stopped circling the drain and had emptied out. He leaned on the mirror and stared at himself. Piercing brown eyes stared back from his reflection, framed by dark circles. He briefly debated shaving his scruffy facial hair but decided against it. He returned to his bedroom and threw on a plain T-shirt and a pair of faded and torn blue jeans. Selecting a pair of black sneakers and a brown hat from his closet, he stretched, having nearly completed the monotonous part of his daily routine.

He strolled through his house to the rocking chair he kept in front of the window to the left of the door. Leaning on the chair was an acoustic guitar. Behind the chair was a small array of shelves containing several dozen bottles of various alcohols; tequila, vodka, you name it. Some were unopened and some had liquid missing. Garrett sold these bottles from his house. Or course, perhaps he couldn't compare to the bar a block away, but he sold his stuff much cheaper, and as long as the occasional person came around to buy, He could care less. He bent behind his shelf and retrieved a spiral-bound note-book. He jotted down some details about his observations the previous night, before returning the notebook to its hiding place.
He felt it was best to keep an eye on the more vocal and/or interesting people in Rustboro. People could be unpredictable and dangerous. For instance, there was a new nurse in town named Kyle. A woman named Kyle? Suspicious. And of course there was that minister floating around town. Eddie or Egbert or something like that. Highly suspicious.

Garrett shook his head and sat down on the chair and picked up the instrument, balancing it on his lap as he moved the blue curtains away and opened the window. Sunlight streamed through, lighting up the area around him. He decided it must be sometime in the afternoon. Not that it mattered. It wasn’t as if he had a schedule to keep. Although perhaps he should invest in a clock. He wondered how many people would stop by today before strumming the guitar on his lap. A tune came to mind as he strummed, and he began to play a song he recalled from memory. A song from some band that had probably died in the madness he thought morbidly. The morbid thought faded as the lyrics sprang to mind and he sang them in a low tone as he played. “Let's all think back on what brought us here, This is my grasp on what is real, don't tell me how I feel, with all that's passed I can't relate with myself from day to day ,why does everything seem so far away to me…" He continued playing but ceased to sing, feeling a slight pang of remembrance. This had been one of his Brother Jack’s favorite songs.

He sighed and switched to playing something else. It was best not to think too much about people who weren’t around anymore. “Of course,” he said to himself: “Trying not to think about something only makes you think about it more." He grabbed a bottle of rum form the shelf behind him and took a swig before putting it back. Rum was fine, but he really missed drinking lemonade. He rocked the chair back and continued playing as he stared out the window at the occasional passerby.

Word Count :743.

[Mila Mika Eppolito]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,padding-left:16px; padding-top:0px; padding-right:0px; padding-bottom:0px; background-image:url(http://i462.photobucket.com/albums/qq345/originalscenesta/black_.jpg) ] what separates me from you It's just the way that we're diseased It's the blade that stains us. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - It had only been a few days since Lucas had decided that it would be a good idea to steal her away from Mero, a fellow Raider, and head of a band of assassins. Coincidentally, a good friend and lover to Mila. Well, lover in the less than traditional sense. Their relationship was purely physical, paired with an ability to stand each other for more than five seconds. Surely, that meant a great deal in some peoples eyes. However, Mila knew what she wanted from him, and was determined to get whatever she pleased. Just as he was willing to provide that. Their relationship was amicable; equal. Unlike what she had to deal with with Lucas. Mila was not used to being treated as something less than an equal. She was superior to him, even if just in her deadliness alone. She was a killer; a temptress. Some had even called her a Succubus. But, it was foolish to believe in something like that. Succubi didn't exist. However, she considered it a compliment, and never really could bring herself to stop laughing when she heard that particular nickname in reference to herself. It was a shame that Lucas didn't seem to realize what kind of power she could hold over him. And that, above all else, was probably the reason that she had decided to take off that morning. There was nothing left for her to do on the rig, and her little Slave friend wasn't making a mess out of everything, the way that she kind of hoped she would. Boredom wrapped it's ugly gnarled fingers around her thoughts, reminding her constantly that there were things that she could be doing. She could still be in Hamburg, perched on top of a hill with Mero, blowing the heads off of approaching zombies. Or, she could be thrown back on his desk... That was always fun. But, Lucas seemed to want to make sure that she had no ability to see anyone that she wanted to. He had taken her right out of Hamburg, back into boring old Rustboro. A part of her, even though, admittedly, it was a very small part of her, wished that Dax was still available. If nothing else, he was good to share a drink or two with. Mila was getting stir crazy, and it was only a matter of time before she completely lost it and decided that it would be cute to pull a gun out on all of her traveling companions. Thus, why she opted to go for a walk around the village of Rustboro. Perhaps, she could find something to entertain herself with. Maybe, there was a group of people that she could make miserable for a bit, or a makeshift bar she could drink herself shitless in. Anything, at this point, was better than sitting on her ass on the rig waiting for Lucas to deem her worthy of his attention. And even then, it would just be because he needed her to do something. For those that had never seen Mila before, they might believe that she dressed a bit oddly. For a Raider, she dressed rather well. For starters, her outfit was matching. Secondly, the tears that were in her clothing, were either primarily for fashion, or so small that one wouldn't even notice them unless they were looking for any flaw that they could find. If it wasn't the clothes that caught the attention of those passing by, her heels would. Mila had an affinity toward tall boots; regardless of where she was, or what else she was wearing, she could never bring herself away from the precariously tall heels. It served as a reminder of the life that she once led; a life that she didn't wish to forget. As she walked, she happened to hear a song that sounded familiar to her. A Day To Remember... she smirked. It was strange to hear the forte, quick tempo melody played out on an acoustic guitar... But, it wasn't displeasing. The voice that sang out over the heavy chords was clean and clear; a nice change of pace from the monotony of hushed voices, and merchants crying out to sell their wares. Needless to say, Mila was intrigued. She walked toward the voice, and noticed that the man playing was... Quite a looker. A smile came to her lips as she rested her hands on her hips. She watched from a distance, enjoying the show. As much as she hated to admit it, she was a little upset that he stopped playing. She started the slow walk over to the porch, before hearing him mutter about remembering things when trying to forget them. "So you intend to drink away the thoughts that you don't wish to have?" she smirked, folding her arms over her chest, gesturing toward the bottle of rum with her eyes. "If that's the case, than get me a drink. And maybe I'll forget that you were just playing one of my favorite songs." TAGGING, GARRET THE ENIGMA. 680. OUTFIT.

[Garrett Brookefield]

Garret Brookefield

Garret stopped playing the guitar and closed his eyes. The heat was starting to him drowsy. "So you intend to drink away the thoughts that you don't wish to have?" He eyes shot open and he started at the sound of a voice. His gaze fell upon a pair of heeled boots that belonged to a vivaciously dressed woman who was standing on his porch. “How long has she been standing there?” he wondered. That was his problem. He starts to focus on one thing and he would always forget to pay attention to his surroundings. She was a redhead with ivory skin. Joshua had always been partial to redheads. He thought absently. She was a striking figure of a woman, with long legs clad in tight leather pants. Garret’s gaze drifted upwards to see her corset type vest. She smiled at him mischievously and gestured at the bottle of rum. "If that's the case, than get me a drink. And maybe I'll forget that you were just playing one of my favorite songs." “How about that? “He thought. “If I didn’t know better I’d think she was attempting to flirt with me.” He looked her in the face. She was beautiful for certain, with a curvaceous frame. But her eyes were hard. Hard like chipped stone. He decided she must be a raider. A well-dressed raider it would seem, but a raider nonetheless.

That was fine by him; Raiders were predictable. It was predictable that a raider would be unpredictable, thereby leaving Garrett with a conundrum. What should he say? He rarely talked to people these days, and more often than not it was simply to recommend a bottle. He knew he was probably fooling himself, but she seemed interested. "You’re the f-first person to comment on the music in nearly a month.” “Wonderful. I stuttered.” He cleared his throat and left his seat to lean halfway out the window. “A drink? Of what kind miss? I have tequila, rum, and vodka. There’s a bottle of Dos Equis back here somewhere as well. “ “Shop talk. Way to make a first impression Garret.” He thought, mentally beating himself up. She was a vixen. The kind he hadn’t seen in a long time. His pants felt tighter. Deciding to take his mind off of that line of thinking, he grimaced and hurriedly found another topic to speak about. “You, uh like that song?”



Word Count: 403.

[Mila Mika Eppolito]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,padding-left:16px; padding-top:0px; padding-right:0px; padding-bottom:0px; background-image:url(http://i462.photobucket.com/albums/qq345/originalscenesta/black_.jpg) ] what separates me from you It's just the way that we're diseased It's the blade that stains us. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - A small smirk curled at the corner of her lips when she heard him stutter. Either, he had a speech impediment... Or she was so beautiful that he found that he was tripping over his own tongue in attempts to speak with her. She would prefer to believe the latter. After all, she hadn't had her daily ego boost. She pursed her lips a bit and listened as he spoke. He explained that there were several bottles for her to choose from. Mila, being Russian, was partial to Vodka, although, she had gotten rather picky over the years. Grey Goose was not for her. Svedka was the only way to go. And then, of course, there was her Rum fetish. She was quite partial to Captain Morgan, if only for how smooth it was. "I'm not really a Dos Equis, kind of girl. I like heavier beers." she informed him. "Guinness, perhaps? I'll even settle for a lager." She sauntered up to him, the smirk never leaving her lips. "But, I am a Vodka girl. I'm biased however, so I might be a bit picky. Rum... Well, now you're talking my language." she said, leaning against the chair in which he was sitting in, smiling seductively down at him. If there was one thing that Mila was good at, it was playing mind games. And now that this man had made it incredibly clear that he was interested in her, she found that now was the perfect time to initiate a little game of cat and mouse. It was nice to see a fresh face; someone that she had never seen before, yet was intrigued by. It seemed as though she had burned through all of the interesting survivors in Rustboro. Apparently, she was wrong, and she wasn't looking hard enough for someone to warm her bed. You, uh like that song? She smirked and nodded. She didn't have much of a singing voice. It was at least pleasant... A low alto that was more suited for humming than it was for belting out a song that he was, just moments ago. "There's no turning back from here, I've got to get away from everyone who's left, everyone who's left. I'll tell the saddest story of how we made it through this past year..." She closed her eyes as she sang under her breath, reliving the song in her memory. It was one of her favorites, if not her favorite. TAGGING, GARRET THE ENIGMA. 410. OUTFIT.

[Garrett Brookefield]

Garrett Brookefield

"I'm not really a Dos Equis, kind of girl. I like heavier beers” She Smirked. "Guinness, perhaps? I'll even settle for a lager." She sauntered up to the window. " She mentioned that she primarily drank vodka, but rum was more her flavor. She nodded and began to sing under her breath, continuing the song where he had left off. "There's no turning back from here, I've got to get away from everyone who's left, everyone who's left. I'll tell the saddest story of how we made it through this past year… Well.. that was certainly unexpected. She leaned up against him and he fell back into the chair. The woman was now leaning in his window and smiling at him. As she leaned forward, through his window, Garret’s sight caught the top of her chest, which seemed to be struggling against the halter top. Or maybe it was just his imagination. He looked back to her eyes and gave a wry smile. "Well, there’s a bottle or two of Smirnoff Ice back here." He said gesturing behind him. "Or perhaps you’d like some of the Captain Morgan I was drinking? “Pull yourself together Garrett. She’s probably just looking for a discount on your alcohol.”

He reached behind him and grabbed the Smirnoff and the Captain Morgan. “Do you want the whole bottle, or shall I pour you a glass? It costs less.” He gaze was drawn to her chest again, and he coughed awkwardly. His jeans were feeling tight again. “You know, Miss, I don’t think I’ve seen you around town before. The Name is Garrett. Garrett Brookefield. I’m a, uh, Bartender of sorts. “ Way to point out the obvious Garrett.’ Her leaning through the window was becoming increasingly distracting, and he began to toy with the idea of asking her to come inside. Of course, he knew nothing about this woman. She could lie to him. Or she could tell the truth, expecting him to assume she was lying when in reality she was being blunt. Which could lead to a knife between his ribs. Then again, it wasn't as if he had anything worth stealing. He right leg began to bounce up and down, something that always happened when he was nervous.
He smiled at her and waited to see what she would do. One could never tell with raiders.

Word Count : 351

[Mila Mika Eppolito]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,padding-left:16px; padding-top:0px; padding-right:0px; padding-bottom:0px; background-image:url(http://i462.photobucket.com/albums/qq345/originalscenesta/black_.jpg) ] what separates me from you It's just the way that we're diseased It's the blade that stains us. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Her eyes scanned over him as he sat in his window. Perhaps, she should have felt odd about looking in on him. Truth be told, she didn't. He was continuing the conversation as though nothing was wrong with her essentially playing the part of the creeper; why shouldn't she? It seemed as though he had quite the arsenal of alcohol beverages back there. It figures that he would, considering that it seemed as though he was some sort of bartender. It was funny how, when the end of the world came, no one really chose their priorities. They all did the same frivolous things the did before the apocalypse. Such as, drinking themselves stupid. Biting her lip, she trailed her fingers over the frame of the window, wondering what it was that she should get. Smirnoff Ice never really tickled her fancy. She wanted something that burned on the way down; snot something that bubbled. "I believe, I'll take the Vodka." she said, a smirk on her lips. When he asked about what she wanted, whether it be the bottle, or just a glass. Then, he commented that it would be cheaper for her just to have a drink. As if cost was really a concern at this moment. "How about I have a glass, and you have a glass." she smirked. "No one likes drinking alone." she mused, as she ducked her head lower to get a better look at him. He was handsome in an odd way; he wasn't traditionally good looking, but then again, neither was she. "But, Morgan's does sound good if you don't feel like parting with your Vodka." she smirked once again. Captain Morgan's was, quite possibly her favorite rum. It also depended on what he had available. Tattoo, for example, was something that she could finish off a whole jug of, by herself. And not even think twice, or regret the drunken stupor that she would inevitably find herself in. When he inquired as to whether or not he had seen her around before, she shrugged. "I'm around these parts quite a bit, actually. But, generally not for long. I tend to come here, sell my shit, and get out." she wouldn't mention that she traveled with Lucas North; the prick that seemingly everyone knew the name of. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Garret." she said, a slightly flirtatious smile coming easily to her lips. "I'm Mila. Mila Eppolito." she said, offering her hand to him. "Are you gonna come out, or invite me in?" TAGGING, GARRET THE ENIGMA. 423. OUTFIT.

[Garrett Brookefield]

Garrett Brookefield

This raider woman continued to follow the pattern of predictable unpredictableness that Garrett expected of raiders. She ordered the vodka and stated that drinking alone was never a good idea. Offering to share the bottle with him. She then mentioned that rum was a much better idea. When he asked if she was new in town, she replied that she floated in and out off town quickly, preferring to get business done before beating a hasty exit. He shook her hand as she introduced herself as Mila Eppolito. Mila. That's a nice name. She then questioned whether or not he was going to let her in. Well. That was something he expected one of those secretive old bloods to say. Was he wrong in thinking she was a raider? Unless he was simply over thinking this whole business and he actually stood a chance with her. Decisions, Decisions. Perhaps it was something about her smile, or the way the sunlight made her hair shine. Perhaps it was her bold attitude. Or maybe it was just the simple fact that Garrett was tired of being alone. Whatever the case, he stood up and unlocked the door before opening it, ] "That sounds like an idea. Mila. Please come inside, it's been awhile since I've had any company over."

He left the door open, thinking that such a bold woman as this Mila would enter and shut the door. He glanced around briefly, glad that his daily routine did not leave much time to make a mess. "I'm sure you can find a seat Mila." he spoke. Garrett made his way to the kitchen and fetched two champagne glasses and filled them with rum. He returned to his living room and offerred her a glass. "Please, make yourself comfortable." In his mind, Garrett's thoughts were battling each other for importance. He was slightly angry with himself for letting this woman into his house. He knew nearly nothing of her. just what did he think he was doing? Was he intent of self-destruction? More often than not strangers were dangerous. Unless he was the dangerous stranger in this scenario. But he highly doubted that.


Word Count : 370

[Mila Mika Eppolito]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,padding-left:16px; padding-top:0px; padding-right:0px; padding-bottom:0px; background-image:url(http://i462.photobucket.com/albums/qq345/originalscenesta/black_.jpg) ] what separates me from you It's just the way that we're diseased It's the blade that stains us. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Mila was accustomed to people being skeptical of her, to say the least. After all, she wasn't in the most honorable of professions. Not to mention, she had a reputation already. Anyone that knew anything about the Raiders knew Lucas North and Mila Eppolito. They were a dynamic duo; some of the hardest, and meanest groups out there. Well, Lucas. Mila was known as a foul temptress, a woman that would sleep her way to the top and then slit a man's throat while he was relaxed in the bed, enjoying the evening of insurmountable pleasure that he clearly would have had. While Mila had never actually done such a thing, she was pleased that such sentiments were attached to her name. At least, that made her more feared than an object of resentment. Her curves probably had a lot to do with that. In fact, she was sure of it. While she had no possible way of knowing what was going through Garrett's head, she knew that he had, more than likely had a similar series of thoughts. Perhaps, not with her name; not with the stories of the things that she had done before. But, thoughts of not being to trust her. In all honesty, if such thoughts hadn't occurred to him, she'd find that she was incredibly disappointed. A man that pretty should at least have some common sense. As the door opened, and he stepped inside to allow her in, she gave him a small smile. She stepped inside, closing the door behind her. Her eyes roamed over the walls; the furniture. She was drinking in her environment. It had been quite some time that she came into a place like this without Lucas attached to her hip, and less than honorable intentions in her head. For the moment, all she wanted was a drink, and perhaps to hear this man since once more. "Any particular reason?" she asked, as she folded her arms over her chest. She watched his retreating back, as he stalked off to inevitably get them something to drink. Mila's eyebrow shot up when he told her to find a seat, but she kept her thoughts hidden from her features. It would be made clear, soon enough what was going through her head. More than likely, immediately after he came back with their drinks. But, she sat down, and folded her legs neatly, one over the other, waiting for Garrett's return. When he came back with two champagne flutes, she found herself smirking. Laughing lightly, she took the glass from his hand, taking notice of whether there was one in specific that he had his eye on. "Do you mind?" she asked, holding hers up, and holding her other hand out for his. "You see... with a reputation such as the one that I have, you can never be too careful. Especially, if you didn't watch someone pour your drink." On more than one occasion, people had tried to drug her, poison her... Maim her, kill her. The list went on and on really. And just because this man had the voice of an angel, a similar taste in music, and apparently a sizable liquor collection and showed no real recognition of her name when she introduced herself didn't mean that there couldn't be something underfoot. "No offense meant, of course. But I've chosen a hard life, and those little lies and nuances are what could make or break me. I hope you understand." she purred, her eyes resting on his glass before she looked up at him, an almost innocent expression on her face. TAGGING, GARRET THE ENIGMA. 603. OUTFIT.

[Garrett Brookefield]

Garret Brookefield


When Mila inquired if there was any particular reason that he hadn't had company in a while, Garrett was at a loss for words. How to answer that? The truth of the matter was that since taking up residence in Rustboro, he had become increasingly antisocial. Rustboro was the kind of place where if you left people alone, they left you alone. Of course, even though Garrett rarely interacted with the other residents, that didn't stop him from spying on his neighbors, and any persons of interest. He would have to make an entry in his notebook for Mila after she left. As she had asked that question as he was walking to the kitchen, he decided it was best if he pretended that he hadn't heard that question. It was not an easy one to answer.

Upon entering the living room, he found Mila sitting cross-legged in a chair. She chuckled as she took a glass, and then commented that as a result of her chosen path, one could never be too careful about drinks that were not poured in your presence. Garrett raised an eyebrow at that remark. Was she insinuating that he would attempt to poison her? Perhaps she wasn't as dangerous as he had initially thought. Either that, or he had underestimated her. He found that remark somewhat uplifting to be honest. He thought it a good mark of character to be naturally suspicious of people these days.

He took the seat opposite from her and shrugged. "Well, you could always take your chances miss Mila. Or.." He took the glass from her hand and threw the rum down his throat. "As I said. I haven't had a guest in a while. I'd prefer not to kill the only company I've had in several months." He poured more rum into her glass and handed it back to her, before clinking his glass with hers.He decided to take a chance and voiced his thoughts. "So, Mila. Tell me about yourself. Selling your scavenged items can't be the only reason a raider would come to town."


Word Count: 350.

[Mila Mika Eppolito]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,padding-left:16px; padding-top:0px; padding-right:0px; padding-bottom:0px; background-image:url(http://i462.photobucket.com/albums/qq345/originalscenesta/black_.jpg) ] what separates me from you It's just the way that we're diseased It's the blade that stains us. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Mila was about to counter with something a touch scathing when he took the drink from her hands and downed it. He then filled it once more. A sly smirk came to her lips as she peered up at him. "Thank you." she said, raising her glass up in a silent toast to the man. Most would take offense to the fact that she had essentially asked for a refill. But, one could never be too cautious. Those that would be insulted, however, were probably the same people that would have tried to poison her drink. While she enjoyed living her life dangerously, she was in no rush to take a dirt nap. Licking her full lips, she swung one leg over the other, before leaning back in her chair. Her eyes never strayed away from her companion for very long. "I can't say that I would make good company if I were dead. I'd talk even less then." she smiled, taking a sip of her drink. Rum. Oh, how she had missed it. There was something so relaxing about the simple fact that she was able to curl up with a drink, and what seemed to be good company. "It can't?" she asked, the smirk still lingering on her lips. "I'm afraid the only reason I do come to Rustboro, or any town for that matter is to sell my wares... If not... To visit a few old friends." she chuckled a bit to herself, as she looked up at him. "I don't speak on myself. That's a story that I don't do." With a sigh, she tilted her head to the side, her finger tips absently moving over the side of her neck. "But what about you? You seem the type of have a few stories of your own." she said, pointedly staring at the tattoos that were readily available. "Tell me, Garret... Have you ever heard of Quid Pro Quo?" TAGGING, GARRET THE ENIGMA. 323. OUTFIT.

[Garrett Brookefield]

Garret Brookefield

Something about the way she said she came to visit old friends made Garret's neck crawl. It sounded like he might have less neighbors after she left. It was too easy to make enemies int his brave new world. Especially when people were so ready to assume everyone was out to get them. Mila's reaction to the rum at first had been a good indicatior of the state of things. Mila understood that more often than not a person's intentions did not match what they claimed. Garrett laughed Inwardly. He too suspected that people were more unscrupulous than they appeared to be. To be able to trust someone seemed a rare thing these days. it was much easier to trust that they were planning to stab you in the back. But at least his irrational thoughts were the product of careful observation and not baseless paranoia.

Right?

Mila declined to talk about any other reasons and made it clear she wasn't going to talk about herself. She tilted her head and stroked at her neck. She stared at the tattooes on his arms and asked a question.. "Tell me, Garret... Have you ever heard of Quid Pro Quo?"He sipped at his rum and looked at her, before he leaned back in his chair. "I'm going to assume that you mean that since you shared something about yourself, I must do the same?" The way she looked at him gave him the answer. "Well. I suppose it's only fair." He drank more of his liqour. "I moved into this building a few weeks ago. For the past couple of months I'd been traveling by car." He smiled wryly. "It's a good thing there are precious few vechiles around these days. I can't drive worth a darn. I'm lucky I didn't kill myself." He waved a hand. "None of the other settlements I visisted were anywhere as well protected as this one. And since I was almost out of gas, I wound up staying here, and applied for a house. And I picked a good one. The previous owner stocked the basement with all kinds of drink." "There's even a wine celler. Not that the residents of this town need know.He paused and sloshed the rum around in the glass." And that's how I managed to be here talking to you. However, I'm sure you were asking about the meanings behind my tattoos. So you must be asking yourslef, why did he tell me this bit of recent history instead of what I indicated?" He sipped again, and stared at her over the rim of the glass. "Quid Pro Quo Mila. Quid Pro Quo."


Word Count: 443

[Mila Mika Eppolito]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,padding-left:16px; padding-top:0px; padding-right:0px; padding-bottom:0px; background-image:url(http://i462.photobucket.com/albums/qq345/originalscenesta/black_.jpg) ] what separates me from you It's just the way that we're diseased It's the blade that stains us. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Mila, all things said, was actually quite entertained by this man. He had taken the term Quid Pro Quo literally... Which, was all fine and well. It was better this way, now that she thought on it. Normally, the only time she played Quid Pro Quo was when she was getting ready to destroy a man, or a woman. And, well... She was actually quite fond of Garret. For the time being at least. Traditionally, she played it in a more direct way. She would ask a question, and he would answer, then ask a question of his own. This free exchange of information, however, could be more potent, depending on the situation. A smirk curled at the corner of her lips as she looked up at Garret. There was a rather unreadable look on her face as she pursed her lips. "No, actually." she smirked, keeping her eyes locked on his. A sign of truth, at least, in Mila's eyes, was a never wavering gaze while looking up at someone. It was almost like the way that one would maintain eye contact with a dog. The first to look away was the first to lose dominance. "I wasn't thinking that." she said, taking a sip of her rum, her tongue lingering on the corner of her lips as she thought about what to say next. "We all have stories that we don't wish to tell," she mused, leaning forward ever so slightly, to rest her elbow on her knee. "And this is clearly one of them." She swirled the contents of her glass around, a slight dimple forming in her cheek as her smirk gave wake to a legitimate smile. "However, the way that I play this game is... a bit more direct." she sighed, leaning back as she let her gaze move over the walls of his home. A part of Mila wondered if he was going to ask about the 'friends' that she had mentioned earlier. If he were to ask, she wouldn't mind revealing that she took lovers, men and women alike, when she felt the need for it. Friends was the best way she knew how to describe their relationship. TAGGING, GARRET THE ENIGMA. 365. OUTFIT.

[Garrett Brookefield]

Garrett Brookefield

Confound it all, but he was starting to like this woman. What was the word for it? Coy. Yes. that was it. It was a game of deception by omission that she was playing. A game Garrett could recognize but not truly participate in. "Very interesting. You have shared with me that you like to play games. I am assuming you do not mean of the card or board variety? He shifted in his seat. "Since you've been so kind as to share this small piece of your personality, I will extend the hand of my past graciously and explain one of these markings." He pointed to the tattoo of the bird in flight. The name Jack was etched under it. "Jack was my brother, and the lead singer in our band. He shot himself in the head about a year ago." Garrett shook his head morosely. "He was bitten by one of those... things while trying to save a dog. A dog of all things."
Garrett poured himself more rum. "He always had a soft spot for animals. I begged him not to do it, but when he made his mind up about something. Well. "


Garrett cracked his knuckles. he wasn't sure why he had told her this, but it seemed appropriate. that or perhaps the rum was loosening his tongue. Without a past he was just another face in the crowd. "Ah heck. In for a penny, In for a pound."He pointed to the rose on his other arm. "Rose was our guitarist, and Jack's girl. She died of starvation. She was a vegetarian you see. And once everyone found out that plants turned people into well, zombies, she had nothing to eat but water." He gestured to the kitchen. "My diet these days consists mainly of canned soups and spam. Highly processed. The healthiest stuff these days." He gestured to the Indian chieftain of his upper arm. "This one is for Joseph Tall-tree. He was a Navajo, a drummer, and the glue that held our band together. He had a hole blown in his chest by a scared idiot with a shotgun."It was truly disheartening to dredge up event like these to the present.He cleared his throat, not wanting to display the emotions he was feeling. Thinking it was time to change the subject before he wound up telling his whole history to this woman, He stared at her, and queried. "You said you had come to visit old friends? Did you used to live here? Or does this town just attract those who are trying to escape their pasts?" [/size]

Word Count : 418

[Mila Mika Eppolito]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,padding-left:16px; padding-top:0px; padding-right:0px; padding-bottom:0px; background-image:url(http://i462.photobucket.com/albums/qq345/originalscenesta/black_.jpg) ] what separates me from you It's just the way that we're diseased It's the blade that stains us. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - "What ever gave you that idea?" she smirked, pushing her fingers through her long red hair. She chuckled, mostly to herself and leaned back in the chair. Mila was the type of woman that wasn't content unless there was a riddle to solve, or some head to mess with. Games were her forte. And part of the reason that she was still alive. A man was weak in many places. But most didn't have the capacity to keep up with her in any capacity. Mental games were just... Her little version of cat and mouse. "I'm glad you caught on. Faster than most. Most just believe I'm enigmatic and evasive." She said, a small flirtatious smirk on her lips. Mila watched intently as Garret started gesturing to his various tattoos. The first that she had noticed, admittedly was the sparrow... It was for his brother. It was a tragic story. But, one that she might have found amusing, if she wasn't standing in front of the man who had lost him. A Raider didn't get to where they were by being sensitive. Then, there was another tattoo commemorating someone who was essentially like a sister to him. And then... A drummer, a friend. Mila bit her lip and nodded. "I've lost no one to this." she admitted, keeping her eyes locked on his. "Attachment to someone or something makes you human. And being human makes you weak." she said, looking down at her drink before taking a healthy swig. "The less ammunition someone has against you, the better." she answered. It was a very candid response from her. Quite possibly the only genuine thing she had said in years. Save for the time that she was up front and honest with Lucas about everything that had happened to her... And there it was. It was like a vice grip on her heart. If you don't want people to use your past against you, don't tell them! She swallowed and looked into her drink, taking another healthy swig. The burning sensation sliding down her throat put her a bit at ease as Garret asked her about her 'old friends.' A smirk came to her lips as she looked up at him. "Well, old indulgences die hard." she admitted. "And I have... a weakness for like minded men and women. It gets lonely on the road... If you know what I mean." she said, smiling flirtatiously at him. TAGGING, GARRET THE ENIGMA. 406. OUTFIT.

[Garrett Brookefield]

"I've caught on? Then she does this often." he mused. She was definitely a playful person. Playful and deadly. There was a simile in there somewhere, but Garrett couldn't think of it. Mila had watched him intently when he told her about the meanings behind his body art. And yet, there was something in her eyes that looked like disdain. His suspicion was confirmed when she gave him a spiel that attachments made one human, and that being human was being weak. He could tell that this line of thinking made her somewhat uncomfortable, but he decided to press on.

What she had said was a typical Lone wolf speech about relying on oneself. She then remarked about her partners. And that she was always looking for them. He turned his head to one side and blinked. "I don't believe that. Attachments are not a sign of weakness, but of strength. It shows that you have the willpower to care for someone even though they might fail you. If there's one thing I learned from my short time on the tour circuit, It's that while people may forget what you've said, or what you've done, they don't forget how you made them feel. And as for that last remark you made, I don't believe I've had enough rum to allow that kind of talk. "He cracked his neck and poured her some more rum. Before giving her a serious look. While what he was sure was an offer was sorely tempting, he was now more intrigued by her state of mind then her body. At least for the moment. "You can't tell me that you have never cared for someone. You exist. You must have had a family. Or a lover you cared for. A friend, a co-worker, a pet? You can't have made it this far on hate alone."


Word Count :275