Nick "Nicodemus" Dalton (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
nick_garou) wrote2012-02-26 10:32 pm
nick_garou) wrote2012-02-26 10:32 pm
Saturday
Saturday morning, while picking up the emergency supplies (rations, toiletries, a 5-gal bucket crapper, bottled water--enough for 2 weeks), as I was leaving a camping store, I spotted a sparkly new Mercedes SLR--pink!!!--pulled to the side of the road with hazards on. I dumped the supplies in my car and then went over to take a couple pictures of this automotive abomination. There was a teenager boy inside, shaved head, who got antsy when he saw me with my cell phone out. I switched it to video as he opened the door and..... Well, the video clip is interesting. I shared it with Val, and I'm half tempted to make a fake Youtube account and upload this video.
=== START VIDEO===
[Aqil] mutters something to whoever else was occupying the [pink Mercedes SLR], then shoves the door open and steps out into the street, oblivious to traffic, and apparently the weather. "Fuck, man! If I see myself on Youtube or plastered across your fucking Facebook page, I'm going to hunt your lame ass down and beat the shit out of you!" The sandal clad, shorts wearing boy shouts, much too loud for polite company and far too irate for something so small.
Athletic without having the outrageous build of someone who works out religiously, this teenager, none the less, possesses some quality about him that is not easily ignored, despite his average height. The lack of hair on his head exaggerates the discrepancy between his refined features and the row of earrings marching down the outer lobe of his right ear. A short, well groomed beard conceals his jaw, with the hair above his thin lips shaved off. The dark brown eyes set on either side of his aquiline nose watch the world with all the arrogance, or perhaps confidence, of a prince surveying his subjects.
That same clash that exists between his noble features and the junk marring his ears is found in his clothing. He appears to have reached over the side of his bed with his eyes still shut and thrown on the first thing his hands could reach. An indigo turtleneck with an obscene amount of wrinkles clashes with the bright red surfer shorts, that smell like they were fished from the dirty laundry, and Reef sandals on his lower half.
The colorful mouth of some mythical beast on peeks out from his left sleeve, the fangs reaching just past the back of his wrist.
Hand held out to try and block his face, the bald headed teenager advances on the [camera's holder], spewing curses and threats all the way. The driver's door suddenly snaps open. An older man in slacks and a blazer, greying slightly about the temples, emerges and leans on the roof of the car with a pain expression on his cleanly shaven face. "Haytham, please get back in the car," he says in such respectful tones one might think he was talking to his elder and not some boy forty years his junior. An embarrassed smile is flashed at [the camera's holder]. "I apologize. He's just at that age, you know..."
=== END VIDEO ===
The kid backed down after I told him "You should get back into the car" and backed that suggestion with a Jedi mind trick. It. Fucking. Worked. How cool is that shit? Seriously. I was starting to think he was about to assault me, on the sidewalk, right there in public. And for what? The kid has issues. Probably a spoiled rotten little rich kid whose parents ignored him and his behavioral problems. Sheesh. Scraping the bottom of the gene pool with that one. How he grows out of it: doubt it.
On a whim, on my last supply run that morning, I popped by The Underground to pick up some used CDs. Old school, I know; but cheaper than buying off iTunes. Plus it gave me some tunes to listen to while unloading and stockpiling. Met a young teen, Kay, in there, who I gave a brief playlist of good 80s pop-punk to. She's starting up a band and didn't seem to know who The Smashing Pumpkins or The Clash were! Wow. I am fucking old. Brought back memories of when I used to play bass guitar locally in a couple bands as a back-up. I haven't touched an instrument in about a decade. I wonder if the guitar is still in my old attic room at my dad's place?
Spent the afternoon studying one of Peter's tomes on Forces and then playing with the R/C car in the Sanctum. I quit when I tried to stop the car, by transmuting kinetic energy into heat, and accidentally set it on fire.
=== START VIDEO===
[Aqil] mutters something to whoever else was occupying the [pink Mercedes SLR], then shoves the door open and steps out into the street, oblivious to traffic, and apparently the weather. "Fuck, man! If I see myself on Youtube or plastered across your fucking Facebook page, I'm going to hunt your lame ass down and beat the shit out of you!" The sandal clad, shorts wearing boy shouts, much too loud for polite company and far too irate for something so small.
Athletic without having the outrageous build of someone who works out religiously, this teenager, none the less, possesses some quality about him that is not easily ignored, despite his average height. The lack of hair on his head exaggerates the discrepancy between his refined features and the row of earrings marching down the outer lobe of his right ear. A short, well groomed beard conceals his jaw, with the hair above his thin lips shaved off. The dark brown eyes set on either side of his aquiline nose watch the world with all the arrogance, or perhaps confidence, of a prince surveying his subjects.
That same clash that exists between his noble features and the junk marring his ears is found in his clothing. He appears to have reached over the side of his bed with his eyes still shut and thrown on the first thing his hands could reach. An indigo turtleneck with an obscene amount of wrinkles clashes with the bright red surfer shorts, that smell like they were fished from the dirty laundry, and Reef sandals on his lower half.
The colorful mouth of some mythical beast on peeks out from his left sleeve, the fangs reaching just past the back of his wrist.
Hand held out to try and block his face, the bald headed teenager advances on the [camera's holder], spewing curses and threats all the way. The driver's door suddenly snaps open. An older man in slacks and a blazer, greying slightly about the temples, emerges and leans on the roof of the car with a pain expression on his cleanly shaven face. "Haytham, please get back in the car," he says in such respectful tones one might think he was talking to his elder and not some boy forty years his junior. An embarrassed smile is flashed at [the camera's holder]. "I apologize. He's just at that age, you know..."
=== END VIDEO ===
The kid backed down after I told him "You should get back into the car" and backed that suggestion with a Jedi mind trick. It. Fucking. Worked. How cool is that shit? Seriously. I was starting to think he was about to assault me, on the sidewalk, right there in public. And for what? The kid has issues. Probably a spoiled rotten little rich kid whose parents ignored him and his behavioral problems. Sheesh. Scraping the bottom of the gene pool with that one. How he grows out of it: doubt it.
On a whim, on my last supply run that morning, I popped by The Underground to pick up some used CDs. Old school, I know; but cheaper than buying off iTunes. Plus it gave me some tunes to listen to while unloading and stockpiling. Met a young teen, Kay, in there, who I gave a brief playlist of good 80s pop-punk to. She's starting up a band and didn't seem to know who The Smashing Pumpkins or The Clash were! Wow. I am fucking old. Brought back memories of when I used to play bass guitar locally in a couple bands as a back-up. I haven't touched an instrument in about a decade. I wonder if the guitar is still in my old attic room at my dad's place?
Spent the afternoon studying one of Peter's tomes on Forces and then playing with the R/C car in the Sanctum. I quit when I tried to stop the car, by transmuting kinetic energy into heat, and accidentally set it on fire.