through the camera lens

[DEXTER NELSON WILLOW]

A small town is a place where there's no place to go where you shouldn't.

Dexter was not typically in the habit of wandering around at night, but then again, he had an assessment to do, a portfolio, and some nights shorts of New Orleans would be nice. He could get the strangest angles, and it was thanks to his ability, this sometimes-bonus of height, that we wasn't too worried about getting mugged. Generally, muggers didn't go for people over seven feet tall. His footsteps were the other thing he heard for a while, step after step as he looked around for something that could be a good capture in his lens. The camera, a black and silver contraption, was nestled in his hands and secured by a wrist strap, he didn't want it destroyed. He didn't have the money for it to go kaput on him. Dexter raised the camera to his face and took a few shots of a bike leaning up against a movie theatre, then moved on, past the park and into a more deserted area of town. He wanted some of the pictures of a more downtrodden night New Orleans, but like any photographer, he knew that could get him into trouble.

Funnily enough, the clumsy giant was headed for trouble, but he didn't think it would be through simply taking a walk and being his size, oh no. Funny how stuff like that worked out. He had no idea what was going top happen. Dex ducked a sign post, wind ruffling up his brown hair, and he pulled his plain black jacket to him. It was winter, it was cold. Not T-shirt weather, and he thanked his mother mentally again for the Christmas gift, of a thick, hand-sewn sweater. Most guys his age wouldn't like that, but he really did. Being warm was nice, and it alleviate back pain. Dexter took a few more photos as he walked, messing with camera setting and taking multiples. He enjoyed taking pictures, sketching room floor plans, making things nice like that. Making things fit was essential to him. They had to fit and look nice, since no one would want to sit around in an ugly room. As per photos, he was making a run down place beautiful again. Pictures could hold so much, photography could do so much more than people thought. They might see a photo for only a moment, but they'd never forget the image if it was a good one. Design and pictures could convey so much, they could make the world fall into place.

Dexter Willow quickly found himself a 'zone' of sorts as he snapped picture after picture, pausing occasionally to put his camera in his pocket and hands under his arms to warm them up again. Those one size fits all gloves? LIES, ALL LIES. It was cold enough to freeze his hands, but Dex was still a little too proud to put on his bulky snowboard gloves and wear those. Besides, they didn't help him in pushing buttons, which was pretty essential with a digital camera. It was during one of these such moments on a deserted night, camera tucked away, hands tucked in, that he heard rapid footsteps. Dexter removed his hands from in his sleeves and looked around, which could have made a picture in itself, as he was silhouetted quite nicely by a streetlight, a little cloud of his breath hanging in the air. Calm before the storm.

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words| 585
tagged| Dee / Merrick
notes| First post I've made with this dude in over two years. And I couldn't find a good quote yet, I'll stick one in eventually. XD

[MERRICK LUCIUS DRAKE]

FIGHT NOW LET'S BREAK THE CHAIN
so strong we must feel the pain...now prepare for war

[/font]
• • • • • • • • • • • DEXTER NELSON ![/font][/color][/font][/size][/center]

Peals of giggles escaped him, loud and filling his entire apartment. He just couldn’t stop, no matter how hard he tried. His lips curled up in a bright grin, and his head tossed back as he giggled. He continued to lean back as his giggle fit went on, eventually ending up in him tumbling backwards onto the floor from his bed. Falling off of his bed only made him laugh more, and eventually tears were in his green eyes. He couldn’t even remember what he was laughing at any more, and someone else was laughing to. It was probably a good twenty minutes to half an hour before he finally stopped laughing, sitting up and grasping his stomach. “I can’t breath!”

[/color] he yelled dramatically, catching his breath. “So fucking funny!” his company stated through his dying giggles. What was so funny again? He couldn’t remember. All he knew was that it was hilarious.

Pushing his black and red hair out of his eyes, but not off of his face, he stood and stumbled his way into the living room. It was only five or six steps to the couch, his place was tiny, but it was a struggle. Empty bottles, cans of spray paint and wall paint, and the few articles of clothing he owned were scattered over the floor. Every time he went to step he tripped over one of them, his small body tumbling forward until he finally fell on to his couch. He started picking up the bottles of alcohol, throwing the empty ones back on to the ground. “Asshat! You finished it all!”[/color] he called to the friend he had in the bedroom, who was stumbling in to the living room as Merrick had done. “There’s cash in my wallet. Go buy more,” his friend offered. This brought a delighted smirk on Merrick’s lips.

He stood and pulled on the first shirt he had to go with the red jeans he had on. He grabbed his jacket from off of the floor and put that on too, slipping his feet into the only pair of shoes he owned. He didn’t really care how cold it would be outside just yet, but it wasn’t like he had anything warmer either. On his way out of the door he grabbed two cans of spray paint, pocketing them as he stumbled out of the door and out in to the night streets. In an area of town as bad as this, it probably wasn’t the smartest idea in the world to be roaming about them right now. Especially when he was on quite a few different drugs, and a little drunk. But he wasn’t drunk enough, which was more than enough motivation to be outside. Besides, Merrick owned these streets. They were his. No one would fuck with him.

Completely forgetting his original goal, he turned to a blank section of wall and pulled out the two cans of spray paint. In a drugged daze he started painting the wall with black, making the outline of a body whose head was far too big, and stuck in a box. He was quick and a little sloppy, but he blamed that on his shivering hands. He was freezing cold, but too high to really care. He was invincible right now. The sounds of heavy feet distracted him, and he spun around abruptly to see someone walking toward him. He went to walk toward the person, who appeared rather large, but slipped in the snow and fell forwards. “Fuck you mother nature!”[/color] he yelled as he stood, swaying on his feet, and brushed snow off of his pants. He tilted his head at the giant of a person standing on the street. “It’s the jolly green giant!”[/color] he laughed merrily.[/justify] [/blockquote]words: 629
outfit: clicky!
lyrics: dragon force
notes: hehehe
[/blockquote]

[DEXTER NELSON WILLOW]

A small town is a place where there's no place to go where you shouldn't.

So maybe wandering around at night wasn't always the smartest thing, but Dexter was pretty sure he had it covered, albiet not his hands. They were so big and clumby sometimes and lost head about as fast, it seemed, as a blad man's head. He preffered warm over cold, that was for sure. He preffered country to city, too; but there was nothing he could do about either of those facts. He was in a city and he was freezing cold for the sake of his grades, and for good reason. If he didn't do well, if he put more strain on his finaces by having to redo something, it would be pretty well impossible.

He went on walking, then saw a very small, he'd even go as far to say child-sized, person stumble along towards him, either in some way handicapped or just drunk. The figure, which was now made out to be a tiny man, slipping in the snow, cursing mother nature on the way...yeah, Dexter was going to say he was drunk as drunk could be. Was he carrying spray paint, too? Huh. He stowed his carmera away after just having tkaen it out again, not wanting that to get him in trouble (nor did he see point to taking picutres of this fellow). He watched the guy get up again, dusting off his pants. Dexter retained a rather muten, albiet mildly suprised look as he was called the "jolly green gaint". Well. He'd never been called the green giant before, and his height tended to catch a lot of names.

Probably not time to hang around. "Close enough, guy, but I'm not green." Dexter replied, his too deep for its own good voice contrasting with the senseless laughter. If the fellow had appeared to be right about the head, he might have made a remark at how completly tiny he was, but that probably was not wise. Wandering at night, yes, pissing people off, or conversing with weirdos, no. He gave the guy a nod of aknowledgement then went on his way, wondering what the hell that had been. That was one thing that nver happened in a town of a couple hundred, no one met random odd stangers at night, unless it was Halloween and people were quite drunk, but those weren't stangers, those were people not knowing they were speaking to the neighbour's neighbour's doctor, who had no idea he was speaking to the guy that grilled stuff until black smoke rose. That was how things worked in Millersby. And when someone you didn't want to talk to came around, you just headed away, becuase if they gave you trouble soemone who was a friend of yours was bound to help. Or, worse come to worse, you just ran around the town, found the city hall and barged right in, since soemone would have to do soemthing about the creep chasing you if you interuppted mayor Cunningham. His plodding footsteps were again not the only thing about, so he stopped and looked back again, forwning slightly. Was he being followed or was this all in his imagination?

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words| 549
tagged| Dee / Merrick

[MERRICK LUCIUS DRAKE]

FIGHT NOW LET'S BREAK THE CHAIN
so strong we must feel the pain...now prepare for war

[/font]
• • • • • • • • • • • DEXTER NELSON ![/font][/color][/font][/size][/center]

Letting Merrick wander the streets on his own and under the influence of both alcohol and drugs was not a good idea on his friend’s part. Not to mention the fact that Merrick had the guy’s wallet, and was known among the company he kept as a thief. His buddy knew Merrick well enough to know not to do this, then again his buddy was also drunk and on drugs. He should probably get friends who were better influences on him, but he wouldn’t. He was quite fond of having idiot friends who let him wander off into the night with their wallets. Though he could go for some friends he could bum a jacket off of. He was pretty fucking cold.

Finally back on two feet, he walked in a drunken stupor to the giant of a man, craning his neck up to look at the guy’s face. Either Merrick was very small, or this guy was very big. He was leaning toward the latter; he hated thinking of himself as short. Someone once told him that he wasn’t short, he was fun sized, but he didn’t like that idea either. He was…He was not short, he was average and everyone else was too tall. Especially this guy. “You could be,”

[/color] he pointed out. This giant of a man could be any color is Merrick had enough drugs in his system. “Not guy, Merrick,”[/color] he corrected with a huff, pushing his hair aside again.

His pale green eyes watched the giant man walk off, narrowing slightly in disapproval. He didn’t say the guy could walk off. He wasn’t done with the giant yet! He glared after the guy and started walking again, his hands digging deep in his pockets to find warmth. He stumbled still as he talked, tripping quite often but catching himself from falling again. He wasn’t about to let Mother Nature get the best of him again! Oh no! “Fucking cold outside,”[/color] he mumbled to himself, or to anyone within ear shot. He had yet to notice that he was shivering, but he had certainly noticed how cold it was
outside.

Merrick had spent ten years living in a rather small city where everyone knew everyone and everyone knew your secrets. He didn’t remember much of the city itself, but he remembered the people. It was no secret what his mother was doing and who she was bringing home, and it was no secret that she neglected her son while she tainted her body with drug after drug. Yet none of those people bothered to do anything. None of them thought twice about the little boy who got to watch his mother bring home man after man and inject drug after drug in to her body. He had grown to hate small towns and the people in them for this very reason. They didn’t help him, and it was their fault he was like this now. This guy reeked of small town.

He walked after him with his hands dug in his pockets, practically scurrying to keep up with the giant’s large strides. “Where ya from giant?”[/color] he asked indifferently. He had yet to actually catch up with the giant, but he was close enough to be within ear shot. “Not from Louisiana, that’s for sure,”[/color] he remarked. Merrick hadn’t lived in New Orleans long enough to pick up the southern accent, but he could always hear it on other people. This guy didn’t have that.[/justify] [/blockquote]words: 580
outfit: clicky!
lyrics: dragon force
notes: - - -
[/blockquote]

[DEXTER NELSON WILLOW]

A small town is a place where there's no place to go where you shouldn't.

Dexter was just going to have to deal with this man, it seemed. This scrawny, odd-hair colored guy. Though, Dexter did admit he liked the hair colors everywhere. He'd look like a walking billboard if he tried it, and his sister, even well away from Dex, might just kill him. They'd had this whole argument over his facial hair once, and Dexter had ended up picking her up, putting her on top of the truck she drove, and walking away. That dissuaded her for oh, two seconds. Yeah, Dexter usually wasn't adventurous, unless he had his snowboard, which he liked to call the sledge. He looked down, straight down, to see this guy and shrugged. "Okay, so I could be green. But I don't think I am. No I've met has told me I'm green, as of yet." If a person had some odd form of color blindness, well, Dex could show up as green, he supposed. Then there was photo shop. Ah well, this guy had given him an odd idea for a Halloween costume. It might beat out being a life-sized Frankenstein year after year. "Merrick, then. I'm Dexter." Dexter nodded. He then set off, wanting not to deal with this guy any further. He didn't know why the dude was named Merrick, though, it made him wonder. That was a Northern European name, as far as he knew. But then again, almost no one in North America was a native...okay, well, compared to the vast amounts of everyone else who had bloodlines from Europe and Asia. There weren't many "American" Americans out there, if you thought about it very technically.

Dexter did his best to ignore the footsteps after him by puzzling himself in the thoughts of bloodlines, but he eventually had to stop again. He couldn't just let this guy follow him everywhere, and it would be a little rude to ignore hi, even if Dexter was getting the idea this fellow might be on more than his fare share of drugs, as well as drunk. Great company for the night, Dexter. Great. Just great. But he'd have to deal with it. He looked down to see the guy almost jogging to keep up with a single stride. If he went into a quick walk, he could probably make him run, a pace he couldn't possibly sustain for long, well, probably not, and just leave the guy in the dust. But that was a bit rude, even considering the situation. "I'm from New York. Not the city itself, but fairly close to. I'm studying at the university. Double major, and I'm damn broke because of it." He chuckled slightly. Damn broke was about summing it up. He half wished he was smaller, so he wouldn't need as much food, even though he was eating a bit less than he should. "Where are you from, then?" This guy was not going to go away, might as well make the best of it. Though Dexter wasn't sure what the best of it was, as he eventually stopped, having to look straight down again.

----------
words| 587
tagged| Dee / Merrick

[MERRICK LUCIUS DRAKE]

FIGHT NOW LET'S BREAK THE CHAIN
so strong we must feel the pain...now prepare for war

[/font]
• • • • • • • • • • • DEXTER NELSON ![/font][/color][/font][/size][/center]

Merrick couldn’t honestly remember the last time he had had his hair professionally done. For years Merrick had let his friends cut and dye his hair, and while he never trusted them to do a good job, they usually did. It wasn’t like he was very picky though. So long as it was in his face and didn’t require time and money he was cool with it. With naturally straight as a board hair, he didn’t need to do anything with it. It was pretty healthy too, since all of his hair had had to grow back after all the chemotherapy treatments he had had as a kid. He liked it bright red, and he liked it always in his face like this; even if he was often jerking his head to the side to get a strand or two out of his eyes. “You could be, like, Andre the Giant then,”

[/color] he nodded. Stuck in the hospital for almost six years, Merrick had spent a lot of time watching old movies. His favourite had been Princess Bride with Inigo Montoya. “My name is Inigo Montoya, you killed my father, prepare to die”. He tended to quote that a lot when he was high enough, not to mention yelling “Inconceivable” whenever he had the chance. If they got the reference, they were alright in his book. His favourite character in that movie would always be Fezzik. Andre the Giant.

“Dexter like the TV show? Cool shit,”[/color] he remarked casually. He was definitely a fan of that show, though he couldn’t watch at his own place. He didn’t have a television set or cable. He had, however, caught a few episodes at a friends house when he hadn’t had a place to live. He could relate to the main character, Dexter. He had the same thought process when he wasn’t on anything. He liked that name. If he ever had a kid, and let’s pray to God that he didn’t, he would want to name him Dexter Crow Drake. Why Crow? Because he could. A daughter would probably be Raven Eleanor Drake. He was weird when it came to names, but at least Raven had some meaning behind it. Edgar Allen Poe had always been his favourite. Yes, this tiny drunk man was a fan of Poe.

He craned his neck to look up at the guy’s face, very tempted to kick him in the shins to get him to drop and be eye level. He snorted at the mention of the university, a bit of irritation showing on his mostly hidden face. ‘I dropped outta’ there,”[/color] he slurred. “A waste of money that I could use on better things. I dun’ need it to be an artist anyways,”[/color] he shrugged. “Where am I from?”[/color] he repeated, seeming to puzzle over the question for some time before answering. “Michigan. Iron Mountain,”[/color] he nodded, almost hissing the name. He didn’t like the taste of the town name on his tongue. He didn’t like that he was mentioning that place. He seemed to struggle with some inner turmoil, his face twisting in discontent. He couldn’t help but think of what had happened to him there. What he had seen and lived with. His mother’s murder. He flinched at the memories, shivering violently as he shook his head. He wanted those memories gone.[/justify] [/blockquote]words: 560
outfit: clicky!
lyrics: dragon force
notes: - - -
[/blockquote]