le slip. le slide. la fall.

[DEXTER NELSON WILLOW]

Dexter was a pretty good snowboarder, once he'd gotten a board that matched his size. And provided he had a snowboard, not his feet when trying to navigate a park. He'd wanted to get out, talk a walk, even if it was snowy and cold. It wasn't too bad out, the sun was shining and the temperature was tolerable not that he'd gotten his gloves - no camera today - and a sweater under his homemade jacket. Until, of course, he got to the top of the hill, looked around, and was hit in the back by a sledding child. He could hear her father shouting as Dexter tumbled forwards and rolled, sliding and getting run over by the sledder. That didn't hurt, but it sure was a wake up to watch where he was going. or maybe he was just unlucky. It wasn't really true, but the bigger he was the more gravity seemed to affect him; the more he seemed to end up on his bottom, face, or generally on the ground. He went on sliding, all the way to the bottom of the hill. The father looked down in what was a mix of shock and amusement while his daughter in a little pink snowsuit laughed. He waved back up, signalling no harm done, and dusted himself odd, took a step and fell right onto his back. It was just one of those days, he supposed with a smile as he hauled himself up. At least his back wasn't hurting. He could take being shoved and stuck in an elevator, slipping on his feed, getting run over by five years old, but when he back started to hurt he couldn't take it. At any rate, he had made some children on the hill howl with laughter and he liked that. He did use his height to humor some people, or change their light bulbs. They didn't mean it out of meanness, so with acted-out caution, he walked away, and along the park pathway, which hadn't yet been shoveled from a recent snowfall.

His footprints were among the first there as he meandered along, slipping and falling a couple more times, though none with such grandeur as the first time around. He smiled at the though, and of course, went head first into a branch, getting his head and shoulders dusted with snow. Typical, Dexter, typical. Sometimes he wouldn't mind being a foot shorter. Or two feet, even...

Dexter was suddenly being attacked by snowballs by some random people. He looked around, wondering if he'd walked into a snowball fight, but no, he was the target today. "Is your aim really that bad?" He asked in a voice that was way too deep, sometimes hard to understand. Side effect of being his size, he supposed. Maybe he'd just have had a really deep voice to start with. "Go on, try and hit something that isn't as big as a barn." And on he went with his walk, in a seemingly indomitable good mood. He slipped right down another hill, flailing in surprise until he reached the bottom in a tangle of over sized limbs. He could hear someone laughing, and sat himself up, looking around. "Well, if it isn't Merrick." Dexter didn't like Merrick; but he did tolerate the child-sized man.

------
words| 589
tagged| 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 was not in a good spot right now. He was definitely not where he wanted to be. Constant fights with his landlord were a sure sign of a soon eviction, since Merrick was no longer able to pay for his rent. He was spending all of his money on booze and drugs, not like he had any money to begin with. His father had stopped sending him money to help, and it wasn’t like he could hold down a job. Don’t get him wrong, he had tried, but none of his job lasted longer than a few weeks. He was far too hot tempered for most jobs. Okay, all jobs. The most money he made was selling the paintings he created while stoned out of his head. He would never begin to understand why people liked his paintings so much. He could hardly make sense of them when he was clean, yet people somehow managed to find some sort of symbolic meaning to them. There was absolutely no symbolism is deep meaning behind his paintings. He was stoned and had paint. There was your divine message. But hey, if they wanted to give him money for his pieces of shit paintings he wasn’t about to protest. It gave him cash for drugs, which he could use to make more paintings to give him more money. He couldn’t for the life of him muster up any sort of work of artistic genius while clean. He didn’t even have a need to pick up a brush. Not like his landlord would understand that, but whatever.

He had been avoiding going back to his apartment, and avoiding the landlord he had strong urges to push down a flight of stairs. He would much rather be out in the cold than at his shitty apartment. With his red and black sweater on, a black tee shirt, red jeans and his only pair of shoes on, he went out to face the snow. After, of course, he poisoned his blood with a little something to take the edge off. He felt invincible now, and the cold didn’t matter to him. He was Merrick fucking Drake. He was untouchable. He was giddy, like a five year old boy in a toy store. Flicking the hair out of his face, he made his way to the park, wondering who would be out and about. Who would be there to play?

His hands buried in his pockets and he smirked brightly as he walked, some sort of odd bounce in his steps. It wasn’t hard to spot a familiar friendly giant when he found the park, ducking behind some bushes, though that was rather unneeded. He was small enough that he could hide in just about any spot, even one in plain site. It had come in handy when he was a child, very handy. Creating a rather amazing ball of snow, he did his best to aim as his large target. As best as he could under the influence of narcotics. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t hit the guy. Dexter. Somehow that reminded him of Jaws and Aragog. He hadn’t gotten to feed them with his constant attempts at hiding from his landlord. “Something fun sized like me?”

[/color] he questions as he came out of his clever little hiding place. “Dexter, Dexter, Dexter, Dexter,”[/color] he repeated, practically skipping over to the giant. “How’s life treating New Orleans resident giant?”[/color] he chimed in a tone much different from the one he had used with Dexter the last time they had met.[/blockquote]words: 598
outfit: clicky!
lyrics: dragon force
notes: - - -
[/blockquote]

[DEXTER NELSON WILLOW]

Try as Dex might have, he was never good at dodgeball after forth grade. He was just so much bigger than the other kids, and not so coordinated. It made things a bit difficult, namely the dodging. Nah, baseball and snowboarding had always been his game. A few things made his limbs work in coordination, and walking, not boarding, down slippery slopes evidently wasn't one of them. Even on his bottom, he was practically the side of the guy in front of him, with his hair that stood out quite distinctly from the snow...and pretty much everything else.

Contrary to the drunk and rather irritable Merrick that Dexter had met a couple days ago, this one seemed cheery. Tolerable, even. What had sparked the change of mood? Somehow, Dexter didn't get the feeling it was just not being drunk. That just didn't seem the sort of person Merrick was, but then again, what did Dex know? First impressions could be a bit wrong, and he knew it. People assumed he played basketball; when in reality, the best he could do was dunk the goddamn ball. Passing or dribbling...not so good. Sometimes they assumed he was stupid, too, his deep voice somehow associated with the less intelligent. Blame cartoons for thataone. Maybe he ought to give Merrick another try. Just so long as he didn't do anything stupid.

Dexter picked himself up out of the snow, dusting himself off as he spoke. "Well, hitting you with a snowball would be a better challenge than hitting me with one." He avoided the short and tall thing, since Merrick probably got that a lot. He liked doing the "haha you're small" thing every once and a while, but he was also capable of doing that to anyone. The other extreme probably wouldn't take to kindly to it. They would get it a lot. It was more fun when he did it to someone closer to six feet tall, of that he had to admit. "Life's been life, I suppose. Been working, studying, working and bumping my head on things." His life, in a nutshell, was not very interesting. He wasn't all that interesting, either. He didn't come from a big place, he didn't have a weird childhood (sans four inches of height a year) and now he just worked and took photos. Working as a kitchen hand wasn't that bad, provided he minded his head and where he was putting things. He cooked a few of the simple dishes, but mostly it was cleaning, chopping, taking inventory, stuff like that. It paid fair, the hours were fair and the people would nice. Life was good, right? "Boring, really, now I think on it. Not much every happens when I'm around, I guess. What about you?" For some reason, Merrick just looked like the guy who had an eventful day-to-day life. Dexter would mind eventful. Not over eventful, he liked down time, he liked stability, but he didn't like plodding on endlessly, either.

--------
words| 553
tagged| 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 had never gotten to play dodgeball as a kid. When he lived with his mother sports weren’t commonly part of gym class. Badminton and other sissy sports were what they did for gym. He hadn’t really minded though, because at least while he was there he didn’t have to be with his mother. After she died and he had gotten the chance to play dodgeball, he got leukemia. He hadn’t been in a school for a long time. He couldn’t really remember the last grade he had completed. He couldn’t remember if he had dropped out of college or not. He didn’t remember the mundane stuff like school. He only remember what was important. Or what the drugs would allow him to.

He honestly couldn’t explain why he was so drawn to Dexter, but he was. Right now he was in a rather playful mood, and was quite fond of Dexter. That didn’t happen very often. He saw the rather large man as an asset. His size could probably do Merrick some good in the future, and he seemed pretty gullible. He supposed he would be able to use him later on. This was the basis of most of Merrick’s “friendships”. Okay. So all of them were like this, but he had one person he was considerably close to in comparison to the rest. That person wasn’t someone he would use very often, not without telling the guy at least.

“Go right ahead,”

[/color] he challenged with a playful smirk on his face, walking over to the large man with his hands dug into his pockets. “You’d probably kill me with one hit. Take my head clean off with a snowball,”[/color] he snickered. For some reason, he found the idea kind of funny. Okay. Really funny. That is, of course, if Dexter could aim, which he doubted. No one was as great as Merrick was. No one could best him at anything. Except being taller. He gave a snort when Dexter mentioned studying, but giggled a little at the comment about bumping his head. He could only imagine. “My life? Boring,”[/color] he shrugged, looking down at his soaking wet, snow covered shoes. “Been drinking, smoking, hiding from my landlord, and sometimes painting,”[/color] he replied as if it was the most normal and mundane things to do. “Found a strange man in my apartment the other day,”[/color] he stated in a matter of fact tone.[/blockquote]words: 598
outfit: clicky!
lyrics: dragon force
notes: - - -
[/blockquote]

[DEXTER NELSON WILLOW]

Dexter hadn't, in all honesty, expected the cheerful mood of Merrick, but he wouldn't complain. Merrick, size aside, seem one of those...not so nice types. He knew full well the definition 'not so nice' was childish, but he didn't have a lot to go on. That was the issue with growing up in a town like he did. Most of the people were the good sort. Or country farmers that weren't the sharpest tools they had in their tool sheds. His family hadn't ventured out much; he had moved the furthest from home. Consequently, Dexter wasn't very worldly. "Death via snowball. I'm sure that would be a different one for the coroner." Dexter was rather sure he could hit Merrick, though from over ten feet away he'd probably miss. Not that he'd muster up a decapitating snowball throwing force; that was very well impossible. Merrick seemed to find it funny, Dexter found it amusingly strange to imagine. It seemed almost cartoon-y in nature to him, something that would be done for a laugh. Or a practical joke with a dummy and a lookalike of said dummy, just to freak people out. He'd been given that suggestion a few times before, go find a couple ads or gags to be in for the pay. He couldn't act, but in those things he didn't have to act much at all, all he'd have to do was stand around and play the giant. The snort about studying wasn't lost on Dexter, but instead he ignored it. No point getting into anything over school, and ruining what might be a decent conversation.

Clearly enough, Merrick's life was not what Dexter would call boring. A bit strange, but not really boring. "What do you paint?" He asked, curious, and distinctly aware it wouldn't end up being still life. That just wouldn't fit to him. Nope, not at all. Dexter raised his eyebrows at the mention of the strange man. "Well..." That would be...unique. "At least it wasn't you landlord you found in there?" He was pretty sure an angry landlord would be a lot more dangerous than a random person, provided said person wasn't an axe murderer. "I can't say I've ever found random people in my dorm...it's messy but all you'd find is random bacteria." He'd need to do something about his laundry eventually, or his place was going to smell unbearable. Knowing the lot nearby, they'd complain about it too. Typical of his luck, the only clean freaks in the guys dorm happened to live nearby him. Gee, great. Dexter and cleaning never got along. He hated having to do it, though he'd more than once been conned into cleaning the tops of fridges and cabinets by family and friends. His own place, though...a mess. A futon with some sofa-salvaged foam crudely sewn on to make the damn thing long enough, provided he kept his knees bent a little. "Anyways, what was the random guy doing in your apartment?"

-------
words| 566
tagged| 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]

When Merrick was little he had actually wanted to be a coroner. He wanted to be able to pock around in dead bodies and tell you everything about them. It sounded like a pretty neat job, especially because there would be no one around to bug him. Just dead people. It was one of the very few goals he had ever made for himself, but obviously that didn’t turn out so well. After he came out of the hospital his grades slipped drastically, and any hopes of Merrick getting into university were shot. He just didn’t care any more. He didn’t care about anything, not even himself. He put up a good front though, using a superiority complex that seemed unmatched. Merrick may act like he thought he was the best damn thing ever, but that was hardly the case. He was as angry with himself as he appeared to be with the world. “Sure would,”

[/color] he agreed, brushing some snow off of his sweater. That was it, next time he got money he was buying himself a winter jacket. This was ridiculous. He was so freakin’ cold!

The question “what do you paint” seemed like a very stupid one to Merrick. A canvas. Duh. Or the walls, which Dexter had all ready witnessed. “I dunno’,”[/color] came his answer, along with a heavy shrug. “I don’t understand it half of the time. I just kind of paint shit and people buy it,”[/color] he admitted with a smirk. “They seem to think there’s some deep meaning to it. Whatever. It gets me money,”[/color] he added, speaking more to himself than to Dexter now. For once in his life he was telling the truth, though his tone always seemed to sound like he was being dishonest. People told Merrick he painted in a surrealist style, but he disagreed. It was simpler than that. He was on drugs, and had some paints. He was merely painting the messed up hallucinations he was seeing while on LSD or whatever he had happened to take that night. That was it. Drugs. “True!”[/color] he laughed light at the comment about the strange man not being his landlord. He hadn’t thought of that, but he also wouldn’t put it past the guy to show up randomly at Merrick’s apartment.

If you could even call it an apartment. The thing was a bloody mess and definitely wouldn’t fit this giant of a man. It barely even fit Merrick, and he was bloody tiny. The place was a dump, and looked like the apartments you saw on the news whenever a drug bust was done. The walls had holes in them and the place looked like it was crawling with disease. He had one small and very ugly futon for a couch, and another one for his bed. He could keep all of his belongings in one bag, which he did, while the rest were left over from the people he brought over. He didn’t remember who half of them were, and didn’t care to either. “No idea. I’m going to assume I fucked him though,”[/color] he replied bluntly. “Seems like something I’d do. I don’t remember much of that day, so who knows why the fuck he was there,”[/color] he admitted.[/blockquote]words: 550
outfit: clicky!
lyrics: dragon force
notes: - - -
[/blockquote]

[DEXTER NELSON WILLOW]

Dexter kicked at the snow lightly, watching it build up on his sneakers. His feet were beggning to get cold, but he didn't mind all that much. Cold feet were okay, cold hands he hated with a passion. Cold hands couldn't properly operate a camera, and got clumsier than usual. Merrick must have been a bit chilly, in only his sweater! He hadn't been dressed much better last time they'd met, but this time he didn't mention a thing about cold or snow. Nope, not this time. The response to his question wasn't the one Dexter expected, though in all honesty, who would expect that? Was Merrick just lying? Given his tone it was debatable, but whatever worked, he supposed. People told him he'd taken good photographs when, in fact, said photograph was shit in his eyes. That didn't mean he'd taken it with no objective in mind, however....it just turned out bad. "Well, I guess it pays, and that's the purpose." He seriously doubted Merrick did art for arts sake. Besides, money was important. Dexter knew that just scraping by meant that every penny had to be watched, so if someone bought that bad photograph, or if he wasn't fired from Antoine's at the day, if he could afford some food and maybe some other stuff. That was good. "I can't account for some people's taste when it comes to some of my photographs, either."

Marking Merrick laugh was...fun. Dexter liked to make people laugh, liked to make them happy. On days where his back was killing him, he lived to amuse people because with a knife in his spine he wasn't exactly amused, but he could aid in amusement. He figured it out when people giggles at his mishaps, on a particularly bad day in which he got locked in a closet in a lecture room and ended up having a panic attack until a professor realized that someone was in the closest and let him out mid-lecture. Dexter thanked him in the way of plowing him over by mistake, though thankfully the older fellow was fine. "It could always be stranger than a stranger." He mused. At Merrick's blunt remarked, Dexter blinked, but didn't question it. It didn't seem that out of what he knew of Merrick at all. Strange that he didn't remember anything...but then again, the last time they'd met he'd been drinking, and those sorts of things happened, he'd seen it before. "Even better thing that it wasn't your landlord!" He remarked. "God only knows what would happen then...and you'd probably have to deal with landlord's wife, to top it off." It seemed like nonsense, but it was amusing nonsense. Some frumpy lady in a pink dress and matching purse chasing Merrick along a road in the snow, ready to beat him over the head with her purse and whatever might be inside it. "Nevermind death via snowball, it would be death via pink clutch."

----
words| 558
tagged| 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 had long since gotten used to always being cold in the winter. He honestly couldn’t remember the last time he had had a nice place to live and a winter coat tow ear. This sweater was all he had, and its long life showed. The ends of the sleeves were frayed and it had a few holes in it. His shoes were in decent condition though, because those were still considered new to him. They were well over a few months old, so there was considerable wear, but no holes yet. Thank God, who Merrick was sure didn’t exist. Merrick was used to having very little though, and he actually kind of preferred it. He couldn’t count how many times he had been homeless since moving out of his father’s place. Having all of his possessions fit into one bag was useful in that case. Merrick had never been a material person anyways. He didn’t need possessions to be happy, he just needed drugs and alcohol. Though he was starting to doubt ever being fully happy with his life, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself. “Exactly,”

[/color] he nodded, shivering though he wasn’t taking notice of it. “Ooh a photographer. Gunna’ be the paparazzi when you grow up?”[/color] he remarked snidely, smirking his usual arrogant smirk.

Merrick tried to grasp the concept if waking up next to someone stranger than a stranger. He supposed he would be surprised if he woke up next to, say, Dexter. Or perhaps his dad. That would be weird and totally not something Merrick would want. He couldn’t help but picture that scene in the Godfather when that guy wakes up next to a horse head. Now that would be strange! Not a mess Merrick would clean up either. “True,”[/color] he agreed with the giant, no longer bothering to look up at the guy. Instead his dark green eyes wandered around the park looking at nothing and everything. “I’ve never seen the landlord’s wife,”[/color] he admitted. Come to think of it, he had never heard of the landlord even having a wife. He couldn’t really imagine anyone wanting to have sex with that slime ball. “Either way, I could take the bitch,”[/color] he said with extreme arrogance.

Unlike most men, Merrick saw no problem in hitting a girl. If the bitch deserved a beating, then she could sure as hell get one. Merrick’s morals were definitely twisted, if he even had any. It was questionable whether or not the guy had a conscience, or any sort of sense of right from wrong. If it was there it must be a very tiny part of his brain, and not one that was ever used. After all, you only ever used ten percent of your brain in your lifetime. It made him wonder what they could achieve if you used all of your brain. Could people have super powers? That was the last thing this boy needed: a super power. Though from the looks of things Dexter all ready had one. He was bigger than any man Merrick had ever seen. “If you could be shorter would you? Or do you like being that fucking tall?”[/color] he asked, seemingly out of no where.[/blockquote]words: 540
outfit: clicky!
lyrics: dragon force
notes: - - -
[/blockquote]

[DEXTER NELSON WILLOW]

Dexter was about to question the fact that Merrick seemed freezing, that maybe they could go find somewhere warm, but then debated against it. He wouldn't take too kindly to it, nor did he even seem to care. Instead, Dex just shook his head. He ignored the arrogant tone, and just focused on the tone itself. Besides, there were times that Dex didn't consider himself much a grown-up. "Paparazzi? No way in hell." He didn't like those sorts of photographers. He preferred the artistic sort of pictures that showed the world, showed society for what it was, no for what it seemed to obsess over. "First, I'm not into that stuff, second, do you really, honestly think I'd get away with sneaking anywhere?" He asked with a laugh. He'd always thought photographing war would be an interesting job, but he didn't stand a chance in the field. It was dangerous - not for the clumsy, and his size just made it stupidly risky. He'd bring soldiers nothing but trouble, and end up dead in the process. Best to stick to something safer; and so artistic pictures it was. Maybe he'd go into design, he'd always liked that, too. It spilled from the simple fact that a lot of places didn't fit him, and he liked making things just...work.

Like trying to make himself not up and leave, because in all honesty he didn't like Merrick. But that was rude, and if the first meeting was anything to go by he'd be followed. Nah, best have a pleasant conversation, a laugh or two, and not fuck up the day. Easy enough, right? Merrick seemed to have tired of looking up, so Dexter quick looking down, instead looking around at his own eye level. It was nothing new to him, it seemed alien the days when he had to look up to speak to everyone. He looked over the snowy landscape, but in his mind was the real image; Merrick trying to take some frumpy middle aged woman. He honesty wasn't sure who would win. Possibly a tie? "I dunno, Merrick, middle aged women can be dangerous. Just so long as she's unarmed..." Hell, women in general could be dangerous, period. God only knew, his five foot even sister could intimidate anyone in the family, despite being the shortest. She'd look right up at Dexter, look him in the eye and more often than not, Dexter, who could have picked her up and put her in a tree, backed off. "Or maybe she'd just beat your landlord for cheating on her, problem solved."


There was a moment of silence, and then Merrick asked a question right out of the blue. A question Dexter didn't get that often, either. If he could choose, would be be that tall. "If you could choose, would you be that short?" He asked in response. "I think I'd take off seven inches, maybe nine." He liked being tall, but when ceilings and doorways were a problem eighty five to ninety percent of the time, and back pain chronic, there was a line. And poor Hammy, he'd stepped on his last pet. (Though...what did anyone expect, giving him a hamster!?) Seven foot or six ten or so would be still really tall, but not freakishly so. "But then again, I never need a ladder, or have to stand tiptoe to see anything."

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words| 607
tagged| Merrick