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Umi's journal
as if I owe you any explination. I believe it's quite obvious.
profile again
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α∂яιαη αναяι¢є αяσηѕση

Get down on your knees xxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxGet a good head on your shoulders
xxxxxxxxxxxxIf it's for your guys
Go to the end of the earthxxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxDo what you think
Give it with dedicationxxxxxxxxxxxx
I'll put out your miseryxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Adrian barreled down the paved road, swishing between cars, flying by as if he were some sort of suicidal bird. He knew that he was getting angry shouts from the old coots driving a weak-a** fifty six em pee h down the highway, but hey, ******** those guys. What can a forty something year old man do to stop a wild buck like him? They couldn't do s**t. Well, unless they had a badge and a gun.... and could catch him. He revved his engines again, enjoying the wind rushing past him. His motorcycle was a sixteen hundred engine... in other words, one bad baby. The bike roared like a mother bear with her cubs stolen as he shot towards his destination, almost willing the roads to stretch longer, challenge him more, let him fly free like this forever. He couldn't do that, of course. His a** would get fore eventually, especially with those old back roads that hadn't been paved since the eighteen nineteens. Those potholes could really do a number on a guy. Still, there was no thrill like that of being on a motorcycle. Well, none that he'd encountered. It was great. He'd worked for months to be able to afford his bike, and worked even harder to put himself through scooter school to get himself legal. Oh, but it was worth it. His black full-face helmet gripped his skull as he glared through the plastic face shield, snarling in pleasure. He put on an extra spurt, and at the same moment, yanked back on the handles, pulling the front of the bike up off the ground and whooping as he popped a wheelie while maintaining a good ninety something as he went. After a few moments of this, he allowed the front wheel to grace the pavement again. The bike jolted with the impact, but not uncontrollably so. After all, Adrian had perfected the art of the wheelie. And most other 'close-to-death' stunts. For instance, one of his favorite sports was zipping down those twisted highways around the mountains at a hundred something and leaning into the turns so much that he could reach out with a gloved hand and trail a finger along the deadly sea of asphalt as it rushed past, inches away from his visor. He'd demolished more than one set of gloves that way. But it was fun, and it gave him a thrill. So he did it.

He'd pretty much tried to replace his fighting life with dumbass dangerous stunts like that. The thrill was similar, but in the end, it was no substitute. Oh, how he longed to get in just one good, solid punch to the nose. That was a favorite of his. It was right in the face, and a rather fragile place. The bones always cracked and broke, and it always bled like hell. Most head wounds did. He supposed that there was just a hell of a lot of blood up there. But he tried his best to clear his mind of those oh so satisfying thoughts before he got there. It wouldn't do for him to belt one of his pals in the face, now would it? Nah, he wanted to avoid that at all costs. They'd hate his guts if he did that. He loved his friends, anyway. Of course, close as he was to them, they didn't know about most of his past. They didn't know about his gang life, about how he had been on the run from the law, and especially not about his sickening affair with the outlaw, Kami. He shuddered just thinking about the man. He'd be about twenty four now. Adrian knew he couldn't afford himself to think about Kami again, but wound up doing it anyways. He missed the guy. The way he helped him, the way he touched him.... the way he hit him.... Adrian squeezed his eyes shut. No, no more! He opened his eyes again and gasped, yanking his motorcycle to one side as an eighteen wheeler blurred past him, blaring its horn loud as it could. Note to self: do not close eyes on highway. Make go 'boom.' Shaking his head again, he concentrated on getting to his destination, blocking everything else out of his mind.

And it didn't take long, at the speed he was going. Soon he was forced to slow, turning onto the long, ill traveled stretch of road that led up to the condo. When his friends told him that it would be hard to miss.... he didn't realize how hard they meant. Soon enough, he saw that big yellow abomination rise up on the horizon like some acid heads' childrens' cartoon. Whoever designed this place must have been on something hella strong. Shaking his head, he couldn't help but laugh into his helmet (which caused his visor to fog up again). Yep. This seemed like the kinda place where a group of weirdos like they were would hang out for a couple of months. Like an acid trip. He roared up the drive way, revving his engine a few times, causing the deafening noise to practically shake the windows on the sorry place. He flipped up his visor in a fluid motion and called out,
Because he could.

He pulled his leg over the side of the motorcycle, kicking the stand into place to support the massive metal monstrosity as he worked on peeling off all of his full leather and biker gear. He yanked his helmet off, hanging it on the handlebars and set to unsnapping the tight neck of his leather jacket. His hair, which had been in a ponytail stuck under his helmet, came loose and fell down his neck. His fluffy bangs, however, had not been so lucky, and were now plastered in sweat against his forehead. Oh well. He wound up covered in sweat most of the time. He unzipped his jacket, but didn't take it off. He was only wearing a grey tanktop underneath it, and the tips of a few scars poked through the neck of it. A pair of dogtags clinked and glinted against his throat and his tight fitting jeans were ripped at the knees, revealing a very vicious looking scar on his right knee. There was a story behind that, as it was with all of his scars, but none of them would ever be told. Not to his friends, at least. No, if they knew what he really was, they wouldn't trust him. They'd hate him, shut him out. And then he would be truly alone. That was one thing he feared the most.

Of course you couldn't tell, the way he grinned toothily up at the glaring yellow condo. The place was friggin' HUGE!
"We got this whole place to ourselves eh? Awesome." He said, admiring the thirty shades of chipper structure as he walked around his bike, turning his head and eyes this way and that, trying to take it all in at once. He paused at the stairs, placing a hand on the old wood and turning to look out at the sea. A sigh escaped his lips as he looked over it. The sea was such a great, beautiful, calming thing. So graceful, yet so destructive. He felt that he and the sea were similar, in many ways. It was that kinship that calmed him so, like he wouldn't be alone anywhere in the world, so long as the oceans existed. It was a very comforting thought. And aside from that, the beach was right there!! Sitting in front of them like a meal before a king! No walking, no waiting. The first thing he would see when he got up in the morning would be the ocean, that salty tang would be the first thing he smelled. If all went well, he'd be washing sand out of his clothes for a month after this. His boots crunched against the tiny mounds of sand that had worked themselves against the condo over the years. It seemed like tiny granules of sand were actually coating the outside of everything. Of course, that was how things usually were, with beaches. With a final, loving grimace towards the sea, he turned to head inside.

Of course, he wasn't actually cringing at the sea. That weird, scrunched up face he made was actually how he smiled. It had been for as long as he could remember. Maybe the years of smiling in the pleasure of pain had malformed him, meshing his smile with his painful snarl. Who knew? But all of his expressions were mixed up like that. He looked pretty scary when he got excited about something, happily snarling like a wolf in heat. As for his angry face, it was an expression of extreme boredom, unless he was really pissed off, in which case his nose wrinkled a little bit right before he belted you in the jaw. Then it turned into his grimace-smile pretty quick. Regardless, his friends knew the different faces and what they meant and (as far as he knew) they weren't bothered by those scary looks he got when he was happy or pleased with something. That big toothy grin of his did strikingly resemble a feral snarl sometimes, though.... Clicking his boots against the door frame before he stepped inside (so as not to track in sand) he gazed around the first floor. He'd stepped into the living room, and was delighted by the big, roomy cough (again, friggin' HUGE!) and the big, schmancy television. Clunking across the hardwood floor, the large youth surveyed the white washed walls and decided that, like most condos, it looked way too clean. Oh well. With ten teenagers living in this joint, it'd get dirty soon enough. Grinning/snarling at the thought he clunked across the floor and flung himself down longways onto the curved white couch. He had no idea how his dad had managed to pay even his tenth of the cost for renting this place out, but he reminded himself to thank him when he got home. He couldn't help but feel a little bit guilty. His father had been putting up with all of his s**t for the past two and a half years, and still gave him stuff like this. He was ashamed.

Well, shame was for when he got home. While he was here, he was gonna enjoy himself. Snuggling down into the couch, he suddenly wondered who else was there. Smirking, he bellowed (in no particular direction)
"YO! IF YOU CAN HEAR ME, SOUND OFF!" The boy could be very loud when he wanted to. The whole 'sound off' thing had developed from a game of sorts when the group had been off romping around in the woods once. To kep track of each other, they started 'sounding off' each person calling his or her own name so that the caller knew who was where. Some of the slower ones (like himself) had often given themselves away in games like hide and seek when someone called the sound off and they responded without thinking. Good times.

It's always been hell
From when i was born
They make me violate them
No matter who they arexxxxxxxxxxxx

s**t out of luck, for christ's sake, this rotten world...
User ImagexxxUser ImagexxxUser ImagexxxxxxxxI have a big gun. I took it from my Lord....

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