It's my Life [OPEN]

[coleen]

_{I DON'T GIVE A DAMN ABOUT A BAD REPUTATION}

( You're living in the past it's a new generation

[/b][/size] )
a girl • can do • what she • wants to • do and • that's • what I'm •gonna•do
^{and I don't give a damn about a bad reputation}[/i][/center][/font]

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Coleen walked down the sidewalk in a rather butch, man-like way. Her short, jet black hair was perfectly flat ironed and went great with the large amount of black eye liner she had applied. Her skinny jeans hugged her very thin legs tightly but to Coleen, that was comfortable. Also wearing her black leather jacket with a black, low cut top sealed the whole 'punk bad ass chick' look that she had become well known for. It totally matched the music she played too. It was a mix of classic rock and roll with some heavy rock tossed in there. Coleen loved going crazy on the guitar solos when she wrote them. Having a part of a song to jam to when you play made it all that more fun and enjoyable for both her and her fans.

She was actually pretty well known for a soloist at twenty three. Coleen had slammed a few hit songs so far and was really on tour for the fun of it. She may be rough and insensitive, but Coleen was inwardly rooting for the uprising bands/soloists. There was nothing like working so hard for so long and finally having it pay off. After she ran away from home at seventeen, Coleen had to support herself all on her own. She even had to fake her age at certain times so she could continue to make her living of rocking. Of course bars wouldn't allow minors in, so that's when she really started laying on the heavy eye make up. Coleen had her hair cut to make her look older too so she could get as many gigs as she needed.

Once Coleen unleashed her deep, powerful voice on stage, not a single person would have believed she was so young. Since she had grown up on classic rock, she spent her early days making rendition after rendition of these classic songs until she started writing her own. That, to her, is one of the hardest things to do as a soloist, writing your own songs. She hadn't ever been the most creative, or the smartest so the lyrics weren't really that insightful.

Deciding she needed a smoke, Coleen started digging in her side pocket for a pack of cigarettes. Realizing she had left them at home, she cursed under her breath to herself in her raspy tone,

Ah shit...

After smoking since you were eighteen, it did things to a woman's voice. Coleen's wasn't too badly affected but it was getting deeper and raspier by the day it seemed now. Probably also due to some of the shouting and screaming she did while performing too.


"I'm talking!"
"I'm thinking!"

[/size] • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

WORDS! 450ish
STATUS! complete
NOTES! lalala
TAGS! open!
INSPIRATION! Joan Jett (go figure)
TEMPLATE CREDIT! Arro @ Caution 2.0
PICTURE CREDIT!
[/blockquote][/color]

[nicholas robert harlow;]

I'M THE NEW CANCER

[/B][/size][/font][/size]
•• N E V E R • L O O K E D • B E T T E R ••[/i]
A N D Y O U C A N ' T S T A N D I T
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -[/center]

Nick would call it rolling around town if he was polite and being a lazy ass if he wasn't. He quite liked this side of his job -- when he wasn't constantly on the phone, trying his best to sell a band that most adults were now fearful of (you're an adult too, Nick, he reminded himself, and straight after, he had a moment when he realised -- holy crap, I lived long enough to be an adult). Still, it meant there were moments like this one when he didn't have to worry for a moment that there was paperwork piling up and work to be doing and places to go and people to see and everything else involved in the running of a band. As always, when Nick had a moment free to himself, there had been a phone call home to start with as he walked down the street, greeting his wife, promising he was keeping his eyes to himself (sometimes, he thought she was joking, and sometimes, she appeared to be very serious), and then the notification that, no, he couldn't talk to his daughter because she was at daycare ("Oh, and she doesn't love you, sweetheart; that's not a problem is it?" Scarlett had added innocently before she had been forced to go to one of her fancy business meetings). The effect was one vaguely annoyed, yet somehow ultimately amused, Nick, who had just realised that for all the talks in the world, he had forgotten the most vital part of his day: coffee and a cigarette. If people were allowed to be addicted to something, anything in the world, he would probably choose that. It was as harmless as it got before you were addicted to 'smiling' or 'being a happy camper'.

Nick pocketed his phone and glanced around, because in a town like this, there had to be a good place to get coffee and a shady corner to have a cigarette without people glaring and judging him. He would hate it, but most of Nick's appearance was based on being judged at first sight. As such, he cultivated his image very carefully, and today, dressed in a smart suit with his hair combed neatly and the swagger that suggested that he came from old money, he was hoping to come across as a rather young, rather rich businessman. It was no change from the usual, really, and he was looking forward to a life of charming people and getting what he wanted, only for people to realise, fifty years from now, that that rich, young man had been nothing more than a slumdog from the East End.

His eyes fell on a girl who appeared to be hanging around the very sort of shady corner that Nick had been on the look-out for, and then her clothes told him that she was, most likely, with the bands on tour in this area. Fantastic, really, but also a little unfortunate. He was not ashamed to admit that he didn't listen to their music. He had never had the rebellious emo phase, and as such, had jumped from party pop anthems to Beethoven's Fifth without even trying. However, the fact that she was there meant that she was probably doing the same thing as him: having a cigarette. Checking both sides of the road (because that would be the most unfortunate event -- killed as he tries to attend to his vices), he crossed, and headed over to her just in time to catch her say something in a low voice. My time to shine, came the sardonic voice in his head. Reaching into a different pocket, he pulled out a cigarette and a lighter, and lit one up for himself, before gesturing to her wordlessly, with a raised eyebrow, as if to say, 'You want one too?' After all, he had stopped for her, and he wouldn't ask for anything in return. Except the chance to use that effortless charm on someone else, but that went without saying.

[/justify][/size]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

• B E C A U S E Y O U S A Y S O •
UNDER YOUR BREATH

[/b][/size][/font]

672 WORDS | COMPLETE | TAGS : COLEEN
LYRICS BY PANIC! AT THE DISCO | TEMPLATE BY ARRO
HOPE YOU DON'T MIND ME SNAGGING? :3 I COULDN'T RESIST.

[/center][/size][/blockquote]

[coleen]

_{I DON'T GIVE A DAMN ABOUT A BAD REPUTATION}

( You're living in the past it's a new generation

[/b][/size] )
a girl • can do • what she • wants to • do and • that's • what I'm •gonna•do
^{and I don't give a damn about a bad reputation}[/i][/center][/font]

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Coleen glanced up at the stranger who had just crossed the street. Before she knew he had exactly what she needed, Coleen was going to do the best she could to avoid the guy. Her dark eyes that were firstly cold and aggressive became the slightest bit kind and open to him once he made a silent offer of the precious drug Coleen was sadly addicted to. Personally and secretly, Coleen hated being a victim to this stuff. It made her feel like a slave to something that seemed so simple. Hell even the feeling of being contained drove her insane.

Despite Coleen's thoughts on her addiction, she extended her thin, pale hand and took the guy's offer with a raspy,

"Thanks."

Hopefully he wasn't going to pester her too much, Coleen wasn't exactly in a chit chatty mood. Sharp retorts were bound to come rocketing out of her mouth for sure if he managed to piss her off. Even after giving her exactly what she craved, Coleen was still easy to set off.

Oddly enough, Coleen had remembered her own lighter, thank God. She would feel weird and awkward taking the strangers. Her black fingernails shone in the light as she fiddled with lighting her cigarette. After getting it lit, out of habit Coleen ran her fingers through her short, black hair. It would fall in it's origonal position but she did it anyway for no real reason.

Out of the corner of her eye, Coleen looked at this guy. Who the hell was he? She hadn't really seen him before. Her curiosity overtook her anti-talk mood and she asked in a slight New York accent,

"So you on tour or what?"

Anyone that knew her was aware of how her tone was constantly commanding. 'Don't take it personally', they would tell people once she would leave, 'it's how she is.' And it was true, Coleen was commanding. But also loyal and protective so her positive trait seemed to balance her negatives. At least she hoped they did. If he wasn't standing right there, Coleen would have rolled her eyes at herself for thinking she had any good traits to balance out her rather brash ones. Oh well.

"I'm talking!"
"I'm thinking!"

[/size] • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

WORDS! 363 >.>
STATUS! complete
NOTES! I don't mind one bit :3~
TAGS!Nick
INSPIRATION! Joan Jett (go figure)
TEMPLATE CREDIT! Arro @ Caution 2.0
PICTURE CREDIT!
[/blockquote][/color]

[nicholas robert harlow;]

I'M THE NEW CANCER

[/B][/size][/font][/size]
•• N E V E R • L O O K E D • B E T T E R ••[/i]
A N D Y O U C A N ' T S T A N D I T
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -[/center]

There was a moment in which Nick thought that she would not accept. It wouldn't be entirely terrible, of course, and nothing that would be particularly damaging to his career. But there was the unspoken contract that would have passed between them, that she owed him. Yes, it was a cigarette, effectively meaningless, but then she would remember who he was, and she owed him that recognition. Not a name, just a face and a personality and a vice, and he wouldn't have minded that in the long run. However, she did exactly as he had expected her to; accepted after a moment's pause, seemed grudgingly thankful, not tried to go for the lighter. It was all very much the same to him. Routine is good, he reminded himself. Routine meant that when someone worked outside the loop -- namely, him -- it worked in his favour immensely. He glanced up at her as if he had only just realised that she was particularly important and allowed their fingers to brush as he handed her the cigarette. He wasn't flirting, of course, though that used to be a subtle hint of his, but merely making sure that she was aware of him. "No problem," he all but mumbled. He didn't mean to, but it was such a trite piece of language that he attached no importance to it in this situation.

Nick knew the correct answer was, of course, definitive. He could say, yes, he was on the tour, he was the manager of that band no one liked but were achieving fame through their own means anyway. Alternatively, he could tell her that he wasn't, because, for all intents and purposes, he didn't have to follow them around or check back in every now and then as he did. Instead, he merely smiled, just a little, as if he were the cat before it got the mouse. There was something almost enigmatic in the way he looked and smiled and stood because, of course, he knew something she didn't, and he liked it that way. "You could say that," he told her. He had used many accents in his time, but he now preferred the clear-cut British accent, and that was what he used for this. It was the type that Americans associated with the British man, and as such, couplied with his attire, wealth and power and all those cheerful things that he was on his way to attaining.

"Are you?" he continued, raising an eyebrow at her questioningly as she lit up the cigarette. He was used the age-old technique of merely deflecting questions in his most evasive manner and then shooting them back to her. She'd asked for it, really, when she chose to accept that cigarette, but something told him not to push it; he shouldn't become too chatty and take over the conversation. That would probably cause her to walk away. "I trust we are both talking about that pop-punk tour nearby," he explained, though without a current sense of direction, he chose not to gesture in the vague direction of the tour. She would understand, surely. Nick did his research. There was only one tour right now, and this was it. He looked at her a bit more carefully, as if appraising what she was wearing. "You don't strike me as the pop-punk type of girl," he explained innocently. Punk, probably. A soloist by the way she didn't seem to readily trust anyone; band members usually had this thing about them, where they would be ready with social skills to go to sign an autograph or call up a friend if they had no time for something or needed back-up. She seemed like she had neither.

[/justify][/size]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

• B E C A U S E Y O U S A Y S O •
UNDER YOUR BREATH

[/b][/size][/font]

622 WORDS | COMPLETE | TAGS : COLEEN
LYRICS BY PANIC! AT THE DISCO | TEMPLATE BY ARRO
I APOLOGISE FOR ALL HIS MENTAL RAMBLING;
HE'S A PEOPLE READER, S'ALL. ALSO, MERRY CHRISTMAS!

[/center][/size][/blockquote]

[coleen]

_{I DON'T GIVE A DAMN ABOUT A BAD REPUTATION}

( You're living in the past it's a new generation

[/b][/size] )
a girl • can do • what she • wants to • do and • that's • what I'm •gonna•do
^{and I don't give a damn about a bad reputation}[/i][/center][/font]

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Coleen couldn't decide if the stranger was flirting or just being a klutz when his fingers brushed hers when handing the smoke to her. Her eyes lingered on him for a second before glancing away, now wary of his intentions. He kept quiet for a few seconds but then muttered a slurred 'no problem' to her. Coleen raised her brows in a silent response.

She held the cigarette in between two of her slender fingers. Coleen's hands were slightly callused from doing certain things. Playing guitar pretty hardcore, fighting quite frequently, things like that. Now that she thought about, it was no wonder she could count her number of friends with one hand... Dismissing the rather pathetic thought, Coleen let out a breath of smoke, not particularly caring if the wind carried it into someone's face.

When he gave her a rather vague answer about his participation in the tour, she made an expecting motion with her free hand and rose her brows again, and asked dryly,

"Care to share?"

His accent was probably the polar opposite of hers. It was crisp and reminded her of a rich, posh man. Hers, on the other hand, was rough and harsh sounding. He then asked of her position in the tour and Coleen responded after taking the cigarette out of her lips, holding it off to the side.

"Yeah I am," she said simply, taking another whiff of her vice. He made sure they were referring to the correct tour. They were so Coleen added,

"Glad to know we're on the same page. I'm Coleen Marx, maybe you've heard of me," she said, making sure that last part didn't sound too cocky. Confidence was fine, she just hated coming across cocky. If she had any morals at all, it was to make an attempt to make people at least see her as the least bit down to Earth.

Coleen turned to face the guy slightly, now a little caught up in conversation. She really hadn't planned on making small talk, but none the less, she was.

"I'm more of a rocker than punk, actually."

It was then she realized he hadn't shared with her his name, or his place in the tour. Coleen stated,

"Alright, I told you so now you tell me," she asked him in that raspy accent of hers, "how are ya participating in the tour? And a name would be nice too..."

"I'm talking!"
"I'm thinking!"

[/size] • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

WORDS! 400ish
STATUS! complete
NOTES! Merry Christmas to you too!
TAGS!Nick
INSPIRATION! Joan Jett (go figure)
TEMPLATE CREDIT! Arro @ Caution 2.0
PICTURE CREDIT!
[/blockquote][/color]

[nicholas robert harlow;]

I'M THE NEW CANCER

[/B][/size][/font][/size]
•• N E V E R • L O O K E D • B E T T E R ••[/i]
A N D Y O U C A N ' T S T A N D I T
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -[/center]

The expectant motion she gave him, and the way she looked at him, only served to amuse Nick. He was very often amused anyway, but there was the fact she had asked him to willingly share information about himself to a complete stranger. Nick kept everything close -- friends, enemies, secrets -- and there was no boundary between strangers and friends. Everyone got the same information, and he commended those who found out more on their investigative skills instead. So no, he decided as he took a drag of the cigarette in his hand. He knew it wasn't possible, but he almost felt the nicotine hitting the bloodstream, despite the fact it was a terrible habit, and he shouldn't succumb so easily to a craving. He reminded himself that she had asked a question and that he was obligated to give a stock, secretive answer in return. "Not at all," he told her. He did not care to share, and he didn't intend to, not right now. Maybe she'd get annoyed, but he somehow doubted it. She'd probably just regard with that same suspicion she had now. Or she'll think you're the guy taking bets ... not that you haven't done that before ...

There was an attempt to be confident, and not cocky, and Nick could say the name rung a few bells, but he refused to show any signs of recognition. He made a mental note of the name, in case it ever came up in conversation with anyone again, though he doubted it. Unless she had a penchant for hanging around in clubs, in which case, he merely worried a little for the band. "I suppose I have," he said in an almost vague manner, as if hers was the sort of name thrown about in conversation amongst politics and economics, both of which he'd had the misfortune of hearing about at a recent social event. It would've been fine, except he had no interest in either matter. Her comment about herself being a rocker as opposed to a punk threw him off a little, though he merely blinked once at her, only barely confused outwardly. Was there any difference in either label? Surely, they were both for the music, and had similar styles of dress, and that was all that matter to him. In a bid to at least recognise what she'd said, he commented lightly, if a little sarcastically, "Of course. I imagine there's a world of difference." As always, she was free to take it any way she liked, because Nick didn't even know what he meant half the time, but he knew what to say to keep things mysterious to his liking. If she so wished, she could take it almost condescendingly. Nick was well aware, however, that they were either the same age or she was older, so there was really no point to him pretending to be smarter than her (even if he was).

The comment about his name reminded of his previous thinking, that he would not tell her anything she could not work out for herself. That clearly wasn't his job. He neatly skated over the topic of his job by merely ignoring it, a trick that he used when deliberately evasive answers didn't work. Instead, he appeared to think long and hard about the quite trivial matter of his name. In the end, he shrugged as though it was no big deal at all. "Oh, well, they call me all sorts of things," he explained. They had once. There had been nicknames, condescending insults, and, of course, the few names he had used out on the streets when he'd wanted to hide from, well, himself. However, he couldn't be too rude. It wasn't becoming. He'd had his wife telling him off next time he regaled her of tales of where he'd been and who he'd met. Instead, he sighed, if a little dramatically, and added, "but I suppose I go by Nick nowadays." He hated Nicholas for a myriad of reasona, and anyway, by offering his nickname, he was telling her that they had reached that point.

[/justify][/size]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

• B E C A U S E Y O U S A Y S O •
UNDER YOUR BREATH

[/b][/size][/font]

688 WORDS | COMPLETE | TAGS : COLEEN
LYRICS BY PANIC! AT THE DISCO | TEMPLATE BY ARRO
I'M SORRY THAT HE SEEMS SUCH A FISHY CHARACTER. P:

[/center][/size][/blockquote]

[coleen]

_{I DON'T GIVE A DAMN ABOUT A BAD REPUTATION}

( You're living in the past it's a new generation

[/b][/size] )
a girl • can do • what she • wants to • do and • that's • what I'm •gonna•do
^{and I don't give a damn about a bad reputation}[/i][/center][/font]

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Coleen scoffed and gave him a smirk. Of course there was a difference. Punk wasn't as old as rock, for one point. She took another breath of her cigarette and said in a snarky tone,

"There is, actually."

Coleen turned herself to face him a bit more. She was no genius, never had been. Hell she didn't even finish her senior year of high school. When it came to music and her ways of playing, she knew it better than almost anyone.

"Punk is some kind of subgenre of Rock. I play rock, not this new punk shit," Coleen rasped.


"I'm talking!"
"I'm thinking!"

[/size] • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

WORDS!
STATUS! WIP
NOTES! lalala
TAGS! open!
INSPIRATION! Joan Jett (go figure)
TEMPLATE CREDIT! Arro @ Caution 2.0
PICTURE CREDIT!
[/blockquote][/color]