a little night out {Kate}

[graham douglas stratford;]

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,padding:0; margin: 0; background-image:url(http://i1029.photobucket.com/albums/y353/shockwavesyndrome/thisiswar.png);background-repeat:repeat-y;width: 450px;height:600px;] What was he doing here again? Oh, right. Work. Or so he supposed; he didn’t even know if what he did was considered work. He was a freelance journalist since he owned a fairly popular blog, which had gotten some queries from famous newspapers to write for them. However, he wasn’t interested in that. He still had to figure out what he was doing with his life, and to make his parents see that he wasn’t a failure for not attending college. Sure, he would love to take some journalism classes, but he didn’t see the point of wasting four years away to spend extra money for a diploma that only told people what he was good at. Stupid. Carefully glancing about the crowd, he saw no one of particular interest. Everyone was busy dancing to the rhythm of the beat as heavy lights flashed along. Armed with a notebook and pen in his bag, he was tempted to pull it out just to get a train of thoughts flowing. Drumming his fingers along the counter of the bar, the bartender approached him and asked if he wanted something. Tempted to grab a beer, he declined, knowing that he would have a full day of scouting tomorrow and he couldn’t allow something as trivial as alcohol inhibit him. The man gave him a shrug, almost sorry for him, and continued to serve customers, not knowing that he was only eighteen. They barely checked for ID around here. Graham wondered what it would be like to be a bartender. To watch people get wasted over lost love, jobs, or simply out of depression. On the other hand, there were the pretentious bourgeois’ who lived for nights at a club and only indulged in a couple martinis or cocktails. This bartender didn’t look like he liked to engage in much conversation; he was drying the same glass for over three minutes, eyes glued to the cup. A man called for him, and he disdainfully put the glass down and walked over. His eyes followed the bartender until he reached a blind spot since the bar wrapped in a circle. The music died down and a slow, mellow, song came on as couples took to the floor while everyone else sat down for a drink or to rest. He sighed as he extended himself on the small stool in an attempt to relax. This empty feeling…when would it go away? words 529 | tagged For Kate~ | misc: I tried to leave it open ended :3 this template was made by ZOE of caution 2.0 !

[kate]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image:url(http://i141.photobucket.com/albums/r71/maggiesrpstuff/BACKGROUNDS/fk5qwnjpg.png); width: 457px; padding-top: 30; padding-bottom: 30; -moz-border-radius: 35 35 35 35; -webkit-border-radius: 35 35 35 35;] hi » FIRE IT UP. It had been one of those extremely normal and boring days for Kate. Wake up and drink litterally a pot of coffee just so she could last through band practise. Kate always made sure the bus was stocked with coffee, as she wouldn't make it through the day with out it. The hot black liquid was her poison. The rest of the band had left for the night and Kate was silently putting her bass back in its case before she headed out into the rain and back to the bus. When the bus door slammed behind her she made herself jump, realizing she had scared herself she let out a small laugh and started to dig through some clothes to find something to wear to the club that night. Kate really needed to do laundry, all ready she was running out of clean clothes to wear. Oh the life styles of being on the road all the time. While it was all exciting the constant moving and interacting with thousands of people got over whelming at times. Even though she loved her band and being on tour she found herself longing for home. Sometimes she even missed her family, she always felt ashamed that's he was so ashamed of her own family. Growing up in a two bedroom apartment with four other kids and only your mother, was hard. Especially when they couldn't afford clothes to wear or the oldest kid had to stay home from school to watch one of the younger ones because they were sick. It was safe to say that Kat struggled with school and didn't graduate high school because she dropped out her senior year. Once she had slightly dolled herself up at least to make herself presentable in public she headed out in search of a club or bar. Either or it didn't matter. Luckily enough she was able to catch a ride with a member from another band, instead of having to walk in the rain. The club scene was no stranger to Kate, of course she used a fake ID to get her drinks and what not but she was at a club nearly every night. Dancing and drinking seemed to get her mind off of all the stresses and troubles of her life. Most of the time she felt like a kid at heart and didn't want to grow up, she just wanted to have fun and experience life a little on the wild side. Was that really all that bad? Once in the club she squinted her eyes trying to get used to the dark lightning and the crazy colored lights. The music was loud, the place was full and the drinks were flowing. Kate knew she would be having some fun tonight. Walking up to the bar she ordered a Martini. okay so she was starting light tonight, she knew as the night went on she would become more of a heavy drinker. The guy next to her at the bar looked slightly familiar though she just couldn't put a name to the face. Your the umm.... Journalist guy. right? she said feeling slightly bad that she didn't know his name and had just referred to him as the journalist guy. words, outfit, whatever you want

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[graham douglas stratford;]

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,padding:0; margin: 0; background-image:url(http://i1029.photobucket.com/albums/y353/shockwavesyndrome/thisiswar.png);background-repeat:repeat-y;width: 450px;height:600px;] Because he never liked to stay in one place for a long time, Graham had few opportunities to make any solid friends. Sure, he had his friends back home, but they were all pre-occupied with their last summer before they were bound for college. He didn’t want to dampen their spirits by telling them that the real world wasn’t black and white, so he kept to himself and left the occasional message on their wall if something interesting happens to fancy him. Surprise was an understatement when he saw a girl approach him and say, You’re the umm.... Journalist guy. right? He opened his mouth, and for a moment he looked like a fish out of water, trying to find something intelligent to say. Few people recognized him off the streets, or at least in clubs like this, so the girl either had to be a fan, or perhaps affiliated with the music industry herself. When he made his first blog post about Paramore, views sky rocked on his blog. Even though they were a popular band to begin with, he found that people were more interested in his questions. They weren’t sugar coated and shallow like the interviews that you see on the tabloids—no, they were hard hitting, and it not only made the interviewee think, but the reader. This unconventional style earned him requests from various newspapers as a writer, but he politely declined, saying that he would like to figure out what he’s doing with his life. After all, he was only eighteen. A slight pang hit his chest when he thought of the life he left behind. He was miles away from his hometown of New York City, and his parents. Although he came he came from a wealthy family, his parents never neglected him as a child. Put him under pressure, yes, but they never faltered to give him the necessary time they thought he needed. So he blossomed into an intelligent, but cynical and perhaps bitter, young man. He supposed that coming from a family of lawyers, it was a wonder he didn’t like to debate, and he’d rather avoid it entirely. He never quite understood the rationale behind debating unless it was to strongly urge someone, but he has never come across a circumstance in his life that required it. To him, listening was much more rewarding; it provided a deeper understanding of others that was needed to achieve peace. He cleared his throat after a moment’s pause and said Ah…Yeah, I guess I am. He smiled. The name is Graham Stratford, he extended a hand. He looked at her more closely, trying to get some understanding of her. One should never judge someone by their appearance, but from experience, he knew that it said a lot. It was dark in the club, so he couldn’t see too well, but was nicely dressed, not like a slut, but she did have a martini in one hand and from the looks of it, she wasn’t twenty-one. He could care less, though. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss…? words 514 | tagged | misc this template was made by ZOE of caution 2.0 !

[kate]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image:url(http://i141.photobucket.com/albums/r71/maggiesrpstuff/BACKGROUNDS/fk5qwnjpg.png); width: 457px; padding-top: 30; padding-bottom: 30; -moz-border-radius: 35 35 35 35; -webkit-border-radius: 35 35 35 35;] hi » FIRE IT UP. Kate always seemed to open her mouth before thinking. Though being as open as she was she didn't see a problem with the stupid ways she would talk to people. She felt bad for not knowing his name, why? She didn't know, its not like she could know and remember every ones name, her brain couldn't hold that much information. It was hard enough for her to remember where her keys were. Every one always told her that she needed a babysitter to watch her and keep her out of trouble. Kate was living life like a rock star and she didn't want any one to hold her back. Sure one of these days she knew she would have to grow up and be a adult, but until then couldn't she just have fun with her life and see where it takes her. Kate shook the boys hand, she wasn't sure how old he was but he did look slightly younger then her. Nice to meet you Graham, I'm Kate she said. Kate usually had good manners and was polite, at least around people she didn't know. Around her friends she was a bombshell waiting to explode and to something crazy. Ive read some of your stuff before, your really great she said. Kate being the immature girl that she was did find his hard hitting questions interesting, when it came to the band she was slightly more mature and involved. Being in the band she had done interviews before and while she found them fun, it got tiering to be asked the same things over and over again. Are you dating any one? whats your type? What would your stripper name be? well Kay she had decided her stripper name would be Delilah rosebud, because she liked flowers. The point was when was some one going to ask about the music and the deeper stuff? Maybe it was just every one knew her as the crazy party girl and so they gave her all the fun meaningful questions. You working tonight? she asked out of curiosity. Clubs went exactly the best place to meet for a interview but hey who knows, since it was a up beat place to be. blah sorry its short my muse is museless

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[graham douglas stratford;]

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,padding:0; margin: 0; background-image:url(http://i1029.photobucket.com/albums/y353/shockwavesyndrome/thisiswar.png);background-repeat:repeat-y;width: 450px;height:600px;] I’ve read some of your stuff before, you’re really great. Graham nodded mutely, wondering what she wanted. Perhaps an interview, not that he would decline it, but he wasn’t in the mood. Ironically, he came here to write, but the more he spent time in the club, the more he realized what he needed was some time alone and to clear his head. Today, he was in his hotel room for the most part, as he wrote some interviews properly. The way he worked was jotting down any observations he had of the speaker and then directly quoting them either by writing it down or with an audio recorder of some sort. He liked to keep within the speaker’s comfort level; most didn’t like the idea of a recorder since it disrupted the natural flow of conversation. Thanks. He said, wondering if he should say more. He really didn’t know what to say, but he didn’t want to come off as rude. After all, he had a reputation to uphold! But, before he could say anything, she said You working tonight? Graham paused. Was he working? What defined his work? By practice, he was a journalist, but as a journalist, he was always observing people and the human condition, and because of this, he felt like his job had no end. Not that he minded, quite the contrary, it was refreshing compared to his dreary high school life. It baffled him that he could be stuck in a Calculus classroom for an hour and in that hour, he could have done something much more productive than learn how to find the limit of a x. With confidence, he could say he would never need that in life. Smiling, he said, Sort of. My work never ends, if you know what I mean. He gave a good natured laugh and continued. I’m always looking for people to talk to, or things to write about. I don’t consider it work until I actually sit down and write something. I’m always observing—I guess you could call it a perk of being a journalist. Pausing again, this time curiosity getting the better of him, he asked, So, how do you know about my blog? You part of a band? The question was innocent enough. If she wanted an interview, here was the time to say something, but he was in no rush. It was nice to have an actual conversation with someone with no time constraint. words 414 | tagged | misc: I’m so sorry for taking so long x.x School caught up with me. this template was made by ZOE of caution 2.0 !