Jack Steed
Really Experienced
- Joined
- Aug 8, 2001
- Posts
- 195
Travis
OOC: First timer, here. Suggestions welcome.
IC: Travis, Jorja's ex, is 5'9", wiry--and hard as nails. His hawk-like countenance and sandy hair, combined with his build and swagger, remind some people of the actor Sean Penn.
He dresses in denim--no leather for this guy--and shit-kicker boots, and despite his build, is always ready to mix it up if he feels slighted or has had too much to drink.
Unfortunately, he has a tendency to come out on the short end of these encounters. It was one of those occasions that first drew Jorja's attention, when she picked him up out of an alley one night and nursed him (in her own distinctive way) back to consciousness, if not health.
For awhile, things were cool with her--it amused her to find a poet's heart beating within this blue collar, white trash body. But Jorja has a short attention span. When she dumped him a couple of months ago, he couldn't get her out of his mind--which made him even angrier.
"You need to get laid, sweetie," she'd laughed the last time they spoke. "That's all. Find yourself some little trailer tramp and you'll be just fine."
An acquantance of his, some wild-ass biker named Bird, had tipped him off that Jorja might be coming to this bar tonight. And, after fortifying himself with half a fifth of Wild Turkey, he followed her here.
But when he walked in the door, it was like he'd stepped into another fucking reality altogether. Half-naked people dancing and gyrating and pawing and leather, leather everywhere you looked, for chrissakes, and some kind of weird-ass music and everybody looking at each other for one thing....
"Holy shit," he muttered under his breath, trying to clear the fog from his eyes. "I need another fucking drink."
He stumbled over to the bar, where some youngblood was slinking around, warily eyeing the patrons, and said, "Beer and a shot of Wild Turkey."
OOC: First timer, here. Suggestions welcome.
IC: Travis, Jorja's ex, is 5'9", wiry--and hard as nails. His hawk-like countenance and sandy hair, combined with his build and swagger, remind some people of the actor Sean Penn.
He dresses in denim--no leather for this guy--and shit-kicker boots, and despite his build, is always ready to mix it up if he feels slighted or has had too much to drink.
Unfortunately, he has a tendency to come out on the short end of these encounters. It was one of those occasions that first drew Jorja's attention, when she picked him up out of an alley one night and nursed him (in her own distinctive way) back to consciousness, if not health.
For awhile, things were cool with her--it amused her to find a poet's heart beating within this blue collar, white trash body. But Jorja has a short attention span. When she dumped him a couple of months ago, he couldn't get her out of his mind--which made him even angrier.
"You need to get laid, sweetie," she'd laughed the last time they spoke. "That's all. Find yourself some little trailer tramp and you'll be just fine."
An acquantance of his, some wild-ass biker named Bird, had tipped him off that Jorja might be coming to this bar tonight. And, after fortifying himself with half a fifth of Wild Turkey, he followed her here.
But when he walked in the door, it was like he'd stepped into another fucking reality altogether. Half-naked people dancing and gyrating and pawing and leather, leather everywhere you looked, for chrissakes, and some kind of weird-ass music and everybody looking at each other for one thing....
"Holy shit," he muttered under his breath, trying to clear the fog from his eyes. "I need another fucking drink."
He stumbled over to the bar, where some youngblood was slinking around, warily eyeing the patrons, and said, "Beer and a shot of Wild Turkey."
