the best of the boys [ a collection ]

Subject: the best of the boys [ a collection ] Mon Jan 28, 2013 9:10 pm

Um, I stole Nico's idea and I'm doing a collection of self-paras for all my characters. No, I'm serious it's the same idea as Nico's. Hur hur I'm creative. :D Uhm, so yeah. The directory is listed below of characters and self-paras, so go nuts. :D

william michaels;; let the rain wash away all the pain of yesterday
charlie bradford;; none atm
adriano miles;; none atm
vinnie belanov;; delirium
adam lewins;; desolation row
levi wayland;; hallelujah, demons
chanel hale;; none atm
roman hollis;; none atm
andy patrick;; none atm

Subject: Re: the best of the boys [ a collection ] Wed Jan 30, 2013 4:08 pm

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will

Hands gripping the steering wheel of his Cadillac, Will's stormy blue gaze searched the parking lot for any sign of life. It was the beginning of November, practically Christmas time. He doubted anyone would be here. Although, he knew someone who would always be at the camp. Hale. Of course, Hale hadn't been at the camp when Will had tried to... Will shook his head, remembering what the doctors had told him. He was happy now. He wasn't about to let something as stupid as wondering who was at camp bring up his old life. Will was a different person now. He was all clean and healthy and all better. Well, he wasn't a completely new person, he was just back to his old happy, charismatic self. With a hint of somberness. Will threw the car into parking position and turned the engine off, climbing out quickly. He moved with an almost hesitation in the way he stepped, as if he wasn't sure what to do anymore. It was almost as if the half-son of Zeus forgot what it was like to be a normal healthy person. "I can do this." He repeated to himself the words he'd been saying over and over again for the last four hours.

Will placed one foot in front of the other as he climbed the hill, memories rushing back. He and Morgan once stood on this hill together, kissing in the rain. Gods, he missed her. Will smiled wistfully at the memory. Instead of pushing or shoving the memory away, he simply relieved it, letting it go away on its own. Morgan's smiling face was burned into his memory and no matter how hard he'd try to get her out, it wasn't going to happen. Speaking of which, he had graves to visit. As soon as he was inside the camp's borders, Will set his duffel bags by a tree and padded over the brown needles and through the bare trees, pulling his coat closer to his body. Will's breath came out in short little puffs as he made his way through the barren part of camp. Against the stormy, pre-winter sky, Will's eyes were a light grey in color. Maybe it would snow soon, possibly giving Will a chance to use his fire-making skills he had picked up while on a camping trip in the mortal world. Will smiled to himself. That camping trip with all of his roommates had definitely been fun and he would've never thought that mortals were capable of fun. And on the trip, he hadn't even flirted with anyone. He was proud of himself for sure.

Coming up to a pair of large, iron gates, Will stopped, pausing. It was as if the world was holding its breath, to see if William Trevor Michaels could do it. Could actually walk into the cemetary and not break down. Will took a deep breath of cold air and moved forward. He could do this. He'd been practicing for weeks. It was judgement day, he thought, smiling to himself at the little joke. With rosy cheeks and a pale face, Will treaded lightly across the cemetary and deep into the heart of the dead place. In normal situations, he would've found the place to be creepy or odd, but now it was just somber and quiet. The nearly frozen grass crunched under his feet as he walked further and further, the wind still blowing coldly across his face, pulling his jacket taut against his chest. About twenty feet away, he saw it. Morgan's grave. It was small, almost simple. Just what the daughter of Zeus would've liked. Will stuffed his hands into his pockets and held his shoulders back, approaching the grave.

He stopped in front of the tombstone and opened his mouth. Nothing came out. For a moment, Will wondered if he really could do this? He couldn't doubt himself. Not now. He was so close. He'd made it this far, and he intended to go through with this. He wasn't the boy he used to be. Who he used to be was a person who didn't keep promises. But, now, he was going to make sure that every promise he made was carried out. "Hi." He started with something easy. "Hi, Morgan," Will looked down at his hands, shaking in the cold. "I miss you." Will's voice was steady despite the high emotions. "I'm better now. I don't do any of that crap that I did a few months ago. You were right, too, about all of that stupid stuff I did. It was stupid." Will allowed himself a small chuckle. "I'm not going to dwell on the past now, though. I know that you're gone and there's not a thing in the world that I can do to bring you back but, I'm sure wherever you are, you wouldn't want to come back. I'm sure it's warm there, too."

Will paused to take a breath and steady his hands. "I got you something, Morgan." Will reached into his pocket and pulled out a beautiful, blue flower. In the center of the soft, dark-blue petals was a soft yellow center that gave off electric sparks. "It glows when the person that it's for is happy, even if they're dead." The demigod reached down and set the flower on the grass, sheltered by the gravestone. "I hope you're happy. I truly hope you are.. Even if there was some way I could bring you back, Morgan, and I'm sure there is, I wouldn't do it. I only want for you to be happy. Well, wanted. I only wanted you to be happy. And with me, you weren't happy. Even if you were with me again, you wouldn't be happy. But, I mean, I don't know you, Morgan. I thought that I did, but I didn't.." Will trailed off, his eyes on the ground, away from the flower. "I didn't know you, Morgan. I'm so sorry I didn't save you, though. If I could hold you in my arms one last time and tell you that I love you, I would. But, I can't. So, I guess this is it. This is my goodbye." Will gave one last tearful smile and turned to leave. Facing the wind, the snow, the emotions, and next weeks to come would be terrible, but it'd be okay. He knew he'd be okay in the end. He was Will Michaels, grandson of Zeus. He was always okay.

Subject: Re: the best of the boys [ a collection ] Wed Jan 30, 2013 4:09 pm

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Vincent Thomas Belanov

Vinnie was sick. Sicker than the normal person who had been infected with the flu. All he’d been doing for the past twelve hours was lying in his bed, rolling back and forth on his back, stricken with coughs. He was wrapped in thick quilts, his skin glistening with a thick sheen of sweat. The room was warm, moist and dark, the air heavy with bacteria. The son of Hermes rolled over onto his back, letting out a groan. A coughing spasm wracked the eighteen year old, causing him to sit up in the bed and double over in pain from the heavy, wet coughs. Vinnie pulled his knees to his chest and cradled his head against his joints. Another coughing fit violently attacked the boy and he flung his arm over his face, using the lightweight material as a catch-all for the germs. Perspiration slipped down his face and dropped onto his already wet shirt. The shirt was clinging to him from all the bodily fluids that his skin was releasing. Vinnie grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled upwards, yanking it off of him.
His skin was almost literally steaming in the darkness from the high fever he had. Vinnie flopped back down in his bed, closing his eyes. He drew a deep breath in through his mouth and easily fell into unconsciousness.
Within a few hours of his departure from consciousness, Vinnie was awake again. This time however, his reality was shrouded in a thin veil of delirium. His dresser and other pieces of furniture grew huge all of a sudden, jumping around and dancing with the shadows on his walls. Terrified, the demigod shrunk back into his bed, his heart pumping hard. “Help,” he moaned weakly, his voice cracking with the sickness. The dresser and his chair and desk grew angry faces with demented features and strange expressions. They lumbered over to him and just stood there idly, almost as if they were waiting. Within the moments of their stillness, a strange calmness hung in the air. The kind of calmness that happened before a storm hit hard.
Suddenly, each of the pieces of furniture turned into his family members. His mother one, his father another, and the little boy who died in the accident another. Vinnie’s normally light, amber eyes were dark with fear and terror as each one of them began to speak. They spoke with rapid words, leaving Vinnie unable to understand them. The shirtless, terrified and fever-induced demigod clambered out of his bed and fell to the floor, his back hitting the cold oak with a thud. He rolled to his feet and shakily stood. The desk and dresser neared him, reaching out to him with their wooden arms and hands. “Get back!” The boy shouted weakly, looking around for help. The only thing he saw was a dagger sitting on his desk. It gleamed in the moving shadows and Vin snatched it off the table by the blade without thinking and proceeding to slice his hands open. The open cut didn’t even faze the boy, though. He turned the dagger around and shouted, “Get away from me! Get away!” His voice was no shout, though. It was a weak, broken whisper.
And with that shout, Vin choked on a sob and blinked, the furniture instantly returning to their original spots. Confused, the dagger fell from his hand and hit the floor with a sharp thud. The son of Hermes dropped to his knees and wrapped his bloody arms around himself, rocking on the floor.
More spasms rocketed through his body, this time each one having to do with his temperature. Vin felt like his organs were on fire but at the same time thought he was sitting in a blizzard in Antarctica. He rolled onto his back, grappling with his shirt again and struggling it over his head. Vin let out a whimper when he climbed back into bed as a starry night sky appeared over his head. He was so confused but felt oddly at peace when he watched a comet shoot above his head. With a shaking, bloody and sweaty hand, he reached out to try and grab the stars, the picture materializing at his touch. An upset expression crossed Vin’s features and with that, the demigod fell back into his pillow, unconscious with a 105 degree fever.

Subject: Re: the best of the boys [ a collection ] Wed Jan 30, 2013 4:11 pm

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Adam Charles Lewins

The barren wasteland stretched on for miles. Mud as far as anyone could see. Craters decorated the ground, holding small pools of vile, rainwater tainted with red undertones. The red undertones being blood. The landscape was completely and utterly decimated with craters and dead bodies littering the ground like toys on a child's floor. Long trenches were dug out into the ground below. Some trenches were a few inches deep while others were as deep as ten feet. Thunder rolled in the distance, echoing ominously in No Man’s Land. A sort of sullenness hung in the icy, wet air, giving the atmosphere a tired feeling, while still managing to stay morose. Suddenly out of nowhere, the world came to screeching halt as silence infiltrated the air. It was dead quiet, until the sound of something whistling through the air could be heard. Then the heavens opened up and rain poured down. Rains of artillery. The bombs fell down belligerently onto the desolate wasteland as a man’s head poked above a trench.
Lieutenant Adam Lewins' eyes appraised the horizon, his hat concealing the majority of his face. Mud splattered up into the young man’s face, making it almost hard to check out the battlefield. Without any reluctance, the lieutenant ducked back into the trench, his gaze scanning the rows of bewildered and quivering men. Adam pulled his hat off his head to run his hand through his hair. When the light finally hit his face, Adam’s sharp features were revealed. He had high cheekbones with entrancing, light green eyes. His light blonde hair was matted down with dirt, mud and blood, but he attempted to shake it out. Adam slipped his helmet back on and stood in front of his men, calling for attention. “Let’s go,” he announced impressively, his voice strong in the sullen atmosphere. His men lined up, pressing themselves against the wall, waiting for their lieutenant’s call. Adam peered up over the trench just as German artillery pounded the ground. Adam flew back into the trench, thudding onto the ground. Almost dejectedly, Adam pulled himself up and gave his men the go sign. Whistles screamed in the air as the men tossed themselves over the edge. Adam flung himself into No Man’s Land and was met with showers of rain and bullets. Not thinking, Adam wildly shot his gun off at the enemy—The Germans. Adam moved as quickly as he could through the absolute chaos, diving onto the ground when bombs hit and ducked his head at the right moments. Moving faster along the decimated ground, Adam blew his whistle harder, calling his men back to him. But the scream of the whistle was interrupted when Adam was thrown into a crater next to a writhing man. The man’s mouth was opened in a scream, but he was silent. Horrified, Adam glanced down already knowing that the man was missing his other half. Literally. The lieutenant scrambled out of the hole and before he knew it, was across no man’s land. Adam flung himself into the trench. Adam’s horror subsided as he struggled to count his men. So far, only a few had made it across, but Adam prayed with all his heart that he had more men coming. Within the next few moments, the young man grew increasingly apprehensive to the doughboys’ homecoming. Another soldier tapped Adam’s shoulder and with a monotonous voice he asked, “Do you have any water, lieutenant?”
“If I had water then I’d be drinkin’ it, soldier,” Adam retorted with a slight tone of annoyance. His face softened at the wariness in the younger boy’s eyes. Adam reached out and patted his shoulder, consoling him gently. “It’ll be alright… this war’ll be over soon. It’s gonna be okay.”

Subject: Re: the best of the boys [ a collection ] Wed Jan 30, 2013 4:13 pm

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Levi Charles Wayland

The metal was cool and heavy in his hands. It made him feel powerful, strong, invicible. Like he could do anything and get away with anything. Wiping the blood off his nose, Levi raised the gun slowly, his hands shaking. A thousand thoughts ran through his head. Was he going to get caught? Would he live to tell the tale? Could he really pull the trigger? He pressed the nozzle to the side of his temple and with his pointer finger on the trigger, a tear ran down Levi's face. God, could he really do it? Before he knew it, he was full on sobbing. Sobbing pitifully, taking great gulps of air, still holding the gun pressed against his head. "I can't do this!" He screamed, throwing the gun across the room. "I can't do this..." he whispered, dropping to his knees and throwing himself on the floor. He was weak. Weak for almost doing it and weak for not being able to pull the trigger. It was just one little muscle movement. Like a reflex, almost. So why couldn't he just do it?
Putting his hands on the back of his head, Levi pressed his forehead against the cool, hardword floor and just breathed deeply. He sat like that for a good fifteen minutes, cooling himself down. What he needed was to talk to Rosie. But Rosie was out with her stupid boyfriend. Levi picked himself up off the floor and crawled over to his dresser, rifling through some papers. He shoved his geometry book aside and lifted up the false top in his dresser to reveal a small cubby. Inside the cubby was a small collection of blades and razors. If he couldn't shoot himself, then he could bleed out. Levi picked up the first blade he saw and put it to his skin. Within about twenty minutes, he had everything cleaned up and he had his wounds dressed. Yeah, none of them were deep enough to take his life, but he'd have to deal until he figure out the perfect way to die.
As if nothing had happened, Levi slid down the banister on the stairs like a normal boy. He couldn't let his father see what was really going on. If he did, Pete would never let him forget it. He'd tease him and he'd bully him and he'd make fun of him. Levi hated Pete as it already stood, so it wasn't like he could hate him anymore. When Levi rounded the corner into the kitchen, he could already smell the booze. He rolled his eyes. God, his father was a true pig. Levi grimaced as a rain of insults hit him in the face when he first walked in. "God, lay off, it's eight in the morning, dad." Levi narrowed his eyes at his father. Leaning against the counter as the harsh words rolled off his horrible breath, Pete narrowed his eyes at Levi. "What'd you say to me, punk?" His words were slightly slurred. Levi just shook his head and turned back to the fridge.
Suddenly, he felt two meaty hands around his throat. Levi let out a choking noise. His windpipe felt like it was being squeezed in two. Instinct kicked in and Levi brought his elbow back into his father's face, feeling something crunch under his blow. A satisfactory crunch. "Ungh," the noise sounded behind Levi and out of instinct, Levi ducked. However, he didn't duck fast enough. A blow fell on the back of the boy's head, sending him flying onto the floor. "God..." Levi whispered, rolling off of the dog's waterbowl that he had landed on.
Levi brought his sleeve up to his nose and wiped away the sticky blood. As he tried to get up, he was kicked back the ground, this time in the face, right between the eyes. Levi cried out and fell hard, clutching his face. Not only was there blood on his face now, but there was mud and dirt, too. He could hear his father and his father's friends laughing in the front room now. For a moment, Levi just lay there in a pool of his own pool and misery. God, he just didn't want to live anymore. He didn't want to live with that man anymore. Levi struggled to his feet and shakily took a step forward. His ankle went numb and he fell again, this time on his knee. This time, Levi just crawled. He crawled on his hands and knees to the kitchen table where his father's revolver lay idly. Levi slapped his hand down onto the table and grabbed the gun. He collapsed to the floor and hugged the gun to his chest. This was his new best friend. He could feel it. Levi slowly got to his feet and dragged himself into the front room.
His father and his pig friends were all gathered around one bong, smoking. When the saw Levi approach his father stood to do something, but Levi was quicker. He raised the revolver with an entirely too steady hand. Levi's eyes were so dark now, they could've been black. "You don't want to mess with me right now, dad," he said, his voice strong despite the intensity of the situation. Pete's eyes were wide with fear. Levi could practically smell the fear radiating off his body. Fear mixed with sweat and marijuana smoke. "I'm filled with blood, bitterness and impure thoughts. I've got a revolver in my hands. I swear to God I will shoot you right now." Levi advanced closer to his father, forcing him to sit down. Levi's heart was pumping hard against his ribcage. Could he really do it? Was he really going to shoot his own father? "You're no father to me, asshole," he whispered to himself pulling the trigger that he was once too scared to pull before.
The backfire of the gun nearly knocked him to the ground, but Levi recovered and glanced at his father's friends. They were terrified of the boy now. Levi gave them a twisted smile. Pain was locked in his eyes. He pointed the revolver at the two of them now and pulled the trigger two times more. They were done. He was done.
"I'm done."

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