grubbin' **

[tou]

He exited out the window with the response from the woman he'd texted hours before, tossing his phone gently atop his pathetic excuse for a bed. Resting atop the twin sized mattress was a black button up shirt, a pair of jeans and a watch, selected from a few cases which sat upon his dresser. The sound of his wet slippers slapping against the hardwood were only washed out by the sound of him vigorously drying his head, his hands fidgeting back and forth until his extremely short hair was completely dry, or as dry as it would be right after a shower. His fingers hooked into the gilded handles of his drawer, pulling it open, while his other hand simultaneously reached into the drawer and pulled out a pair of underwear.

It was six o'clock, or so he approximated. It wasn't really a concern to him, and though it should have, he was far too preoccupied playing out scenarios as to how the night would go. He placed his legs into the alloted holes in his draws and pulled them up his legs quickly, kicking his slippers aside gingerly as to not get any new water on his feet. The sun poured in through the two windows that were placed on both sides of his bed, the blinds up allowing him to see the apartments across the street and hear the buzz from below. The buzz he would soon come to be apart of.

As much as part of him wanted the night to turn for the more sexual path, another was far more content with the niceties of friendship and conversation. He was new to the city, a fact he constantly reminded himself of, and he wanted to make sure there were a few people he could fall back on, as friends. The short-term pleasures of sex had a way of ruining his relationships--and tonight in particular, he wasn't out to ruin anything. So many "healthy" relationships with women were flushed down the tubes once the words, "I was a porn star" escaped him. So much for honesty being the best policy.

He buttoned the second-to-top button of his shirt before strapping his watch around his wrist and reaching for his phone which he tucked into the pockets of his jeans. The sneakers came next and were followed quickly by his wallet which he shoved into his left back pocket. The right was too awkward for someone of the left-handed sort. His keys jingled as he flipped them on his fingers, and the sound of his door, which was probably a little too wide for the frame, finally coming through were the last homely sounds he'd hear until he returned to this very place, with or without a companion on his arm.

He jogged down the stairs and left the lobby of his cheap apartment, stepping out on to the street and was on his way. So began the night.

_________________________________________

"Right this way, sir." a waiter called out to Edward, who stood leaning against a wall, checking his diet plan for the day on his phone. She hadn't arrived yet, but he was rather confident she wouldn't be one to stand him up. He'd never thought that his trust would be a flaw, and he was hoping for no reason to start. He placed his phone into his pocket, looking quickly down at his watch as he followed the waiter to his, or rather, their table. She wasn't late. It would be three minutes until that, and besides, he wasn't holding anyone to any time schedules.

"Is there anything I can start you off with? Drinks?"

"Nah," he replied delightfully, smiling as he always did in such a situation where social niceties were a necessity. "I'm waiting for someone. She should be a quick moment. Check back in five?"

---

tag: phoebe olivia grace
notes: ... o_____o icu (714)
outfit: he stuntin' on 'em

[hannah1]

I'M SWEATING BULLETS BABY ----------*
--------------- don't know what to do now, so hot in here i'm fainting ---------------

It seemed to be a developing theme for the young lady, this meeting men who seemed to be wholesome and nice, then turning them into the while sex machine they really were underneath it all.. except developing wasn't exactly the correct term. Ever since she headed down that path over ten years ago, the path of being liked and wanted, she'd brought out that side in the men she drew in. It was all part of her little game; one she was accustomed to winning. Olivia hit the last step of her apartment's stairwell with the utmost confidence, satisfied with the consistent clicking of her heels against the finished floor. Yes, the building had an elevator, but her personal trainer demanded she use the stairs and since she was already breaking one of the guidelines he set for her this evening by eating out (and she didn't plan on eating a Cobb and calling it a night), she'd best abide by some of the rules.

She climbed into her car and made her way easily through traffic, something that never seemed to frustrate her. For someone more easily unnerved than Phoebe, traffic before a dinner meeting such as this would be completely frustrating. For her, though, she found it almost too easy to relax against the smooth, leather interior with the windows down and the ambiance of the Los Angeles evening pouring in for her to bask in. With one hand resting on the gearshift, she rested the other on the door, reaching back to brush her silken brown hair with her delicate fingers. Navigating the city had become rather easy for her in the past months, having spent the majority of her time here instead of her comfortable apartment in New York. Luckily enough for her, her brother was on sabbatical in New Zealand, leaving his Los Angeles apartment unoccupied and ripe for the picking. She was dying to get back to the Big Apple, but meeting men like Edward made her consider staying on the west coast.

It was just after seven when she parked her car in the lot of the bar and restaurant, or just a couple minutes after when she turned the key to shut the engine off. She had a wonderful habit of being fashionably late: making her date think for half a second she wasn't going to show up, then all of a sudden she would appear out of the masses. If there is one thing Olivia enjoys, it's catching people off-guard. Though the man she was meeting seemed very similar to herself in so many ways, she was hoping to maybe crush him just slightly before making her way into the restaurant. She took her time exiting the car, though decided against smelling anymore roses when her ears caught a couple cat calls from some teenagers across the street. She rolled her eyes; had they known she was twenty-eight, they probably would have reevaluated their immaturity.

However, this was nothing new for Olivia. She simply strutted on and into the restaurant without so much as a second thought. There was a line waiting to be seated, but something told her this guy was punctual. She wasn't disappointed when she looked around and found him already seated at a table. "Can I help you?" Her attention was stolen from the stud across the room to the girl half her size, presumably the hostess. "No," she shot, rather carelessly at the girl. Something that should be noted about Olivia: if you're not a pawn in her little game, and can genuinely get her nowhere in life, or in the moment, you're worth very little to her. As she crossed the room, she caught a glance at herself in the mirror. She looked stunning, but that was no shock. The jeans clung to the arch of her backside and down her thighs, deviating a little at the calf to complete her curvaceous figure. The heels weren't necessary, considering she was already a modest height for a female. The top also accentuated her assets, the buttons only looped together until the bust-line, leaving her cleavage to create drool in the mouths of boys with no self-restraint. Although she wasn't dressed conservatively, she was still very appropriate for public and tastefully clad, at least for her own standards.

"Afraid I wouldn't show, stud?" she teased with the little sideways smirk that could make the weaker ones melt. She knew good and well he wasn't afraid she wouldn't show, but she was a player, and she knew the game. In all her practice, she still managed to get snagged for a fraction of a second on those eyes. The arch of his eyebrows gave him a mysteriously fierce look, something that intrigued her. The short crop of his hair and the five o'clock shadow were, admittedly, very attractive as well. She was, by no means, easy to impress. It took more than looks to get her going.

She took the seat across from him, taking half a second to admire the mood of the room, the smell. Delicious. The man, or the food?

She hadn't tasted the food yet.

[/justify][/blockquote][/blockquote]

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

hey there, eddie, this one's for you. there's 857 words here, and it's basically ramble. she's wearing this, and rocking it. the lyrics are 3OH!3 and the temp/imgs are mine, all mine! in other news, this sucked. my b.

[/font][/blockquote][/blockquote][/blockquote][/justify][/center]

[tou]

He sat rather calmly. Another kiddo in this game, perhaps one more novice to the habits of women in the more, riskier sorts of show business, would have perhaps already ordered his food, in a fit of anger. Perhaps, he'd walk out the restaurant. But no, Eddie wasn't that sort. They didn't call him "Easy" in his day for no reason. No, Easy sat back calmly playing Bejewled on his phone, waving off the waiter politely when he'd come back to check on him. A glass of water sat atop a coaster in front of him, water condensed on the outside of the glass, untouched, for it would be rude for him to partake of it when she wasn't here.

The sounds of heels against the floor beckoned to him, his eyes rolling up slowly, not so eagerly so that she'd feel he was desperate. Oh no, both of these players seemed to be well-seasoned in this game. This game of appealing to the opposite sex, coaxing them into performing their will for them. Perhaps the only difference between the two of them besides the obvious sex difference was that one, easy to be specific, was no longer actively practicing these methods. He'd long since given up days where he was driven by sexual experiences and relied on them for his work. From what he gathered, however, she was not.

He stood from his seat as she stopped at the table, smiling at her as he smiled at anyone in such situations. "Of course not," he replied slickly as if his tongue were the relative to a snake, calm and reassured in his answer. "I was confident you'd come and in a relatively timely fashion too." he placed a light hand on her arm as he leaned in and offered an innocent peck upon the cheek. He'd restore himself to his seat afterward, continuing to over her a slim smile, as his hands joined one another in front of him.

"You're looking nice tonight," he complimented, lying in no form with his statement. He was experienced with women, this was no lie, but he was also an all-round nice person as well. After many years of objectifying women, even thinking of them as less than human, he'd come to find a woman who he was so similar to. He would think nothing of it if it were a man, but the fact that it was a woman proved a point to him. He could let down a guard, if even a preliminary guard, at least for now, until he could access her further. Until he can truly see through her, like he came to see through most people. Even through he'd never be able to do anything about it. He was too nice for that. "Who's the hotty who you're dressing up for? Do I get to meet him?"

His eyes crawled over to the waiter, calling him over with a wave of his hand, large hands, surprisingly soft, even with the hardenings of age and work. "Um, we'll have the menus now. My friend here has finally decided to show up, so I think it's safe to say so, no?"

"Surely, sir," the young boy said in a smile, a rehearsed smile as he'd been trained by his trade to give. He returned just moments later, placing down two menus and a glass of water for Olivia, who'd decided to come along late.

Seeing that she'd finally been given a glass of water, he pulled the glass to his own lips, taking a small sip before placing it back atop the coaster, licking the remaining gloss of water off his lips. In the meantime, he opened up the menu, scanning it's pictures and tantalizing offerings.

"You got any idea what you're gonna get?"

---

tag: phoebe olivia grace
notes: the player's ball begins!! (715)
outfit: he stuntin' on 'em

[hannah1]

I'M SWEATING BULLETS BABY ----------*
--------------- don't know what to do now, so hot in here i'm fainting ---------------

As much as Olivia bragged about not having any secrets, no one really knew her that well. No one on the planet could say they were truly close to Olivia Grace.. hell, most people didn't even know Olivia wasn't really her first name. Her brother had, at one point, known he very well. Phoenix had been her other half, someone she could talk and relate to. That ended when her family split and her morals changed, or well, disappeared. What was their relationship now? They'd call each other up every now and then just to make sure the other was still alive, basically out of practice. There was the occasional birthday call or Christmas card when they remembered, but that was all-together rare. She looked out for number one, and that was just about the extent of it. Some would call her selfish, but she chalked it up to just trying to make it in this crazy world.

She watched as he stood, the polite gesture turning the gears in her mind. She had to admit, she'd stumbled across quite the catch, especially for having caught him in a chat box a few nights prior to this one. How very peculiar it was, finding someone so much like herself (plus a few morals it seemed) so easily. She listened to his voice and the calmness displayed within it. He was either a very good actor, or he hadn't been worried at all. Either way, she was happy with it, since it really meant he wasn't play too much into this, which was what she wanted. She was never in it for an emotional relationship simply because she didn't see how it was worth it. No man had ever kept her attention for longer than a couple hours, so why consider spending her life with one? She knew she'd remain faithful for a while, but when she'd get bored it wouldn't take long for her to send the marriage crumbling down. There, entangled in a seflish vortex of precautions, lived her sympathy for others. The part of her conscience that said, "Breaking a man like that is cruel, don't do it." And what's more, she even listened to it.

Her smirk softened into a smile as he leaned closer to her, and she got a whiff of his scent. He smelled delightful, whether it was his cologne or simply his body wash. She feld his strong hand at her forearm. It was soft, but she could still feel where age had worn upon it. Safe. It felt safe. What in the hell kind of feeling was that? She snapped out of it quickly, and returned the light kiss simultaneously.

As they sat, he would be the first to dish out a compliment. No, of course she didn't mind, what kind of girl doesn't, at least on some level, enjoy being told they look nice? Her posture in her chair was impeccable but still relaxed, despite her frontal proportions. She brought a lock of her brown hair behind her ear, smoothing it through so they didn't catch in her earrings. "As are you," she returned smoothly, running her brown eyes down and back up his figure once, his eyes briefly snagging her gaze of course. Of course, the irony of their conversation thus far was that neither of them had seen the other before, so naturally, they had nothing to compare this to. Something told her, though, that he didn't normally strut around in sweatpants and t-shirts with the sleeves cut off.

Olivia laughed lightly at his pair of questions. She noticed she was settling into her own role quite well. She normally was very in charge, never letting anyone else take the alpha-male role. But something had her sitting back, metaphorically of course, letting Edward take this where he would. Why? She was curious. She never really believed in the whole, curiosity killing the cat thing. Why should she when cats have nine lives?

"Perhaps, if you play your cards right," she teased with a bit of a wink.

She watched as he interacted with the waiter, ignoring the young boy for all intents and purposes. As the water was placed in front of her she lifted it to her lips, feeling it slide through, smooth and cool. She watched him over the rim of her glass as he brought his tongue across his lips. Watching the mannerisms of others was something she often did, simply because their body language spoke more than what came out of their mouths. She liked to think she was decent at reading people. She opened the menu in front of her, looking at all the featured foods. In comparison to the diet she was following (which she didn't see the point of anyway) this was heaven. She decided, though, to fight the urge to order the most greasy thing on the menu, and mentally settled for pasta. Loads of carbs, but at least it wasn't all fat like the steak she'd been thinking about momentarily.

Her eyes left the menu and fell upon Edward's face as he asked, then the waiter's as he seemed to materialize by their side and asked the same question. "As a matter of fact, I'll have the pasta with pesto and green beans." There, not too sinful, not too pure. Both their gazes shifted over to Edward for his order. She mentally droned on for a moment about the predictability of restaurant dates, or at least the beginning of them. But the time she realized she'd lost focus, the waiter was collecting menus. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. She wasn't one for strict table manners. "Only because I know this might drive you nuts; comment allez vous cette soirée, monsieur?" she asked as the French accent she'd developed curled around each word as they flowed from her glossy lips. She wasn't real sure what she was trying to accomplish with the French, but she was a professional at winging it, so she wasn't going to question herself.

[/justify][/blockquote][/blockquote]

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

hey there, eddie, this one's for you. there's 1008 words here, and it's basically ramble again. she's wearing this, and rocking it. the lyrics are 3OH!3 and the temp/imgs are mine, all mine! in other news, yeeeeah, son.

[/font][/blockquote][/blockquote][/blockquote][/justify][/center]

[tou]

On the topic of secrets, as Edward had already told her, he didn't have secrets. Some might call them secrets, or things he might not want to reveal, things he doesn't speak on unless asked directly to do so. And In a way, he didn't speak on his "secrets". But to him, anyone could google his name, or rather his nickname, and find a nice picture of his penis amongst other things. It wasn't exactly a secret. If anything made it a secret, it was that he didn't want to think on it. Simply wanted to move on from those dark days in which money led him to take his clothes off and engage in what he was raised to think was the most sacred experience a man and a woman, or as he'd warped doctrine to say, two people could share (being that he wasn't exactly completely heterosexual). Even then, a life in such an industry, as much as he wanted to move on, had taken a toll on him. He began to have conceptions about all women based on the few that he worked with. He grew somewhat disillusioned with people, and perhaps that put him in the same boat as life put Olivia. A life of solitude, fake friendships and selfishness. Looking out for number one in every way possible. Manipulating others for number one's benefit.

As much as Edward loved to preach about, and wanted to believe, social justice, these thoughts and this mentality remained in his mind. He found it hard not to be judgmental of others regardless of how much he hated to be judged. For the sake of avoiding arguments with people he found to be below him, he simply took on a mr. nice guy approach to life, despite how badly an inwardly located version of himself wanted to break out and argue--to not be seen as the pushover with a moral character. No. He wanted, deep down, to be the man who would stand up for what he believed in, even if that would mean losing some friends and allies in life, however few there were. This internal conflict had raged for years now, a secret war no one knew he was fighting. A war he was too shy to, or rather, unable to trust anyone else with knowing. But then again, here stood before him, someone who shared a similar experience that he did, despite how little he knew. So similar, though he was oblivious to how similar but for one fact. That she, like him, took her clothes off for money. Relatability had become a hard thing to find in the world, and now, he could smile knowing that he came across some of it.

He waited for her to order, taking a sip of water as he did. It was in this moment that he realized it would be slightly hard to eat across from her. Unlike him, she wouldn't be abiding by any sort of meal plan as were prescribed to them both, Edward by a higher power in his career, one power that he somewhat feared. Edward didn't want to be seen, in any sort of way, disobeying any sort of plan that Temperance Marshall had sprung on him. To date, he'd attended all the readings she'd schedules for him, taken care of his skin as she prescribed, drank nothing but water and milk (as much as he despised milk), and eaten just as her meal plan said. He had no intentions of deviating now. These thoughts in mind, his eyes only hovered over the salad section of the menu, the man knowing all too well that if he looked anywhere else, the meal plan would fall right out of his head and onto the floor beside him.

"I'm gonna have the house salad," he said as he peeked up at the waiter. "No dressing, unfortunately. Oh--" his eyes skipped over to the glass of water, which wasn't near empty yet, but he was sure would be empty. "Could you bring like... a pitcher of water?"

"Surely sir." the young boy answered, collecting the menus and bowing out of view, allowing Olivia and Edward to be together in peace.

His eyes would slip over to Olivia who now was leaned forward, obviously disregarding table manners, at the same time exposing him to a fair amount of cleavage. He grinned at her accent, completely oblivious to what those tantalizing words even meant. His whole experience with language was odd. His mother was black, his father a german-american who spoke no formal German other than 'das auto' as the bmw commercials always said. He himself had picked up a fair amount of Spanish from a year abroad in Spain, but years of non-practice left him partially scarred in his ability to speak it fluently. And French? Forget about that. But it was still sexy, and he couldn't deny that much.

His left brow raised up high into his forehead, his lips curling up into a spirited grin. He took a moment to simply take in her words, and her appearance, both beautiful and full of personality. "I have no idea what you just said," he allowed his words to linger in the air for just a moment before he continued. "but it was sexy." he chuckled slightly, his eyes locked on hers.

"If you'd say it in English, I think I'll be able to answer it for you."

---

tagged: phoebe olivia grace
notes: wurd, sonson? its like dat? (990)
outfit: he stuntin' on 'em

[hannah1]

I'M SWEATING BULLETS BABY ----------*
--------------- don't know what to do now, so hot in here i'm fainting ---------------

If there was one thing that was important to understand about Olivia, it was that no one pushed her around or told her what to do. She was completely her own person, and strove to be as independent as she could. She often went out of her way just to negate whatever her orders were. At least she used to when she was younger and more immature. She'd developed an attitude very similar now, though she didn't have a problem following directions when they benefitted her. Like the diet she was on by her personal trainer benefitted her greatly, it kept her waist in check and her back from breaking due to her chest. It helped that he was cute, too. But since she wanted to dine on some delectable pasta dish, the diet was suddenly not benefitting her anymore, so she would ignore it. She never really worried about consequences.. ever. She was spontaneous, so thinking about what would happen after the fact wasn't something she was programmed to do. Olivia had taken upon herself at a young age the mentality that if she ignores something, it will go away. No, it wasn't correct or smart by any means, but that's just how her mind worked and she could often catch herself doing this.

She watched quietly as he ordered a salad. Any other girl, at this point, would have felt like an obese bovine for having ordered something more filling than her male counterpart. It just so happened that Olivia didn't care. Just add that to the list of ways she was different. She figured his managers and staff were forcing the healthy eating habits down his throat as well. She didn't take him as the type to put up much of a fight, whereas she would fight until her very last breath about anything she wanted. She was like that: hot-headed and impractical at times.

Her elbows pressed onto the table and her hands laced together vertically as she rested her chin atop her knuckles. She knew her question in French was a little cheesy, considering their previous conversation about foreign language, but she could not resist. She was a tease by nature and passing up such a chance was against her better judgment. She was an astute person, sharp, and generally never missed a thing. She watched his facial expression turn amused, his grin splitting her lips into a genuine smile. She thoroughly enjoyed the emotion that ran across his face plain as day, open for her to read like a book. She took a moment to indulge her own thoughts, those being that he would be a wonderful actor once he broke the shell of his pornography days. If he could conjure emotion and let it rip across his face so fluently, she saw nothing that could stop him. That's what bothered Olivia about most actors and actresses today. Sure maybe their words and actions were comfortable and fluid, but all too often their expression wasn't quite right.

After he confessed he didn't know what she'd said, she let slip an amused chuckle as she broke her hands apart to let one rest on the rim of her glass. She chuckled again, this time with him after he complimented it. She would be the first one to admit her accent was rather accurate in comparison to some who tried in the classes she took. She aspired to travel to France one day, thus, she learned the language.

She smirked a little, perfectly comfortable in her own skin.

"How are you this evening?" she posed the question again in a different form, all traces of an accent evaporated from her English. "Better?" she chuckled. She hated the general misconception that all girls who had big breasts and took off their clothes for others' pleasure had to be stupid. She was book smart as well as street smart. She'd graduated with good grades and earned two degrees in college; no one could say she was some dumb bimbo. She could put a sentence together and speak it quite elegantly, and in two languages.

She waited quietly for his response now that he could understand. She admitted inwardly she was intrigued by him. They were one and the same, yet differences were slowly appearing. He seemed more willing to brush things aside whereas she was an avid instigator. No, she didn't like conflict, but she definitely didn't mind confrontation. People and society didn't scare her; they never had, and never would. When she was growing up and her parents were still together, they always taught her to go after what she believed in and to never let anyone change her mind. Had her mother been sober enough to differentiate between black and white and if her father had a moment to spare for his eldest daughter, Olivia liked to think they would be proud of her. Of course that could be controversial, considering what she did for a living, but it wasn't like they were saints either. Everyone had skeletons in the closet, it just so happened her skeletons weren't wearing any skin.

[/justify][/blockquote][/blockquote]

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

hey there, eddie, this one's for you. there's 854 words here, and it's basically solid ramble, i apologize. she's wearing this, and rocking it. the lyrics are 3OH!3 and the temp/imgs are mine, all mine! in other news, wow this sucked.

[/font][/blockquote][/blockquote][/blockquote][/justify][/center]

[tou]

"Oooooh," he carried the note as he rose his head slowly before dropping it down in a nod, a grin on his face. He now placed his own elbows on the table, his body language showing his obvious interest in the "conversation" or rather, in her. He was beginning to see her, for a person, even past what they'd already spoke of. They had similarities, and those things brought them together, but the differences were what made him fond of her. She wasn't just a replica. She was her own person, who shared an experience, but who's different circumstances made her that much more interesting to speak to and be around. "Well, if that's the question, then I think I can answer that.

"I'm enjoying myself." he said simply. That's really all he felt he needed to say about it. Because that was the truth. He enjoyed having someone to talk to, to joke with. To just kick it with. To be Easy E with, as corny as that was. "And what about you? Am I entertaining enough for you?"

"I know the whole thing with dinner... things, are we allowed to call this a date?" he asked, interrupting his previous statement. It was somewhat of a nervous question, and at this point, it was somewhat obvious that he was letting his guard down. He was some sort of player back in the day, and might have felt that it was needed to keep up that persona at the beginning of the evening, but as it progressed, and they spoke more, he was beginning to feel that she was so real, there really was no need for any sort of fakeness. It was time to be himself. And to just roll with the punches that came with that.

It was in that moment, considering himself in this situation that the waiter arrived carrying their foot atop a large platter planted against his shoulder. Bringing down the platter, he aligned the plates in front of the proper orderer, smiled and went on his merry way, once again leaving them to their own devices. It was certainly an odd sight. Anyone who passed the table certainly took a double take just to make sure that what they were seeing was correct. The man eating the lighter dish. It was things like this that inspired Ed. He was always huge on social issues, and the whole perception that men have to be huge macho machines never appealed to him. He was always the sensitive guy in school, and for a while, that led to some bullying. But as he grew stronger, and more comfortable with himself, if he were to stand up for anything, it would certainly be for his right to express his "manhood" in whatever way he chose. Choice in food was obviously not a way that society thought he was expressing it. Quite frankly, he didn't care. The pair that sat at this table on this particular night were two rebels of society, one could say. Completely disregarded standards for the sake of money.

He took a bite of the salad, chewing the bland leaves which were flavored by nothing as he wasn't allowed to have salad dressings regardless of the fact that he had to have salad day and night. He had to say, he was envying her pasta, even if it wasn't anything particularly extraordinary in his eyes. But that meant nothing. After all, after days of no real food, anything would taste better.

His eyes wandered up from the bowl of pasta to her face. He forked a leaf on his placement idly.

"Heyhey--let me get some." he opened his mouth playfully, waiting for her to oblige him.

---

tagged phoebe olivia grace
outfit he stuntin' on 'em
notes do things get interesting now?! ;D (690)