Post by chewbroccoli on May 7, 2010 22:23:12 GMT -5
ANTHONY JONATHON DULCIK
FULL NAME: Anthony Jonathon Dulcik
NICKNAMES: J.R., Tony.
AGE: 23.
PREFERENCE: Straight.
HOMETOWN: Monroe, New York
CLASS STATUS: Lower class.
CURRENT STATUS: Very single.
MEMBER GROUP: Resident.
PLAY BY: Jackson Rathbone.
FAVORITE FOOD?
Pizza with mushrooms and peppers, a Slurpee, and some oreos with peanut butter.
ARE YOU A VIRGIN?
Did Bill Clinton use his dick? What kinda stupid fuckin' question is that?
FAVORITE COLOR?
Fuck if I know... black.
HAVE YOU EVER EMBARRASSED YOURSELF?
Hell yeah, so long as I'm not sober.
FAVORITE DRINK?
Anything in a shot glass.
WHERE DO YOU SEE YOURSELF IN FIVE YEARS?
Six feet under.
FAVORITE HOLIDAY?
New Year's, strangely enough.
WHAT'S ONE THING MOST PEOPLE DON'T KNOW ABOUT YOU?
A hell of a lot probably. I hold myself responsible for what happened to my brother.
DO YOU PREFER THE NIGHT OR THE DAY?
The night, baby.
NAME A FANTASY?
Fucking Lady Gaga... while she's wearing that Princess Leia gold bikini get-up.
The train stopped with a loud echoing screech that seemed to amplify the scent of the subway in a way that was impossible. The doors opened and scores of people stepped out in a bustle, wrestling with the people who were getting on, hitting shoulders and hanging on tightly to briefcases and purses. It was easy to be the victim of theft on the subway, and on a busy afternoon when the business folk were going out to lunch and the students all over the city were getting away from their classes and heading back to their respective homes away from home. For Jack the whole city was a home away from home, in a way of speaking, but it was quickly becoming homier. He didn’t get lost like he used to when he was eighteen or nineteen, constantly getting on the wrong train and going for a half an hour in the wrong direction before getting off of the train and looking at a map, slapping himself on the forehead, and trying to make up for lost time. He thought of traveling with a buddy, like on a leash, so that he wouldn’t get lost. But none of his friends were willing to be seen with a scrawny kid like Jack clinging to them whenever they were walking down the street. He was frankly appalled by that notion. Who wouldn’t want to be seen with him? Come on now…
Jack was a junior now and he knew the city… kind of. He knew the routes that he had to, the way to school and to his apartment building, the supply stores and the best pizza joints closest to where he lived, all the essentials. And when he needed help, he called upon those friends who had been living in the city their whole lives. They could walk around the place blindfolded and end up where they were supposed to. Jack envied them; he hated getting lost. What happened to his little frosty town the size of a football field? Raising his eyebrows at the new flock of New Yorkers squashing into seats and hanging onto railings, Jack sighed softly and leaned his head back against the plastic seat, turning his music up again and zoning out. The doors closed and the train lurched off with a loud sound once again. His body quivered with the movement before it settled back again; he pulled his feet up onto the edge of the seat, his hands on his knees, tapping the beat of the song in his head. There was a ukulele pressed to his chest, which he had been strumming on the ride to school a few hours ago when it had been much calmer and less crowded. He found it at a junk shop on sale for a few dollars and couldn’t help but buy it, despite knowing nothing about how to play it. He’d learn, he told himself, or he would keep it as a piece of art that he could look at. Jack never did really learn to play it very well but he could strum peaceably to some songs and he was getting better at it, by ear.
Yawning widely, Jack opened one eye and then the other and looked curiously at the people he was suddenly surrounded by. Eclectic to say the least, he noticed an odor from the man sitting next to him. Sniffing the air subtly, Jack glanced at the guy questionably before he got up and walked carefully between the bodies, moving with the sway of the car, and searched for a new seat. It was a lot to ask for a clean and empty open seat, one that didn’t come with a neighbor who looked as though they hadn’t seen a bar of soap in at least a week or were talking to their own finger like it was a family friend. Jack let out a small worried sound before he spotted an empty spot on the other side of the car and lunged for it before someone could take it, nearly taking out a man and his coffee. He apologized in a slurry of mumbles and apologetic expressions, to which the man glared and said nothing, and Jack took his new seat with a relieved breath. This was precisely why he should not have to go to school before the semester started; it did not bode well for his health and well-being. The regime should have been aware of that. As the ride went on and the music kept on, Jack formulated a complaint in his head that he could deliver to the college of professors at the earliest opportunity.
Jack was a junior now and he knew the city… kind of. He knew the routes that he had to, the way to school and to his apartment building, the supply stores and the best pizza joints closest to where he lived, all the essentials. And when he needed help, he called upon those friends who had been living in the city their whole lives. They could walk around the place blindfolded and end up where they were supposed to. Jack envied them; he hated getting lost. What happened to his little frosty town the size of a football field? Raising his eyebrows at the new flock of New Yorkers squashing into seats and hanging onto railings, Jack sighed softly and leaned his head back against the plastic seat, turning his music up again and zoning out. The doors closed and the train lurched off with a loud sound once again. His body quivered with the movement before it settled back again; he pulled his feet up onto the edge of the seat, his hands on his knees, tapping the beat of the song in his head. There was a ukulele pressed to his chest, which he had been strumming on the ride to school a few hours ago when it had been much calmer and less crowded. He found it at a junk shop on sale for a few dollars and couldn’t help but buy it, despite knowing nothing about how to play it. He’d learn, he told himself, or he would keep it as a piece of art that he could look at. Jack never did really learn to play it very well but he could strum peaceably to some songs and he was getting better at it, by ear.
Yawning widely, Jack opened one eye and then the other and looked curiously at the people he was suddenly surrounded by. Eclectic to say the least, he noticed an odor from the man sitting next to him. Sniffing the air subtly, Jack glanced at the guy questionably before he got up and walked carefully between the bodies, moving with the sway of the car, and searched for a new seat. It was a lot to ask for a clean and empty open seat, one that didn’t come with a neighbor who looked as though they hadn’t seen a bar of soap in at least a week or were talking to their own finger like it was a family friend. Jack let out a small worried sound before he spotted an empty spot on the other side of the car and lunged for it before someone could take it, nearly taking out a man and his coffee. He apologized in a slurry of mumbles and apologetic expressions, to which the man glared and said nothing, and Jack took his new seat with a relieved breath. This was precisely why he should not have to go to school before the semester started; it did not bode well for his health and well-being. The regime should have been aware of that. As the ride went on and the music kept on, Jack formulated a complaint in his head that he could deliver to the college of professors at the earliest opportunity.
hey, it's chewbroccoli and this gal has been at it for
two-ish years now. they are 18 years old.
