Post by arro2 on May 9, 2010 9:55:12 GMT -5
RYKER JAMES HOLMAN
FULL NAME: ryker james holman
NICKNAMES: ryke, holman, ry
AGE: eighteen
PREFERENCE: straight as anything
HOMETOWN: tampa, florida
CLASS STATUS: middle class
CURRENT STATUS: single
MEMBER GROUP: high school
PLAY BY: shaant hacikyan
FAVORITE FOOD?
I'm a sucker for anything spicy, always have been. Hand me a habanero pepper and I'll eat it without a problem.
ARE YOU A VIRGIN?
What a stupid question. I lost my virginity when I was fourteen or fifteen and have gotten some almost every night since. Well not every night, but you get my point.
FAVORITE COLOR?
Green, it's the color of envy.
HAVE YOU EVER EMBARRASSED YOURSELF?
Not that I can remember, no. I'm too outgoing in general to feel embarrassment. Once I got drunk and licked some random lady, not embarrassed at all about that.
FAVORITE DRINK?
A Bulleit Neat. I'd marry any woman who could handle a straight shot of bourbon.
WHERE DO YOU SEE YOURSELF IN FIVE YEARS?
I want to get a degree in biology right now but I also have this dream of using my guitar and voice for a living.
FAVORITE HOLIDAY?
I'm just going to say Christmas and be cliche.
WHAT'S ONE THING MOST PEOPLE DON'T KNOW ABOUT YOU?
There are a lot of things people don't know about me. Well, I love kids. That might come as a suprise. Umm... If I don't make it big with my music, I'd like to get into embryonic development in animals, conservation and ecological management, or teaching biology in high school. Pretty cool, right? Nah, it's lame as fucckkk.
DO YOU PREFER THE NIGHT OR THE DAY?
The night. Drinking and sex beats the morning hangover and work every time.
NAME A FANTASY?
Three girls at once. I won't go into detail.
Inspiration often presents itself in ways inopportune to those who seek it out. You may be seated with paper and a pencil, trying to write an amorous poem about the individual you adore or a heartrending song about the one that got away, and be lost for words. However, when you’re sitting on the beach with nothing but the clothes on your body and a nearly empty bottle of Speight’s Pale Lager, you tend to think up more brilliant phrases than you ever have before. What are you supposed to do at that point? Pick up a nearby seashell and write the lines over and over in the sand with great hopes that you’ll remember them by the time you do happen to stumble upon some god damn paper? Well if you’re Jackson Taylor, then that’s a perfectly rational solution.
His friends had packed up and left over an hour ago, leaving him alone on the quiet beach. He didn’t mind, he actually liked the silence that settled in once all of the tourists left to spend their evening shopping for souvenirs. Tranquility was hard to come by at all when summer rolled around so he’d seize any opportunity to be alone that came his way. Very rarely would he become lonesome and only then because he was reminded of her. It was hardly even a feeling, really, more of a pang. It had been over a year that had gone by since she had left him heartbroken and wounded, since then he had patched the gaping hole in his heart with a series of drunken one night stands and short-lived relationships. Sometimes he would catch himself wondering if he had driven her to do it, driven her to shatter a bond that had taken them three whole years to build. At first that was the most agonizing aspect of it, now it seemed diminutive in comparison to the pain that he would feel upon realizing that he still missed her after so much time.
Pushing a tangled strand of hair from his face, he exhaled slowly before raising the bottle of beer to his lips and draining it. He had guzzled a few down during the course of the day and, though he was far from inebriated, he was beginning to feel the light-headed sensation that often sets in at the first stage of intoxication. Setting the seashell down in the sand by his side, he turned his head to admire the lyrical lines that now bordered him for about a meter in each direction. He had always been passionate about writing, though he would never admit it to anyone, including himself. Standing up, he took a quick and extended step over the words, his long stature enabling him to do so effortlessly. He ambled aimlessly into the tepid water, slowing down once it reached his ankles. Pulling his sunglasses from his eyes, he stared soft-eyed at the scene and said somewhat loudly, ”Oh, Mr. Shoddy Content, swept all your dignity under the covers, she'll be lying, keeping secrets, keeping quiet. Now you understand what it's like to dive.”
His friends had packed up and left over an hour ago, leaving him alone on the quiet beach. He didn’t mind, he actually liked the silence that settled in once all of the tourists left to spend their evening shopping for souvenirs. Tranquility was hard to come by at all when summer rolled around so he’d seize any opportunity to be alone that came his way. Very rarely would he become lonesome and only then because he was reminded of her. It was hardly even a feeling, really, more of a pang. It had been over a year that had gone by since she had left him heartbroken and wounded, since then he had patched the gaping hole in his heart with a series of drunken one night stands and short-lived relationships. Sometimes he would catch himself wondering if he had driven her to do it, driven her to shatter a bond that had taken them three whole years to build. At first that was the most agonizing aspect of it, now it seemed diminutive in comparison to the pain that he would feel upon realizing that he still missed her after so much time.
Pushing a tangled strand of hair from his face, he exhaled slowly before raising the bottle of beer to his lips and draining it. He had guzzled a few down during the course of the day and, though he was far from inebriated, he was beginning to feel the light-headed sensation that often sets in at the first stage of intoxication. Setting the seashell down in the sand by his side, he turned his head to admire the lyrical lines that now bordered him for about a meter in each direction. He had always been passionate about writing, though he would never admit it to anyone, including himself. Standing up, he took a quick and extended step over the words, his long stature enabling him to do so effortlessly. He ambled aimlessly into the tepid water, slowing down once it reached his ankles. Pulling his sunglasses from his eyes, he stared soft-eyed at the scene and said somewhat loudly, ”Oh, Mr. Shoddy Content, swept all your dignity under the covers, she'll be lying, keeping secrets, keeping quiet. Now you understand what it's like to dive.”
hey, it's elena and this gal has been at it for
three years now. they are fifteen years old.
