((OOC: Changed boy last minute! :P Somehow I thought Buck might suit the bill better! >:3 Sorry for the loooong ass intro! Trying to sort of hammer myself into character shape again through a hella lot of writing!))<br/><br/><a class="postlink" href="https://a3.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/223108_10150261281774620_573794619_7759625_7278712_n.jpg">[ img ]</a><br/>Buck-Beau Joe Perez<br/>24<br/>Naughty li'l duck egg!<br/><br/><span style="font-size: 150%; line-height: 116%;"><span style="font-style: italic">A day in the life of...</span></span><br/><br/><br/><br/>â€œWith what...?â€ The customer blinked owlishly over the counter before shooting his company a hardly private sidewards smirk that said,<span style="font-style: italic">'You heard it too, right?' </span><br/><br/>Buck, at the other side the counter (the one in the logo-heavy polo shirt, with lies like 'Feeling McGreat' printed on the back, hung across the bony rack of his shoulders) obviously not the intended recipient for such a look, had heard it all before too. That kind'a<span style="font-style: italic">ig'nance</span>and<span style="font-style: italic">prayjuhdis</span>tended to follow him around like a bad smell. He'd been making a one man stand for every Joe Podunk and Harry Hillbilly since moving out to the city at seventeen and it would have been going much better if only the accent didn't have more Southern twang than a broken banjo string....<br/><br/>Or it was something to do with his lack of patience for others, yes, that had been the slogan to every report card since 6, "Does not play well with others".<br/>Either way, he wasn't about to split hairs over it.<br/><br/>â€œKech-ip,â€ he repeated slowly, because it was a sad fact of life that these City yuppies were so stupid they couldn't find their ass with both hands and needed each syllable gift wrapped.<br/><br/>There were four of them, three boys, one of which must have been the ring-leader judging by the way the others followed his queue flexed their prepubescent wall-nut muscles sized on command (and people called him gay... this lot were one bottle of peroxide and a few white outfits short of becoming the front guys dance troupe entourage) and one girl. Not so much the apple of their eyes as she was guilty-wank cannon fodder, giggling, batting her eyelashes and adjusting her skirt at their every other word, easily as much the culprit of hormone fueled acts of atrocity as her male counterparts.<br/>Skank.<br/><br/>One smelt blood and dived for the opportunity, â€œ<span style="font-style: italic">Kay'a'chirp,</span>â€, he repeated mockingly with a telling glance at Front Guy. Did I do good boss, did I?<br/><br/>Buck fixed them with a condescending stare, dark, light-sucking peepers dulled over like the dead gaze of a shark on prowl.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">'Snap! You taught it words? Cool! What oth'r tricks does 'e do?!'</span><br/><br/>What he actually said was, â€œThat'd be three-fourty-farv,â€ not on account of his manager floating about within ears reach, but more down to the fact that, after a couple of hours, the deep fat frier cooked your nerves alongside the fries. Insults seemed an awful lotta effort...<br/><br/>In all fairness, the stuff in Buck's head wasn't the brains of his operation so much as the blind ego and thoughtless, backwater passion in his blood. If it came down to it, if he was more his usual fighting-biting self, it wouldn't have occurred to him to check if the old man/manager was present before answering back in the first place. He'd lost his last placement after one unfortunate transaction resulted in a sarcastic hiss. Something about; for another ten dollars he'd throw in his inbred, three-tittied cousin...or something along those lines, he couldn't tell you exactly on account of the following scuffle. He'd been slugged upside the head hard enough he'd forgotten half the fight and his nose had been slightly crooked ever since.<br/>You ever tried flying over a counter at someone?<br/>Buck'd highly recommend it. Great fun. Almost worth the skinned knees and job loss!<br/><br/>Throughout the length of his life the chip on his shoulder had stuck it's foot in...<br/>Bang. It shot down schooling.<br/>Kapow. It took down social graces. And finally;<br/>Kerblammy. It floored his work etiquette. He'd never been any closer to the glass ceiling than the secretaries secretary, but recently it had struck an all time low; it'd put him here. Fuckin' shake n bake at Maccy D's!<br/><br/><br/>Picture a fast food joint.<br/>Any fast food joint. Your local fast food joint.<br/>Oh come on.<br/>It can't be hard. Can't swing a cat without hitting a McDonaldâ€™s. Got it?<br/>Is it all tack and brightly coloured plastic? Chairs, designed without a single thought towards the sitting human anatomy, bolted to the floor? Glamour shots of padded, photoshopped food (seriously, how can a chicken nugget compete with that?!) that doesn't look a thing like the wilting apology for a burger they served you at the counter? A clearly unfed lino floor so hungry it tries to suck the dirt of the bottom of your shoes as you walk in-- alright, it's just sticky, but is it there?<br/><br/>Well congratulations! Here, shake my hand! Have a pat on the back! You, my darlings, have just pictured the six-something-AM to three-ish PM haunt of Buck-Beau Joe Perez!<br/><br/>And as all the little alarms and bells screamed, people hollered and dashed about the roaring kitchen trenches in a war field, Buck mopped up the last of his shift early [see 'shell shock'] and snuck out back to steal a cheeky cigarette from Marla, the red headed love of his life as of now. He took a long grateful drag and exhaled savouringly, watching the curls of smoke stretch out like cats across the dull shade of the concrete. Everything in the city was grey upon grey all the way down to the bones, even the people...<br/><br/>â€œShould have just shit in their burgers,â€ She announced levelly after he'd recited that mornings miseries to her, stubbing out her own dimp into the wall leaving yet another satisfying black welt in the moss and stone. Oh Marla. Full of feminine charm! If she wasn't a stone cold carpet muncher (her orders. Apparently 'lesbian' was too soft a word to suit her and she knew it) he'd be on her like white on rice!<br/><br/>Buck chocked on air a little, â€œJaysus,â€ he grinned widely, â€œCould'a told 'm it was the summer special,â€<br/><br/>â€œNew sauce,â€<br/><br/>â€œWouldn' a tasted no different!â€<br/><br/>â€œWould've tasted better,â€<br/><br/>The two exchanged a savagely gleeful glances before cracking out the worksheets and haggling shifts, â€œDo Sunday for me, I've got an auction-- I'll swap your Wednesday morning,â€ and so on.<br/><br/>â€œAuction? As in car auction? Those racing stripes stopped working already, huh?â€ A ginger brow nearly met Marla's hairline. She folded her arms neatly across her chest, â€œThought you said you'd fixed that bucket of bolts up good last time? Duct tape not working?â€<br/><br/>â€œHaw. Haw. Very funny.â€ Buck muttered sulkily. That damn car had cost him the better part of three months wages... he'd had it three weeks and it was knackered beyond hope, â€œI'm a surgeon-- no-- I'm a a jedi with duct tape! S'got a dark side, a light side and it holds the universe together! If I can't fix it up with duct tape it ain't worth fixan' or I've ran out! I jes' want a new toy, is all!â€<br/><br/>Marla had a dry laugh that sounded a vehicle revving on sand, â€œYou know,â€ she shook her head, freckled cheeks pinching in a fond smile, â€œpeople might respect you more if you weren't such a bloody stereotype!â€<br/><br/>The twenty-something year old scowled and tied his hair back with an elastic band from around his wrist, â€œDon't know 'bout none o' that!â€<br/><br/>â€œWell...â€ she pulled a face down at her sheet, tracing rows and boxes with a chewed fingernail, â€œ... um...I'll do it for this evening?â€<br/><br/>â€œNocando, honey. Got an evening performance at Lola's,â€<br/><br/>â€œTonight?! You got the job then?!â€<br/><br/>Buck's jaw dropped, â€œDon' chyoo look so shocked! Someone might get offended!â€ he grinned and starting wringing the bottom of his shirt enthusiastically, voice jumping up a few octaves like a school boy explaining a potato battery, â€œYou wait till ya'll see my act! Been workan' on it solid fer weeks now! Got the back up vocals down an ever-thin! Jack's giving me the full stage and letting loose on lighting! Took me AGES to configure the darned thangs, had to jimmy-rig 'em a bit too! And--â€ he paused, something troubling his sharp little brain, â€œâ€“ So why tonight? Taking it you weren't 'zactly tipped off 'bout yours truly?â€<br/><br/>â€œNope, but,â€ she held up a hand, â€œI was tipped off on elsewhere!â€<br/><br/>â€œElsewhere don't got me in it!â€<br/><br/>â€œShu'up Buck,â€ ignoring him completely she rushed on, â€œThe Fox Hole. Heard of it?â€<br/><br/>â€œI... y'aint sure...â€ he frowned. He could picture the place clear as day in his head. L'il alternative night club, bit of a shi-ite heap, but the drinks were cheap and the music sharp. It took a fair bit of business from Lola's being the point here.<br/><br/>â€œYes you have,â€ she brushed him off again and carried on in a low purr, â€œAbsolutely fantastic dancers! Easy on the eyes too, even the boys told-- you should go. It'd give you something to 'think' about on those looong, cooold, looonely nigh--â€<br/><br/>â€œMarly!â€ His lips made a perfect baby-pink 'O' of shock, â€œYou watch that kisser o' yours! Imagine if your Pop heard you going on like that!â€<br/><br/>She cracked up/put her foot down on the pedal that controlled her voice box engine, â€œDon't play innocent with me! I've been through your hardrive! I know<span style="font-style: italic">exactly</span>what floats your boat--â€<br/><br/>â€œMarly!!!â€<br/><br/><br/><div style="text-align: center;">------------           ------------------------  ----------            ---------------   -------------</div><br/><br/><br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic"><span style="font-size: 150%; line-height: 116%;"> Four hours, three coca-vodka-colas and half a shower later...</span></span><br/><br/>Keyboard slung over his shoulders, like modern, musical diary maid, Buck crossed the threshold. You always knew you'd crossed into bar territory because the lung cancer smoke and stink of cold bevvies welcomed you and sucked you through the doorway!<br/><br/>The whole crew had joined him (Buck being the childish dick he was had rather taken to dancing ahead so he could warn the bouncer about the weird entourage of stalkers following, "You're a big strong man, save me!" style) his guitarist and backing vocal Gracey Letelle, big black girl with a gospel voice and 'tude to match, their drummer Toast, well rounded blue haired and good natured soul, away with the fairies most days mind-- and last but not least Crick who played everything else and loved to brag on it.<br/><br/>The motley crew had been haunting the small joint since they'd been old enough to buy fake ID, in fact, on numerous occasions Buck had been bared from the place for X amounts of time. His crimes were many, drunk and disorderly, a few accounts of assault sprinkled in here and there, getting caught taking naughty pills in the back alley, even just carving poems on the tables... yet it wasn't easy to hate the kid. He was perfectly capable of being upbeat and chirpy.<br/>These days he was keeping a generally clean record-- or at least so it seemed-- even wanted to make up for the trouble he'd caused by playing there.<br/><br/>It was sweet!<br/><br/>Too sweet!<br/><br/>Suspiciously sweet!<br/><br/>The Buck they all knew and loved wasn't capable of any act of selflessness, no matter how small.<br/><br/>The manager shot him a small knowing nod as the pink haired, cowboy boot wearing critter crawled in, the kind of nod that reminded the kid that they all knew exactly who he was, the kind of nod a prison guard might give a convict on his first night out of solitary.<br/>The mans fingers hooked around the fur collar of Bucks jacket as he sauntered straight to the bar, "We're giving you a chance here, understand boy?"<br/><br/>Buck paused, peering up at 'his boss', little crooked grin starting to creep across his plump lips, "...aye,"<br/><br/>"Understand!?" the man shook his collar hard enough to rattle the candy-floss skulled boy down to his bones, "This is a chance to redeem yourself. Maybe get a chance for the big time-- DON'T you let us down! Any trouble, we'll be on you--" he snapped his free fingers, "--like that!!"<br/><br/>"I hear ya, I hear!" Buck grinned and readjusted his coat the minute that seizing iron grip released him, "Imma golden boy sir!"