Back in San Fran (Pain Killer)

[Brad Kavanagh]

"Don't get so goddamned cocky, Brady. You think that Jail's a more horrible experience than the outside world, then you've got another thing coming to you. Especially San Fran. Boy, you can get the shit pummelled out of you on those streets. You should be lucky you're in here, Brady, cuz' the fighters out there ain't so peaceful."

Now that I take those words into consideration... hell. Maybe Johnny was right. San Fran is a hell of a place to live. Emphasis on 'hell', but... I've never really took the time to wander into the actual streets itself. Heh... Now I understand what he meant.

The boy adjusted the crooked frame of his glasses, bending them back so they could fit perfectly on his face. How in the hell they got crooked in the first place was beyond him. He had just fixed them as he was taking a long walk around Hircine High for the first time in a very long time. To his memory, there were no drunken hobos looking for a fight that would have broken his glasses, although there were plenty of those around the streets of San Fransisco. Then again he never really wandered the streets even before his long departure, so he wouldn't have known that. He knew the streets were bad news, which is why he didn't walk around there until now

Brad Kavanagh was not who you could consider as a prep by any means of the word. Sure, he lived in the suburbs where many preps called home, and his parents were rather wealthy in his own eyes. It's hard now to imagine how someone like Brad being a geek, since his body was built like a lightweight boxers. A while back, however, Brad was the nerd of nerds. His glasses were thick, and his shirts always had a pocket protector somewhere on them. The only thing he needed was the large bucktooth, and he'd be set.

From video games and manga to the Chess and Newspaper clubs, Brad was like a carbon-copy of all the stereotypes surrounding nerds. It didn't help matters when you're a nerd AND a honor student. With that type of reputation, bad karma from other students usually follows. Brad has gotten so used to all the hate, name calling and harassment that it he just became used to it. He wouldn't flinch, cower in fear or any of that, but instead he acted as if nothing even happened. Whatever insult This pissed off most of the bullies who were making Brad the blunt of their jokes, and would just storm off. This technique almost always worked, and rarely ever led to actual violence.

Brad stared down at a homeless man sleeping in a pool of what appeared to be alcohol, although he wasn't going to kneel down and slurp it up to make sure. Deciding it best that wandering around the streets for no reason whatsoever would be an incredibly BAD idea, Brad went to the nearest park(the name of which he couldn't recall at the moment). After all, maybe his thought of drunken hobos might actually had come true if he stayed there any longer.

The park itself was very tidy, unlike the street he had just exited. Brad found the closest bench he could find, and took a seat. He caught his breath from god knows what, scanning the park back and forth for a minute or so. Wow... no one in sight. That's a huge surprise, even for me.

Brad sighed softly, laying his head back slowly. He closed his eyes, his left eye wincing just a bit. Jesus... stop getting so worked up... you're still just a normal Chess club nerd from California. You're the same Brad Kavanagh that you've always been, completely unchanged. Well, maybe I've changed a little, but just.... tougher.... After a minute in denial, Brad just looked down and growled. Not only did he have a black left eye, but a rather small but noticable scar was scratched across the other(a reminder to him that he shouldn't piss off the guy with a shard of glass). Aww, screw it... I have changed. It's all thanks to that shit I had to go through. Then again, who could blame me for changing? I mean, prison isn't the place for the smartass nerd I used to be. I just... had to change...

Now that he thought more about how much he's changed. Everyone remebers Brad Kavanagh for being a hopeless nerd, but now he's almost as built up as a football player. How will the other kids react? The worst thing that could happen is that everyone avoids him. He's too tough to relate to his fellow nerds, yet all the other kids wouldn't want to get close to THE Brad Kavanagh, who was as big of nerd as one could become. Brad just shrugged, assuming he's making too much of a big thing of this.

Hmm... I wonder how everyone's going to react now that I've changed. Hell, I wonder if the kids themselves have changed as well...

(*Wow... longer post than I expected. Great first post. Not perfect, but good*)

[Pain Killer]

OOC: Sorry this took so long. And I have my doubts my post will be very long at all.

IC:

Stupid crappy bastard...

Scowling deeper than he had in a long time, Pain Killer walked down the streets of San Francisco, his hands shoved in the pockets of his trenchcoat. How he'd managed to come to such a predicament, he wasn't completely sure, as the one person he never thought would throw a fit had kicked him out of his own house.

But it wasn't my fault. She should've told me she had a boyfriend.

The youngest living Rydell had just come home from his part-time job as a bouncer at one of the lesser known bars of San Francisco, tired and in a fairly bitter mood from being on his feet all day. Once he'd opened the door, though, he'd found an unknown male on his couch, on top of his sister, making muffled sounds. Naturally, he'd done what any normal, self-respecting overprotective brother would have done, pulling the smaller boy off by his hair and punching him in the face as hard and fast as possible, as many times as he could before Mya had managed to push herself between the two.

How was I supposed to know he was fragile?

Of course, Mya had not been thrilled with the fact her boyfriend would not be standing up in the next ten minutes, or the fact that now there were bloodstains on the carpet, and so, had sent Pain Killer out of the house to cool off. Furious, he'd accepted, which lead him to where he was now, drifting aimlessly along the streets, his adrenaline still pumping just from the thought of that scrawny kid touching his sister.

A loud sigh escaped him as he began walking down a path in the park, Adam quickly deciding he'd rather walk down something that had some scenery, rather than just endless buildings. He'd seen no one the entire time, however, not until he made it to the bench he liked to sit and mope on. It seemed someone else had the same idea, something that didn't sit well with the self-proclaimed Pain Killer. After all, he didn't share. He walked closer until he stood at the far end of the bench, his expression clearly unimpressed.

"You. You're on my bench."

[Brad Kavanagh]

“You. You’re on my bench.”

Brad’s peace was broken abruptly by a voice that seemed to shred through the air. It pierced his ears not in a screeching way, moreover a loud and heated fashion. It was one that Brad, no matter how much he tried, couldn’t identify as to who owned it. His eyes were turned away from the figure that stood off to one side of the bench, although it wasn’t terribly hard to direct him in the direction from once the voice came. Brad pulled his head upwards, turning his head over to look at the man.

He was very strange one, especially for someone around San Francisco. Maybe Brad’s memory wasn’t serving him as well as he thought so he thought that this man (whoever he was) was an outsider. But this would have contradicted his previous comment about the bench, and that just wouldn’t make any sense. So either Brad was becoming a senile old man at the age of eighteen, or this tall kid must be new. Other than that or Brad could not remember him but he looked like someone he would remember regardless of whatever happens, so that wasn’t possible at all.

There was one word that could describe the self-proclaimed Pain Killer (the name of whom had evaded him): Intimidating. There were other words that one could have used, but that was the only one that Brad could come up with at the time. First of all he was tall. Taller than Brad was. It was also very obvious that he was a bodybuilder of some sort, because his chest was literally jumping out at Brad. Under most circumstances, Brad would stand up from the bench he was sitting at.

Brad wasn’t exactly in a submissive, pushover kind of mood. He smirked at the giant, glancing down at the bench then back up.

“Oh?” he asked, acting as if there was no danger involved in making the other boy’s blood boil. It was clear that he wasn’t in the greatest moods for whatever reason, but Brad didn’t give a single damn about it. “Your bench? This is your bench? I’m sorry to disappoint you pal’, but I don’t see your name written anywhere on this so it can’t ever be yours. I’d gladly move over for you. This whole thing can fit two people at a time. This bench isn’t just yours though.”

Brad forced a smile. That was one thing he was extremely good at: faking emotions.