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Post by bryce elijah romano on Jun 6, 2012 16:46:19 GMT -5
Nevermind the substance abuse, Bryce was beginning to feel as though he were developing a drinking problem. In the last two months he couldn’t remember a day in which he hadn’t drained a bottle of vodka or nearly killed an entire case of beer and tonight would be no different. He riffled through his wallet for a few bills that he had hidden and threw them onto the bare, wood bar. The surface was disgustingly moist, but tonight, he wouldn’t mind it. He was seeking an escape from the usual star types that he had to deal with on the daily bases and the only way he felt as though he could do so was by scampering away from his usual bars and settling for other ones. Unfortunately, with the Battle of the Bands nearing there was almost no escape from the tight-jeaned talent that littered the streets of Seattle. How long had he been here? Bryce peered around the bar unable to spot a single person that had been there when he arrived. He checked his watch and sighed – sweet, another reason to drink: his watch had stopped. No matter the actual hour, the talent scout could guess that he’d been tossing them back for a period longer than average because everyone that once occupied the bar when he arrived was gone. Hell, even those that’d come in after him were taking up their coats to leave. If he didn’t know any better, he’d begin to believe that he was depressed. No, not depressed, just a budding alcoholic. Bryce whipped his body around to face the television hoisted upon the wall at the sounds of cheers. In his efforts, he toppled slightly on his barstool and sent a glass crashing into the ground, “damnit,” he murmured , watching the contents spread upon someone’s shoe.
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Post by jackson levi beckett on Jun 6, 2012 17:09:31 GMT -5
it seemed that whatever city jackson was in, no matter where he was in the world, he could be caught out in the night life, drinking. it was no surprise though, considering after midnight was the face of sex, drugs, and rock and roll. still, the mobbing that happened fequently did tend to get old. he was bar hopping tonight, and he found himself on a typical place in seattle, the cheers sounding into his ears as soon as he walked in. he rose his brow in a greeting, signing a couple of papers that were thrust at him and ignoring the rest as he made his way over to the bar. he really didnt give two shits about anyone around, including his fans, he was just here for the drinks.
however, as some git spun around and spilled his drink over his shoes, jackson scowled. are you fucking kidding me? he growled before he got a good look at the guy. the talent scout from black ink, bryce. its coming out of your paycheck. he said with a glare. after midnight may have been the biggest assholes in the label, but they were also something of a hot commodity, and they couldnt afford to be lost. they knew it too, and they gave everyone in the label hell. tonight was no different.
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Post by bryce elijah romano on Jun 6, 2012 17:27:53 GMT -5
“And why the fuck would something like this come out of my paycheck?” To be honest, Bryce had been prepared to pretend that the whole incident hadn’t happened. He was going to throw a few napkins onto the ground and go on about his business, however, the last person he wanted to see at the moment happened to slide in right beside him and get himself involved. “The shoes are fucking ratty anyway, I don’t know why you guys think wearing broken down, dirty shit is cool.” They never had the best relationship and considering his level of intoxication, tonight was not the night for them to improve their standings. Rolling his eyes at Jackson, Bryce heaved a sigh, a moment of silence for his spilt soldier.
Hadn’t he told himself that he wasn’t going to run into any of these fools tonight? So much for lying low? And where did he get the audacity to speak to him in that tone anyway? The kid was the front man to a band and it was one that half of America hadn’t even heard of because they weren’t ‘cool enough’. Prick. To answer his question: no, this wasn’t to joke, but he sure as hell wishes that it was. Bryce turned to the bartender to order himself another drink and to grabb a few napkins which he shoved Jackson’s way, “You might want to clean yourself up, you don’t want your fans seeing you like this.”
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Post by jackson levi beckett on Jun 6, 2012 17:41:28 GMT -5
jackson rose his brow, his patience wearing thin. oh, really? i think you had better fucking clean it up considering you're the one who did it. i think you happen to have forgotten exactly who has value at the company, bryce. it definitely isn't you mate. so why dont you clean up this fucking mess and take your sloppy ass home before i get you fired. he growled lowly, looking into his eyes. if it was one thing that jackson didnt have much of, it was patience. and considering how much the label needed him, bryce was in no position to gamble unless he wanted a new job. any idiot could be a talent scout, all they had to do was listen to the much and follow marketing trends. it wasnt a hard job. considering most people went without a label these days, his job was going to be extinct soon anyway.
if jackson was any sort of sympathetic, he would let bryce slide because of his level of intoxication. the words were so slurred from the guy they were practically gushing from his mouth. however, jackson really had no interest but his ow on his mind for quite some time, and it really wouldnt make him miss a wink of sleep to send this guy to the streets. either bryce was going to leave on his own accord, or he was going to get knocked out. jackson could feel it coming on.
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Post by bryce elijah romano on Jun 6, 2012 18:57:57 GMT -5
He would be damned if this guy actually though he was going to get down on his hands and knees to wipe off his shoes. Better yet, no matter what position he was in, he wasn’t even going to entertain the idea. “You’d better jump off your fucking high horse before you fall off and get trampled by it. You think you’re some big star, eh? Newsflash, there’s a handful of bands signed to black ink records and we’re signing more and more everyday. If we were to drop your punk ass group – what is it again - we wouldn’t necessarily be hurting. Besides, you have maybe another two years to shine before you’re eclipsed by the amount of drugs you consume and then who are you? Just another guy screaming for help.” It was now clear to everyone that surrounded and for those that didn’t know, that Bryce wasn’t a fan of After Midnight and wasn’t planning on becoming one soon. He scoffed as the bartender refused to give him another drink and clumsily rose from his stool to close the gap the nearly nonexistent gap between himself and Jackson, “If you were to get me fired you’d be doing me a favor. I don’t need this job, Jackson,” he spat his name, mimicking the way he’d spoke his, “It was just my excuse to come to Seattle. I used to love working in this industry until it became consumed by trash like you.”
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Post by jackson levi beckett on Jun 8, 2012 3:14:05 GMT -5
now, as mentioned before, jackson wasnt a man of very much patience. he rose his brows as the pathetic slime slurred in his face, spitting on him repeatedly. jackson let him say his piece, after all, he was entitled to assume he had an opinion and option of the band, however, jackson had gotten plenty of people fired before for moves just like this one. his power at the label was nothing unknown and although everyone practically hated him there, they put up with him. considering bryces level of intoxication, he had more balls than usual. whether he would have said the same things under different circumstances, jackson wasnt sure. as the man continued to spit in his face, he wiped a wad of spit from his cheek and stood up slowly, as if he were to leave.
without a moments notice, jackson turned back around and slammed a close fist into bryces face, knocking him to the ground, whether from force, or surprise. jack grabbed his drink from the bar and pushed a bill forward for it before making his way back through the crowd, not giving a damn enough to look back and see what was happening. if this guy thought jackson would really hear him out, he had another thing coming, and that was for sure with that fist to the face.
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Post by bryce elijah romano on Jun 8, 2012 3:50:24 GMT -5
Maybe the bartender has been right in cutting him off. That whole count your drinks as you consume them thing, he’d never been good at. The force of Jackson’s fist combined with his inability to stand upright in the first place caused for him to fall violently to the ground within the broken glass that had started this entire confrontation. Bryce laid there still for a moment, unable to piece together the chain of events that landed him gracelessly on the floor of this disgusting bar. As a slew of people around him began to mutter, his ego finally began to feel the effects of the strike. He returned to his feet with a struggle, using the barstool and some man’s sleeve as his aid. After placing a hand over his eye as if to feel for swelling, he quickly pushed his pain onto the back of his mind and lunged after his opponent. If he truly thought that he was just going to sucker punch him and then walk away, Jackson had another thing coming. Drunk or not, Bryce had his pride to fight for; screw the job. The few customers that were between the two of them jumped out of the way to avoid becoming a part of Bryce’s wild tackle. A black eye went perfect with the band’s look, right? The crowd would love it. Bryce sloppily clawed at the boy’s shirt in order to turn him over while he was underneath him. While doing so, the bartender’s call for them to cut it out went completely unheard. He pulled a fist back and slammed it into Jackson’s nose, narrowly missing the eye that he’d been aiming for. Welp, there went Black Inc, Records. He’d be looking for his next check in the mail. "Spoiled brat!"
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Post by jackson levi beckett on Jun 8, 2012 4:10:40 GMT -5
well it was safe to say jackson hadnt expected the man to come hurling back at him. he had been in countless bar fights before, but being as sober as he was, and as drunk as bryce was, he didnt expect this one. as he landed on the floor with a loud thud and a grunt, he found himself being clawed at and turned over by the good for nothing talent scout. this hadnt even been the guy that signed him. he literally owed this man nothing, so he had nothing to lose if he clobbered him. but those thoughts hadnt fully crossed his mind as a fist slammed straight into his nose.
as blood gushed and flew from his face, jackson growled, overpowering the drunken man and forcing him under his own body. jackson grabbed a handful of bryces shirt and slammed his fist into his face repeatedly with no care about how he was hitting. spoiled brat, huh? fucking wanker. he growled, spitting back at him before the security pried him back. jackson gathered a wad of bloody snot and spat as much as he could into bryces face as he was carried out and thrown to the streets.
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Post by bryce elijah romano on Jun 8, 2012 4:50:13 GMT -5
He’d never been thrown around like a doll until today and suddenly he understood the fury that powered physical vengeance. Usually the type to play confrontation casually, spitefully and passive aggressively, Bryce hardly ever engaged in physical violence. He preferred to verbally lash his opponents to make them feel sorry for themselves and turn over his words for days. Although that’s not to say that he couldn’t beat the shit out of someone just as Jackson was beating the shit out of him. Powered by nothing more than adrenaline, the blood filtering the alcohol in his system, Bryce too was hauled from the floor of the bar. With blood dripped down his face and onto his clothing, he could not pay a single mind to the people that surrounded him. His primary focus was on the man currently throwing him out of the establishment and the one waiting for him outside.
He squinted his eyes to study the figure standing several feet away from him as he clamored to his feet. Well, if you could call it a squint considering one was swollen. A numb hand swiped across his features, gathering blood and saliva and swatting it to the ground. “I’m going to kill you!” Bryce called out, his voice screeching in the midst. Those that littered the parking lot turned to stare, but after labeling him a drunken idiot they went back to their own business. Nonetheless, Bryce traveled across the distance that separated himself and Jackson. He followed the musician into an alley, his ego the only thing that was keeping him going. As he neared Jackson, he fished a hand into the inside pocket of his jacket and he withdrew a switchblade.
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Post by jackson levi beckett on Jun 8, 2012 5:12:03 GMT -5
jackson rolled his eyes as he heard the drunken slurr of the bastard that just wouldnt stay down. he was really starting to grow tired of this whole thing. he was over the fight, no longer finding it amusing or important to his life, even after his nose was probably broken by bryce. he pulled the cigarettes from his pocket and lit one, dragging on it a long moment before he slipped them away, walking into an alley to grab a shortcut on the way back to the hotel. the footsteps behind him grew though, and he sighed.
at the sound of a switchblade flipping open, jackson rose a brow and turned to bryce, much uneffected. he pursed his lips some behind the cigarette before he removed it and flicked the ashes. oh how original. bringing a knife to a fist fight? oh bloody hell, youre killing me. he said in a rather monotone voice as he put the cigarette back between his lips, drawing on it. well cmon then. you think you need the advantage, puss? i dont blame you. cmon then. he egged him on, holding open his leather coat as he looked over at bryce, steady.
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Post by bryce elijah romano on Jun 8, 2012 5:33:56 GMT -5
Contrary to how the movies played it, Bryce didn’t have to be told twice. Blame it on his actual hate for the guy or the alcohol, all that mattered was that he was angry and had a knife whereas Jackson did not. He flicked his thumb on the handle of his knife to reveal the blade and wiped the blood off of his mouth with the back of the opposite hand. The motion was almost useless seeing as he still had a mouthful of the thick, crimson liquid anyway. The taste of nickel edged out the sweet remains of alcohol that currently fueled him. Yeah, he was going to kill him alright.
Bryce took the plunge just as Jackson thrust open his jacket to reveal his stomach. Guiding the switchblade directly into his abdomen, the talent scout faltered with the movement and twisted it within his body. His breath was heavy as he put a great amount of his own body weight upon Jackson and removed the dagger. Without giving a second thought to the damage that he’d done, Bryce studied the weapon before preparing to stab him again. “Who do you blame then? Huh, who?!” still slurred, Bry dug the knife into Jackson once more, falling with him as they pressed into the grimy wall outside of the bar.
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Post by jackson levi beckett on Jun 8, 2012 5:43:54 GMT -5
no matter how many times a person has been stabbed, no matter how strong they are, it still hurt. bryce clearly needed no invitation from jacksons smart mouth to persue what he set out to do when he pulled the knife. as the knife dug into his gut, he growled low in pain, the breath being taken from his chest as the knife twisted. still though, jackson stood, taking all of his effort to stare the man down and not make much noise. the hatrid in his eyes was almost fueling. jackson surely had to be something to spark such strong emotion. had he not been bleeding out from the gut, he would have surely been amused. hate was still attention, and in his mind, all attention had to always be on him.
at the second stab, the knife hit him higher and he gasped slightly, gritting his teeth hard, this time grabbing bryces hand, holding on hard to it so it didnt twist as they slid to the ground, his strength removed from him. jackson licked his lips, looking into the mans eyes and the tiniest hint of a smirk went over his features, despite the clear pain in his eyes. you better run unless you want to face life for attempted murder, faggot. he hissed, releasing his hand as he heard voices in the alley, his shirt quickly soaking with blood and his head starting to pound from the loss.
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Post by bryce elijah romano on Jun 8, 2012 6:41:25 GMT -5
Damnit, he had to stop allowing his ego to control him! Pride was the deadliest sin, wasn’t it? Well, whether or not it was, his pride was about to earn him a death by lethal injection (preferable over a sentence of ten or more years in prison). He’d promised himself as soon as he’d been released the last time that he wasn’t going back. The last time had been a mere six months for drug charged in comparison to however many years he would spend for aggravated assault, well that was nothing. Bryce sobered up pretty quickly, although nothing close to entirely at the thought of jail time and froze immediately. He glanced toward the sound of footsteps and then the opposite end of the alleyway, panic stricken. He wasn’t a runner, but currently he had no choice. He released his grasp on Jackson and did a quick intake of the crime scene. His own blood was everywhere and people had witnessed them brawling inside, but that didn’t have to mean that he stabbed him. Honestly, as long as he had the weapon in his heads, he had to be fine, right? Right?! No one could do anything without direct proof, he could pay off lawyers and judges for days as long as there was no direct proof. A sigh of relief escaped his breath at the thought and after spitting on Jackson one more time, Bryce quickly darted out of the alleyway, his switchblade in hand. He wasn’t the type to run from a fight, but these were extenuating circumstances.
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