#wswtask01

[audreyxfletcher-blog]

Westwick: Character’s Task #001  ▻ SPOOKY TIME

I. DRESSED TO KILL.

Costume: Hipster Belle

II. THIS IS JUST A DREAM.

Down. Down. Down.  What started as a happy day morphed into the stuff of nightmares as the current pulled her down.  She struggled, fighting the waves as water filled her lungs.  Audrey tried.  She tried hard to breech the surface but the harder she fought the further down she was pulled.  She couldn’t breathe.  She couldn’t see or hear.  Everything was muffled and the world around her was disappearing.  She was choking, gasping, and fading.  Nothing mattered.  The world was gone.

Then Audrey woke with a gasping scream.  Her mind was running as sweat poured down her body.  She couldn’t calm her racing heart as the dream replayed in her mind.  No, it wasn’t just a dream.  It was a nightmare.  She couldn’t close her eyes without feeling that overwhelming pain.  The gasping breaths while she choked on the water.

It had happened once when she was just a child.  She nearly drowned in a swimming pool but her mother got her out.  Ever since then the fear had lingered.  Audrey had worked hard to overcome it, but she could never be certain when those same fears would rear their ugly head once more.  There was only so much she could do.  Unfortunately she knew she would never get back to sleep tonight.

[tylerprince]

        DRESSED TO KILL - TYLER PRINCE: DANNY ZUKO

DAMN RIGTH TYLER PRINCE WAS DRESSING UP. Kids had their heroes from a young age.. some found it in their parents.. some found it in Disney Royalty.. But Little Tyler found it in one Hellion, Danny Zuko. Especially when Tyler went through time of question her gender and getting weighed down with the dysphoria that followed, his smug face was one that brought a smile to Tyler’s. His confidence.. his charm.. his whole look. He oozed coolness and he was everything Tyler aspired to be. That leather jacket, collar up, smoke between his lips and hair greased to the heavens.. he always looked more than ready to take on the world. And That was what and who Tyler needed to be. So with a pristine white t-shirt, jeans, folded at the ends, black converse and a signature T-BIRDS leather jacket.. oh, don’t forget the greased quiff..

There’s people screaming.. the crowds.. they cheering her on ‘Kill them Tyler, Go get ‘em, Prince’. Such chants which got the fighter rough and ready, bouncing on the balls of her feet, ready to the go.  Making that walk to the octagon, through the stadium of thousands of people - Tyler couldn’t have felt more alone. Something wasn’t right. While that all too sickeningly cliche Me, Myself & I intro track by G-Eazy blared.. Something Tyler chose at a young age and swore she’d have to change - She knew something was.. off. Swinging punches into the air, shadow boxing.. warming up even more so.. she was ready to go.. this was the MAIN CARD FIGHT.. defending her Featherweight title.. fucking sure she was gonna beat whoever she was up against to a pulp. 

Stepping into that octagon, Tyler looked around, eyes catching the large screens, those FOCUSED on two familiar faces; her mother and father. Her Father.. someone who insisted he never watched her matches.. that they were animalistic. He whom ignored her after her fighting had gotten her twin brother hospitalised he tried to help her. He was sitting there.. ring side.. he was actually there. In a defending title match. And while he’d hurt her.. so.. so much, emotionally.. mentally. There was no way he was ruining this.   But the crowds grew louder.. screaming.. ‘Kill them Tyler’ Heterochromian eyes flickered to the frame in the opposite corner of the octagon - their hood of their robe still up. 

Adrenaline was coursing Ty’s veins, fingers flexing. The screams, cheers so deafeningly  amping her up, ringing in her ears. It was so loud, she almost missed that infamous ‘Ding, Ding, Ding’ to start the match.  Right from the get go, Tyler swung punches.. hell.. her opponent hadn’t even gotten their hood down yet. Tyler couldn’t see their face.. But she kept going. She was going to win this.. she was going to make her father see she was better than he thought. 

She kept going.. kicking, landing punches to the other face until she could hear bone crack, until blood coated her fingers and gloves. It was at most thirty seconds before her opponent was on the ground.. seconds from blacking out before their hood flopped down from their face.. to reveal heterochromian eyes identical to her own.. those of her twin brothers.. that brother whom had gotten hurt before. Her actions had once more beaten him to a pulp. Before Tyler could do anything, the crowd roared as the referee dragged her off, calling in the medics as he crowned her the featherweight champion again.. only to watch her brother being taking away by paramedics. 

Tyler woke with a gasp, heart racing. I’ll call him tomorrow.. I will... It’s been too long. She insisted. She needed to hear her brothers voice.. even if he was on the other side of the world.. she missed him so much.

[daz-roth-blog]

I. DRESSED TO KILL.

Goodwill no longer stands for what those with good hearts have resting in their chests. Rather it is Daz’ personal treasure trove for the oddities she tends to fashion into clothing. Most would utilise one choice piece from Daz’ eclectic closest and work around it but she tends to use everything at once, clashing patterns be damned. For a Halloween costume she was quite limited, though that didn’t mind she didn’t find anything delving into bargin bins of forgotten threads. Johnny Depp was iconic as Raoul Duke in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas and Daz intended to be something similiar, a dad’s hawaiin shirt hanging loose about her, rolled up sleeves allowing biceps to be on full display. A bucket hat found in a dusty corner and a part of yellowed out aviators bringing the whole look together and allowing Daz to be too weird to live and yet to rare to die. 

II. THIS IS JUST A DREAM.

Daz stands usually at six foot, six foot one on a particularly good day. But in this darkness she is no taller than anyone and the muscle she’s garnered seemed limp. She feels so small that she almost mistakes herself for sitting down as opposed to be stood up, but what other way would she face her mother? Her features change every time Daz dreams about her, an unknown face, an unknown evil. 

She feels like the child she was not allowed to be. 

This woman is always scolding and Daz is always frustrated, the angsty teen this woman never raised. Daisy this and Daisy that until Daz refuses to hear it any more, that is not her name. This woman gave her life and then took away her parent, she gave up the right to what little say she had about her. Daz’ name was so inherently personal. She was no flower and no one would get to think as such. A daisy, a weed. A pretty pest, her mother’s pretty pest. But that woman plucked this daisy and offered her elsewhere, carelessly uprooting her. 

She feels like the child she was not allowed to be. 

Her features are always dark and Daz strives to see more of her and ask questions but she’s talked down. “I made the right choice.” Her words reveberate in the darkness and Daz hears them over and over. “How could anyone be proud of you?” More echoes, more lines to haunt her. “How could I have loved you?” 

Daz doesn’t wake in a cold sweat or panting, it’s a sluggish eye crack from one reality to the next. Dreaming of her mother, rather having nightmares about her mother is not something that allows her heart to race, rather it pulls her in and reminds her of the child who was not allowed to be. The silent child that is still waiting for parental guidance to a world she still struggles to understand.

When she wakes from those nights she goes to the bathroom to wash her face. Ice water doesn’t keep the thoughts away but it reminds her that she is a world away from those dark realities, that she has chosen her own path and followed it religiously. Perhaps one day she will be proud of herself and that will be enough for her. That day will change her and her dreams will be softer then. Until that day she’ll sleep like the dead except for nights she washes her face in the late and early hours to remind herself she is alive because of herself, in spite of that woman. 

[priscillakeo]

Westwick: Character’s Task #001  ▻ HALLOWEEN

I. DRESSED TO KILL. 

Priscilla isn't one to dress up for Halloween but she does like to dress up. Her outfit is just something she would wear to a fancy event but if anyone asks she'll say she's an assassin. Just to make them go away.

II. THIS IS JUST A DREAM. 

The dark feeling of terror rose up in Priscilla as the room she was in clarified around her. She’d studied this room, this warehouse really, for months after her brother had been murdered there. She’d studied every bit of the case until she couldn’t forget a single detail. She’d done it because she hadn’t been there to protect him. She hadn’t been there at all in the years before his death. Her best friend was taken without her knowing. As she took in the place around her ghostly images began to flicker there. A scene she’d imagined many times before. A recurring nightmare that she had almost every night in the years after. 

There he was. Her brother as he did the job their father had passed onto them. A job he had never really wanted but was trained for. Trained and yet it wasn’t enough to keep him safe. The other man walked in. A face she knew as well as her brothers now. She’d seen him locked up and knew he would remain that way for life but that didn’t make him any less scary. This was the man that had taken her heart. That in her dreamlike state she thought would come back and take the rest of her family too. 

In front of her the two men worked out their deal with their own workers surrounding them as they did. She could name each man that had been there without pause. Paint pictures of them all. A swirling of rage filled her over the men that had failed to protect her brother. Failed at their job. Things took a turn and Priscilla watched helplessly as her brother was overtaken. She watched the fear in his eyes and she was locked in place. She couldn’t move to help him. She was paralyzed in her spot. The blood seeped from the multiple wounds and she watched him bleed out in front of her and that was all she could do was watch. 

A strangled cry escaped her and then the scene changed from the cold dead of his familiar eyes to another scene. Her younger brother now stood in the same warehouse. The scene a near carbon copy of what had just occurred. The brother she’d kept at a distance even more so since the other had passed. She couldn’t bare to blame herself if something happened to him. Not again. Yet the scene played out once more. Ghostly figures moving and her other brother taking his last breaths in the same manner. Priscilla should have known it wasn’t real. It couldn’t happen the exact same way but she screamed none the less. Screamed and screamed as she couldn’t do a single thing to save him. A memory she didn’t even have turned into another nightmare right before her eyes.