WRATH;

Charles "Charlie" Preston; An OC blog; please see my rules and about for more info. Triggers listed there, as well. If you have any questions, don't be afraid to contact me.

[supersecretsquirrelsin-deactiva]

flaws/strengths - bold which applies to your character

[thescatterer-blog]

Forceful | Fearful | Enthusiastic | Obstructive | Spontaneous | Pushy | Trustworthy | Loose-tongued | Respectful | Mistrustful | Tolerant | Undisciplined | Observant | Sloppy | Optimistic | Rude | Caring | Contemptuous | Generous | Short-sighted | Practical | Passive | Considerate | Aggressive | Self-assured | Bossy | Inspiring | Chaotic | Adventurous | Cynical | Lively | Blunt | Persuasive | Stand-offish | Serious | Vague | Idealistic | Inflexible | Warm | Moody | Humorous | Indifferent | Friendly | Intolerant | Determined | Wasteful | Patient | Stubborn | Orderly | Reckless | Disciplined | Inhibited | Ambitious | Naive | Dedicated | Greedy | Flexible | Fanatical | Logical | Dull | Open | Arrogant | Accurate | Lazy | Independent | Selfish | Intelligent | Complaining | Tactful | Impatient | Creative | Hard | Honest | Shallow | Straightforward | Strict | Appreciative | Shy | Versatile | Prejudiced 

[lovelycontusions]

[ohfiendangelical]

  ❛  Doctor, huh? Respectable.  ❜

An interesting contrast to the very not-respectable feelings. Those waves intensify, their distinctive smell in the air. Hate. Hate. Hate. It makes his mouth water; it makes him curious as to what the man is hiding. Whatever it is, Zero knows that it must make him taste delectable, his blood thick with all that bitterness and all that viciousness. There’s an overwhelming temptation to go against the decision he’s already made, an overwhelming temptation to sink his teeth into the other, just for a little taste. It isn’t often Zero comes across someone with such intensity radiating off them. 

  ❛  'Fraid I don't got a job. Not in the traditional sense, anyway.  ❜

[thescatterer-blog]

"Yes, a doctor. I also enjoy unorthodox practices." He smiles for a moment, and then it fades as he locks his hands together, a conversational gesture he does often to appear more comfortable than he really is. Gestures, gestures and mimicking the other person's movements helps to create comfort, and that's what he's aiming on doing. "May I ask what you do, anyhow? I'm very interested in your practices." Cold eyes flick up to Zero, one brow raising subtly as if he was still feeling the skepticism from before, as though it was left over.

"I find that," he began, "the most unorthodox and less-than-traditional bits are the parts that are the most fun." He offers this as conversation starter, and almost as a warning. He is unorthodox. He's not traditional. He is dangerous.

[kidmortician-blog]

Zachary Reilly has killed over forty four hundred people in single combat over the last two years. Eight of them died by Reilly’s bare hands and teeth. So let’s have no more smart comments about the boy and his bad teeth. He ripped out their throats and bit their hearts in half. That takes good teeth. Hearts are hard. Dense and chewy. You couldn’t do it.

He sets his pencil down.

Yes, it’s a good autobiography introduction. He stretches around in his seat and levels a stare at Charlie.

"Read my essay."

[thescatterer-blog]

"Alright, let me see it. You checked passive voices and subject agreement? Not overusing the verb, 'to be?' I'm sure it's just fine." Charlie takes the paper over his smoothed, sterile table top, pushing his own paper work aside for the time being; Mrs. Helen Gyre can be cared for later. Pushing black, circular classes up the straight bridge of his nose, he examines the paper.

Charlie reads it three times before he looks at Zach.

"What is this? This is terrible, and also not factual. Not only is that disgusting, but you addressed your audience directly. You typically are not supposed to do that."

[ballroom-world]

Find more at http://ballroom-world.tumblr.com/

[thescatterer-blog]

floweredophelia started following you

"I always feel the need to introduce myself to people I see in the morning; it fulfills me. May I ask you your name?" He's charm and smiles, morning tea and pressed jackets. "My name is Charlie."

[metuere-now-exspiritment]

"People usually set appointments if they want to talk to doctors. The doctors don’t come to them. Either you’re overzealous and annoying or lying and a creep." If she’s hostile, she’ll look crazy. When this goes wrong (and it will) he’ll lie to the police and he’ll use his normal person well officer I was just smoking my cigar and reading my scholarly essays and being a civilized well educated gentleman voice while she’s caged like an animal. Maybe this doomsaying is just her paranoia. Probably not. He’s the kind of guy you wouldn’t be surprised to discover was a serial killer. 

"I wouldn’t trust a damaged doctor, either. Also, why are you being so fucking pretentious. Like, does damaged mean I’m ugly or crazy or what." 

[thescatterer-blog]

"That's true; but I am neither overzealous and annoying, nor am I lying and a creep. I'm simply looking for friendly conversation; if you'd like to keep your guard up, I'll move on; I figured making conversation was a fairly normal thing to do amid people." Charlie's skeptical of her, unsure of why he picked to talk to her in the first place; her hostility is reminiscent of Zach, though, at the moment, incongruous to his character. His hostility is indicative of bullying; he can't place his thumb on why she'd be so angry so quickly. 

Charlie is an animal disguised as a gentleman; the monster under your bed and the reason you check your closets. Her premonition is right; Charlie wouldn't know she had it if he couldn't sense it. But he can, and he knows, and he gladly takes it as an opportunity for conversation by saying:

"You seem nervous. I can leave you alone; I promise I had no intent to make you uncomfortable."

[bogarted]

Fred Astaire and Rita Hayworth in a promo still for “You Were Never Lovelier” (1942)

[thescatterer-blog]

psych: do you see things that aren't there, hear voices in your head? me: nope psych: i'm always amused when ppl smile about that. psych: you think about killing yourself? me: nope psych: you think about killing others? me: nope (inner charlie): YES YES SHE DOES INDEED SHE DOES BC SHE THINKS ABOUT ME

i'm so intense about charlie i'm reading about serial killers. not like. bios. i'm reading an info piece of em. accuracy matters to me w this shit.

[neonisms-blog1]

  ❛  Yeah, walking’s totally cool with me.  ❜

Aiden is doing his best to relax and go about this without thinking about his first impression. He shakes it off to the best of his ability and puts on a smile, falling into step beside the stranger. He comes across a lot of different people in his line(s) of work, and some of them are a bit odd. He knows some people up in the hills who are especially strange, taking part in the weirdest behaviors he’s ever seen — so, in comparison, a complete stranger who has taken notice of him in the past and suddenly decided he wanted to get to know him is relatively mild. He keeps this in mind to keep his cool.

After all, he seems nice. Pleasant. Subtly charismatic, perhaps. In most instances, Aiden likes people like that; finds them interesting in ways that he simply isn’t capable of, being the epitome of an average twentysomething. 

  ❛  The women? Well, I mean, you can find great women everywhere. Most of the ones I know are pretty great.  ❜

[thescatterer-blog]

"In terms of attractiveness?" Charlie is a misogynist. He kills women, but he's never once forced contact. He's killed a few men, as well, but figures they aren't much worth his time. Aiden isn't worth his time to add to his death list, but, as he had thought before, he could be of use to him. An alibi, an assistant, or point him in the direction of his next victim. As his shoes rub against the concrete and make the familiar crunching sound, and with the smell of the sea close by and local fast food joints, he feels somewhat comfortable, even interested.

"What do you think of Los Angeles?" He asks this for conversations; Charlie does not like silences; his thoughts are too loud, and someday, he thinks, someone will hear them and realize how wrong he was in his head. His brain was twisted uncomfortably, bending and curving in the areas it shouldn't. He's lacking brain in emotions, and making up for it in motivation. He has a lot of motivation for killing, and he has even more for creating fragile, fake relationships. They serve him the purpose of seeming like a cultured, rounded man. When his wife had been killed (by him), he'd cried for weeks publicly, begged the police to jail the culprit. His reputation with the public allowed him to get out of questioning quickly, and, of course, his alibi.

[kidmortician-blog]

'Hurry up and finish,' was, in Zach’s mind, a command to take another deliberately slow bite. He didn’t want to leave with the underlying threat in his growl, he didn’t want to follow Charlie’s orders. But the longer Zach waited, the more Charlie’s brows would squeeze down in a way that scared him. 

Leaning forward so that Zach’s elbows slid upward across Charlie’s so-hated table, his fingers curling beneath his fists, he dropped his tone so that his voice came out in the icy, sweet breaths trailing from his lips. “Or, if you let me keep my own private life, I won’t have to announce to the cops three blocks down that the devastating loss of your wife was actually a bloody matricide and I have the proof.”

Sinking back into the rubbery, plastic leather with a little bounce, he turned his eyes up at him without lifting his head, brows set in a determined, cruel gaze. He hardly threatened Charlie, but he didn’t like to be humiliated in public, didn’t like to act subservient under the overhead lights of a welcoming facility.

The only time Charlie had really hurt him for his bluffing was the night he puked liquor on his counter and then announced with a shaking finger jutted into Charlie’s chest that he was going to tell the police about Lana everything and you can’t stop me, you can’t stop me because you’re already so bad it’s impossible for you to be any worse.

Well, Zach quickly learned it wasn’t. He’d woken up under a cool quilt in his mom’s bedroom with a damp washrag on his neck; brown, chubby hands ran through his sweat-damp hair and cooed to him in Italian. He’d been shaking with fever and he knew the split on his lip was from Charlie.

"It doesn’t affect you. Don’t worry about my whereabouts twenty-four-seven. You’re like a paranoid mother, Jesus. Speaking of, I’m going home tonight."

[thescatterer-blog]

"It does affect me, whether you believe it or not. I like to have control, Zach, I like to know who, when, where, why. I want to know your specific motive, and I'd like you to give me every detail. I'm not your mother. I can promise I will treat you much worse than a grounding if you leave anything important out, or continue to speak to me like that." Charlie stopped looking at him, instead taking another spoonful of the now sweating ice cream, letting it pool in his spoon before pressing it against his tongue.

"And, if you threaten me again, I promise you you'll regret it." Expression unchanging, he dug into the ice cream that he bought again, bringing it to his mouth slowly. The threat was not particularly worrisome to him, and his eyes reflected that: uncaring, cold, killer eyes, void of any human emotion aside from the concern of what he'd have to do with Zach's body later. Bury it twenty-four feet under, see if anyone found the remains of Silvano in this life.

It's impossible for you to be any worse, he thought, mulling this over in his head, withdrawn from taking actual offense. It's not impossible, he thought; he could get much, much worse.

"And yes, I think you going home would be the best option for you. I don't particularly want to keep you for the night; I certainly wouldn't be able to promise your safety tonight."

Andy was looking at Charlie, a slight furrow. Charlie looked up with disinterest, and a simple passing glance with the promise of a near end had Andy quickly fixing ice cream containers that didn't need to be fixed. Good.

Charlie's lips stretched into a smile, lips cracked. "Please, Zach. The ride home will be a decent amount of my time wasted, and I'd like to get you home before your mother starts worrying." His palms pushed him up from the table, and his hand slid out to snatch the flimsy cardboard bowl that held his ice cream. As he left ANDY'S, he tossed the ice cream in the trash, and turned to look over his shoulder.

"Now."

[neonisms-blog1]

  Upon closer inspection, Aiden comes to the conclusion that the first impression he had gotten might have been due to paranoia. He’d been on a rather exhilarating hunt recently, and the adrenaline still seems to be pumping through his veins — perhaps that’s all his initial reaction was. He has a terrible habit of sometimes reading too deeply into things. The man seems nice enough now, friendly, even wanting to go for a coffee with him.

(  In the back of his mind there’s still a voice screaming to trust his gut instincts, but he ignores it, once again chalking it up to paranoia.  )

  ❛  — Sure, why not? Sounds like a cool way to spend the afternoon.  ❜

[thescatterer-blog]

"Great, I've a very nice coffee shoppe just a block a way. We could take a cab, if you'd like, but I feel like since it is nice out, we should walk." Another friendly smile, make sure it seems genuine. Charlie is only interested in what he can benefit from anyone; he's not  looking to kill this man, but perhaps he could use him for his advantage. Find out what he does; something is laying deeper than a worthless tattoo artist, and Charlie wants to know.

The coffee is just a facade, but afterwards Charlie doesn't know what he'll do. Likely get his number from his phone if he leaves it around, something to that extent. He could just ask for it, but Charlie prefers the method of getting information they won't know you have; it's a combat tool.

"What do you think of the women here?" He asks aloud, looking at him with a pleasant expression, although void of any opinionated looks.

[godkiiller-blog]

her first thought is to immediately refuse. there is no place in her existence here for dancing. it will not help her in any way, therefore, it’s more of a harm than anything. but she stops. thinks. thinks about how she’s seen people dance on tv, how their bodies move with confidence and fluidity, the smiles on their faces, and she finds herself speaking before she can catch herself. “yes.” no. no, that’s not right. she flusters, visibly, reading to retract her answer, but it happens again. “yes, i—-think i would.”

[thescatterer-blog]

Charlie is sated with the answer, arms extending to take her waist in one hand, her hand in the other. He says nothing for a moment, gauging their compatibility simply on feeling. She's petite, shorter than he is, and it will make leading incredibly easy for him; but she's stiff, and she needs to loosen up. Charlie is incredibly interested, now, eyes bright with it. So far, without rejections, she's holding a pretty good standard in his mind. "Relax. Stand on my feet, if you need to. The movement I'm going to show you is a basic waltz. I lead, and you follow along. Is that agreeable to you?"

He's incredibly polite, smooth; some would call him cunning, but he calls it intelligent. Through this he gets what he wants: information used for combat later, when he decides on whether or not murdering this woman would benefit him at all. She has not angered him, so she's incredibly safe for now.

[neonisms-blog1]

  Aiden doesn’t mind being noticed or being asked questions. He doesn’t mind being stared at. He doesn’t even mind all that much when people don’t seem to like him. Normally, he doesn’t mind strange people, either; he meets them every day. But a mixture of all these things in one person creates some very bad vibes, and Aiden is more of a good vibes sort of guy.

  ❛  Uh — sure, man. My name’s Aiden. I give tattoos and make neon signs.  ❜

[thescatterer-blog]

"Uh-huh, is that so? Tattoos and neon signs... Interesting. An interesting trade. Did you say your name is Aiden? Very pleasant coming off the tongue. My name is Charlie, it's a pleasure to meet you, Aiden, the tattoo artist." He extends his hand, his face still plain, not expressing anything that could give any sign of him interpreting Aiden positively or negatively. 

"Say, Aiden, would you be interested in getting a coffee with me?" Charlie is friendly, but looks are incredibly deceiving. He likes gathering information on people; he does this through deceit. 

[unstrungbonesarchive-blog]

she’s just finished with a meeting. for business, something about the sale of guns & ammunition, as well as moving a body or two for a hefty sum. it’s nothing special, not to her. simple, yet nefarious, hobbies to get her through long days when drinking herself to oblivion loses its appeal. tonight’s one of those times where she’s perfectly happy with indulging in both. 

further company is unexpected, but not entirely unwelcome. she’ll fix the other with a stare, eyes narrowing for a moment before she softens her expression into a smile. “sometimes. when the mood is right.” 

[thescatterer-blog]

"Is the mood right tonight?" He asked, gesturing to the area around them. It's not particularly busy, but it is enough that the area is humming with low voices and activity, the sounds of glasses clinking distant. It's a nice place, a good area, he presumes, for dining and talking of business. Of course, he hasn't any idea of her business in the restaurant, but he allows himself to guess: sales.

"May I?" He asked, gesturing to the seat in front of her. He was in the midst of sitting anyhow, and, firmly seated, he noticed the heat of the lights gently casting an orange over her face, as though it were an unwavering fire. She's incredibly beautiful, Charlie thinks, but not the type he'd want to kill.

[godkiiller-blog]

"i don’t dance." shiloh probably doesn’t even know what rhythm is. as for everything else he said—deemed unimportant and therefore, ignored. 

[thescatterer-blog]

"Would you care to learn?" Visibly brightened, Charlie offered his hand to Shiloh without so much as asking her name or age. It was irrelevant to him, anyways. Dancing was a form of conversation; it was easier for him to learn people by movements than by speech.

[kidmortician-blog]

There were a number of responses rolling through his mind, defiant and telling. You’re not my dad. I have the right to remain silent. I don’t owe you anything. Leave me my privacy.

But those were not particularly intelligent sayings to tell a serial killer. So Zach just breaks off a piece of the cone and presses it into the ice cream, mind working to grasp at straws for an answer. “That’s not something I want to talk about here.”

It wasn’t a lie. For emphasis, he tilted his head subtly to the entering mother and daughter, the pimply kid spooning pink ice cream into a plastic cup. He wasn’t sure Charlie was planning to say: Oh, just tell me! with a goodnatured smile and a little chuckle and badger him until Zach slapped both hands on the table and admitted, HEY, BUDDY! I killed someone!

Instead, Zach looked at Charlie with an inky, dull vacuity of expression. He dropped his line of vision to the dessert, took another bite and smiled gently. “I took care of it,” he assured, “Get a spoon. I can’t finish this alone.”

Avoidance was easy. He knew Charlie’d demand details later, but Zach had always been a fan of skirting around the subject, removing the elephant in the room, beating around the bush. In all his affairs. “Nice shave, by the way. I’ll start doing that someday.”

[thescatterer-blog]

With the returned stiffness of aging joints and constant work, he stood to grab a spoon, distinctly smelling of cheap plastic, disguised in a smooth, black color. If only it had been paired with a white, and maybe then the ice cream shoppe could pull off the attempt at sleekness. Nice try, ANDY, but it isn't particularly good aesthetic, and Charlie is already displeased.

Charlie returned to his seat and pushed his weak spoon, bending at the neck, into the thick ice cream, looking at it was utter disgust. It left a trail of milky strings as he pulled his spoon away, but he shoveled it into his mouth anyways. When he set it down and swallowed, he was quiet for a moment, pensive as he thought of carefully measured words. Charlie felt their little game was constant; who was the most volatile? Who would push the other the farthest in their little game of 'who-did-it?' The answer: they both did.

Charlie thumbed his jaw and thought, forgetting almost entirely about the shave. His skin was smooth, and the air that came up from pushing at the skin was clean, with just the smallest twinge of the sweetness of the shop, which was starting to give him a low headache.

"You're going to explain it to me in the car, alright? I'd like to know who, where, why, and how." Charlie wouldn't commend him otherwise. Any death that was not in his knowledge was appropriately punished, or so he felt.

"You know exactly how I feel about you taking matters into your own hands like that. Where is the evidence, and what have you done with the remains? I'd like to go home in just a few minutes; the lights here make me nauseous. So hurry up and finish it, or take it wish us. I have some questions I'd like addressed sooner rather than later, and believe me, Zach, the sooner you answer them, the less angry I will be later."