welcome

[isobel cara ambrose]

((My replies will be better. I ran out of things to say. Hah.))

Everyone knows that being famous entails a lot. Izzie had known it when she stumbled into Hollywood, as had her other friends. She had known that the paparazzi wouldn’t care if the picture they snapped of you made you look bad. Hell, they hoped for pictures that made you look awful, and when the picture destroyed you, the way you were, the image you had, they would be excited since that surely meant they’d get a large payment for it. Izzie had indeed known about them. She’d also known about the fans, constantly bothering you for an autograph, a hug, a picture, just so they could have proof of meeting you. Izzie had expected to like the fans and how they made her feel, but today she didn’t like them one bit.

Usually so great with her fans, she found herself avoiding them at all costs, a pair of sunglasses on her face, although the sun wasn’t all that bright, and a plaid paper boy hat, making it harder, although not impossible, to see who exactly she was. So, one might wonder why the girl who was normally so excellent with interacting with her fans was currently trying to conceal her identity and sitting on the ground near the lake, not much caring that she was getting her clothes dirty. The reason for her sudden disinterest in fans and contempt towards them was mostly just due to the fact that she hadn’t had her cocaine fix yet, and she was all out. She was supposed to meet her dealer later today, although right now she wished she had made the appointment with him earlier in the day, since she already had a headache. At least with the way she was sitting people could only see her from behind, and while her pretty blonde hair was cascading down her back, not that many people would decide she was Isobel Ambrose unless they saw her face. Of course, any of her closest friends would probably recognize the hair and the cap, since she’d had it since high school and adored wearing it wherever she went.

Because of her newfound anonymity, she hadn’t worried about her image so much, since she didn’t feel like she was being watched. For this reason, she had brought along the book My Sister’s Keeper by Jodi Picoult. Always a fan of reading, she had read in the privacy of her home whenever she wasn’t keeping up her image. Although Izzie would rather stay at home and watch a movie with one of her friends, she found herself often going to parties to maintain her eccentricity and confidence. A confident person wouldn’t stay at home. Well, they would, actually, because if they were confident, they wouldn’t give a damn, but the whole confident look was a mirage, and Izzie felt like she needed to be outspoken and outgoing by attending parties. Despite the fact that she did awful things at those parties while under the influence of cocaine like have sex with complete strangers, she felt too insecure to actually stay at home and enjoy herself. She had thought being famous would be fun, but it was exhausting. It was exactly why being here at Echo Park with her back turned to everyone was relieving and relaxing. She didn’t have to maintain any reputation. She could just be herself.

She’d been reading for at least an hour, since she’d come here after feeling anxious and nervous in her house without having cocaine. She had figured coming out into nature would relax her, and while it did to an extent, she still felt paranoid and emotionally unstable. At least here she didn’t have to worry so much about the paparazzi, especially not when they couldn’t see who she was and they probably wouldn’t waste their film unless they were positive that the person they were snapping photos of was truly the person they speculated it was. The paparazzi could speculate that it was her all they wanted, but unless they were sure, there was no way that they’d waste their film on her. Besides, it was the back of her head. It wasn’t a good shot at all, so she wasn’t too worried about people being out to get her. Well, now she wasn’t. Her choice of sitting her and positioning her body the way she had to keep her identity secret was a paranoid action. She would say it was just to avoid the fans, but she knew the subconscious reason was because of her paranoid, cocaine-craved mind.

The park was surprisingly quiet. The morning joggers had left, since the sun was coming up more and people were off to work, but she wasn’t working today. The park had emptied out save for a few dog-walkers who had nothing to do today either, and this knowledge relaxed Izzie even more, since the less people wandering around the park, the less of a chance she’d be discovered. Feeling less paranoid, the lethargy took over, like it did every other time she was waiting for cocaine. She leaned back, now laying on the ground, her identity still a mystery to the average passerby, since her face was not seen, which also meant that it was okay for her to sleep. It wasn’t particularly comfortable, but it wasn’t like it was likely anyone would see her sleeping. Placing the open book over her face, it shielded her identity even more, and it was only a matter of minutes before she was asleep, her yellow sundress collecting dirt.

[kingston tove winstead]

[ooc] me too >< sorry, lovee.

What was he doing in Echo Park? Kingston never went to Echo Park. Ever. It was dirty, filled with child molesters and drug addicts. And while he most definitely didn't mind drug addicts, he certainly minded child molesters. Echo Park was no place for him, for someone who had grown so used to five star hotels and restaurants and brand new clothes and an abundance of cash. He didn't belong here, it was so obvious, even from his clothes. His jeans were clean and fit well. They didn't sag more than was necessary and they didn't suffocate the fat of his thighs. They were not ripped or old, but worn enough times to give it the perfect amount of faded tiredness. The boxers they revealed were not a trashy off-white with dubious stains and various spots that had been abused by generic bleach. His shirt was clean, albeit slightly wrinkled, hanging off of his lean (not from coke or crack or what have you) frame, it was not faded and had no holes. The t-shirt wasn't his favorite, but it was the only clean one he could find, displaying a nude woman near the bottom (breasts and womanly bits blurred, of course) with the words 'Gosh! Damn!' in white and read above. For decency's sake, he wore a black hoodie over it, despite the fact that it was just shy of being cold enough for one. But Kingston being Kingston decided that it was freezing, and were he not to wear one, he would catch, wait for it... Cancer. Yes, King was certain that being in the cold for too long caused cancer, of the terminal variety. And thus, he zipped up the hoodie half way, leaving his newly blonde hair exposed to the sun's rays, which for the day were somewhat weak. Around King's thin wrist was the loop at one end of Dog's leash - Kingston was too old fashioned to buy one of the newer leashes with the buttons that let you control the length. And so the leash, about five and a half feet long, tightened and loosed around King's wrist when Dog sped up or slowed down.

Suddenly Dog stopped, so abrupt that Kingston failed to realize what had happened and nearly tripped over him. "Damnit, Dog! Tell me when you're going to do that!" He snapped, rubbing the back of his head (which substituted for his ego, bruised by nearly tripping in public). Dog looked up at King, raising his leg and peeing on a bed of weeds, panting as if to say 'Impossible, buddy. I don't speak.' His patronizing look bothered Kingston even further and he scolded the dog again. "Don't get all mouthy on me, Dog! I feed you, remember! I give you life." Dog finished his business, and licked Kingston's hand in apology. "Don't do that right after you've peed," Kingston admonished, but he resolve was slowly diminishing. "Oh, fine. But I swear, Dog, next time you're straight onto a train back to Ma and Dad. Got it?" This time, Dog said nothing, only turned back around and continued at an excited trot, as fast as his ancient old legs permitted. He had never been to Echo Park before, and Kingston sensed that the stench of molestation and drug abuse was like roses to Dog. After ten or so minutes, something behind a dying oak tree caught Kingston's attention. A small, nearly unnoticeable movement. But he caught it. For a brief moment, he cared to find out what it was. But the desire died as soon as he noticed a familiar figure, donning a yellow sundress. Furrowing his brow, Kingston bit his bottom lip. "Pathetic," he murmured to himself, "see, Dog, that's what you don't want to be. See that lady over there in the dress? Don't be like her. In a dirty dress sleeping on a bench in a park. She probably had a crack problem, too. Don't be like that, Dog, or I'll send you to the pound." Dog didn't seem to give a damn that Kingston was warning him to not be pathetic and alone, and began to bark at the tree that, by now, was a few yards behind the two.

Turning around, Kingston found a man of average height with a tape recorder and camera. Raising an eyebrow, Kingston opened his mouth to speak, but the reporter/photographer beat him to the punch. "James Sanders, LA Times. What are you doing in Echo Park, Kingston?" He asked, speaking rapidly in a nasally voice.

"Uhm, walking my dog?" He said, in a confused tone. "What do you -"

"We heard that This is Sarcasm is heading back into the studio, is that true?"

"Yeah? Uh, I guess? I mean, we plan to, in a couple of months I think."

"There aren't many bands with a drummer people give two shits about, but people seem to think you're quite important to This is Sarcasm - you're one of those few drummers, how does that feel?"

"Okay, I think. Uhm... this is sort of an ambush, could we possibly, like..."

"Where did you get the name for the band?"

"Fuck you, I've answered this question a hundred times."

"What?"

"I said I've answered this question a hundred times, and fuck you."

"This has got to be -"

"The worst interview ever?" Now, Kingston grinned, and James Sanders snapped a picture. "See you later, man." He shook his hand, hoping that maybe that way the man wouldn't portray him as some ass hole who spent his days trolling around Echo Park, looking for his next rape victim. It seemed to work, as the man apologized and promised to set up a proper interview. Kingston nodded, but he was dreading the prospect of adding another interview to the long list of people wanting to talk to him, either alone or with the band. Lifting one hand, cupped to the air, in goodbye, Kingston turned on the spot and continued on his way. he was getting closer and closer to the sad figure in a dirty sundress. Dog seemed eager to reach her, speeding up quickly. "Dog, yo man, you shouldn't -" he grunted from the effort of keeping Dog from dragging him along, "Walk - that - fast, man. You'll - get - a - disease." But Dog was relentless, and Kingston had to jog to keep up with the bag of bones that had suddenly found new life. The whole while, Kingston grumbled under his breath. At this speed, he could smell Dog, and he needed a bath desperately. Both Dog and King came to a skidding halt once they reached Sun Dress Girl, and suddenly he recognized her. One eyebrow raised, Kingston moved in front of her, bending downwards slightly to remove her glasses. The peeked out from the hat and he recognized it, but once the glasses were gone, he knew for a fact. It was Isobel. Licking his lips, Kingston squatted in front of her, eyebrows fully raised in confusion. "Izzie?" He asked softly, grey-blue eyes focused on her face. She look extremely tired. On a subconscious level, one he wouldn't acknowledge, he knew she had some sort of problem. But so did he, and he didn't much appreciate when people gave him shit about it. He didn't want Isobel to see him as someone who would give her endless shit about whatever it was she was doing. In a somewhat pointless fashion, he hoped that maybe, she was simply overworking herself. But from her new mannerisms, he found it unlikely. Either way, he didn't particularly want to know. It would be like a punch to the gut for him if he was right. "Izzie, what're you doing here, man? This place is a shit hole..."

[isobel cara ambrose]

Like King, Izzie was not particularly fond of Echo Park, but unlike him, she did come here. Although paparazzi lurked here in a desperate attempt to catch some celebrities here, since being in Echo Park tended to suggest that the said celebrity had some problem, Izzie met her drug dealer in a very isolated corner. Paparazzi were right in lurking here since Izzie was pretty sure every person who ventured in here had something seriously wrong with them. People usually didn’t go to Echo Park just because unless they weren’t in their right minds, which was Izzie’s issue. She was never in her right mind now. When she was on the cocaine, she felt one-hundred feet tall and invincible, free and perfect. Cocaine made her feel like a superhero, and like a superhero flying high above the city, she had a long way to fall once the cocaine wore off. When she wasn’t on coke, she wanted to be. She’d constantly think about, crave it. The nausea came, as did the lethargy, depression, and paranoia when she wasn’t under the influence of it. Either way, high or sober and craving a high, she wasn’t able to get away from the cocaine and just be herself. It had influence over every aspect of her life.

Even though she had fallen asleep, it was not restful or deep. In fact, she rarely had a restful or deep sleep, since when she was on coke, she felt wide awake, and when she was without it, she felt nauseous and too restless to actually stay asleep or sink into a deeper level of sleep. For this reason, as soon as someone tugged at her glasses, she began to awake. When her name was called uncertainly, as if the person the voice belonged to couldn’t believe it was her, she started awake, thinking the person was a member of the press, threatening to ruin her reputation. She shot out of her sleep so quickly she nearly fell off the bench, eyes wide and panicked. King’s voice should have sounded familiar enough for her to point it, but in her cocaine-craved state, she couldn’t really pinpoint things. Within a few seconds, Izzie came all the way out of her panicked and disoriented state, calming down once she linked eyes with King. Her calmness went away as soon as she realized he had her glasses. She usually applied plenty of make-up to hide the half-moons beneath her eyes signaling how desperately she needed sleep. Her eyes looked miserable, terrified, screaming how much she needed help and how she had a problem. She had never been able to hide the truth in her eyes, although she doubted King would do anything drastic because of how sad her eyes looked or how pale her skin looked, appearing almost luminescent. Hell, even though her collarbones jutted out in a skeleton-like way, she doubted King would question her. It reassured her the slightest bit, which kept her from having a miniature panic attack.

After her fear at having her problem discovered subsided, she realized that he had asked her a question. Unsure of what to say, she gave a tiny, half-hearted smile, shrugging her shoulders as she said in a quiet, yet sarcastic voice, “Because it’s so beautiful.” A few seconds after she gave her sarcastic and silly answer, she said in a louder voice, but one that was hoarse, “I just needed to get away from everyone who watched me. I needed a little bit of time away from all the people who watch my every move.” It was the truth, which she gave instead of a lie merely because it was King and she was too tired to lie. After covering a yawn, she patted the spot on the bench next to her, hoping he wouldn’t make too much out of her being here in Echo Park. She knew that right now it was obvious that something was wrong, and it was easy to speculate what that something was, but King had never been one of speculating about stuff like that, and she prayed he wouldn’t decide to start now. She just wanted to spend time with a friend. One of her friends already knew, and it hadn’t worked out well. In fact, she was now debating the ultimatum of whether to let her life crash and burn to keep up her coke habit or give up the coke and go back to feeling ordinary and inadequate. While she knew if she chose the latter, she’d have her career and reputation still, not to mention her friends, but it scared the hell out of her. She had been so miserable before the cocaine. She’d considered committing suicide, not that any knew that. Coke was her escape, her miracle, and her security. It was also her destroyer, though, and she knew that if she didn’t give it up everything would fall apart eventually, starting with her career and ending with her body. She was already having some serious problems. She suffered from sleep problems, chronic sneezing, stuffy and runny nose, major weight loss due to a loss of appetite, and intense nausea when she wasn’t on the coke.

It wasn’t long before second symptom she suffered from beckoned as her nose began tickling in a way that suggested there’d be no way to ward off the sneezing. With her eyes watering slightly, she noticed Dog was there, and she felt a wave of relief, not because the sneezing fit was any less likely to happen, but because she was allergic to almost all animals with fur including dogs. If he hadn’t been there, she’d have trouble explaining just why her nose was so irritated. “Hey, King, do you happen to have…” she began in a rushed voice, only to break off, bringing her hands to cover her nose and mouth as the fit began. Izzie had always had a nose that was easily set off by allergens, so this sort of thing wasn’t all that odd for her, and she’d always joked that she was happy she had cute sneezes. Having had to explain, she’d talked about how some people had roaring or embarrassing sneezes, but her sneeze was soft and girly, a somewhat high pitched and quiet “achoo.” After the fourth, she knew at least two more were coming due to the fact she only sneezed in multiples of threes. Thankfully, her nasal irritation mostly subsided after six sneezes except for a dull itching that signaled that more were to come later. She offered a faint smile, lowering her hands as soon as she was sure she was done. “A tissue?” she finished her question with a good-natured smile, swiping beneath her eyes to rid them of the excess moisture.