Thread: If We Ever Meet Again (nothingbutporcelain and Tatcon Valdez)

There always existed an amusing dichotomy within a family that had seen a vast amount of success. Take David for instance. He had become a doctor, and such a career choice was always seen as a great passing, something for parents to be proud of! World saving elder siblings always received the required rays of sunshine from their providing parents that little light was left for those who were still left to blossom. That was the dichotomy, and that was the nature of the family Callie had married in to. The children of the Thomas-McGee family were never wont for anything in this world if they had desired it, for David had followed his father's footsteps, and David's mother was a pinnacle of perfection when it came to law and business so it would be expected that the children could easily pick up the mantle and run with it because the financial backing was there and ready! But... Ethan had been born about seven years after David, and that had made his growing up a little less encouraging. While Dave ploughed through school with the enthusiasm and gusto of a propaganda drunk communist, mild Ethan merely got by, his attention had always been elsewhere. By sixteen he had turned from academics and intelligence to mohawks and electric guitars, brandishing his own defiled leather jackets of spikes and studs while causing general annoyance and havoc where ever he went. By twenty he had served a year in prison for his part in a vicious vigilante beating on a rapist, and soon went on just to buy a burger shop with dad's money somewhere in South London. Feigning redemption was a great way to separate a guilty parent from their pounds, and Ethan had made generous use of it to make a working shop, and foster his own addictions of alcohol, weight training and cigarettes. And while Callie might had redeemed her slutty behaviour after high school, there was nary a girl in Ireland or Southern England who hadn't been slammed by that God damned McGee. Now he was twenty three, played with cars, still wore a black mohawk upon his head that always sat a limp against his otherwise bald head, and still went to the club most nights to get drunk, show off his muscles and eventually take a girl to bed. So it was with a touch of greedy pride he watched his brother's wife hit the bar with fire in her eyes, and white powder on her nose. Ohh, what a delightful scene this could create for the golden child Ethan had always lived in the shadow of. From the first time he had seen Callie at the wedding, he knew somethings were not as they seemed. She was a broken product, a fragile beast wrapped in a carefully constructed dress who painted a pretty picture when the time came, but was quite to fall to her faults when life went its own way. He gazed at her with amusement and predatory flair, she was the kind of girl he came to the clubs for, because they always gave the most exquisite, desperate sex because they have a hole to fill deep inside themselves. But his contact with her had been limited..for some reason a family never appreciated someone wearing combat boots and camo at a wedding. Fucking stuck up Brits, Ethan would say with Irish pride ignoring the half English heritage of his parents So for the moment he would watch this little broken porcelain doll absorb herself in her vices while he let a lonely cigarette burn away from the corner of his mouth, the occasional inhale exposing the intricate tattoos that lined his arms and upper chest, the latter being viewable because of the white tank top he wore below his ratty ex-army vest emblazoned with band patches and silverware. He was hard to miss really, he was quite massive at six foot three, with a body he had built in prison and maintained with vicious dedication over the years. Maybe he would buy her a drink and try to get to the soul of this withering leaf and find out something he could....what, exploit? That seemed fair to him as revenge against his too successful brother. Moving with careful grace he would slide from his bench and proceed to sit on the bar stool next to Callie, ordering one more vodka, and a Guinness for him. Smoke? He asked her with a sideways smirk, light blue eyes scanning her own optics carefully as he measured her intoxication and high-ness as best he could.