unless someone is STANDING near :: open

[Razz Perkins]

Calling all the neighbors
Time to make amends
Whiskey floods the table
Aw good friends 'til the end

__________________________

When you thought of old fashion things you could probably think of your grandma first, or maybe an old toy that was extremely outdated. You thought of cd players instead of ipod, VHS instead of DVD players. But you had to wonder how old fashioned your parents were. These days couples were having kids younger and younger, so there was no way that they were going to old fashioned when their kids were teens. They knew how to work a computer, they knew who Bloc Party and The Strokes were. Hardly old fashioned at all. But to Razz his parents were probably the most old fashion thing you could get these days. they had proven it right this morning when he had recieved a letter from them. A letter, as in with address hard written and a stamp and a licked envelope. He was sure that his father had his secretary do all of that. But who sent letters to their eighteen year old son? Rupert Perkins apparently did.

The letter had been handwritten although by his father's secretary because the writing and the signature at the bottom were different so Razz had to assume. But the letter reminded Razz that his mother's birthday was approaching and he felt sure that if she received a present and letter from Razz that she would be overjoyed. That confused Razz a bit too. See his parents were divorced, and his mother remarried. So why would her ex husband give a rip whether she got any birthday presents. He probably wasn't even sending her one. Unless it was something that he was sure would only piss off his mother. But Razz fighting his hangover that Sunday morning had dutifully pulled himself out of bed, having conveniently slept in his skinny jeans that he threw on his tattered white dress shirt and hopped out of bed.

At least it wasn't one of those horrid London days that no one liked, not even Londoners. He knew that his mother would want diamonds, a Dior handbag, or a Gucci watch. Typical, at least she was so predictable that he didn't have to think about what he was going to give her. He didn't catch a cab to Covent Gardens because he was sure he would get the taxi driver who was so stuck up that they wouldn't let Razz smoke in the cab, so he walked the ten blocks to the shopping center of sorts. Before entering he dropped his third cigarette on the ground and stepped on it with the heel of his boot. Running a hand through his hair, he stepped into the crowd of people. Almost instantly he spotted the black and white store of Chanel. Classy, expensive, and designer, what more could his mother want from a store. He strode in the shop keepers eying him wearily. Decisions, decisions.

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[Ilandra Petrelli]

What seems so strong



Has been and gone

Nothing like guilt to get you up in the mornings. Ilandra rolled over under the duvet glancing over at the digital display on the bed-side table. It was flashing '0:43'. From the glaring lights outside, there had been a powercut. London seemed to always get powercuts in the middle of the night, or middle of the morning. Ilandra didn't really know which. She pushed back the covers, sitting up. She was a morning's girl...most of the time. She could get up when she wanted, and not if she chose to. She'd developed a habit of sleeping in, especially when there had been a powercut and her alarm didn't go off. She hadn't set it for that morning, anyway. It was a Sunday morning. Sadly, however, she actually had something to do that Sunday. As she swung her legs out of bed, she picked up the folded envelope. It was tattered and not nearly in as good a shape as when it had been delivered. Plain white envelope, blue ink lettering. Just an ordinary lett the post man wouldn't've looked at twice.

The young blond pulled on the first thing she found hanging up in her cupboard and raised her eyebrows when she found that they actually matched. Not bad for a late night. She shoved the envelope into the pocket of her jeans. She glanced at the white coat hanging on the wall before looking out of the window. It wasn't cold enough for the jacket, and she wasn't going to send it to the dry cleaners again. With the will coming in, money wasn't a problem any more but there was no point in wasting money. Actually, she was about to go out and spend a great deal of money that she didn't need to, but she didn't care. As they say: 'Its all for a good cause." She didn't really think you could cause this cause 'good' but it gave her a reason to go shopping.

Ilandra's heels clicked on the flag-stones as she walked down the less than crowded pavement. Sunday Morning, most people would be in church or nursing one hell of a hang over. Or both. Or neither. She was doing neither. She didn't really drink, no-one ever believed her to be eighteen, and she wasn't, but she could usually lie reasonably well. But body-guards seemed to size her up as being younger. She was only seventeen, but it didn't seem to matter. She stopped by a taxi stand and opened the door to the first one. The black taxi-cab driver looked around at her.
"Where to love?" He asked in a thick cockney accent. It was a huge cliche, but nevermind. If he would drive, it didn't matter. As long as he didn't talk.
"Covent Gardens." She replied, leaning back against the leather seats.

The car pulled up and Ilandra got out, paying the driver. She straightened her top and glanced around the shops. She knew what she wanted, but only the basics. Not the specifics of what sort and from where. She wasn't exactly a fussy shopper. Her brothers credit card and a street of shops. Jackel Petrelli hadn't been the smartest boy when he'd given into his fionce. Ilandra was going to be a bridesmaid at their wedding, but the bitch had refused point-blank. So she was going to upstage her on her wedding day. She wasn't exactly anything special, in Ilandra's opinion anyway. Brushing a stray blond hair behind her ear, Ilandra made her way over to the first shop she'd spotted. The door was held open for her as a young couple exited, grinning in a slightly disconcerting manner. She didn't need to say thank-you, because they weren't listening. She glanced at the guard by the door, sitting at a desk, looking at a computer screen infront of him. What a perfectly satisfying job. It was only then that Ilandra saw the last person she'd ever expect to see anywhere near Covent Gardens. She walked over, standing beside him in the airconditioned shop.
"Having trouble chosing?" She asked, not taking her eyes off the display infront of her.

I would call you up every Sunday Night



And we'd stay up 'till the morning light

[Razz Perkins]

Calling all the neighbors
Time to make amends
Whiskey floods the table
Aw good friends 'til the end

__________________________

God Razz felt sorry for the poor slobs who had to work at this stuck up shop. It wasn't just the fact that they had to work for a living, unlike his privileged charmed life that seemed to follow him everywhere. It was because the other people who worked with them seemed like the biggest bitches in the world to work with. Razz could tell from the moment he met you if you were a bitch, call it sleeping with to many groupies and what not, but really they were just easy to spot these days. From the moment he had stepped into this shop he could laugh at all the total bitches who seemed to be working here. It was hilarious they that probably just found all the bitchy girls in the greater London area to work at this single shop. The only thing that they couldn't stand even being totally stuck up, was Razz.

It wasn't his fault or his pride that lead him to believe this either, it was fact. Because from the moment that he had stepped into the shop exactly four of the five women standing around had looked Razz over, from his black boots to the fedora on top of his black mop of hair. The only one who wasn't giving him the eye was a woman who looked old enough to be his grandmother, but you never ever knew about those ones. They were the sneakiest of all. Of course, the others weren't that much younger around thirty was the youngest. It didn't bother Razz he had had his ass pinched by a woman old enough to be his great grandmother. He'd always been a womanizer, but that right there had just brought it to a completely new level. Ever since he was little, call him conceited, but he had known he was at least one of God's gift to women. From that very day he had made his mission known, and right now it was working down to a tee. Well other than the fact that he was a kept man, or sugar daddy right now. Hilarious, simply hilarious.

He picked up one of the black bags on the clear glass stand. He looked it over and peeked inside to see what it was like. He'd never actually looked inside a girl's purse, the last time he had, he was pretty sure he had gotten slapped, even if he was just looking for a lighter. He looked at the price tag. Five hundred pounds. He put the purse down and then picked up the one that was standing right next to, he examined it just the same way he had the first one, and he examined the label. This time it was seven hundred pounds. He was suddenly aware of a petite blonde standing beside him as he pondered the two purses. "What the fuck makes a quilted purse so much more special that it's fucking two hundred pounds more than a regular non quilted purse," he said answering his question. He wasn't exactly sure if he could use the word fuck in this store but it was too late to take it back. "I mean get fucking serious," he said picking up the first purse so that he had both of them in his hands.

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