[... I can't... Straight Think....]

[Dallas[.]Angel]

"Ohhhhhh god... What the hell..."

[/size] the moans came from inside the Physce, though quickly exited. A large man stumbled out, right arm pushing against the door to keep balance while the other still clung to the bottle. A bottle of what? Whiskey, of course. That was what you did at the Physce if you thought of yourself as too old for some dance club. It was for teens, right? So why go there? Besides... He wasn't in the mood to talk to little kids jumping around him. It'd only make his head spin, more. Yes, this man who, standing straight, measured six feet and nine inches, didn't handle his liquor too well. With dark brown hair a mess, deep blue eyes somewhat glassy. If you recognized him, then you recognized him. He didn't look like any other man. With a sleevless white shirt, black jeans and black boots, he was unmistakeable. He was Dallas Zeke Morrow, Barn Manager at Wild River.

As the man zigzagged his way out, he managed to run into a trash can and leaned over into it. He felt as if he'd puke, but he didn't. He simply stayed there a moment before raising his head, standing tall and staring up into nothingness for a moment. When his blurred vision allowed for it, he realized the sky had turned dark. It was pitch black out, now. He needed to get back. The stable hands would take care of the horses, he knew that, but he had a job to do. He always made a promise to stick with his job. He rarely broke his promises... Right?

The thought of drinking returned. Why'd he do it? Why'd he hit the bottle out of nowhere? Was it because of that stupid promise he'd made to himself so long ago...? When he'd promised himself that, when he thought of her, he'd drink? Until he couldn't anymore? Yeah, that was it. That old childish promise that he's kept for so long. Yeah... But how'd she come to his thoughts? What made him think of her?

As he managed to make it to a bench in lord knowswhere, he let himself fall back into it. He hit it hard, but instead of cringing in pain, he continued to stare blankly in whatever direction was in front of him, which was the sky again. All he could see were those two girls. Were they what had done it? He'd avoided women for so long, or was it that he hadn't noticed them? Until now, when they'd come straight to his door. They'd been right there in front of him. They'd caught his attention, and he'd thought of her later on in the morning, thinking about their horses. Why did he have to have such luck?

With a harsh cough he slumped over sieways until he was laying on the bench, legs still hanging off. With half-closed eyes, now, he tried focusing. It didn't work. With a lazy motion he lifted his hand in front of his face, but it only worsened his headache. So he let it drop, touching the cold cement beneath it. At least, it was cold. Maybe it was grass? He couldn't think straight... He needed to get home... To his bed... Where he'd sleep it off, with maybe just a small hangover in the morning? No, he'd be out all day. He wouldn't risk working with the animals when he wasn't feeling well. It wasn't fair to him or the animals. It wasn't fair to those girls, either, if they would come and find him either hurting their horses or getting hurt. They might not know what to do...

With one last heavy breath, he closed his eyes. He lay there, now, allowing his sense of sight, smell, taste, and hearing to fade. His thoughts seemed to echo, then, and he let himself feel the hard bench and the cool grass that held dew on each blade. It felt wet, but good, and he smiled weakly. He was almost in his own heaven where nothing could get him... "So where's my angel..." He seemed to be talking to someone else, though his voice was quiet and his speech slurred. You may not even be able to understand him.[/center]

[Iselin Blackwood]

Iselin pulled on a navy blue satin blouse and tugged on it from the reflection her mirror gave. Her face was unhappily contorted, because no matter how pretty the rest of her looked, all the attention was still drawn to the large, purple bruise on her cheek. Fantastic, just fantastic... she thought to herself, applying every once of coverup she had, but to really no avail. Next she tried fixing her bangs to swing in front of her cheeks, but that really didn't work either. Growling and huffing audiably, Iselin left everything as it was, put on her silver high heels, and grabbed her keys. She'd be drinking more than flirting tonight, which was alright because the aspirin wasn't doing its job.

The story behind the bruise was that while Iselin was exercising a horse over a small cross-country course, a rabbit darted out from under a jump and spooked the flighty horse terrible. The horse went one way, and Iselin the other. So far Iselin wasn't hurt until the beast bolted once more and threw a rock up with its hind feet and landed square in her face. She then proceeded to chase after the horse for an hour and a half until she finally brought him back to the stable in a very, very foul mood.

By the time Iselin had left the house for the night club, it was already late and the parking lot overflowing with crazy teenagers, some recognizable from Wild River. She scorned them hypocritically: young people shouldn't behaive like that. But in fact, Iselin didn't really care, she just wanted a parking spot and a cosmopolitan. Iselin was one of those crazy teenagers - living life like it would never end. The feeling of invicibility always leads to recklessness, and trouble. Perhaps she hadn't shook the feeling just yet, but the horse fiasco certainly brought her closer to earth.

Iselin decidedly pulled out of the driveway and parked in the parking lot for the park instead. No matter the croud, she needed something to drink, and walking was good exercise. Locking the door to her blue Mustang, she crossed her arms and walked down the winding sidewalk to the direction of the thumping beat and flashing lights. She almost didn't notice Dallas laying on the ground until he groaned and scared the living bejesus out of Iselin. At first she thought he was a hobo, until upon closer inspection the sheer size of him gave it away - it was Dallas Morrow from Wild River!

"Dallas! What the hell are you doing!" Iselin inquired crudely, smelling the stench of whiskey on him. Not knowing what kind of drunk he was, she took a long stick from the turf and poked him a few times, "Dallas! C'mon, the police will arrest you here." Iselin wondered if this was a regular occurance for him; sober Dallas was damn handsome, but drunk Dallas didn't suit him. But then again, he was a cowboy and all. Cowboys drank a lot, right? Damn this would make for great leverage...

[Dallas[.]Angel]

The moment of quiet had passed. A sharp pain jolted through his arm until he finally realized what was going on. As his senses hit him much like a train, he suddenly felt his head pounding. With stiff movements he brought an arm up closer to his head, then the other, and was finally pushing upward. The voice talking to him was loud and he didn't like it one bit. Still, he recognized it. What was it? What the hell could it be? Yelling so loud, or was that the whiskey? Maybe it was both? But wow, couldn't she at least stop poking him?

He quickly rolled over and grabbed onto the stick. He didn't pull it away or throw it off, somwhere. He merely held on to cease the annoyance. It took him a moment, but he finally looked up and realized he knew the girl. Yeah, she worked at Wild River, too. Iselin Blackwood was her name. It was all coming back to him, slowly and painfully. Now, what had she said about police?

"Hlld up, Mss Blackwood." His speech was slurred quite a bit, making it hard to understand. Still, he seemed to find it in him to try and stand, still holding onto the stick. "I cmmm f'r a drink... I got it... And now I jst need t' gt hmmm..." He stumbled, slightly, causing his last word of "home" to sound like "hmm", and so on and such forth. He finally let go of the stick, though, and stood tall.

It seemed random at first, but Dallas held out the arm furthest from Iselin and attempted to touch his nose. As his attempt failed, though, he let his arms rest at his sides as he looked down at her. "Can I hvvv yer crr keys? I dn't thnk yer can drvv..."

(( Spelling errors on purpose to show how Dallas speaks... >3 ))

[Iselin Blackwood]

Iselin looked at him evenly as Dallas seemed to awake and come to his senses. She stopped poking him when he held on to her stick, but she didn't let go of it. She hoped that Dallas wasn't an angry drunk, or else she'd have to use that stick to unleash some pent up fury. The thought of him attacking her didn't really scare her, but it made Iselin more wary and ready to beat the crap out of him if he did. Let's see, 200 pounds to 115 and a stick, oh yeah, she could take him.

However, her mind was eased when he simply rolled over and started talking incoherently. At first she didn't understand a word he was saying. He was already hard to listen to when he was sober, with that cowboy accent and all, but this was ridiculous. She watched him stand up with a flat look on her face as he gave himself the DWI test and failed anyway, but she caught the word "keys" and immediately shook her head.

"I hear it's illegal to kill everyone on the planet, which is exactly why I am not letting you drive anywhere," she rolled her eyes and pursed her lips in the matter attributed to an unamused Iselin, "But I suppose I'll drive you, because I have had nothing to drink, unfortunately. That is, if you can walk any, because don't think for a second that I'm going to drag your sorry carcass in these shoes." Iselin added pointedly with her nose in the air. However, she couldn't help but grin.

She stood there expectantly, with one knee cocked and resting the stick across her shoulder like she does her riding whip, the other hand on a slender hip. It was cool, yet bearable out, but Iselin figured that her chances of getting a good drink were now shot. Dallas had probably drank the club dry anyways, by the way he was acting. But boy, he looked so much larger standing than he did on the ground. It was amazing how tall a person could be. She was average height and he was... just ridiculous. In a good way, though, since that meant he must've had an extensively larger... well, you-know-what. Not that it mattered, or anything.

But, still, here was Dallas, stark drunk, and Iselin. Did Terrance know about this? And if he didn't, what would he do if he found out? Iselin knew from her perspective nature that Terrance and Dallas weren't the best of friends, and certainly Dallas would not manage to show up to work tomorrow with this sort of hangover. The only thing Iselin knew was that there were a lot more favors coming her way.

[Dallas[.]Angel]

There was a moment of silence when Iselin had finished talking that Dallas stared at the gound in silence. He seemed to be tossing the words around in his head for a while before it was as if it hit him like a train. With a hand over his stomach he tossed his head back in laughter. The comment on shoes had, probably, just reached him. When he finished, though, he suddenly looked tired.

"Fnnn stbrn wmn..." He mummbled the words so unclearly that you might as well not even bother to try and understand. He seemed to be in a fixed trance that nothing would wake him from. With one stiff movement of his leg, he was off at his usual long-legged stride toward the parking lot. He didn't know which car was hers, but it didn't seem to matter. He wasn't about to ask, obviously.

(( DEEEEAAAAADDDDD!!!! x.x My precious muse... completely gone... ))

[aaren renaker;;]

(OOC: How about you try again once you feel more museful? I really don't mind - I'd much prefer it. )