Post by JULIAN FERNANDO VALDEZ on Feb 1, 2010 0:44:15 GMT -5
JULIAN FERNANDO VALDEZ
[/font]" YES I KNOW I'M GOING TO HELL, IN A LEATHER JACKET.
AT LEAST I'LL BE IN ANOTHER WORLD WHILE YOU'RE PISSIN' ON MY CASKET."[/font]
[/center]FULL NAME: Julian Fernando Valdez[/blockquote]
AGE: 21
MEMBER GROUP: Citizen
GRADE: N/A
BIRTH PLACE: New York City
RELIGION: Atheist
SEXUALITY: Heterosexual
PLAYBY: Julian Casablancas
AND IF YOU SWEAR THAT
[/font]" THERE'S NO TRUTH AND WHO CARES, WHY DO YOU SAY IT LIKE YOU'RE RIGHT? "[/font][/center]
HEY THERE, WHAT"S YOUR NAME?[/b][/size][/color]
"Julian Fernando Valdez. If you're thinking that it has quite the Spanish ring to it, well you'd be correct. My father, John Valdez, was actually a Spanish immigrant who moved to this country about thirty years ago with his father, Fernando Valdez. Yes, that is where my middle name comes from. My mother also has quite a bit of Spanish heritage as well, but unlike my father, she was born in The States. I try not to reflect any of that heritage myself, as I could care less about the heartless sons of bitches that are my parents, but I've been told on several occasions, by many different people, that it's a bit obvious. Evidently my appearance alone is a major clue to my Spanish background, as I've got my father's olive skin and dark hair.. a common look among Spaniards. I guess I also have a bit of an accent, which I've always failed to notice, but people point it out to me all the time. It comes from being raised in a Spanish home I suppose. My dad's accent was really heavy and there were times where he would even forget to speak in English.
As far as nicknames, most people call me "Jules". I don't know, I've just always been stuck with it. People are always looking to shorten a name, even when you were given a short name to begin with. I guess I don't really mind it though.. it's just when you start getting into twisting it around to make it sound all "cute" like "Julesy", that I start getting irritated. Anyway, that's enough of a lecture to satisfy your curiosity.. moving on."
WELL THAT'S PRETTY FUCKING AMAZING. HOW OLD ARE YOU? WHEN'S YOUR BIRTHDAY? DO YOU LIKE YOUR AGE? WHAT GRADE ARE YOU IN?[/b][/size][/color]
"I was born on August 23rd. I'm twenty one years old and that, to me, is a good number. I'm legally an adult and out on my own.. living my own life. In truth, it's what I've wanted all along."
AWESOME. SO WHAT ABOUT YOU? WHAT ARE YOU LIKE, YOU KNOW, AS A "PERSON"?[/b][/size][/color]
"Why so interested? You some kind of undercover cop, that's looking for me to carelessly drop some clues to add to your dust covered file of "evidence" against me? Well if so, I told you time and time again, that I have a "home business". You know, like selling crap on the Internet and what not.. lots of people do it, so GET OFF MY CASE! Whats that? You aren't a cop? Well then I suppose I can let you in on a little secret. I'm actually the most "in demand" drug dealer in Manhattan, so to speak. My "home business" actually involves trafficking the finest narcotics from all over the world, to the fine addicts of the city. How did I become such an all knowing guru in this particular industry, you ask? Simple. I actually inherited my list of "hook-ups" from my father, who had passed away about five years ago from an overdose of heroine. He had crates coming in by the boat load from the piers. After gaining his American citizenship, he had gone off to join the Navy and ended up making all these connections in the countries he was stationed. He only stayed in for four years and then went on to start the drug dealing business that I now own today and if I may brag, I can easily say that I do a much better job at it. I may be high off my gourd more often then not, but I'm still pretty crafty when it comes to sneaking around under the noses of those jerk-off cops.
Before all of that, I was a High School drop out. It had honestly gotten to the point, where I no longer saw any legitimate reason to keep dragging my ass out of bed and attending, if I was only going to skip half my classes and sleep through the others anyway. The only main reason for me being there, was to sell drugs to my shit-head peers. Of course back then, I was still stealing from my father's supply, but I still had a good amount to make some decent money. It was near the end of my sophomore year, that I finally decided to call it quits. I took all that I could from home, including my father's list of connections and set off on my own. I ended up in a boarding house for a couple of years, until I made enough money from my new business for something better. Of course, I started making more money then I could have ever imagined and soon I had a place of my own. I figure it's best to keep things more on the simple side, for the sake of keeping the cops at bay. Surely it would be highly suspicious, if I were living it up in some huge mansion or something.
I don't really have any important people in my life, aside from the people who give me money. My customers are what keep me going.. and I guess sometimes it's cool to sit around with a few of them and hit the pipe or snort some coke in my living room. It might not sound like much, but they are the closest things to friends that I really have. Well.. them and the few flings that I manage to scrape up here and there.. strippers, prostitutes.. Hey, we all have needs.
We all wonder what our lives would be like if things had gone differently and everything turned out perfect, but few, like myself, are sensible enough to realize that dwelling on such things is simply foolish, as it was never in the cards to begin with. My life has and will most likely always revolve around drugs. They have just always been in my life. Both my parents were addicts and they always had some kind of narcotics laying around the house for me to access. I started smoking and snorting long before most kids tend to pick it up and I haven't stopped since. In all honesty, I'm content with it. It may not be the "American dream" of living in a perfect house with a perfect job and a perfect family, but it's just the cards that I've been delt and I plan to live with them.
I get into arguments all the time about money. Some assholes seem to think that I'm easy to take advantage of, but I'm quick to show them that they are dead wrong. I mean, I'm trying to make a living here, it's not like I'm handing out free smack as some act of charity. If you don't pay me on time, then don't expect me to be "Mr. Nice Guy" when I come around looking for it. I'm nice enough to work out a finance with you, if you don't have it all up front, but don't think that means I'm going to show the same generosity when it comes to dead lines.
It may sound morbid and cruel, but my favorite memory is the day my father died and his billion dollar business became my own. It left me feeling successful and free. The boarding house I ran off too, did provide me with a fair bit of freedom and privacy, but the room was small and the fellow residence were loud and obnoxious.. bunch of drunks really. I knew I'd soon have the money to get a place of my own and finally live my life the way it was meant to be lived.
I don't like anyone in my family. The only members of it that I really knew, were my mother and father and both of them were too wasted to ever pay me any mind. The day I was old enough to shovel food into my mouth without assistance, I was on my own. Maybe it was a good thing though. It taught me how to be independent a hell of a lot earlier then most kids catch on.
SWEET. SO HOW DID YOU GET HERE? HOW FUCKED UP ARE YOU? TELL ME ABOUT YOUR PAST. GO.[/b][/color]
"Well, I'm pretty sure I've talked enough about my parents already, but if you need me to reiterate, I suppose I can oblige. The cruel reality is that my conception was a complete and utter mistake in the eyes of both my mother and father. From the day they saw those two little lines on that cheap drug store pregnancy test, they adopted a bitterness toward me that grew worse with each passing year. As an infant, I was only provided with the necessities, such as food and regular changings.. then laid in my crib to cry for hours until it was time to do it again. I was never held or rocked to sleep or loved.. you know, all the stuff that parents are suppose to do. Even as I grew older, I could never get them to so much as cast a glazed over eye in my direction, unless I were to act out by yelling or breaking something. I know it all sounds like some kind of tear jerking tragedy, but in a way, I'm kind of thankful for it. I learned to look after myself and gain my own Independence at a very young age. And don't worry, I got my revenge for my parents neglectful ways, by stealing from them on a regular basis. Naturally, as some sort of narcotic was always laying about the house, I was always able to pocket some right under their noses. Cocaine was always my first choice, as the method of "snorting" gains you a high more quickly and intensely.. but of course I'd take whatever I could get. I'd keep a fair amount for myself and sell the rest to the kids at my school.. even after I decided to drop out.
Drug dealing earned me quite a bit of money and it wasn't long before I was able to afford a place of my own. It was the day my father had died of a heroine overdose, that I finally took the step. While my mother was busy grieving and drowning away her depression with her own use of drugs, I took advantage of the distraction by robbing my late father of his most valuable possession of all.. his list of connections that was the key to his own success as the most "in demand" drug dealer in Manhattan. From then on, that title would belong to me.
I started my new life off, by renting out a room at a boarding house on the edge of the city in New York. I put my father's list into action and very quickly worked my way to success. In only a couple of years, I was able to move on to my very own place, which I'm currently living in today. Due to the cops constantly sniffing about for clues to put me away, I knew it would be unwise to flash my wealth too greatly. I wasn't about to live it up in some high-class mansion, waving wads of cash around to my many maids and butlers or all that jazz. Instead, I have flat in the city that blends in quite well with the rest of the upscale residences of the area. The exterior is nothing special, but the interior, I decided not to hold back on. I mean.. it's not like the cops are going to come in and look around, right? I do have an expensive taste after all and surrounding myself in luxury is a good way to remind me of my ever growing success and lift my spirits. And yes, I do have a maid, but only because I'm often too busy *cough*or lazy*cough* to take care of all the house work myself.
In a way, my life went from tragic to luxurious and I'm quite content. I've got all the money and drugs I need and I'm good at what I do, so there is a very small chance of messing things up. I'm much more intelligent and careful then my arrogant father ever was."
WANNA TELL US SOME LIKES?[/b][/size][/color]
"Alright. I like drugs, obviously.. cocaine most of all. Though now-a-days it's more of a need then anything else. I have, after-all, been on drugs since I was a kid and I feel that by now, it's just too late to change. I also enjoy a plain ol' cigarette from time to time.. mostly when I'm in a place where "snorting" is unwise, such as a bar or club. Alcohol is good for that too. Just like any other man, I love women and sex.. though I'm certainly not the sort to come to if you are looking for commitment. Skinny jeans and fitted leather jackets are my main choice in style. I love anything that is form fitting, dark in color and expensive looking. When it comes to shoes though, I prefer the canvas chuck taylor in a variety of colors.. most of all red. When it comes to food, I like a whole multi-cultural variety... spicy food most of all. Um.. what else... You'll find that my house is full of Spanish art pieces. I've always had a fondness for Spanish art. I guess lastly, another one of my greatest likes.. no loves is money. What can I say, I love living the high life. I love having the world at my fingertips."
AND SOME DISLIKES?[/b][/size][/color]
"First and foremost.. COPS! I fucking hate cops. I'm sick of having them on my case all the time, I'm sick of their arrogant attitudes. I'm sick of the way they let their jobs go to their heads. I'm just sick of them. I also hate hippies, or those people who are all "in your face" about their dislike of cigarette or drug use. If you don't like it, don't use it. It's none of your business how I choose to live my life. I also hate animals, children, rainy days, snowy days, the cold in general... I hate public transportation, most of all planes. I hate crowded or closed in spaces, as I'm claustrophobic.. and lastly, I hate needles. They gross me out, they give me the creeps.. it just turns my stomach and even unnerves me a bit to see one."
I GUESS WE'RE DONE HERE. ANYTHING ELSE?[/b][/size][/color]
"Nah, I think that's about it."
WHY ARE YOU SCARED TO
[/font]" DREAM OF GOD WHEN IT'S SALVATION THAT YOU WANT? "[/font][/center]
NAME: Jesse
AGE: Nah..
EXPERIENCE: Over six years, on and off..
TIME ZONE: Australian Eastern
OTHER CHARACTERS: None
x 
x 
I live on the frozen surface of a fireball,
Where cities come together, to hate each other in the name of sport.
-------------------------------------------------
It almost seemed like many ages ago, since the last time such worry had shown in Julian's eyes. With his forehead pressed against the cool glass of his squad-car imprisonment, he watched as each blur of headlights from vehicles passed him by and hopelessly wished he could be aboard one of them.. riding his way to freedom. Perhaps he shouldn't of struck that oaf of a police officer who had stopped him on the street, just outside of "The Java Bean" for questioning earlier. He had let his temper get away from him, but in all fairness, it was kind of difficult to keep it in check, when you found that you couldn't so much as walk down a few blocks to grab a cup of coffee on a lazy, late afternoon. Julian's hazel eyes turned on the giant of a man sitting in the drivers seat. He could see that look of satisfaction on his weather-beaten face from the rear-view mirror.. though Julian was able to gain his own satisfaction at seeing the mass of swollen purple skin around the man's red and bloody eye. A bony fist, though small and generally weaker then most men at the epitome of heath, could still do a lot of damage and it was certainly a good price to pay for getting cocky. Most of the men and women on the force, knew by now that Julian wasn't prone to cooperate and certainly wouldn't be restrained without first putting up a hell of a fight.
Still, it wasn't as if he didn't pay his own price for his flare of anger. He could tell that his forearms, though hidden beneath the sleeves of his leather jacket, were laced with bruises from the force the man had restrained him with.. those meat hook like hands practically crushing his scrawny arms. Handcuffs were jammed around his wrists so tightly, that the skin burned and ached against the hard metal, causing it to become red, raw and bruised as he tried again and again to adjust them to a more comfortable position behind his back.. but alas, his attempts were in vain. At least they were almost to the station.. but then what? He'd no doubt be dragged out of the car with the same force of man-handling, it took to put him in there, at which point he'd be finger printed, posed for mug-shots, then flung in a tiny jail cell for god knows how long. With any luck, seeing as how he was only being held for (somewhat) mild assault on an officer, he would be out by morning.. but could he last that long? Already, he was starting to feel the effects of not having enough drugs in his system for just about three hours now.. and he shuddered to think of what he was going to both look and feel like by the time he was freed. This would be the first time he'd ever go for so long being 'sober' and he was more then certain, it was going to be a nightmare. The only comfort he could take at this point, was that he was smart enough to not have anything on him when he had decided to take that walk earlier in the afternoon. Having his brutish arrester come up empty handed after a pat down search, at least had him clear of any charges against using or selling narcotics.
Moments later, the car was pulling up to the front of the station, later coming to a stop by the main doors. Julian watched as the cop, who dwarfed him by at least two feet, got out of the car and came around the front toward his door. For the second time that evening, a massive hand closed around his forearm and he found himself being jerked roughly to his feet, causing him to stagger and nearly fall to the hard pavement below. 'Lets go, scum bag.' the officer croaked in a thug like voice and gave a powerful shove to the center of Julian's back, while still keeping a firm grip on his forearm with the other hand. Julian reluctantly walked forward.. more for the fact that he didn't seem strong enough to effectively resist against this man. By now, his drug cravings were really starting to take a harsh effect on his body and he wasn't up to his full strength anyway. There wasn't much he was going to be able to do for himself, aside from choosing to cooperate, for the sake of keeping himself from further injury.
His mind was in a daze, while he was pushed around through the stages of the whole "getting arrested process".. finger prints, pictures.. he hardly knew when one task ended and the next began, until he found himself being practically thrown into a jail cell, after the cuffs had been removed from his wrists. He landed hard on his front with a loud grunt, feeling a burning sensation on his knees, as they scraped against the concrete floor and wore away at the material of his jeans.With a loud metal clank, the iron gate of thick bars had slid shut and there between them, was the satisfied smirks of at least four male officers, all snickering and exchanging looks of triumph.
"YOU FUCKING ASSHOLES, YOU CAN'T KEEP ME IN HERE! YOU HAVE NO RIGHT!" He shouted in a desperate act of rage, as he got to his feet, ignoring the throbbing pain in his bruised wrists. One of his arms reached out through the bars, with the attempt of grasping one of the laughing fools around the neck and choking the life out of them, but they all moved away just in time and he only managed to gain a taser right in the ribs. The setting was mild, though it was still enough to send him dropping to his knees with a cry of pain. The laughter grew louder for only a moment, before fading away into nothingness, as the officers turned the corner and vanished into another part of the station.
Soon all was silent, aside from the rhythmic heavy breaths that heaved from Julian's chest. He remained on the floor, seated against the wall with his knees pulled to his chest. There was a faint layer of perspiration aglow from his skin and he was beginning to quiver slightly, hands balled into fists. His cravings were becoming near crippling, as he couldn't seem to concentrate on anything else.. not even the idea of picking himself up off the cold, hard floor, or even his case of claustrophobia. He had now gone a whole four hours without any smoke in lungs, powder in his nose, or drugs in his veins and it was absolutely killing him. The more time that passed, the worse he felt and nearly preyed for death to come. Hugging his knees, his forehead fell to rest upon them, reducing him to a quivering ball in the corner of the cell.
