Post by jeremiah edward mccord on Feb 1, 2009 22:24:45 GMT -5
•Jeremiah Edward McCord•
i don't know why no body told you
Things had been rather boring lately. Nothing was happening. His lectures at UCLA were proving to be easier than he had ever intended them to be and people were a general bore for Jeremiah. The most exciting thing that had happened was Vincent's return and even that had even rather uneventful. He had expected his "mysterious" return to happen. To say that Jeremiah knew his brother was an understatement. From leaving in the first place to coming back he had had a feeling it would happen.tag: vincent
Life's predictability was getting old. He was unhappy with how things were going. Nothing just seemed interesting enough. Nothing was keeping his attention. Perhaps it was how much he expected form people that caused his lack of attention. Jeremiah expected a lot from people and they just weren't to his standards. He wanted more from people, more from life. He wanted some entertainment.
He had spent a few hours at home. Finishing up assignments and tidying things. He was a bit ornery about the placement of his stuff and the guests he had had recently had disturbed things. He thought he might explode if he didn't do something to occupy himself. So he picked up his iPod, his cell phone and his car keys and headed out the door. Maybe a drive would prove to be eventful.
For those who knew Jeremiah well it was plain to see he was bored with things. This usually rather formal dresser looked a bit too casual to be feeling himself. He had on his usual style of plain jeans; nicely kept and high end. The gray Converse he had on were a bit out of character, as was the beige shirt with the words "I only date superheroes" on it. At least the black blazer was in character. His russet brown hair was swept back, resting neatly to the sides. It was a rushed and effortless look for him though it looked good none the less.
Sitting on the leather seat of his black Koenigsegg with an unnamed Jazz musician playing in his ears he couldn't help but think about his brother's return to LA. As the oldest of the McCord's he took it upon himself to find out why Vince had come back. Why he had left in the first place. Those things he hadn't bothered to piece together.
He pulled over at the side of the road two blocks away from The Ivy. As much as Jeremiah liked flashy entrances, exiting a car was never his strong point. He liked to do things his own way. So he slipped out of the car, turned on the alarm, and slipped his hands into the pockets of his jeans. A rather nice leather messenger bag was slung over his shoulder holding his keys, wallet and notebook among other things.
The walk didn't bother him. It was a nice day considering the time of year. The sky was painted with ominous clouds that threatened to drench the people below, though not for a while now. It was something Jeremiah enjoyed.
He could hear the people outside of The Ivy before he saw it. Turning the corner was like walking into a sea of camera flashes. Jeremiah had never been one to interest the press when it came to gossip but he had been thinking about changing that. Maybe getting some negative publicity would make things more interesting. He didn't mind the press because of that though; he was on good terms with them.
He was a regular at The Ivy despite the anorexia image it seemed to give off. He made is way through the paparazzi, not pushing as he walked but taking casual strides. Hands still in his pockets he gave a few charming smiles, which he was very good at doing, and sat down at his usual table on the patio. It was off to the right side and under the shade of a canopy; if it started raining earlier than what was called he would stay dry.
A tiny waitress with dyed blond hair, one he had seen several times before, made her way over and asked what he would like. "I would like my usual please," he said with a bow of his head, pulling his notebook out of the messenger bag he had sat under his feet.
He was a person who went by routine. He didn't change much in it so his meals at each place were always the same. Unless the place was offering something new in which case he would give it a try. As he sat, waiting for either a reply by text or an arrival by Vince he put in his iPod, the unnamed jazz musician once again playing softly in his ears as he started to write.
wearing: click me
words: 800
muse: pretty decent
music: yyz by rush
notes: finished; lyrics by the beatles
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