fuck_it: (Default)
VOICEMAIL
fuck_it: (Default)
POSTBOX FOR CHRIS MILES
fuck_it: (pic#5141308)
He's walking, headed from work to Cissie's even though he's not sure if she's in. He probably ought to make a habit out of texting her before he leaves, so he's not stuck wondering if he's gonna end up sitting outside of High Gate Terrace waiting for her to come home. He could always drop in on Jesse while he waits, but they're not exactly the best of mates and Chris doesn't know if he'd be alright with it, in the end.

Either way, that's the plan for the evening, and he thinks he'll see if she wants to get take away or something.

At least, it's the plan before he glances up from his phone and sees Eduardo in a shop as he passes. It doesn't even occur to him what sort of shop it is before he walks in and sees all the displays of jewelry and rings and stuff.

"But my birthday's not for fuckin' months," Chris teases, walking up to Wardo as he looks at one of the displays.

9/29

Sep. 29th, 2014 11:35 pm
fuck_it: (Fuck it)
It's not the best gig Chris has ever been to, but considering it's on a fuckin' Monday and not on a weekend, he didn't really expect much. But it's been fuckin' ages since he's been to one not at The Phoenix, and even longer since he's gotten completely off his head at one.

There's a break in the music, and he's gone to the bar near the back of Hideout for another beer, only when he turns around, he bumps right into someone, half of his beer sloshes over the top of the plastic cup and right onto the bloke.

"Shit! Sorry, man," Chris says, though he's in such a good mood tonight that even having lost most of his drink isn't about to ruin it. He's not so sure about the other guy's chances for an alright night now, though.
fuck_it: (duvet)
It's weird, how fast time can go by without you noticing it's done it. A year ago, Chris cut across streets, behind a church and its graveyard and found his own grave marker, sat there next to his brother's like it belonged. It was fucked, and it still is— he knows the markers are still there 'cause he's checked— but the day had turned out brilliant, in the end.

He doesn't know if he and Cissie ever would've kissed if it hadn't been for all that, so while it's fuckin' awful that it happened, he can't be angry about it, not really. He's got someone he loves now, more than almost anyone, and that probably wouldn't have happened without all that.

Chris turns up at Cassie's flat without calling ahead for once, two tambourines that he bought from that one store in one hand and flowers in the other. He can't remember the last time he brought someone flowers, but he should've done it before now.

He knocks on the door with his foot, since his hands are both full of stuff, but finds that it swings open, which is fuckin' weird.

"Cissie?" he calls, frowning, and walks in.
fuck_it: (ohhh yeah)
A little while back, Chris found himself in one of Darrow's bookshops. He hadn't meant to go in, but there'd been this fuckin' amazing display in the window, stacked high with books on flowers, and before he knew it, his face was pressed up against the window, while he tried to figure out how they got it to do that without toppling over.

He went in to ask someone-- the manager or something-- but got distracted, by, of all things, a book on Darrow records. He bought it without a second thought, and spent the rest of the night reading up on Darrow's biggest sandwich and the longest someone in Darrow's stayed awake and the biggest sandcastle.

It ain't even that big, really.

Which is why Chris is spending his day off on the beach today with a couple of those sand buckets, a couple of little shovels and loads of sand. He reckons with a couple hours work, he can manage to beat it. Ten feet isn't even all that tall, when you think about it.

Alright, so maybe he'll have to get a ladder, near the end, but for now, he's got his mound of sand, and he's adding to it, the indentations in the sand his bare feet make getting deeper the longer he digs.

This is gonna take most of the afternoon.

Dated 07/01

Jul. 4th, 2014 09:23 pm
fuck_it: (pic#6665486)
He thinks maybe he shouldn't turn up for work today, only he's got the closing shift and it'd be a bit shit to just not go. He doesn't know who'd end up closing down the store instead, and taking the night off just 'cause he's seen someone with Jal's face.

He should be done with this by now. It's been fuckin' years.

Only, he can't get her face out of his head now: the way she used to sometimes grin at him, even the way she'd shout at him for fucking up. He's in love with someone else now, he's not doubting that at all, but somehow he didn't realize how much he missed her until he was looking at someone with her face.

Chris is so distracted remembering earlier that he's not paying as much attention as he should, stacking some DVDs for display, and somehow manages to knock the lot of them over, and they go sliding down the aisle.

"Shit."
fuck_it: (pic#7000553)
Maybe there are some people who'd think it's a bit backwards that he and Cissie haven't really had a proper date, a proper dinner since they got together, but people have always thought of Chris as a bit backwards anyway. It's not that having dinner at Olive and Wardo's didn't count, because it does, only it sort of doesn't all at the same time.

Either way, Chris is dead set on remedying all of that tonight.

He's not a good cook, by any definition of the word, but he's dead set on giving it a go.

Though, when there's a knock at the door, he's got flour on his face and in his hair, and something in the oven's burning.

"It's unlocked!" Chris shouts, and really, he wanted to be done by the time Cissie turned up, but right now he'll settle for keeping his flat from bursting into flames.
fuck_it: (pic#6665488)
He's heard something about Kate, but he's not sure he believes it.

It was just a few days ago that he sat there on the floor of her flat and watched the paramedics take her away, that blank look on her face. Chris still can't get it out of his fuckin' head, can't stop thinking that somehow it's his fault, that if he'd turned up early, maybe it wouldn't have happened. He would've been there.

But another one of Chris's mates has called him, found him in the phone book or something and said Kate's not dead. It makes no sense; he'd been there and the EMT's had said it was true. But he has to go by her place anyway.

If he's alive, then there's no reason Kate can't be as well. He's supposed to be in the ground somewhere in Bristol, somewhere underneath a wooden cross with his name on it, after all.

He's standing outside of her door for a full three minutes before he remembers to knock, hand shaking a bit as he wonders whether or not it'll actually be Kate who answers.

Item Post

Aug. 3rd, 2013 09:11 pm
fuck_it: (pic#5100302)
It feels like a long fuckin' time ago that Chris walked out of his hut on an island a long way away and found his brother's grave stone. He reckons it's still there, because unlike the stuff he had on him and Anwar the toad, it never turned up with him. At least, so far as he can tell. It's a big city and he still hasn't managed to see all of it.

It bothered him at first, that reminder of Peter still being stuck there while he'd moved on, but there's really fuck all that Chris can do about it anyway, so he mostly tries not to think about it. And he's been doing a pretty good job of that, at least until he cuts through the graveyard behind one of the churches on his way home and happens to look down at the right moment.

Or maybe it's the wrong moment, because he would've just kept on going if he hadn't seen the name on the stone there, the one he thought he left back on the island, or back in Bristol.

Peter Miles
Brother, Son and Angel


Where he goes, Peter goes too, it seems.

At least they're in the same place again, that is, if it's everything and not just the stone there. Chris never found out for sure on the island and he doesn't think he wants to know here either. He makes a note of the church he's walked behind and is about to go on his way— he'll be back to visit, he always comes back to visit— except the marker just next to Peter's catches his attention. It's just a wooden cross, nothing as fancy as what Peter's got, or as the ones with the giant statues of angels and all. But Chris's own name is engraved on the wood there: Christopher Miles in neat letters.

He doesn't know how long he just stares at it, but it's long enough that he loses track of time, that he forgets for a bit that he was headed home in the first place. Is he down there? Buried underneath the dirt, would he find himself if he dug into the dirt? It's fucked to think about and Chris doesn't want to know.

But there they are, both the Miles boys, just like they're 'sposed to be, Chris thinks. At least there's something dead set on keeping bits of his family together.

[Open to people who know Chris, set in August.]
fuck_it: (pic#5141262)
When he wakes up, there are still people on his floor, still drunk from the night before, and there's a notice on his door.

He's been evicted, effective today.

Chris stares at the notice for long time, standing there in his doorway with the sun and cold streaming in, still barefoot and shirtless from the night before. It's not as if he hasn't been through this a few times before. Though, something tells him that this time, it's got more to do with the fact that he hasn't paid rent since he turned up.

Turns out, the landlord's threats of chucking him out weren't just a load of wank after all.

Who knew?

He hasn't got a lot of stuff that's his own: a few shirts and some trousers, the tee-shirt from Cassie and the gold coin that was Jal's, and it doesn't take him long to pack it all up in a rubbish bag and head out. It's probably better if he does it early on, before the landlord comes by to make sure it's done personally, and before he can sort out the damage that's been done to his flat because of the party.

There are a few bottles of something leftover from the night before— and to be honest, he's a bit annoyed at the fact, fuckin' Darrow wankers— and he grabs one and starts to walk.

It's a liquid breakfast this morning, apparently.
fuck_it: (Default)
Chris is convinced that it isn't his fault. How the fuck was he supposed to know that the island was gonna change overnight. Okay, yeah so it'd snowed the year before, but that didn't mean that the same thing was gonna happen two years in a row. Things aren't even the same from week to week, so he can't be blamed for it, really. Maybe. If he'd gone home instead, things might've happened differently, but it's not as though Chris can change how things happened now.

Either way, it's alright now. That one girl'd led him to where the clinic was now, he'd been put under loads of blankets, had gotten new clothes— they were both mental and brilliant all at the same time, though the shirt had way too many buttons— and after a few hours, he feels almost normal. Jesus, they needed to like… warn people when stuff like this was gonna happen, so no one else was caught without their pants and trousers on a cobblestone bridge.
fuck_it: (WTF)
What's fucked is that he didn't drink that much, not really. And there was only just the one pill, lost at the bottom of the bottle he nicked, all bubbles and fizz. Okay, so maybe he'd gone skinny dipping just for the fuck of it sometime earlier, but that's just because he thought he'd be waking up somewhere in the jungle where he'd gone to sleep, not on a bridge in the snow in some city.

It looks like fuckin' London, but that can't be right. Can it?

Chris stands, hands over his bits as he looks around.

"What the fuck?" he says, and begins walking, over the bridge, towards unfamiliar buildings.
fuck_it: (she took everything)
Chris is at the party for nearly an hour before he realizes that he doesn't even know why he's there. He couldn't give a shit about politics; last time elections came around, he and Maxxie'd smoked a couple of spliffs and just picked at random. He couldn't remember who he'd voted for if he tried. But there's a group of people, and on his way past the compound that evening, he sees the party, so his instinct is to stop by.

But after a while, he realizes that he keeps looking around for her. It's mental and he knows it; even if he does see her, he knows they haven't really got anything to say to one another. It's all pretty much been said now, hasn't it? She doesn't love him. Or she does but not in the same way he loves her.

Maybe it's his own fault, maybe Chris tried to make Claire into what Jal was for him: someone clever who still talked to him even after they found out how much of a fuck up he was.

But Claire's not Jal, and it was stupid of him to think that somehow, she could be. And maybe love conquers loads of stuff, but only if both people are really up for it.

After the third time Chris looks through the crowd, looking for that familiar glint of blonde hair, he realizes what a fucking dick-splash he's being about all this. This bit is more fucked than any other part of it, really. So he nicks a bottle from the refreshment table and takes off.

Maybe he'll go for a hike or something, somewhere off into the jungle, at least for the night. Mostly, he doesn't feel like being around anyone at the moment, not even Maxxie or Cass.

Disappearing into the trees, he pulls a pill from the pocket of his shorts and drops it into the bottle. Fuck it, maybe he'll feel better about it all, come morning.
fuck_it: (she took everything)
Chris is at the party for nearly an hour before he realizes that he doesn't even know why he's there. He couldn't give a shit about politics; last time elections came around, he and Maxxie'd smoked a couple of spliffs and just picked at random. He couldn't remember who he'd voted for if he tried. But there's a group of people, and on his way past the compound that evening, he sees the party, so his instinct is to stop by.

But after a while, he realizes that he keeps looking around for her. It's mental and he knows it; even if he does see her, he knows they haven't really got anything to say to one another. It's all pretty much been said now, hasn't it? She doesn't love him. Or she does but not in the same way he loves her.

Maybe it's his own fault, maybe Chris tried to make Claire into what Jal was for him: someone clever who still talked to him even after they found out how much of a fuck up he was.

But Claire's not Jal, and it was stupid of him to think that somehow, she could be. And maybe love conquers loads of stuff, but only if both people are really up for it.

After the third time Chris looks through the crowd, looking for that familiar glint of blonde hair, he realizes what a fucking dick-splash he's being about all this. This bit is more fucked than any other part of it, really. So he nicks a bottle from the refreshment table and takes off.

Maybe he'll go for a hike or something, somewhere off into the jungle, at least for the night. Mostly, he doesn't feel like being around anyone at the moment, not even Maxxie or Cass.

Disappearing into the trees, he pulls a pill from the pocket of his shorts and drops it into the bottle. Fuck it, maybe he'll feel better about it all, come morning.
fuck_it: (felatio and rabbits!)
Claire is one of the first people he goes to tell about it.

See, Maxxie's birthday's coming up really soon, and Chris reckons that now's as good a time as any for another party. The last one was fucking amazing, it was, and with everything as fucked as it's been lately, everyone could use one.

And to top it all off, Chris has got like, some great stuff planned for this one. Maxxie'd mentioned wanting a throne, so they're gonna find a proper one for him with a crown to go with it. Only problem is, Chris is kind of shit at all that. Claire's not, though, and Chris figures she'll know just how to pull it off.

Or, at least, he hopes she does. Otherwise Maxxie might find himself sitting on a chair from the compound or something.
fuck_it: (felatio and rabbits!)
Claire is one of the first people he goes to tell about it.

See, Maxxie's birthday's coming up really soon, and Chris reckons that now's as good a time as any for another party. The last one was fucking amazing, it was, and with everything as fucked as it's been lately, everyone could use one.

And to top it all off, Chris has got like, some great stuff planned for this one. Maxxie'd mentioned wanting a throne, so they're gonna find a proper one for him with a crown to go with it. Only problem is, Chris is kind of shit at all that. Claire's not, though, and Chris figures she'll know just how to pull it off.

Or, at least, he hopes she does. Otherwise Maxxie might find himself sitting on a chair from the compound or something.
fuck_it: (Best day of my life)
The weekend was fucked.

Chris remembers all of it, though. He remembers waking up as a kid, he remembers being little again and not knowing where his mum and and dad were. He remembers, even as a little kid on the island, liking the fish in his hut most of all, all the bright colors of the tropical ones and how they fit in with the duller colored-ones. He'd been worried about missing cubs, and about whether or not he'd be able to get his knots right when he was stuck on an island and not able to practice properly.

It's all fucked, and when he wakes up as himself again, the age he's supposed to be, it's all still stuck with him, the fact that just twenty-four hours ago, he hadn't remembered about Peter, or his mum or his dad or any of it. In some ways, he kind of wishes he could have stayed that way, not remembering how everything'd gone for him. Maybe he could have lived it over again and done it right this time and not been such a fuck up.

It's back to normal now though, and Chris decides to head up to the compound to see try and find people he knows, to make sure they've all changed back as well. At least that's one good thing about when the island decides to fuck around with them all: it's generally good about putting things right in the end.

He doesn't make it far though, before he sees it.

It's sitting there behind his hut like it belongs there, stone and solid, and if it had eyes it'd be staring back at him, it would.

Peter Miles
Brother, Son and Angel


There's even a bunch of flowers on the ground like his mum's just been there. Like somehow, she's found Peter's grave on the island but didn't think enough to come and shake him awake to say 'hi' to him. Everything's back to normal, alright.

Chris doesn't even remember walking towards it, or sitting down on the ground there, but the next thing he knows, he has. Before he knows it he's rolling a joint, remembering again how his little fingers were never able to do the knots properly, but how they've always been able to at least do this.
fuck_it: (felatio and rabbits!)
It's a fuckin' brilliant idea, it is.

It's not as if Chris has been planning it for long at all; it's just an idea he's come up with. Of course, the last time he went camping with his mates, Michelle's sister's car had ended up in the sea and Maxxie's stalker had shown up and had been shagging Anwar. Mostly, Chris had just been happy someone had been shagging Anwar, really, but the truth of it was, the whole thing had been a bit shit.

This is going to be different, though. Just a few of them, a night in the woods, no stalkers, and fortunately, Anwar's toad counterpart has been left back home. Not that Chris expects the toad to suddenly start shagging another toad off in the jungle somewhere, but it's better to be safe than sorry.

They've trekked a bit into to the jungle, far enough off the beaten path that there aren't any huts immediately visible. Someone's started a fire, and Chris is finishing up his makeshift tent-- one of the few things he remembers from cubs-- when he thinks of it.

"So who's up for truth or dare?" he asks, remembering something Claire said to him once, "I mean, unless you lot are all a bunch of pussies, that is."
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