(no subject)
Characters: Evan Walker and ??
Rating: tbd, probably at least pg13
Time Period: modern
Location: inside the castle
Relative Date: three days after auditions
Status: open!
Evan was bored. A bored Evan could be dangerous. He had no qualms about trying new things, whatever those things might be, and had no regard to how safe (or not) the activity was. So he left his room in the castle and went wandering, a cigarette hanging from his lips.
He was dressed impeccably, in Armani slimfit jeans that were half a size too small, so that they fit snugly, and a form-fitting black Prada long sleeved shirt. He could reasonably be called a label whore--he was a model, after all. What models didn't like to wear designer clothes?
He looked every inch a model, too, standing 6' 2", and lanky, barely weighing in at 150 pounds. His face was set into an expression of perpetual boredom, lips pursed into a practiced Victoria Beckham style pout, with perfectly groomed hair. He was hard to miss, and impossible to ignore. It was probably why he'd been so successful as a model. When he walked into a room, any room, he commanded attention.
He turned the corner and headed downstairs, walking slowly, trying to take everything in as he did. He hadn't seen anyone since he'd auditioned, two days after he arrived. Of course, he hadn't exactly gone looking, either. He stayed mainly to himself, trying to adjust to the new location. It was easy enough to pretend that this was a luxury resort, but at the same time, he was frustrated at the lack of ability to communicate with anyone from his life.
Moving automatically, he turned up the hallway that would take him to the library. Perhaps he would run into someone there--someone hot, preferably male, that he could hit on--and hopefully they would reciprocate. If he was lucky...
Rating: tbd, probably at least pg13
Time Period: modern
Location: inside the castle
Relative Date: three days after auditions
Status: open!
Evan was bored. A bored Evan could be dangerous. He had no qualms about trying new things, whatever those things might be, and had no regard to how safe (or not) the activity was. So he left his room in the castle and went wandering, a cigarette hanging from his lips.
He was dressed impeccably, in Armani slimfit jeans that were half a size too small, so that they fit snugly, and a form-fitting black Prada long sleeved shirt. He could reasonably be called a label whore--he was a model, after all. What models didn't like to wear designer clothes?
He looked every inch a model, too, standing 6' 2", and lanky, barely weighing in at 150 pounds. His face was set into an expression of perpetual boredom, lips pursed into a practiced Victoria Beckham style pout, with perfectly groomed hair. He was hard to miss, and impossible to ignore. It was probably why he'd been so successful as a model. When he walked into a room, any room, he commanded attention.
He turned the corner and headed downstairs, walking slowly, trying to take everything in as he did. He hadn't seen anyone since he'd auditioned, two days after he arrived. Of course, he hadn't exactly gone looking, either. He stayed mainly to himself, trying to adjust to the new location. It was easy enough to pretend that this was a luxury resort, but at the same time, he was frustrated at the lack of ability to communicate with anyone from his life.
Moving automatically, he turned up the hallway that would take him to the library. Perhaps he would run into someone there--someone hot, preferably male, that he could hit on--and hopefully they would reciprocate. If he was lucky...