I Create My Reality [entries|friends|calendar] Grant Riverson [ userinfo | greatestjournal userinfo ] [ calendar | greatestjournal calendar ]

Still [16 Oct 2006|10:30am] I smell some bullshit coming. Let’s imagine for a minute that this entire world is the intricate, highly-detailed work of some story teller. Someone who crafts tales and fables, whether for monetary gain or for simply pleasure, it makes no difference in this example. But this great author, who ever he or she is, they make the rules. They predestine the inhabitants of this world into good or evil, or any variant shade of gray, and they commit this deciding act in their imaginations long before we are ever conceived physically. I shall refer to this being now as Creator. Creator, when I was imagined for this story, deemed me to be special from birth. Creator equipped me with an extremely high IQ, an imagination that I never grew out of, and a gift to be able to create. Creator invented a son who inherited all of his best qualities. Everyone else, all of the non-characters in this world…they were set up for the sole purpose of knowing me. Of promoting me, of pushing me, of molding me into something that could be useful in this fictional world, something that could do things that most of these people could only read about in stories. I was hailed, I was respected. I was a valued son of the country, of my family, and of Creator. And then Creator decided the story was old and boring. He wanted to shake things up, and I suspect this was the plan He had for me from the very beginning. I smell a betrayal coming. ( Walking ) Reply

info [12 Sep 2006|04:16pm] Tick, tock, tick, tock. Grace could practically feel the seconds passing as she peeled the label off of her beer bottle, forming a little pile of paper in front of her on the table. It was almost like a meditation, the amount of concentration she was putting into removing every scrap from the cold glass. Waiting. The Basement seemed less crowded than usual, or maybe it was simply that the other patrons there weren't on her radar at all. She was just there on business, anyway, business and then back out to find an anonymous scumbag named Randy. Grant stumbled into the bar, rubbing his bloodshot eyes. He had spent the past night working on a few new concepts, one of which he now kept in a bag that he was carrying. A few hours of afternoon sleep had been his only source of revitalization, but the fact was that he had nothing else to do on his off day from work. He spotted Grace at a table, playing with a mostly empty bottle. He made his way back to her, nodded his head in greeting and set the bag down on the table between them. He cocked a smile as his eyes swept across the room and narrowed in on a waitress clad in a tight black shirt and a short jean skirt. She spotted him, held up a finger, and nodded at the customer she was with. She quickly crossed toward their table, and raised her eyebrows with a friendly smile. “What will it be?” Grant shrugged. “Corona,” he replied. “Sure thing hun. Another one for you?” she questioned, looking this time at Grace. "I don't need to drink anymore tonight," the vampire said with a headshake, dropping the last strip of paper on top of the pile before looking up. She looked at the bag briefly, then rested her elbows on the table. She wondered if Riverson would have run across Bowman's crony. Maybe she'd ask once the first matter was taken care of. When the waitress disappeared, Grace lifted on corner of the bag, just enough that she could see the toy surprise inside, then closed it up again. "That's a thing of beauty, man," she remarked, looking at Grant's tired face. "You look like you've been awake for a hundred years puttin' it together." The single beer was delivered to the table as the waitress returned, and she picked up the empty one after cleaning up the paper scraps. "So, about that other thing," Grace said once the two of them were the only ones paying attention to their conversation. "This stripper business." Grant nodded his head, and took a long drink. The tired state of his body made the alcohol taste less appealing that usual, but he was still grateful for something to take the edge off. He could get lost for days in his work; it was something that was known to happen every two weeks or so in his previous life. Some things had carried over through the transition. The crash afterwards was another on of those things. “Yeah,” he replied, folding his arms across his chest in an effort to ease the sore feeling he had in his shoulders. “I couldn’t put my finger on it, but there was something about that chick that just rubbed me wrong. Where you able to find out anything about her?” "Not directly," Grace replied, edging the bag a little closer to her side of the table. "Paid a couple of visits to Life's Retreat, never saw her there. But I swung by the other night and her manager was booking some gigs for her. Guess she went on vacation or somethin'." She stretched a random bit of tension out of her shoulders, then added, "I followed her for a few blocks, thinkin' she was gonna meet up with her boss, but the other chick never showed up." Shrug. "Her name was Jess, though. The manager chick. Didn't get a last name." There was a thoughtful pause while the vampire lit a cigarette, then; "She wasn't that bad lookin' herself. Wouldn't be surprised if she'd had a few offers to have dollar bills stuffed in her drawers." Grant sat for a few moments, processing what he had just been told until something hit him like a ton of bricks. "This Jesse chick," he said slowly, trying to think carefully of what to say next, "Did she have any piercing on her face?" For some reason, Grant found himself hoping that the answer would be no. He had a feeling his hope would be disappointed. Grace dropped her gaze to the table, the cigarette still in her mouth as she looked at her hands. Doing a mental form of trolling now, recalling the brief surveillance and scouring it for details. "One in her right ear," she said, indicating the rim of her own ear as an example. "And a ring in her bottom lip." She lifted her eyes to Grant's face, a faint frown darkening her brow. "I never understand that, y'know? The whole lip ring business. It's like, why? I guess I'm showing my age or something, huh?" Grant would have grinned at Grace’s wry comment, but he was too busy trying to add up numbers that just didn’t seem to want to go together. Finally he just shook his head and looked over at Grace. “Thanks, Blondie. You’ve been more help than I thought you could be.” He got up and started to make his way toward the front door when he suddenly remembered a thought he had meant to mention. “One more thing: I wouldn’t go over using that thing,” he added, pointing slightly at the bag. “It’s got enough juice for a few tries, but if at first you don’t succeed…you’re fucked.” "And not in a good way, probably," she countered a little sourly, offering Riverson a small salute as he got up from the table. In a rare moment of reciprocation, she looked at him where he stood and said, "And if you see a cop named Bowman loiterin' around anywhere nearby, go the other fuckin' way. He's got death hoverin' over his shoulder. You wouldn't know an asshole buddy of his named Randy, would ya?" Grant's eyes narrowed in thought; as he remember the cop's name and searched his own memories for anyone named Randy. "No," he said, with an apologetic shrug of his shoulders. "But thanks for that extra info. I, uh, don't like cops for all the obvious reasons. If I hear of a Randy around, I'll let ya know." With that, Grant left the bar for some much needed sleep and for some time to reflect on his new information. Grace watched him go, peeked inside the bag again. The Boy Scouts must be doing some hella intense craft projects these days. Reply

Without Turning Around [28 Aug 2006|10:52pm] Cultivate the habit of early rising. It is unwise to keep the head long on a level with the feet. The alarm clock rang out its repetition of a harsh, indifferent tone. Silently, a hand rose out from the mess of sheets and blankets to firmly hit the top of the clock, and the world went back to silence for eight minutes. Before the snooze timer could reset and the ringing start again, Grant Riverson rose up from his bed to greet the day. He had enough time to work out and eat breakfast before getting to work. He braced himself for the onslaught of questions that would creep from the back shadows of his brain, and force themselves upon his foremost thoughts while he was both tired from the early time and from the vigorous run. It happened every morning.Any fool can make a rule, and any fool will mind it. A man is rich in proportion to the number of things he can afford to let alone. Grant breathed in his nostrils, and out of his mouth. His feet pounded the ground in fast, yet rhythmic increments that he could both hear and feel. At this point of his run, it was like his entire body was set on autopilot, and he was just along for the ride. His mind, however, was a different story entirely. Grant had an offshore account that was packed with money that belonged to Uncle Sam. The dilemma was that the moment he touched it, he knew he’d have a thousand agents from all of the three letter departments so far up his ass they’d know what he had for dinner last month. As smart as he was, Grant knew that he wasn’t going to be able to get this money without some help.In what concerns you much, do not think that you have companions: know that you are alone in the world. As if you could kill time without injuring eternity. This game of waiting and plotting was starting to wear thin on Grant’s nerves. He needed that money, and not just for him. He had plans for it, uses for it, and he would be damned if he was going to spend another month of running into brick walls mentally. Screw that noise, man. He needed someone else to pull this job off. For Grant, that was a problem.Do not hire a man who does your work for money, but him who does it for love of it. Do not be too moral. You may cheat yourself out of much life. Aim above morality. Be not simply good; be good for something. Reply

Grace [10 Aug 2006|08:12pm] One good thing about associating with the occasional common criminal, you heard things. Heard things and then made your own contacts as you saw fit. Grace checked her watch as she ducked into The Basement, then spoke to the bartender, who pointed out the subject of her query. "He looks like an ex-con," the vampire said, and the bartender shrugged one shoulder. "Wouldn't say 'ex' so much." Grace ordered two beers, then carried the bottles through the crowd to stand a foot or so away from the table. "You Riverson? If so, I might have some gainful work for you. Got a minute?" Grant felt the hair on the back of his neck bristle at the mention of his own name. He looked up from his Corona, and saw the rough looking woman standing close by, so he turned and looked from side to side. This didn’t feel good. He knew that while his location was completely a secret in some circles, in others word was starting to spread. She didn’t look like she was hiding a badge or a wire, but that didn’t mean anything. Grant looked from the left to the right, and then back at her as though he didn’t know who she had been talking to. “Never heard of him,” he replied with a shrug, and went back to his beer. "Mmm. Shame, that," Grace responded, setting one beer down on the table to open the other and take a drink. "I was figurin' to offer him some money if he could do a little favor for me. Heard he might need it, since cash is hard to come by when you just quit wearin' day-glo orange as an everyday thing." The second beer bottle hit the table with a muted thump, and the vampire held her arms out to her sides a bit, her jacket falling open to reveal a plain white T shirt and a distinct lack of weapons. She kept the posture casual, maintaining eye contact. "There's no fightin' in here, son," she said, lowering her voice. "You're in the demilitarized zone. If you think I'm the Man, you're not right in the head. You can even frisk me. The day I've had, it might even get me frisky." Grant sat for a moment, and weighed his options. Obviously, this woman knew all about him, and didn’t mind advertising it to anyone who might be eavesdropping for the hell of it. That alone was bad enough, but the fact was that she didn’t seem to understand that he wasn’t really interested in what he had to say. “I’ve got plenty of money,” he clarified, looking up fast and hard. He shrugged, and then looked around a bit, as if checking for any boogy man hiding in the shadow. “I just can’t get to it, at the moment,” he added with a shrug and a slight grin. “Seeing as you don’t seem to be going away, how about you sit and we talk a little shop, Blondie.” "It's Grace, actually," she replied, moving around the table and settling her weight into a chair. "Not that it matters, but yeah." She pushed the second beer towards him, crossed her ankles. "I'm havin' this problem," she said, deciding that being offered a seat meant she should be a little more subtle with things. "I was hoping I could get something to make it go away." “Funny, I got a problem that I want to go away too,” He mused dryly, taking the moment to take another drink. While he wouldn’t admit it just yet, there was already an adrenaline rush pumping through his veins. It had been a while since anyone needed his special skills to make any sort of problem go away. And last time it had happened, it had kept a group of terrorist bastards in towels from blowing up mass transportation. Maybe this would be as fun. “Tell me about your problem, and I’ll tell you if I’ve got a solution,” he offered, leaning back in his chair, keeping an open eye on his surroundings. "There's this chick with stalker issues, she's gone all Fatal Attraction on me," she answered, leaning on her elbows. She'd heard his heartbeat pick up speed, and the left corner of her mouth curved into a slight smirk. "I'm a busy girl, I don't have time to deal with bunny-boilers." She picked up her beer again, took a long drink. Around them, the crowd continued to mill about, the conversation level enough to mute the interaction at their particular table. "I need a thing, somethin' special. Think we could talk about making that happen?" A frown pulled at the sides of Grant’s mouth, as he thought things over for a moment. Never, not at any time at all, was the ability to make such a device in question. Her form of payment, however, wasn’t exactly what he had in mind. “Here’s the deal,” he decided finally, leaning forward and looking her square in the eye. “I’ve got myself a need for a little bit of info on someone, Blondie. A stripper by the name of Eden, works at Life’s Retreat. Check her out a bit without her knowing about it. Just get me as much info as you can. Meet me back here in four days, and I’ll have something for you if you have something for me. We got a deal?” Grant offered out his hand. Strippers A girl named Eden. A joint called Life's Retreat. Grace tipped her head to the side as if to let the information filter into her brain faster, and then she nodded nonchalantly. Working on the Strip gave her the opportunity to visit pretty much any other club she wanted, and if questioned she could always say she was just scoping out the competition's security team. "Done and done," she said with another nod. Her hand wrapped around his for a firm shake. "I've been meanin' to go see the hoochie coochie girls anyhow. Now I have a reason instead of an excuse." She swiped up her beer and finished it off in a few quick gulps, then belched quietly. "Four days, then?" Grant nodded his head and picked up his drink. “Four days.” Reply

phone call [02 Aug 2006|08:18pm] The corners of his lips turned up. Just a bit at first, but as a small item was turned over in his hand, the lips went up higher and higher until a set of teeth appeared. Grant Riverson was smiling in pride at his most recent creation. The item in his hand was a newly created cell phone, complete with about a hundred little features. For starters, the signal from the phone would bounce from satellite to satellite, creating an almost untraceable connection that was boosted to work in the most remote places. This also meant that there would be no monthly bill attached. The phone was also set up to work internationally, and had full array of internet abilities. Ect, ect. And when it rang, it played the Greatful Dead’s “Friend of the Devil.” That may have been his favorite part. And what could be better than testing it out? Grant had to wait a moment to think of whom to call. Suddenly a thought flashed across his mind. Jesse had mentioned that she worked as a photographer for a newspaper in Vegas. A quick check in the phone book revealed all the local publications. After a few wrong places, Grant dialed up the Sun. “Hello, Las Vegas Sun. This is Brian, how may I help you?” Grant cleared his throat. “Yes, I’m calling to see if you have a photographer named Jesse on staff?” “Sure thing. She’s actually in at the moment. Hold on, I’ll transfer.” “No wa-“ Grant started to protest, he hadn’t actually meant to speak directly to her. He hadn’t even had time to think of any excuse to be calling. He was so going to come off as the crazy stalker guy. Shit. Jesse had dragged herself from her self imposed exile because hell it had been Eden that Cooper had seen and it wasn't like anyone else knew she lived a double life and besides a girl had to make a living especially when her "client" had taken a couple nights off for personal reasons. The Sun was Jesse's bread and butter as she was always guaranteed photographs as long as she kept taking them well which she had every intention of doing. She'd spent her day developing photographs and talking to the staff and narrowly avoiding a work function which would have consisted of everyone drunk in some Las Vegas casino with security breathing down their necks. Been there, got the mark on her police record to prove it. She was just stepping out of the back when someone hollered, "Jesse? Call on line two." Jesse offered up a smile, "Thanks," before wandering over to what had been allocated as her working area. Dropping her lithe build into the seat she leaned forward and snatched up the receiver. Her thumb pressed the flashing red light and she spoke, "Jesse Cervantes speaking." ( a private call in a public place ) Reply

housing [26 Jul 2006|07:46am] Grant folded his arms, and leaned against the door frame, trying to get his mind to wrap around the sight his eyes were taking in. Who would do something like this? What possible mind set could the have? When Cooper had mentioned that he was still looking for a place to stay to one of his co-workers, Lisa had overheard. And wouldn’t you know, she and her husband have a side business of renting housing and small commercial buildings out in various locations around Vegas. She would be more than happy to show Grant one of their properties. At lunch, the two of them went on a quick drive-by, just so he could get an idea of the neighborhood and the exterior of the house. He chewed on a burger as they drove, and listened to her explain all the little details of the house. Everything, she assured him, was in perfect working order, and if there were any problems then they would be more than happy to take care of them. The house was decent-sized, much more room than Grant would probably need. He noticed the neighborhood seemed nice, and quiet. A couple of kids ran down the street together, and Grant took that as a good sign. She mentioned that it had a partially finished basement, and Grant agreed to rent it right then and there. A workshop, and a living establishment in a quiet neighborhood, it had all the trappings of somewhere Grant could lay low and work on all the ideas that had been bursting in his head. Lisa was delighted. When they returned to work, Grant went back out to install an upgrade into a smaller casino system, and when he returned for the end of the work day, a set of keys sat with a small note that read: Cooper, I wrote down the directions on how to get back there if you need them, but you seem to be good at getting around. Don’t worry about rent for the rest of this month, just get settled in. Hope you love it! Lisa P.S. Not that this would matter to you right now, but there is an electric fence installed around the edges of the property in case you ever got a dog. But now that Grant had done a walk through of the house itself, he was almost in mild shock. The interior walls alternated between purple and yellow. Barney-the-fuckin-dinosaur purple and shoot-me-in-the-head-old-Yeller. Lisa was lucky that Grant hadn’t built his cell phone yet. Reply

Jesse [20 Jul 2006|11:50pm] Jesse was taking a night off, Eden didn't have a set tonight and it wouldn't hurt to let her hair down in all respects, fun never killed anyone. She'd found her fun in a bar, a bar filled with the likes of men with tattoos to women with leather skirts that rode up so high you could see the skin across their thighs. Granted she drew herself quite the bit of attention as she chose to wear leather which wrapped her body like a second skin and various piercings seemed to garner a lot of fixation. Seemed people were particularly fond of the one through her lower lip. If there was any trouble to be had, she had herself a tazer and she had no problems with thrusting it into anyone trying their luck or pushing her too far over a line she'd clearly defined with body language and conversation. Currently she was drinking back her third tequila shot and watching the man across from her take his shot and miss. "Mm, too bad sweetheart." She murmured with an insincere smile as she practically prowled the table and turned her cue in her hand. The manicured nails looked alien against the hard grain of wood that made up the pool cue but appearances were deceiving in so many ways. Nobody really understood or ever would; life was black and white and most were too safe and comfortable to look into the grey. Jesse lined up her shot, narrowed her eyes and took it. Grant had no idea why, after spending all day working with Sylas, that he would agree to accompany him to some bar. Part of him wanted to make friends quickly in a job that was going to sustain him; the other part just wanted to indulge in a little fun. Corona complete with lime slice in hand, he made his way through the crowd. He spotted Sy off at the bar, chatting up some girl that looked the stereotypical part of a hooker. Shaking his head, Grant took a moment to look around and take in the scenery. Although most of the women here looked as though the fell off White Trash Mountain and crashed into a truck filled with tasteless clothes at the bottom, there were definitely others who knew right where the line was, and didn’t cross it. Funny, while he had been locked away, one of the main things he had thought about was how many girls he had been missing. But in the past few days, women had been the farthest thing from his mind. As he lifted the bottle to his lips, his eyes took in the hottest girl he had seen since his escape. He actually had to do a double take to make sure his eyes weren’t deceiving him. They weren’t. Half a grin crossed his lips as he watched her for a few moments. Normally, he would cut right in and say something, but the possibility of offending a boyfriend and getting in a fight loomed over his head. When out less than a week, lay low. But when no one seemed to be coming, he made his way over, admiring the view he had from behind. “Looking for a partner,” he questioned, nodding to the table for reference while leaving the question ambiguous just for fun. "Yes!" Jesse uttered with a small grin as in went the ball. She'd mostly been playing to sharpen her shots, better her knowledge and hell it was just fun with or without a partner. However her attention was taken by the deep rather husky voice coming from behind and slowly her head turned and brown eyes took in an attractive man. Just rugged enough to be considered handsome. A casual very relaxed smile slid those lips of hers apart to flash a set of pearly whites. "I could be," She answered all confidence and eye contact. "You looking to liven up my night?" Ambiguous, game set and match. Touché . ( Two games going on at once ) ( Getting to know you ) ( A little more to drink ) ( Is he with you? ) “Thanks for the drinks and the game, Bristol. It was humbling, but next time you won’t be so lucky.” Saying the word lucky reminded him that he could still faintly taste strawberry on his lips from where her lipstick had stuck to his bottle. He took her hand in his for a moment, grinned for a moment before offering her hand a squeeze and a little wink. That was all the time he could afford to allow himself to say goodbye. Well look at that, she had herself a nickname already. "Take care, Cooper," She squeezed his hand back and then crouched down to gather her bag. "See you soon, I hope." Vegas was a big town after all, so many different places to be and people to see. It would be one hell of a feat if he could find her in all those thousands. The strap of her bag was pulled across her chest and a kiss was blown to him before Jesse was making for the door, as far as she was concerned she was done for the night. She was going home with a smile on her face, she didn't think that a bad end to a good night. Reply

gettin a job [20 Jul 2006|02:16pm] Grant stood in front of Las Vegas Security Company, and for a moment all he could do was reflect. The past few days of his life had been insane. First, he had broken out of a prison. Then, he had caught a ride on a Semi all the way out of the Reno area and finally arrived in Vegas. He’d spent almost an entire day just trying to find a place to crash, and when it became abundantly clear that he was going to have to have cash up front, he had spent the night at the YMCA. That was something that he had absolutely no intention of repeating. If he could at least provide a percentage of rent, Grant was convinced that he could sweet talk someone into giving him an apartment or hotel room. And if he didn’t find something soon, he wasn’t going to be able to blend in as well as he wanted. He looked to clean shaven to pass as homeless, and he was beginning to be concerned that someone was going to start asking questions. Grant didn’t like questions. So he decided that the best way to get back on his feet and under the radar was to get an honest-to-goodness real life job, and hope that it paid a hell of a lot better than the prison job he previously had. A million thoughts were running through his head, most of them about what kind of background story he was going to give. He would have to account for never having a job before in his entire life, among other things. But as Grant pushed through the doors and proceeded to the counter, he was somewhat amused by what he saw. Three grown men were all running around, into doors and back to the counter, shouting into cell phones or the business phone, trying to be heard above one another. It was nothing short of mass chaos. Grant had to stifle a laugh when two of them collided, dropped their phones, and then tried to identify which phone belonged to which man. Finally, a sharply dressed woman emerged from a back room, her eyes rolling at the mess in the front. She dodged one man, ducked under a phone cord, and smiled at Grant almost apologetically. “Please excuse all of…this,” she said, motioning to the surrounding area. “We’ve recently underwent a bit of a change in management, and as a result we are a bit shorthanded at the moment. My name’s Lisa, how may I help you?” He inquiry was business-like, but her tone was warm and friendly enough to make Grant feel a bit more comfortable. She’s good, he thought. “Hi, I saw the add in the Classifieds,” he began, noticing that two of the nearest phone trolls seemed to perk up a bit, apparently able to hear him over their own voices. He turned his attention back to Lisa. “And I was wondering if I could have an applicat-“ Grant’s sentence was cut short by a flying white and red pinstriped shirt that landed on his head. “Put it on, and get your butt moving towards the back. Look for the tall skinny kid named Sylas, He’ll teach you everything you need to know. I hope for the sake of holy fuck you know how to run and attach wires.” Grant pulled the shirt off his head while the commanding voice spoke. He saw that it belonged to the nearest man, who was covering the end of the business phone with one hand. His nametag read Jim. Didn’t Jim know that there was a mute button on those types of phones specifically for situations like this one? Grant looked at the shirt. The name tag read Cooper. Problem one solved. Lisa started to protest, saying something about a formal interview process and paper work. Just like Grant, Jim cut her off as well. “He’s here, he’s hired.” Jim looked from Lisa to Grant. “Welcome aboard.” “I’m looking for cash. Under the table,” Grant said, matter-of-factly. He was pushing his luck, because he had a feeling that he could. At least for now. Jim rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll pay you in fucking diamonds if you want. But if your ass is still in here in three seconds, this will be the shortest job you’ve ever had.” Cooper was on his way towards the back, buttoning up the shirt as he went. That had almost been too easy. He threw one last look over his shoulders at Lisa, who was glaring at Jim, no doubt she was going to tell him just what was on her mind as soon as she could make herself heard over Jim’s bellows into the telephone. Grant felt sorry for whoever was on the other end. Hopefully they had a hearing aid that could be removed. Now, where was Sylas? Reply

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