i'ma classic man,

@startingportbay​

“I’m so tired of this heat,” Thomas complained. “It’s gonna reach the higher 90s. That by itself isn’t bad, but the humidity? This is gonna kill me.”

“ It could be worse. You’d never survive Louisianan ‘round this time. It’s the description of brutal, dude.”

Scarlett smirked at the man’s self-confidence as it was a response that she would have delivered herself. She eyed him from head to toe, almost wishing he’d have agreed to try it on for her but his next statement intrigued her more than his physique. “Oh? Well, who did you come in here for? And what is the special occasion?”

Despite the aloof and stoic demeanor that Tariq seemed to sport when it came to most people, he was rather charming and a bit overly confident when the time came to be though at he question he shook his head. “That information is confidential, but I will tell you it is for a woman in her early thirties, she’s a plus sized woman, and she’s about 5′3 or 5′4, so something that isn’t too long or could be tailored to her needs or maybe a handbag or maybe jewelry... I’m not very sure what i’m looking for honestly.” He instructed hoping that, that would be enough.

        Yaena raises a hand, shielding her face from the bright southern sun, while the other comes to delicately rest at her hip, keeping Mister close to her; a soft sigh of relief, too, is soon expelled from her lungs at the reaction of the man, more than a little grateful that he seems neither upset nor in any way angry about the incident. On the contrary, the sight of a man his size — all tall, sun drenched, and smiling at her dog, tiny, little pugs running about their feet— makes the corners of her mouth — all rouge lipstick and sheer gloss— slant up, a somewhat softer, less aloof, less unapproachable expression draping itself over her face. “ooh la la, how very nice to make your acquaintance, Mr. Donald —,” a beat, to amp up the dramatics, “—Mr. Zach…” she’s elegantly reaching out to pet the top of their heads, tiny, jeweled silver rings around every last one of her slim fingers glinting in the late evening sunlight. In truth, she’s not a people’s person either— perpetually aloof, detached— embodying her delicate elegance and carrying herself in a way that makes her appear almost untouchable; — like something right out of some vintage film— or an exotic tale; but she does have a soft spot for dogs, and people who love them— and thus, she cannot help but smile a little at him as she watches Mister excitedly lick at his proffered hand and wag his tail like a puppy, wonders: “and your dad over here?” she places this forth, more to the dogs, than mister stranger, himself, and although, her delicately dark and detached voice sounds as if she would prefer to be hundreds of miles away, there’s a coy, friendly lilt in it, too, that suggests otherwise, “does he have a name?”

The faint hint of a smile seemed to line the corner of Tariq’s lips as he watched the woman address the dogs as if they were human. He was sure most people would find it ridiculous, but he was charmed by it.  Animals had thoughts, feelings and individual personalities, to treat them as if they didn’t, or to talk to them as if they were babies said a lot about a person in his humble opinion and he appreciated seeing this small act and at her question Zach did let out a string of excited barks before quieting down and turning his attention to Mister, actions to which Tariq couldn’t help but quietly snort at before giving the woman his full attention. “He says it’s Tariq.” He introduced, but seeing as the woman’s dog had just made his hand its own personal treat to lick as he pleased he didn’t offer his hand to her, that seemed like it would be a tad on the rude side. "You would be?”

F2F || Brooke and Tariq

Brooke normally didn’t shop herself, she liked to support the working men and women around town and hired out for that, but today she had the day to herself. Her Grandmother was happily doing Great Grandma things and she, she was out enjoying her time. She had just come from getting a Mani/Pedi and now was about to find something nice for her grandmother, when she saw Tariq. Seeing him out and about was a rare occasion so she knew she had to say hi. Walking towards him she smiled. “Well now, how lucky am I that I get to see your handsome face today?”

@dtariqrobnson

@startingportbay​

Location: Champoeg State park — Newberg Time: evening; around 7 pm.  

  Yaena does not belong here, she’s fully aware of the fact: she can’t find a way neither to blend in with the locals, nor to become more sociable– earn their trust, let them get to know her better; this is a rather small (compared to New York) particularly… peculiar city, (understatement of the century), an even more peculiar, rather… strange, neighborhood, compared to elite, rather inaccessible Lake Oswego — the kind where everyone knows each other, and she, a stranger, in every sense of the word: detached and aloof, she’s always just out of reach, unapproachable, uninterested in either any gossip or the local news, always by herself, unassuming, shrouded in mystery. Holed up in her secluded, half a century old villa near the woods, away from the life from the city, she spends her days working from home and renovating her kitchen and gardens, or going on the occasional walk with her dog– an enormous, old Irish wolfhound that trails after her like a cat– her nights, staring at the moon in a vintage peignoir, listening to les Baxter and debating whether or not to disappear and move to Nepal. She does not mean to come off as standoffish, or, a snob; it’s just the way in which she’s always presented herself, pristine, poised, elegant– a languid, haughty quality in the way she interacts with people around her, ever quiet, enigmatic, mysterious– it is no surprise, then, that she’s attracting quite the attention today, either, as she leisurely strolls down the hiking trails of Champoeg State in her silk skirt and vintage crop top, Versace shades perched atop her messy, loose curls cascading down her slender back, vintage, thrifted Louis Vuitton handbag draped over her bare shoulder. Mister is towering over her petite frame as she urges him to follow her toward the sea– they’re quite the sight, she, the mystery girl from the big city– in her designer outfit and All Stars– and the giant dog at her side– ; there are people all around them, enjoying the cool breeze coming off the lake and the fields beyond the woods, lavender and lilac, the late evening sun, all red and gold and purple, streaming over them as it sets, and she’s about to make her way toward the little stairs near a pond to rest for a while and give Mister a few treats for being such a nice, obedient boy throughout their walk, when Mister unexpectedly tugs at his leash and makes to excitedly run off toward the person nearest the pond, and she’s taken aback, gasping as he more or less drags her along; rosy cheeked and flustered, she’s hastily grabbing at his leash and trying to pull him back toward her gently, trilling a shocked little “Mister– no!!” as she struggles to reign him in a bit, fearing for the worse— she’s breathless by the time she manages to calm her dog down a little, her blue eyes, bright and liquid with sunlight; her mouth is stained red, cherries and rouge lipstick (her own brand, of course). “Apologies!!” she’s offering elegantly, a detached tone in the husky quality of her voice, “I don’t know what’s gotten into him, he’s normally not like… This.”

Hikes weren’t really something Tariq had the “pleasure” of going on very often. Between the lack of sleep he usually got, due to career choices, and general lack of wanting to be physically active in this particular way, this made sense. Today, however, his usual dog walker had cancelled on him and he found himself outside, fleet of pugs -it was two, but fleet sounds cooler- attached to leashes at his feet having a good and grand ole time enjoying the day. They probably hadn’t been out by the pond for very long before the giant dog approached them, with who he assumed was its owner not far behind and he crouched down to scratch it’s head. “It’s cool. He just wants to make friends.” He shouted glancing up at her for a moment before returning his attention to the dogs. “Mister is it? This is Donald Faison.” He motioned and introduced the smaller, and silver one, of the two pugs. “And this is, Zach Braff.” He motioned to the other, larger, but brown and black pug. He wasn’t much of a fan of people, but he did have a soft spot for dogs.

BASIC  INFORMATION.

FULL NAME: Donald Tariq Robinson.

NICKNAME: T, Tariq, Riq.

OCCUPATION: Classified.

AGE: 37

DATE OF BIRTH:  January 26th, 1983.

NATIONALITY: American.

GENDER & PRONOUNS: Cis-Male. He/Him.

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Pansexual.

RELIGION ( or lack thereof ): Agnostic.

“Uh I am gonna let you handle the whole playing pranks on people and everything. Just no pranks on me or you both will feel my wrath, you more than he.” She laughed. She shook her head with a sigh. “Nothing much, getting used to be the mother to a toddler who is now experiencing the “terrible twos”. What about you? How about you?”

“I can’t in good conscience make that promise cause if a boy can’t prank his mother then who can he prank? But they won’t be messy pranks.” He joked and then shrugged. “Someone was building a deck incorrectly so I stopped them and redid their work. Now it’ll be properly stable and no one will get hurt. So that was my good deed of the week and now they are supplied with the knowledge to do it correctly for future endeavors.”

Scarlett was technically off the clock but that didn’t mean she stopped working. Shopping for other people was her passion and it was damn near impossible to tear her away from sale rack and outfitting the person closest to her. “Ooh–ooh, honey, try this on.” She scampered over, her heels clicking and clacking on the wooden floors of the boutique, and held the item up so she could see what it would look like on. “The cut is fantastic and the color will really compliment your undertones. Not to mention, it is 45% off. Like I never would have expected you to look so good.”

‘Honey’ the word made Tariq’s eye twitch with complete discomfort, he’d never been good with terms of endearment in any context and in this case it was no different, but he kept his mouth shut. She was being nice. He hadn’t asked for help nor wanted it, but she was being nice and that deserved some civility in return. “This would look dope on me, cause most things do, and I am going to buy it, cause why not, but I actually didn’t come in here for me.” He explained as he took the shirt from her. 

“I might be one of the fifteen people on this dancing app over the age of 20, but I don’t want to be judged for wanting to learn the Renegade dance. If you learn it with me, I’ll forever be in your debt.”

“Personally, I’m against learning trends and fads, because there’s no real point to them, and people who do them, are idiots... no offense, but if it’ll make you happy sure I’ll learn a useless dance. How hard could it be?” 

“So my parents would be funny to have me host a dinner party and cook everything by hand when they know I’m just straight up hopeless in that department..” she sighed. “I need help and a lot of it… I don’t even know where to begin! Should I just order something and pretend I cooked it or is that too sad?”

“You’re how old and you don’t know how to cook?” His tone was judgemental and bit harsh, but in Tariq’s opinion judgment in this situation seemed warranted, but he wasn’t judging her. “Clearly your parents failed at being parents unless their goal was for you to die at a young age with your arteries clogged full of junk food. Their job is to teach you how to survive in the world and neither of them taught you the basic life skill of how to cook. Failures. Both of them and now their taunting you with their failure.”

★ ━  ( sinqua walls,   cis-male,   he/him )  ━ ★   just to be clear, ya didn’t get this information from me.   The person you’re lookin’ for is   DONALD TARIQ ROBINSON.  also known as   TARIQ.    Last I heard they were born on   JANUARY 26TH, 1982   in    BATON ROUGE, LOUISIANA,   but he’s been livin’ in   GOOSE HOLLOW,    for about    EIGHT YEARS.    Word around the districts is, this cat,   TARIQ  can be    ACCIDENT PRONE,   SELF-SERVING,   &   WISE-ASSED,   but i gotta tell, ya, alls I seen is good things, like the fact that he’s   STRAIGHTFORWARD,   NONCHALANT,    &    POETIC,   I guess that depends on how well ya know ‘em, though.   the last thing ya need to know is that   I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT HE DOES FOR WORK.   After asking around for a while I’ve come to the conclusion that    NO ONE DOES.   When I finally gave up and asked him about what his job  was   HIS ANSWER WAS  “  REDACTED AND CONFIDENTIAL. WHY IS THAT SOME OF YOUR BUSINESS?  “   I don’t know what that’s all about but I do know that’s all I can tell ya the rest you gotta find out on ya, own.    ━     ( ooc:  andrew,   pdt,   28,   he/him )

Brooklyn snorted shaking her head, “I would say something but honestly I am not surprised that is where your warped mind went!” She laughed. If she didn’t know Tariq she would lecture him or say something about his words but she had learned her lesson in trying to correct him. He was his own unique brand of man and she had learned in the last few years to just go with it. “I am just not here to give my son nightmares or a traumatic experience. So I think I will stick with not having him eat his favorite characters thank you kindly.”

"Fine, but when he gets old enough to not be terrified and scared by pranks, you know where to find me,” Tariq assured and he wasn’t fond of many people, mainly because they found new and exciting ways to infuriate him but Brooke and her son were fine people to spend his time with, whenever he decided to emerge from his house that is. “So what else have y’all been up to?” 

roman started to take a drink of his beer. once the man said this, beer came squirting out of his nose and out of his mouth. casually, roman reached over and grabbed a napkin and dabbed away the mess, completely unvexed. “i laughed harder than when i first heard the joke.” roman wiped the snotty beer off of him and looked down at his shirt. “yes, i do understand that it doesn’t mean that.”

Tariq couldn’t help but make a face of disgust at the mess the other had made but made no move to help clean it up. That was not his job. He was a bit perplexed by the strength of Roman’s laughter not really thinking it was that funny and decided maybe he should try and cut the man off from the alcohol, it seemed like it was time. “Good. I’m glad you haven’t lost your mind. Not that I’d be worried if you did, but I can’t be seen with you if that is the case.” He explained as he took the beer from him and stood up. “How about we take a break.”

So my two year old has declared war on peas today. The veggies he loved last week are now enemy number one and I don’t know if I should be scared or not. I gave him peas at lunch and he ran away terrified and returned wearing a bathrobe and strainer on his head…when I asked why he just looked at me and said “no pea” like he was on strike. So I guess we are going with Broccoli this week.

"You know what would be funny?” It was not going to be funny. Well... it’d be funny to him, she’d probably construe it as a type of mean. He didn’t mean it that way, of course, but the thought had popped into his mind the moment he heard this story, and anyone else, would probably have just commented on the cuteness of the story, but in typical Tariq fashion, he just couldn’t help himself. “If when you got home you showed him VeggieTales, right?  Let him get attached to them, let him go to sleep while he’s sleeping glue googly eyes to the vegetables put them all on the table attach them to a pullable string that’s barely visible, get a tape recorder of that voices from VeggieTales and when he wakes up, pretend the vegetables are talking. You’d see the cape every time you pulled out any vegetable for a month. He’d only eat Dino nuggets.”