Corn liquour tastes sweeter in this town Could it be it's the same as the last? I swear I've seen ya face elsewhere before Just as familiar as a bottle and a glass
a coffee shop would have been a better idea for diana to go to when she wanted to get a little work done. however, since of her clients was being highly unreasonable in her choices of design for her new kitchen, the brunette figured a quick drink would help relax her nerves enough to send a much more professional email than the one she drafted earlier. thank goodness everything can be done on a phone these days, so it was all she needed when she made her way to the bar and took a seat at the counter. diana never ate the food here, only because she was very picky as to what when in her body, and cheep greasy foods was not something she ate often, if ever. âhow are you doing arlo,â she greeted with a soft smile. âi think tonight is a white russian sort of night,â she answers with a small nod of her head while she pulled out her phone. âunless you recommend something else that will help deal with an unpleasant client of mine.âÂ
âShit D,â The deep velvet Georgia accent laced his words, easily tugging back the menu knowing she wouldnât order anything off it anyway. Heâd offer to get her something else that she might like, if she told him she was hungry. She didnât seem hungry though, she seemed thirsty. âI thought only The Dude drank white russians,â teasing on his baritone voice whittled through the tension at the bar. Draping the rag over his shoulder he adjusted the baseball cap that had seen too many better days, auburn hair peeking out from beneath the fabric. Starting in on making her drink. âIâm alright...â he was never alright not since making his way back to the states. âBeen a hellova busy night, though...fuck all knows why,â he reached over plucking the phone from her fingers and placing it into his back pocket. âIâm recommending you let that shit lie for a second before shooting off an email you regret...got it?â He arched a brow putting the drink on a coaster before her. Hands resting on the bar as he looked at her, âYou wanna talk about it?âÂ
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Where: The Drunk Fish
Who: Anyone
It was getting to be that time of night where Arlo just wanted to go the fuck home. That or get up on the little makeshift stage with his guitar and sing some songs. Heâd swigged a few rocks glasses of whiskey while working but no one ever said a thing. He was functional, in a way he thought that was at least one saving grace. Wiping down the sticky bartop with a wet rag from his back pocket he watched as a few more people saddled up to the bar. What the hell was going on? It was supposed to be a slow night, at least this late. âKitchenâs gettin ready to close yâall, but you be real nice n I might be able to swing some food for ya,â the Georgia accent lingering on his lips. Procuring a menu he handed it over. The food never changed, it always was what it always was, burgers, grilled cheese, tots, wings, nothing fancy but something always fuckin delicious. âWhat can I do you for with drinks, friends?â He asked resting bare forearms on the now clean countertop.
adrianaâs gaze locked onto her friend, taking in the incredulous expression as she recounted the absurd proposal from her latest client. âcan you believe it? they want a house thatâs a mash-up of a castle and a spaceship. with moats and rocket boosters. theyâre practically begging to be the talk of the town!â she shook her head, trying to contain a laugh. âi mean, seriously, who even thinks like that?â
Arlo had only been around to help Adriana out with a few custom wood furnishing pieces. His flatbed truck parked out front with the last of the hand carved, stained and purposed chairs. Shaking his head he ran a hand through his hair, âShit Adriana, call me old fashioned, but the only castle I kinda wanna fuck with is one thatâs got dragons,â he laughed looking over at her. âI donât know how you do it...bring people to some...common ground. Itâs a skill, truly, and I do not envy you. Iâll take sittin quietly sanding down wood any day over dealing with people,â the ex army ranger spoke before taking a seat next to her. âSo, you gonna go with spaceship or castle?â Arlo teased with a smile.Â
donât be sad, go get a tattoo the jingle rang out from eveâs phone as she scrolled through tiktok, frowning she thought it best to ask for a second opinion, so she pulled her headphones down and turned to the person next to her. âdo you think spontaneous tattoos are a good idea?â
When the stunning blonde beside him at the bar glanced his direction Arlo was quick at work picking the paper label off the sweating bottle. He had three empties on the bartop and was working on his fourth. It wasnât unusual, and, it wasnât as though the beers heâd had made him any less...sober. The older male hadnât struck up a conversation, since sheâd been too busy scrolling on her phone. He didnât mind though, he liked just glancing at the tv playing behind the bar and looking at the liquor bottles. âWhat was that? A spontaneous tattoo?â He chuckled shaking his head, âMaâam, I am not sure Iâm the right person to be asking...my whole lifeâs been a little fuckin spontaneous, forgive the language.â
"i am very sorry, but now that the game is over i should tell you. i could not hear a word you were saying. would you like me to buy you a drink?" the last thing estelle wanted was to be caught up in some football game on the television. or more to the point the fans who came to the bar to scream at a bunch of grown men who couldn't hear them, "consider it an apology."
âi am very sorry, but now that the game is over i should tell you. i could not hear a word you were saying. would you like me to buy you a drink?â the last thing estelle wanted was to be caught up in some football game on the television. or more to the point the fans who came to the bar to scream at a bunch of grown men who couldnât hear them, âconsider it an apology.â
Arlo leaned over the bartop, forearms resting, exposed from his rolled up jean shirt, letting out a slight laugh. âStell, doll,â his Georgia drawl lacing the velvet voice befalling from his lips. âIf I wanted to talk with ya, weâda done it one night I aint behind the bar,â he laughed. Tugging out a Coors Lite he popped the cap, clinking the neck of the amber beer bottle against her glass. âWho the fuckâs even playin?â Lo asked glancing over his shoulder before grabbing the rag that had been swung over his shoulder, wiping down the bar. âAnd I thought this wasnât that kinda bar..â A brow arched giving her a smile, âCan I get ya anything else, love?â
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NAME: Arlo Grant
GENDER: Male, he/him
DATE OF BIRTH: August 31st (36)
PLACE OF BIRTH: Iron River, GA
OCCUPATION: Carpenter | Shadow Ranger, Pilot, Special Ops on leave | Singer
FACE CLAIM: Garrett Hedlund
                     BIOGRAPHY
trigger warning: ptsd, alcohol, abuse, teen pregnancy
Before Arlo could walk or crawl he could sing. Sure they were babbles of a baby but he was able to harmonize with his mother. A diner waitress who had given birth to him when she was no more than sixteen. A child herself. It would be ages before Arlo could track down, or even find out who his father was, who his father is. His mother (despite her young age) gave Arlo everything he could ever want and need. A safe home with so much love. She worked hard to put food on the table and continued night classes. Through everything; in First grade the little boy watched from bleachers as she graduated from college, as a neo natal nurse. Of course his grandma sat beside him cheering her on with the same amount of pride and joy he himself held for his mother. They were peas in a pod. Sheâd sing while heâd strum on a guitar or play the piano. Their household always full of music and laughter.
That was until he watched that light flicker out when she began dating a man who was no good for her, and an even worse father. Echos of screams, tears, and sobs lulled the now teenager to sleep. Where once they were tears of laughter and joy life had gone out in the Grant household. It was then Arlo found his words as a song writer. Putting pain onto paper as his grades slipped, lower, plummeting to where he wouldnât bother attending school at all. He wasnât at school, and he wasnât home. He was somewhere in between. Not that he tried to get into trouble but there were no places for him to grow, to learn, to get what he needed. At sixteen now, mirroring the same year his mother gave him life the young man had been on his third stint in juvy and loved the taste of alcohol. Often spending time at his grandmothers. She tried her best to get him back in line for a long time he wanted to walk the straight and narrow. But with his motherâs tears imprinted upon his crystal blue eyes it made his own light dim.
Arlo wouldnât graduate on time. Heâd graduate a bit late, but high school hadnât been easy. He was well liked, but not a jock, not a nerd, he was a quiet kid earning him one of those mysterious looks ones that people either stayed away from, or looked to fix. It was on his graduation day where he finally watched the man who had broken his mother carted off by cops never to be heard from again. Song and laughter returned to the Grant home. Arlo picked up the pieces to a life that needed meaning. He was adrift and more than anything he wanted to make his mom proud. Unfortunately with the grades heâd accumulated and the few splotches on his juvenile record it didnât prepare the shy of twenty year old. Thatâs when he enlisted.
The easiest part was basic training. Not too far from home in Georgia Grant became known for pushing himself, and looking after others. His smooth southern accent serenading the rest of the cadets as they wrote letters home, or cleaned their bunks in the evening. During the day he led call and responses keeping morale up and always thinking of making his mother proud. What he didnât know was that he already had made her proud. Back home in North Carolina she boasted about her sonâs accommodations and recommendations. Visits with the governor, congressmen and women. Grant carved a name for himself as a black hawk pilot running classified missions and becoming a pillar of ethos and morality. That was until the helo was shot down during a mission in Ecuador. His status MIA. Surviving with only his knowledge from basic for twentyfour days. The bullet hole in his shoulder keeping him from repairing the helo. All the while wanting to get home. He remembered chatter from that night that it would no longer be a search and rescue mission. It was a retrieval mission.
Then there were the drug lords. Arlo didnât talk about his capture when he returned. He didnât sleep in his bed when he returned. He didnât pass his psych evaluation when he returned. Once again Arlo Grant was adrift. Captain Arlo Grant found his way over to Kings Haven, a new place, a new person, a new home. A small one bedroom cabin near the water and his golden retriever, Sheppard, at his side accompanied the Army Captain to and from his shifts at a small dive bar pouring drinks and playing his guitar for anyone who would listen.
                 CHARACTER TRAITS
you have been accepted! welcome to kings haven, arlo grant! make sure to follow the after acceptance steps and send your blog to the main within 24 hours. we canât wait to see just what secrets you are hiding.
