Post by steph5 on Dec 18, 2012 1:54:08 GMT -5
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[style=width:350px; font-family: josefin sans; font-size: 30px; letter-spacing: 0px; text-align:center; color: #000; line-height: 80%; text-transform: uppercase; padding-bottom: 5px;]POPPY LYNN HOLIDAY
CRIMINAL. STEPH. HOLLAND RODEN. DRIVER/WEAPONS ENGINEER. NINETEEN. SASSY. INTELLIGENT. EASY GOING.
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,386,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, width:130px; height: 200px; background-image: url(http://i49.tinypic.com/1212yw0.png);][/style] | [style=height: 180px; overflow: auto; font-size: 9px;]  My name is Poppy Lynn Holiday. Yes, like the flower. It's apparently a family tradition my mother told me something about when I was young. Her name was Rose. Each woman was named after a red or orange flower. It's the curse of the ginger, apparently, though I don't see it as a curse...more like another excuse to have fun and get away with things! I was born in Chicago and no, I don't have the accent sadly enough. I didn't come from some very well to-do family, just your everyday paycheck-by-paycheck three-person household. We lived in a house we only managed to have because it was passed down through the generations on my father's side and even then, it needed some serious TLC. Like...ASAP! HELLLOO! Anyyyywaays! So my father bailed on us years ago when I was only around three. I remember bits of him but not much. I remember him being a crazy drunk and always trying to steal something from the house to sell for booze or more drugs but that was the extent of it. Rose, I don't really like calling her mom, she never hid that from me. I'll be honest, I appreciate how blunt she was with me as a child. It makes me feel a bit more optimistic about the fate of this world and mankind as a species. Even then, growing up, I spent all my time with my two best friends...ever. And I mean ever. Rose was never around and I know she wasn't working. We lived for free in that house - only thing we had to pay was taxes and we were being helped by the government and whatever boyfriend she was shaking up those days. Anyway, my best friends were these two guys who nicknamed themselves Ben and Jerry like the icecream company since we used to always steal from that one icecream truck that would always cruise around the neighborhoods like any kid there actually had money to spare for a fudge pop or a snow cone. But that was what we did. We robbed people by pretending to house sit for them, ice cream trucks...convenient stores. We did this for years while still going to the local dump of a public high school. In all honesty, it was a necessity. Our parents sucked...they didn't help us out and weren't responsible so we took matters into our own hands. I graduated at the top of my class at the age of seventeen. By then I had self educated myself in the creating of firearms and any weapons really. I would buy kid-like lab equipment and have my own chemistry lab in my basement which was essentially our hang out with Rose never home. By the time I was seventeen, she literally just stopped showing up. I thought I saw her once, in the richer part of town, but if it was her, she dyed her hair blonde. Either way, I already knew how to drive, having been practicing since I was thirteen with some car we jacked in some parking lot, and the guys just thought - whatever! Let's go see the country, go out on the road! We'd been making it on our own for so long, this would be no different! It changed though. Everything always changed. The Lost Boys, as we called ourselves (because they practically considered me a guy), well, we were about to get complicated. We went from robbing gas stations and trailers to actually pulling off big operations like local banks and atm machines. Our money kept multiplying. We kept growing. We couldn't be caught. Every car we jacked was too fast - I was too good of a driver. I was smart, the guys always told me this. I was the brains behind everything. I might not always be in there, actually doing the dirty work, but I drove. I created, bought, produced the weapons they carried to protect themselves. I came up with the plans. But they did the heavy lifting. They got the cash. They pulled the trigger. We were knit together, the three of us. Childhood best friends born and raised in the slums of Chicago with nothing to our name but the skin on our bones. We were family...always would be... Until one of us got caught. He wasn't meant to be. "Ben" was sent to a low security prison just outside of Boston a year into our cross country escapades of bliss. Jerry and I couldn't visit him - it was too risky - but we sent him letter all the time. We moved to Boston, but we only planned on staying there for as long as necessary and nothing more. We planned on going to Canada, somehow starting over...somehow. Maybe go to Florida, Mexico, Paris! We could raise the money...We still lived in a crappy apartment in Boston, practically out of the car, but Jerry and I waited and eleven months later, Ben was released. He shouldn't have robbed that jewelry store on his own and we couldn't understand why he hadn't just told us he was going to do it. Either way, it was the longest eleven months I'd ever been without the guy - both of us - and it felt like our hearts were being ripped out from our chest...with the slightest sting of betrayal. None of us wanted a record. We had always tried to stay clean - minus the drugs and booze we tended to indulge ourselves in. We were 19-20-21 years old respectively. We all wanted to live with no regrets. When he got out of prison, we stayed in Boston after hearing we could pick up, hopefully, a few jobs from the local mafia lords. We might be a couple of kids, but we were street smart - well, I'm a bit more book smart but you get the idea. Family is family. If they want one of us, they have to take all of us. And in Boston, we plan on making as much money as possible in order to get out - whether it's stolen or not. |
