Detailed Roleplayers discussion
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Heather and Brynn
Full name: Phoebe Vesper TalineAge: 22
Date of Birth November 9th
Hometown: Denver, Colorado
Occupation: full time model
Appearance:
(view spoiler)
Face claim: Sara Sampaio
Eyes: Pale blue
Hair: Brown, wavy
Height: 5'6"
Weight: 118 pounds
Style: (view spoiler)
Personality Phoebe is as sassy as she is beautiful, always finding a smart comment to spit out. She's outgoing and can rarely ever hold her tongue. Occasionally she'll say rude things without thinking, but she just shrugs it off and keeps going and almost never gets in trouble for her smart mouth. She hates it when people judge her at first sight because most people think of her as a stuck up celebrity, but really she's a caring and down to earth person. She just doesn't let it show because she never has a chance, most people don't want to hang out with a stuck up model. She loves laughing and smiling, but because of all the work she's constantly doing with her career, she never really has time for it. Sometimes she just wishes she could sit down and just close her eyes without anyone telling her what to do, how to stand, how to wear her hair, what to wear, and what expression to have on her face. Phoebe is always tired from long days of work and barely gets a full night of rest. She's adventures, always taking on new career opportunities, and brave, not afraid of what people will think of her when she does take the opportunity. She has a very good sense of fashion and will do anything to get the newest clothing line from the most popular stores, even though she'll wear that outfit once and then never wear it again. She hopes that one day people will see her for the caring person she really is, and not the stuck up one they think she is.
History: Phoebe grew up in a small family with only her mom, dad, her sister, and herself. She was always the popular girl at school and she knew it, she just never let it get to her head. Even early on in her life people resented her, thinking she only thought of herself, but she never really did. She never really had anyone to talk to because her mom and dad were always working and her sister was so much younger than her and wouldn't understand. Phoebe was never a strong student, struggling with certain subjects and math was certainly not her strong point, but she wasn't stupid either. At the age of 17 she started her modeling career, taking on small photo shoots here and there and eventually it grew into something larger and her name was known by just about everyone. She loves her job, but at the same time she absolutely hates it. She never has anytime for fun things and she's constantly working. She just wishes she could have at least one day off. She's always on a strict schedule, having to exercise five times a week to stay in shape and she a had a very long list of foods she can't eat.
Family:
Dad: Lucious Taline
Mom: Laurie Taline
Sister: Odessa Taline
Likes:
~ Bright colors
~ skirts
~ sleeping
~ daytime
~ resting
~ healthy foods
~ speaking her mind
~ being warm
~ hot chocolate
Dislikes:
~ the dark
~ pants
~ unhealthy foods
~ being judged
~ working a lot
~ having to be quiet
~ being cold
Hobbies:
~ creating outfits
~ modeling
It was a beautiful day. A beautiful, spring afternoon in the city of Los Angeles. Well, at least to anyone else who wasn't Paul Greyson. It was Saturday, and it was his first day with his new client. Phoebe Taline, wasn't it? She was some big shot spoiled brat, model, total princess that people adored and celebrated. She had some signing at a Santa Monica mall, and he was to stand there at her side while she signed pesky little girls autographs and took selfies with them. It was exactly what he had hoped against, to be left in charge of a celebrity. He'd been working in business for a year or two now, why couldn't he be assigned to someone... more respected? Someone who actually needed protecting-? He'd been doing research about Phoebe, watching interviews on Ellen and Oprah on his weekends, and it made his attitude about work even more sour. She was arrogant, flashy, mean, and... beautiful. So many fan pages existed on Facebook for the model, teenage boys drooled over her instagram photos. And Phoebe was going to be his problem now. It was absolutely appalling. He'd probably be responsible for opening doors for her, carrying her shopping bags, toting her luggage from fashion week to fashion week, photo shoot to photo shoot. Worse, he'd be in the center of attention, right next to the princess of Hollywood. Paul grudgingly flipped back the thin black covers from being tangled around his body, throwing it aside so he could get out and do his duties. The smooth dark brown wood of his apartment floor was cool under his feet, the bedroom shrouded in dim lighting, filtering the sunlight through his curtains. He dragged a hand through his hair as he grumbled unhappily to himself, shutting the bathroom door behind him to shower. Ten minutes later, Paul had shaved, brushed his teeth, showered and gelled his hair in its usual uniform hairstyle, just like he had every single day of his life. He dressed quickly in a white crisp shirt fresh from the dry cleaners, black slacks, a black tie, and a tailored jacket made especially to fit his broad shoulders and lean frame. He laced his dress shoes neatly and spritzd some cologne on his neck before tucking his loaded gun in his back waistband. One button of his jacket was buttoned, and Paul snapped on a wrist watch to complete his usual look. Now, for a light breakfast, and he'd be off.
His shoes echoed in the apartment suite, his steely hazel blue gaze adjusting to the brighter light in the living room and kitchen area. Glancing at the clock, it was merely 9 o clock. He was to meet Phoebe at her home, join her in her fancy limousine that was absolutely unnecessary for the occasion, then accompany her to the mall by 10:30. Paul yanked the stainless steel fridge open with a sigh, stooping low to see what was inside. Nothing seemed too appetizing at the moment, but he grabbed a green naked juice and two granola bars for the road. Simultaneously drinking the cold smoothie and shoving his keys, wallet, and phone in his backpack, Paul made himself ready quickly. He downed the rest of the bottle with ice making his brain freeze, before tossing it with ease in the open trashcan standing under the counter. With that, Paul left his quiet plain apartment, locked the door, and went his way. Outside, Paul squinted his eyes painfully with the bright light that never failed to shock him, shielding his eyes as he jogged to the car. The sleek, dark hummer provided him with comfort with its black leather seats and well tinted windows. Paul slipped on his glasses despite the dark condition of the car anyway to hide his face from anyone who looked through his windshield, and the vehicle roared to life. "Beverly Hills Heights... that's ten minutes from here," Paul murmured to himself grouchily about the commute, his hummer speeding towards the main streets.
Within fifteen minutes, he was headed up a winding street to Phoebes upscale apartments. It was the cliché celebrity spot to live, as several well known people lived among The Heights. Boutiques and expensive stores with hardly much in them at all lined the well paved streets, and soon, the grand apartment complex came on his right. Paul pulled into the apartments at once, peering over his shades at the adress scrawled on a sticky note stuck to his steering wheel. "56520 Ivy Lane, Apartment 5D," Paul recited, his sharp eyes finding the apartment at once. He was punctual as usual, early by ten minutes. He parked his armored car in the first available spot, gazing up to the three stories above. Paul took a deep breath and relaxed, closing his eyes for some time in the silence of his car. It would be the last time he would be able to relax in ages. Minutes later, the limo arrived and parked in front of the apartments fire lane, and a driver stepped out. "Here goes," Paul grumbled, stepping out of his hummer as well to greet the driver and retrieve Phoebe.
"Good morning," Paul nodded curtly, politely to the other older aged man. "Hello-!" The old man chirped, approaching to shake his hand firmly. His hair was wispy and white, wrinkles sagging his face, but his smile was sincere and friendly. Paul couldnt force a smile as much as he tried without looking pained, and only managed to make the old man look away in a bit of fear. "Will you go fetch Miss Taline? I'll have the engine started and the car turned around," the old man asked feebly, wincing at Pauls shadowing height. The idea of going up to get the girl himself wasn't an appealing one, yet he simply nodded. The dude was old and frail anyway, it was best for him not to be doing too much.
He stepped into the main lobby of the Heights, building, taking the elevator alone up to her floor. 5D, 5D, 5D, where was it? Paul gazed around the elegant elevator, leaned up against one wall while the elevator jolted upwards. His eyes were squeezed shut as the claustrophobic kicked in, and passed as soon as the doors opened with a ding to the third floor. He lurched out of the elevator taking deep breaths, regaining confidence once again as he walked swiftly through the halls. 5D, 5D... there! Paul stopped in front of the door, hearing noises and soft footsteps within. Phoebe. Rolling his eyes, Paul raised a fist and knocked three times, sound and firm. He took a step back and adjusted his sunglasses, his arms crossed in front of him as he waited.
A loud buzzing sound wailed through out Phoebe's apartment, disturbing her not needed beauty rest. She rolled onto her side, yawning loudly, knowing that the annoying buzzing wouldn't go away until she pressed the off button on her alarm clock. Brushing a few loose strands of brown hair out of her face, Phoebe reached over and clicked the off switch, letting the sweet silence follow. With an exaggerated groan, she sat up in bed, huddled in the thick blue and white comforter. It was 7:30 AM. Definitely not the earliest she had ever woken up, but it was at an hour that she wished she could still be sleeping. She couldn't though. Today was a big day. She would be signing autographs at the Santa Monica mall today. Phoebe loved autograph signings. She got to meet all her fans and it wasn't her average day at work, so really today would be a fun day for her, something she could actually look forward to for once. Taking in a deep breath, she prepared for the sudden cold when she threw the warm comforter off her body. She always thought of that as the worst part of the morning, having to leave her bed. She wished, that just once, she could just lay in bed for one day without a worry in the world, but that would never happen. Phoebe scooted over to the edge of the queen sized bed and let her feet fall until they collided with the soft white carpet below. She had to be there at 10:30. That gave her plenty of time to look amazing in front of all her fans. She sluggishly went into her kitchen, opening the fridge to find something to eat. Every item read 'organic', the only type of food she was allowed to eat. At times she wished she could eat normal food, but really she had gotten used to the diet over time and it didn't bother her much anymore.
Grabbing almost every fruit that caught her eye, she set them down on the island and went searching for the blender. As soon as she found it she plugged it in and poured a cup of milk and half a cup of non-fat yogurt in, then began to cut the fruits into the perfect size to be blended into a nice, healthy smoothie. As she put the lid on and held down the blend button, she rubbed her light blue eyes tiredly. When the smoothie seemed to be done, Phoebe took out a glass and poured in the light orange thick liquid, containing mangos, bananas, and papayas. This was her regular breakfast. Although not very hardy, it kept her full until lunch, which was the only thing that really mattered. She quickly cleaned everything up, setting the blender in the sink before sitting down at the table with her glass.
The first thing she did was pull out her phone, which read 7:48 AM. She still had plenty of time. Typing in her pass code, she went onto her Instagram and looked at her feed and all the comments her fans wrote on her photos. The majority of them were about how excited they were to come to the autograph signing and meet her in person. That did nothing less than put a smile on Phoebe's face. She loved her fans, they were what kept her going throughout the day, and really put the fun into her job. With each scroll she did with her manicured thumb, she took a sip of her smoothie, finishing it quickly. Phoebe turned her phone off, sliding it back into the small pocket of her loose fitting sweats and stood up. She took her glass over to the sink and rised it out before setting it down. She still had a lot to do before she had to leave and just then she remembered something. Somebody was picking her up today. She got a text from her manager the other day saying that he had hired a man to pretty much bodyguard her. She didn't exactly want it, but what choice did she have. She was becoming very popular very quickly, so she guessed it was better to be safe than sorry.
It was 8:07 AM by the time she stepped into her bathroom and dug out a towel and washcloth for her shower. She took her time, making sure to wash off all the remaining makeup from the previous day so she could able a new kind today. Opening the shower door, she let the steam roll out as she wrapped herself in her towel and went into her room to find something to wear. She stepped into her large walk-in closet to find something that nobody had ever seen her in. She flipped through skirt after skirt, shirt after shirt, before finding the perfect outfit. A laced black top and dark red skirt that reached the middle of her thighs to go with it. Phoebe then rummaged through her shoes to find a pair of black, five inches heels that would go perfect with her outfit. Slipping everything on, she peeked up at the clock in her closet. It read 8:46 AM. She still had time to do her hair and makeup.
Going back into the bathroom, Phoebe took out all her needed supplies, which was a lot. The first thing she did was plug in her hair dyer and quickly ran it through her hair until there wasn't a single wet strand. Then she plugged in her curling iron and waited for it to heat up. As she waited her mind began to drift. When was that guy coming to pick her up? Hopefully not soon. She didn't want anyone to see her like this. She didn't even like looking at herself like this. People say natural beauty is the best, but not for Phoebe. She loved makeup. She thought of it as just another way of expressing herself. The curling iron beeped, snapping Phoebe out of her thoughts and back into the real world. She precisely curled each chunk of hair until she had a waterfall of brown curls cascading down her back. Making a few corrections herevand there, Phoebe finished with her hair and moved onto the more important matter, her makeup. She went through her usual routine of applying her foundation and then everything after that, using dark eyeshadow and a dark red lipstick to match her skirt.
Looking down at her phone, she read the time: 9:37 AM. She actually did her hair and makeup pretty quickly compared to how long she normally took. She silently wondered to herself where that man was as she cleaned up her bathroom mess. She really didn't know anything about him, other than the fact that he was pretty much supposed to stand behind her and look scary so no one messed with her, but Phoebe didn't actually know anything about him. As she was leaving the bathroom there were three loud, firm knocks at the door and she knew that it could be none other than him. "Coming!" She shouted, as her heels thudded across the floor to the door. Phoebe had no idea what to expect as she approached the door and slowly opened it. What stood behind it was a large, very intimidating man. Taken aback a bit, Phoebe stared up at him, seeing the reflection of her wide eyes in his dark sunglasses. "Well hello there." She said, composing herself. "Let me just grab my things." She told him, turning around and quickly grabbing her purse and phone, not wanting to keep this man waiting any longer.
Paul heard the unmistakable clicking of heels inside before he saw her, the door swinging open moments later. Standing with his head nearly taller than the top of the doorway a few feet from whom he presumed was Phoebe, Paul was silent. The two faced each other, staring at the other with heavy judgement. She was dressed in a bright red skirt with bright lipstick to match, his own lips twitching in a cringe at her flashy style. The model was still much shorter than him even with those silly heels he assumed she could hardly walk in, let alone run in. Otherwise, Phoebe was absolutely flawless, beautiful. Of course, to any other man, it would be automatic to see that this woman was gorgeous. Paul had a harder time with seeing this or having any sort of attatchement, seeing Phoebe simply as a mature adult who he'd be responsible for the safety of. That was it, strictly business. It had only been moments since he officially met this Phoebe, and already he was unsettled. Behind his sunglasses, Paul's steady gaze held as he looked down at her expectantly. Was she coming or what?Her loud confident voice rung in his ears, and her perfume wafted from her skin. Behind her, the bright apartment was neat and girly, for his standards anyway. With such a large contrast from what he was used to, Paul shifted uncomfortably on his feet. How was he going to cope with someone who was the polar opposite? Surely, Phoebe would make him snap at one point or another, he could see it already... Paul watched her turn on heel as realization registered on her face. Simply grunting for both a greeting and signal of underdtanding, Paul took a step away from the open doorway in relief. He took slow steps away from her apartment as he heard her shuffling around the place, before she reappeared. Paul paused in the middle of the hallway by the elevator, watching Phoebe walk towards him. He only nodded curtly at her as soon as she joined his side, and Paul pressed the button for the empty elevator.
Inside, the bodyguard stuck to the corner of the elevator with his broad back leaned against the walls, with his hands gripping the rail tightly behind his back. The elevator jolted downwards, and Paul closed his eyes. The claustrophobia picked up his heart rate by the slightest, a slight look of panic behind his sunglasses thst hid so much from others. The elevator was silent the entire way down, and Paul didn't bother to make an effort at conversation. He was stuck with her for several weeks, they'd have plenty of time for unnecessary conversation. He began to wonder why he had to be assigned to someone as insignificant in his eyes as a model, why he couldnt be at a politicians side, or some electronics genius from Microsoft or Google. A model? Come on. His training had been extensive, he was strong, he could handle responsible. Now, a model-? Paul struggled with the concept, keeping his mouth shut tightly regardless. Maybe it was a mistake, maybe the newbie from Boston was supposed to be in his place.
As soon as the elevator doors revealed the lobby, Paul wasted no time with long strides towards the parking lot. "This way, Miss," Paul murmured, holding the heavy glass door of the apartments open for Phoebe. The sleek back limousine was parked with the back door opened , the old Chauffeur standing ready with his hands in front of him and a broad smile. "Good morning, Phoebe," the chauffeur greeted her brightly, looking away when Paul passed. Paul didn't take any notice, ushering Phoebe into the luxurious vehicle hurriedly. Santa Monica, screaming girls (and guys), what could get better? Paul bent himself in half scooting into the back of the limousine beside Phoebe, his long legs stretched out in front of him with comfort. Finally, a car that could accommodate his size... pail removed his sunglasses as the back door was shut, setting the pair of glasses in his jacket pocket. Then, silence. The window between the drivers cab and the rest of the limo was closed, and Paul couldn't be more uncomfortable.
Taking a deep breath and sighing heavily, Paul sat up in his seat, strapping the belt across his chest and into its little lock. "I am your new bodyguard , for now... I'll be accompanying you to your uh... signing," Paul cleared his throat. His words came slowly and uncertain, his deep voice rumbling in his chest as he spoke. His hazel eyes stared directly ahead, making no contact with Phoebes. "Paul Greyson," he added quickly, stopping right there with anymore words. That was enough client interaction for the day. He wrestled with the concept that he also wouldn't be doing much, except following around some girl all day. No kicking bad guy ass, no riding in those awesome helicopters, definitely no guns. He wasnt even sure why he brought his own handgun, he wasn't gonna need to shoot down screaming girls. The limousine lurched forward, rolling smoothly out of the parking lot for the freeway.
Phoebe rushed to grab her belongings. She didn't want to have that large intimidating man wait on her any longer than he had too. She went into the kitchen and grabbed her purse where it was sitting on the counter ready to go. She then realized that this man and her were going to be together a lot. She knew he had been hired to protect her and she knew that he had to be sort of upset about that. Who would want to have to protect a model constantly. She already knew what he thought of her, like most people did, a snobby, spoiled brat. The thought of that ruined her once perfect mood. Why couldn't people get to know her first before they judged? She wasn't anything like they thought she was, but they would never know. As she made her way back to the door, she silently promised herself that she would make this man think differently, no matter how hard it would be. She just wanted at least one person to like her for who she truly was and not what some magazine or article said. Upon meeting him outside her apartment door, they went straight into the elevator. Phoebe noticed how silent he was, which was a little wavering to her. She didn't like it and was starting to second guess the promise she made to herself. How was she going to get him to like her if he didn't even speak? Maybe this was just how he was around people. They had only known each other for less than five minutes, so maybe that was it. Her thoughts were scrambled about the talk mysterious man as he pressed the elevator button for them to go down to the lobby. Phoebe watched him out of the corner of her eyes as the elevator shifted downward. She watched how he held himself, so strong and tall. Yet he hasn't spoken to her once this whole time. She didn't like it. She thought to herself that as soon as the autograph signing was over she'd call her manager and ask for a new bodyguard, one that actually acted like a normal human.
The elevator door slid open, traveling the nicely decorated lobby. She followed the man out and heard something that completely startled her. He spoke. Three simple words that astounded her. She didn't think he could even speak. This way miss. It was to deep and husky, but what would she expect out of such a large man. She followed his lead, casting a smile to the man at the front desk like every other time she left the apartment complex. When they were outside, Phoebe was met by a slick black limousine, which didn't surprise her. The chauffeur greeted her, putting a smile on her face. "Good morning to you too." She said just as brightly, returning the smile. For that one second she had completely forgotten about the mute man that was to protect her, but as soon as she looked away from the chauffeur she saw him and all her thoughts flooded back.
The chauffeur hurried around to the opposite side of the limo than these and opened the door for Phoebe like a true gentle man. "Thank you." Phoebe told him with another smile before taking her seat in the back of the limousine. As soon as she was in, she adjusted her skirt so it fell neatly around her crossed knees and fastened her seatbelt. She heard another car door slam shut and looked up to see that the chauffeur had entered the limo and was now starting it up. Suddenly, the same deep voice she had heard before filled the vehicle and her eyes instantly went to where it was coming from. Her bodyguard. He seemed so uncertain about his words, like he didn't even know why he was doing this and that was probably the case. There was a pause before he quickly added in his name. So quick that Phoebe almost didn't catch it. Paul Greyson. It suited him nicely.
She watched as he stared blankly ahead. Yeah, he really didn't want to be here. Phoebe could tell. "I'm Phoebe Taline." She told him in a much less cheerier voice than she used with him in the apartment and the one sh use with the chauffeur. He made her feel uneasy. He didn't want to be around her and that made her want to get as far away from him as possible. "I know you don't want to do this." She began, trying to choose her words carefully so she wouldn't anger him or make him like her any less than her already did. "But thank you." She told him, really meaning it. Without him something wrong could happen today. "After today I'll call my manager and ask for someone new if you'd like." She offered politely, casting her glance downward to the floor.
Paul couldnt help but notice every little detail about Phoebe, like the way she walked, the way she looked at people, the way she spoke, her movement patterns. He noticed that she wasn't terribly tall, even with her heels. She could walk in them considerably well, however, so if an emergency were to arise, she should have no problem running. Should. He wouldn't hesitate to throw her over his shoulder if her safety or his was threatened, but he just wished his client wasn't a female. Not only did he have to deal with fangirls, but every perverted creep as well. There was bound to be one that stalked her, right? Paul sighed hearing how nicely the chauffeur was greeted, wishing for once that someone could be happy to see him beside his family. Not even they were always pleased with his presence. Nobody seemed to mind jamie, his grinning buffoon of a brother who got along with everyone else, got all the girls, had a long time girlfriend who he was most likely to marry. Meanwhile, he was his father's disappointment. Paul buckled uis seatbelt and sat ramrod straight, his body tense. He felt out of place in a limosuine, although he appreciated the foot room. The girls perfume radiating off Phoebes skin when she moved around was a bit overwhelming, already a migraine digging into his skull. Just what he needed before confronting squealing girls and flashing cameras. Paul wondered how many of her fans he could scare away, smirking heartlessly and briefly to himself. "I know," Paul murmured curtly in the same gruff voice he spoke with everyone, not even looking at Miss Taline. Did she want him to ask for an autograph? Everyone new Phoebe, he didn't know why she even introduced herself. Maybe she was as dumb as he thought, an airhead model like the rest. She spoke up again, and her offer was enticing. So extremely enticing, he almost got excited. He realized she didn't want him around just as much as he didn't want to be there, and it was a way for her to politely get rid of him. Of course. Nobody wanted Paul, nobody who didn't know what he was capable of anyway. High authority figures and ambassadors had requested Paul in the past, from his expertise and praised military skill in what he accomplished. But ever since his break downs and his trauma episodes, he was no longer allowed to be given that much responsibility. All it took was a flashback, a mean word from someone he didn't like. He didn't have self control that could keep him and the client safe, therefore incapable to be in charge of anyone important. So, he was stuck with phoebe, and she was as good as it would get. His last client was a blossoming teenage rapper who thought he was the new thing, when people on the steet hardly knew his name. The kid had been full of himself. The only reason Paul was employed to the teen was because of his rich father, and his insistence of always starting fights with other people.
Phoebe was pilite, however, and he had to let it go. He wouldn't blame her, he wouldn't want a tall brooding man who never smiled or couldn't say a compliment to save his life around him either. "It's my job," he replied bluntly, not saying much else. "Unless you are uncomfortable or prefer another, you're my assignment," he put plainly, letting her piece it together. If she wanted him out, it would jsut take her word and they'd give her someone else like Jamie's buddy, a young spirited guy who could kick butt while looking like he walked off of GQ. Paul couldnt help it if he wasn't appealing to people, and it wasnt like his attitude helped at all.
Phoebe could practically feel the awkwardness in the air. It covered her like a hot, thick, uncomfortable blanket. She wanted to get out of it as soon as possible, but was not likely to happen. It was obvious Paul was no where near liking her, but she did promise herself to try. All she wanted was for at least one person to know what she was really like. She wasn't some high class, snobby model. No where near that. People took one glance at her and instantly thought that. She wished they wouldn't. It wasn't fair. Nobody had ever given her the chance to actually sit down a talk to them. She realized that her and Paul were going to spend a lot of time together. Maybe she would be able to have one real talk with him so he could see how down to earth she really was and maybe she would see a smile play across his lips. Her fingers found their way down to the hem of her skirt and Phoebe began playing with the fabric, rubbing it nervously, awaiting to see Paul's reaction to her offer to dismiss him. She thought it was a very fair offer. She could plainly see that he wanted nothing to do with her, and Phoebe didn't like the constant awkward silences. When he finally answered, it surprised her. He was blunt and rude. Then it hit her. The offer she gave him sort of sounded like she didn't want him here. That wasn't at all what she was trying to sound like. Her fingers stopped playing with the fabric of her skirt, and went up to run through her hair in frustration. There was no way she was going to be able to get on his good side at the rate she was going.
"I didn't mean it like that." She sighed under her breath, looking out the window. They were approaching the mall quickly and Phoebe would be there right on time and then she could leave the awkwardness of the car and try to forget about her bodyguard while she talked to her fans. "I just meant that you obviously don't want to be doing this, bodyguarding someone like me, so if you want to do this for someone else, I'll talk to my manager." She said, trying to sound more polite and less like she wanted him out of her hair. She was uncomfortable around him, yes, but yet they had only known each other for a little while. Maybe if he decided to stay, they would go a little closer to where it wasn't awkward anymore. As the limo turned into the parking lot, Phoebe saw the long line of fans, young and old, waiting for her.
He couldn't stand her fidgeting either. What was her deal? Why couldn't she just sit still for once? Her perfume was making his eyes water, his mood becoming sour by the minute. Paul sat stonily in his seat, void of Emotion as Phoebe continued to fidget. He couldn't wait to get out of here. He knew he should have taken a separate car! Let alone, turn down the assignment. His boss had been strict lately, fed up eith Pauls complaints about the clients. He had let it slip twice, but would no longer shift around everyone's assignments just for Paul. If he refused any offers, Paul would be out of work, so it was all up to his client from then on. They usually put up with him, although he had had a few rude old people that were supposedly important that had refused his presence even in the same car. Now with Phoebes suggestion that she call her manager and have a new guy be assigned, Paul had his oppurtunity. She could try if she wanted to, but his boss would most likely fire him. Paul longed to be out in the field again, doing what he knew best, but his disorders plagued him. He wasnt allowed anymore to have any dangerous weapons besides a standard pistol, some knives and brass knuckles, and maybe a fancier gun if he was good. All his military grade rifles and flash bangs and such had been taken from his home, every little weapon handed over for fear of himself. Paul never knew who he'd hurt if he had them around, and it was best to keep it minimal. They were packed up somewhere, at a private base off the coast of Florida (it had been easy to figure out with his skill set), to be used by others in their field when needed. Paul tightened his fist on his lap as his thoughts continued to spiral away, when Phoebe opened her pretty little mouth again. God. Couldn't she shut up?
"Yeah?" Paul grunted curtly, biting his cheek as his piercing eyes stared right ahead. He rolled down the window all the way, a whipping breeze entering the car and ruffling Phoebes hair. He couldn't take that perfume anymore, and he'd much rather eat the CO2 emissions on the freeway than inhale another bit of that stuff. Sure it smelled good, but his sensitive nose and close proximity didn't like it very much. Paul held in a sneeze, biting his bottom lip as his eyes wandered out the window. "If that's what you want," he put plainly, repeating what he had said earlier. "Fire me," he put bluntly, staring out the window from the confines of the limo. The breeze running through his hair felt nice, although it got a little cold after a while. Phoebe was just some airhead, and he didn't care whether he had to watch her or not. The way things had been going lately, his boss had been lowering the importance level of his clients. Demoting him, so to speak. Jamie was nearly at the top by the head of the FBI, under where Paul had once been, and was currently in Mr. Presidents private flight to New York. Paul had lost it all, his sanity, his job, and now he was here. With Phoebe Taline. At this rate, he could be a mall cop by the time his 26th birthday rolled around. Then a greeter at Walmart.
"Look, Miss Taline, you do what you please. I'll be just fine with whatever you choose," he insisted through his teeth, closing the window as they left the highway. The streets of Santa Monica came into view as they drove on the off ramp, turning left towards the mega outdoor mall. No doubt, it would be a big event. The thing had been advertised for a while, with Phoebe other cleibrities promoting the event. Supposedly there was supposed to be a surprise guest there too, but it was none of his concern. He just had to make sure no one hugged Phoebe for longer than thirty seconds. They pulled up to the curb of the mall, and the old man unlocked the doors. Already, mall security approached the door to greet Phoebe, and a few onlookers clutched photographs and sharpies excitedly. Paul grunted gruffly, opening the door roughly. They had mall security here! What was he here for? Maybe he'd go get a proper breakfast.
The fans stared at Paul, the new bodyguard they'd never seen before. They forgot all about him when he opened Phoebes door for her, since she couldn't do it herself, his sunglasses hiding his blue steely eyes. Cameras flashed, from fans as well as some amateur paparazzi. Tmz was there too, no surprise there. Paul followed her with a hand behind her back as the crowd closed around them. Assessing the others as he always did now as a natural habit, nobody seemed suspcious, nobody looked like a potential murderer or crazy fan. They were fine. Well, maybe Phoebe was: Paul felt sick and had a headache.
This guy just didn't know how to loosen up. What was his deal? He was a stiff as a board. Just looking at him made Phoebe yawn. There was no way the two of them were ever going to her along. He was seriously contemplating on whether she should call her manager and dismiss him or not. She couldn't bring herself to do that though. That was just way too mean for her, even though people would probably figure she would do something like that. She wouldn't. She only offered to do it for the sake of Paul not wanting to be around her. She didn't know how he could just sit so still during a car ride. It was insane. Phoebe listened as he spoke to her, telling her that it was ultimately her choice on whether she got rid of him or not. She wanted to smack him right across the face right there or then. He really didn't her it did he? It was like talking to a brick wall. Literally, this guy was massive. She watched him as he rolled down his window with the never ceasing blank state of his. He was absolutely impossible. Crossing her arms over her chest, Phoebe decided whether of not she should say anything else about the fact that she was trying to do him a favor, not herself. Then she decided she should just leave it at that and she let the awkward silence fill the limo again.
They pulled up to the back entrance of the mall where a crowd of fans were waiting with a photo and a sharpie, ready for her to exit the car, ready to fight anyone who got in the way of their autograph. The mall security strode up to the limo and opened Phoebe's door for her. Before she could even get one leg out, the screaming of her fans began to penetrate her ears. This was a sound she knew far too well. Yes it was highly annoying, but at the same time or was a sign of the pure love her fans had for her. Once she stepped out of the limo the screams grew louder and the security guards led the way through the crowd, pushing if necessary.
Phoebe followed closely behind them, not wanting to her pulled into the swarm of people that were surrounding them, getting closer every passing second. She felt a firm hand on her back, guiding her along. She knew exactly whose hand it was too. Paul. He may not like her, but at least he wa doing his job, at least she felt protected. They waded their way through the crowd and eventually made it to the door. Once they were there they went right in, security closing the doors behind them and locking them to make sure no crazy people got through. The screaming was still going on outside, only now it was muffled by the doors, but Phoebe's ears were still ringing.
"This way Miss Taline." A security guard said, leading the way down another hallway where there were greeted by Phoebe's manager. He was a smaller man with uncalled for bleach blonde hair, but he looked like an important person none the less, or at least tried to. "You made it." He said, like he was expecting she wasn't. When he said that he's eyes darted upward towards Paul, like he was blaming him if she was late. Phoebe could tell that that was his intention she instantly felt bad. Paul had done a fine job getting her here on time. Even if she didn't have him she still would've made it here on time. "Do you need anything? Water? Snack?" He asked Phoebe directly, not caring for Paul's needs. "No thank you." She told him before glancing up at Paul. "Do you need anything?" She asked him.
The screaming got on his nerves. It was unnecessary, really! Paul resisted the urge to cover his ears, sucking in his cheeks with irritation. He almost got to the point where he wanted to push, no, pick Phoebe up over his shoulder, and wade through the crowd. Maybe fire a few shots in the air to get them to scatter. To think that this wasn't the main event made him anxious, nerved. Paul pressed his hand against Phoebes back, his other hand stuck out in front of her. His arm provided a barricade between the grabby fans as they tried to catch Phoebes attention. It was too many bodies in one space if you asked him, and Paul was ready to blow his top if the blonde behind him didn't quit stepping on his heels. Nobody seemed too interested with Paul, some seeming as if they wanted to save Phoebe from him. If Phoebes perfume alone was bad, he was dead by now. Just a mix of hairspray, perfume- even cologne drifting off some dedicated teenage boys. Idiots.After eons and several gray hairs, Paul helped the mall security buckle the door shut with a padlock and chain. "I got it," Paul muttered, taking the chain from the younger fat mall cop and pulling it taut with his shoulder shoved against the door to keep anyone from coming inside. He wrapped it a few times, before sticking the lock on with a steady click. He turned away from the door and jogged to catch up to Phoebe, who was flanked on both sides by the eager to please mall cops. Paul dragged behind like the chopped liver he was, trying not to lose his temper. The way he tried to reason it, the boys were doing his job for free. It irritated him nonetheless, but Paul followed along anyway. He assessed the situation of the back hallways, memorizing the passageways just in case. A sprinkler room to his left, and they passed some security room as well.
They came to a stop in front of a shorter bleach blond man, Phoebes manager. He was trying too hard to fit in with Californian culture, and looked simply... ridiculous. Where all the people in Los Angeles' famed popular industry like this? He stood behind Phoebe and the other guards, blocked on both sides of Phoebe to fit in with the circle. So he towered over them, from behind. Like usual. The manager was rude, giving Phoebe an annoyed look. The attention briefly, briefly shifted to him, the blonde man's eyes inspecting the new bodyguard. "What?" Paul snapped harshly, before realizing his mistake and shutting his mouth. He looked down at his watch, messing with the latch and rubbing a scuff mark on the face of the glass.
Phoebe was offered food and water, as well as the amateur mall cops he was sure couldn't even tie their shoe laces. As usual, nobody said anything to paul. He didn't mind, since he was used to it after 20 something years of being him. Besides, as a bodyguared, he was supposed to blend in, be in the back. He was the brute and the brains for his clients who sometimes could provide neither. It was just so painful knowing that drug dealers and terrorists were getting away with their crap while he stood here in a room full of morons and a girl too pretty for her own good. Phoebe turned in his direction, and Pauls blue eyes behind his dark sunglasses trailed back up to her face. "Me?" Paul checked behind him instinctively, shocked. His first response was that she ws insulting him because nobody had paid any attention to him, but he knew that was not the case. Phoebes eyes were sincere, and Paul couldnt help but soften his facial expression. "No, thank you," he said quietly, attempting to throw his gruff edge on his tone.
"Doesn't Phoebe have a signing or something?" Paul interjected, impatient and uncomfortable with all the attention on him. He folded his arms across his chest, sighing heavily as his eyes jumped form person to person. Tweedle Dee was gawking at his height in that awkward way, pretending like he wasn't looking at Paul at all. Tweedle Dum was staring at Phoebe, but more focused on how short her skirt was amd how her top was cut out. "Eyes up here, buddy," Paul snapped his fingers loudly, Tweedle Dum jerked from his thoughts. So digusting. Why were they even here?
Phoebe's manager's hair was distracting and a little ridiculous, yes, but he did a fine job managing Phoebe. She was constantly doing things, constantly on the move. She never ever had time to sit down and actually rest. From the time she woke up from the time she went to bed, she was on a schedule and if she was late to anything the whole schedule would be messed up, causing the whole day to be ruined and steam would be rolling out of her manager's ears. He was already irritated with her enough on a daily basis and she didn't want to make it any worse and that's exactly why she did what she was told, stuck to the schedule, and was never late. Although she hated the schedule and her manager, she wouldn't get any where without the two. She's sleep in day after day and would be late to everything. They kept her in line which was probably the only good thing. The short fake blonde man was rude and impatient, two things that she just couldn't stand. She saw the judgemental glance he casted to Paul and she instantly felt bad. Sure Paul was out of place and highly imposing, but there was really no need for hurtful looks, even to him. Phoebe heard Paul's snapped and realized that he must've seen her manager's look too. She hoped that her manager wouldn't get mad at him for talking back, she always did. Sometimes it just slipped, but other times that short man just made her blood boil. She waited for her manager to get mad at Paul, or at someone, but it never came. It seemed as though he was too busy with other things to actually acknowledge Paul. Maybe her manager would realize that Paul was out of place, or notice that he really didn't want to be here. Then maybe he would fire Paul himself and give him what he wanted, which was to get away from Phoebe.
All Phoebe wanted at the moment was to get to the autograph signing. She was too excited to met all her fans, new and returning. She knew for a fact that it was going to be an extremely long day, but at least she would be distracted by all her fans, Paul on the other hand... She couldn't just give him a box of crayons and a coloring book like a child. He really wouldn't have anything to do all day other than sit there and she felt terrible about it. Hopefully he would figure something out so he wasn't bored out of his mind all day and hate Phoebe for it even more than he already did. When she looked up at Paul offering him food and drink she questioned why somebody with his stature would be bodyguarding a model. Shouldn't he be doing something else, protecting someone a bit more important than a model? She had so many questions about this man, questions that may never get answered.
Once Paul had heard Phoebe's question, he looked a little shocked, which shocked Phoebe as well. She didn't expect Paul to have any sort of emotion due to his quietness and stone like features. Maybe her plan really would work. She could get on his good side, or maybe try. As soon as the shock on his face was there, it was gone, and followed by his deep resenting voice telling her no. There was no way he didn't want anything, not after he just waded through a crowd of screaming people. Phoebe turned to her manager and said, "Can you bring him a bottle of water and some aspirin." As soon as she said that one of the mall cops rushed off to get what she needed. From prior experiences, he would be back within moments with exactly what she asked for. "You're going to need it." She told Paul, knowing that when she walked in to give autographs it was going to be ten times worse.
They stood there in silence for only a few seconds before Paul spoke up, asking her manager about the signing. "Yes and it starts in ten minutes." He told Paul bluntly. "Maybe if you read your directions for the day you would know that." Phoebe shifted in her heels, feeling the bitterness in the air. She knew that her manager would snap at Paul eventually, just like he did to everyone, she just didn't know how he was going to take it. Before she could even work out all the possibilities of how Paul would react, he spoke up once again. He really did have a voice. Only this time he sounded angry, angry at the security guards. She wondered about what they could possibly do wrong. Eyes up here, buddy. Then she realized what he meant by that and her eyes widened as big as the moon with embarrassment. She looked for words to say, but found herself completely speechless. The only thing she could so was give the mall cop a dirty look and ease her skirt down to try and give it more length. Then the security guard came back, handing the bottled water and aspirin to Phoebe, which handed to Paul, hoping he would take it. "Can we go it yet?" Phoebe asked her manager. "Just a few more minutes." He told her impatiently.
Paul opened his mouth to protest again when Phoebe volunteered him medication and water, a bit miffed thst she thought he needed an aspirin. Did he look sick? His head was pounding in his ears, but it wasn't anything he couldnt bear! What did she mean by giving him asprins? It made sense to paul when she told him he was going to need it, with that warning tone that made him trust her. Just once. Surely with the scheduled signing in the hart of Los Angeles' entertainment industry, he wouldn't come out of there in one piece. In his opimion anyway. Paul watched one of the mall cops scurry off to grab him his things from amother room, amused at how diligent those rats were. They'd jump off a bridge if she asked them to. The manager spoke up and snapped him out of his gaze after the mall cop, his steely blue eyes flickering back to the short man with blonde hair. It made his eyes hurt, he could swear thst the color could give him cancer. Anything could give you cancer. He really had to bite his tongue as the manager was unnecessarily rude to him, challenging his competence in front of his own client. How dare he! Did he not know who he was, what he could do? Pauls fists curled next to his side as he felt his blood pressure peak, his face a little red. He had to calm down. It was one of his issues that everyone had known about, that phoebe would learn to cope with. It didn't take much to set Paul off. "Does it?" He snapped with a snarling edge, checking his own watch. The only reason he had asked if Phoebe had a signing (he wasn't stupid, of course she had a signing), was to move them along and get the show going so he could go home sooner. He didn't know the manager had a stick up his butt. Of course, the rude behavior was only exercised to paul, as Phoebe was treated like the princess she was, and the mall cops were just there.
Tweedle Dum sent him hostile glares for embarassing him in front of Phoebe, ruining the chances he thought he had with the model. Paul returned those glances with much more Emotion, and soon the man stopped looking at Paul altogether. It was so easy to terrorize people, all he had to do was look at them. Paul tucked his sunglasses into his suit jacket pocket, his arms crossed impatiently across his broad chest. Already, gr could jsut picture all those screaming females, the perverted boys that would be yelling Phoebes name and flashing pictures at her. How could she put up with it? Why did she volunteer her time to this rubbish? The security guard returned with what Phoebe had asked for, grinning broadly at her with those goony puppy eyes. It almost made Paul vomit , his expressionless face watching the guard retreat to his friend.
Paul took the aspirin bottle and ice cold water thamkfully, nodding curtly to Phoebe. "Thank you,"he said softly, not even bothering to extend his thanks to the boy who went to get the materials anwyay. What was it to him? They stood there in the hallway for what seemed like hours, Pauls restless legs roaming the hallways and checking the bulletin board set up for the security guards. It had the layout of the mall, stores, phone numbers, everything and anything. His photographic memory proved useful as he occupied himself with memorizing every exit, just in case something big was to happen. Not likely, especially with Phoebe. She was just a model actress lady. Paul wasn't even sure what exactly she did.
"Why not? I'm going, " Paul grumbled unhappily as he returned to the group, already in tensions with the blonde man. He was so tempted to tell the guy his haircut looked ridiculous and that he was much too old to be wearing the color, but he resisted. "Oh wait, ten minutes isn't up yet, is it?" Paul sighed dramatically, waiting for the manager to tick. If he wanted to treat him that way, Paul could return his own medicine. Maybe then he wouldn't be so rude to bodyguards. He could walk out right now, take the bus home, and the managers precious Phoebe would be in trouble. Nobody ever cared about his presence, but without him, theyd get hurt. Without him, there was no threat.
This time Phoebe really thought Paul was going to snap at her manager. He seemed like the kind of guy that got mad over the littlest thing, and her assumption looked to be correct when she saw his fists clench up and his husky voice ente the atmosphere. Her manager simply ignored him once again though, checking his watch for the time, making sure that everything was in place and going smoothly. Phoebe could tell that Paul didn't like the short blonde man, but who did? Phoebe didn't, but without him she would get nowhere. Phoebe wasn't sure why the mall cops were even here. They were honestly not needed. Paul was doing a fine job, but Phoebe wasn't going to say anything because she didn't want to be rude. Phoebe was oblivious to the lustful stares she was getting from the other mall cops, well all until Paul yelled at them. Then she instantly became embarrassed, not as embarrassed as the mall cops though. Phoebe was kind of used to those kind of looks though, being what she was. She was well aware of all the perverted boys that most likely stalked her, or maybe even worshipped her. Some would even be here today at her signing. She wasn't worried one bit though, she never really was, but now she had a stone wall behind her. Paul. She figured he probably hated the fact that protecting her from stalker a was probably the only action he would ever get, but who cared. She offered to her rid of him and he denied it. That was his fault.
Just as Phoebe had hoped, Paul took the medication and water from her and even told her thank you. Maybe he wasn't so bad. He still made her a little uneasy though, he way he towered over everyone, giving them the death glare for no apparent reason. Phoebe wanted to know more about this man. She knew that if she asked questions he's either ignore her or lie. Se was smarter than that. She'd have to dig deeper and investigate. That called for some late night stalking. Sure it was creepy, but now that she was going to be around him so much she needed to know more about him. Maybe she could even find an interest of his and they could have a normal conversation with each other. Those were some high hopes.
To Phoebe it felt like they were standing there for an eternity. She was so anxious to see and meet all her fans. The only thing standing in her way wa the short blonde man in front of her, but there was no way she was going to make him angry. He was already annoyed with her on a daily basis so she planned on not making it any worse. Phoebe heard Paul coming back to the group after, whatever it was he was doing. Phoebe wasn't quiet sure, she wa too busy in her thoughts to watch him while he was away. He grumbling about something. Then he began complaining about the ten minutes that weren't quite up yet. Phoebe wanted to calm him down, to tell him to be patient, but who knew how he would react to a kind heart. She had already seen a little bit of it in the limo when she offered him what he wanted.
Keeping her eyes forward, Phoebe tried to think of something that would pass these few minutes by quickly. She thought about how happy her fans were going to be to see her. How bright their smiles would be as Phoebe signed their. Their happiness would only grow when they took a picture with her, making this day one of their favorites. Phoebe was quickly snapped out of her trance when her manger spoke up. "Time to go Phoebe." He said, turning on his heels and walking to the end of the hallway where there was a metal door. The mall cops quickly walked forward and opened them, revealing the large opened mall where she would be signing thousands of autographs. As soon as the doors opened, every single person lined up to get an autograph turned around and noticed Phoebe and before she could even blink, ear piercing screams filled the entire mall.
Paul popped open the bottle of Asprin, dumping three small little pills in the palm of his hand. The water bottle was tucked under his armpit. With another three minutes and sixteen seconds exactly to go, he was stuck in a painful boredom. He was restless today, unable to stay in one place for long. Paul popped the pills in his mouth and downed half his waterbottle in a single breath, the cold liquid getting to his head. He did this at the end of the hall, at a pair of heavy doors he learned exited to the main quad of the mall center, from that map he read. His back leaned up against the blandly painted wall, Paul sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes. Outside, he could hear the announcer/entertainer guy, getting the crowd riled up. Screaming girls, he picture them all, waving papers in Phoebes face. How nice it must be to be famous, he thought half with bitterness and half with jealousy. To have all that attention, and to have people so devoted to you... it must have been nice. He couldn't even get the grocery bagger to look at him or wish him a nice day. It just got awkward. Paul glanced down the hall to Phoebe, who didn't seem to be thinking much about anything at all. Her offer still rung in his ears like choir angels, the temptation plenty enticing. It was his chance to get out of following some pretty girl around, and listening to people scream her name. He couldn't leave as much as he wanted to, as his complaints and refusals to comply with his client and giving the company a bad name not sitting well with his boss. If Paul wanted to keep the job that was already shaky enough, he had to do this Phoebe Taline thing. He had to show his boss that he could handle this, no matter how tedious or boring the task was. It was his only hope of advancing in "ranks", or the level of importance of who he became responsible for.
It'll all be over within a few months at the most, I should be out of here soon, Paul thought to himself. It was all he could do to not lose his mind and impatience at the moment. His posture straightened when the manager said something to Phoebe, who nodded. Her brown hair bounced on her shoulders, and her heels clicked down the hallway rythimaclly as she walked with confidence in her strides towards him, towards the doorways. Paul finished off his half empty waterbottle with debates whether to take more asprins, just chug the entire case, and deposited his empty trash in the trash can by the door. He checked his watch and gave one of the mall cops a sideways glance as Phoebe passed him, his footsteps falling into step with Phoebes. He pushed open one of the doors as anticipated, his dark sunglasses back over those unwelcoming blue eyes. Tall, lean, and white, Paul stood out like a sore thumb, especially with how he dressed so nicely in his suit like he did everyday. It had just become custom, not that he had anyone to dress up for.
The ear splitting fangirls shrieked and strained themselves over the metal gates that had been set up around an impromptu stage, as well as a large table. Her photographs and some merchandise sat neatly organized on the untouched tables, several mall security members standing around with Phoebes managers staff. Paul made sure everyone got out of the door safely, before closing it gently. He managed to catch up to Phoebe in easy steps, soon at her six with the mall cops flanking either side of her. Paul felt his head swell with every time someone said Phoebes name, and whenever the paparazzi flashed their little fancy cameras. He wondered how the cameras would look under the heel of his shoe... Paul managed a tight smile as the group came to the middle of the circle, the gates being removed to allow for the fans to step up to Phoebe. There were girls, from ages 5 to 30, boys as young as 12 and as old as 56 with beards and a beer gut. Paul inhaled sharply, situating himself behind Phoebe like a shadow as he watched the surrounding half heartedly. He saw no danger, so he figured he might as well relax and try to enjoy his two seconds of popularity as Phoebes bodyguard.
The fame had never once gotten into Phoebe's head. She wasn't stuck up and she didn't act like she was the queen of the world. She was humble, and cared for others, things people just blew off because she was so famous. When someone heard her name the first thing they thought of was all the different magazines she was in, all the billboards she was on. They never once thought about about how she gave money to the homeless while walking down the street, how she volunteered at various places to help the needy, the way she put everyone first. Because of her fame she was well loved, but not well respected. Some days she just wished she had a normal life, a normal job. She wouldn't get so judge constantly, but yet, she loved the fame. Being adored by so many people gave her such great pride, but she was never arrogant. Being famous was a whole lot harder than what people thought. It was hard. Being on such a tight schedule day after day, being told what to eat and what not to eat. It got frustrating that's for sure. Phoebe stood there in the door way, inspecting the large crowd of people, but only got a moment. She strod forward, taking it all in. The screams and everything. Phoebe didn't really mind the screams, it was just another sign that she was well loved, something that anyone would enjoy. She kept walking with two mall cops by her side. She could practically feel Paul towering over her and that's how she knew he was right behind her. There were papers flying everywhere, some being waved around in the air in a crazy mess and some floating into the air. Cameras were flashing in every direction, causing Phoebe to look down at the ground to be sure she wasn't blinded.
Phoebe knew that she was perfectly safe. She had the metal gate separating any lunitic fans from escaping and if they did, she was positive that Paul would take care of them. Even though they barely knew each other, she trusted him, trusted him to do his job and keep her safe as much as he hated it. Eventually, they made it to he circle where there was a table and a chair set up for Phoebe to sign autographs. While the mall cops stepped down to remove the gates for the signing to began, Phoebe took her place behind the table, patiently awaiting her first fan. It was going to be a long day, a day that Paul was going to hate for the rest of his life. This was probably the most boring thing you could body guard for, an autograph signing. Nothing ever happened. Nobody's body ever needed guarded from any type of danger. Although, there was always some roaming hands of a few fans.
When Phoebe was settled, the first fan approached her, coming up to the table. It was a small little girl, no younger than seven years old with her mother. The little girl held in her hands a picture of Phoebe and a sharpie. Instantly Phoebe stood up and went around the other side of the table and knelt down in front of the girl so they were eye level. Now Phoebe could see the girl in great detail, her auburn hair pulled back into a loose ponytail with purple barrets on each side of her head to keep any stray hairs out of her face, her deep brown eyes that seemed to smile on their own, the freckles splattered across her cheek bones and nose, and the wide grin of pure happiness on her face. She was absolutely adorable. "Hi Phoebe." She said boldly, handing Phoebe the picture and sharpie. "Hello, what's your name?" Phoebe asked, taking the cap off the marker, but still looking right at the gorgeous little girl. "Sophie." The little girl replied. "Well that's a very beautiful name." Phoebe told her honestly, leaning down to sign the photo on the floor before putting the cap back on the marker and handing it to Sophie. "Thank you Phoebe." She said gratefully, taking her autographed photo and wrapping her arms around Phoebe in a hug. "You're very welcome." Phoebe told her, chuckling slightly as she hugged the little girl back. "It was nice to meet you Sophie." She said, easing out of the hug. "It was nice to meet you too." Sophie said, running excitedly off stage with her mom following closely behind.
Paul followed Phoebe to the tables set up, taking a post behind his client. His cold blue eyes behind the dark sunglasses stared out into the sea of people, his irritation growing with each passing moment. Was this what the world came to? Spending mornings to stand at a mall for a few hours only to get a picture of a model whose pictures were in their own magazines? It didn't make any sense to him, but nothing else did either. His ways of thinking were always much different than the modern world's. Paul considering sitting in a fold out chair, making a hesitating move to sit in it, before one of Phobes' manager's friend sat on the white plastic instead. He shot Paul a look as if to say How dare you try and sit next to Phoebe , before he turned back to face the smiling faces of the fans with as fake grin of his own. Paul almost blew his top, inhaling sharply and deciding he'd stand a few feet from Phoebes chair. Although his legs would ache in an hour or so, he figured it was his only option. He could sit against the stage, but it would make him seen lazy, unprofessional. He could ask someone for a chair, but just looking around at the people who could help him just made him give up his hopes of sitting in Ina chair. And so Paul stood diligently, his arms crossed in front of his chest as he leaned his weight into one hip. He hardly moved, didn't care to smile for the cameras that flashed in Phoebes face. So many people were here, he'd figured maybe two hundred. The mall cops pushed aside the metal gates with some difficulty with the awaiting crowd eagerly easing forward to the steps, hoping to be the firsts in line. A little girl and her mother happened to be first at the table, with groups of middle school girls and their Starbucks and iphones bouncing excitedly behind the two. To his surprise, Phoebe actually stood up, walking all the way around the table, and knelt at the girls side in those awful heels. The girl was named Sophie, apparently, and Paul found himself soften up a bit seeing Phoebe acting so tenderly. They hugged, exchanged some words and big smiles, before Sophie was off with her autograph and her mother's hand in hers. The little act had been all caught on camera, soon to be uploaded to something on TMZ and printed in the weeks issue of People magazine. Maybe Phoebe wasn't so much of an airhead as he thought, a bit surprised at how much she cared about these people that practically worshipped her.
There were no apparent signs of danger as the day progressed, the crowd only getting larger as the mall became more bustling with shoppers. It seemed as if it would never end, as Phoebe tossed sharpie after sharpie into the trash bag beside her as they all dried out from use. Paul never got to sit in a chair, and his ambled began to become achy as two hours passed. Nobody talked to him the entire time, and Phoebe became wrapped up in her own little world. People brought her favorite Starbucks drink, handmade bracelets, balloons, stuffed animals, handmade posters, a tshirt. All these gifts became piled up on the second table as Phoebe signed away, taking pictures and even holding brief conversations with her fans before she took pictures with them. Paul couldnt help but admit to himself that he did feel a little left out and bored, but the headache began to subside. The excited squeals just became background noise for him as he adjusted, his eyes nonchalantly surfing the crowd.
The manager began to scuffle around and whisper things to the team members who wore lanyards and an ID, as they began to disperse into the crowd. He could see the manager apologizing to the restless crowd behind the redhead girl, saying how Phoebe would only be signing a few more minutes, before the entertainer would do something with free prize giveaways. Paul stretched his long arms behind his head, removing his sunglasses to rub his eyes. Finally, after standing dormant for seven years, they could leave this place. He had gotten the hang of standing here and looking important, but it was getting old quick. He was hungry as usual, and yearned for a few hours at the gym to bust out his energy. If he wasn't going to be doing much for work anyway, he figured he'd have to get the exercise somehow... Paul began to space out as he planned a short running route from his apartment to a tough hill course, then back down to jog for the quiet backstreets. It was perfect. He just never knew when he'd be having free time.
Hahaha hello beautiful!!!! Thank you for all your lovely (unnecessary) comments :) I'll post real soon bb
As the little girl left the stage, Phoebe went back around to the other side of the table and sat. From the spot she was at, she could see how large the crowd was. She would guess just about 200 hundred people. She had to get in 200 autographs in seven hours. She knew it would never be possible because she loved having conversations with her fans. It didn't matter how young or old they were, she loved all of them. Without them she wouldn't be famous, she wouldn't be here right at this very moment. It upset her that she probably couldn't get all the autographs in. She wished that she had an hour to talked to each fan. Phoebe could only image the look in her manager's face of she requested that. She could already hear his voice. "Don't be ridiculous Phoebe! It's bad enough we have to sit here for seven hours!" Laughing silently in her head, she watched as the next fan approached with a sharpie and picture. The signing was going by way too fast. The crowd was slowly starting to dwindle away, but with only two hours left, there were still so many fans. She wouldn't be able to get to most of them, but she hoped that during her next signing they would be the first in line. Her hand was beginning to hurt from the constant signing, but there was no way she was going to complain about it. People already thought she was a spoiled little princess, she didn't want to make it any worse than it was. After every autograph she turned around to see how Paul was holding up. She knew he didn't like this one bit, but what really got on her nerves was that he didn't have a chair. Every single other person did, but him. She wanted to request one for him but she was so busy with fan after fan.
Time flew by and before she knew it an announcement came on, telling all the remaining fans that she would have to leave soon. An uproar of complaints sounded through the mall and Phoebe knew she would have to rush and try to get in every single fan. At the end of the few minutes there were about thirty fans left. Thirty disappointed fans that didn't get what they came for. Phoebe sighed, standing up from her chair and stretching. She may have been sitting all day but it was a whole lot better than standing. Poor Paul. The thirty fans cleared out, each one complaining and whining about not getting to meet her. Hopefully next time.
"Let's go." Phoebe's manager rushed her, waving at her to follow him. She walked away from the table, following him while a few mall cops took care of all the gifts she had received from her fans. Phoebe went back the way she came in, trailing a little behind her manager. She wasn't sure why, but she just wanted to take things slow for once in her life, something she never got. "PHOEBE!" She heard a voice yelled right before she was pushed to the ground by a man. She was too caught up in her thoughts to realize that there had been a crazy fan chasing after her, angry that he didn't get her autograph. She was pinned to the ground, unable to break the grip. "Paul!" She yelled for her only source of help.
Paul eyed the restless crowd, his fingers crossed that they could leave without incident. He tacked himself to Phoebes side, his arms folded casually as he waited for the supermodel to stand up and stretch her precious little legs. He just couldnt wait to get back to the car, away from the shouts of Phoebes name and those obnoxious cameras. He couldn't have counted the number of times he heard Phoebes name, or the number of people who stepped up to that table with something shoved in Phoebes face to mark up. Some asked for signatures on their arm, a boy asked her to write something on his chest. He still didn't get it, he supposed he never would. Paul cracked his neck, licking parched lips as he untucked his sunglasses to slip over his eyes. It eased the headache more than aspirin did, and it helped Paul to rest his eyes. He wasnt one bit concerned for Phoebes safety at the moment, more aware of how high those heels were. Wouldn't she snap her ankle somehow? The manager began to guide Phoebe, the bothersome mall cops left to help clean up the chairs and tables and trash and crap left by fans all over the mall floors. Phoebes team took care of the gifts piled on her table, leaving Phoebe hands free and unburdened. Just as they left the stage and walked towards the secret entrance to the same mall offices they had been in before, Paul heard Phoebes name. It was a male voice, sounding desperate and crazed. Drunk perhaps? Being ahead of Phoebe several strides, he had been too late turning around to see his client tackled to the floor. She screamed his name with a wide eyed fear as she went down face first, caught up in the man's arms. He began to smother her with displays of affection, his eyes seemingly off. There had definitely been drugs or alcohol influencing the man's actions. In a split second, there was chaos. The manager howled like a girl, shocked and terrified as his princess was rolling on the ground with some insane young man. "What do I pay you for!" He screamed at Paul, who had approached the situation csrefully. He had been assessing if there was a weapon when the manager shouted at him, and Paul was so tempted to take the blonde instead. He'd be doing the world a favor.
Paul said nothing to Phoebes plea for help, a large hand clamping on the back of the man's collar instead. He had his wish for some action, but now that he had it, he realized how he'd just ripped a hole in his pants when bending his knee. "Get off!" Paul snapped at the fan, one hand choking the collar of the fans shirt back behind him and the other arm hooked around his neck. There was a flash of silver, and a knife stabbed blindly in the air as the heavy slightly overweight man was lifted off Phoebes back. Paul dodged the weapon, hissing when the blade kicked his wrist. Fresh red blood trickled onto his skin, setting Paul off. This man wanted to play games? Paul could play.
He roared angrily using his strength to push the man off Phoebe with one go. Paul was successful as now all his weight was on the fan, his knee quickly placed into the man's stomach as his hands gripped the man's wrists to keep him from batting at Pauls face with that knife. His breathing became heavy, his blue eyes searing in their sockets. If looks could kill, the fan would be dead. He failed under Pauls tight grip, as the two wrestled on the ground. It was still an adjustment to learn how not to kill people, but put them down instead. Snapping a neck was a whole lot easier than finding a pressure point for the bodyguard, sweat beading on his forehead as he had a moment of panic. How was he gonna put the big guy to sleep? Pail figured he weighed at least seventy pounds more than he did, all fat. He didn't want to be on the wrong end of this guy.
As blood trickled down Pauls fist, he made a decision. He leapt onto the man's stomach kneeing solidly into his stomach area. A wheezing grunt escaped the fan as he struggled under Pauls strength, his body thrashing now as Paul basically straddled the heavyset. It was awkward and currently being recorded, but he had to do what he had to do. It was a struggle, trying to pin the man's arms down while dealing with body odor and the smell of cheese puffs, and the dreaded dagger that was held at bay. He had to get this guy on his stomach. Nobody helped him, which was a blessing in that case to be undisturbed and have something go horribly wrong. "Drop it. Drop it now," he seethed through grit teeth, gripping the fat man's wrists tightly, the skin turning white, then red, then blue as it began to lose circulation with Pauls grip.
Guilty, the fan finally stopped struggling, dropping his knife beside his own head. Paul snorted, slacken ing his grip on the wrists for a moment to let the blood back. Now where were one of those mall boys? Straightening up, Paul slowly released the man's wrists, ready to hand him over to the mall cops and their hand cuffs, when the man underneath him jerked his meaty arms to the side to grab the knife again, planting it into Pauls thigh. When Paul loosened thr man's grip on his wrists, he hadnt expected the civilian to react this way. He hadn't expected to be fought back with so many people around and the situation crumbling around him. Immediately, a searing pain brought tears naturally to Pauls eyes, his eyes widening in shock as he realized in the moment what had happened. "You-!" He howled, unable to control himself as a fist connected with the side of the fans head heavily, a solid connection with the skull sending the man's eyes rolling back in his head.
He wouldn't be waking up for a while. With the man limp, Paul gingerly rose on his good leg, swinging his bleeding leg from over the fans body. Instead of wanting to snivel and whine about how much his leg hurt with a six inch blade half way through his leg, he was furious. Who did this man think he was? It took what self control paul had left not to yank the knife from his thigh and bury it in that man's chest, instead, his breathing heavy with an attempt to control. "Don't just stand there! Get him out of here!" Paul snapped at the two greenies, who held a pair of handcuffs with hesitation seeing blood pool around Pauls leg. His fingers wrapped around the handle as he tuned the anxious talking around him, the confused fans chatter and concerns for their precious Phoebe who merely scraped her knee and possibly sprained an ankle. With a sharp inhale, Paul quickly uprooted the dagger, wincing visibly. The blade wasn't one of those smooth kinds, but the ones with the jagged edges.
For what? What was someone who looked like he lived in his mother's basement and watched Lord of the Rings daily doing with this knife? He was surprised it wasn't some authentic cross bow. Groaning as Paul removed his jacket from his shoulders. This he let fall to the floor, using the bloody knife to cut a whole in both of his white sleeves, the white fabric easily ripped the rest of the way from his arms. Within seconds, the fabric was nicely wrapped tightly around his wound, and Paul picked up his jacket and replaced it on his shoulders. "Phoebe?" He called out, returning to his first priority.
Phoebe thought everything was going great. They had just made it through the signing and everything went well. Now they just needed to head back I the limo and that's when everything went down. Phoebe landed face first, unable to catch herself with her hands that were now being grabbed at. The strong smells of body odor and alcohol wafted in the air and was highly unpleasant. The breath was knocked out of Phoebe and she was lucky she could yell loud enough for Paul's help that seemed to be taking forever to be received as Phoebe was being pinned down to the ground and harassed. She could hear the her manager yelling at Paul. What was Paul doing? Shouldn't he be helping her?The body weight of this disgusting man was crushing Phoebe's lungs, not allowing her to catch her breath, but soon enough the weight was relieved from her back and she knew that Paul had come to her rescue. She knew he would though. It was his job, he really didn't have any other choice. Phoebe laid there, catching her breath and a few courageous fans ran up to help her to her feet. Her knew was scrapped a bleeding from the fall and her head was pounding. She really hoped there wasn't any damage to her face. Not only would she be upset, but her manager would be livid and probably take it all out on Paul for not doing a good job at protecting her. But he was doing a fine job at the moment.
Phoebe turned to see Paul wrestling the man to the ground, and before she could even blink the smelly man hand sliced a nice cut into Paul hand. Phoebe could practically see the rage flowing through Paul as he beat the man senseless, hopefully teaching him a lesson. It was impossible though. The man was drunk, he wasn't thinking right. There was large crowd gathered around, watching, recording. Phoebe didn't like everyone starring, but there was nothing she could do about it. Later tonight this would be all over the news and tomorrow it would be in magazines and it would be up to a million views on YouTube.
The fight played out a little longer, Paul obviously having the upper Hand the entire time. It was soon over and Paul released the pig, letting the mall cops cuff him, as soon as Paul turned around, the knife that he had squeezed out of his hands was back in play and now lodged into Paul's thigh. Phoebe gasped In shock, wanting to run over to Paul and make sure he was alright, but she needed to stay safe and out of the way while Paul did job. The stab wound only seemed to make Paul even more angry and it really set him off, causing him to go berserk on the man. Phoebe hand covered her mouth the entire time, watching just like everyone else.
As soon as the man was knocked out by Paul's deadly fists, Paul stood up and unlodged the large surated knife from his leg, causing more blood to drip to the floor. As the mall cops cuffed the man, Paul dressed his wounds. Phoebe stood there, unable to speak or move. She felt terrible. Absolutely terrible. Paul shouldn't have gotten hurt. It was his first day! This kind of stuff never happened. As soon as he was finished, he called out for her, but other other people were swarming around her, seeing if she was okay, not giving a second glance to Paul. "I'm okay." She answers quickly, as she pushed through the crowd towards Paul. She needed to see if he was alright. He couldn't be. He had just gotten stabbed!
"Paul!" She yelled, finally making it to him. She wanted to help him but was all her fault that he had gotten hurt and she didn't want to see anyone in pain. Before she knew it, her arms were wrapped around him in a tight hug. "I'm so sorry." She apologized to him. She just wanted him to be okay. She just wanted someone to like her and not think of her as a selfish celebrity. She had a heart.
Paul had the satisfaction of seeing the fat man get some shiny metal cuffs clamped around what resembled his wrists, his body being jerked upright by the mall cops with much struggle. He had had his fill, content seeing the man's eyes roll around senseless in his head. It was a terrible way of thinking, but Paul was absolutely humiliated. His normally pale face had tints of red at his cheeks, his eyes looking past the cameras to find Phoebe. He had let his guard slip for a minute, and something had happened. Phoebe could have been killed by that crazy fan or worse, taken hostage. Of course he'd go retrieve her wherever she was taken, but it wasn't a good look for his boss. The man would be absolutely furious with Paul. He needed to advance his ranks, he couldnt afford to lose his job! As much as it pained him to limp dramatically, there was no other choice. He certainly wasn't having anyone carry him, and he didn't feel that the wound was ambulance worthy. As soon as Phoebe was dropped off safely in her home, he'd make a quick run back to his apartment and get some things stitched up himself. He just hoped he still had the stitching thread, and lots and lots of gauze wrap. As much as Paul had thought that he had caused a scene, the real scene was around Phoebe. There she was, just in the middle of 8 billion people now. Paul huffed, clutching his thigh as his vision became a little bleary for a moment. He couldn't afford to lose this much blood again, after the incident especially. He would not go back to a hospital if he didn't have to, as it only brought back terrible memories he didn't care for. He was able to spot Phoebe in the center of the crowd, looking very well shaken as she received condolences from her loyal fans. Nobody really realized who had done all the dirty work. He bit his cheek in irritation, breathing heavily as he attempted unsuccessfully to squeeze through towards Phoebe to get her out of the mall. Who knew what would happen next.
It was his first day with Phoebe , and he had already messed up badly. It was no longer the luxury of his choice to be reassigned, no doubt the manager would fire him immediately. He probably wouldn't even be allowed in that limo. The blood would ruin the seats, and that would be a shame, wouldn't it? Smelling of blood, sweat, cologne, and the man's body odor, Paul helplessly called Phoebes name weakly. It was impossible with all the noise, and he decided to oversee the man's arrest. His back leaned up against a mall map, his right leg lifted and cradled in his knee as he fidgeted with one hand at the bandages. He didn't know what he would tell his boss tonight. If there was ever anything that a guard was not supposed to do, it was letting their client be harrassed, assualted, attacked. And Paul had let it happen all at once. As sweet as Phoebe was, there wasn't a way that she could forgive him. He could hear someone grumbling, an angry parent, saying how irresponsible the bodyguard was, and how men like Paul shouldn't be given so much responsibility. It wounded Pauls ego, but he didn't have the energy to fight some silly woman and her friends.
His head jerked up as Phoebes voice shouted his name again, and this time he wss on his feet. He wasnt making the same mistake again. Bleeding from his leg and hand, with a few nice bruises on his arms and on on his cheek, Paul was also dehydrated and starving. It wasn't a good combination for anyone, but for Paul in particular. He didn't know if he even brought his medication with him, and without that on a day like this... it was the recipe for disaster. "Phobe?" Paul called back, pushing himself off the map with some difficulty as he tested his weight on his injured leg. It wasn't anything he couldnt hamdle, for now. Before he could say anything or take in much of Phoebes disheveled appearance, she did something that no one else ever did. She apologized, and she hugged him. She hugged him.
It threw Paul off his track, his body stiffening in automatic response as her arms wrapped around his torso. He was pretty sure hugging bodyguards wasn't a thing nowadays, especially when your bodyguard was named Paul Greyson. The crowd had formed a sort of circle around them, snapping photos for twitter and snapchat. "Ph-phoebe..." he faltered, uncomfortable in her embrace. He had forgotten how a hug felt like, and he found himself actually enjoying her gesture. "Let go, I'm fine," he choked, wriggling out of her grasp. He didn't need to over think it, but Phoebe had just shown him some kind of thanks. A sign that she was actually grateful for his save, although it had been job. She had shown she cared about him, nobody had ever called his name like that, run up to him. It hurt Paul to experience that, and he bitterly wished Phoebe had never done that. He wasnt sure how he liked Phoebe pushing him out of a comfort zone like that, wishing to stick with the way people always treated him.
"Are you alright, Miss? I'll get your clothes cleaned, and patch up any scrapes... I am so sorry, Miss Taline, I wasn't paying attention, it's my fault," he apologized evenly, trying to focus on what he was saying as the blood soaked an entire pant leg. He was beginning to go delirious, a headache pounding at his head matted with sweat. Right now, all he cared was for getting Phoebe back in that apsrtment, so he could get to his. If he'd make it. Worse came to worse, he'd cut off circulation on his leg, or worse- call the ambulance. Just thinking about one shot his nerves, his breathing unsteady for a second. "Let's get you out of here," he sighed, resuming his unscathed hand behind Phoebes back firmly to make sure nobody would get too close without receiving a beat down from him. Paul met the managers eyes, and the man cut short a conversation with another one of his team members with nasty glares in Pauls direction. It was exoected, so he didn't take much to it. They moved ever so slowly towards the back door, the fans shouting things and saying get wells. The manager was mixed with fury and concern, for Paul and Phoebe respectively as he stormed towards them now that the chaos was over.
Phoebe didn't care who saw, she didn't care what people thought. She was going to hug him. She didn't even care how many pictures were taken. She needed to make sure that Paul knew how truly grateful she was. If it weren't for him she would've been the one getting stabbed. that's also why she felt terrible for what happened. If it wasn't for her he wouldn't of gotten stabbed. She should've been paying more attention. She should've stayed with him instead of trailing off and walking slower. It wa all her fault and she knew it. She could never make it up to him. He already hated her enough, now he got stabbed because of her. She would never get on his good side. The minute she wrapped her arms around his torso, she knew it was a big mistake, but it was just what felt like the natural things for her to do, to thank him and apologize with a hug. The way he tensed up, didn't hug her back, and then shooed her off made her feel terrible. Maybe he was so mad at her that he didn't want her touching him. That was probably the case. Sometimes she got angry at people and wanted then to leave her alone, but now she was one the other side of the situation and she didn't like how it felt one bit. She just wanted Paul to now she was sorry for what happened. What better way to do that than with a hug?
Once they were separated, Paul began to apologize for what had happened, wanting to patch up her scrapes, clean her clothes, and he blamed everything on himself. Phoebe sighed. He shouldn't be taking it out on himself. "Stop it Paul." She told him, her voice full of concern. "I can clean my own clothes and this is nothing." She said, referring to her scrapes knee. "Right now you're the one that needs taken care of. You just got stabbed." She said to him. She didn't want him taking care of her needs, not after this. "None of this is your fault, it's mine so I don't want to hear you take the blame for it." She really didn't. It would only make her feel worse than she already did. It was truly all her fault and to hear him take the blame made her feel like she was nothing. She wanted Paul to be okay. After all it was her fault that he was bleeding badly from his leg. "Let me take care of you." She told him sincerely. "Do you need an ambulance?" She asked.
Paul's hand was placed behind her back as they walked away from the scene. They walked very slow due to Paul's injury. Phoebe wanted to ask for a wheelchair or something for him. There was no way he would be able to walk all the way back to the limo in that much pain. Well, not without leaving a trail of blood behind him. "You need to see a doctor to her that stitched." She told him, really meaning it. She didn't want to see him in pain. She had no idea how he was still standing. If it was her that had gotten stabbed she would've still been laying on the ground probably crying.
As they made their way to the door Phoebe's manager caught up to them and he looked madder than usual. "Good job doing your job Paul!" He shouted, making Phoebe wince. It wast his fault. She should be the one getting yelled at. "He did to his job." Phoebe spoke up in a much calmer voice than her manager's. "if it wasn't for him I would've been the kne getting stabbed." She told him. It had been a long time since she had back talked her manager, always fearing his reaction, but it felt good. Great actually. She was going to defend Paul whether he liked it or not.
Instead of blaming him for the accidents, Phoebe seemed intent on making sure all the blame was placed on her. It wasn't something he usually saw, especially for something like this. He hadn't done his job properly, and Phoebe had almost suffered fatal consequences because of it. She cut him off mid apology as he was offering to take care of her, his blue eyes flickering up from the ground. His sunglasses had fallen off and broken during the scuffle, leaving his eyes feeling very naked and exposed. He couldn't hide much right then. "Im fine, Phoebe, it's nothing new," he murmured, his deep voice full of embarassment. The pain in his thigh was excrutiating, but he wouldn't cry. He couldn't cry, not in front of all these cameras, not in front of his client. He was tough. He could take this.Paul knew he would never win with Phoebe as sue argued relentlessly about whose fault the entire thing was, and he learned to give up almost right away. Still, in his mind, it was still his fault, and guilt nestled in the pit of his stomach. "No. No ambulance," Paul said rather quickly, swallowing as he glanced down at his leg. Limping was getting harder, it felt like his leg was going to fall apart with each step he took. "Let's just get to the car," he insisted, avoiding Phoebes eyes. Nobody looked at him with that much concern, and it made Paul extremely uncomfortable. He didn't like the attention he was getting, he just wanted to get out of here. With all the blood he was losing he was getting a bit nauseated, but luckily the door was close. His face was a little paler than normal, and every sound around him was beginning to echo as he tried to stay focused. As long as he didn't see the blood, he'd make it...
"I can take care of it myself," he snapped harshly at Phoebe without really meaning to, defensive over any notions of going to a public hospital to surrender himself to. He wasnt going to a hospital. Ever. It just brought back terrible memories, and he couldn't do anything there eith all those stupid restrictions. Plus he had to wear those itchy gross pajamas. "Move along," he grunted, staying as close as he could for his character to Phoebe as the crowd squeezed closer, desperate to fit in one last remark from Phoebe or get a picture of the brave celebrity, their hero. The manager was really the last person Paul wanted to see right then, his temper was a short fuse. A very, very short fuse.
Paul tried not to make cries of pain with each careful step, grateful for the crowd to make it look like that had been the reason they were slowed down. It felt like his thighs were on fire, he couldnt imagine how long it would take a wound like that to heal. He didn't want to face it, but his homemade stitches wouldn't be able to repair his cut evenly. Could he drive to the hospital even with his cut? Paul made a mental note to bring his syringe of heavy sedatives, so he wouldn't have an anxiety attack in the waiting room. Paul was snapped from his dizzy thoughts with the bleach blonde manager, his pouf fluffing obnoxiously when he talked animatedly, his face bright red. "Thank you, Manager," Paul inclined his head in a small bow, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Not the time. It did the works to aggravate the small man, who was holding his breath until the door opened, and they were safely inside the hall again. Phoebe, surprisingly, had defended him, instead of siding with her ridiculous manager.
Another first. Paul exchanged a surprised glance with his client, speechless. He actually hadn't done his job, which was to prevent the whole situation from even happening in the first place. His bloodied fist curled at his side as the manager sputtered and fumed, absolutely livid with now both the bodyguard amd his super star Phoebe. "No! No no no! Phoebe isn't supposed to get hurt, that's why you're here! And you let her be tackled by that- that thing !" the manager spat, grabbing Phoebes arm protectively away from Paul. "We will meet you at the car, let's go Phoebe," the manager hissed, trying to yank her along and leave Paul to crawl his way back with his leg. He wouldn't make it much longer, but that was none of his business.
There was no way Phoebe was going to let Paul take the blame for this. Sure, he should've paid more attention, but Phoebe was at fault as well. She should've stayed closer to Paul instead of wondering off and doing her own thing. It would've never happened if she didn't do that. Even if that man had attacked her when she was with Paul, Paul would've easy taken him out before he ever got his hands on Phoebe. When he told Phoebe he was fine she knew he was lying. He had to be. There was no way you could be fine after you just got stabbed. He was hurting and he needed help, help that Phoebe was going to give him as soon as they made it out of here. Paul then told her no ambulance and Phoebe was completely shocked. He had just gotten stabbed and he refused to call an ambulance. He was insane. He wasn't going to be any less manly than he already was if he just let her take care of him, call an ambulance and have him rushed to the hospital, get stitches, and rest for a few days. There was no way he could make it to the limo. He was limping badly. The crowd that was swarming around them may not have noticed, but Phoebe did. She watched him carefully. His complexion was paling due to blood lose and it would only be a few more minutes until he could go on no longer. He needed help.
When she spoke to him about getting stitches, he snapped back so quickly and rudely Phoebe was silenced instantly, not opening her mouth again. She didn't want to make Paul any angrier than he already was. She didn't know if he was mad at her or what? But she knew he didn't like her one bit so she decided not to push it anymore. The both of them exited the crowd and found themselves back into the hall where they had waited to enter. Her manager was mad. So mad. And the way she talked back to him didn't make it any better. He only grew angrier and he didn't once take it out on Phoebe, just on Paul telling him he hasn't done his job and she wasn't supposed to get hurt.
Suddenly Phoebe was pulled away from Paul by her manager's grasp. When he told Paul they'd meet him at the car, that's when Phoebe grew mad just like ever time else in the room. She was sick and tired of the controlling little blonde man. Couldn't he see that Paul needed help? Serious help. "Let go!" She snapped at him, jerking her arm out of his grasp. "He needs help. You can't just leave him here to walk all the way back to the car. He just got stabbed in the leg saving me and you're mad at him. Do you have a heart?" She told him with a strict determination in her voice. She was going to defend Paul whether he liked it or not. None of this was Paul's fault and she planned on making that very clear. She walked away from her manager and over to where she was at Paul's side, ready to help him if needed.
Im working on this, but should they end up calling an amnulance or what?? What should ee do :3
Which road do you want to takkkeeee hed probably flip out at a hospital but maybe he could fix his leg at phoebes and shr totally freaks out because he does the stitches himself.. we shall save the ambulance for another time muauahah))
Yes. He must go to Phoebe's and do the stitchy stitchy
The stitchy stitchy HAHAHAHA brynn youre toi funny boo boo ♡ okay! Stitchy stitchyyy!!!
Hehe fanks bb you're funny sometimes too I guess
Paul watched the manager tear Phoebe away from him, his legs feeling rather weak. He had to stop walking, his body leaned up against the wall as his heavy breathing became labored. He was seeing dots now, his vision blurring as the sight of so much blood bringing back the uncomfortable trauma of being wounded. He wasnt calling a hospital. He just needed to get home first. Paul whimpered softly, inhaling sharply through his teeth as he squeezed his fist at his side, his blue eyes falling over his gash. The wound had gone pretty deep, and he guessed he'd be limping around, maybe on crutches, for at least a few weeks. He couldn't be bothered with Phoebe and the manager right then, his resolve to move forward returning with just a little bit of rest. He could make it to that car, just take little stops against the wall when he reached the block in the wall, then again at the corner. Easy. He had expected Phoebe to be on her way with her manager whether she liked it or not, but to his shock, she fought back. She insisted staying to help him, and Paul felt a storm coming. She shouldn't have said no to her blonde froofroo manager, but... Paul grasped at the wall with every step he had to take, not even worried about just walking away from the conversation. At this rste, it'd take fifteen minutes to get back to the car. Phoebe wasn't carrying him, even if she wanted to help him, bless her soul. She wouldn't be doing much more than just watching, but she could suit herself. Paul held his breath and gnashed his teeth with every aching limp, hobbling along as fast as he could before he'd feel a sharp pain in his leg that would nearly cripple him. Then he'd rest, repeat. "Get to the car, Miss Taline, it won't take me a moment," he wheezed, seeing that his makeshift wrap around his leg had completely soaked through. He was supposed to have the leg elevated, but how was he going to do that?
The manager spat and sputtered, unable to come up with anything further to say. It was only the three of them, so really he could make whatever threats he wanted, but then he'd lose his shining star, the one that was making him lots and lots of money. Phoebe was the hit, and if she left the company, he wss screwed. "Hurry up," the man snapped, storming off briskly in pursuit of those silly mall cops to carry that useless bodyguard or bring in a golf cart. Paul was more annoyed than touched by how Phoebe had stayed behind to help him, the tough bodyguard act quickly falling through as more sweat beaded on his forehead with the effort. Every movement sent jolts of pain up his leg, small cries escaping his lips involuntarily at times. He was gonna need a sewing needle. On the car ride, he'd start unraveling his suits thread for some stitching. He wasnt waiting until he got home. He'd do it right in Phoebes kitchen.
((Its short, i wasnt sure if ohoebe was gonna help or nah... then just ff to when they get to her house hes makijg me anxious)(
Phoebe knew that Paul was in no way shape or form okay. He needed help, he was just to stubborn to admit it. What he didn't know is that Phoebe loved helping and caring for people and she did a great job at it. She was always looking for people to help and Paul was her next victim. She was going to help him one way or another, even if it caused for her to disobey her manager and go back to his side, which she did. She knew what she did was wrong, but leaving Paul here to try and get back to the limo by himself was wrong too. So Phoebe stayed by his side while her manager stormed off in anger. She would get it later. She could already picture him calling her later tonight just to correct every single mistake she had made today. He expected her to some perfect person, but that was impossible. Anyways, his image of perfect was twisted and messed up, something Phoebe never wanted to become. She stayed by Paul's side as they went slowly down the hallway. She watched him carefully, wincing each time he landed on his bad leg. She could only imagine now badly it hurt. Paul was so strong. She would never be able to do that. He was strong and insane for not letting her call for an ambulance. Why wouldn't he just let her care for him? It wasn't like she was much help to him now, walking down the hallway beside him. It wasn't like she could pick him up and carry him. It wasn't like she could lend him her shoulder to lean on. He was way to big. Paul's size was highly imposing to Phoebe, but she was sure everyone was imposed by him. He no doubt scared everyone away and she understood why he was a bodyguard. But shouldn't he be something more... Important.
They eventually made it to the limo where her manager was waiting impatiently, tapping his foot. She was so going to her it tonight. As soon as her and Paul walked up to the limo, he stormed off again heading to his own car. He probably just wanted to make sure his previous darling made it to her limo okay. Phoebe waited for Paul to get in first, just to be sure he could actually do it. If not she was going to call an ambulance. She didn't care how many times he told her not to. As soon as he was in, phoebe followed, closing the door behind her and the limo pulled out of the mall parking lot right away, heading straight for Phoebe's apartment.
The ride there was absolutely silent. There wasn't a single sound. Phoebe stared out the window, occasionally glancing over at Paul to see if he was still alive. When they pulled up to her apartment complex Phoebe wasn't sure what to do. She didn't want to leave Paul in this much pain and there was no way he would be able to drive himself back to his place, wherever that was. Phoebe turned to face him in the limo. "I don't want you driving." She said, her voice full of concern. "I can have the chauffeur take you back to your place." She offered him. She was going to do anything to make sure he didn't drive home and that he made it there safely.
Phoebe accompanied him the entire excrutiating walk back to the limo, several times him insisting that she go wait for him in the air conditioned vehicle. She was stubborn, like him, and would not tolerate leaving Paul behind. As nice as it was, it was just a constant reminder of how he'd failed her, himself, and now he was in so much pain. That girl wss gonna lose her job if she kept standing up for him. He didn't need her to do it for him, he could take the pointless nasty stares and the rude comments. He'd done it before, he could do it again. Paul was just entirely grateful that Phoebe had respected his wishes against the hospital, not trying to be the hero and call an ambulance to try and save him or whatever she was trying to accomplish here by accompanying him the entire way.At last, after what seemed like hours, Paul made it out into the bright sunlight. He grimaced and leaned his back temporarily against the sun baked wall, breathing heavily. He couldn't stand that manager. The limo was parked close to the door as if to leave as little possible space for their to be a crowd from earlier, and that made it easier on Pauls leg to get to the vehicle. He wss bleeding everywhere, but the chauffeur could deal. Sue that fat loser who'd attacked his client. Getting into the car proved to be the hardest, his hands braced against the frame of the car. He turned slowly to face phoebe, who, right behind him, was making sure he didn't stumble. Paul lowered himself onto the seat, using his good foot to push him inside the vehicle, his bad leg not once touching the floor. He managed to scoot himself to lay on the longer part of the limo sests, his head towards the front of the car and his feet hanging off the edge of the seats once Phoebe had gotten in.
Paul couldnt elevate his leg for long just by lifting it, letting it simply rest on the couch like interior of the limousine. It was nice... he could just shut his eyes for a few moments... he was prevented from going into a slumber as the car lurched forwards, backwards in Pauls perspective. His one hand had wrapped a seat belt around his arm, the other free hand picking at some loose thread profusely. Paul's chest rose and fell rapidly as his finger caught in a little loophole the thread quickly unraveling as he pulled at it. Immediately, the form of the jacket began to fall apart at the bottom. Black thread was gathered in a ball in his clammy hand, sweat dripping down his temples.
The car ride was quiet enough to give Paul a bit of a panic attack, the silence displeasing his ears. He hadn't had his eyes open for most of the ride, struggling with his breaths as he fumbled his thumb with the thread, trying not to focus on the task that would come. He could hardly sit back up when they arrived, with the side door propped open in front of Phoebes apartments. His ears were ringing, and his nearly empty stomach was coming up frequently. He considered her offer, before shaking his head weakly. "Im not going to make it," he wheezed, his leg gone almost completely cold and numb. His wrapping was completely soaked through now, a simple touch drench his finger with the dark red substance. "Im gonna need a sewing needle and some rubbing alcohol. Or peroxide...?" Paul trailed off, determined to make it out of this car. He'd made it this far, he wasn't giving up. No ambulance, especially without his syringe.
The frail chauffeur stared at Paul in horror as the bodyguard wormed his way out, the exact opposite of how he had gotten in. While Phoebe got out, Paul was already on his way inside, his leg practically dragging behind him as he stumbled worse and wirse. He kept the Grey thread in his hand, trying to keep himself upright. He could feel blood soaking his sock to where gravity had taken it. The desperation to get that seeing needle and some pain medication became overwhelmijg, his hands shaking as he pressed the button for the elvator repeatedly.
Phoebe was very worried for Paul's health. He was losing so much blood. He was so weak and pale. He needed a doctor. She needed to call an ambulance, but he had told her not to and she was going to respect that. She didn't like it when people did things she didn't want them to, so she wasn't going to do that to Paul. Phoebe watched him carefully in the limo, her eyes full of concern the entire time. His breathing was ragged and his make shift bandage was soaked all the way through and there was now blood dripping onto the plush seats on a small puddle. The bandage wasn't doing any help. Just absorbing the blood. He needed a tourniquet and peroxide and stitches. The bleeding wasn't going to stop on its only, well not until he bleed himself dry. The wound would get infected soon if it was just left open like that, and that's where the stitches came in. To close the cut because it sure wouldn't close on its own.Paul could barely lift himself up off the seat and the last thing Phoebe wanted was for him to drive. It was a bad idea. He'd probably pass out at the wheel and get into an accident. Then his injuries would be even worse. She knew that if he accepted her offer there was no way he could get into his home anyways. He would probably pass out before then and the chauffeur was in no shape to lend him a shoulder. There just wasn't many options. She could've guessed that Paul would deny her offer. He had already denied her other one... Instead of telling her no, he said something that completely shocked her. He wanted a seeing needle and rubbing alcohol. What in the world? He wanted to come onto her apartment and stitch his leg. How crazy was he?
"I-uh..." Was all Phoebe could get out. She wasn't sure how to react to this at all. Did he even know how to do stitches? This man was insane! "Okay." She sputtered out in complete shock as he began to lift himself from the seat. Phoebe watched with wide eyes as he worked his way out of the limo, putting the least pressure on his wound as possible. She followed after him as he limped up the the apartment complex doors and then to the elevator. Phoebe was speechless the entire time. She wanted to help him, but at the same time she knew he could do everything by himself so there really wasn't any point of trying, although she planned to.
The elevator doors slide open and they both stepped in. Phoebe pressed the button to her level. The elevator jerked up and she kept careful eyes on Paul, making sure he was still okay. That's when it hit her. He was coming into her apartment to stitch his leg. There would be blood everywhere. But he would be okay right? Maybe it was worth it. The mess for his health. Another thing that hit her was that he was coming here without her manager's permission. Should could only imagine the trouble Paul would get into if he ever found out. The elevator door opened on her level and she stepped out, looking behind her to make sure Paul was coming. They walked slowly down the hall to her apartment. On the outside Phoebe seemed calm, cool, and collected. But on the inside she was completely freaking out. As soon as they made it to the door, Phoebe unlocked it, letting Paul in.
((I literally looked for twenty minutes two days ago figuring out how to do home stitches. So. Gross.i did not need visuals!!!!))
Paul was just relieved that Phoebe had agreed to cooperate, he hardly noticed how shocked her expression was. The chauffeur had offered to at least have some paramedics on the way, but paul had cut the sweet old man off with a stern "No!". The two of them with the scuffs in their clothes and dirt on their faces showed that they had been through some difficulties as they entered the apartment lobby. Paul didn't know the apartment all that well, but he was able to calculate the distance from the door to the elevator in paces, that there was railing in the elvator that he could support himself on, and he remembered what door exactly was Phoebes. One hand was completely coated in sticky red liquid, clasped over his lap where the wound was. The walk to the elevator was absolutely humiliating, with his client watching on as he limped in a silly gait with his leg awkwardly dragging behind. He was practically hopping along in his suit, his blue eyes locked on the one destination right then. The elevator doors. Once they were inside, Paul was so tempted to sit on the inviting carpet floor, his vision spinning in dangerous circles. His back was pressed up against the cool walls, his relatively cleaner hand gripping the rail tightly until his bruised knuckles turned white. His face was paler than a sheet, sporting a sickly complexion. His breathing was ragged, the blood loss tampering with his body system. He needed a transfusion, but that was the least of his worries right then. He needed to stitch his skin back together so he wouldn't lose his entire leg. The feeling was always disappearing and the nerves where he had been stabbed were completely useless. His dulled senses were enough to send Paul on a mild panic. What if he wasn't able to protect Phoebe in that moment? What if there was an eaethquake? He was somewhat convinced that if something drastic happened, he would be able to pull through and risk his leg, take off eith Phoebe slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
The elevator couldn't seem to rise fast enough. His fingers curled around the metal as his eyes watched the numbers increase in floor, his muscles tensed. Really it was only a few floors in the Californian apartment building with a New York twist on it, but to Paul, it had been an eternity before the doors reopened again. He made a relieved noise, straightening up again as he let Phoebe out first. His awkward limp lunge hopping down the hall ensued at a much slower pace than in the apartment lobby. Paul felt absolutely ridiculous, feeling like such a buffoon. How did he get so seriously injured at a celebrity signing? If his old colleagues saw him now, they'd be laughing, making fun of him. He had demoted, banned from the forces, and now he was getting stabbed at autograph events. Paul growled under his breath as Phoebes door came into view, his clean hand dragging along the wall for support while the other latched over the laceration.
The apartment door opened, and this time, Paul was in first. He pushed past Phoebe desperately, his head swiveling frantically as he limped to the kitchen sink. He ran the tap, with blood staining the faucet handle. Paul ran his hand under the sink, hopping up to sit on the counter in one fluid motion. His long legs nearly reached the tiled floor, his shoulders tucked so he would avoid hitting the cabinets behind him. With he water still running, Paul yanked a hefty knife off the knife block by the stove. He was working quickly now, resisting the painful noises that slipped from his lips. With trembling hands, Paul carefully let the knife slice into the fabric of his pants, the makeshift bandage, and the edge of his boxers. His OCD didn't care as the fabric fluttered to the floor, bright red quickly staining the tiles. A clean square had been cut from his wound, and for the first time, Paul had a clear look at it.
The gash was two inches long in his right thigh, a bit lower than halfway between his hip and knee. How deep, he wasn't sure he wanted to know. Paul held his breath as he grit his teeth, his blue eyes taking in the open wound. Muscle tissue, red, pinks, and blood were visible, and his stomach churned. He couldn't believe he was doing this. "Ph-Phoebe!" Paul hollored weakly, his blue tear filled eyes glancing around the empty kitchen. Where was she with that needle and thread? If he didn't have a needle, he'd need to ask the neighbors. Tie his leg together. Anything to make it stop pouring. Paul wriggled his jacket off, perched on the counter still. Out of the beast pocket, he brandished the ball of thread he had torn from his jacket on the ride here. This he set by the knife, before dousing the dish towel he found close by under the tap.
With the soaking towel, Paul hesitated, before dabbing gingerly at his leg. He cried out in pain, grunting as the tears involuntarily streamed down his face. Stop crying, wimp, he scolded himself sharply. It was all worse and alot more painful when you had to do it yourself, something that he was supposed to be under anesthesia for. Although he was numb around the wound where the nerves had been destroyed, the water from the towel and the fabric touching his raw skin on accident had felt like setting his leg on fire. "Phoebe!" Paul screeched, alot more shrill as he dabbed the blood from the skin to let it be cleaner. The dish towel was entirely ruined, and paul hands had bloodied again. The entire roll of paper towels had been dedicated to drying the spot, and now he waited on Phoebe in his miserable mess. With considerable effort, Paul lifted his injured leg flat onto the counter beside him with the other leg dangling, his toe scraping the floor. This kitchen, this poor kitchen.
As soon as Phoebe opened the apartment door, Paul was rushing in as fast as his lame leg could take him. Phoebe's mind was rushing. She had no idea what to think of all this. Her bodyguard was in her apartment about to stitch up a stab wound. She never thought in a million years this would happen. She never expected to witness someone getting stabbed either. Today was way different from her everyday life. She had gotten a tall, mysterious bodyguard that didnt seem like he wanted anything to do with her, but he was also very protective of her which was good because he was doing his job. All day she had been trying to get on his good side and then he was stabbed and it was all her fault. And now, as she was stepping into her home, closing the door behind her, he was rushing into her kitchen to stitch himself. Phoebe stood at the door for a moment, trying to figure out what to do. She needed to help Paul. Paul needed her right now and she couldn't let him down. She scrambled into her room and went into her closet. What was she looking for again. A needle. She went to a shelf in the back of her closet wear she kept a sewing kit just in case an article of clothing happened to rip. What else? Phoebe heard Paul screaming for her and she knew she had to hurry. Her eyes darted quickly around the closet trying to think of what else he needed. She spotted a belt and quickly picked it up. The bleeding wasn't going to stop by itself. He needed a tourniquet and that's exactly what she was going to give him. He was waiting for her and she knew it. She just needed one more thing. Peroxide.
Rushing out of her closet she went into the bathroom and opened up the medicine cabinet and dug through all her pills until she found a brown bottle of peroxide. Turning around, she eyed her bath towels and decided to grab one. He had probably left a trail of blood when he went to the kitchen and who knew how big the puddle had gotten from where he was waiting. She really hoped that he hadnt gotten any on the carpet, not for her sake but for his. Phoebe would have to pay someone to get the stain out and her manager would have to hire someone to do that and if her manager found out that Paul had been here without his permission he was dead. So dead.
Phoebe heard Paul yelling for her again, this time it was more urgent, making Phoeve quicken her gait. "I'm coming." She said, trying to sound calm as she made her way into the kitchen. She wasn't calm at all though, she was freaking out and she was trying hard not to let it show. As soon as she stepped into the kitchen she saw the mess, the blood everywhere. She wanted it gag and run out, but she held it together and walked toward him, setting the items on the counter, looking at the wound. It was so deep and still bleeding. She noticed that Paul had cut off his pant leg to get to it. She noted to herself to get him new pants.
"Let me help." She said in almost a whisper before she grabbed the belt. "This will stop the bleeding." She promised him, slowly moving the belt under his leg and securing it just above the cut. She didn't know how he was going to react to her helping, but right now she didn't care. She wasn't letting him do this by himself. He was in pain, a lot of it and Phoebe didnt like it. "Okay." She said quietly when the belt was secured tightly, trying to stay calm, but the wound was so deep and ugly. How could she? Her hand went out to grab the brown bottle. Before opening it she asked, "Do you want me to do it?" She wasn't sure how much he wanted her to help, if at all.
Phoebe appeared at last in the kitchen, her voice coming as a comfort to him. She hopefully had what he needed, and looking up to her approaching figure, he could breathe a little easier seeing what she carried with her. Perfect. Paul's large hand fumbled with the ball of string, frustrated as he struggled to untangle it with his gangly fingers. The stupid thread had knotted in a few places being crumpled, but he quickly put it aside when Phoebe began to move his leg. "No no no! Phoebe-! Ow!" He howled, unable to contain his outbursts as she wrapped a stylish belt around his upper leg, pulling it closed tightly above his cut. He was so uncertain about this whole thing, worried what the belt around his leg would do. Yes, it'd help stop the bleeding, but would his leg need to be amputated later? Paul glanced over at the items scattered on the counter, his arm reaching immediately for the thin needle. This would do it nicely.He didn't know why, but he had expected Phoebe to now go fleeing from the room in squeaks of disgust, chilled at the sight of blood. Nope, this wasn't Phoebe. She stuck around as he untangled the thread with shaking hands, feeling nauseous for concentrating on such a small thing with such intensity. His brain felt like it would explode, and when Phoebe asked to help him, he couldnt believe it. Staying near him just in case was one thing. Actually getting her hands on experience was another. Terrifying. Paul's shocking blue eyes refocused on her gentle ones, finding nothing but a true genuine desire to assist him in the surgical process. The ditzy Hollywood model was going to put peroxide on his leg, and watch him drag needle and thread through his skin. Fsntastic. Lovely. Why didn't they jsut invite the manager to hold his hand?
But as Pauls vision threatened to black out as he swayed and breathed with labor, he found himself automatically nodding. Paul knew if any peroxide got into his flesh, it would burn like no other. He just hoped he didn't flinch and hit her or something if she felt pain. Paul busied himself with untangling the thread, his fingers working quickly now trying not to rip the thin string nor fray it as he untangled one last knot using the seeing needles fine point. As Phoebe dabbed on the peroxide with gentle fingers, Paul found himself gnashing his teeth, tears again welling in his eyes as the pain became too much. A stab was in his opinion worse than a bullet, since a bullet hole was much smaller. He felt like his entire leg was on fire, the brown liquid cleaning the site of his wound and drying quickly. His hands shook as he licked the end of the black thread, his trembling making it difficult to lace the string through the hole as the seconds and minutes ticked by.
"Phoebe," Paul gave up, exasperated as he handed her the two objects in defest. His body was clenched up tightly, and his other foot bounced on the tile floor impatiently. His head throbbed, and his cheeks were a chalky pale. The tourniquet made his leg hurt and bruise, but it was working to stop the blood flow. It made him feel terrible to wear the dreaded belt around his thigh, his fingers itching to take it off. Phoebe handed him back the threaded needle with a knot at the end of it, and Paul took a deep breath. He had no idea how to sew, but he had fixed up a gash in his arm before, and another man's side. It shouldn't be different right? Paul took deep controlled breaths before he began, seeming rather dramatic as he stuck the needle point into his numb skin, right on the edge of his wound where the nerves had died. His free hand held on to his leg dteady, his other working efficiently to seal up his distorted skin. Once the stitching had begun, Paul had visibly calmed down.
Without the air stinging his small gash as he sealed it up in a matter minutes, the oain was starting to recede. He still felt weak and sickly, but that wasn't a big deal. Paul wrspped the needle in thread four times and pulled it through to make a tight knot again where he ended, a shaky breath escaping his chapped lips as he looked down st his lrg, black stitching up the pale skin. Fantastic. The needle stained with blood and the remaining thread was dropped with finality, Paul taking huge inhales of air.
Phoebe ignored Paul's cries as she tightened the belt around his leg. There was no way she was going to let Paul lose anymore blood. There was already enough on her kitchen floor. He needed a blood transfusion, but where in the world was she going to get blood. He didn't want to go to the hospital and he didn't want her to call the ambulance. She planned on respecting his request, but doctors could help him a lot better than she could. Especially since she had absolutely no medical experience. She hoped that it was enough to at least save his leg from being cut off. That was the last thing she wanted, someone losing their leg because of her stupid mistake. She wasn't sure if she could live with that kind of guilt. She was planning on staying by his side through out the entire process. The site of blood was highly disturbing but that wasn't going to shoo her away. She did this to Paul so she needed to help him. Hopefully her would accept her request. His breathing was heavy and ragged. He needed to hurry up and stitch his wound before he passed out and Phoebe had to do it herself. If that was the case, she would do it without hesitation. She was going to help him. Opening the brown bottle, she poured some of its contents onto the towel and began dabbing the wound with it. When Paul flinched she flinched. She didn't like to see him in pain, or anyone in that case.
The once clean towel was no stained red with his blood, but that nothing a little soap couldn't help. The would was now clean and Phoebe could see how deep it was. All the way down to the bone. How long would that take to heal? Months probably. She stared at the wound, wondering if Paul even knew how to do stitches, until she heard him say his name. He was so out of breath and in so much pain. Her heart longed to reach out and give him a hug, but she remembered last time that he didn't hug her back and it reminded her how much he didn't like her. At least he liked her enough to let her help him. Probably because she was the only person around.
Phoebe looked up to him when he called her name and she saw that he was having trouble putting the thread through the needle. She took it from his shaking hands into her calm and steady ones. Lining the thread and needle up, she quickly strung it through and tied a knot, securing it into place. Phoebe handed it back to him, mentally preparing herself for what was about to happen. He lowered the needle towards his skin and she could feel her skin began to crawl as he drove the needle through and began stitching. She wanted to look away, to leave the room, but she forced herself to watch and stay with him because he needed her help whether he wanted it or not.
It only took a few minutes for Paul to stitch the wound. The entire time phoebe watched the needle weave in and out of his flesh. It was disgusting, but she had done it. She had helped Paul. But she wasn't done yet. The wound was stitched, but Paul was still very weak from all the blood lose. Phoebe left Paul's side and went over to the fridge, pulling out the carton of orange juice and pouring a glass. She went back over to Paul and handed it to him. "This will help the blood lose." She told him, remembering what the nurse told her when she had given blood. She had given her a small carton of orange juice and told her to sip it slowly because it made the blood regenerate faster. Paul was still too weak to drive. She wasn't going to let him walk either. And the last thing she wanted was to call her manager and ask for a limo to come pick him up. They would both be dead if that happened. He had to stay here. "Paul..." She began. He was probably going to refuse her offer, but she had to try. "I want you to spend the night here. You're too weak to drive yourself."
HAHAHAHA EWWWWWW and you dont give hugs ;) imma do angelenas first bb
Paul was still trying to keep himself from passing out, his eyes looking often upwards to the ceilings for something that wasn't bloody for once. It seemed that his wound had left blood infinitely everywhere, especially after he unwrapped his cut. Paul made mental note to pay for some professional cleaning, hoping that word about his stay in Phoebes apartment wouldn't get out. That driver had better keep his mouth shut. He couldn't afford to be fired after letting himself slip up today, let his client be attacked. If he was fired, nobody would hire him again. The only chance he had right then was sticking with his current client, and saying his prayers that he'd be promoted at some point along the way while the situation mended itself. With this new injury to consider, Paul refused to think about not being able to return to work the next day because of hisnleg, or worse, being replaced. He had to keep this job. Paul would show up with a crutch maybe at the most, and limp his way through the rest. He could handle it for sure, but could the stitches? Would it all hold together for as long as he needed it to heal?Paul wasn't telling his boss about his wound if he didn't have to, although he had his doubts about his boss remaining oblivious. An event like that days had been all over camera, and he could already hear the critics picking the security company apart about Pauls negligence. Paul grit his teeth as he gingerly tried to move his leg, feeling his skin taut on his thigh at the surgery site. The pale square of skin that showed where he cut the pants fabric was stained brown with the peroxide, and some blood remained beside it from his stitching. Luckily with all the dead nerve tissue aroumd the wound, the sewing had been painless. His stitches were straight and even, his own OCD having proved useful for his lifesaving mission. Now Paul felt himself about to black out, desperate to get back home before he did so on Miss Talines kitchen counter.
Phoebe disappeared from his sight as she moved behind him, the sound of a refrigerator opening and closing echoing spacily in his ears. Was she going to really pour herself a beverage right then? Paul whimpered softly as he moved his leg off the counter, swinging his body to face the rest of the kitchen. Phoebe was busy with some orange juice, while his shaking hands attempted to clean up the mess he'd made in a failed attempt. He sort of just managed to throw all the dirtied materials together in a pile, before needing to lean his head back onto the cabinet behind his head. Surprising enough, Phoebe returned to him, picking through the blood puddle on the kitchen tile to hand him a tall glass of orange juice. The thought of drinking or eating anything at all made Paul all the more nauseated, his stomach rising several times as he held his jaw closed to prevent an up chuck. He had already made enough of a mess for her. "Th-thanks," he breathed weakly, using both hands to grasp the glass. He put his lips hesitantly, hoping Phoebe knew what she was doing when she was giving him the fruit juice. The cool liquid soothed his throat, his thirst somewhat being quenched the more he guzzled the orange juice in one sitting.
It didn't do much to help him, only making his stomach somewhat filled with with a liquid that now would slosh around inside of him in every movement. Paul was a total wreck, his shirt in tatters, his pants torn up. His hair was in disarray, a shock of dark brown hair arranged on his hand. His blue eyes were bloodshot, slight bruising on his cheek. His normally pale complexion had gotten worse, now a chalky green with the discomfort he felt. He needed to get home. Paul slid slowly off the counter, on one leg as he forced his wounded leg to straighten out better. A groan strangled in his throat, his head spinning as he supported himself with the granite counter tops. Then Phoebe spoke up, concern flooding in her voice for his situation. He was appalled at her request, his blue eyes snapping up to meet her big brown ones. Was she crazy? Stay here? It didn't matter if he was too weak to drive himself. He could handle himself just fine, and there was also a bus system he knew quite well. Or a cab could be called. Anything.
"Im going home, just give me a second... i-ill have someone... someone take care of th-this," Paul breathed heavily, grabbing on to Phoebe for support on his other half. Her manager would be absolutely livid if he even found out that he had gone into her apartment for whatever reason. It was like the manager was Phoebes own father, finding that his little star was completely incapable of having her bodyguard to talk to. Not that Paul blamed him, who in their right minds would let a guy like him anywhere? Paul grit his teeth, attempting to take a limping step that ultimately failed. There was no way he was going anywhere, and they both knew Phoebe Was right. "I-I can't stay, Phoebe, y-you know that," Paul rasped, the sweetness from the orange juice threatening to ruse with the bile in his throat. "Just call me a cab, I'll be find," he insisted in his usual stubborn behavior, hoping she'd comply. Nobody ever took care of Paul before, and he certainly didn't need it now.
Phoebe's mind was scattered. She had no idea what to do with Paul, but he needed her help. She was trying her best to stay calm and it seemed as though it was working. He needed to rest and regain his strength. His options were to stay here and let Phoebe take care of him with the slim chance of him getting caught by her manager, she could call a taxi for him but she was sure that the taxi driver would recognize who she was and word would get out that Paul was here and her manager would find out easily, or he could drive himself him which was something she was absolutely not going to allow. He was about to pass out just sitting on her counter, he would surely pass out driving and then he would be even more injured. He had to stay here. She was glad when he took the orange juice from her. At least he was allowing her to help him, even if he wasn't the best patient in the world. Phoebe examined him, noticing how shaky he was. He face was blanch, his eyes blood shot. He needed to lie down and rest. What better place to do that then here? She watched him slide off the counter, her eyes full of concern for his health. He shouldn't be putting any pressure on his wound. She listened to him quietly as he told her e needed to go home and that he couldn't stay here. During his little speech she had felt him lean up against her, supporting Some of his weight into her. He had to stay here. Phoebe wasn't going to give him the option of going home. Not just yet.
"No." She said firmly, finally putting her foot down. She had actually surprised herself. She wasn't one to stand up for herself, but she really wanted to help Paul. "Paul I'm not letting you go home. Not until I know you're better." She really didnt care about his reaction, she just hoped he would stop complaining and just accept her offer because she knew that he knew staying here was for the better. They could easily hide him being here from her manager and neither one of them would get in trouble. Phoebe wrapped her arm around his back, standing at his side, letting him out some weight on her. She began taking some steps forward. "I'm takin you to bed Paul." She told him. "Even if you do try and leave, you'll pass out before you even make it outside, so please just listen to me." She pleaded with him gently.
((Sorry for the shortness -.-))
As much as he wanted to fight with Phoebe on the matter of him taking care of himself, it was quite blatantly obvious that he wasn't going to win. He could hardly walk, well, limp, and his vision was crossing and dotting exactly how it wasn't supposed to with all the blood he'd left on her kitchen floor. Paul let out a soft pained moan as he gripped the counter tightly, leaning heavily on Phoebe for support. He failed at being a bodyguard. Now, he could barely even focus on his client. Fired, straightaway, he knew it. "I cant... stay, Phoebe.... your boss...." he wheezed, coughing softly to the side before gaining the strength to continue onward with Phoebe ever so slowly. It didn't matter his leg was sewn up, it was still torture walking. But of course, Phoebe couldn't carry him to rest. Nobody could. He inhaled sharply and turned his blue gaze to Miss Taline the moment he felt her arm across his back, flinching at the way it felt to be touched at all. He hated people getting in his personal space, but he guessed he really didn't have an option right then to be choosy as they slowly dragged his leg along out of the kitchen. She made a valid point in arguing that he needed his rest, and that he wouldn't make it far outside at all. As much as Paul didn't like it, he'd need to rest up for at least another day. Or two. He cringed at the idea. Wouldn't it be awkward? Him just laying around in her house? Would she talk to him? Already, she seemed way too interested in helping him out, so he wouldn't put it past her to talk to him excessively. "Fine," he grumbled, releasing the granite when he ran out of counter to hold on to. What was he getting himself in to?? A pain jolted up his leg with every pain staking step, the urge to up heave the orange juice coming in a series of waves. His fsce was pasty white, with tinges of green and yellow on his bruised cheeks. He looked beyond capable of doing his job, he was so done. His boss would throw him out, as soon as that story got out about the attack.
"I can stay on the couch..." Paul insisted, refusing to let her bring him to her bed. Not only would he feel weird and OCD about jt, but he wasn't going to take over the house. Injured or not, he preferred the couch. Perhaps if something did happen, he could easily assess an intruder or a safety issue. Paul grunted as he paused in his footsteps, redraping his arm around Phoebes shoulders before they walked again. His leg with the square of fabric cut out ached beyond any pain Paul had experienced before, his eyes close to real tears of pain. He was jsut relieved and lucky he wasn't the type to get hysterical about wounds...
(view spoiler)
Phoebe walked Paul forward, taking him into her apartment living room. No, she wasn't taking him to the couch. She wasn't going to let him sleep on the couch tonight. She took him straight past the couch, walking slowly so he could keep up. She let him lean against her as much as he could. It was hard when he was so big and she was so little. When he told her that he would just sleep on the couch Phoebe shook her head. There was no way he was letting him do that. Tonight, he was going to listen to her and accept the help he was getting. Who knew where he would be right now with out her. In a ditch on the side of the road probably. "I'm sleeping on the couch, you get the bed." She told him firmly, showing him that she really meant it. At this point she didn't even care if her manager found out he was here. She just wanted Paul safe and healthy.Taking him into her room, she led him over to her bed where she sat him down carefully. She winced, knowing it had to hurt badly. She promised herself from this point on to pay more attention to her surroundings. If she had in the first place Paul wouldn't be injured. She didn't want anyone else getting hurt because of her either. "Lay down." She told Paul softly as she pulled the blankets up to cover him. "I'll get you new pants tomorrow." She promised him, remembering how he had ripped a square in the to get to the stab wound. Not only did she feel bad about him getting hurt, but he also managed to get on her manager's bad side and he ruined a pair of perfectly nice pants. "I want you to get some sleep now." She said, her voice full of concern as she stood at the end of the bed with her arms crossed over her chest. The entire time she was hoping that he would resist her commands because all she wanted was for him to feel better.
"I'll take care of the mess out there, just don't worry about it. You don't need to hire anyone and you're not going to do it either." She informed him. She didn't want him straining himself anymore. He needs to rest and heal. It was going to take a long while for him to get back to full health, but at least he was here getting the most help he could get all because he wouldn't let her call an ambulance or take him to the doctors. She wasn't sure why that was. Maybe he was scared of the doctors, but someone in that dire need of one would surely overcome their fear and just go. Maybe he didn't want to look weak in front of her. Phoebe didnt mind weakness, it was just a sign that you were human. There wasn't even paper in the world for Phoebe to write down all of her fears and weaknesses, so she wouldn't think of Paul any differently if he looked weak. "The bathroom is right over there." She told him, pointing to the bathroom door before stepping away from the bed and into the bedroom doorway. "I'll be right out here if you need anything." She promised him. "Just yell if you need me. Goodnight Paul." She said before turning off the light and closing the door slightly, leaving a crack.
Phoebe went back into the kitchen where she was greeted by the bloody mess. The first thing she did was pick up the bloody towel and throw it away. There was no point in trying to save it. She had plenty of other towels anyways. She picked up the dirty needle and the piece of square fabric avd threw those away too. She didnt mind cleaning up the mess. It was just another way she could help Paul so he wouldn't have to worry about doing it himself. Phoebe then grabbed a clean rag and got it damp before scrubbing the blood off the floor and counter. The process was slow but it eventually got done. Once she had finished, Phoebe washed her hands and walked out of the kitchen, turning the light off behind her. She found herself in the living room and was faced with the couch she was going to be sleeping on tonight. Once again, she didn't mind. This was a sacrifice she was willing to take to help Paul get better. She wanted him to be as comfortable as possibly and sleeping on this couch wasn't going to help. Sighing, Phoebe pulled out a few blankets from a nearby closet and set them on the arm of the couch. She sat down, slipping her heels off and layed down, wrapping herself in the blankets. It had been an extremely long day and Phoebe couldn't wait to shut her eyes and sleep. Her mind was clouded with worry for Paul when her eyes finally closed, but she ignored her thoughts and let the sleep slowly take her.
Birthday: February 7
Age: 24
Hometown:Los Angeles, California
Occupation: bodyguard; an agent in training
Education: finished college, training
Appearance:
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https://www.google.com/search?q=joe+c...
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Faceclaim: Joe Collier
Hair:Brown
Eyes: Hazel
Height: 6'5
Weight: 177
Style:
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Personality:
Paul Greyson is considered to be the exact opposite of his younger brother, Jamie. Paul is quiet, shady, and mysterious, never smiling or talking to anyone unless necessary. He stays hidden despite his height, usually clad in dark colors with his head hidden in a hood or under a hat. Paul is a tough nut to crack, and people say that he's never smiled, never laughed, never loved. Just a cold, dark face, with matching eyes. On the inside, though, Paul cares deeply for his younger brothers, and would do anything to protect them. Love is an odd concept to Paul, and you will often find him pushing everyone and everything away. He is strictly business, and doesn't believe in having fun. Paul is also very knowledgeable, having spent all his lonely years reading or studying.
*quiet *inexpressive *strong *silent *stony *lonely *smart *protective
Crush/Love: He has never had a relationship before, although he's had a few crushes during middle school and high school. Not anymore. He's learned not to love, not to be attached.
History:
Paul Logan Greyson was born to Liam and Emma Greyson, two Special Ops officers for the US Government. He was the first child born to the couple, and was the ideal good child. He did his homework, didnt fight with the other kids, obeyed the teacher. But he had no friends, and always hid inside a shell. Soon, his younger brother Jamie was born, and Paul couldn't have been happier. He watched over Jamie protectively, not allowing other people to touch him. Paul loved Jamie dearly, and still does to this day. The four lived a quiet life, his parents posing as a pharmacist and a writer. Liam and Emma heaped earnings from their secret government job, paid generously for their efforts and life risking. Then, Paul's life came crashing down. Their mother Emma had been shot brutally on a spy mission gone wrong, leaving Liam with the two devastated young children. Paul was seven years old when it happened, and he remembered every emotion he felt, he remembered the news arriving via man at the front door. Paul had cried night after night, wailing for his mother to come back. He hadn't even had a chance to say one last 'I love you'. Paul took the death the worst out of his whole family, dwelling on it and falling into deep depressions at a young age. Paul still thinks about it daily, more determined to find the guys who killed his mom- and get rid of every last family member that they had.
Their father remarried Carla Masterly when Paul was 15. Paul couldnt be more disgusted. Carla was one of those fussy mothers, always calling her children 'love' and 'honey'. It drove Paul nuts, to the point where he shut himself in his room and avoided Carla at all costs. Carla Masterly had brought along her three children from her previous marriage, and they were all deathly afraid of Paul. They still are, and avoid Paul at all costs. He doesnt mind, but feels offended when they leave the room when he comes home to visit. Paul is working on forming a strong bond with one of the twins, Nash. He takes Nash out somewhere 'cool' every month, hoping to at least get along with one of his siblings. Neil was the only child that resulted from Liam and Carla's marriage, but Paul watches and plays with him as if he were his own. The only sad part? Neil is always intimidated by Paul's height, strength, and naturally stony face, and may sometimes run from the room to play somewhere else.
Soon after Neil was born, the family relocated to Los Angeles, California; the central hub of crime. His father has retired into the SWAT team, but still supports Paul's efforts to be part of the government Special Operations Program. Starting from the bottom. He has had many injuries, seen many friends die in the hands of drug dealers, and experienced more heart ache than any person should. With a tough outer exterior, he has always been a private person, even more so after the incident. On a mission gone wrong, Paul experienced terror beyond his imagination, torture, gore, everything his career couldn't have prepared him for. He was the only survivor of the event, returning back home to his family after three months in poor condition, near death. After the experience, Paul became the unstable person he is now, and struggles to keep himself in check.
Paul is an exceedingly smart man, dividing time between forced interactions with his family, travelling for business, training, or working. It's common for him to have breakdowns, either from his anxiety issues or PTSD.
Family:
-Father; Liam Greyson; 49
-Step Mother; Carla Masterly-Greyson; 47
-Brother; James Finn Greyson; 18
-Step Sister; Bailey Masterly-Greyson; 17
-Step Brother; Nash Masterly Greyson; 12
-Step Sister; Allison Paige Masterly-Greyson; 12
-Half Brother; Neil Andrew Greyson; 4
Likes:
*his brother
*night time
*dark colors
*solitude
*hard work
Dislikes:
-noise
-hurting others
-drugs, etc
-people
-love; seeing couples
-cats
-rain
Hobbies:
~staying fit
~training
~studying
Vehicle or Transportation:
A black Hummer
Other:
>extensively trained in first aid
>a health junkie: excercises religiously