THEROUX, justyn emil

[JUSTYN EMIL THEROUX,]

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THEROUX, justyn e m i l

travis tatum mills -- justyn emil theroux

whats that in your head?
"a simple melody".

name: lexxy
age: 16
roleplaying experience: i gots it (;
roleplaying sample:

“AGHHHHH” Haylee-Rae squealed at the top of her lungs slamming her laptop shut. Probably hard enough to shatter the screen but she didn’t care. It was bad enough that her manager was getting engaged to her ex best friend but the fact that it was actually making headlines infuriated her. Sure she realized that Nico was an outright billionaire and that Cecilia was just fucking adorable, but pretty much anything that made CC happy sent her into an inferno rage. And now for her to be flaunting that huge, expensive, shiny rock in everyone’s face was just insulting. She looked down at the large blue topaz and diamond ring on her own right ring finger, which she estimated to be at least a thousand dollars less than Cecilia’s engagement ring. “Insulting...” she muttered angrily as she spun the ring around with her thumb on the same hand as she thought about how much more money she should have spent while picking the damn thing out. Not to mention Haylee-Rae was a spoiled brat. She hated feeling cheap in comparison to anyone else. To put it bluntly she was full of herself and materialistic as anything. But who was to be blamed for that; none other than her dear old aunt and granny. You could call it overcompensation for Haylee’s lack of a healthy home and proper amount of affection. They just like to call it “showing their love.” After all it’s done less good then they had hoped. But in Haylee’s mind it was all smooth sailing. Yeah, maybe it turned her into a beastly, two-faced, conceited bitch, with anger-management issues…but at least she was wealthy.

“Engagement my arse, fucking……UGHH.” She had a hard time actually putting her anger into words. She raised her bare arm and flung the upper half into the silver and crystal desk lamp sitting in front of her and sent it flying off the desk and into the wall close by. The small lamp let out a dangerous electric zipping noise as the cord detached from the base seconds before it shattered against the beige wall, only to leave tiny sharp fragments scattered on the dusky pink carpeting. She grabbed her full-to-the-brim flask from the mini-fridge beneath the desk and downed the contents in less than 30 seconds. After realizing she could fill the thing and empty it twenty times over before she’d be satisfied she went back and grabbed her bottle of Grey Goose. As she urgently sipped she surveyed the scene of her hotel suite. With that she had the mattress kicked off the bed frame, the telephone snatched from its jack in the wall, the standing lamp tipped over with light bulb smashed on the ground, a long crack running up the sliding glass door, every item swiped from the dresser onto the floor, the toilet clogged with all the towels from the shelf above it, the large mirror in pieces after flinging her train case into and the coffee table tipped on its side. “Nico can take care of that.” she thought out loud through her teeth grabbing her leather jacket off the coat rack before polishing off the rest of the vodka and tossing the bottle into the heap of mess and storming out of her room; Classic rock star hotel trashing.

She had to find Lucifer. She needed someone to rant to; someone to scream at about fixing it. If there was anyone who hated this engagement almost as much as she did it was him. Despite the cold February air Haylee was out in a cut off t-shirt that she had worn a bandeau top under, simply because the arms were cut in so far you could clearly see her bra hanging out. She had managed to grab her jacket and flask before stomping out but there wasn’t much but that separating her skin and the icy air. So there she was, walking down Time Square, drunk as hell, sore from kicking and screaming and throwing, and making a desperate attempt to hail a cab. After whistling on a street corner for what felt like forever, and some annoying fan harassment she managed to flag down a taxi cab and bark at him to get her to “whichever you call it venue Baby Circus is stinking up.” You had to hand it to her; the girl was drunk off her ass. Luckily, his daughters were fans and her knew just was she was blathering about. Within five minutes they were outside the venue. She tossed god only knows how much money at him and told him to keep the change. She took another sip of liquid courage and wandered in the back way. She knew exactly how to maneuver her way backstage. Barbie the Dyke had played the venue a couple of times. This issue was just a matter of getting her feet to go one in front of another. After stumbling down a long hallway and up a stairwell and into a couple walls simultaneously she found her way backstage to Lucifer, who was standing over a table looking all manager-like and brooding… and kind of sexy. But that may have just been the vodka talking. “Hello” he uttered without looking up at her. Flask in had she pointed to him and slurred out, “Ih nseed tuh tadlk tuh yooou.” She took another shot from the flask and teeter-tottered her way toward him. “Thatss sluuht is ehngage *hiccup* engaged?!” As she said this she pointed to the stage and then toward herself upon her next sentence clearly angered by the though. “Tuh mhy manhageer! Mhhhhhyy manager! Moohve.” She pushed his arm out of the way and sat on the table in front of him and blinked at him blankly for a few seconds. “Wahhat uhr yhu gunna tdoo abouht it?” She turned her head to the side looking at him with innocent expectance.

when you think things are getting better
"remember we're best friends for never".

full name: justyn emil theroux
nickname: jet, just, emie
age: 23
band, position: luster purge, rapper
sexual orientation: straight
hometown: las vegas, nevada

this is the way out!
"this is my home now".

how did you get here: the names justyn emil theroux. initials j-e-t. emil, from my german hard ass of an old man, and theroux from my mom, a french immigrant. i know. it's supposed to be the other way around, but i was not about to take my father's last name. now don't let the flitsy name fool you. i've seen shit you can't even have nightmares about. i was born in las vegas, nevada, sin city, to, what was in the beginning, a loving, happy couple. then shit went down hill. my mother came here, to the states, not even 3 years before i was born, and with her pretty face but very broken english it was hard for her to get any sort of job where she'd have to communicate with anyone. so she was a stay at home mom. my pops was a high roller. owned one of the 5th largest casinos in vegas. so i lived a good life. maybe up until 5 years old. the casino was hit, and we lost the whole lot of it. with my dad out of a job, and into a downward spiral of depression he picked up a bad heroin habit. and i mean bad. i spent most night huddled up in the darkest corner of my closet while my old man would beat the shit out of my mom in a trip-fit. people would notice the dark bruises and swollen lip whenever we went out so to avoid pops's rage she started shooting up with him. but when the last of their money was gone and they couldn't score my dad sold my mom like a fucking animal. after coming home from school and catching my mom with a 'client' and my dad taping it, i avoided home at all cost. i fell in with whatever friends could take me out of my own mind and set my down on a fucking cloud. by 13 i was experimenting with hard liquor, e, mary jane, and my pick of the crudest foursomes. despite all this, though, my family would always be my family. or so i thought. you see while i was off passed out in the back seat of a range, with my 17 year old best friend, jace, swerving us into a median, my mom was getting knocked up by one of her trashy coked up sugar daddys. i came home 3 months later just in time to see my old man slam her into a wall. she wanted that baby, and it was the only thing keeping her clean. she miscarried and my pops overdosed out of "grief" that same night. with my mom still fucking for money and trpping on heroin i took the liberty to move out at 16 and me and my man jace took off to jersey. he had good intentions. get me away from my parents. but that was the only good intention. i fell harder into drugs and we were kicked out of apartment after apartment. but i was always living the high life. i started rapping on street corners with jace banging on a pickle tub to make enough money to eat. and then i realized that was the only time i wasn't hurting. one night i was approached by an executive who took me under his wing and into luster purge i went.

we're on a misson
"and we'll take our time".

likes: sex, mary jane, women, drugs, alcohol, the fast life, clubs, rapping, crowded places, and company
dislikes: being alone, sobriety, prudes, being questioned