Billy is [i]not[/i] a morning person. He used to be, believe or not, though that was a long, [i]long[/i] time ago, and a habit cultivated by necessity. Back in Kentucky, he’d have to get up at the crack of dawn just to make breakfast for his siblings, make sure they brushed their teeth, and if necessary, drag them off to school. Even without an alarm clock, he would always awaken at the crack of dawn. But after so long living away from home, he’s long since grown out of the habit. These days, most of his mornings are spent trying to navigate the apartment with his eyes squeezed shut, barely conscious as he nurses yet another brain-splitting hangover. Only after he downs a steaming mug of black coffee does Billy regain some semblance of humanity, but it still feels like there’s an ice pick lodged in his frontal lobe, and he can’t help but let out a pitiful moan at the pain that thrums through his skull, burying his face into his hands. He supposes it’s true how the things you love end up hurting you the most, and boy, did he fucking [i]adore[/i] that bottle of Old No. 7.

Here in St. James, Billy could actually afford to have an apartment to himself. It wasn’t the nicest place, but it was close enough to the city centre to make up for any shortcomings – [i]mostly[/i], anyway. Sure, there was the suspiciously warm patch of mould inching its way across the wall opposite the kitchen, the absolute demon of a landlord, and also how he had to lift-slash-shove the bathroom door back into place every time he wanted to lock it. The rent was cheap, and that’s that. At least he didn’t have to share an apartment with a bunch of stoners anymore; he was tired of having all his clothes smell like weed.

Sat at the kitchen table, Billy’s just about to settle into the deep, dark pit of hangover-induced regret when a sudden bark breaks him out of his trance. Before he can realise what’s happening, a warm, furry mass scrambles its way into Billy’s lap, leaving a trail of slobber down his cheek. He almost falls off his chair at the added weight, but manages to steady himself at the last second, glancing down at the culprit with a wry sort of smile.

[color=e6e8fa][b]“Hey, buddy.”[/b][/color] Billy mumbles, voice still husky from sleep, which only earns him another stripe of slobber down the right side of his face. But he doesn’t seem all too bothered by the situation - far from it, in fact. The mere presence of Romeo, the bronze-furred Bullweiler, made him feel just a little less shitty, so he gives him a fond scratch on the head, then again under the chin, for good measure. Of course, it doesn’t take long for his legs to start falling asleep after that, so Billy has to shift a little in his seat, shoving at the overgrown puppy precariously perched across his lap. [color=e6e8fa][b]“[i]God[/i], you’re heavy. Alright, off. I gotta get us both somethin’ to eat.”[/b][/color]

In the end, Billy decides on a stale toaster bagel for breakfast, and by the time he finishes it, the bowl of kibble he’d set out for Romeo is already empty.

[color=e6e8fa][b]“Jesus. Didn’t know you were [i]that[/i] hungry.”[/b][/color] The words are accompanied by a chuckle, and a small shake of the head. He really needed to stop feeding Romeo so much. [i]Maybe I should be going on a diet, too[/i], Billy contemplates, sipping his now-lukewarm coffee, and absentmindedly pinches at the bit of flab on his stomach. That train of thought, however, is quickly derailed by the dawning realisation that he needed to be somewhere today. Downing the last dregs of his coffee in a single gulp, Billy rushes past Romeo to make a beeline for the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him. A moment later, one could hear the shower burst to life, followed by the ill-suppressed shriek of a man suddenly finding himself soaked head-to-toe in freezing cold water.

[hr]
He’s out of the house in minutes, clad in the cleanest clothes he could excavate from his disaster zone of a closet. But the fact remained that he was going to be late, and that also meant that he had no choice but to bring Romeo along with him to the theatre meeting. That is, unless he feels like coming home to a fate worse, and [i]infinitely[/i] more nauseating than death. He’s pretty sure animals weren’t allowed in the theatre, but hey, what other option does he have? So that’s how he ends up trudging through the streets of St. James to The Lawrence Theatre, leash in hand, and a worn-out messenger bag slung over his shoulder.

The journey there isn’t so bad - maybe about three, four blocks distance - but when Romeo stops to sniff a tree for the hundredth time, Billy wonders if it’d be quicker to just pick him up and carry him the rest of the way there. Instead, he just drops to a squat in front of the dog, staring him down with what he hopes was a sufficiently withering look. If the good cop routine didn’t work, then there was only one thing left to do.

[color=e6e8fa][b]“Y’done yet? Because if you don’t get that ass moving [i]right now[/i], you can say goodbye to that steak I’ve been saving since Thursday.”[/b][/color] Billy’s voice drops to an angry whisper, partly for intimidation purposes, and partly due to how he didn’t want to look completely off his rocker this early in the morning. Like a warden interrogating his prisoner, he tries to catch Romeo’s line of sight, eyes narrowed to signify his status as the alpha. This method, of course, fails to work, and Romeo seemed perfectly content ignoring Billy’s increasingly desperate attempts at getting him to move. Maybe the canine could sense that the threat was empty, or maybe it was because dogs were altogether incapable of understanding complex human speech, but he seemed utterly unaffected by anything Billy said to him. Five more minutes pass before Romeo finally decides to start walking again, and the hapless Billy could do nothing but trail along behind him, hoping to God that this would be their last detour.

With the help of a few bacon treats stowed away in Billy’s pocket, they make it to the theatre without any further interruptions; and judging from the meagre number of cars parked at the side of the building – he, quite miraculously, wasn’t even [i]that[/i] late. Now, it’s just a matter of trying to get Romeo inside the place without alerting the janitor.

The creak of old floorboards, and the repetitive click-clack of claws against hardwood signal Billy’s arrival, but the first thing that flies out of his mouth is an apology. [color=e6e8fa][b]“Hey, uh, sorry about the dog. Didn’t have time to take him on a walk, so I just… brought him here.”[/b][/color] He approaches the stage, sounding more than a little sheepish. Other than him, there were three others present – Art, Ziggy, and Noa. All of a sudden, he feels a pressing need to justify himself. Shooting a quick, near-imperceptible glance at Romeo, Billy continues, lips quirked into a half-smile, and raises his hands in a placating gesture: [color=e6e8fa][b]“He'll be no trouble at all. Promise.”[/b][/color]