[center][b]Casey Guidry - Home - Molly [@Weeping Raven][/b]

- Before - 

Lawyer Harold Knowles sat on a black foldable chair in complete silence, eyes shifting between his client and his client's father. He fiddled with his paperwork, questioning Casey's current state of mind as he started to pack up. "Umm...do you understand Mr. Guidry? Or do you need me to explain it to you again?" he asked, having explained the sentencing imposed by the court twice at this point. "Due to your...current involvement in the altercation, the court has ordered to remove your visitation privileges, implement penal labor and increase your sentence to eight years. I know this sounds like the worse case scenario, but we are going to dig into your mistreatment and hope to reduce your sentence again."

Yet Casey didn't utter a response. He stared blankly at the center table with is hand clasped together in his lap, wrist handcuffed and chaining together. He felt himself uncomfortably heavy, one eye nearly shut from how bruised it was. He felt the number on his chest burn through his shirt as though it was being engraved to his skin. The cause of his imprisonment playing on loop in his head like an endless nightmare. He could still see the bruising on his knuckles from that night years ago, feeling how difficult it was to use his hands. "Son!" 

He snapped out of it, looking up at both men sitting around him. "It's fine, I understand. Thank you Harold," he finally responded, eyes shifting back down. Harold swallowed and stood, pushing his chair closer to the table as he moved in the direction of the exit. "If you have any questions please don't hesitate to call," he suggested, leaving his business card with Casey's father. 

"It's alright son, we are going to get through this." 

The word [I]we[/i] caught Casey's attention, leaving an awful taste in his mouth as though he had said it. He felt disrespected, targeted by his own father's ignorance and inability to understand the situation. "We? WE?!" Casey started, jumping off his chair and slamming the table with his hands as he shouted at this father. "YOU'RE NOT THE ONE IN THERE! I AM! I AM IN THERE ALONE! I'VE BEEN IN THERE FOR FIVE YEARS! FIVE YEARS WHERE NOTHING GOOD HAPPENED! You have no idea..." 


- Now - 

Reaching the front door of his childhood home, Casey quickly drew his weapon from this belt. Noticing the cracked windows and busted door, he lead with the muzzle - finger on the trigger and eyes forward. Using his foot he pushed the door open ever so slightly, the creak making him cringe as he peeked down the hall with one eye. There was no one or anything in sight, the hallway simply muddled with clutter. Slowly he moved in, keeping his back against the wall as he slid his way deeper into the house. The furniture was ripped to shreds, big ticket items like their television tossed aside and their kitchen completely ransacked. It smelled awful. 

Casey started moving a bit faster through the home now, cruising swiftly through the corridors as he checked every room for signs of life. He didn't mutter a word, keeping silent until he knew the entire house was cleared. Upon securing the first floor he moved towards the staircase, walking up each step with caution. The situation at hand demanded all of his attention and concentration, not granting him the second to recollect on his childhood adventures. He was overly concerned with finding a sign of his parents whereabouts - wether inside the home or not. 

Reaching the second floor he navigated through each room, making sure to check every possible hiding space he could. Making his way into his parents bedroom he paused for a second before entering - as if preparing himself for the worst possible outcome. He pushed the door open, eyes wide as he charged forward with his pistol. He came to find an empty room, it's condition the same as all the others - destroyed. He sighed in relief, taking a seat on his parents bed as he stared blankly into the restroom. Not finding them was disheartening, but not dreadful. The fact that they weren't there meant that they may have escaped somewhere safer. It was clear their neighborhood had gone through something catastrophic, but its emptiness gave Casey a sliver of hope. There was no signs of trauma, no blood, no seeming conflict or shells anywhere. The house was more than likely targeted after his parents had left. 

Nevertheless it was hurting Casey to have come all this way to find an empty house. He put his gun down next to him and rubbed his hands up his face and through his hair - inhaling deeply and exhaling with slight frustration. Then suddenly, out of thin air he heard glass cracking downstairs. Blood rushed through him like a speeding bullet, urging him back to his feet. He took his gun, leading himself back into the second floor hallway. The silence returned as he walked over the wooden floors, feeling his boots press gently against the hickory hardwood. He glanced over the rails that connected to the stairs and saw a shadow pass by. He started to hear whispers and the stairs groaning under heavy footsteps. "I know I saw him come in this house man," a voice murmured. 

Casey turned quickly, darting back into his parents room. He kneeled and shut the door as quietly as humanly possible before sneaking to the nearest window. He pulled the curtains apart, listening to two different voices in the room next door. "It's clear," he made out to be said by one of the individuals. Desperately, Casey attempted to open the window but to no avail. His father had nailed the windows down a long time ago after Casey was discovered to have snuck out in the middle of the night when he was young. "Shit..." he cursed under his breath, moving back towards the door and leaning on the wall behind it. The voices were now right outside of the bedroom and the knob started to turn...

-

[b][url=https://www.interviewmagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/09/img-chiwetel-ejiofer_165353320272-755x1000.jpg]Grant Coleman[/url] - The Creek - Nathalie [@wolverbells][/b]

The forest crept with darkness at night, an almost pure hue if it wasn't for the figures that lingered in the shadows. Surrounding the creek they gathered, their skin obscuring them from view. They camouflaged like animals, but held the silhouette of human beings. "A beautiful night for a swim..." a voice came from the trees ahead, coarse and full of life. Leaves shifted around the creek as bodies started to appear anomalously - surrounding Nathalie. The speaker crouched before the unclothed girl, a silver gat in his left hand and big smile on his face - the only features she could see before he got closer. 

Once he neared the brim of the creek, the clear water reflected enough moonlight to give life to the outline. His features started forming, showcasing a light stubble, a short fro and skin color she had probably yet to come across. He gestured her to be quiet by brining his index finger over his lips, shushing her at will. "Look around you, you're surrounded," he revealed, other bodies closing in and around the creek - all armed to the teeth and all of the same kind. "We were going to wait until the morning, but you gave us quite the opportunity. We followed you guys all the way from the mall into the forest. We lost you at one point, but then we heard your car beeping. Sound sure does travel through these woods now doesn't it?" he asked rhetorically, giving Nathalie the rundown as he knelt to close the distance between them. 

"How about you get dressed and we go have a couple of words with your friends? We'd like very much to meet them," he proposed menacingly, playing with the gun on his hand as he looked around at all of his colleagues. The six men around watched the girl with grins on their faces, most lusting over her exposed physique. "C'mon G, let me get a piece of that fine ass first though!" one of the henchmen uttered disruptively. 

The charisma faded from the Grant's face immediately, not taking a liking to the vulgar request. He raised from being crouched, eyebrows narrowing as his smile retired. "Shut your goddam mouth nigga!" he ordered intimidatingly, lifting his desert eagle in the man's proximal direction. "Say some stupid shit again and it'll be the last thing you say. Understood?" the rhetorics continued. The henchman gulped in fear despite having the bigger gun. It was obvious at this point - if it wasn't before - who was in charge and who was to be feared. 

Dusting off the dirt from his knees, Grant turned back to Nathalie. "Where are my manners. My name is Grant Coleman, it's a pleasure to meet you. Please, get dressed and let's wake your friends up. We've got business to discuss."[/center]