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    1. murdoc 11 yrs ago

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11 yrs ago
Current NYEH HEH HEH!
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The words seem to catch in his throat like invisible fishhooks. He’d never seen Skav like this - their usual composure shattering into a thousand jagged fragments. A voice at the back of his mind screams at him to stop, to leave before he cuts himself on the razor-sharp pieces of something irrevocably broken; yet against every fibre of instinct, Blue holds on. Yes, Skav’s breakdown was a storm, a buzzing, electric current of fear and panic, freezing winds that sliced at your skin with every gust, but the safest place to be in a storm was right in the center of it. He’s quiet now, though - frantic attempts at offering refuge giving way to silence. Blue wants to think that it’s what’s best for Skav, that it’s better to just keep his mouth shut and wait till the worst has passed, but the truth is, he doesn’t know what to say. What could he say, in a situation like this?

With every word that Skav manages to force past their lips, Blue feels an icy sense of unease begin to claw its way up the notches of his spine. If ‘Arya’ already knew they were in San Marzano… No, he doesn’t want to think about think about that; doesn’t want to think about how a mere recollection was enough to do this to Skav. But the question here was: just what is he supposed to be afraid of? Fear can be useful - he of all people should know - but fear of the unknown would ultimately commend itself as a devastating weapon. It was what kept him awake at night, why his heart starts to pound whenever a door is left ajar. Most days, Blue’s paranoia is unfounded - a rat scurrying around behind the drywall instead of bloodstained intent. Skav was different; they’ve always been solid, constant and unwavering in their apathy, but now, they’re just… not.

“Hey-” When Blue finally finds his voice again, it’s much too late. Skav is pulling away from him, a light sheen of sweat visible on their hairline. For a long moment, he doesn’t move, just listens to what the other has to say. Blue has had his fair share of adversary, sure, but he was lucky enough to have a brother who’d kept him off the streets - alive. He didn’t cut him with knives, cuff him to a fence, or pump him full of poison. He might’ve given him that initial push, but he didn’t break him, no. Blue did this all by himself. He was the one that’d made the decision to dive headfirst into the toxic underbelly of San Marzano. Skav, on the other hand, it seemed they never had the luxury of choosing.

That’s why he doesn’t press any further. Their words, quiet as they were, held the solemn, booming finality of an ‘Amen’. As far as anyone’s concerned, this conversation was over, and Blue wasn’t about to cross a line so clearly drawn. Part of him is afraid of he might end up saying. Violence is what he’s accustomed to - loud, rough words to ward off anyone who gets too close, teeth tearing at skin and flesh. Then there’s the opposite, too - whispered promises and roguish smirks that always leave his customers wanting more. But right now, neither approach would do him any good. Pry too much, and even the most patient snap. So it’s all he can do to back off, jaw set, crown dipping in an almost mechanical nod.

“Right. Sleep.” Blue drags a hand down the side of his face, and draws into his lungs a trembling breath. He doesn’t miss Skav’s gesture towards the other side of the room, but he’d never liked sleeping in beds. Years ago, when he still lived with his mother, the bathroom was the only place he could get any sleep, the only room with a lock on the door, the only place that made him feel safe. Up till now, the habit persists, having taken root in his psyche like a viral infection. A little unsteadily, he climbs back onto his feet, pushing past the sudden wave of vertigo that hits him. Blue feels like he wants, no, needs to say something, but when he tries, the words seem to die in his throat. Instead, he just shoots one last look at Skav before retreating to a dusty, little corner of the apartment. He ends up with his back snug against the wall, knees drawn up to his chest.

It's still raining, he notices, and it isn’t long before consciousness starts slipping away.



When he wakes up, it feels like he never even fell asleep. Outside, the sun is already shining, burning a hole in the atmosphere. Blue finds himself curled on the floor, his left hand fisted in the fabric of his shirt. For a long moment, he doesn’t get up, gaze sliding towards the figure lying on the couch. The sight makes him furrow his brow. Skav? What were they doing here? His memories are still dark at the edges, yet to be illuminated by the morning sun. There’s a dull, throbbing pain that lingers near the base of his skull, and every last square inch of his body ached with scars both old and new. On the floor next to him, lies a bloodied piece of cloth. Subconsciously, he brings a hand up to his jugular, touching fingers to the still-healing cut there. As soon as he touches it, the side of his neck flares with pain. That’s when memories of the night before start trickling in, slowly at first, and then all at once. The bar, the Bomber, everything. Pushing himself upright, he shifts his attention to the only other person in the apartment.

He’s not sure when it started, but they’ve long since fallen into the habit of not letting each other die. There’s nothing noble about it, Blue thinks. It’s blood, stitches, car chases, and the two of them scraping through by the skin of their teeth on a weekly basis. Maybe that’s how it has to be, here in San Marzano, caught between an endless war of Bomber versus Razor.

Then, just like that, something in his brain clicks. What if they just… left? It almost seemed like San Marzano itself was saturated with drugs, violence, and bloodshed, so deeply ingrained that it exerted an unseeable, oppressive force over its denizens. It’s true that he’d grown up here, but San Marzano has always been a shithole, and he had little love for it, if any at all. Of course, this isn’t the first time he’d thought about leaving. Just that the prospect of riding cross-country on a twitchy, little motorbike didn’t seem like the best idea. But now, he didn’t have to, did he? With the Qrow, both of them could get out of here for good. And after that, it’s just a matter of keeping each other alive - which he supposed was the hard part.

Sighing, Blue cards fingers through his hair in a fruitless attempt to work out the knots. If they were really going to do this, they had to do it quick. From the looks of it, ‘Arya’ was getting dangerously close to finding Skav; and part of him wants to leave as soon as possible. If they waited any longer… he’s scared might end up changing his mind again.

Sometimes it’s better to run and hide than face your demons.

Blue pads across the room, coming to a stop right next to the couch. He reaches out to place a hand on Skav’s shoulder, but stops halfway. Even unconscious, they look troubled, like their mind was a prison instead of somewhere they could seek refuge. He withdraws his hand after that, seemingly deciding against touching them.

“Hey, wake up.” Blue murmurs, then repeats it again, a little louder this time. When he’s sure Skav has regained a reasonable degree of consciousness, there’s a moment of hesitation before he speaks again, but his words are said with a near-manic earnest, like he had to force himself into believing in them. “We can leave, you know? San Marzano. We can get out of here and no one would know.”
@Sodomite
Wouldn't expect anything less. Make Romeo an honorary member of Abracadabra! 2K17 2K8.
Top Yourself - The Raconteurs
My Songs Know What You Did In The Dark (Light Em Up) - Fall Out Boy
Kiss The Ring - My Chemical Romance
Fire Coming Out Of The Monkey's Head - Gorillaz
Uno - Muse
And July - Heize (feat. Dean)
Don't Threaten Me With A Good Time - Panic! At The Disco
Planet Telex - Radiohead
Secrets - XXYYXX
Andromeda - Gorillaz
Billy is not a morning person. He used to be, believe or not, though that was a long, long 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 adore 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 – mostly, 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.

“Hey, buddy.” 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. God, you’re heavy. Alright, off. I gotta get us both somethin’ to eat.”

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.

“Jesus. Didn’t know you were that hungry.” The words are accompanied by a chuckle, and a small shake of the head. He really needed to stop feeding Romeo so much. Maybe I should be going on a diet, too, 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.



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 infinitely 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.

“Y’done yet? Because if you don’t get that ass moving right now, you can say goodbye to that steak I’ve been saving since Thursday.” 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 that 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. “Hey, uh, sorry about the dog. Didn’t have time to take him on a walk, so I just… brought him here.” 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: “He'll be no trouble at all. Promise.”
I swear to god I'll post soon. Work's been kicking my ass this week. :^)

EDIT: Don't wanna double-post, but I finally got my post up! It's rambly as hell though lol what a mess
I went with my friends.

They were like, "What's that noise?"

I'm over there like, "Don't mind me, that's just the sound of me dying."

I feel you. Went to watch it a second time last week and it still wrecked me.
@murdoc
>tall
>accidental hipster
>jeans and work boots
>flannel

I relate way too much to this character...

Super cool dude though, I think him and my actor/stagehand guy will get along.

Also, kudos for making the bad guy from Logan seem really cute and sympathetic

Same, dude. Except I'm like 5'3", so there's that. Anywho, can't wait to see what you come up with for your second character. B)

oh god don't even get me started on logan that movie got me #shook
-snip-
<Snipped quote by murdoc>

anybody who uses a sunny in philly reaction gif is the love of my life.

Marry me.


Only if the wedding is in Hawaii. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Charlie Kelly is my spirit animal, and by that I mean I'm a terrible human being with anger issues. Also, my boss is dropping by the office soon so... gotta bLAST.
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