Blue only pulls his mask on when they get back downstairs. The first thing he notices when he steps outside is the heat - a thick, humid curtain between his skin and the latex of his mask, but he doesn’t mind. Behind the mask, no one knows who he really is. This hissing, green facade of a cobra spoke of scales and cold blood, of sharp teeth and even sharper knives. Without it, he feels weak, vulnerable. There’s a fine line separating Blue of the 33rd Street Razors and plain ol’ Blue; so tenuous that sometimes, even
he can’t tell the two apart. As the latter, he always feels a need to run, both metaphorically and literally. He hides from people, things, himself. Whether Blue finds himself burning rubber on the Interceptor, or at the end of a needle, he’s always running from something.
He’s doing it again now, of course.
Running. But seeing the shiny, black chassis of the Qrow… it gave him the feeling that he actually had something to hope for. Here in the sun, the looming, amorphous threat of ‘Arya’ almost seemed to evaporate into nothing. For the first time in his life, he’ll get to see what lies beyond the craggy skyline of San Marzano. No longer would he be running for the sake of running, endlessly chasing the electric burn of adrenaline through his veins. Their decision to leave was impulsive, spur of the moment; now that they were actually doing it, however, it seemed like there was never any other option. Leaving won’t solve their problems, not permanently, anyway. But if nothing else, maybe a change of scenery was what they needed to start building a new existence.
Before he can venture any further down the rabbit hole, the sweltering heat pulls Blue’s thoughts back to the present. He hears what Skav says, and snorts, walking round to the passenger side of the car. If Skav thought he wanted to stay in this place any longer than they did… “Yeah, yeah. I don’t need you to tell me that. We’ll be outta here before the sun sets.”
The interior of the Qrow feels like an oven, warmed by golden rays of sun. Blue starts to sweat the moment he climbs into the car, and he has to roll the windows down to allow some form of air ventilation. He probably should’ve seen it coming - leaving the Qrow parked under the blazing sun for so long - but he hadn’t anticipated packing his bags, and skipping town. He’d expected to go back to his shitty apartment, his shitty life, to pretend like nothing ever happened. It’d only be far too easy for him to keep his mouth shut, and let Skav deal with their own problems themselves. The devil you know was, after all, better than the devil you don’t. He knew San Marzano as well as the back of his hand, and he grew up here. He
knew how to survive here, even managed carved out a little niche for himself amongst the denizens of this city. Just below the surface of his skin, he feels a skittering sensation, something strange and unfamiliar. Nerves?
...No, he knows what it is. The chill in his bones, and the phantom taste of bile creeping up his throat. Abruptly, his thoughts snap back to the stash he had stowed away back home. No longer was he thinking of the future; instead, he was thinking of what he had to do
now. When was the last time he got his fix? Yesterday? The day before? He wasn’t thinking, was he - when he came up with this “brilliant” plan? Blue doesn’t even realise he’s grinding his teeth together until he hears the Qrow roar to life, but the low, rumbling noise of an idle engine that follows is a welcome distraction. He’s grateful for the mask, too. With some effort, he’s able to quash the rising nausea, palms growing clammy with sweat. By the time the car finally starts moving, he’s back to his usual self. He knows that sooner or later, he’d have to deal with this, but now, there’s something more deserving of his attention, and that was getting out of San Marzano for good.
“You wanna make a left here.” Blue reminds, leaning forward in his seat as they approach their destination. Both sides of the street are lined by brick buildings, faded graffiti spreading across the walls like lichen. He notes that the neighbourhood looks even uglier in the day than it does at night. Without darkness to provide cover, all its flaws stick out like a sore thumb - cracked asphalt, broken windows. But really, he doesn’t spend much time home, anyway. Blue only comes back here when he absolutely needs to, though he supposes this is one of those times.
When the Qrow pulls up to the curb, Blue doesn’t waste any time in climbing out, booted feet landing on the asphalt with a muffled thud. It takes him awhile to shimmy open the front door of the apartment block, its rusted hinges giving off a loud screech of protest when he finally manages to do so. Suffice to say, the interior isn’t a pretty sight. There’s wallpaper peeling off the walls, a roach hurriedly scurrying into a too-wide gap between floor panels, and the staircase leading up to the second and third floors look to be about two seconds away from falling apart.
“Watch your step. Some piece of shit threw up on the stairs last Tuesday.” Blue drawls, and makes a vague flapping gesture with his right hand for emphasis. There’s a pause as he remembers the incident, lips pressing into a tight frown underneath the latex of his mask.
“Took me forever to get that shit off my shoes.”Apartment 3-A. Blue fishes a single key from his back pocket, and slides it into the surprisingly new lock on the door. Thankfully, the door to Blue’s apartment opens a little easier, though he does have to put in a little elbow grease to force it closed again.
“Make yourself at home - just don’t touch the mold on that wall over there. It can sense human life.”The first place he heads for is the ratty, old mattress carelessly shoved in the corner of the room. Blue’s switchblade flicks open with a quiet ‘snikt!’, and he slices a line down the side of the mattress. He manages to extract a few stacks of tens and twenties from it. Then, he heads for the kitchenette, pulling out empty jars and cereal boxes. It’s no surprise that Blue has money squirrelled away in every little nook and cranny of the apartment. In the end, Blue scrounges up about as much as Skav had, dumping handfuls of loose, crumpled bills on the kitchen counter.
“Think this’ll be enough?” He asks without looking at Skav, brushing past them to gather up whatever he could fit into a plastic bag. He doesn’t have much - a few t-shirts, ripped jeans, a half-empty bottle of perfume he’d snatched from the drugstore. But there's one last thing that he absolutely couldn’t forget. From the depths of his freezer, he retrieves a ziploc bag containing two syringes and something wrapped in aluminium foil. It ends up going in the bag along with all his clothes.
When he finally finds everything he needs, Blue returns to where Skav is, holding one plastic bag in his hand, and another, smaller bag cradled under his arm - the one with the money.
“We’re doing this for real, right?”
