((
ValkoinenLeuka ))
-- Astrophel McRae
It was a dark and stormy night. Suitably dramatic. Irksomely perfect, in a cruelly cliché fashion. Rain meant that raven-hued hair was plastered to his face, obscuring his view of the bloody sneer being aimed at him. This also meant that he almost missed the next strike, stumbling aside just in time to feel the stale air whisper past his ear. He almost didn't hear it for the malevolent howling of the wind. Rain soaked into his favorite ragged orchid and white striped sweater. It made his mask almost impossible to breathe through, the rain water mixing with his blood to leak from a corner. It meant that when he was shoved, mud and whatever filth stained the alley soaked into the holes in his jeans. Stung his knees. He caught himself on too-long sleeves and sat back on the heels of dirtied white boots. When he looked up through the rain and shield of his hair, it wasn't at the screaming face looming into his vision. It was at the sky. Gunmetal gray and choked with angry clouds.
Rain meant that he couldn't see the stars.
"
What're you looking at?! Don't you hear me?! I said don't you dare come near my family again! You little b-"
The screaming was abruptly cut short, scarlet eyes drifting lazily toward the man frozen before him. He pressed a finger to his own quirked lips. Smiling as if he isn't tired. He's so tired...He was tiring of that family as well. This was inevitable. It always is.
Weary, he smiled down at a muddied puddle and only just caught sight of his grim, fractured reflection as red slowly bled into it. His face was soon swallowed by the color, everything mixing into a murky brown. The man fell to his knees with a gurgle.
"
You weren't very fun." Astrophel sighed, lyrical voice muted by the mask and the drumming of rain. It pelted them both mercilessly. Indiscriminately; uncaring of which was a man and which a monster.
[
XxX]
-- Belial De Rege
Dimly, he noted that he'd usually have more grace than this. He'd forgotten it in the chaotic whirlwind of sound and motion that threatened to overwhelm him. There was the shrill shrieking of a woman, the lower baritone of a no less vitriolic man, the thud-
crash of various objects being thrown at him- all interspersed with the occasional shattering of glass when a beer bottle just missed its mark.
"
Get out! Out out! Out of my house!"
"
We've had enough!"
He ducked under a lukewarm can of Coors and stumbled backward to catch his beaten and heavily duct-taped backpack. They'd at least seen fit to return what little he owned. He chose to count that as a positive. That was nice. Or considerate, at least. Bitten, bleeding lips managed a small, awkward smile as he hugged the bag to his chest and backed toward the door. "
Th-thank you. Sorry! Sorry..."
He truly is. He tries. He really does... He tries but
when has it ever been good enough?Blue violet eyes lowered to his hands; ungloved for the occasion. White-knuckling the worn white fabric. White and red. Not his blood. Distraction led him to trip over something on the floor- it was inevitable, the house was a mess when he'd arrived- and fell backward onto the stained carpet. His foster mother- former- Carol, straightened abruptly as if she intended to make a move against him and he flinched away to scramble to his feet once more. "
I'm sorry." He said again. He doubted it mattered to them, but he wanted them to know.
"
Too late for that now! Wish you coulda tried that act on Joel's kid before you got us into this mess!" She bared her teeth and he backed out of the open door- he hadn't really had the opportunity to close it. "
I'll fix this." He promised her, but received a resounding slam as his reply. There was almost silence after that. He could hear their raised voices on the other side, but the sound was muffled by the rain.
"
Can't just-" "
Last straw-" "
Lawyer said-"
The bag was slung over his shoulder with the kind of casual resignation that had become his usual response to such events, and he lifted his hands to the rain to wash the blood from them. Somehow he'd forgotten to before he entered the house.
It was as he'd lowered his hands that he noticed the flickering of lights in his peripheral vision, turning to smile apologetically at the patrol car that apparently hadn't even left the block yet. He wished it had- the officer on duty surely had better things to do than to keep an eye on him. He'll be good now.
It made a turn and began to coast back down the street while he waited with hunched shoulders. Belial had nowhere else to go but he figured anywhere was better than here. But then, that was his usual state of being, wasn't it?
[
XxX]
-- Ace Spades
The discordant jangling of a ring of keys briefly competed with the drumming of rain on the roof as he attempted to find a specific key, juggling the weight of heavy plastic bags and a dripping umbrella. Success was in the form of the door finally creaking open, and he kicked it in further with his usual theatric flair. "
Hey old man~! Guess-" The triumphant note in his voice faded as he allowed the bags to slip from his fingers. The cramped apartment was empty. Not just void of people- the old furniture, single cracked picture frame that had once hung in the entryway, the space heater under the far window- He moved through the apartment quickly, hunting for a note or clues at the very least.
The cabinets and fridge were bare. The safe was gone. Hasty back-and-forward footsteps smudged dirt into the beige carpet. His bedroom had also been stripped, anything of value had disappeared. Including his bed, apparently. He exhaled softly through his teeth, setting hands on his hips as he stared at the hole in the wall where he'd once kept his savings. It hadn't been a hole, before. More like a small hollow that he'd noticed and taken advantage of. Apparently someone else had seen fit to take advantage of it in his absence.
The whole situation is rather laughable. He laughed his way out of the room and was still chuckling when he reached the entryway where a twisted, throwaway scrap of paper caught his notice when it hadn't before. He didn't know what made him pick it up. A whim, perhaps. Unraveling it revealed a vaguely familiar name and corresponding number written in bleeding ink.
Ace's brows arched when he recognized it as the contact information of someone he'd initially dismissed out of hand. He hadn't bothered to write this down, had he?
"
Julian Kepler, huh~?"
[
XxX]
~Present
-- Astrophel McRae
Astrophel knew the streets most often patrolled at this time of night- his was considered the 'bad' part of town; crime was rampant and the law constantly struggled to keep it at bay. It wasn't too late either, as the street lights had begun to highlight his sorry state not long ago- but the storm made the streets bare but for the occasional straggler hurrying in out of the rain. Still, he felt odds were good that he'd be able to shuffle pitifully onto the radar of
someone equipped to help him. He'd spin a suitable story- one that was mostly true, just tainted- and find a dry place to stay for the night.
Or at least, his intention had been
just for the night. Yet he finds himself on the doorstep of a social worker that he is peripherally familiar with, rubbing shoulders with an equally sodden Belial De Rege as the man- Julian- invited them into his home. Excepting the rather unexpected variable, Phel's plan had gone off without a hitch. He smiles gratefully at the man with visible warmth in russet-brown eyes. "
Thank you Mr Kepler, I'll try not to be too much trouble~"