Scarlett sighed, again, hating herself for being so weak. Reluctantly, she slid onto the stranger’s back, locking her pale arms around his neck. After giving him directions to her apartment, she lay her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes, grateful for the release of pressure from having to stand on her swelling ankle.

She wasn’t sure if she should be worried or not. This man could be dangerous, yes he saved her but why, did he have some purpose, some agenda he was completing with her? By showing him where she lived, did she leave herself open to him returning some time later to finish what that goon in the alley had started. The thought caused her to shudder involuntarily, which she hoped, he attained to the cold breeze, whipping in their direction.

"We're almost there," Murmurs Renji, hefting her a little higher on his back, having felt her shiver under the cold breeze. The moon poked out behind the clouds, providing some more, much needed luminescence on this already dark night. 

"Here," He finally announces, making it in front of the apartment. He lowers himself, as if he's about to let her down, before turning his head to get a better look at her, an emerald green eye barely poking out to gaze at her. "Is it upstairs or downstairs?"

"What can I say, I like to think of myself as the classiest of trash. Now get outta here, I’m waiting for someone.”

"Nah. I'm too busy enjoyin' my drink to leave."

"Standards? Wow they must be pretty low for things like that, nice try kid. Now run along.”

"You assume I'm hitting on you, yet also assume I have low standards. You do realize you're practically insulting yourself, right? Thanks for makin' my job easier."

"Sorry, pal, but I have standards. More meant dumb, violent things. Like for example, what I might do if you keep up with the comedian act."

A chuckle. A slight, weak chuckle, and a nod of his head.

“Right. I’ll get right on that."

Smirking with his response, he slumps against the wall.

“I think I’ll take you up on that. I’m… Exhausted."

And so he slept. He slept, and slept, as if he hadn’t slept in years - or at least once since he’d been gone. When he didn’t sleep, he stared absently, out a window or to the ceiling, but all he could do was sleep. 

There was nothing else. No fire behind midnight eyes, no sly grin to compliment the twinkle in dark hues.

For aw much as Afton slept, Liddy was barely able to sleep at all. It was as if she was keeping watch, making sure that he didn’t disappear. When he showed any sign of waking up, she’d put on another pot of tea. Only to find him asleep again by the time she brought him a cup.

It was clear that the both of them hadn’t had such a good time. She wondered just how badly he must feel.

It eventually came to the point where Liddy started to get concerned, she didn’t exactly know what to do while he slept.

"Hey…um…you want anything to eat? I’m going to order out…"

He was on his side, facing the opposite way, when she entered.

He almost didn't respond at first - there was a solid ten seconds of silence, unmoving silence, before Afton even shifts to turn around and look at her. "... No, thank you." Is all he can murmur, slowly sitting upright, almost wincing in discomfort as he does so. 

"Not hungry." He adds quietly, rubbing his scarred, tattooed arm.

Though she didn’t live far, walking by herself was out of the picture and she would have put up more of a fight if she’d been alone. However, there was more than just her that was being kept out in this cold and she was beginning to see how selfish she was being. “Forgive me but I don’t think I’ll be able to walk home without some assistance.” There she did it, she sucked it up and asked for help. Had it hurt her pride, not as much as she would have thought.

Still, his face remained hidden in shadow by the night and the hood he kept up. The thought occurred to her that maybe he had some reason for her not to be able to recognize him. Perhaps he was a wanted criminal himself, or had a malady that disfigured his face. She found herself quite distracted with her new thoughts that it took some of the pain off her mind.

"Just a bit," Comes a short, almost playful response. The coming breeze is almost enough to blow a few stray strands of azure-tipped locks from his face, but he's quick to turn his gaze to the side. The small gust dies down, and he looks back at the girl. 

"... Right." He's almost surprised she gave in that easy - she seemed so against his assistance just a moment ago. But, he knew exactly how hard it is for one to go to their limit, to refuse help until it was accept assistance, or accept defeat. Slowly, he moves from her side, to her front, back facing her. 

"C'mon," He murmurs, gesturing for her to climb onto his back. "It'd be slower if you walked."

  { ☯ } —

His brow quirks. Why did that seem like such a strange occurrence to her? Though she does continue to explain, his patience almost wears thin, the longer she takes to tell her story. 

Bullies? His fists clench - his jaw locks. Worthless... Worthless individuals who feel the need to torture someone for being different. A small fire burned in the pit of his gut, though he is successful in keeping his composure. 

His head tilts when she apologizes - but what catches his attention most, is when she grasps at her wrists and gently rubs at it. His mind wanders to multiple thoughts - was she more like him than he would have thought? 

"Don't apologize," Murmurs Renji, shaking his head lightly. "There's no need. If anything, I'm sorry you had to suffer through that." His tone hides annoyance through sincerity, mismatched eyes gazing directly at the smaller girl.

"Don't you think you're overreacting a little?" Questions the older male, quirking a brow - though it's lost from the shroud of his hood. "Just wait til you're further into the semester - it only gets worse... Not to sound pessimistic." The slightest of smirks seems to replace the scowl of the young man, placing a hand on his hip. "Hm... First year, no?"

             | ♫ |   “I can’t be the only one that thinks Monday                         and Tuesdays are the most boring of the                         school week…Right?”

"Eh... They're not that bad. A bit dull on occasion, sure, but it could be worse."

It's Just Business

Afton wasn’t a huge fan of the thief’s attitude. In fact, part of him was tempted to fire a .45ACP slug into his belly, but felt it wasn’t worth buying an extra bullet. So, the sellsword decides to simply scoff in annoyance, taking another large drink of the alcohol in his hand.

“Exactly what I mean, Torchwick," Grumbles Afton in response, slamming his glass to the bar counter. "Polish a shit, it’s still a shit," Another heavy sigh from the slightly intoxicated man, and midnight eyes glance towards the criminal.

“… Guess it’s a shame, though. Good jobs are hard to come by nowadays, what with a graying moral compass. If that’s what you wanna call it,"

At this point, Afton is merely rambling, talking incoherently for almost no reason at all. Sure, he wasn’t a huge fan of Roman - no one really is, anyway. But the man new how to run business - and good business partners were hard to come by.

“The only thing I spread around the streets is my own business, pal. You should be the one checkin’ your ego." He waves his hand once, signaling for a refill of his drink. The barkeep hesitantly obliged, and Afton takes a large swig of his alcohol.

“… So, tell me, Torchwick - where’s your other half?" Snickers Afton from behind his glass, more than likely referring to the woman always on his case.

        Roman made a slight face as the other seemed to slam his drink down. It seemed the other had been hitting the drinks far harder than the thief was planning to that night. Squinting the man’s lips curled downwards into a frown.

         ”—I really did not miss working with you.” Of course Roman couldn’t help but to let out some snide remark to the other. Taking yet another sip of his drink, the redhead finished his drink off, gently setting his glass down unlike the other sitting next to him.

        ”Oh please, if you’re really having trouble finding a job you simply must be looking in the wrong place. Mean you, having a moral compass?” The thief couldn’t help but to let out a small snort at Afton’s next comment however, rolling his eyes once more. “Right, and I can just waltz right into Schnee’s HQ riiighhht now and take over.” Squinting Roman shook his head.

        However the snark seemed to disappere as the other made the remark about his other half. Of course Afton was referring to Cinder, and right now that honestly was the last person Roman wanted to talk about.

                           ”—Taking care of something.”

Another scoff escapes the lips of the other man. "Y'know, Roman, that really stings," Afton deadpans, staring blankly at Roman through his peripherals. "Keep comin' at me with barbs like that, and I might start cryin'," Crunching ice between his teeth, Afton shakes his head in mild annoyance at Roman.

"You're just pissed because you don't have another capable hired hand." Of course, that was a rather weak response - but the truth behind it was something that might be able to be discussed. Regardless of anyone's feelings of Afton, he was the man to get the job done.

"Yes, a moral compass. As in, I don't think solely for myself," Says the man who only does jobs for money. " Though, you do have a point - any idea where I can get some more cash, Torchwick?"

He saw the man's mood take a sudden nosedive when Cinder was brought up. In any other situation, with any other person, Afton would immediately rub salt in the wound - dig a finger deeper into the bullet hole. But sometimes, even Afton knew when to call it quits.

" Tch... Women, am I right?" Another deep drink, and a shake of his head. "Seems like I struck a nerve - your business partner not handling business? Or, is that on your end?"

It's Just Business

The lights were dim, and the mood was silent inside of the small, old bar. Few patrons remained in the late hours of the night, most simply drinking in peace, sulking in their own self pity.

The bar stool was occupied by a single, exhausted man, an alabaster coat flowing from his shoulders, the one sleeve rolled up to reveal a tattooed arm seemingly torn a bit. In fact, this lone man seemed to have been in quite the scuffle recently.

Soot and scorch marks along the pure white fabric of his longcoat, bruises and cuts along his skin and various parts of his body. The long, ratty raven hair atop his head seemed to be an unkempt mess. And yet all of this, seemed to be simply ignored, able to go away with the multiple now-empty glasses of drink he had around him.

When the door to the bar had opened, he hadn’t even reacted - not a twitch of the ears, a glance of midnight blue eyes over his shoulder - nothing. The thumping of boots along the hardwood floor seemed to be interrupted as the newcomer approached, as if this stranger had an extra leg… Or a cane.

Finally, the man who drowned himself in drink sits upright, jet-black hair falling from his face and back over his shoulders. Slowly, he turns to look at the man, also in a white coat. He knew who this man was. He knew the sweeping ginger hair, the sharp eyeliner and that stupid bowler hat.

“Gods… I musta really pissed someone off if Roman ruttin’ Torchwick has come by this shithole for lil ol’ me."

His voice is a low grumble, rough as gravel. With a grimace, he looks at the other man, gloved hands remaining still atop the bar counter - though a notable twitch came from his trigger fingers.

“Pray tell, Torchwick - the hell do you want with me?”

         Nights were a time in which the ghouls played, when the real criminals came out to have their fun; or in Roman’s case escape the company of a certain woman and the two brats that often came along with her.

         After all a man could only handle so much of a plan in which it involved him taking the fall for some woman who was posing as a student of all the things. Huffing as he made his way to his normal hide away Roman suck to the shadows of the streets, trying his best to rid his mind of the rather toxic remains of Cinder’s plan.

          Making his way into the bar, Roman didn’t waste much time scanning the room and quickly taking a seat. After all the faster he had some sort of drink in him, the faster Emerald’s, Mercury’s and more importantly Cinder’s voices would all leave his head.

           It was just as he started to get comfortable after ordering himself a glass of scotch, and even lighted up a cigar that the person next to him seemed to be talking to him. Making a slight noise as he finally took note of who the other was the redhead rose an eyebrow.

                       ”—Shit hole? Excuse you, this is a place I often come to.”

           Hands curling around his glass, the thief made a face as he looked the other over. Afton, that’s what the others name wasn’t it? Letting out a rather heavy sigh followed by a roll of his eyes, Roman gently placed the glass to his lips taking a drink from it.

          ”Me being here for you, Afton? Please, don’t flatter yourself now. Lets not have you spreading something like that around the streets. If you must know as to why I’m here, I have some time on my hands is all.”

Afton wasn't a huge fan of the thief's attitude. In fact, part of him was tempted to fire a .45ACP slug into his belly, but felt it wasn't worth buying an extra bullet. So, the sellsword decides to simply scoff in annoyance, taking another large drink of the alcohol in his hand.

"Exactly what I mean, Torchwick," Grumbles Afton in response, slamming his glass to the bar counter. "Polish a shit, it's still a shit," Another heavy sigh from the slightly intoxicated man, and midnight eyes glance towards the criminal.

"... Guess it's a shame, though. Good jobs are hard to come by nowadays, what with a graying moral compass. If that's what you wanna call it,"

At this point, Afton is merely rambling, talking incoherently for almost no reason at all. Sure, he wasn't a huge fan of Roman - no one really is, anyway. But the man new how to run business - and good business partners were hard to come by.

"The only thing I spread around the streets is my own business, pal. You should be the one checkin' your ego." He waves his hand once, signaling for a refill of his drink. The barkeep hesitantly obliged, and Afton takes a large swig of his alcohol.

"... So, tell me, Torchwick - where's your other half?" Snickers Afton from behind his glass, more than likely referring to the woman always on his case.

She wanted to scream, no that wasn’t true, she wanted to cry, just curl up in a ball and cry. Not because of the pain, yeah that definitely was still there and in bucket loads too. It was simply sheer embarrassment that made her want to cry. 

Her thin frame scrambled off him awkwardly. She had never felt more vulnerable, looked more pathetic and helpless than she did now and she hated it, hated it with every fiber of her being. Never in her life had she needed to rely on anyone else before and she didn’t want to have to start now. “I’m fine.” She gritted out through clenched teeth, fighting the wave of tears that threatened to spill over.

Why did it seem as if the world decided to focus everything bad on her tonight? Having to study for a test she needed to pass for a final grade had kept her late at the library that night and in turn had put her in the hands of some psycho molester, her body hurt so bad and she could still taste blood in her mouth, and now she was probably going to have to rely on some stranger to get her home. And lets not forget the elements that were biting into her skin through ripped stockings onto scraped knees and arms and hands.

Scarlett pushed herself to her feet unsteadily, wondering if it was completely obvious how much effort that took. She stared straight ahead into the darkness, allowing the cold wind to dry the unformed tears from her eyes. She wanted to take another step, needed to prove to herself she didn’t need him. But the thought of falling again scared her, uncertainty plagued her mind about her physical ability at the moment and she sighed, resigned as she looked at the man, not wanting to ask the question that would show how week she truly was. Not wanting to concede that she needed help.

The next thing the young woman would feel, would be a sudden, heavy warmth over her shoulders. The young man had thrown his denim jacket across her cold figure, having slipped it off to leave only the unzipped white hoodie he kept underneath.

"It's cold," He murmurs, patting her shoulder, keeping the fabric draped over her so it wouldn't fall off. Walking to her side, he leans over a bit, glancing at her face to see if she looked as okay as she wanted to seem. Seeing that she was close to crying, he sighs.

"You must be tired," His voice is quiet, still, and slightly comforting - at least, he attempts to sound that way. "Let's get you home, miss...?" It then dawns on him that in their very sudden meeting, they never even got each other's name. Not that they really had time - it was, after all, a rather less-than-stellar way to meet.

i remember 2014 like it was yesterday.

you can only reblog this today, this will never happen in your life again