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Post by Anty on Jul 29, 2010 20:42:34 GMT -5
Anthony turned away from the door, anger replacing his remorse. Stupid Evan. All of this was his fault. It was his girlfriend, his problem. But if that was true, why did Anthony still feel so guilty? He crossed his arms over his chest. "Fine. I know when I'm not wanted." He knew he had to leave. But where would he go? He should go to Ryan's, but he had no idea where that was. He had never been there. Of course, even if he did find Ryan's place, he doubted that he'd be wanted there. He was just a tool, and now that Evan was done with him, he should leave. Or at least that how he thought it was. Everything was so confusing. He wished he could turn back time, all the way back to the day he kissed Adrienne, and make everything right again. But sadly enough, he couldn't.
Anthony stepped into the living room, quickly trying to think of everything that he would need to bring. He didn't have much, at all. In the end, he decided all he only needed the necessities: beer, his gun, a lighter and a pack of cigarettes. Only when his hand was on the door, ready to go, did he remember his wallet. He looked back one more time, before he left. He took the elevator to the lobby floor, and soon enough he was standing in front of Rubin at the front desk. He was leaned back in his chair, his hat hiding his face, and snoring loudly. Anthony cleared his throat, but he got no response. "Rubin!" he exclaimed none to softly. Rubin snapped awake, nearly sending his chair backwards. His hat fell into his lap as he sat forward, "Whataya want?" he snapped. "I was just wandering if a man named Ryan Sean lived here," Anthony responded. "Yes. Why?" Rubin asked suspiciously. He didn't trust this fellow, who often followed the Ikron fellow home. He didn't know who he was or what he was doing here. "Where?" Anthony asked. He was starting to get aggravated. Oh, thought Rubin. He could tell the fellow meant no harm, so he told him where the apartment was. And so Anthony left, nodding his thanks.
Anthony took the stairs this time, because Ryan's apartment wasn't too far. He had to pause along the way, lighting a cigarette. Sooner than he'd realized, he was standing outside the door. He studied the door, not sure what to expect. Would he have to live here forever? He doubted Evan wanted him back. Evan was through with Anthony. But did Anthony really want to barge in on another person's life? Again. No. He didn't. He didn't even mean to the first time, it just happened. Shit happens. He pushed down his thoughs and knocked on the door.
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Post by Waddle on Jul 30, 2010 23:11:29 GMT -5
Ryan looked up from sharpening one of his knives at the knock on the door. He never got any visitors. He couldn't very well say that Scar was a visitor. The boy wasn't in at the moment, but the knocker couldn't have been him. Scar never knocked. Ryan didn't like visitors. He liked to be alone. And he didn't want to set aside his sharpening at the moment. With a sigh, he stood. He yelped when he hit his head on the ceiling of the apartment. He'd been crouched on the back of the couch like something ready to pounce. Losing his balance, he tumbled to the floor in a tangle of black trench coat and was barely keeping from cutting himself with the knife. Cursing vividly, he stood again, and strode to the door.
"This had better be worth my time or you're going to have a knife through your gut!" he shouted before opening the door, knife held in a white-knuckled grip. Opening the door, he wasn't surprised to see Anthony on the other side. He stepped back to look the man up and down while continuing to sharpen his knife. "Well, I'll give you the chance to tell me what's wrong." He glanced over his shoulder in an almost nervous fashion. His apartment wasn't dirty at all. Nor did it look homey at all. The TV was off, the windows had all their curtains pulled and he had tacked blankets and towels over them to keep out the light. It was dark, just the way he liked it. His scrutiny of the small corners and nooks oh his apartment was interrupted when he cut his finger. Looking down at the minute cut, he simply ignored it, continued sharpening and looked back at Anthony, awaiting the news.
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Post by Anty on Aug 2, 2010 1:14:58 GMT -5
Anthony's hand fell to his side as he waited for Ryan to answer the door. Realization was hitting him. Realization that his life would never be the same, and it was his fault. His fault for being such bad friend. For kissing Adrienne, breaking Evan's iPod, for even telling Evan that he had kissed Adrienne. For kissing Evan. All of that seemed so pointless to him, and yet to Evan it must have meant everything, because it cost them their friendship. Maybe something even more than a friendship.
Anthony's eyes had drifted down to the ground, he was watching the dark shadows moving around inside. He looked up now at Ryan's shouting. Gripping the gun tighter, he wondered if Ryan was bluffing. It was likely that he wasn't. And the next second, Ryan was standing before him. The same old Ryan that he used to know. His eyes still had huge bags under them, he was still paranoid, and he still had one of his knives. Anthony remembered those knives very well. "I put my tongue down the wrong girl's mouth. Evan's girlfriend, actually. I hope that's a good enough excuse," he said, stepping passed Ryan and into his house. Not surprisingly, it was spotless. Everything was in it's right place, though it was hard to see anything because there wasn't a single source of light. Not even the windows. It must have been a gift and a curse, and Anthony didn't know whether to pity him for his problems, or envy him because he could keep a house clean.
Anthony sat down on the couch and dumped all of his belongings out of his hands beside him, save his wallet. He fumbled around through his contents, and found a small, folded piece of paper folded up and stuck into one of the pockets. Curious, he unfolded it, finding a picture, torn and frayed, of himself and Evan at a bar, probably drunk, both smiling. He sighed, realizing now why the photo was hidden. He could never relive that memory. He folded the picture back up and hid it in his wallet. For the first time he realized there wasn't any loud music blasting through the apartment like no tomorrow. There wasn't even a TV going. Everything was quiet and... peaceful. Two words that he had never worked into his lifestyle.
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Post by Waddle on Aug 7, 2010 4:10:11 GMT -5
Ryan wondered who Evan was. He wasn't good with remembering names, but he could remember faces. Running a list of people he'd seen Anthony with in his head, Ryan focused on the one with black hair with the tips dyed red. The one who had taken Anthony to get his hair dyed blond, which was quite amusing to Ryan, and another tattoo. Noticing both of these, he grinned with one side of his mouth. It was almost a cruel grin, the only kind that came naturally to his face. Dropping the grin, he ran a finger along the side of the knife, brushing away loose dust chips that came as a result of the sharpening. Deciding it was good for now, he slipped it back in his left pocket, and retrieved his other one from his right pocket, and began sharpening it. It wasn't necessary; he had spent two and a half hours sharpening it earlier in the day.
Resuming his crouching position on the couch, he studied Anthony from the corner of his eyes, pretending to focus on the knife. The man looked simply lost. I don't really want him around in my apartment, but he's a friend... Isn't he? Ryan didn't trust anybody. Never had. Never would. But what could the harm be to let Anthony stay for a night or two? No trouble at all. As long as he gets his own damn food from the refrigerator. "Tough luck," he said. "You can sleep in the bedroom, I'll be out." And where would he be? It took him a second to think about it. Yes, he would be.. somewhere... away... from here... He really disliked this place. And it was supposed to be overcast tonight, blocking out the moon and the stars. He could walk out into the countryside without being noticed and just walk, like he did very often.
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Post by Anty on Aug 17, 2010 19:29:16 GMT -5
"Ryan? I'm gonna go look for a job! I'll be back later. Or maybe I won't... I'll cya!" Scar told the seemingly empty apartment. He hadn't seen Ryan since late the night before, probably because Ryan was mental, and was doing something weird. Probably cleaning his knives at the park, or cleaning his knives in a tree, or maybe he's walking around in a forest... Cleaning his knives, Scar thought. It was more of a joke, but there was a huge amount of truth to it. Scar closed the door behind him as he headed to town. He had to get away. He loved Ryan much like a brother, but a crazy brother. True, it was better than prison, but in prison things weren't the same. People expected him to mess things up and spill things there, but Ryan didn't. Everything had to be perfect, and though it wasn't completely Ryan's fault, Scar still didn't like it.
And no, he wasn't planning on looking for a job. He had something else in mind. Scar tongued the split in his lip, the one he had gotten from fighting, as he walked down the sidewalk. His first stop was a small store on a corner. He stepped inside the store with no intentions of buying anything, but small, shiny objects caught his eye, expensive, shiny objects. Scar fumbled around inside his wallet, but he didn't have enough money to pay. Scar looked around the dark store, but he couldn't see anybody close. He had a history for stealing. The last time he stole something was before he got sent to prison for stealing. Nobody here knows you went to jail for stealing. Your just an ordinary guy, he thought. Scar picked up a pair of hologram type sunglasses with crazy looking eyes, just the sort of thing that no one would expect him to steal. He looked around again, checking that no one was around, and slipped them into one of the many pockets of his carpenter pants. Scar walked around the store, finding small, pointless knickknacks and multiple things that are almost too hard to explain.
But Scar got bored of the adrenaline-filled game, and his pockets started to bulge, and he left the store on the corner. Next stop? Of course it was the bar.
Scar stepped into the bar and found his way through the dense light to a seat. There's really no point in going into much detail about that part, though, because it really is quite usual... For him. He got drunk, quickly, and started insulting passersby. "Hey you! Yeah, you! You're face looks like butt hole blubber!" he told a blond chick, and her boyfriend, a sailor with her name tattooed in a heart on his arm tapped his shoulder. Scar turned around and he punched him in the face. Scar just laughed, but it wasn't really a laugh. And the day went on until the bartender kicked him out.
Scar staggered drunkenly down the sidewalk to Ryan's apartment, singing a song crudely about getting out of prison, or something of the sort. All the words sounded the same: slurred. Soon Scar was stumbling up the steps to the apartment building, still humming that same song. His face was shiny and his eye was swollen shut. He hugged the side rail as he stumbled up the stairs. Was Ryan home? It was possible, but Scar probably just missed him on his way out to... Wherever he goes every night.
Scar swung the the apartment door open, "Hello Ryan!" he shouted, his words drawn out. He looked up and through his one good eye he saw Ryan crouched on the back of the couch, his usual position. And, yes, there was his knives. Ryan was obsessive about those knives. "How're you today, friend?" he slurred out as he fell back onto the couch. "No... Job opening- who is that?" he asked, seeing Anthony sitting beside him for the first time. He hadn't noticed the tension in the air until... ever. And he had no idea what was going on, so he just smiled stupid, running his fingers along the stitching on the couch.
Anthony watched Ryan cautiously, but he caught his eye and quickly looked back down. Out, Anthony thought sourly. Of course Ryan was going to be out, it was just an excuse to get away from Anthony, wasn't it? But Anthony didn't blame him. He bit his lip involuntarily. And then Scar burst into the house. Anthony watched him as he fell back onto the opposite side of the couch, taking in his swollen eye and his drunken attitude. It reminded him of himself. You're living with a guy who tried to kill you?" Anthony asked, only he didn't know that he would soon be trying to kill Evan, his supposed best friend.
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Post by Waddle on Aug 17, 2010 19:59:47 GMT -5
Ryan stopped his knife sharpening to watch Scar. The boy was drunk, again. His eyes narrowing slightly, he answered, "We got over that." He didn't believe that Scar had been out looking for a job. He actually had been around when the boy called out to the apartment. He'd only been in the kitchen, zoned out, staring at the ceiling. It was more than obvious that Scar had 'acquired' new trinkets on his excursion into the town. He couldn't have bought them. Ryan had actually looked in his wallet when he wasn't paying attention and saw very little. Not enough to by half the amount of things that were in Scar's pockets. Probably not enough to buy even one. And he had probably spent his last money on drinks.
Laying his knife and the whetstone on the back of the couch, he repositioned himself to where he was sitting. Even though he crouched on the couch a lot, his legs were beginning to get sore. "If anyone else comes in," he commented dryly, "we'll have to get a bigger couch, or start digging some graves." It was his way of saying he didn't like so many people in his apartment. He didn't like any people at all. If anyone else busted in the door, Ryan was probably going to leave. He wanted to, even as it was. The sun was starting to go down. Give it another hour and he'd be itching to get out. "And don't expect money from me, either of you." Hopping off the couch, he remembered that he couldn't remember where his wallet was. Ah well, it would turn itself up, like it always did.
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