12th Confession [Action]

[notabluesbro]

[Time for personal confetti because

~Wolfwood's back~

...Sort of.

Rather, he's smaller. Shorter. Even more scruffy and disorganized than before.

He'd woken up in a forest and spent a good 3 hours raking his mind over just what he was seeing—snow, actual snow. Of course, none of that was important for the meanwhile when he realized he was cold. Holy shit, was it freezing out here. At least whoever left him here gave him some clothes and... a gun in a holster?

Slipping on the way-too-big black jacket, he examines the handgun. Of course, Wolfwood always carried it on him, but... he's eight at the moment, so this information is just going over his head. It's not as though he's never used one, of course. He just never had such a nice holster to go with it!

But what doesn't go over his head is the fact that he has wings. Wings! What the hell is going on here? Where is he? Surely he's not... well, y'know.

He rushes around the dense for a for hours, stumbling and tripping in the groggy morning light, until he finds... ah, there are rooms in this building that aren't used? Maybe if he's sneaky, he can just stay in one of these here. Once that's done with, he wanders around town for a few hours with a stolen jacket sloppy thrown over his old collared shirt. Looking paranoid as he stalks through crowds. All right, Nick. You're in a strange place, but you cannot forget the number one rule: just survive.

Too many people around to steal from the stores. Stomach rumbling. Wait until night, then find a window, a door even, to sneak into.

When cold, black night eventually hits, he lassos the holster around his waist (hey, no more tucking into the side of his pants), under his shirt, and sets out, sneaking into whatever apartment or house he can. Perhaps sorting through your drawers, cabinets, or refrigerators. Hey, you can't expect him to know about all that free stuff, right? Despite him being as quiet as possible, there may be an occasional falling down of something—a pan, perhaps a glass. In case your character is a heavy sleeper. 8|]

[OOC: You can run into him any part of his day listed above! Replies will be from very very obvious journals~! Time and space is kicked often.

He might draw that gun in any robbery attempt, but he won't shoot at anyone. Unless they're trying to kill him. |Db]

Comments

[not-a-blueskid.livejournal.com]

[He continues staring at some uninteresting spot across the table, his cigarette already finished.]

You should ask your family before y'let strangers sleep in the house.

[oda-hates-me.livejournal.com]

Trust me; they're not gonna mind.

Besides, a few of them are out at the beach.

[Did he forget to mention that when threatening you into lowering your gun? |D]

[not-a-blueskid.livejournal.com]

...






You lied to me.

[oda-hates-me.livejournal.com]

Got your arm fixed, didn't it? [Looking far too pleased with himself]

[not-a-blueskid.livejournal.com]

...

[notablueskid.livejournal.com]

[Wolfwood scratches the back of his head at that, turning away to avoid flashing a humored look.]

Shitty lyin' adult.

[oda-hates-me.livejournal.com]

Heh. Scrawny brat.

You can take the couch. I'll get you some blankets.

[not-a-blueskid.livejournal.com]

Couch...

[Oh geez, he's never slept on one of those before... As far as he knows, it's not meant to be to slept on, anyway. But he nods stiffly at command.

He sits down on said couch. Waits and watches Sanji walk off for blankets before he presses the cushions with his hands, smiling faintly to himself.]

Heh, wasn't allowed on one of these, before.

[oda-hates-me.livejournal.com]

[While you're experiencing the magic of couches, have some blankets dropped on your head]

[not-a-blueskid.livejournal.com]

[aasfjblankets!]

These're all for me?

[He curls up with one, wriggling into the cushions.]

S'a nice house, too. You must make a lotta' money, to keep it like this...

[oda-hates-me.livejournal.com]

Ah, about that.

[Y'know that far too amused look he sometimes gets? Well, Sanji's wearing it again, and he leans over the back of the couch]

Everything's free here. Food automatically restocks, and the houses and apartments are available for anyone who needs 'em.

[not-a-blueskid.livejournal.com]

Your a real awful liar.

[That's not even—]

[oda-hates-me.livejournal.com]

Oi, haven't we been over this before?

[not-a-blueskid.livejournal.com]

That's 'mpossible.

[He curls himself further into a blanket, frowning.]

Nothin's free. Not like that!

[oda-hates-me.livejournal.com]

I know it's one fuckin hell of a shock, but I'm not lying.

[A pause] I'll take you by some of the shops tomorrow, if you want. Better to show than tell, anyway.

[not-a-blueskid.livejournal.com]

[His gaze is right back down to downcast, and it seems whatever little sliver of easing the boy out of his bleaker shell once again is stunted.]

...You... get everything for free...

Whatever y'want...?

[There's a desperate, tired sound edging his words.]

[oda-hates-me.livejournal.com]

[He'd only expressed outright concern when the boy was hurt. This? This is unexpected, and not something Sanji likes to see]

That's right.


.... You alright, Nicholas?

[notablueskid.livejournal.com]

[He hides his eyes with his palms, mouth in something akin to a grimace. He really can't stand it—the images of everything he despised and feared passed through the blacks of his vision.

"If you wanna to live, you gotta work for your shit."]

Why... Why wasn't I... born here...

[oda-hates-me.livejournal.com]

[Sanji's uncharacteristically slow with moving, but time eventually leads him to settling on couch beside the younger, arms rested on his knees and his gaze locked somewhere far away.

It's not really that simple, after all. They get fed and have places to stay, but beside that? They're just lab rats for the shitheads who trapped them here. Nicholas' age is proof enough.

But he knows this kid's story - some of it. And telling him that is a poor consolation when he's probably been starving half his life. So he says nothing, only turning to look at him from the corner of his eye]

[notablueskid.livejournal.com]

[And Nicholas D. Wolfwood stays like this, for a moment's time, stomach knotting and burning. When it finally settles, he drags a small hand down from his eyes, rested over his nose and mouth.

Thinking. Always thinking, this one.]

Things were s'posed to get better...

[his eyes flood with disdain]

But bad things always go from bad to worse.

[oda-hates-me.livejournal.com]

[He hums, and pulls out another cigarette]

Get better? How so?

[not-a-blueskid.livejournal.com]

I remember it real good. I remember, they told me that when someone finally chooses you, y'get a chance to have a good family. An' if the people taking you in was already related to you, then you had a real good chance.

[He looks at the cigarette Furrows his brow. Looks away.]

But he hated me.

[He unconsciously grips his sleeve at the thought.]

He always said I was a murderer.

[oda-hates-me.livejournal.com]

[Nicholas' brow isn't the only one that's furrowing. Who the hell says that to a kid?]

What? [Does he mean his parents...?]

[not-a-blueskid.livejournal.com]

[He draws his knees up, holster falling from his lap and dangling loosely from his arm.]

'Cause mom died, trying to have me. He was always really angry about that.

[oda-hates-me.livejournal.com]

That's bullshit. [It's the first real spike of anger from Sanji] You can't blame a kid for something beyond their control.