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@abiitmanes
knock knock đ

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âI run into them way too often. I wouldnât really mind, but my brotherâs the sheriff, so itâs kind of awkward when he has Betty bail me out. Or when he gives me three hour long lectures about how embarrassing I am in front of his colleagues.â He says, looking up to the other with curiosity.
âI never caught your name.â Delsin mentions casually, before looking back to the night sky while he waited for the other to help fill the silence.
âOh, yeah -- that probably would be awkward.â Despite the guyâs brother being the sheriff, it didnât seem to stop him from spray painting and definitely explained why he booked it the moment he had noticed someone else. âAt least itâs just lectures, theyâre pretty harmless.â Desmond wonât volunteer information or swap stories about his strict dad and the sorts of training he had to endure as a kid, that was the past.
âItâs Ellis,â he replied when the guy asked his name, because of course it was a lie but hey, lies slipped off the tongue so easily for him anymore. âYours?â
âYou better get off your ass this year and vote -- Iâll be pissed if you donât.â
ďź´ď˝ Â ďź´ď˝ď˝  ď˝ď˝ â âGuh ââ â The blunt impact catching him equally off guard and                     leaving him struggling to regain balance. He wasnât sure what                     made him stay, his feet suddenly glued to the ground, staring up    YOU ARE NOT     mouth agape; maybe this was FEAR? Despite being a delayed      AFRAID        recovery, forsaking any initial plans of keeping his mask clean                    [ better than giving this guy any further details for a POLICE                    REPORT ] a hand roughly jerked it back down. Heâd been good so                    far; getting caught hadnât been in the plan.
                   Stifled breathes more like struggled pants, { GET OUT OF THERE!                    } stitched orbs rising to find the strangerâs gaze juggling between                     him and the pipe; shit, shit, shit! Barely finding time to pay any mind                    mind to the change of demeanor, his own gaze shifted to the alley-                    way heâd just emerged from and damn it all â Brian still had a                    moral compass.
                   Blindly reaching for the guyâs arm, his movements abrupt and                    altogether UNSTABLE to the point he wouldnât have trusted him-                    self back then. But survival was instinctual now. Even if said in- HE IS NOT TRUSTED stinct was yelling to leave this guy behind. âWe gotta go,â voice HE IS NOT TRUSTED  hoarse and s h a k y, âNow.â HE IS NOT ââ
Thoughts raced through his head, all sending different signals past just the usual fight or flight impulse -- the mask, the pipe, the bloodstains -- it all pointed to the stranger having just beaten someoneâs face in. But the question of why also rose up at such an inopportune moment, eliminating the possibility of self-defense. Was it a gang initiation, or was he just some stray psycho? Either way, the answers all pointed to not-fucking-good.
   [ Get ready, his instincts screamed. ]
There was an initial flinch away from the strangerâs hand as he reached out, grasping at the bartenderâs arm and tugging, ragged tone telling him that they had to go, insisting to do so now. There was a part of Desmond that wanted to look around, to jerk his arm away from the manâs grip, to demand some kind of answer, but the other part of him, the Assassin side, recognized the sense of urgency and understood to ask while on the way. So, he simply nodded, wasting not another moment as he fell into step with the stranger. He mightâve been heading towards something very dangerous with this guy, or even away from danger, though that wouldnât explain the blood.
âIf Iâm going with you -- I want answers, dude.â
"Des-kun, it seems as though you're always working. When's your next day off?" He puts his glass down for a refill, and says, "There's a movie showing now that looks nice. Let's go."
âOh--â he began, reaching over and refilling the otherâs drink for him. He was just going through the motions of his job -- definitely time for a break. âI thought you were the workaholic. But I bet I could get off early, itâs slow enough tonight. What movie?â

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Fighting together.
I am so happy with how this came out, you have no idea.
EDIT
Why do I always forget Desmondâs tattoo??
@abiitmanes
@caiiira â¤âd this thing
He had just said goodbye to his coworkers, relieved to actually be off early for once, the time still in the double digits before the clock reset. Maybe the universe didnât hate him as badly as it liked to make him think. Desmond paused at the alleyway exit of the club, zipping up his hoodie over his black button-up shirt, taking a moment to shiver and exhale a chilled breath by finishing with flipping up his hood, pulling it past the strap of his bag. He shoved his hands into his pockets, aware of just how underprepared he was for the approaching winter, starting to walk out of the alley. Laughter down the street had prompted him to glance over, seeing people still ready to pour into the club -- but it had been a mistake, given that he had gone directly into some guy.
âOh! Shit, sorry man. Wasnât looking.â
âThis reminds me, the other day I was at the store and heard some guy on the speaker in some ad like all excited about cooking, but then it turned out it was Martha Stewart.â
@abiitmanes continued from x
âThen why bother? Why not do something more constructive. Trust me, your liver will thank you.â
Desmond seemed a little like Jacob in terms of alcohol. She really didnât need another to look after.
âI think itâs the culture. Since I bartend and all that.â Heâs not about to tell her the fact that heâs actually a hell of a lot better than he used to be, that he doesnât stick around after his shifts for drinks and dancing anymore. Yet despite the thought, Desmond afforded a bit of a laugh. âA bartender who quits drinking is like trusting a skinny chef, Iâd get fired within the week.â
@baseballbcy â¤âd this thing
âFuck -- I canât believe I forgot Halloween is coming up.â He didnât look particularly pleased by the revelation, like a man resigning himself to his fate instead. âYou got plans, dressing up or anything?â

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   âThat wonât be an issue because theyâre not gonna be IN my room! I .. think. Yeah, thereâs no way. Stop trying to scare me, youâre rude.â
âI mean, unless you live in a bubble theyâre gonna get in. Through ventilation and the foundation and stuff. Iâm just being realistic. Why do they freak you out so bad anyways? Theyâre good guys.â
             SLOWLY AND ALMOST reluctantly Clarke holsters his weapon from under the counter, despite his rigid stance he doubts anything violent will be coming of his. At least from Desmond. Both hands now resting atop of the counter he eyes the young Assassin, unsure if his reaction is a typical one amongst Assassins ( itâs not like heâs personally met many or anything. )
â They donât, â he says simply, his tone short indicating heâs not about to explain the whys of his decision to leave. Not here at least, he doubts thatâll go over real well. â But youâre right on the money, â he adds as he finally takes his glass to drink from. It doesnât taste too good.
Thereâs a short silence as Clarke considers his next words, in truth he hadnât exactly planned what heâd do once he tracked the Assassin down with the entire meeting not ending with violence. â I didnât think youâd come back to bartending after you were caught ? â Obviously heâd poked into Desmondâs files.
Maybe later heâd think back upon this instance and laugh about it -- it was funny, two guys who were basically out of their organizations and in hiding, pretending everything was normal when they were facing off what shouldâve been some serious enemy. But life was funny like that, and he found that rolling with the punches sometimes didnât go half as bad as he expected. It didnât mean that heâd lower his guard around the other still, even as the man finally took a sip from his drink. Desmond was just a little too cynical for that, aware that even though they silently agreed not to duke it out, their hackles were probably still raised at one another.Â
   Birds of a feather, or something like that.
The former Templarâs words only brought a slight frown to the bartenderâs face as he continued with his work. He was expecting words like that, but from someone else -- and well, now that he found some aspirations in life, it wasnât a job he felt too proud of anymore. âGotta eat somehow. They donât ask too many questions here.â It was ironic that somehow, it was like they could be more honest to one another through these circumstances, even if there was no chance of them trusting each other anytime soon. But man, was he tempted to take the bait and ask the other guy just how much he knew about him, just how much information Abstergo had collected upon him, if a certain magic space wizard was making a scene there. âMaybe their files havenât caught up to me yet anyways, so Iâm not too worried.â
hey yo â¤Â this post for a starter!
@xanodite / cont.
âNot on you, but probably in your room somewhere. Whatâre you gonna do if I wonât be there to kill them for you?â

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âShark Week, man. How do you not watch that? A whole week of sharks.â
supernatural sentence starters / / sure, Iâll take âem
âI mean, I donât have cable for starters.â Itâd be better for him to not know just what he was missing out on probably. âBut I guess I try to catch up on sleep or exercise instead of watching tv anyways.â
âCan you even get drunk anymore? Itâs kind of like drinking a vitamin for you.â
supernatural sentence starters / / sure, Iâll take âem
âWell--â he began, glancing down to the beer in his hand. âI guess itâs just habit, you know? Iâd have to go hard in on some shots or something to get trashed, but then again I donât really drink to get drunk anymore.â