Mike Driver
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@augustreid-blog
“Bloody hell, could–could this not have waited until I was out of the shower? Well? On with it, what do you want?”
"Ginger is going into labor. I didn’t think you’d want to miss out on the birth of three to five Yorkies, but if you being in the buff is more important --- I can always find someone else to help me watch over her.”
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A trip to the animal shelter was not where she was supposed to be that afternoon, but it’s where she ended up.Now she stood with her fingers between the cage door petting the sweetest cat. He’d caught her eye quickly, he was different from the others and now she couldn’t walk away. What pulled the girl back was the voice of a young man. She turned her head to see the ginger haired boy. A smile crept on her lips as she looked him over. “So that’s your name, Bruno?” She mused looking back to the cat for a moment before looking back to the boy. “If I hold him then he’s coming home with me. He’s such a sweet boy. And you look just as sweet. What is your name? I almost wouldn’t mind taking you home too.” She giggled looking back to Bruno.
He nodded slightly as she echoed the name, unable to help a small smile as the two stared at each other. Bruno had been staying at the shelter for quite some time. While undoubtedly one of the sweetest, he was far from being the youngest animal in their custody. And as much as people claimed to be die hard animal lovers, they seemed to only love them when they were babies. The way she was looking at the old tabby gave him some hope, though. Maybe Bruno would find himself a home after all. “I’m sure he wouldn’t complain too much about that. Bruno’s always been a sucker for a pretty girl. He’s the biggest flirt out of all of them.” He rose an eyebrow at the comment; not all that used to being flirted with outright at work. Usually the animals stole all of the attention away. “August. And taking me home would require a lot more paperwork than Bruno over here. If you’re interested in him, though, I can talk to my boss about getting you a two for one special.” He rose an eyebrow, amused. “And you are?”
“Alright, but he has the money, so he uses it alongside his intelligence to do good in Gotham. Even so, without his money, he’d find a way. Bruce Wayne is considered one of the smartest men in Gotham, if not everywhere. He’d make it work. He’d still be a hero, even if not super. But with his money, he is a superhero. Hypothetical situations like that aren’t good arguments.”
"Well, sure, anyone can be smart if they’re privileged enough. I could probably be a bloody surgeon if I had the time and money to invest into it. I’m sorry, but I disagree. Realistically his whole mental state is absolutely terrifying. A crazy man in a bat suit tying bad guys up isn’t a story of a hero, it’s a cry for help. Can you honestly tell me that if Bruce Wayne were a real person that you’d idolize him instead of fearing him?”
“Honestly? You can’t give me one good reason why Batman isn’t a superhero. I won’t allow it.”
"One is all I need. Without his money he’d be dead. A poor man can’t afford all of the fancy mechanics and cover ups that he does. With the amount he spends, he’d be bound to go broke in no time at all. A real hero would be able to defend himself and others even homeless. They rise from the ashes. Bruce Wayne may be able to recover from death, but not from poverty. He has good intentions, but there isn’t anything super about him.”
August Reid - Moodboard - (1/?)
“If there's ever something bad you don't wanna see, just keep on walking and let it be.”
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@luciinthestars
"I can’t help but notice you and Bruno over here have been staring each other down for quite some time now.” He managed a half smile, nodding to the Tabby cat who was practically pressed against the walls of his cage. “Would you like to hold him?”
“The best news I have ever gotten in my entire life!”
"What happened, did you win the lottery?”
“I can think of a few things, cutie. What are you up for?”
"How about we start with a drink and go from there?”
“Wanna get out of here? Do something a little more fun?”
"That depends on what your definition of fun is.”
“I….I can’t bloody believe this!!”
"Good news, I take it?”
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“I work with the radio station, they had me DJ tonight. The other host took over cause I’m technically not old enough to be here, but it’s okay because I work with them.” He told the man, he looked familiar. But how? The accent was too, but he couldn’t place it. He let his arm sling over the male’s shoulder, almost leaning into him. “Glad you could make it, man. Gotta forgive me, I think I forgot your name. Didn’t I see you at some kind of street fair recently? With animal shelter or something? All these things blur together. You need another drink?” Murphy asked when he noticed a waitress walking by with a tray full of them.
August nodded at the explanation, not really surprised when he said he wasn’t old enough to drink. He wasn’t either, at least not in the states, but he was sure no one around was really thinking about that kind of thing at the moment. The club was too loud and had too many people. Which is why he’d come to begin with, because it was different. Being so sober was starting to make him regret his decision, though. He was nowhere near the mindset of the blond in front of him, although a part of him was jealous. “I heard you play, if that was you a few minutes ago. You’re not bad.” He replied, before breaking off as the boy slung an arm around his shoulder. Freezing up some at the contact, he rose an eyebrow at the contact, but didn’t move. The guy was harmless. “It’s August. You might have. I work with the animals over at the shelter. Sometimes we have adoption days on the streets, in front of stores and all of that. You might’ve seen me trying to push cats onto people.” Although he still suspected he knew his brother somehow. People usually tend to remember the animals over him individually --- though he couldn’t say he entirely blamed him. “Yeah, yeah I do. Grab me two of those, yeah?”
“Did you see that?” He laughed as he stumbled over, nearly crashing into the person he was talking to. His drunken mind said he knew them, but honestly he felt like he was everyone’s friend that night. “She tasted like vodka and like four poor life choices rolled into a mini skirt. Man, this is why I love this job. It’s great, you’re great.”
As the blond boy stumbled over to him, Augusts first thought was that he must be confusing him with his brother. It certainly wasn’t the first time he’d been confused with Alister, and he was willing to bet that it wouldn’t be the last. “Thank you.” He spoke, a little too dryly, although he doubted the other male would notice in his condition. One of his customers at the shelter had invited him to the event, and in a spur of the moment decision to get out of the house, August had taken them up on the offer and decided to come. He had a drink of his own, but he wasn’t quite at the level everyone else was just yet. “I’m happy for you. I have to ask, though --- what kind of job do you have?”
“I am what you might call enthusiastic about new flavors.”
“I see. Any specific favorites?”
“I’ve always been a fan of coffee that doesn’t actually taste like coffee. You’d be surprised at the amount of people that like to look down on others for it. Like drinking it dark and bitter is superior. That just seems a little overly controlling though, doesn’t it?”
“I am pretty sure you are right. In fact I’m almost certain it’d be easier to quit oxygen than coffee”
“I know the feeling.”
“Are you one of those plain-coffee only people, or the must-try-every-new-flavor-of-the-month types?”
“You forgot Stupidity, Death Wish, and Personal Opinion on your list.”
Mason always seemed to be a witness. He saw a lot, but never did much about it. He was great at watching, watching didn’t get you killed, being a hero did. Clearly the kid had a death wish, but he’d let him carry it out and maybe get a laugh. Which he did, seeing the book fly into the boys shoulder was horrifyingly amusing. But now, he had to make sure the kid wasn’t actually hurt because then he’d feel bad. Almost feel bad, he did it to himself after all. “I’m not a doctor.” He stated simply before sighing as he started to take off his hoodie. “If you steal this, your ass is grass. Meet me in the Men’s room, you’re going to have more to worry about if anyone sees your blood on that book or how much you’ve bled. I’ll clean you up. Now go.” Mason handed him the jacket, participially regretting this.
"Well, hell, if you already knew the truth why’d you bother to ask?”
He laughed dryly, more amused by the other man’s response than anything. The pain that shot through his arm prohibited him from being serious about the situation. It was all ridiculous, in every since of the word. August came to the library to get away from chatter and unnecessary confrontation, not to get himself involved in it. It was funny to him that the one place that was supposed to be somewhat of a safe haven wasn’t even protected from that. But at least he can check being almost killed by a book off of his bucket list. Now that’s something you don’t hear everyday. “I know. You’re too much of a smart-ass to be a doctor.” A slight smirk curled at his lips, only for it to diminish as he watched him begin to shrug off his jacket. “And risk being hit with another book? I wouldn’t risk it. You have my word.” August reached out, curling his fingers around the jacket in order to take it from him, and although he wanted to listen to him if only to clean this mess up and go home and forget this mess of a day even happened, he hesitated. “I’ll get it dirty.” Which he was sure the stranger was well aware of, but he felt the need to warn him regardless. Give him the chance to just turn away and forget he’d said anything to him at all. “You ---don’t know me.” Also a fact he was sure they were both very well aware of. “Are you sure?”
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“Thank God for caffeine”
"Honestly.”
“People who are against it must be very good liars or natural born robots. I’m not sure how it’s possible to stay awake otherwise.”
“And what made you think that was a good idea?”
"Pride. Heroism. The fact that I was right and he was wrong. Take your pick, really.”
He held the side of his arm with one hand --- the one day he’d gone without a jacket and this happened. Of course, it was his fault for provoking a rather burly looking man in the middle of the library, causing him to hurl a sharply edged book in his direction that in turn collided against his arm. Still. He could just hear his Mother’s voice in his head nagging him now. “Now will you tell me if I’m bleeding or not? I don’t want to scare the poor girls at the counter walking out of here with a battle wound.”
