dicks out for chainsaw

Edward’s shoulders, as tense as they were, still jumped when the ex-Killer (Billy, he correctly guessed) showed no respect for Jake’s wooden floors nor for his ears when he grabbed the chair he had been circling like a vulture and scrapped it along the hardwood, the businessman’s face involuntary wincing at the horrid sound it made.

It was almost as grating on his nerves as being flipped the bird and told to get out of his own brother’s house in the same uneducated breath the amalgamation took to insult him for simply accepting Jake’s offer to visit- it was now that the elder realized that Jake wouldn’t dare leave someone this ignorant free to roam around the place with no supervision. 

And since Jake informed him it would be just the two of them, that means that he’s been duped into being a babysitter for the man-child. The eldest is long past the barbaric fist fights he would get into with Jake as a young child and teenager, but next time he saw him he was going to kick his ass. 

His face surely looking more glowering than before, Edward watched Billy tear into the foiled package of a Poptart and started shoving large chunks of into in his lopsided chops as if it was the first food he’s had in months, drool and saliva spewing everywhere from his efforts to consume the pastry (in vaguely reminded him of his own son, when he first started eating solid foods out of a baby jar-and instead tried to eat said jar like glass was a delicacy.) It was disgusting, uncouth, uncultured, revolting to the senses-

Swallowing the dull taste of bile that arose in his gullet, the magnate busied himself with finding a proper place to sit that wouldn’t be too hard on the eyes, and found the sofa he had slung his overcoat on a suitable place to rest his legs and eyes from the debauchery going on at the table.

And thank God he did so, because talking with your mouth full was a sight he felt blessed not to see. His mouth was halfway open to retort “I’m his brother, you nitwit.”, but the “mistake” part of the admission is what threw him for a loop-why was it a mistake? Of course, he was informed of the constant chases of life and death, of predator and prey that went on non-stop that Jake was on the brutalized end of… but was Jake really that much of a pain in the ass?

He really hoped so. It would serve whatever Entity kept them there right. “I’m his brother.” Edward decided to voice his earlier aborted statement. “His…  discernibly cleaner brother.” He still isn’t looking at the eating beast to avoid the gross sounds that indicated that he was still stuffing his face full of sugar, and that provoked a sense of anxiety from not seeing the literal elephant in the room.

Folding his arms over his chest is just a way of making sure his gun was under his lapels and that he could easily reach it if needed. “He’s always smelt like that. You would be surprised about how particular he is about things being clean, including himself.”

 Without Evan around to giving him a growling dosage of supervision, finding himself suddenly set upon with some—and worse yet, from someone he’d yet to meet, didn’t sit well with him one little bit. He’d come from a stubborn family line, those Thompsons who thought they could anything they pleased from faking a barn burning to bricking their disfigured son behind a basement wall, and there was little hesitance on his part in revealing which family tree he’d dropped out of among the many dried pecan trunks that haunted Coldwind’s withered outskirts. The fact that Jake still felt the need to send his own version familiars to watch him just as Ma had kept the crows’ eyes upon the fog realm’s stock of survivors irked him enough for his fur to stand on end in agitation as he came to realize that Jake didn’t even inform him of the visit because he knew he’d run off and try to find Phil at whatever job he’d landed up the road just to avoid being watched over like some burden. The botanist would have a scream over that, him lumbering off to the road where anybody could see his pretty face and fail to out speed his powerful sprints. Granted, he hadn’t had much room to stretch his legs out in the woods where the volume of trees discouraged his usual jogs with Jesus. As far as he knew, his momentum was fading faster than his monstrous frame was. Phil had already shrunk down real small, but he’d only been out a few weeks so far compared to the rest of the killers strolling about in their survivor sized bodies. Even though Claudette had promised him an outing once he looked the part of a person a bit more, it almost felt like he’d be waiting much longer than anyone, locked up in their cabin and hidden away from the world. It wouldn’t be his first time.

  The last bit of Pop-Tart goes down soupy thanks to the quick work of his near-corrosive sluices, and he eyes the box with stormy consideration. The situation at hand wasn’t exactly one that put him in the best of moods, but the sweet taste stinging his tongue was a welcome distraction he wouldn’t mind prolonging. Before he can properly dump the last of the silver packets out of their cardboard holding pen, the unwelcome babysitter interrupts his pre-binge musings. A brother of the saboteur’s, is he? Perhaps that was why he was here, sabotaging the Thompson boy’s plans for the day…which included eating all the Pop-Tarts in the cupboard and taking lengthy nap among the lady palm leaves that made up the botanist’s indoor garden. Usually this was done without pants, and seeing how he was already prepared for such an activity, this saboteur kin had not only an elephant in the room to ignore, but also its dick.

  “Dirty.” He sniffs, almost dejectedly over the box once he realizes he won’t be able to nap without keeping at least one eye open around the stranger. Family to Jake or not, the saboteur never gave him any reason to trust him before his relocation, and so his bloodline wasn’t to be trusted either. Perhaps trusted less so, since he was never that keen on strangers. Jake was lucky that he’d have a brother to come home to, given the Crooked’s crooked history with obliterating trespassers first and asking questions later. “Lives in bushes. Smells like bird shit.” His dim eyes flash as he shoots a sultry glance over his shoulder to where his sitter sat, making himself a little too cozy in the room adjacent to the indoor garden. From the table, he could see the lady palm through the doorway waving him over. He’d have obliged himself to answer its call too if the elephant dick in the room wasn’t currently wedged between the bars of the back of the chair and catching each time he tried to rise out of his seat. 

  “Ev’n was partic’lr bout me gittin’ scrubbed off, but ah only takes half’ve criticism once ah done sawed the whole part in two—“ Pausing with a grimace growing in a rare show of concentration near the corner of his stiffened face flesh as if he just realized something painful, he busies himself with forcing his junk out from between the wooden bars. “But he ain’t here no more.”