footloose and collar-free

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It shouldn’t be so surprising, that Buster could have been told about the spats he used to have with his wife, but the fact that his private business had spread far enough to reach his former friend and partner still sparked at the rage constantly burning on low inside of him. It took very little to fan those flames high enough until he was lashing out without any thought of the consequences, but right now as they stood amongst a crowd of party-goers, Tristan tried his very damndest to keep that anger in check. To let it simply pass through him rather than consume his very soul the way it normally would. “I also don’t think it counts when you only get the girl because she’s too afraid of the other option out there,” he retorts back, feeling confident in the fact that at least his wife had actively chosen and agreed to marry him for himself. It was far from the actual truth, but he refused to acknowledge any of that. He refused to even consider that he and everyone around them had instead cornered and pressured Lilah into their relationship and eventual marriage. “Not at all,” he agrees, meaning far more than just the outfit he’s wearing. The entire ruse of Buster being a perfect little family man hardly fit him in the slightest as far as Tramp could believe. In fact, in his head he had figured the whole marriage was somehow a way of trying to get back at him. How exactly, he’d yet to figure that out, but he knew there had to be some kind of ulterior motivation behind the act. “Hey, it’s going to take a lot more than my pissed off wife with a gun to bring an end to me.”

Whoever it was that had Tristan out in the wild, kidnapping young girls, Atta wanted no part of it. She had enough of people bossing her around and making her do things she didn't want to do, including turning people's lives upside down. She'd seen the effects firsthand of what being taken from someone's home could do to a person--all she could hope was that Tristan had left her unscathed beyond the trauma of the night. "That's debatable," she teased with a smirk, the title of monster being one she was certain she'd heard used to describe him in the past, even by his own children. But, the focus was on her family, not his: he was too eager to convince her that everything she'd been growing accustomed to would be ripped out from beneath her soon enough. "That was a long time ago," she pointed out, "you don't think people, or circumstances, can change? Yourself included." They both knew just how drastically his life had changed since he'd asked Buster to pull back from the yard for his family. Now, he hardly had one left. Tristan knew how to capitalize on someone's insecurities better than most, finding exactly where she'd been apprehensive and twisted the knife. Though she hoped her husband was in it for the long haul, she was still skeptical at times when it came to just how much he was willing to shift the scales from professional to personal with his life. "Do you even know him anymore? What makes you think his priorities haven't changed?"

“No,” he answers with absolute certainty and confidence. While an argument could be made that people were capable of some level of change, this wasn’t one of them. Buster hating everything that a domestic life stood for, refusing to be held down by anything or anyone other than his junkyard, that was something that was simply instilled in his personality. Nothing, not even a woman as beautiful as Atta, would ever be enough to put an end to that. Not for forever, at least. Sure, maybe he was making an attempt to try and live the kind of life he swore he’d never have, but it wouldn’t last long. The call of freedom, the duties of his job would one day bring it all to an end - be it either Buster himself calling it off or Atta simply getting tired of his shit. It was bound to happen, that much Tristan felt he knew without any doubt. “I might not know him anymore, but I knew him far better than you ever will. I saw every side of him, every piece that created the man he is today. I know his past better than anyone else still alive - and I know that this happy little home shit, it’s never going to be enough for him.” For once Tramp wasn’t even saying all of this to try to hurt the woman in his arms, but rather simply stating what he felt to be the honest to god truth.

"Touché," Berlioz countered. If he was so willing to let him ask any one of their family members who he was, he considered it enough proof not to need any more. There had to be a good reason why the rest of his family hadn't told him about his father's living status: he didn't want to question their intentions, especially when Lilah and her children had been in his life far longer than his father had. "Maybe they were waiting for you to introduce yourself?" he suggested, placing a bit of the responsibility back on him for his absence from Berlioz's life for so long. "I also ... I don't know them that well." Which was Berli's own fault, and may have been a reason they hadn't felt ready enough to tell him something so life-changing yet.

Though he had no real right to be annoyed at any of the blame being placed back upon himself, knowing it was true that he had indeed had multiple opportunities to reach out to the triplets over all these years even before he had died and been brought back to life, it still pisses Tristan off ever so slightly how easily the boy seems to think this is his own fault. “I was just following your mothers orders, kid. No contact with any of you. Not to mention she never bothered to tell me you were living here, I thought you three were in France all this time. If I’d known I would have been around sooner,” he argues, lying ever so slightly in the last part. “And I’ve been a bit busy since I’ve been back. Sorry, kid. If it makes you feel better, I still haven’t met your brother yet either - he probably has no clue I’m back.” A subtle hint at the fact that he had indeed met one of the three of them, not quite calling out Marie for never sharing that information but leaving the potential thought of it hanging in the air around them.

Atta shook her head at him, all too unbothered by his offer to let her meet whoever it was that he was supposedly working for now. She'd had her fair share of men in her life who thought they knew everything on the planet--the last thing she needed was another one. "I'm okay, thank you for keeping me in mind," she declined nonchalantly. The dichotomy of his determination to win back Lilah and also want her dead was a complex Atta was never going to understand, no matter how hard she tried. Unfortunately for his family, it did sound like the usual for Tristan, including the casual mention of kidnapping a girl for this new boss of his. "Did you at least give her a ride home, or is she still currently being held hostage?" she asked with a raised brow, unsure if he even knew the details once he'd done his part of the dirty work. Atta rolled her eyes at him, having already figured this would be coming. "Bennett and I are happy, thanks for asking. You know, he's great behind a grill. I think domestication might be meant for him, after all," she remarked, knowing it was the kind of comment that could get under Buster's former best friend's skin. For all they seemed to know each other inside and out, the ways they'd grown apart proved to leave the two men at vastly different places in life now.

Given everything he knew about Atta, her rejection of the offer to meet his new boss wasn’t at all surprising, even if it was likely the wrong move. If there was anyone that you might want in your corner when dealing with men like Colin Hopper and the world he worked in, it was the god of the underworld. Not even Buster could compete with the type of protection that Hades could potentially offer. Of course it went without saying that he would need to get something out of the blonde as well, but Tramp was certain she could figure out some kind of deal they could strike up together. “Your loss,” he states simply, knowing that one day she would likely come to regret this decision. A dry laugh escapes him as he shakes his head in disbelief. “Of course. I’m not a monster, you know. The boss man had a chit chat with her and I dropped her right back on her front porch. No damage done.” Or at least physically there had been no damage done - emotionally and mentally, well, the young girl would probably be dealing with that trauma for a good long time to come. But oh well. In his line of work a little bit of stress over a minor kidnapping was nothing really, Tristan had seen and dealt with plenty worse over his years. And so had the man that Atta seemed so certain was satisfied and content with the little game of playing house he was currently involved in. But he knew far better to think anything like that could truly last for a man like Buster. “Oh please,” he lets out with a snort. “He nearly killed me when I tried pulling away to be with Lilah. Nothing and I truly mean nothing, not even your cute little ass, will ever come before the yard and his work. He might be playing along now, letting you think he’s all in, but even you gotta be smart enough to know this little game has an expiration date coming up on it.”

All of this seemed some sort of a joke to Berlioz. There was no way on this planet that a man could simply come back from the dead--he simply couldn't fathom it. Whoever this man was, it surely couldn't be his father. "Do you have proof?" he pressed, surveying the man from head to toe with just a glance. "I simply haven't heard of anyone coming back from the dead before, and my mother taught me of the danger strangers might bring. I believe you, but I'd feel much better if I had proof," Berlioz explained, the most reasonable he could be without diving into just who had made him so cautious of what adults around him told him.

Offering proof that he was indeed himself was hard when the boy had never met Tristan before this moment, but he figured there was a way he could at least tee-up the opportunity to prove his identity that worked double time as another shot at the rest of the family as well. “Well, you could go ask any of the kids carrying my last name, or even my wife, they can all confirm it. I’ve been back for awhile now, you know. I can’t believe they haven’t told you guys,” he shakes his head at the end, as if he’s genuinely surprised and disappointed in any of the other Tramps for keeping his existence a secret. If he thought about it long enough he could see why they maybe wanted to keep such a distance between him and the Bonfamilles, but that wasn’t really his style. Instead he was just going to take it as one more reason to be pissed at them all - Lilah in particular, of course.

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“Yeah, they are,” he agreed easily, acting as if he himself wasn’t lumped soundly right in that same category. It was easy right now, to pretend like he was some kind of great guy - a knight in shining armor that swooped in and saved the day. All other actions of his past were purposefully forgotten and buried for the moment, just the way Tristan liked them to be. “None of us really have our footing anymore. Shit’s fucked up left and right. You think you got a handle on things one moment then the next your fucking knocked on your ass again.” Though the argument could certainly be made that every time Tramp found himself being kicked around or knocked down, he had always brought it upon himself with his own actions - but he wasn’t about to admit or acknowledge that fact. Certainly not when he was sitting on such a high pedestal right now. “I died,” he confirms with a nod and a smirk, feeling like he might as well be a god himself for having found a way out of death as easily as he had. It shouldn’t be something to brag about, the fact that he was such a piece of shit that the king of the underworld wanted to recruit him in a task to overthrow olympus, but Tristan hardly saw it that way. “A higher power just knew I wasn’t ready to be done with this world yet.” Not at all the actual truth, but it was what Hades had told him to sell the deal.

Knowing that Tristan was present in the hotel was, per usual, a bit unnerving, but Atta was attempting not to let it get to her. She had Bennett with her, and it was all the protection she could ask for against his former business partner. She shouldn't have been surprised when he approached her, quickly taking ahold of her arm with the kind of grip that left little room for resistance. A small part of her was intrigued as to what he could possibly want from her now, especially since she'd so firmly declined his request to have his ex-wife murdered. It was with a tight-lipped smile and a knowing look that she reluctantly agreed, letting him lead her toward the dance floor. "Tristan," she echoed, "if this is to ask me about doing something for you again, you know that parties aren't supposed to be places of business." The statement was hardly true, and she didn't expect him to obey her request if that had been his mission in finding her, but it was the least she could do to try and save herself from striking a deal with Tristan right now. Atta placed one hand on his arm and the other in his, beginning to sway to the band playing in the front of the room. "I'm honored that you want to catch up with me. Actually, you're right, it has been a while. What exactly have you been up to since I've last seen you?"

A snort leaves his lips at the thought that business talks were off limits at an event like this, a ridiculous notion and they both knew it. Though he hadn’t originally approached the blonde with the intention of striking up any kind of deal, he can’t help but take the opening that she offered by bringing it up herself. “You know my offer always stands. I work with people that are more powerful than you could even begin to imagine. One life taken in exchange for contact with my boss seems like a fair enough deal to me,” he points out, though it probably means nothing to her considering he isn’t willing to actually admit just who his said boss was. It was the biggest card Tristan held and he wasn’t going to show it to just anyone - the only person he actually fully told in any major detail was Oogie, and that was only because the vampire had violently demanded an answer as to how he was alive again. As Atta agreed to the dance and took her position, he lessened his grip and moved the hand to rest on her waist. “Oh you know, the usual. Trying to win my wife back, spending time with the kids, kidnapping a young girl for work. Nothing of major note.” There was a smirk on his face as he listed each item, as if he were actually proud of everything he’d done over the past few months. Which, honestly, he kind of was - as horrible as that may be. “What about you? How have you and the wonderful new husband been? Still going strong or has he finally realized the settled down life isn’t for him?”

After Marie's set, Berlioz had been wanting to leave as soon as he could from the hotel and simply go to bed. It was exhausting, the amount of socialization that was required to be at one of these things. Not wanting to be the odd one out who simply bolted the moment they were done, he supposed he could stick around for one drink. As he closed the top of the grand piano and collected his sheet music, Berli felt a firm hand on his shoulder and a voice he'd never heard before. It took him a moment, but between the sentiment of his words and the unmistakable face he'd seen before in photos, Berlioz knew exactly who he was speaking to. Except, if he remembered correctly, he must have been speaking to a ghost.

It shouldn’t be so surprising that the boy didn’t know he was alive again, considering his very last conversation with Scamp had confirmed that the Bonfamille’s had never been told of his rise from the dead, but when he spoke with Marie she had seemed to already know anyway. Guess that information had yet to be shared with her brothers, or at least not the youngest one standing at Tristan’s side right now. “No joke, kid. And no twin brother, it’s me. Your old man,” he answers with a smirk, taking far too much amusement in this than he should.

who: @dogmovesout where: tramp's apartment

Running into Peg of all people while he was out doing some random errands for Oogie had hardly been expected, but he couldn’t say he was necessarily disappointed in the way it worked out. Not that he likes that she was in danger to begin with, but well, Tristan always did love getting to play the hero. It was a good change of pace from the villain role so many people in his life had given him recently, something he hardly agreed with at all but somehow struggled to shake off. But none of that mattered right now, not after he had rescued his ex girl like some kind of knight in shining honor and brought her back to his place. “No problem,” he brushed off what he’d done with a shrug and a sip of his own beer, even though it did indeed feel like quite the big deal to him. But if there was one thing Tramp had learned over the years, it was that you can’t get too cocky over the victories you achieve - a piece of advice he wasn’t always the best at following, but he played it cool enough right now. “Hey, listen, I don’t give a fuck what you’re doing. Shoot up, snort shit, it’s all fine with me - we all got our vices, whatever it takes to get you through the day, I get it. But what that guy was trying to do? Yeah, that crosses the line.” Which was pretty damn ironic, really, considering he’d done far worse to his own wife over the years - but if questioned on it, he’d say it was completely different.