#angclsinalas

Anton might’ve been able to restrain himself if she stuck to name-calling – maybe. It was the laugh that set him over the edge. In a single stride, he was on her and swinging an open palm slap. The first was just to prove that he would, that he wasn’t a fucking bitch. A second, more severe one followed to express, clear as he knew how, just how far past the line she had stepped. He held himself off from another by passing a hand through his beard once and taking a deep breath. “Okay,” he finally said, leaning in real close. “I’m gonna give you one chance t’say sorry, Bel. T’say sorry and mean it. Or you wanna try for’a third?”

    “ --- Whoa, alright. ” Hands shot in the air, quickly does his face twist into confusion --- mockingly, with eyes wide like the wave of her ire holds humor to him. Rourke shakes his head, arms dropping as she steps up to him but unlike the man she met years before, he’s learned to let the bear slumber for a bit more ; if only to wait until the perfect moment to rouse. Sour scent of alcohol staining the black of his beard, he does not bear any perfume or cologne --- maybe the remnants of a two-dollar hot-dog but that’s not something he wants to speak about. ( It’s still not settling with his stomach. ) Without checking his cell, Roman, with his furrowed brow & grumpy frown, gives her the lamest shrug. “ I was at a goddamn ball game with my buddy, Bella, what the fuck do you want me to say? I wasn’t out with some slut so chill the fuck out, yeah? ”

          spent  cigarette  stubbed  out  on  the  heel  of  his  boot  ;  butt  tucked  into  the  half  -  empty  pack  to  be  tossed  later.  smoke  from  his  lips  when  he  speaks  ,  thanks  to  that  final  drag.  ❝  ay  ,  ❞  his  throat  still  burns  from  the  menthol  ,  side  effect  of  chain  -  smoking  for  half  the  day.  one  eye  squints  as  he  glances  her  way  ,  sun  gleaming  as  it  sets  ;  that  end  -  day  heat  causing  tattooed  cheeks  to  tint  pink.  ❝  what’chu  doin’  ?  not  that  ‘m  thinkin’  y’ain’t  capable  or  whatever  ,  but’chu  need  some  help  ?  ❞

       “ Pardon my French or whatever, but that is the cutest fucking dress I’ve ever seen someone just wearing out and about like this. You’re killing it. Jesus. How? Where? My heart can’t handle this. ”

"You don’t know me-- well, you do.” There’s a nasally sort of laugh from Fate. “Everyone technically does. It’s just a matter of believing.” Oh, enough of all this vagueness, that wasn’t her schtick (unlike some people she knew). “I’m Fate, dear. That Fate.”

          “ You ain’t seen me? Tha’s pro’ly the first time anyone ever said that to me. Now, look here, li’l lady, if you try ‘n hit me for real, you pro’ly jus’ gon’ end up needin’ a new truck. Ain’t your mama teach you no manners? You hit a man with a truck, you tell him sorry. ‘Less he’s dead, then you run. ”

cont.   //   @angclsinalas

       “ Are you staying here? ”