#foolish-pleasure

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Judas had not long gotten back from his bunker; THE BUTCHER in full swing, new decorations and effigies eagerly awaiting set-up. A few Peggies of his had already run down to begin the process, but he requested they leave the body for him to sort out.

It'd look nice on that new building they had repaired and re-instated in the Holland Valley.

Wiping his hands with a rag and nearing his garage ( eager for a cup of tea, he could practically smell the boiling water already ) , it was the sound of clopping that had his ears pricked. He stilled by the left-open garage door, the waft of oil, grease, and petrol lovingly familiar.

Turning on his heels, his brows arched when he saw a horse coming his way. Usually, Peggies didn't come up this far to his place. Not unless they wished to chat, or unless they considered this path the best for their business. It was rarely ever the second. And not ever on horses. Special one, this. H

He held the bloody rag in a hand, gesturing at the incoming Chosen with it.

"This," Jon says, tonguing at his own empty, bloody tooth socket, "is a bad time."

The tooth is embedded in the forearm of the dead man whose throat was ripped open with a steak knife. He knows he swallowed some of the flesh involved in that bite. The thought amuses him more than anything. Probably not the first time.

The Riders boss stands from his squat, knees popping, ankle aching, wrapped hands soaked with gore, one finger visibly broken and at a bad angle. He sniffs, lip twitching.

The indie circuits can be many things, serious, silly, intense, and full of some silly fucking characters. One of those silly characters is named after a fruit, and no matter how much he says it's actually the color, his Uncle Grapefruit is evidence enough that it isn't true in the slightest.

Right now there's a local New England promotion that's drawn his eye, having been dropped off in Massachusetts with no transportation of his own and cycling through Philly and his home state, thriving of being a mostly well known name and not caring he's being paid peanuts.

The downside? There's an organization of people not very happy with him. And they know where he frequents, they know where he'll be, and they'll know there isn't a Death Rider in sight. He's an unfortunately easy target, and it's not even because of the denim for once.

Her mind still hadn't quite made sense of what happened. Processing it felt like trying to recall a nightmare that was just out of reach. She was meant to die. Not that she necessarily wanted that outcome, but it had easily been the most likely. Even with all her planning, taking out an entire criminal organization was no easy feat, but now that she had? What was she even supposed to do now? Her mind raced with thoughts, eventually bringing her to the only place left standing that she still felt safe.

Sitting beside the door, waiting, she couldn't help but let her mind wander. Would he still recognize her? Would he be angry? She had left him without so much as a goodbye. Sure, she had her reasons, but still... it had been so long. How would he feel having her just show up in his life? No, she had to leave. He was better off without her causing trouble.

Quickly getting up, she turned to make her exit, only to freeze, making eye contact with the same man she had just planned to avoid.

“No occasion,” that’s not quite true, but she doesn’t need to tell him she dressed up to impress him a little.

In fact, there’s something she’s been meaning to ask him. Maybe it’s the time of year, with Valentine’s Day just around the corner. “Actually, I think....yes I think I ma going to ask you something.” While she is bold, she’s not quite used to asking for what she wants.

When exactly did he doze off? It was late and the doctor was still in his suit instead of the telltale trench coat. Maybe he’d just stay in for tonight instead of peddling the goods. He rubs his temples and goes to loosen his tie, mulling over his options until there’s a banging on the front door.

Instinctually Julian reached for his gun, positioning himself in the correct stance, scanning the dimly lit bedroom. The man wasn’t expecting anyone, especially as such a late hour and he’s slightly alarmed at the scent of blood as he navigates out of the bedroom.

Moving through the dark living room Julian stops to stand in the hallway that leads to the gaping front door until his eyes settled on the collapsed figure, bleeding out on the throw rug. The man lowered his gun slightly, wondering who she was and what sort of trouble this stranger landed herself into. More importantly, if he himself had any ties to that trouble.

“I don’t even know where to start other than with…what the fuck?”

This...honestly sucked. All things considered, it could actually suck more, but it was very swiftly moving up the ladder of suckage. Molly’s head rolled to the side as Julian spoke up, and seemingly unbothered by the weapon in his hands, she waved a hand in silent cheer.

“Oh good, you’re home.” She laid still a moment longer before attempting--very slowly and very painfully--to pull herself up into a seated position. That didn’t work well in her favor, apparently, because Molly ended up back on her side with a thud. She moaned pitifully, but it wasn’t ultimately clear whether it was from the pain or the embarrassment.

@foolish-pleasure