#thread: roy

Gretchen wasn’t especially fond of Aaron, but in most situations she would put up with him if she had to. This, however, was not most situations. This was more of a “We are standing over a woman strapped to a table, about to carve her up” situation, and having Aaron arrive to witness this would be… . inconvenient at best, catastrophic at worst. She hurried around the table to Roy and slapped him full in the face. “Get yourself together,” she hissed at him. 

Roy hadn’t given this whiny cunt’s looks a second thought. She wasn’t very attractive to him, so what good would paying her face any attention do? 

But Aaron had started complaining that she looked a lot like their third grade teacher--Didn’t she look like Miss Cunningham, Roy? Didn’t she just? What if she is? She’s not, is she? Is she?--and all his goddamn talking had started unhinging Roy, making his head go soft and his eyelids go heavy like he needed to sleep. And he was a little too fucking busy to sleep right now. Normally holding a knife so surely was enough to keep him grounded, but the chatter had just gotten too fervent. 

Until Gretchen rounded the table, her thigh brushing up against where the pristinely constructed restraints were anchored, pulled her arm back and thwacked him, just like he’d all but asked. Roy fell half a step to one side, propped himself up against the table beside this woman who looked like who-the-fuck-cared’s head, cradling his weapon close to his belly like it was some small, needy, newborn animal. Flashbacks coursed through his mind and made a dreadful shiver traipse visibly down his spine, though it probably just looked like the slap had excited his young buck vitality a bit. 

You think I’m playin’ with you? You look at me when I’m talkin’ to you! What on God’s green earth were you thinking, you little shit? 

Ah, perfect. Perfect. 

Roy opened his eyes up a little wider, the fog not completely gone but fading fast as his pulse beat across his cheek. He could taste blood oozing from his cheek, the stuff just starting to paint his bottom lip. He licked it away. 

*jumps half out of his skin* “who the hell are you? and how did you get in here?” 

Roy grins and leans back in the shabby office chair. Cushions made of fake tweed. Like it’d get caught against his nails if he scratched along it, for whatever reason. 

@afoxholeofmuses​ wanted an angery starter 

“Then quit being a little coward and try it, honey.” 

“Of course not,” Gretchen lied, hoping to brush this off without it becoming a full-fledged argument. “I’ve just had a lot more practice at this, more time to learn a few things, that’s all.” 

Sure, the guy had died before he’d gotten the other eye out, but what was he supposed to do? Start CPR? CPR was gay when you had to kiss a man to do it. Maybe Roy had moved too fast... He knew where the most important arteries were and he’d avoided them, so what happened? 

Paul offered a terse sigh, eyes scanning the other with mock worry. "Want to talk about it?" (To whoever might like Paul)

"Do I wanna talk about gettin' sent away to an island in the middle'a bum-fuck nowhere t'serve off my community service for doin' nothin' but stealiin' a book from a piece'a shit Archbishop? ...No, Father, I don't really wann' talk about it..." Roy huffed and glared down at the floor of the confessional.