Violent Exhaust

His jaw hangs like a loose hinge when her fist connects with the other mans nose. A loud chortling guffaw shoots out from deep in his belly. The girl has spunk, that’s for sure. She just did something that Knives has been wanting to do since he settled into the gang. Blood pulses in his earlobes. 

Her offer for first aid sounds insincere for a moment, but something is drawing him to her... and the thought of an actual first aid kit sounds better than whiskey and dirty bandages. 

He shoots a look at his men and calls in a rough voice. “Get out of here. You heard her.” He shoos them with his good hand. They begrudgingly gather their things and stalk off in different directions. He turns to follow Tulia but sees that she has gotten a good distance a head of him. He sort of gallops to catch up with her. His boots clunk against the ground with loud thuds. 

Upon entering the nursery, he suddenly feels very aware of how he looks. Tight black pants, a ripped up white shirt, a leather jacket with studs and zippers galore, not to mention his famous eye patch. He feels the children’s eyes glue to him and he attempts a sort of lopsided smile at the table nearest him. Sure he was tough, but he wasn’t about to scare a bunch of children. 

He watches the way that Tulia interacted with them. So very different than the violent outburst he had just seen out side. She was careful and gentle. 

Kneeling on the ground outside the bar, knives fiddles with the motor of his bike. Its been acting a little wonky lately and rattling in all the wrong ways. What kind of biker would he be if he didn’t give his ride the tender gentle care it needed. With nimble hands, his fingers dance around the sprockets and gaskets. One of the guys comes up behind him startling him and he jerks. This causes his hand to scrap across a jagged piece of metal. Crimson blood flows from his palm. 

“Fuck!” he shouts louder than he intended. “What the fuck, man?” He shoves the man away from him and starts rifling, one handed, through the bag on the back of his bike. Shit like this always happens. Why the hell are these meatheads so incompetent?

He’s pulled out of his seething thoughts by the voice of a woman. A woman yelling at him. He looks her over. She must be from that place with the kids across the street. Why the hell did they put a bar here? 

“I’m tuning up my bike, lady. I can’t really just do that inside now can I?” He looks down at the blood pouring from between his fingers. “I get that you’re protectin’ the kids, I see that, but I gotta fix my bike before we go anywhere.” He pulls a rag out of the bag and presses it into the wound. He winces in pain, but lifts his head to look Tulia in the eyes. 

⌆ a nervous tic or habit they do

⏀ describe their usual smile

⇅ do they look up or down while thinking?

❧ describe their usual sleeping position

✑ describe something they like without naming it

✜ what’s their posture like in a normal situation?

❖ describe their hands

❞ write a quote they would find themselves saying

§ how would their hair gray? or would they lose their hair first?

❤ describe how they show affection.

Here’s an incredible haunter.

Artist: Larkles on deviantART