hiatus maybe. also, autoplay!!

    WITH HIS OWN GRIMACE, WHICH SEEMED TO MIMIC     the other’s, he turns just slightly, opening the fridge to grab     a small juice pouch ( capri sun, strawberry kiwi ). “i’m sorry.     that was awful. do you want a pouch?” he asks, leaving the      fridge halfway open in anticipation of the other’s response.     he turns to see them holding up a whole internal organ, and      sort of cringes a little bit, a small grin tugging up the corners     of his lips at the other’s question. “that’s gross. i’m mostly      concerned about, like…” he pauses, not too sure where he      was going with that sentence. “is it squishy?” he asks,      taking a small step forward with narrowed eyes, just to      get a better look at the organ. “what is that? the, uh… liver?”      there it is. that’s the ap biology in him. 

   It was as if his whole person had lit up at the     the sight of the signature silver pouch. Much     like a child, he was always game for some     juice. Especially if it was Capri Sun. Happy     memories were associated with the brand’s      assorted flavors of liquid diabetes. 

    ❝ Hell yeah. Stick the straw in it for me?     I don’t want to get blood all over that shit. ❞ 

    Tossing the organ into the ice chest open     at his side, expectant eyes were turned up     a the other, lips sealing themselves until the     desired beverage was handed over. It was     then that he commented on the consistency     of a liver, the dead dude’s in particular. 

    ❝ When it’s healthy, yeah. Mr. Fuckwit here     has, ergh, had a healthy liver on him. Or... uh,     in him? On him sounds better but I guess it’s     not technically correct. Whatever. Was kind     of worried—thought maybe he liked his scotch     a little too much, but nah. His liver’s going to    sell easy. So are his kidneys. ❞ 

     “——— I know it looks bad—”

        WITH IRON-CLAD DETERMINATION AND WILL TO SPARE,         he enters the apartment with confidence, wholly determined to         demand a raise from Mr. Cheggars. Babysitting demons for the         little pay he received  a b s o l u t e l y  did not cut it anymore.          Upon stumbling onto the sea of red that unfolded in the other’s          kitchen, Lucky narrows his eyes a little bit.

        Oh, what a nice surprise! He didn’t think he’d be seeing that         Chef Boyardee again. This time, on the floor of his employer.         Mixed with a little bit of digestive acid. A pretty picture, really.         He spits out what’s left, adding to the pile of vomit before sha-         king his head. His gaze rises to the not-as-dead one.

                ❝ He raised awful children. They were like,                  tiny demons with amazing stamina. I’m also                  fairly certain he didn’t tip, either. ❞

   No one could fault him for the crinkle of his nose,     or the overall look of disgust that had seized his     expression before it relaxed back into something     more... neutral, though there was the shadow of a     smile still looming about his jaw. Partially digested     ravioli aside, the newcomer was handling the sight     of an eviscerated human being pretty well. 

    ❝ That so? ❞ Tone absolutely conversational, he     gazed up at the other man--offered him a real smile     before unceremoniously reaching inside the 'dearly     departed's' split open torso to retrieve and inspect     his undamaged liver. ❝ Does that mean you're okay     with this? ❞ Why yes, he had just lifted the organ      up Simba-style, showing it off to his newest     acquaintance. 

u betcha son. 

feel free to add more.

   ” i warned you not to return, “

   scott’s voice is gruff, almost pained. it was    clear he was torn about this, he didn’t want    to hurt julian, but he would if he had to, he    would do what was needed. ” and yet, here    you are. “