broken scene | {rave/dars}
Jun 12, 2017 18:30:03 GMT -5
Post by gamemaker 💀 hades lochlan on Jun 12, 2017 18:30:03 GMT -5
JONAH
Fingers aching, throbbing with pain as he balled them into tight fists. He swung once at the boy, then blacked out. Next thing he remembered: walking home, eye black, lips mushed together uncomfortably. He stumbled along the sleeping streets, bottle of vodka clasped to his hands.
He had sworn to never let himself get to this point again at least a dozen times. He would wake up the next morning, look at the bruises on his body, the emptiness of his wallet, and curse himself for being so god damn irresponsible, but then a minor inconvenience would land him among a crowd of others looking to forget their troubles, and added in with a little atmospheric lighting and the smell of stale cigarettes, he was putty.
He blacked out again, and by some miracle, he must have made it home. When his eyes opened again, he was lying flat on his back in his bed. He noticed his pants were off, but one shoe was still on. A crooked grin spread across his features.
(I was fucked up, wasn't I?)
A shower and crusted blood on his temple chipping off into the drain, his hair a mess and his head pounding with what might have been a hangover, or a concussion, or both. He decided after looking at himself in the mirror that the black eye was nothing serious, the lips were already back to normal, and the cut didn't need stitches. His mother would certainly still shit herself when she saw him. In her eyes, he was still a boy who loved to create and to build, and she couldn't somehow grasp the fact that he liked to burn and destroy sometimes, too.
(Damn, too much more of this and I won't be much of a pretty boy anymore.)
He was halfway down the stairs before he decided he wasn't up for one of his mother's lectures, so he bounded upward and found himself scaling the wall outside of his window instead. Left foot: window sill. Right foot: wall panel. Hands: branch. Lift. Slide. Grab tree trunk. Climb down.
Routine, by now.
He made sure to stop at the bird house he'd built as a child on his way down, fishing out a pack of cigarettes and a pack of matches wrapped in plastic.
The neighborhood was plastered in campaign posters, most of them tragically unfortunate and probably home-made. On his street alone, he read the lines "Never give up HOPE," and "I'll RASOIO you to the finish line." He had half a mind to waste his matches, but he then quickly decided it wasn't worth time in the Detention Center, so instead, he just lit up a cigarette.
He wiped off a bit of grass from his own yard's sign, which he'd spent an entire weekend perfecting for his parents: "ASHCROFT ROOSEVELT: Remember This." A quote from the man himself. Not tacky, not simply drawn on with a marker, but paced. His nose had been particularly hard to perfect, but Jonah was proud of the final outcome.
Politician or not, the guy seemed pretty genuine. Jonah had done his research. Rags to riches, still humble. Still good. Part of Jonah wondered how easily he could be coaxed to the other side, or how far he was willing to go for those few extra votes. He knew he wasn't the type of person a politician might have cared about. But a man who had once been in the same position as him? Maybe.
Perhaps that was the biggest reason he supported the guy: he could relate to him.
He ducked into the town square, pulling his coat closer to him as autumn leaves chased after his feet with each quickened step he took. A few turns too many, and the voices of other people could only faintly be heard. An alleyway, litter and critter infested, barren with the exception of a lone shadow in the distance. He stamped out his cigarette as he hustled toward the guy.
He wondered how easily the guy could have been persuaded, and now he was going to find out.
As he drew closer, the shadow gained features: eyes, a chin, hands, that nose he'd spent so long trying to draw. Ashcroft Roosevelt stood before him, kind and tired eyes peering down at him with an expression he guessed was somewhere between confused and intrigued.
"You got my note," Jonah said, eyes darting to the far end of the alleyway.
"And I'm sure you are wondering why I asked you to meet here."
He took a seat next to the wall opposite of Roosevelt, resting his elbows on his knees as he lit another cigarette.
"I lived here for a month or two, after the drought took out my parents' shop."
There was a long pause.
"I wanted you to see that I'm like you, and that I meant what I said in that note. I can get you votes."{briar}
MAZER
