"Everyone" [Skins!chars ONLY]
Jan 4, 2011 3:44:16 GMT -5
Post by Prince Inigo on Jan 4, 2011 3:44:16 GMT -5
Mark Adelle Drills
"Lighting alcohol on fire has never been so satisfying. Just hot enough for my cold heart."
"Lighting alcohol on fire has never been so satisfying. Just hot enough for my cold heart."
True to the weather reports, the night was to be clear of clouds and bad conditions. Earlier in the day, the sun was shining bright, warm enough to keep the masses alive under such chilly temperatures. People could be seen exiting the houses with suitcases and worker shirts for reaping rocks or off to the training grounds, but not many a child could be seen walking on the sidewalk. Not cold enough for breaths to be seen, the weather could be considered a pleasant relief from the other days were snowstorms would be blowing within the proximity of the District and causing such a snowy ruckus to shake the windows. Still, many of the residents were found with an extra layer or two of coat. Tonight, the winds were soft, winter breezes that blew just a little freeze to the skin. Hardly much of a fragrance could be detected, reflecting in the taste: Stale, cold, almost nonexistent.
Mark shoved various items in his jeans pockets while descending the stairs, snapping on a watch also. His footsteps were reserved and flighty. Using the head of the stairs rail, the young man swung himself to the right and headed straight into the door-less room. Immediately, the feet directed him to the refrigerator area; but, his hand went for the wooden compartments to the left. Digging through the obstacles, Mark searched quickly through and, in slight frustration, started books and bags out of the way with no care. Loud noise went on during the search. "Where are they? Shit!" Green eyes darted left and right, and the 18-year old hardly blinked.
He heard his name being called; and, when he swiftly turned 180, a coldness hit him in the area between the legs. Pain shot up, Mark clutched the area with one hand, and he gasped out a curse while holding onto a counter with the other hand. Barely could the man keep his balance, not relishing in the slightest about the injury or the freezing sensation encompassed in a single spot. Another swear was let out as the attacking projectile crashed to the floor and rung out a sound in the house. While dull, the weapon - a can of beer - did produce what Mark did not desire at the moment. When he could divert attention away from his immediately-fading pain and regain normalcy, he shot a glare. "What the fuck, Roger?" said he through gritted teeth.
In the older man's hand was a beer can, and he proceeded to shake the liquid inside while smirking. "You're horrible at hiding things from me. You can fool Cassie and Dad, but you're an easy case if you're willing to show me the stash."
Returning to normal posture, Mark went over to the man and snatched up the can as well as the slightly heavy cooler bag next to him. "Probably drunk the cases before, didn't you? Fine, then." He glanced over, looking at his own greens squarely. "You haven't told Dad yet, because he hasn't scolded me out. What do you want?"
Shrug. "Absolutely nothing--- Well, except, what and where you're going out for, Little Brother."
Slipping on the cooler bag following stuffing the two cans in-hand in, Mark replied, "Hang out with the gang." Smirk. "That's it? Thought you would be the type to blackmail me. Dad's perfect for that."
"For now, no." Roger dug out a set of keys from his pocket and jingled. Instinctively, Mark tried to snatch them, but Roger dodged. Greater smirk. "Later. Later, Mark."
Keys dropped into Mark's hand, but he took a second to raise a brow at Roger. After an unsure blink, his resolution was renewed, and out the door he went, discreetly as possible.
Gradually, the apparent signs of inhabitants in each section of the District deceased. Warmth and atmospheric friendliness were dissolving along with the status of the houses. Soon, walls of fresher paint and reinforced bodies transformed into abodes with chipping skin and missing chunks out of the main body. Mark kept on with the path, the cooler bag smacking against his hip in a rhythm. His face was pressed hard against the bitter breezes; he did not stop focusing his head forward.
Stop. Mark turned his body to a shack and, after making sure no eyes were on him, proceeded inside with the help of another key in the set. "What's that guy's problem? Stealing my keys..." he muttered setting the bag on a table. Taking a can out and opening, he sipped some of the liquid before falling on a cushion on the floor. Low chuckle. "Let the party begin."