you own it (morgana)

Stand up straight,
Do your trick.

Dep was in a pissy mood. But then, when wasn't he? He always had something to mad at, it seemed. The stupid dogs peeing on his stupid guitar case, stupid Harvard getting drunk on his stupid beer, and his own stupid self for forgetting to buy stupid food for stupid breakfast. Whatever. He didn't care anymore. So what if he starved to death? So what if Harvard spent all day passed out on the couch? So what if his guitar case smelled like guitar piss all day? He was done with all the stupid shit in his stupid fucking life. He slung the strap of his guitar over his shoulder and left the house, banging the door behind him. If a puppy had crossed his path just then, he probably would have kicked it and felt no remorse.

Dep wasn't sure where he was going. He just had to walk for a while, let his mind settle from rage down to anger, and then to just a mellow, empty shell. That was how it went, usually. He let all his frustrations build and build until he couldn't take it anymore, and then he did something with it. Sometimes he took the same route as Harvard and stole bottles of beer, downing one after another with hardly a breath in between. This usually ended with him passing out or vomiting. In both cases, he crossed his fingers that Harvard wouldn't find out. Harvard was, in most cases, a pretty mellow guy. If Dep yelled at one of the dogs or touched them in any way that could be considered harmful, Harvard got angry. But other than that, Harvard had never really seemed to care much what Dep did. But then, Harvard had never caught him doing anything really bad, like getting drunk for what seemed like a stupid reason.

Luckily, Dep wasn't in the mood to vomit up his guts today. Instead, he let the cool air clear his head. He took in deep lungfuls of the air as he headed into town, listening to the soft chirps of winter birds. Already he could feel his rage dissipating, wafting away and into the crisp morning. At this time of day, there weren't too many people out, but the ones that were there chattered quietly among themselves. A soft peal of laughter bubbled through the air, and Dep found himself almost smiling. It usually took longer for his anger to fade, but it was such a nice day out, he was having a hard time keeping a firm grasp on it. What he could use just about now was a nice park bench where he could sit and play his guitar for a while, maybe sing a bit. He'd never cared if people listened to him play or sing. He wasn't shy one bit. In fact, he loved his ability to attract crowds.

Dep's fingers were starting to get cold as he approached the park, so he paused on the foot path to pull a pair of black fingerless gloves from his jacket pocket. After sticking his fingers through the holes and adjusting the gloves so they fit correctly, he continued walking. A short while later, he reached his favorite park bench. It faced a stretch of grass that rose slightly into a hill and was lined with a thin stand of trees. He sat down and moved his guitar so it sat in lap, then started tuning his beloved instrument. As he did so, he tried to decide what song to play. He knew plenty. Many were songs Harvard had taught him, back when they had something of a relationship. Many more he'd learned from others. There were also the songs he'd written himself, but he was more hesitant to play them, unsure if they would be liked. It was easy to play songs other people had heard of and could sing along to. It was anything thing entirely to play something new, something that held a tiny piece of himself that could be easily crushed. In the end, Dep just played around a bit, his fingers striking random notes and chords. The music didn't make much sense, but that was alright. He was just warming up, after all.