roll the windows down — angel. & sebastien.

"no, I don't need no help
i can sabotage me by myself
don't need no one else,
i can sabotage me by myself "

It was a type of silent rebellion to smoke in the house at night. He would sabotage the smoke alarms, cigarette holding out the corner of his mouth -- well on his way of being a young adult, this was the first step, yeah? Pride and Joy of the Salazars, he silently would move the kitchen chairs- Marina's good wood. Standing on them alone was means for excommunication, extermination even! "Good heavens, 

How fuckin' dare I," he'd mock, pulling the front gate off and pulling the batteries. 

What had gotten into him, he liked the idea of Luzia questioning it, perhaps. In his head it was Luzia, always a little snitch bitch and maybe it was the jealousy talking. It wouldn't be Elena - she would be too scared to confront anybody on it - nor would it be Jacinta. Hell, she was the one who gave him the pack, straight from the tycoon's mouth itself. 

So he'd sit in the living room, pants off, shirtless, romanticized in the way the spark began. Cigarettes weren't rare in seven, most tobacco in general came from across the woods in nine- he always was surprised how much they got from there. Salazars specifically, they had branded their entire house in tobacco and bullets and luxuries shy of only the capitol. 

It got to be impressive, really. 

The matchbox came from seven, tried and true; straight from under the cabinet. It sat next to a gun, and Sebastien took both. Breathed in both, practically, satisfyingly so. He had always been guilty in how addicted he was to the idea of power -- everybody had their own vices. You can't go to rehab for something like that, he doubt he would go if he could. 

Valentino's little golden boy, the last leg he stood on. That was a good sign, right? That there were four failures, and hopeful Sebastien, and the cigarette between his lips. 

He loved pretending he was something dangerous, maybe that's what made him so. Elena had Jacinta and he had Valentino, and on paper he knew how that would go -- he slouched on the couch, listening to the rain pour outside. The way the gentle paper skin of the cig burnt away, ripping itself apart in the heat and he'd listen to the way he stomached it. 

And he heard it too, the sound of the fence ringing. 

It perked both his attention and his eyebrows, thinking over how much he cared. How much of a threat it truly could have been- he hadn't truly known the people who sought out his last name. The only one who he knew personally was Marley Cost, ever pining after his younger sister and fucking kids, he rolled his eyes before getting up. 

Still, not wearing pants. Or shoes. Or a shirt, covering a hairy chest with a jacket laid over the couch earlier that morning. He grabbed both it and the gun, both of which had been his father's. Part of him hesitated in not blowing out his cigarette, as if they'd let him smoke it after kidnapping him, but he held the pistol behind his back and-

The front window? 

Really.

The boy stared at him awkwardly and he only stared back, neither one shocked- only mildly confused. Am I being robbed? For fucks sakes.

"I got bored and broke into your house."

Okay, he admired the gusto and pressed the pistol ever tightly behind his own back, "cheers to that." Just his luck, Sebastien squints at the boy while tacking a drag of his cigarette. He felt dead in the head, rain gently patting inside the house, and part of him was scared those light tats would wake his mother up -- then they'd both be fucking dead. 

Hell, they both might already be. 

"Angel de Costa," oh. 

"Figures."

He was already dead, right? Sebastien had been trained years ago not to flinch on surprises, but through everything this still caught him off guard. Just by how in the open it was, it all was, and that's a deep judgement call from a man with no pants on. Sebastien focused more on the smoke than anything else, overwhelmed in the way to process the strangest mugging of his life. 

"You can snitch, I don't give a fuck," he says, Sebastien's eye twitching almost with the idea. It made him sound like a pussy. Like Salazar's couldn't deal with their own problems, and Angel de Costa wouldn't have bigger problems to deal with from Sebastien alone. He's skeptical of it all, of if he should just shoot him in the knee already. 

Angel de Costa continues, "what are they gonna do, kill me again?" and it makes Sebastien warm up to him. Throwing up both hands and grinning, a soft "aye!" as if they had been on the same page, cigarette flame flickering off the metal of the pistol in his other hand. Good minds think alike, and wouldn't you know it, they were both sneaking around thinking Angel would die tonight. 

Crazy, they already have so much in common, he sits on the window sill with his own laugh, Sebastien grins taking another hit of his cigarette, standing with his gut out. 

"Ya' have a cigarette or something, pretty boy?"  

Ay dios mio, "you're pretty cocky all things considering, yeah?" In a way, he wouldn't be surprised had it turned out Jacinta or her man had sent Angel. To spy, or annoy him, or something, he tried to size him up and couldn't get past how stupid he was. Brave, or stupid, probably both. 

Sebastien let the gun rest by his side, stepping up next to Angel, "here." Reluctantly, he convinced himself it was something ridiculous- obviously, but more so than what he thought. Angel was probably on his way to steal something for Jacinta, something she had forgotten seven years ago and had never shrugged it off. 

A sad, pathetic part of his heart begged for it to be him. 

He hands the cigarette to Angel in exchange for a seat, wincing as the cold rain air hits his lower back. Sebastien slouches, as he always does, resting his chin in his hand and the other arm laying across his lap, the gun staring at Angel. 

As if it were that silent rebellion, just to sit next to such a useless guy; though, he knew Angel didn't need that pity. Not exactly, Sebastien hadn't been dumb enough to get killed yet, but he could understand how it felt to be such a wrecked thing. "Fair warning," he turned to look at Angel, feeling just as stupid in every way. "If you're too loud, my parents will wake up," he couldn't quite guess if Angel knew who his parents were. Who the Salazars were exactly, how loose lipped a traitor Jacinta had truly become. 

"And if they do, you might just die a second time and take my ass with you. 

Understood?"

It was exciting, in some dumb way, something so unexpected. He held the gun limply as it rests against the meat of his thigh, pointing at Angel de Costa like a tease. 

 

" oh no
i see
that I love you but not of me
a life of constant purity "

Sweat began to settle, awkwardly, between where his thigh had met Angel de Costa's pants leg -- cold, in a way different than him getting chills under his jacket. Sebastien hated the way he began to get nervous, as if he had to prove himself all over to this boy. This man, older than him and still making bad decisions; that's something he could definitely admire. 

Angel de Costa put his mouth on Sebastien's cigarette, and he watched his lips the entire time: the inhale, the exhale, through the smoke and fog, through the corny words that left his mouth. He couldn't stifle the laugh, "oh yeah, that's how we feel?" Sebastien couldn't see the smirk but lord did he feel it from the way Angel talked, that sharp left profile- what an idiot. Talked in a sense of romanticism, "I'd agree, you probably got some illness in the brain." 

Pointing to his own forehead -- hell, maybe Sebastien wasn't wired all correctly either. He didn't want to count his blessings too early, just sit, tongue in cheek as Angel pulled his knees to his chest. Curled in on himself so tiny like he didn't need the space, Sebastien rolled his ankle, questioning of if he could flex like that. Angel moves his legs and he almost misses the body heat, but maybe that was just the touch starvation.

Instead, he just settled on the fact that Angel was something different entirely,  something stupid and ridiculous, but hey-

Sebastien was the one pointing the gun. 

It was kind of hot the way Angel steers the gun, seductive in the way this boy isn't scared of death. To look a Salazar with a loaded gun in the eyes and practically pull the trigger- he couldn't keep his lips closed. Exciting, almost, like when hunter sees easy prey, go for the fuckin' heart, at least, buddy. And where does he aim, at most? If the heart isn't Angel's softest, bloodiest part; for the first time in the longest of times, Sebastien was utterly speechless. 

Impressed, aroused, excited, not all difficult things to get out of the boy, but he couldn't think of how to respond. Angel continues to talk as Sebastien is stuck blushing, gun in his hand and he had spent so many years learning to be prepared in every situation. When to shoot, how to shoot- how to shoot to kill, at that. There was no pressure on the trigger, only on his jaw, the way his mouth held some shocked smile. 

Who is this fucking kid, and how does he get more of whatever this is? 

If everyone in Mackenzie Pyrce's house was this way, he could understand Elena a bit more, just a little. At least understood why she was so interested- risk it all over it, maybe not, but Sebastien definitely could entertain it for a night. Listen to the way he rambled about everything he had thought to steal, Angel's words just bounced so lively for something so dead. 

"Are you the heir, or whatever?"

"I- you really are something else, you know that?" Something insane, something unnatural and Sebastien's convinced they didn't put all his brain back into his skull when they brought this one back. Out of twenty three, there had to be one casualty somewhere along the line. Angel de Costa's words something paranormal and he couldn't call it. 

Hell, he could barely understand the kid's brain. Resting his weight on his right arm as he learned to look the guy in the eyes, gun limp in his lap once more, you can't be serious. He watched Angel take another drag, smoke pushed with wet wind into the rain and it smelled like his lungs. Something raw, 

"Okay, yeah, I'm Sebastien-" scoffing at it, like he'd lost and had to admit it -- that was a good way to put it. Lost, so damned lost, he wanted to drill it into his skull that Angel de Costa broke into his house just to steal his cigarette of all things. "How are you gonna call my house poor, and then ask for dinner!" What type of shit, he leaned back straight before straddling the window sill, fresh rain hitting the leg hair of his right leg.  

He was slowly understanding that he probably wasn't the first person to threaten to shoot Angel. It was exciting in a way, seeing a jester dance and he entertained the idea lawlessly. Valentino's golden boy - he should have just shot him in the leg before ever letting him hop the fence, but yet here they both sit. Sebastien presses his tongue to his cheek, thinking it over as he slouches, "I don't know about dinner, but," he nods out the window, "my last cigarette's at Jacinta's, and you seem shameless enough to break in twice in one night." 

Learn to hit it and quit it, damn. 

Sebastien feels the chill of the rain biting at his skin, "though, it'd be nice to put some pants on first, if you don't mind." Of course. Through years of sending letters to Stella Blakesley, he knew to cater- what the hell am I doing. He rationalized that it was something he gained from regardless. Perhaps, in more way than one, looking at Angel's adam apple. 

"It'll be great, you can even go through the front door this time!"