floratic:

HE  DIDN’T  WANT  HELP . — he  didnt  need  help .  but  victor  was  playing  by  clever  cards  now ,  dropping  the  illusion  of  offering  the  choice  between  accepting  declining .  yet  the  only   option  was  clear :  accept ,  or  he  would  pull  out  the  dirty  tricks  hidden  in  his  sleeves  ,  cause  elliot  to  accept .  he  didn’t  want  the  money ,  he  didn’t  want  victor’s  help ,  he  didn’t  want  to  play  by  other  people’s  games  anymore .  but  did  you  ever  have  a  choice ?  it  was  only  the  matter  of  survival  here ,  &  victor  was  drawing  out  a  way  out ,  regardless  of  whether  it  was  merely  an  illusion  or  not ,  it  was  something .  

❝ i  don’t  want  your  help .  i  never  asked .  i  hate  unwarranted  aid .  ❞     he   says  in  an  apathetic  voice ,  eyes  hardly  gazing  against  the  thick  wad  of  bills  held  in  hands .  perhaps  other  desperate  street - rats  would  have  leaped  at  the  first  chance  to  accept  the  money , kiss  victor’s  shoes  for  helping  them  out .  maybe  they  would  shine  his  shoes  for  him  too , &  thank  him  for  being  their  redeemer  from  the  low - life  of  the  streets .  ———- fucking  snake ,  a  viper .   he  knew  the  method  well ,  how  victor  guised  himself  beneath  the  veneer  of  offering  hope , but  . .  the  guy  probably  wanted  something  far  more  than  to  just  help . whatever  it  was,  he  couldn’t  understand  fully ,  but  he  would  find  out  whether  he  wished  to  or  not .  there  was  no  choice  for  him . 

& i  disagree .  most  kids  have  hard  time  even  having  to  breathe  in  the  same  space  as  me . ❞     but  he  could  hold  off  for  a while ,  slip  past  victor’s  attempts  at  snaring  him  to  the  corner  for  as  long  as  he  could .  until  he  could  leave  the  shitty  apartment - complex , &  find  his  way  through  the  winding  streets  of  the  concrete  jungle  &  hide  himself  behind  the  hustling  faces  of  mundane  lives .  he  leaves  the  money  unaccepted  still , eyes  cold  &  terribly  blue ,  flickering  up  towards  victor  in  an  unreadable  tilt  of  his  head .   ❝ today , i’m  going  to  be  jonah .  tomorrow ,  maybe  tyler . —– today ,  i  don’t  feel  like  accepting  unwarranted  sympathy . ❞     he  never  did .  even  with  parrish , the  whole  ordeal  had  always  been  a  struggle  between  the  two .  parrish  attempting  to  corner  him  to  finally  surrender  admit  that , yes ,  he  needed  his  help .  elliot  always  trying  to  slide  past  his  attempts ,  always  promising  that  everything  was  perfectly  alright .  

for  a  moment ,  he  wonders  if  isaac  has  any  firearms  hidden  within  the  grimy  set - up   of  his  apartment .  maybe  beneath  the  couch  cushions ,  or  somewhere  behind  the  plastered  walls .  a  hand  is  slid  back  into  his  jacket ,  but  his  finger  carefully  poises  against  the  handle  of  his  switchblade ,  &  he  only  looks  away , as  if  to  be  poured  down  in  thought .  (  but  his  mind  was  racing ,  recalling  the  routes  taken  to  get  to  isaac’s  apartment ,  &  the  way  back  to  the  old  chapel  by  the  7th  avenue . he  would  only  need  to  distract  the  man  for  awhile  if  he  wished  to  make  a  fast  dash  for  it. )   ❝ but  i’ll  remember  to  include  you  in  my  books  . just  search  for  a  sociopathic  bastard  in  the  story . ❞

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A scowl replaces the friendly grin he once wore as Elliot rejects his offer. He’s stubborn, unbelievably bull-headed, and its charm was rapidly deteriorating. Now, what was once entertaining was just becoming plain annoying.

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“How ungrateful of you,” His voice has been stripped of any playful formalities, facade after facade being ripped out of his tone, nothing left but the bare-bones acidity of Victor’s true self. “Do you know how many people would have thrown themselves at my feet for a chance to even look at the money I’m holding out for you?” He makes a slight “tch” sound as he shoves the money back into his pocket. “You’re smarter than most people, though, I figure that. You sure you don’t want to hear the requirements? I promise, they’d be an easy pay day…!

That was, truly, one of the biggest lies ever spill from his mouth. “Favors” for Victor Chandler were rarely ever easy, and more often than not, were extremely dangerous and much more trouble than the money was ever worth. But, desperation coupled with a lack of fear for dying compelled many a person to take him up on his twisted games; and rarely did anyone ever escape his clutches all the way intact.

“I wonder how tough you are though, that will be the question, won’t it?” He glances to the corner kitchen, sees a drawer of which he’s been over enough times to know the contents. Kitchen knives, in various lengths and levels of sharpness. Isaac mentioned something of a weapon in the kid’s possession, too, but would he really faster if he chose to lunge for the weaponry…?

His thoughts of blood and gore are, unfortunately for him, cut short by the sound of the doorbell ringing for a second time, an obnoxious buzz that seemed to drone on and on without silence. Whoever was pressing in the bell was persistent. Isaac can be heard groaning from inside his room, yelling out for Victor to “just fucking answer it already before I bash my fucking brains in!”

When Victor answers the repeated buzzes, the voice he hears over the intercom begging to be let in causes his face to morph into what might be considered concern, at least as concerned as Victor was capable of looking for another human being. He allows the stranger up, and in what feels like seconds, as if this newcomer sprinted all the way up to Isaac’s floor.

Another man enters the fray as Victor opens the door to allow him inside, and in quite the strange turn of events, they actually embrace each other, Victor’s arms wrapping around this man who appears frazzled and shaken by something yet unknown. He’s of a shorter stature than Victor, less lean and more sturdily built, and when he speaks, there’s a rare, soft quality to his voice, so unlike the man he was hugging.

“Fuck, I’m glad I found you here,” He says, and pulls his head away from Victor’s chest to stare up at him with mournful brown eyes. “You gotta get home soon, I guess your idiot pet project discovered what pyromania is and is now currently about to set the fucking house on fire.

“Adam, just relax.” Victor simply shushes him with kiss on the forehead, and to the untrained eye, the pair might have come across as a couple deeply in love, what with the way Victor preened him and cooed in his ear to try and get him to calm down. But with a second, more analytical glance, the way Victor held him was not only meant to provide comfort, but it appeared incredibly possessive, his arms winding around the man named Adam’s frame like greedy pythons waiting to suffocate their next meal. Every action this man did always seemed to have a much deeper, sinister intention lurking just beneath his murky surface.

It was then that Adam realized there was another presence in the apartment, and he managed to pull himself out of Victor’s insistent hold (albeit with great effort) to look at Elliot across the way. “Jesus, Victor, what did you and Junkie Mc SmokesAlot do to this poor kid?”

He steps just a few inches closer to Elliot, and unlike Victor, his eyes betray genuine sympathy and compassion, the raw emotion that was impossible to just fake. His eyebrows are furrowed and his jaw clenches as he examines the full picture that was Elliot, from his blood spattered clothing to the defiant hostility in his icy glare. He tries to show Elliot a smile as if that might ease the tension in his muscles, but when that seems to fail, he turns to Victor in an accusatory fashion. “Whatever you were trying to do with this kid, I can imagine he didn’t find it very fucking helpful, huh? Just look at his face!”

There’s a sort of warmth to his expression when he looks back to Elliot, trying his best to exude some ray of positivity in his direction. “I don’t know what he was trying to get you to do, but thankfully I’m here to put a stop to it… Sometimes he just doesn’t think before he starts speaking, you know? Look, I think Isaac might have a few bandages in his bathroom somewhere, if you wanna come with me; I can fix you up, or at the very least, clean you up a little. I was in the Scouts as a kid, I know a thing or two about patching up some wounds.”

He’s smiling again, a full on bright smile, trying his absolute hardest to appear friendly and personable so as to negate the cold sting of Victor’s own… difficult aura. Even more than wanting to take care of this boy, he figures he may be able to help him escape the apartment more quickly. So long as he has a helping hand to shield him from Victor’s taunts, Adam thinks he can give this kid a fighting chance.

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