'He's mad that trusts in the tameness of a wolf.'

My name is Deuce. Weaver of words, knitting dreams and nightmares, watching the birds float and the whores die. I've been trying to keep my teeth ground down so none of you end up bleeding, and most days that works alright. [Independent OC RP blog. Please note that content may be triggering for blood, violence, mental illness (particularly paranoid schizophrenia and suicidal thoughts). Please don't feel obligated to follow back if this material triggers you. Tracking the tag deucecantor.]

[archivalgenre]

outofmadness;

Okay, guys, here’s the deal.

I’m travelling to go home for the summer this evening; which, evidently, means I won’t be getting online much for a couple days, between the flight and the unpacking and the sleep that I will desperately need.

So! I know I still owe some replies etc., all of which are in my drafts and will be published once I settle down at my parents’ house and have the time.

Speaking of which. I haven’t physically seen my parents since the Christmas break, which—as I’m sure you can imagine—is going to mean that I’ll be spending a good deal of time with them. Which, by proxy, means less time spent here. However, I’ll typically be online for a few hours before bed, unless something else has come up.

Moreover, I’m getting a job this summer, starting on the 6th of May; which, again, means limited time on Tumblr—essentially the same thing will apply as the above. I’ll be online in the evening-to-night, after my family have called it a day and headed for bed.

The timezone I’ll be working from once I’m in Holland is Central European Time (CET) or GMT + 2:00; so, based on what I know of general bedtime in my family, I should be making it online around 10pm or thereabouts. Again, unless there are other plans.

Long story short, between work and spending time with family, I’m going to be busy. I’m going to do my best to keep up with replies when I can, and for those of you who stick around and keep threads going with me, I really appreciate your patience. 

There’ll be another set of changes come July, but I’ll make another post regarding those closer to the time.

Being online in the evening won’t go into effect as soon as I get home, probably; I’m going to be ridiculously tired, and all I’ll want to do is sleep.

Once I’ve recovered from that, though, I will certainly be dropping in here and there.

Also, once I know my work hours (I’m assuming 9 to 5, but I’ll get further details on that) I will let you guys know that as well.

Tl;dr I won’t be online as much as I usually am, but I love you guys and I hope you’ll bear with my absences and my slow replies—and I hope you all have a fantastic summer.

[sunshineandsemtex]

[Personally, I’d not tell Jim that- though he could not care less about the tattoos, the idea that they might be used to conceal something that’s actually of interest, (as opposed to most of the secrets hidden quite so plainly) might be enough to veto any idea of not finding out what would transpire if Silas proved more interesting than work. 

Which is to say, keep cool, mm?

Shouldn’t be too hard- it’s not like you’re dealing with James Moriarty in his purest form, just a watered down front presented to the world at large.

The money is collected as easily as it was offered, and Jim gives Silas a considering look.]

Receipt?

[deucecantor-blog]

[The chances of that are, likely, slim--clever and dangerous, yes, but he's not...organized. Sure, he knows how to clean up after himself, and he's never gotten caught, but the moment of slipping is almost always impulsive. Born of rage, or fear. If someone were to harness that, channel it into something useful--who knows. But, as you say, playing cool; not giving that avenue too much thought.

And just the same--or, perhaps, comparatively, we ought to say; no one is just the same aside from Jim's Self, not that Silas knows that, of course--this is his own watered-down form, minimal speech and the quieting of instinct to produce a man who's hardly there at all. He's so not there, in fact, that you might almost think him spectral--like you could touch him and he'd just disappear, or crumble into ash.

Whether or not that's intentional is up to you to establish.]

Please.

[withlovesharkgirlarchive]

[That would be of comfort to hear if these monologues weren’t solely internal. It’s easier, though, the comfortable silence as opposed to forced chatter about things that really don’t matter much in the long run like how the weather is or there may or may not be this type of condensation tomorrow. It’s nice not having to push yourself to try to fill in the void left between gaps of words due to the fact that company leaves when they see no immediate entertainment. It was a bitch keeping friends from school around before she moved. They were the kinds that required that sort of constant banter.]

Ooh. So you’ve been here for quite a while, huh? Nnh. I moved last month.

[She tries to keep it brief, not in a hurried or impatient sort of way, but more to respect the sort of introversion (and judging by that distant look in his eyes, introspection) he maintains than anything else. To not disturb the quiet too terribly. Some white noise, background noise if you will, is perfectly acceptable, but too much chatter and then it just becomes taxing. Seems as though Deuce of all people would understand that sort of concept.]

[deucecantor-blog]

[Maybe some day he'll even work himself around to saying it aloud--you never know, m'dear, so keep your eyes and ears open. That being said, comfortable silence is quite possibly one of his favourite things; though it doesn't always follow into the space between the four walls of his mind, unfortunately, he does his best. There is a hiss, a whisper, a few seconds of inexplicable laughter, in that space, and he works to blink them away--now is not the time, but he knows arguing with them doesn't make any difference. Still, he has to at least pretend he's a functional human being, doesn't he?]

And how are you finding it?

[Well-played, sir. Normal conversation, the obligatory polite questions, good job; as much as he does like Cancey and does want to talk to her, the sharp point between his brows is expanding, ever-expanding, and he can see the shadows at the edges of his vision. I see things that you don't. They're not threatening, at present, just--there, but he's very much aware of them, as he always is, and they make what could be considered adaptive interaction difficult more often than not..]

[touchn2btouched]

[dumontblanc-deactivated20131029]

[brutalgeneration]

[theunavoidablewar-deactivated20]

[A lopsided grin and a shrug was the most response he gave to the other’s thanks. He didn’t particularly see a need to be thanked for saying what was on his mind, though that wasn’t something he wanted to discuss.] I don’t have a preference. Whatever shit you’ve got will work for me- I’m not picky. [Not like you could be picky when you couldn’t run out to the store whenever you need to get things to fit your fancy. Living the way Tate did had really made him a lot less caring in terms of what he’d eat, drink, etc.] What about the not so simple version? I like stories. And I’ve got all the time in the world. [And that wasn’t even an exaggeration. Tate quite literally did have as much time as he felt like giving out.] So tell me, Deuce, what’s your story?

[deucecantor-blog]

[It seemed they were both going to be doing a good deal of that--thinking about things they'd rather not discuss, that is to say. If you knew how to read them, many of Deuce's secrets were written on his skin; but few, if any, did, and he had stopped worrying about it. Symbolism was a complicated thing, and in any case many of his symbols were highly individual, intensely personalized, anyway. A moment to turn away, move aside, set the kettle to boiling, and he returned near-silent, contemplating how best to answer the other's question. He had a story, certainly; countless stories, everyone did. The question was whether or not he felt like sharing; certainly didn't feel as though he could trust Tate enough to go into the details. Socially awkward Catholic boy, effectively raised by monks, parents dead, no particular friends to speak of, only woman he'd ever loved dead--murdered, musician, artist, killer, clinically insane, pick a card, any card.

Perhaps he'd skimp out on some of the details--though, in the absence of personal touches, he was entirely aware that his account would sound more like an police transcript than anything else.]

Born October 26th, 1985, Vatican City; raised Catholic. Diagnosed paranoid schizophrenic, 2003. Parents deceased--car accident, 2004. [A pause for breath; all of that had been oddly easy to admit. Less so the violence he'd been pushed to by the tick-tick-ticking over of the voices in his head.] The tattoos are...symbolic, to put it straightforwardly.

[And that's all you're going to get out of him on the matter, hate to break it to you.]

[sunshineandsemtex]

[Good, good. If he doesn’t stick around Jim can go back to de-constructing whatever language he’s got ‘cross his notebooks this week- not that company and or interaction isn’t desired. …A certain sort of interaction, at least. Sorry, had to clarify- as long as whomever’s around is willing to be more interesting than his work, he’s more than willing to pay attention to them.

Pulling out his keyring from his pocket he unlocks the back, slides it open and pulls out the knife before he answers the question, laying it down on top of the cabinet, having put down the tablecloth earlier.]

Sixty should cover. [Let’s do this thing, huh? If Jim’s aware of the risk he takes every time he puts a knife down in front of someone who wants it for rather… less than salubrious reasons, he doesn’t show even a flicker of it, merely waiting for a reaction easily, whatever it may be.]

[deucecantor-blog]

[At the end of the day, it's actually in Silas' interest to not be interesting. Fly under the radar. Pass of as no one and nothing--have the tattoos be the only thing that makes him stand out. Part and parcel of being clever and dangerous; the more you lay low, seem harmless, boring, not worth anyone's time, the safer you are. Or something like that. We're not sure, actually, what all would take place if Jim found Silas interesting, more interesting than his work; whether it would be a fleeting interest, or a more lasting engagement...hard to say for certain. Perhaps it's best we don't find out, hmm?

Quirk of half-smile, playing neutrals for the most part, at the price being named, and he fishes into his pocket for a slightly scuffed looking black leather wallet. Three twenty-pound notes, easy as anything, slid across as effortlessly as sharing a breath. And at the end of the day, everything's that easy; except, apparently, for remembering to eat (it's been forty-eight hours), but Jim doesn't need to know about that.]

[withlovesharkgirlarchive]

[The thought hardly occurs to her the age gap between them. She knows plenty of people who are vastly older than her, but has never had a problem with it exactly. As long as one is not looking down on the other, then age really isn’t relevant is it? Maybe that’s naivety. Besides, it’s been rather irrelevant this whole time, right? And truth be told, Cancey is admittedly relieved that the topic hasn’t been brought to light. Doesn’t want to change any already formulated opinions with an exchanging of the years that they’ve survived between them. Deuce is a good man. He doesn’t seem the type to change opinions at the drop of a coin, but hell, you never quite knew with anybody nowadays.

At any rate, it’s a nice change of pace, though. Living with mob men and sharpshooters for a few month sort of wears you out. So Deuce’s calm, breezy demeanor and seemingly no-questions-asked type assistance is refreshing when put in comparison to ‘the norm.’ Less stressful.]

Tha’s good. Not too terribly far.

[Read: Not three miles away.]

When’d y’move here?

[deucecantor-blog]

[Change opinions? No, he'd like her just the same as he does now, age irregardless; she's a sweet girl, or so she seems anyway, easy to get along with--or in any case, he finds himself comfortable around her, which is pretty much the same thing, and unless she makes some drastic revelation that's probably not going to change any time soon. Sure, there's the flicker of concern in the backdrop, as there always is, that he'll end up doing something to scare her off--there's a reason he keeps himself to himself and doesn't talk that much if he can help it--but, for now, things are good.

It's perhaps a...counter-reaction to his own internal levels of discomfort, that; like if he slips into lightheartedness and easy interaction, he can push the tension and the paranoia aside. Sometimes it actually works, and this seems to be one of those times--so he's certainly not complaining.

Her qualification's met with a nod as he starts guiding her, gently and with patience, dark eyes soft and fixed on a distant point for a moment--whether in space or in his own mind is unclear; but he's brought back to the present time by her question.]

Ah, 2004. Yourself? Or have you always lived here?

[lrwstyling]

[deucecantor-blog]

[tumblrbot you are not allowed to suggest that deuce follow pennywise

do you not understand what a terrible awful horrible idea that is]

[poeticpines]

GUYSGUYSGUYSTHIS IS HUGE FOR ME PLEASE

MY MOM SAID IF THIS GETS 500,000 NOTES SHE WILL FINALLY CALL ME “KHYLE” AND REFER TO ME AS HER SON PLEASE THIS IS A HUGE STEP FOR ME AND HER

[fivepercentless-deactivated2014]

[[Ah? Oh, he’s kind of… hm. Cute. The shy smile makes her feel a bit guilty for wanting to lie, so she offers up a hesitant smile of her own. Maybe he’s like Hex. Guilty until proven innocent. Or was it the other way around?]

Mm. Ah… You can’t help me, but… can I help you? With anything?

[deucecantor-blog]

[Well, 'cute's' not a word often used to describe him, when it comes down to the truth of it, largely since the exterior--tattoos and all--is often hard to see past. Not that it's something he'd object to, if she were to say as much out loud; he'd take the compliment for what it was, simple as that. He's never really understood the reputedly 'masculine' balking at being called cute, sweet, etc., anyway. There's a slight tilt of his head, at being asked if she can help him; can she? He doesn't really know a thing about her, who she is or what she does, so it's hard to say.]

Ah...doubtful, to be completely honest, but I appreciate the offer.

[Good enough, no? Sure, it's not much in the way of...continued conversation, but at least it's an attempt at politeness. He's trying his best with what's been given, and that's all anyone can really ask of him.]

[deucecantor-blog]

eleven goddamn years

stop it you're creeping me out ladskjgsdjf

[withlovesharkgirlarchive]

[It isn’t so much diminished as it is… Maybe a bit nostalgic. Growing up is hard. So it’s a little strange, you know, to think that a decade ago she was holding her mother or father’s hand to cross the street, and now she’s holding an almost-stranger-but-not-quite’s hand because she’s too sleep deprived to walk without support. That’s weird to think about. But at least no matter what the age, it’s someone she trusts that she’s with. There’s something to be said for that.] Lead the way, sir. [He’s got a nice way of speaking. It isn’t loud, it isn’t too “there”, but just enough. Like a passing thought or idea.]

[deucecantor-blog]

[That, he remembers well enough--though it seems like a long time ago now, the sense of transition from child to adult...almost abruptly, he's struck by what seems to be the difference between their ages. Not that either of them have mentioned theirs aloud, but she...seems to act mature for her age, even through sleep deprivation. Looking at her more closely now, he'd put her in her mid-to-late teens, and there's a moment of slightly disconnected self-chastisement for his misjudgment. Ten years, maybe? Eleven? Who can know for certain without an objective numerical value. Then again, maybe it doesn't matter; why is he concerned about how old she is anyway? It's not like that has to interfere with him helping her get some rest, or with any...friendship that might follow.

Friendship. Right. He almost wants to say 'get your head on straight, Silas,' but that'd be laughable seeing just how not an option that is.

Another nod, and on something of an impulse he hooks her smaller hand into the crook of his elbow, in lieu of holding it within his own. Less...intimate, that way, maybe; plus there's some latent sense of amusement to be gained from playing the slightly old-fashioned gentleman, or something.] It's not far to walk--five, maybe seven minutes.

[deucecantor-blog]

sighs so heavily i don't have time or energy to make another character but damn

[r-edone-deactivated20130430]