Okay… let’s try this out- just a quick breath in… then out. Sure. He could talk to his brother, right? At the dead of night. And outside their father’s line of sight. Totally. Easy! Ergh. Actually this was a bad idea.
What was a less than sober and bleeding heart to do though? Just not slink over and- ah fuck he gives a tug on Arackniss’s sleeve. Not even a hello- stupid!
@a-hazbin-spider (?)
@a-hazbin-spider Tugging on someone's sleeve in an alley in the dead of night was a good way to end up pumped full of lead, and had Niss not noticed the coloring of the glove and assumed it was the other one of his overly tall siblings coming to check on him, Angel may have gotten a bullet to the gut for his troubles. As is, he just hisses and jerks at the hand on his sleeve, worry coloring his voice the moment he notices it isn't Molly that's tugged on his sleeve, "Mol- Fuck, are y'doin' here, Ant? Pops'll fuckin' kill ya he knows you're sniffin' round the family turf. The fuck y'think y'doin'? Y'gots a death wish now?"
Does he have a death wish? Hell maybe he does! He doesn’t know anymore. Especially not when one shit decision lead to another- and lead to him.
He knows his Pops probably would find a way to beat him to a second death. But… for some reason hurting like he was led him here, and he suddenly felt shrunk down to size even in those ridiculous boots giving him a platform.
“I know- I know. I jus’… I shouldn’t be here but, one thing led to anotha’ an’ I got safe fa a lil while- n’ then I saw ya- I know ya prolly don’t… look I jus’- I like knowin’ you’s okay n’ shit.” Oh, he’s rambling. And taking his hand back in an apology.
“...Shh.” He hisses, good luck tugging the hand out of his grip, he’s dragging the taller along behind him, deeper into the shadows of the alley, “You’s safe? You’s okay? Y’ain’t in no troubles wit y’boss man?” Red eyes scan over the taller, trying to make note of any changes from the last time he’d managed to grab a look at Angel. What kind of brother was he if he couldn’t even keep an eye out for his little brother, fuck, was Angel thinner? Was that a more pronounced limp? He’s mentally kicking himself, “You’s comin’ back to m’apartment. S’middle of the night ain’t havin’ you wanderin’ the streets. Y’lucky that Pops don’t know bout my lil safehouse.”
