𝖎𝖙 wasn’t always like this. it had been when you were brought into the world, but for years you’d abandoned the comfortable cleanliness … and missed it every second it was gone, of course, as much as you liked living on the road. life was at least a lot more interesting back then, much less stagnant. you’re sort of breaking back into that lately, and genuinely considering the seven’s offer. it’s not really your style, the way they do things. you like saving people, you guess, but it’s a lot more fun to just kill the bad guys. those two things can go hand in hand, but … god, they take themselves way too seriously. you wouldn’t wanna end up like that.. and you know they’d try to water down your public personality just a little bit, if not a lot. still, you’re bored enough that if they do one more follow-up, you might just give in. you’d have comfortable luxury and an excuse to get out.
𝖞𝖔𝖚 laugh in return, originally a mirror of his ; an unintentional mirror, and you only catch yourself doing it when the real, genuine laugh slips out. ❝ well, now that we know each other better, ❞ another joke for yourself, but a subtle hint of you’re still a stranger to me, no matter how much i like you, ❝ guess i’d better let you go. ❞ go, aka piss. ❝ whatever bathroom you prefer is chill, ❞ is repeated, and you take a step back, a not very subtle permission for him to nose around. paraphernalia and correctly labelled gaudy interior design will bore him soon enough, and you’ll be ready to entertain when that happens. maybe you will show him the basement … people who wear all black tend to be a little less judgmental than people who look like you. just a little.
❝ 𝖎𝖋 you see walter, though, probably don’t try and pet him. he’s a cunt to new people… not like pugsy, ❞ who’d gotten so excited when your guest came over the threshold that he’d nearly pissed himself, and needed to be placed temporarily on the back porch with his stuffed rabbit until his nerves calmed. the kettle begins squealing just in time, so you excuse yourself back downstairs, and halfway there you realize you probably could’ve just boiled the water yourself much faster. he did say to take your time .. you put a fresh tea bag into his cup, pour the water in, and you can always reheat it for him when he comes back down. in the mean time, you scoop up your pug and bring him back inside, make sure he’s thoroughly docile before setting him down, letting him sniff around where billy had been sitting. he doesn’t seem to have a negative reaction to the smell, but he’s never been the best judge of character, either.
BILLY KNOWS WHAT DANGER LOOKS LIKE [ . . . ] he cloaks himself in its most basic prints, a poisonous animal growing dark spots against its neon skin [ humanity believed that danger came in black trench coats and thunderous glares, that it came with a voice that sounded chipped and haggard : billy loomed as a man that forced others to keep their distance, spreading blackened wings against the night and growling like a kicked dog --- that isn’t to say his maw couldn’t twist into a smile, just that he preferred the allure of a smirk ]. sometimes, though, danger is a lit flame wrapped in pink, the frills and the lace wrapping up a charred body. sometimes, danger was nothing but the neon without the dark spots, a snake that was far too proud to hide. BLACK FORGAVE MISTAKES, BUT PINK SHOWED THEM OFF WITH AN AIR OF GRINNING HORROR. billy’s heartbeat leaks into a steady mess, because fear is not an emotion this corpse - body could feel anymore, but intrigue is fresh and fast in his eyes. ‘ right, then, love. thanks for the warm welcome. you this nice to just any old tosser that comes knocking around? ’ a grin : you’re still a supe, no matter how nice i can pretend to be.
she disappears in a flurry of pink and he watches her go [ . . . ] he recognises that he’s been granted permission to snoop --- like a fucking puppy let off its leash. the good stuff must be hidden somewhere else, then. still, he does his searching : a bunch of correctly labelled interior designs, funny little pink spots growing like mold over the house. he puts everything back down gently, softly, right back where it belongs [ . . . ] he slips a pen into his pocket just to see if she’ll notice, if she’ll make a fuss --- it’s best to know how someone will react to these little things before you started beating the shit out of them. gives you an opportunity to gauge how much bullshit a person can stand. WHICH ISN’T TO SAY HE WILL BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF HER : it’s just that billy is a betting man and he likes to know every single possible outcome. just in case.
when he makes his way downstairs, there’s a cup of tea waiting for him [ he’s flushed some toilet paper down the loo, washed his hands with fancy soap, done his part to keep up the charade ]. ‘ i’m not being a bother right now, am i? i’d hate to cause any issue for you, love. say the word and i’ll get right out of your hair. ’ he smiles as if he knows she won’t ask him to go, all wide and bright : a smile that’s a lie. ‘ this looks like a right proper cuppa, though. i’d have thought you’d have pink - aproned maids doing all of this. ’
