mouthful of blood

those that died are justified by wearing their badge; they're the chosen whites. there is something you cannot understand: how i could just kill a man.

[jason--wock-blog1]

whitediamond-alice:

“I wouldn’t call it excitement, Club. Loathing? Eh. Disdain? Yeah, that’s probably it.” Her finger stayed pressed gently against the trigger but she didn’t apply enough force for the gun to actually go off. She didn’t want to deal with Jabba, not now, and the fact that he of all people would show up right now had to be the universe’s cruel idea of a joke. “Do I look like a damsel right now, Jason? Now run along and worry elsewhere, as I said before. I’m really not in the fucking mood.”

      “Cute. Very cute.” In all honestly, she always seemed the damsel. She’d never be anything but the weak little girl that he’d broken down and could break any time that he pleased. “When are you ever in the mood? Run along? You think that I’ll just do what you say because you’re a little upset that your druggie sister was killed? Hate to break it to you, but if someone else didn’t kill her, she was going to wind up dead on her own anyways. If you can’t handle a little death, you might want to move somewhere else.”

[jason--wock-blog1]

whoismirakaur:

“Well luckily my schedule is rather clear.” She held up the blank piece of paper as she turned her chair to face him, “What can I do for you, Mr. Wock?”

      “You could serve the person who killed Marcus on a platter, but I doubt that you could do that. You’re really only good for lying, aren’t you, Mira?” Appraising rather than accusatory, he quite admired her cunning. It was why he used her. It was why he hadn’t killed her. “I just wanted the company of someone who wasn’t going to mourn alongside me.”

[jason--wock-blog1]

whoismirakaur:

“Is there something I can do for you?” Mira looked up from the papers spread out on the table in front of her, trying to establish the special holiday menu for the restaurant. “Because if not, I’m kind of busy right now.”

      “You? Busy? That’s a shock and not something that I care about one way or the other. You make time for me.” He was not teasing, not in the mood for jokes.

[jason--wock-blog1]

catecheshire:

She startles slightly when she hears a noise behind her, raising her head from her arms from when she had been wishly vainly for sleep. It hadn’t come easy to her the past couple of weeks, not since the night of Marcus’ death. Her dreams were plagued with  with horror and Marcus being cruelly ripped away from her tainted every single one of them. Cate had always hated being drunk, but alcohol had been the only thing to ease the pain if only in the slightest and got her to pass out long enough to have decent rest. Swiping a hand across her cheek in case any moisture had escaped before turning her head to the side and dipping her chin. “I don’t want company.” 

      Rebecca had been enough. Not used to the weakness of caring for others, Jabba found it odd, foreign, to have such a gnawing hurt crawling within his chest and wearing him from the inside out. This feeling was not his own and he wanted to expel it from his body. Repulsed by the idea of having someone have a hold over him, the shocking blow of losing Marcus actually made him stop. When the news came, his body had been plagued by paralysis and once his limbs would carry him, the capo had one place in mind.

      “Good thing I’ve never quite cared what you wanted, Kitty Cat. I’m here with something you’ll like, not to console you as you cry. Pull yourself together. This is worse than you with Dodger.”

[jason--wock-blog1]

whitediamond-alice:

Drunk and reckless. That was the state Alice had been in since the day after the funeral. She had used all of her energy on keeping her mother together that when she finally got a moment alone she’d fallen apart. Everyone had known that her and Bree didn’t have the best relationship, with Bree at times down right refusing to include Alice as a part of the family, but it never changed the fact that that is exactly what Bree was to Alice, family. They might not have always gotten along but Alice loved Bree just as much as she did the rest of her family and it killed her that she died alone and scared and in pain.

Pain. Yes, Alice would find the monster who did this to her naive baby sister and she would ensure that vengeance would be served. But in the mean time, well, she was going to drink, she was going to drink until the pain was pushed deep down inside of her – until her heart stopped breaking. It was the first time she’d actually gotten dressed in days and after one (or three) too many drinks Alice was on her way home, making her way through an alley rather clumsily, until she registered the noise of footsteps behind her. Without even a thought, the blonde reached into her purse and withdrew the small glock her mother had given to her just a few months ago and whipped around, pointing the weapon directly at the stranger who was still lurking in the shadows. “I swear,” her words were slurred but her voice was strong and angry, “tonight is not the fucking night to mess with me. Show your god damned face.”

      All anyone could repeat was who had died. Marcus was dead. Bree was dead. That Joker was dead, though he could easily live with one less of those. His mind stayed focused on the loss of his friend. Few people were nestled in the small space that his dead heart had to offer, but those who were within his care incensed a strong protectiveness. Foolishly, there was a veil of misguided thought that made the capo believe that those he cared for were invincible. Anger made his blood run hot and a need for release became undeniable. The chill of the night air that often reminded him that he was alive only served to irritate him and the first to cross him was the unluckiest of Wonderland for the night.

      Blinded, mind blank as he adamantly kept a blacked out state of mind to keep from having to face the reality that his best friend was forever lost, Jabba only knew one fact: that he couldn’t stop. A voice, clear and crisp and all too enticing to do her will, had his fist pausing midair. Dropping the body, Jabba came from his stupor to find Alice, walking on unsteady legs, looking small and vulnerable and so easy to take as she always was. For once, however, he didn’t want her. Following her was an autopilot till her voice rang out again, calling to him. God, he wanted to watch her blood turn and stain the ground.

     “Large words for such a small girl.” He grit out. “Maybe you should just go home, little girl.”