THE ANGELS CAME TOO LATE, feathers crawling with m i t e s and eyes flat as s n a k e s .
the smell of ozone lingers in their skin, and glory glory glory sounds like a punchline. THEY PROMISE ALTARS AND ARKS;
the hollow earth, the ascending light.
you will be gold, and gold again. you are not surpried when their throats are torn open, revealed to be h o l l o w .
He, for once, actually listened to the doctor’s orders. Not a drop of liquor could be found in his blood. Yet sober or not, it certainly didn’t mean he couldn’t continue to spew dumb shit.
An odd noise warbled from the back of his throat after he sipped some water. "Write ‘nothing is set in stone’ on my grave as both a witty joke and a subtle warning that I will be back. That’s a promise and a threat– oh shit, my pasta.” Light on his feet, Markus scampered back towards the stove so he could prevent another burnt-to-hell meal.
Were limes supposed to be bumpy and firm, or smooth and squishy? Was it the same for lemons? Citrus in general? Markus knew there were ways to tell when produce were ripe, but he suddenly forgot when it was time to decide.
“How many lemons... are too many lemons?” he wondered aloud, still a bit too focused on the fruit before him to notice his immediate surroundings.
"Look, just because you’re trash doesn’t mean you can’t do great things. It’s called garbage can, not garbage cannot,” Markus noted with a finger pointed right at the other. “So chin up, tough it out, and whatever insensitive phrase of inspiration there’s left.”
"–some of us find a way to endure here.” Had to if one didn’t want to be driven up the wall of insanity. “Some like to drink themselves silly, others like to have a ton of fun in the backrooms– but me?” A sliver of teeth flashed as a crooked grin slotted in place. “Well, let’s just say I like wastin’ time by seeing how many M&M’s I can catch.”
A blue piece of chocolate was tossed considerably high in the air just then. Head tilted up, depth perceptions still horribly fucked, Markus made an attempt to catch the candy in his mouth. Tried and inevitably failed. The M&M bounced off of his forehead before it plummeted past the chair.
Disappointed, but not terribly so, he gave a slight shrug. “Eh, better luck next time.”
Arm draped over his face, Markus let out a melodramatic sigh. "I need to get laid… to rest. Put me in a coffin. Let my soul ascend. Everything I have to my name can go to Rufus, or my old man if he’s still kicking at the tender age of fifty plus.”
“C’mon, Oso.” Calisto called, smiling when the chihuahua stopped pulling at the leash and caught up to his side. His day off and he’d been working his way through cleaning when he’d found Preston’s lunch, sitting on the kitchen counter. Like the good husband he was, he was winding his way through the docks to drop it off- and like the grumpy bastard he was, he’d brought along Oso, who was known to go after Preston. He let out a small laugh when Oso did just that- starting to pull at the leash, letting go when he saw Preston too, letting Oso take off toward him. “Pres!” He called out in warning, like he hadn’t let go purposely- like Preston didn’t know how steady his hands were, “Oops.”
“Definitely, absolutely, we can certainly do that– at a surprisingly cheap cost too! It’s usually–”
At that exact moment, two things happened simultaneously.
One, an all too familiar voice and scamper of nails reached his ears. Two, the actual dollar amount fled his mind and was nowhere to be found. Three ( as a cool bonus ), he actually choked on thin air.
The spontaneous visit from his husband and dog should have been sweet, kind, thoughtful – other synonyms. And it was, sort of. It just so happened to come with a heaping amount of shock and fear when Oso bum-rushed him at top speed. Oso as in the chihuahua mix that weighed no more than ninety-six ounces. Compare that to his six-foot-something-having-ass, and his frightened reaction hardly made sense.
Then again, it didn’t have to. Preston found himself toppled off the dock without another moment’s notice. Out came a hearty shout before an impressive smack submerged him in water ( for the nth time today, might he add ).
THE ATTEMPT TO WALK AWAY IS PAUSED, probably because he doesn’t actually care how it’s received, or at least he tells himself he doesn’t. Manners were typically a waste of time, regardless. There is a simple that hints at the corner of his mouth though, one that makes the way his hand touches their forearm a bit confusing, paired with the hints of the bayou in his vocals. “I saw that.” He claims, grin blossoming fully, and spreading like wild fire. “And I will have you know, I can and will be bribed to pretend I didn’t.” @scnlit
“Five second rule.” More like fifteen seconds, but what did he care? Especially when he couldn’t actually taste the possible grime on his dropped snack. Not that anyone really could, but he used it as an excuse for anything and everything.
“What– you want one too?” The crinkled bag of pretzels are held out with a gentle shake. As if that would erase the fact he just scooped half of the snack off the ground after he dropped it.
“No, baby, I swear I didn’t touch it.” He did. He did touch it. Ian absolutely, positively hauled his high ass into the house not ten minutes before and helped himself to two cupcakes out of twenty. Both served a very serious purpose. “C'mere. Please? Perform a kiss test and you will find no evidence of any uh…fun…yeti.”
With the swear came suspicion. There wasn’t a single bone in his body that believed two of the pastries had magically disappeared. Well, unless Garbo had somehow waddled in, inhaled both cupcakes, and waddled back out.
Which.. was actually very plausible.
A quiet hum left him as Javier ambled towards his husband. “You promise you didn’t a single sprinkle? Pinky promise, cariño?”
【 miguel ángel silvestre, cismale, 35 】this just in - javier luis sorrano has been in wickway for sixteen years. apparently he is a veterinarian and a civilian, or so his passport says. so far it’s known that he favors east bay, and resides in elry cay. he is said to be empathetic & resilient, but also gullible & passive. at the end of the day, he can be described as the brilliance of sunshine, hearty laughter & fresh beginnings
( tw: child abuse – physical & emotional )
HISTORY
Javier and his brother, Mateo, were orphaned fairly early in their life. Both were adopted at the age of 6 by a seemingly functional couple, and doted on for the first few years. He had been praised as their very own prodigy as he excelled in his studies. Yet all of that love and attention slowly chipped away when his mother, Adella, was laid off and couldn’t get another job.
It hadn’t been to their knowledge that Adella was actually a recovered alcoholic. She had stayed sober three years before adopting the Sorrano brothers, but she was quick to fall back into her vices and make everyone else pay for her faults. Their father, ever the more quiet counterpart of the couple, turned a blind eye to it all. As the sole financial provider, his time at home grew less and less. Even when it was evident that Adella had taken out her frustrations on the Javier and Mateo emotionally and physically. Actually, his presence at home piratically became scarce if anything.
Whether it was at home or school, Javier did everything he could to protect his brother. He always tried to advert their mother’s rage onto himself – even when something hadn’t been his fault at all. And when push came to shove, the Sorrano brothers resorted to stealing ( food & clothes ) since their parents hardly met the bare minimum.
The two of them continued their acts of thievery until they graduated high school. Javier waned off of his case of sticky hands, and landed a full ride to achieve his aspirations as veterinarian. Mateo, on the other hand, only furthered his involvement with crime even though he promised to change his ways. Spoiler alert – Mateo did not.
The transition to Wickway was nothing but a bumpy ride, but Javier still persevered in the end. He got his bachelor’s and master degree, found a good friend along the way, started to practice in his field of veterinary medicine, and found a home where he least expected it. Even if the island proved to be soiled with sinister doings and corrupt morals.
MISC. INFO
Happily married to Ian , and father to Luis & Maia.
Abuse he suffered through: locked them in the broom closet, beat them black and blue where people wouldn’t see, burned them with cigarettes, pushed Javier down the stairs once and broke his arm, made them drink with her as pre-teens ( turns out Javier is severely allergic / rushed to er solely because the father was home / flat lined for a minute ).
Sexuality: Demisexual
Personality: Very friendly, open, and empathetic. Can borderline on himboesque. Always prefers to see the bright side of things, and is very easy to strike up conversation with. Polite to a fault ( manners enforced during his childhood ), and seldom mean.
Hobbies / interests: Hiking & camping ( big on the outdoors ), video games & board games, animal enthusiast ( has rehabilitated a variety of animals ), running ( frequently does 10ks / has one 1 triathlon and will never do one again ), jokes ( punny or not ).
Triggers: extremely small spaces ( especially closets ), thunderstorms severe enough to knock the power out
【 michiel huisman, cismale, 40 】this just in - markus visser has been in wickway for forty years. apparently he is an accountant and an ex-con, or so his passport says. so far it’s known that he favors off the hook, and resides at easy z’s. he is said to be humorous & patient, but also gross & flippant. at the end of the day, he can be described as shitty sitcoms, never-ending curiosity, the essence of an existential crisis
( tw: suicide )
HISTORY
Growing up with a single father is hard; even harder, still, when said father was half drowned in debt. Markus was forced to grow up faster than his peers. He had to be scrappy and figured out ways to help his father wherever he could. Admittedly, his father wasn’t a perfect person or parent; most of the time he numbed their shitty situation with the promise of liquor. And, yes, there were times where he was a little heavy handed with him if he did something foolish, but they both loved each other all the same.
Nothing could have prepared Markus when his father fell ill. They couldn’t afford the treatment required, and he had to stand witness to the slow decline of his father’s health. The man went from being a sizable man to bone thin in the matter of months. And one day Markus didn’t see him at all. At the time, he’d thought that his father was working overtime – that he’d be back home later or sometime during the night. Then one day became two, and then two became three… Worried, he called everyone that knew his father and filed a missing persons, but his answer wasn’t brought to light until the police arrived at his doorstep by the fourth night.
Suicide, they had said. The evidence was clear with the note left in the passenger seat, and the pistol gripped in his father’s hand. Markus was only sixteen at the time, and never acclimated to foster care. Two families tried to adopt him for the next two years, but neither lasted.
When he was of age, Markus set out to make a life of his own – still at a loss in life and in immeasurable pain. Even then, he managed to make ends meet; mainly through anger and spite. Markus did everything he could to better himself in order to get more and more money; honorable or not. Night classes, acts of thievery, double shifts – whatever it took to get a CPA and a stable job. So much so that his sticky hands got him tangled with something, or rather someone, that he couldn’t shake. A member of the Santoros caught him red handed and offered a transparent ultimatum – either he joins the mafioso or he dies in a watery grave. Though brash and standoffish, Markus was no fool. He followed along and trekked his way through the initiation and ranks of the family. Up until he found his place as a financial advisor for the mob.
By the time he was thirty, a close friend, Gabrielle, was known to be a steadfast part of his life. So much so that they toed the line between platonic and ‘romantic’. As romantic as the cardinal sin of pure lust could be considered anyways. All it took was that one time for the both of them to grow closer than ever. Nine months later they were gifted with the absolute apple of their eyes, Morgan Walker-Visser.
Life was good then – just for a short year, at least. Markus had been convinced that he was safe from the rumors of waning loyalty within the Santoros. Sure, Gabrielle had offhandedly mentioned a safer lifestyle to help raise their child, but the conversation always ended with Markus dismissing it as useless and impossible. And it was the exact same blind faith that brought him misfortune in the worst of ways.
His best friend and son disappeared in thin air one evening. A ransom was then posted the next day; the same kind that the mafioso was notorious for. Markus knew that it was a test of fidelity to the corrupt family, but that didn’t staunch the outrage. Naturally, he scrounged up the expected sum as soon as possible. After that, he waited.. and waited.. and waited.
Gabrielle and Morgan were never seen or heard from again.
Unlike many of the civilians of Wickway, he knew what happened and it struck more than one nerve. Deep seated hatred for the mafioso planted its roots and consumed him, but again – he was no fool. A one man riot would’ve been a suicide mission. So he waited once more. This time with his ears strained to catch wind of other members that experienced similar heartache and detested all that the Santoros stood for.
Markus put forth his all when the upheaval of power ensued. If the unkindly grace of fate wanted to have him drop dead then so be it. There was hardly any worth to his life, after all. Yet he somehow survived the bloodbath; not without significant bodily damage but still very much alive.
While peace eventually settled over the island, he continued his days with unrest. The sizable abode he once lived in was no more as he started to pinch pennies. The pristine visage he once carried so proudly diminished into a mere husk of vanity. Somehow, by some miracle, he retained enough of a drive to continue his work, but that’s practically all Markus has going for him.
MISC. INFO
Anosmia is the loss of smell & it impacts the sense of taste as well. So while Markus is unable to taste the nuances, he is able to taste the basic taste sensations of salty, sour, sweet, bitter and umami.
【 jake gyllenhaal, cismale, 39 】this just in - preston hart has been in wickway for ten years. apparently he is a scuba diver / vendor and a civilian, or so his passport says. so far it’s known that he favors cee’s diner, and resides at east side. he is also said to be generous & mindful, but also boisterous & clumsy. at the end of the day, he can be described as the slow dripping of water, long evenings & unspoken thoughts.
( tw: death, violence )
HISTORY
Things had always been cruddy for him since the beginning. It was bound to be, given that he'd been born into a family that participated in illegal deals and immoral decisions. His mother and father were at the head of a bratva, and his older brother was expected to take their place in due time. Except Ruslan and his brother never wanted to remain in their hometown – their homeland, even. They dreamed of prospering elsewhere – anywhere. So when Ruslan was 14 he moved with his brother to the states.
Life in America was grand for a short while. Then his brother decided that it was time to expand their menial income. How was that to be executed? In the same way it had been in Russia. Lie, cheat, steal, kill. Naturally, Ruslan fell under his brother’s command; even if he detested it. Yet he didn't have the courage to stray too far. Rolan was his only family there, after all.
At first Ruslan tried not to think about the heinous acts dealt by his own hands. He tried and tried until he simply couldn't anymore. Eventually, his reputation proceeded him. Ruslan was branded as a ruthless, soulless man; a mindless guard dog that followed orders without complaint.
During his frequent trips behind bars, things started to change. A few men under his brother's order began to gravitate towards him. Their loyalty started to stray from their pahkan without warning. Soon enough, a select few swore their undying loyalty to him instead of Rolan ( all under the guise of the utmost secrecy, of course ). Ruslan barely had the time to process everything when everything went to shit.
Shrewd as his brother was, it shouldn't have been a surprise when Ruslan was ordered to kill the youngest of the small gathering. Rolan claimed that the man was a rat, and had been selling information to the feds. And as plausible as the remark was, everyone knew the pahkan was lying through his teeth. The command was nothing but a test of obedience; to see if Ruslan would remain under his brother's total control.
For the first time in his life, Ruslan chose to break free.
The Markov brothers turned against each other and fell into a bloody brawl. All while Ruslan's own scattered to throw Rolan off of their trail. Somehow, by some miracle, Ruslan bested his brother and fled. He fell off the grid for half a decade to heal and strategize. It was during that time did he make acquaintances with Sebastian Atlas.
REMAINING SUMMARY (BECAUSE I'M TOO LAZY TO FINISH IT) –
Then known as Preston Hart, he was aided by the Atlas' to kill Rolan once and for all. For some reason, Preston and Sebastian mixed business with pleasure, fell in love, got married, etc. After Sebasian was forced into retirement ( by his own kids, no less ), they moved to Wickway. Then they came by Calisto Delatorre, saw how bangin' he was, everyone got stupidly infatuated, actually fell in love, got married, etc.
MISC. INFO
Preston has a fuck ton of tattoos form his neck down to his feet.
Married to Sebastian & Calisto, and is lovingly dubbed as the idiot of the throuple.
Pets: Gravy ( Gravedigger), Meatloaf, Worm, Muppet, Oso
Seb came in with flower in hand, because that was the nice thing to do. After the show, which he was quiet certain Markus didn’t want to be apart of, it was clear that the Santoros weren’t messing around anymore. Life in the island would soon become unbearable, and it was not something Seb wanted to put his family through.
“I don’t want either of those things, Markus. Although, your pretty face would make a great picture on my mantle. I’ve come to see how you’re faring”.
“What? Who wouldn’t want a pic of me lookin’ like.. this?” Tired, disheveled, barely awake. All a sound photo op opportunity in his mind.
A slow sigh made it’s way out. “The best I can, considering. No infection, nothing too fucked up to fix under surgery– even got some encouraging words of recovery in ‘due time’.”
Lydia ran her fingers through her hair, not expecting to replace someone as she had spent most of the day with Mutt. Regardless, she knew everyone had to work even harder right now. “Yeah, no worries.” She spoke after a moment, setting her bag on the chair. “I can stay for a couple hours, I’m supposed to be at the diner later. You know the people that come through there, Santoros and Ex-cons alike.” Lydia was working herself harder than she ever expected, just doing whatever was expected of her. You could see it in her eyes, it was eating her alive. “You know what we’re gonna have to do – I worked for the Santoros for years, they see things through. If they don’t get what they want.. I wouldn’t be surprised if they came after you again. We need someone watching you.”
“Thanks, Lydia– really appreciate it.” A few hours worked perfectly, and he could only hope the gratitude translated through the fatigue.
A crude sound tore from him in response to the other’s warning. Not because he didn’t believer her – far from it, actually. He knew how those assholes worked; how tightly they grasped onto vengeance whenever their collective egos were bruised.
“Of course those fuckers will.” His thumb absently rubbed over the ruined back of his left hand as he spoke; a reminder of how deeply he'd once been involved with those A grade shitheads. “ Don’t take kindly to a past employee to mess with their shit and get away with just a slap on the wrist.” Or the complete removal of a single eye.
“I don’t think either of us has the energy for it right now.” Indiana let out, stepping farther into the room and shuffling around to the side where Markus could see them, dropping onto the edge of the chair there. “I feel like I should ask how you’re doing but…” They looked down toward their hands, twisting together in their lap, “Feel like I already know the answer.”
“Never stopped from anyone from asking.” Anyone as in him, himself, on numerous occasions just to be that asshole. “But just to save you the breath and time.. doin’ fan-fuckin’-tastic.” Yet all he spoke with was complete exhaustion and a somewhat coherent mutter.
“How are things looking outside? Anyone lose their head?”
“Sure,” she nodded, noting the exhaustion behind the man’s words. Understandable exhaustion, of course. There was certainly no telling what was waiting for him once he left the building — his hospital stay may have been the closest thing he’d get to a break. That was something Natalina understood far too well.
Shoulders lifted in a small shrug, “at least we’ve got the first bit figured out, yeah?” Natalina brushed a few stray hairs from her face. “For starters, it’s probably for the best that you’ve not lost an eye before,” she let out a slight sigh, “haven’t they got you on enough for the pain?”
Another valiant effort to smile, and it fell short of a slight upwards twitch. “Yeah.. good to have that settled.” Now he could check that off the mental to-do list, and move onto the next.. half dozen.
“Dunno, doc. Could be the ridiculous pain tolerance I have or somethin’.” More like how pain usually spurred him to be more active and manic.
“Doc junior? Thats a first for me.” Her dark eyes scanned over the machines, making sure everything was in order, which it was. Theo had heard a couple names when it came to the gang myths, mainly the Santoro family. This kind of violence was next level. “The name’s Dr. Blanchet, but doc junior ain’t so bad either. Take your pick. Now.. I’m gonna take your vitals, okay? Let me know if anything feels uncomfortable.”
He had the mind to shrug in response, but couldn’t muster the energy to do so. “Ah, fancy meetin’ you here, Doc.. junior.” Yeah, no, Markus wasn’t about to try and cover his ass in regards to that dumb nickname. He’ll proudly declare it with the utmost confidence like an idiot, instead.
“Sure, not like being wired up like this isn’t uncomfortable already.”
“I’m sure you can find a book about adapting and thriving in your new cyclops life somewhere,” she deadpanned, lifting her shoulders in a shrug. “No, but actually — there are some visual training activities and different tips for that in the paperwork. Just phrased a bit nicer.” Natalina drew in a deep breath, eyes flicking up at the others, being reminded of that had happened. Of what those she was involved with had done. There was a pang of sympathy for the man, which she knew she definitely shouldn’t have felt. “Is there anything I can do to help with your discharge?” The offer was soft, almost hesitant. “I can… see about it happening later at night, just to avoid any unnecessary attention.”
Much like the other, the barest of deadpans settled before he cracked a crooked smile. “Well, if you happen to come by someone that owns one.. let me know. Could use some sort of break.”
Not that he’d ever get one.
A breathy sigh left him as he made an attempt to think. “That’d be nice. Don’t know about anything else, though. Haven’t lost an eye before, and this headache’s..” As if on cue, another throb pulsed through his head. “Killer.”
