mutt was shot in a riot.
Send my muse lies about people they care for.
“Riot? What— what fuckin’ RIOT, the fuck’re you talkin’ about?” Panic clearly spread through the Milkovich like an instantaneous disease; snaking through his veins and filling him with a confusion that overshadowed everything else he could be feeling. Anger, sadness, all upstaged by the mass confusion consuming him and sending him into panic mode; a train without a conductor, threatening to run off the tracks.
It wasn’t much, but he’d grown to be tolerant of the kid, maybe even a little bit fond. Which was saying something. He’d more or less unwillingly become the worst possible influence on Mutt, having been forced to withstand him until he got used to it and suddenly he wasn’t all that bad anymore. Still annoying, but not so bad.
This news had left him dumbstruck. A riot? Why the HELL was Mutt in the middle of a riot and why hadn’t the Milkoviches been even somewhat aware that something of this nature had taken place? It practically had their family’s involvement written all over it.
Mickey raised his hand to his mouth, wiping away some nonexistent grime from the corners of his lips and heaving a burdened breath as he eyes wandered, the blue portals to the gears turning frantically inside of his head. He should have been there. Should have protected the kid. He can’t help but feel some sort of responsibility. Some sort of fear for his well being. And undeniably, a duty to get revenge on the shithead responsible. After all, he’d made the mistake of feeding the lost puppy that showed up at his doorstep. Well, more like the lost puppy broke into his house and helped himself. But regardless, he’d become somewhat responsible. Especially in a shitty neighborhood like this. A kid like that on his own wasn’t gonna make it without someone watching over him. And he as good as adopted Mickey into that position, whether he liked it or not.
“Wh— well what — is he — is he okay? Who the fuck shot him? — Gimme’ some goddamn ANSWERS!”
