#;andrew threads

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now playing: spaceship - art sorority starter for: @forestofforever

"you can really go. no one's going to stop you." Andy isn't much for words, more a man of observation and action, his words always have meaning behind them. Some more intense than others. There's a long pause, and he looks down, giving his shoulders a small shrug.

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@sunsymbols cont. from (x.)

Andy wrings his hands, face neutral but eyes betraying him and showing him as frightened and just a little defensive. For a good few moments, he won’t answer at all, and then he raises his hands slowly. 

The basement has my taxidermy things down there and it’s a little scary. Can we leave my stuff alone and look somewhere else?

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@miss-polly / sc

"there isn't anyone left to put flowers on my grave." As usual, when Andy does choose to speak, it's morbid. Still, he doesn't seem that depressed, even as his shears move to prune one of his rose bushes.

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@outsidelost saw someone pacing

It’s an hour past midnight and the subway train car is otherwise deserted. For the last three stops, Andy has been alone, unsure, and getting more and more worked up. The man who had gotten on at the last stop and stayed on for the last two didn’t help his increasing nerves. 

He didn’t like the subway. It made him feel nauseous, for one, and the sudden stops and starts made balancing virtually impossible. There were ups and downs, twists and turns, and they were in some sort of tube, underground! How anyone could ever stand this sort of thing was beyond him. 

With nothing left to do, nowhere left to go, he’d ended up pacing the car, up and down, up and down, his large backpack seeming to only grow heavier with each shaky, unbalanced step, his hands flapping rapidly in front of him as he continues on and on and on. 

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@deadmxnsparty saw someone struggling

The man looks out of place, standing there at the counter of McDonald’s, but more than anything he looks scared out of his goddamn mind. It isn’t his face that reads it, no, his face is blank, but his eyes. Deep gray, nearly black, hold nothing but blank terror in them while the cashier sighs heavily and once again asks him for his order. 

In front of him, his hands awkwardly jerk and flap, his gold bangles jangling, though he is otherwise unmoving, totally frozen to the spot. 

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@sunbentsky found someone elusive 

Canary DuBois was one of the most sought after poison makers in the land. She had things beyond compare, concoctions that killed slow, concoctions that killed fast. Painful, painless. Things that couldn’t be found anywhere but tiny places on the outreaches of the land, she had in her travelling shop. She’d had much, a husband who loved her, and a son whom they both loved. 

Her son had always been shy, hiding behind his mother’s skirts, peering out with his dark gray eyes and strange, red marked face. Even as he grew, his voice never grew with him, his shyness never seemed to leave him completely. He never struck out on his own, instead preferring to stick close to his parents and follow in his mother’s footsteps. 

When Canary was struck dead, and her husband poisoned with something from her own supply, there had been a few who wondered if it had been their son who killed them. Whispers of it went out among her former customers, and since the killer was never found... The rumors became all but fact and Andrew went into hiding. He let himself go back to the land, so to speak, carrying his pack as his mother always had. It held his life in it, but it also held death in it. 

For there were still customers. 

Assuming they could find him.