#badluckdownbelow

[dr-lamb]

"Happy Halloween"

send me “happy halloween” and i will randomly generate a number between 1-13 to pick from this insanely weird mix of a list for something that my character will say to yours (x) - - - 6

Sofia stared at him, willing the hypnosis to work. This was the third escape attempt this week, it was starting to get dull. If only he would just break and let them get on with it. "Look, just give me the knife, okay?" she said, gazing into his eyes. Come on, Johnny, she practically prayed inside. Just give up. 

[wuunderkinds]

[6:46:27 PM] queen parasite/liz: cries cause an actual family for Jack

[6:48:03 PM] queen parasite/liz: My heart

[6:53:54 PM] queen parasite/liz: Imagine him losing said family cause of witches tho

[6:54:01 PM] Professor Dickamore: ;;::;:;;;

[6:54:02 PM] Professor Dickamore: HW Y

[6:54:04 PM] Professor Dickamore: N O

[badluckdownbelow]

It only takes him seeing the screwdriver the other man held between his teeth for him to not attempt to talk to him again. One can never tell what sort of mood Atlas would be in if he interrupted him for nothing really important. All he’d had to say after all was that he’d done what he’d gone out to do. Nothing to toot his own horn over.

So instead he moved around him after toeing off his boots, not wanting to track anymore blood and muck around then he has too, headed towards where food was kept. For a few minutes the only sound is him putting cans away and whatever it is Atlas is doing, and his curiosity gets the better of him so he moved up to sit beside him and a bit back, looking over the Irishman’s shoulder.

They were radios, he recognized that, and it only took a few seconds to figure out why. So they could talk when they were separated, like he had with Sinclair. 

(There is the now familiar whispering, like a brush of a breeze from an air vent against his ear, and he closed his eyes to savor it)

"Radios?" he asked, just to put something in the silence. He half didn’t expect Atlas to answer.

[kingparasite]

Another nod. Yes, radios. Atlas worried, you see. Could always be found fretting if he hadn't heard from the other man for a notable length of time -- less than concerned for his safety, fearing the loss of a beloved lackey above all else. Johnny, he-- ... he was tolerable. Did what he was told to, followed direction like an absolute charm. Never before had he whipped a man into shape quite as quickly as he had Johnny here. Afraid to even speak around him while he was preoccupied with something, no matter how menial the task.

Professionally trained, he was.

Now, if only all of his fellow human beings chose to be wise and took a leaf from Johnny's book, the world might've been a better place for him.

At long last, Atlas took the screwdriver back in hand, leaving his mouth free to talk once again. And to sneer.

"Aye, radios, lad. For me an' you both in case th'worst comes t'happen, which considerin' our luck will happen at least once or twice in th'comin' months."

Atlas tossed him a brief glance over his shoulder, lips thinned considerably.

"Don't suppose you worked with these before?"

[kingparasite]

Supplies aren't that hard to find if the person looking isn't afraid of being seen by splicers, but he isn't afraid at all. They need food more then he can allow himself to be scared. Besides, all he remembers in his life in Rapture. It's scary he guessed but he didn't have much to compare it against. The only difference is he's more vulnerable without his suit. Today though-- today he got a good haul of canned foods and returned with them to where they had recently been holed up. "Atlas?"

In an effort to stave off the boredom as he waited for the other man to return from his trip, Atlas had taken to tinkering with a set of portable radio handsets, just like the old days, having plucked them from a trash heap several days prior with the intention of getting them up and working again. Certainly would come in handy if they got separated during an ambush — nothing splicers loved more than to outnumber and corner their prey like a pack of hunting dogs — or if Johnny happened to be late getting back to their safe house; take now for example.

The Irishman’s response came in the form of a gruff, nondescript sound with a vague nod to follow, the screwdriver wedged between his teeth leaving him incapable of doing much else by way of talking.

[thegreatgilimander-blog]

badluckdownbelow started following you

"I thought we would meet eventually."

[securxs]

✖ ϡ † ✄

Anger

    He makes a big show out of anger, tossing things around like the petulant babyman he is. Because he knows he’s actually a giant wimp he forgets how intimidating he can be. He’ll put on the show in front of the wife and child; someone needs to tell him to sit the fuck down and realise that he knows he wouldn’t lay a hand on them, and isn’t yelling about them or even really to them, but they certainly aren’t sure what he’s going to do next.

Mental State

     Later in his marriage he has mild depression - friends sometimes wonder if he’s an alcoholic. Once someone suggested he was a addicted to sex - but actually he’s just very fond of the experience and ladies wanting to have sex with him is the ultimate compliment.

Religion

   Even though religious stories of God as father really get to him he’ll never pray or be the religious type - worshiping anyone other than himself is not really his style, until a cord is struck with the right lady.

Pet Peeve

     People that don’t drink but come to any sort of gathering when drunkenness will happen. He’s too snobbish to accept that people might have good reasons not to drink but also want to, oh my god, meet their friends.