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@tangentially-displaced
Are you implying that you are, perhaps, still a small child? Because that would explain a lot.
Night came quickly in the winter months, and while he had made sure to make his plans known this time, the prospect of repeating his prior mistake so soon played on his mind. Still, he needed answers, or at least advice on what to do; and so here he was, bottle of vodka in hand, knocking on his father's door in the late afternoon.
It took him a bit to get to the door with his knees and hips aching the way they were, but Volker didn’t have to wait for too long. Earthenware cups, or at least one cup and a saucer, clinked against the table as he set it down, jimmying the door open a hair to peek out.
“Volker?” He was surprised, yes, and that showed in his voice, but something about the way his shoulders hung and the thinness of his lips told the old man to not ask questions. Rather, he swung the dense, thick door open, washing the young man in warmth. “...Get in, before you freeze.”
@tangentially-displaced
[HE DOESN’T TRUST YOU VOLKER]
[NOT AT ALL]
[SQUINTS]
[SQUINTS MORE IF YOU HAVE ANY FUNNY IDEA CEASE IT NOW OR HE WILL PUNCH YOUR JAW]
[Slowly grabs Volker’s finger and pulls it.]
[Text]: Just so you know
[Text]: It doesn’t make anything safer
@tangentially-displaced
[text: Volker] I didn’t want to know, thank you very much.
[text: Volker] There is a lot more urgent questions that I will not ask because I like my sanity.
@tangentially-displaced liked for a starter
“I had been cleaning my house, trying to get some free space and I found this toy, with your initials craved on it.” He hands him this toy railway, that seemed to have been seen better days but was not damaged - or at least not to an external eye, he didn’t know if its engines were able to resist the time.
“It was boxed alongside with another bunch of thing I labelled to have a better look later. Point is, do you want to keep it for any sentimental value it might hold for you?”
@tangentially-displaced continued from here (x)
I remember seeing a boy way too similar to Ludwig - which couldn’t be possible because Ludwig was not a boy anymore.
...
I am sure the ceiling was just low.
[That’s a tentative of a self-depreciating joke, who would have known.]
@tangentially-displaced continued from here (x)
[Gilbert frowned, still trying to get some of the mud out of the face of the boy. Honestly, where he had been? Rolling with the pigs? Diving into the a swamp? And that dirty was not getting off so easily.]
You will get the spoon anyway for the state of your clothes right now.
[Not the more soothing thing to say to a child, is it now?]
...
Tell you what. You tell me the truth, and I will call your house and ask for you to spend the night here so we can get everything cleaned and search for your shoe.
But you have to tell where you had been.
It was dark. Everything tasted like pennies. Something stank like sweat, burnt bananas, and cheap perfume.
The lights came on, bathing the nondescript brick box he was in and the clear, plastic table in front of them in sharp, yellow light. Predictable as anything for an interrogation room, but it still made him squint and flinch back, his head throbbing at the sudden brightness of it. The vague shape of Volker’s oddly glittery body floated into view, bathed in that dense cone of light and illuminating the grease stains spattering his suit jacket. He wasn’t alone? Why would they be interrogated together? Why did he smell like hot wings?
...Well...hmm. This was an uncomfortably familiar situation that Vanya found himself in. His hands were still handcuffed behind his back, cuffed in turn to the metal-frame chair he was sitting in. His feet were linked together at the ankle, tied in turn to the chair’s support bar to keep him from hopping. Every fiber of his being ached, and the distinct acrid tang of copper still hung around his tongue. The only difference this time was he couldn’t hear the bids for first-crack at his face through the wall vents, and his accomplice at his side. It had to be for psychological purposes. They could do whatever they wanted to one, and fear would make the other babble. The Italians used to do it. Why wouldn’t the Americans?
What was he doing here? Why was he here-
OH. RIGHT. Volker left him there to get tazed.
“You backstabbing, cowardly whoreson.” Vanya snarled, his voice echoing oddly despite how small the space was. Gradually, he turned his head back, fury burning in his eyes as he wriggled futily in his chair, trying to clank his cuffs against the metal chair frame. “Get up, we are in the shit!”
