#wyatt threads

[hxache]

closed starter for Sol (@starskipplng) when: oct 31, 1996 where: lake las vegas—beach party

How long was too long before it was awkward? A full minute in silence seemed enough for Wyatt. Subtlety wasn't exactly his strong suit, made obvious by the way he kept casting downward glances at the man to his right. Three times he'd opened his mouth to say something, then buckled as he came up blank.

It was hard to mistake Sol; he'd delivered a package to him a few days before, and had managed to perfectly trip over the top of his own shoe and land stomach-down in the grass. The package had comically sailed through the air and landed perfectly on the front steps of the man's caravan, but the evidence of his buffoonery was written down his shirt. Still, a job completed is was job well done.

All it took was a full minute of nothing but the sound crackling bonfire and the eerie energy of someone he'd decided (again, in just a full minute) was eons more suave than he could ever be to work up the courage to say... something. In one hand he held a plastic cup of punch which was very much alcoholic. The other...

"Lookin' good..."—he gestured to Sol's pirate hat with a finger circling the air, then down toward his chest and pants to refer to the rest of the costume—"Davy Jones got nothin' on you, mate. You got that whole sexy edge goin' on. Y'know... walk the plank!... but like... hot... 'nd all'a that... good stuff..."

Yeah, cool, hitting on someone who looked like they could snap you in half with a single glare was totally a good idea. He could hear the little voice in his head saying shut up; say something fucking normal. But unfortunately, the guy in an unkempt wig, wild beard, and a fucking loincloth was serving full-blown idiot.

"You in a crew with all'a them?" He asked, gesturing to the handful of other pirates scattered around the beach. "Co-ordinated or somethin'?"

[thestormsxmelodies]

starter for @ofwildxhearts (Chris) Location: Downtown

Wyatt could not imagine what his brother was going through, his heart broke from the younger male and he hated that he and Iza had go through all of this. He knew could understand how stressful things was and he admired his brother for being strong. Wyatt always looked out for his siblings, he was protective of them and he wished he could take his brother's pain, at least some of it. He had spoken to his wife, they had plan that she would stay over with Iza while he took his brother out to lunch and just catch up. Giving him a moment to breath.

"I have a feeling you want to be home but some fresh air will do you good and plus, I want to make sure you eat something too," he spoke with a soft voice and smile as he looked at his brother. "Thanks for agreeing to have lunch with me Chris.

[thestormsxmelodies]

starter for @ofwildxhearts (Oliver) Location: Either Wyatt or Oliver Residence

"Looks like all the kiddos are finally asleep," Wyatt sighed as he sat down and took a sip of his beer. Wyatt was always thankful and loved that his family was close. They always had each other's back and were there for each other. Sometimes he loved and dreaded sleep overs like this. His daughter always loves spending time with her cousins and he and his wife tried to make sure she spends a lot of time with them and family. His wife was out of town on business so it was just Wyatt.

He leaned back on his chair and looked at his older brother. "I don't know how you two can handle two kids. Y'all must be pros or something," he sighed chuckling softly.

[hxache]

closed starter: wyatt for maria (@bcbymaria) where: maria's flat when: early afternoon.

"I'm gonna be real with you," he says, having left the pen and clipboard in the car. The thing that authorised this delivery in the first place. The delivery that—he wasn't judging—was a stack of magazines with headlines he couldn't possible give a fuck about. "I'm gonna sign your initials for you 'nd call it a day." That signature was the only thing standing between him and a cold beer in his fridge. "After this, I'm probably gonna go home and take a phat nap."

He's been doing a lot of that lately. Sleeping the afternoons away, waking up because his stomach growled, and heading out for the night to find his way home by an act of divine intervention. At least he could rely on his sense of direction—couldn't rely on. his brain for much else. Too many incomplete thoughts, too many half-baked ideas, waaaay too many fights to not have some sort of permanent concussion. Such is life.

"Maria....?" He hadn't taken stock of a surname. Cranes his neck, tilts his head to catch the name addressed on the stack, bundled together by a rubber band made of some kind of groundbreaking science, meaning it was really fucking big and Wyatt kind of wanted to keep it for its novelty. Lifts it with a pinch of his fingers to make out her name. "Ber-tow-lah?" Butchered the beauty with a thick english accent. "That's real lush," he commented, a crooked grin. Charming. Disarming. Stupid. "Rhymin' 'nd shit."

He could feel that tingle down his spine, then. He's said something dumb. He's working on it.

Wyatt clears his throat as if to wipe the slate clean, lifts a large palm to lean casual against the door frame. Looks like something suave, but he's using the opportunity to stretch. The van was cramped, his legs too long for an eight hour shift. "You good with that?" Him signing on her behalf.

[hxache]

closed starter: wyatt for lux @thoroughfxre where: frank's last stop auto & body when: early afternoon.

A sliding whistle from wet lips signalled that Wyatt had come to terrorise another of the city folk with a delivery. Businesses expected to see his face—didn't mean they liked having him round. He'd gotten that impression almost immediately from Lux, but it didn't stop him from wearing a dumb smile, small and friendly, as he walked through the open roller-door without much of a further introduction.

"Nice ride," he said, entirely sarcastic, of course, though who was he to talk? He barely made enough in a month to cover his cabs home from the club, peddled over to his mates houses on a fucking bicycle. Self-inflicted grievances of the working class, of course, in more ways than one. What he should use the money for was obvious; pants that actually fit. His sock-covered-ankles showed when he stood, but it wouldn't be the last time he looked like a dick in public.

"Delivery," he stated the obvious, using both hands to steady the heavy box as it shifted from under his arm to an empty work bench along with his clipboard and pen.

"Need'a get your sig for thi—where the fuck are you?" He finally asked as eyes lifted to a seemingly deserted garage floor.

[hxache]

closed starter: wyatt for maxim @thoroughfxre where: the underworld.

He perched a drink—a smooth blend of scotch and ale with a single ice cube—in front of the other blonde. Wyatt knew the back of Max's head like he knew the back of his hand. Even in strobe lighting. Even in a haze of fog and vaguely fading smoke. He wore a grin on his lips, the lucky courage of a gentle buzz clear in the way his lids were lazy and a little heavier than usual. And the very faint, hardly noticeable tinge of pink across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

Besides that, he ran hot. Could have helped to explain the black mesh crop he wore, sitting just above his navel, and the pants that were genuine button down, fly-zip, and tailored. He even had a pair of loafers, that had clearly never seen the light of day before. Could thank the club's dress code for that. He hadn't been avoiding Max, per sé, he knew odds of being in the same club at the same time were usually pretty high. But he certainly didn't expect to see him so early in the night, let alone find him so effortlessly between writhing bodies.

Long limbs had made it easy to slide his way between patrons and rest his back against the bar, much to the dismay of the people behind Max. But he couldn't care, and had even less desire to take a glance at them. As always, his tunnel vision won out.

He leaned forward then, lips at the other's ear. His voice was glossy and easy, and just as relaxed as his mind—thank you gin. "You alone, or?"

No, there was no hello. No small talk or subsequent pleasantries between them. The greeting in question was the drink he bought for the other. They were far too close, knew each other too intimately, to bother with anything of the sort anymore.

"Lookin' well-fit," he continued with the smile on his lips echoed in his voice.

[hxache]

closer starter: wyatt for franco (@devilsons) where: vitelli estate when: late afternoon

There were too many cars parked out the front for Wyatt's liking. A family reunion of sorts, perhaps. Yeah, better to make light of a half-truth than to question just about anything the Vitellis were up to. Unfortunately for the blonde, he had a knack for finding himself in confidential situations.

Case in point, the manilla folders labelled for Franco in his hand.

"Mister Vitelli," he told the intercom, which he had to duck some inches to hear, to which he received a stern we're all 'Mister Vitelli'. "How fuckin' many—right... I've got several confidential papers for a Francisco Vitelli."

The door opened faster than he was prepared for, obvious by the way his soul almost lept from his body. "Proper muppet," he mumbled, at himself, under his breath as he took a step inside the illusive estate. Max had described it to him once before, as he had described Franco. Never had it been clearer that the blonde was a fish out of water.

Truer, still, as the powerful capo sauntered toward him. Oof, the voice in his head cooed. Everything he knew of Franco was second-hand from the mouth of someone clearly fond of him. But none of it seemed like an exaggeration. Those cheekbones looked like they could cut him in half... and Wyatt would probably let him. Thank god he was at the end of his postal run.

His little button down tee, too tight on his arms (as was true for most of his 'on the job' clothing) and slacks were a whirlwind of self-conscious in the presence of true, form-fitted power.

"Need your autograph for these," he said as he freed the manilla folders from his clipboard and offered it toward the dark-haired man. He felt the urge to say please, to call him Sir—a ridiculous thought for a man a few years, and inches, his junior. But what did that say about Wyatt?

Best not to open Pandora's box.

[hxache]

closed starter for Seneca (@thecrimsontempest) when: 31st october, 1996 where: lake beach party—goob lagoon

"I'm brave enough to admit I have no idea what a leviathan is," he said as he nodded solemnly. His eyes were downcast in false sincerity, his tone so clearly kidding and full of cheek as he continued. "Takes a lotta bravery, I know, I know. I'm not ashamed mate... Jus' who I am, innit?" A rhetorical question, of course. His expression had shifted; he gave a half-smirk that forced his left eye to squint, hammering home his sarcastic, self-deprecating jab until he breathed a laugh and settled.

"Seriously though. Got no clue, hope I never cross one," he reiterated.

An arm had come to drape around Seneca's shoulders, leaning his body into the other in pure and clear comfort while he necked back what was left of his beer. Somehow, almost impossibly, his accent grew thicker after a little bit of liquor. Probably something to do with his annunciation becoming a little lazier.

But all of this, coming from the man dressed as a deserted islander. Quite literally, the guy in the goofiest costume of all. One that he was wholeheartedly enjoying, clear in the way his fingers combed through the false beard. Every time he did, it pulled at the elastic and tickled his lips, provoking a quick and hard exhale through his nose to fix the ticklish itch hands-free.

"Crazy, hey," he started. His tone had shifted then. Something quieter and more vulnerable. His eyes had softened as he looked on at the setting sun that had begun to disappear behind the horizon. He knew that it was only the beginning of a sentence, but what he wanted to say felt like it was stuck in the back of his throat. He wanted to talk about how silly moments like these make him conscious of just how much he values Seneca. But instead he came out with—"Didn't think this many people even lived 'ere."