#wyatt001

[rothane]

closed for @wyattnadir​ setting: the bar at calliope

Rowan is on edge. With everything that has been going on lately, and the recently confirmed black car that’s been following her lately, she finds herself avoiding going home. With the kids spending the night with her parents and Andy tied up with club things, the last thing she wants to do is go sit at home by herself, leaving herself feeling like a sitting duck to whatever unknown threat she is sure is out there waiting for an opportunity. So, instead, she finds herself sitting at the bar at Calliope. Between Reina and the small handful of club members hanging out -- not that Calliope is their usual stomping grounds, but the club house’s absence has made them have to get creative-- make her feel just a little bit safer. Her gaze lingers on the rowdy table of men not far from her before moving back to Wyatt. “You think the vein in Reina’s forehead is gonna explode once she catches sight of all the mud they’re trackin’ onto the carpet?” She asks, glancing down at the mess they’re leaving behind. “Have you had your vote yet? We get to officially keep you or what?” 

[rollo-in-the-wild]

WHERE: Spruce’s place at Tripps WITH @wyattsfm​

Spruce had left a message. At first, they had planned to call, they figured it would be just as awkward but it might take away from the fist meeting. Then they saw some of the messages they had sent over the years and wondered why they were even afraid of sending one like usual. They had never been the type to make phone calls anyway. They’d asked Wyatt to meet them, they could go for a walk maybe? Spruce could walk with Reynolds and Rufus, since they always felt much saver with them around. They hyped themselves up before it was time, yet when they saw Wyatt, their heart dropped a little. Maybe it was all too soon, maybe they should’ve waited. “Hey,” they said, seeing their brother in person for the first time in years.

[sawyergraves]

Location: The Dive

@wyattnadir​

"Forgot how fuckin' mean your right hook is," Sawyer laughed as he swiped a hand across his mouth and unsurprisingly, dabbed away a few drops of blood from his busted bottom lip in the process. Glancing over at Wyatt as he settled down on one of the barstools at the Dive, Sawyer cracked a crooked grin and shook his head, "Feet are quicker than I remember too." After half a decade, Sawyer had forgotten just how talented Wyatt was in the fighting ring— and how brutal. "Or maybe I'm just slower," he chuckled, knowing it went without saying that he'd lost a step or two over the last five years. But he was hoping to change that line, and between sparring with Wyatt and training with Rick, Sawyer was certain he'd pick up the pace in no time— or at least before his first fight back. Blowing out a long sigh, Sawyer leaned forward to rest his arms on the bartop and grinned. This was part of what he'd missed most over the last five years— hitting the bar after a few rounds in the ring. Signaling for the bartender, he dug his worn carton of cigarettes from his pocket and tossed it onto the counter, "First round is on me."

[angelway]

Status: closed @wyattnadir​

The plan is simple. Get in, get right back out. If she’s successful, she’ll return to her little corner where she won’t bother anyone else for the rest of the night if she can help it. Hopefully, no one will bother her in return. That’s the plan. And so Angel tries to keep it casual, tries not to draw any attention to herself. She passes by a person while on her expedition. They exchange a polite nod and a quick grin, nothing more. Perfect. She slips into the room where her goal lies, letting out a sigh of relief when she finds she’s alone. Quick. She has to be quick. Moving her backpack to the front, Angel swiftly unzips it as she squats down. One by one, she grabs a canned good or whatever other non-perishable food she gets her hands on and shoves it into her bag. Most of her needs, meals included, are met by theft these days. It’s what happens when you have virtually nothing to your name. Besides, it’s not like they’re going to use all of this food tonight, and is it really stealing if she’s practically homeless? After all, she is the very cause the goods would’ve been donated to eventually anyway. Might as well speed up the process.

[cleoarchibald-blog]

Cleo was sitting in one of the cells at the police station, the back of her head against the wall, looking through the door. Racing once again in the streets of London wasn’t a good idea apparently, especially when you cross a police car. It was already late, probably 3AM, when she saw the familiar face walking past her cell. She immediately got up and called out for her oldest friend. “Wyatt! Hey, psht, Wyatt, get me out of here, please...”

@officerswyattthomas