RENEGADE.

NICOLAS BROWN.

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just kidding i’m going to be on envy for the night !! later gators 

[screenshotsofdespair]

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untagd:

       okay, fine. he deserved that. so much so that he nods and waves it off, living the part of the fool. it isn’t every day they get something resembling downtime like this, he figured he might as well make the best of it. pushing away from the desk, he saunters over to nico, grinning all the while. there’s the distinct scent of tobacco lingering on his lips, which he does his best to try and keep away from his partner. “ah, c’mon, nic. i’m bored, can’t exactly leave this place. ‘case the phone rings.”

       his voice falls in turn with his face, sole eye becoming ever solemn. there’s the makings of rains out on the horizon, and his bones ache almost as a warning sign. oh great, only 35 years old and i already ache like granny. maybe she’ll have some aspirin i could snag. and as if in response to this, the small of his back groans, and he pops it up straight, sighing. “a’right, you win.” a soft sigh. “jesus, if we could at least get a job or something …”

     and then, if it were possible for a lightbulb to ding above his head, it would right about now. he walks past nico, stopping just past his partner’s shoulder, hand placed firmly on it. he dips his chin in the direction of his bedroom. “there’s other ways to keep us entertained.” he’s jesting, surely, passing the time with careless (possibly fruitless) flirtation, the sort that alex is subjected to. “moving the bed, I mean.” 

     he’d been meaning to rearrange his room for some time. 

        he remains motionless as worick is clearly the opposite   ---   he’s never been one to keep still, for as long as nico’s known him, and while it was often the focus of his annoyance, it’s grown to become something of a characteristic he knows his partner for: always puttering around the apartment like someone lit a lazy fire under his ass, cigarette in hand or alex in tow   ...   speaking of cigarettes, the scent of cheap tobacco encroaches and nico pulls a face, nose wrinkling, lips pursing while brows knit and crease between them; a hand waves the intrusive smoke from his face and steps irritably to the side to avoid it himself. 

        nico can think of numerous other things the two of them should be doing   ---   a clear glance in the direction of paper bags littered over the expanse of the makeshift business desk with half-scrawled names stapled to the folded openings practically scream their need to be delivered in a timely fashion  (  he figures the rain could suffice as an excuse when he soon faces angry customers, but even then, he’s thankful their protests are easily ignorable  ), and the promise owed to constance to resurface the bullet hole-laden interior of her shop still remains, but he’s sure worick knows that.

        beneath the weight of his hand while quick to ignore the innuendo, nico knows worick’s strength, and more specifically, that he is more than capable moving the bed his own damn self, but he doesn’t complain. 

       you know you’ll have to move your dresser, too. isn’t much room elsewhere if you don’t.

[thesenpaithatnevernoticesyou]

All smiles

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liaisonwritten:

❝ OH, how sad for you. Being unable to hear my beautiful voice. If there’s anything you need, please, don’t hesitate to ask. ❞  

        something tells him she really might not give as much of a shit as she lets on  (  he doesn’t expect true sympathy, he never has  ), but he’ll keep that to himself, though his expression, harder than usual, makes one’s disbelief quite obvious.

        his hands, one previously resting at the hilt of his katana and the other tucked safely in the pocket of his slacks, lift to sign, fingers fast and coiling at the wrists:  doubt i’m missing much. 

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        nico isn’t too sure what he means about a ‘blue lion,’ nor does he care much to know in the first place (  besides, it seems to him that it’s just more unnecessary trouble that the handyman would rather avoid getting involved in, that much was certain  ),  so staring rather than responding seems good enough. 

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        he gets that she’s stressed, but it’s hard for him to understand when she speaks so swiftly. she’s just a kid, he reminds himself somewhere in the back of his mind that speaks out against the growing frustration, and it’s because of that that he’ll grant her this one get out of jail free card.

        the words are forced, and he signs instinctively behind them, though his voice breaks over the syllables,      ❛  ---  if you don’t slow down, i can’t help you. can’t read your lips when you’re talkin’ so fast.   ❜

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worthyfire replied to your post “why are u dragging me back into nicolas brown hell stop this”

if you don't wanna go into nicolas brown hell, join me in my hell (:

i can’t believe you are trying to steal my hell-candidate away from me !!!!!!???!!?!/ 

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why are u dragging me back into nicolas brown hell stop this

because everyone needs to love him as i much as i do ....... join me ........ 

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        he appreciates the stubborn streak the kid possesses, don’t get him wrong   ---   nicolas is one to talk of such a thing, when it’s because of his own hardheadedness that he hasn’t succumbed to the defection of his own GENES like other twilights have before him and will after   ---   especially when those without will are the first to drop like flies, but it’s hot, and with enough on his plate as it is, the last thing nico needs is to drag dead weight to doc theo’s thanks to heat exhaustion. 

        the press of the water bottle he’s retrieved to takumi’s neck as he approaches from behind with his usual silence is his only physical insistence. 

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AND SO IT BEGINS

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tentative starter call, anyone? 

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a thing i noticed today: nico signs in japanese, but ergastulum, based upon the style of the architecture and the fact that worick (and others) often refers to the fact that he is ‘half-asian’, is probably located in an area where the japanese language isn’t typical   ---   they most likely speak italian and english. 

while nico learned how to sign, worick taught him how to read/write in what one can assume is probably worick’s native language.

nico learned two languages, one for communicating and the other for reading and writing, all at once when he could barely speak one in the first place, let alone hear it. i’m cryin 

[benriya-san]

Baby Nico in the BD Special Comic #1 || SCANS: fuckyeahgangsta

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untagd:

        he snicker-snorts, inhaling just a little too much of that ol’ pall mall smoke and coughing up a lung. he’ll never learn, not until he’s dead, he suspects. feet placed firmly back off the ground, he reaches for the phone and, realizing that might not be the best choice for this situation, retracts his hand. he sighs in something like disappointment. head turned to nico: “woah, careful there, nic, you’ll be catching up to me in no time.” with any luck. 

        it’s a bitter, poisonous thought. one that does more harm to him than the cigarette. it’s his last one, though, certainly not for his lifetime. maybe that’d be for the better, maybe alex wouldn’t be sent out so often, maybe they’d all be a happy family together more often. 

       and, then, to counteract this sudden act of self loathing, a laugh. “you feel up to a little friendly game of rock-paper-scissors?” a grin. 

         it’s good to be optimistic, he guesses, but it’s unrealistic, even for worick. how often do you hear of a twilight, a tag, the scum of the earth, in most eyes, matching the years on a normal’s life stride for stride? it just doesn’t happen, and he’s heard it from doc theo himself   ---   nico’s lucky he’s even lived past thirty. with four years past the expectancy of his own expiration date, he’s damn lucky to even possess the ability to make light of it.

        his eyebrows tug over dark eyes fixed on worick’s mouth   ---   reading his lips   ---   and he makes an expression as if saying ‘are you fucking kidding me?’ with hands at the ready, equipped with a rebuttal: are we five, now?

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untagd:

       alright, alright! he signs in return, more out of mock … mocking than anything else. he waves his hand, placing his (beautiful) ass in front of the desk, legs kicked up. a careful sigh, eye turned to the ceiling. it’s a slow day, which, in retrospect, he should be thankful for  –  really, though? he’s fuckin’ bored as shit. “hey, you seen aly around? startin’ to miss that perfectly round ass around here.” 

        while his eyes follow his partner’s movements with a familiar intensity, unblinking and expression without shift, it should come as no surprise to nicolas that worick never pays any attention to his surroundings past the tip of his own nose. 

        the asshole never changes. 

        if anyone unfamiliar with sign language were to look in on their conversation, nico’s hands would move too fast for comprehension: you sent her to get a couple of things from granny. smokes, remember? beginning to wonder if your memory is shittier than mine. must be old age.

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untagd:

      “Oh jes – Nic, that my shirt? I swore I just washed that.” a playful groan, but there’s still a tinge of annoyance in his voice. he has to keep up appearances, can’t very well do that when his partner keeps stealing his shit. 

        just washed or not, it remains slung over the blade of nico’s shoulder, and he makes no move to remove it. he simply tosses a look in worick’s direction, expression blank and mouth pressed into its usual hard line, with a quick sign: you haven’t returned my other one. or my coffee mug. or that jacket. consider this repayment.