dum spiro, spero

Terrance Bradshaw a.k.a. Salvatore Santorio

[lachlanmurray]

Date: 5/24/2021 Time: Just before closing Location: Terrance’s Status: closed with @terrance-bradshaw​

What he needed was money, that was the ticket to fixing a fair number of his problems since being dragged back into the living world. He had money, you see, but he had money stored in plastic totes that he had buried in the yard of a home that had been long since sold. One that he had discovered you couldn’t really sneak into when you were only sometimes solid, and you certainly couldn’t manage to dig in that state. The last remaining drinker paled at the sight of Lachlan entering the bar, then skittered outside before…well, Lachlan wasn’t sure. Being a shade wasn’t contagious, but by god did the people in town think it was. Terry had always seemed like the town god to Lachlan in some ways. If your god was a grouchy, extremely well informed Fae who looked like he could kill you as quick as serve you a drink. So Terry, he reasoned, might know just where he could find someone to help him recover his money. “D’you know Terry, not once in the years I spent my evenings here did I buy you a drink? Absolutely rude of me. Fuckin’ unacceptable.” Lachlan said conversationally, sliding onto a barstool with a grin that he hoped said something like ‘don’t call the Ghostbusters on me’. “I’d say something right pithy about how reports of my death were greatly exaggerated, but you lot seem to have thought that I ran off instead.” Lachlan paused, then sighed as he looked up at the Fae behind the bar. “I’m in a right bind, Terry.”

[terrance-bradshaw]

Terry pours himself a drink he goddamn earned after a long day. It took them two weeks to repair the bar, and Terrance’s has returned to its dingy, gritty glory-- he was very specific on how they fix the bar. “It’s a repair not renovation” he told the contractor when they suggested rewiring and changing the flooring-- But not everything in life can be fixed, and you can’t un- happen what has already happened. Terry is disappointed, and no amount of repair can change that. When Lachlan in, Terry doesn’t register the familiar face for a second or two. He grimaces as he realizes the lack of life in Lachlan’s... body? Figure? Shade. That was the word they used. He is still perturbed by what happened in the New Year’s. He has been trying to ignore the fact that the dead can come back knocking at your door. Or rather, the fact that he has not been visited by the shadows of his past. “...you never were the paragon of manners, kid.” He mutters before downing the whiskey in one gulp. “So you’re dead? I thought you were just fucked right off without saying goodbye and went gallivanting. This is a hell of an entrance, I’ll give you that.” He sighs, slamming down the glass on the bar. Despite his overall irritated look, his creased features relent. “Alright, I’ll bite. What did you get yourself into this time?” 

[terrance-bradshaw]

rtkns·:

“Don’t waste your breath, old man. Those who don’t know their place deserve no mercy.” Ryo called back, still keeping his eyes narrowed and steady on the group surrounding him. “‘The pack.’” There was a distinct note of disgust in his voice. Whether it was his past prejudices or dislike of cohesion for convenience’s sake, the idea of banding together around an agenda just didn’t sit well with him. “In case you all haven’t gotten the memo, I don’t do the whole solidarity thing. You could call me a lone wolf, I suppose, but I’d rather not be associated with the likes of your kind.” He could look past his dislike of canines, sure, but blindly inciting violence was something he could not tolerate.

And yet, Ryo just stood there, simply waiting to see what would happen. He was never one to throw the first punch. Not because he was some sort of gentleman; no, far from it. It was to ascertain just exactly what he was dealing with. Though to be fair, there wasn’t much guess work to be involved here. “Well, get on with it then.” He called out to them rather impatiently. “Let’s see what you lot think you’re made of. I’ll be glad to show you all otherwise.”

Terry stares at Ryo with a mix of confusion and mild amusement, He didn’t expect that kind of reaction from the shifter. He supposes he doesn’t know much about Ryo... aside from his usual order and penchant for cigarette, which Terry will not forget to address later. But considering that this is Lethe, it shouldn’t be surprisingly that Ryo had a different side than a regular at Terrance’s. 

The werewolves, however, does not amuse him at all. If his thousand years have taught him anything, it’s that the history repeats itself. The fear, the divide between ‘us’ and ‘them’, the aggression... this is not the kind of ideal sought by the founders. Terry is... disappointed, even though he doesn’t know what he expected. “..kids, I ain’t got all night.” He sighs. With that, streaks of lightning flickers and fills the back alley, followed by a roar of thunders tearing through the night air. Terry, standing in the eye of the storm, strides up to the pack of werewolves. One of them charges forward. Before they can swing the bat at his head, Terry kicks them over the chest and throws them to the building wall. He looks over at Ryo with a look of exhaustion and sighs again, “let’s just get this over with.”

[terrance-bradshaw]

naomi-clover·:

Naomi’s eye twitches a little when she turns back to Terry, a scoff hot off her lips. “I…am definitely less observant when I have something on my mind,” the witch admits with a narrow of her eyes as she leans over to gives Terry’s arm a light shove. “Fucking werewolves, though…can’t believe the cops still haven’t caught these assholes yet.” The fact that all this werewolf business made its way to Terrance’s says something. It says that people aren’t doing their fucking jobs. It says that this arsonist business has gone way, way too far, and someone needs to stop them. Though Terry’s playing the ‘I’m not letting it get to me,’ card, Naomi certainly is not. “I’m sorry about your place. If you need any help, let me know, I’m sure some magic could come in handy. As for Tilda,” the witch chuckles and shrugs gently, “yeah. She’ll find out eventually whether someone tells her or not. She’s Matilda Ballantine, reporter for the Lethean Times, for fuck’s sake. 

Telling Terry about her plan to have a second child should feel easier than this, but for some reason there’s a knot of worry built up in her gut. Maybe it’s because in the past, her decisions haven’t ended in the best way. Could also be her general fear of pregnancy and death, but either way, she goes on to tell him. What’s the worst that can happen? He spits out his coffee? Oh. He actually spit out his coffee. “I mean, I wouldn’t way ‘we’ are so much as I’m thinking about having a second…” she trails off, brow raising as she watches Terry wipe off his chin. Ultimately his response earns him a snort and a cross between a chuckle and a sign from Naomi, who has a hand over her face from mild exhaustion. “Obviously you’re not expert in actually having the kid. But you’ve raised them. And you practically raised Tilda, so,” she sighs again, gesturing exasperatingly to him once her hand is off her face. “That’s why I’m asking. I’m trying to figure out if having a second one is a crazy idea. And how I should talk to Tilda about it…” 

“Uh-huh. That’s the only time when your perception fails you, sure.” Terry teases her with a knowing smirk. He shakes his head with a sigh, his eyes setting on the scorch mark on the floor for a moment. “I can. Since when those in power did anything?” He handed over some of the werewolves him and the bartenders caught, but it led to nothing... As expected, unfortunately. His attempt to meet with the werewolf Councilman went nowhere too, as the man seemed to evade him by rescheduling and just ignoring him. “It’s alright, kiddo. I can take care of it. It’s not like I make profit from this shithole.” He waves off her offer, snorting. “To you, maybe. To me, she’s still that headstrong girl who broke a boy’s hand the day after I taught her that move. The difference’s that now she’s got you and Layla to consider. Can’t get into troubles like she used to with the Council bullshits and everything.” 

Terry raises a brow, wondering why Naomi is bringing this up before talking to Tilda. Listening to her, he quietly rolls up a paper into a stick and smacks her in the forehead. “Just tell your goddamn wife that you want another kid, ya dumbass.” He sighs before sitting back into his chair. “I’m not saying that you should or shouldn’t do it. That’s ultimately up to you, but you gotta discuss this kind of shits with the person you wanna do it with. For Pete’s sake, it’s not a rocket science, Naomi.” He wrinkles his nose as she continues to speak. “What, you want my advice raising a kid? Lemme tell ya, there’s no one simple do-this-do-that easy fix for it. You just gotta do it. There ain’t no other way.” He barks before he downs the rest of the coffee. “You are not gonna be ready for it. Nobody is, Lord knows I wasn’t. Sometimes you just gotta be a parent ‘cause a child needs somebody. But this isn’t the case. You’ve got options. So it’s not about if it’s crazy or not to have another kid. The question is, are you gonna do it, and if you are, how are you gonna prepare for it?” 

[terrance-bradshaw]

faolanmeadowes·:

Faolan shrugs, unbothered at the annoyance in Terry’s voice, but he startles at the explanation, a quiet, Sidhe swear escaping him. “If you are upset about it, it must be serious,” he says, running a hand through his hair. Not much of a friendship between them, not like there is between Cora and Terry, but he knows him enough to feel sympathy. “Wolves?” The species don’t feel different, but the edge of righteousness emitting from the one werewolf sitting on the ground, nursing his head where blood drips into his eyes from a wound slow to heal and glaring at them, is all werewolf. Faolan cracks his neck with a sigh, knowing Caoimhe will be less than pleased at this development. He takes a position near the door. “Can’t be many left, you handled most of them yourself. Kid, what was the plan here?” This he asks to the werewolf. No response, unsurprising, but the surge of emotions are helpful enough. Faolan looks at Terry. “Better them than a lamia or a nymph. Only way to stop them is a little more permanent than handling wolves.”

Upset is a rather diplomatic word for how Terry feels at the moment, a great understatement really. On a scale of 0 to 10, he is at Angry Sicilian. If he acted upon his antiquated anger, though, he would have returned these senseless hooligans into ash and dust. He is holding on to the last string of patience. “Lamia or nymph, if anyone pulls shits like this in this sacred land” Terry growls, before kicking the werewolf in the face to knock them out, “they’ll all get fried like yesterday’s onion rings.” He remembers Tilda talking about this new werewolf Councilman, some punk called Maksim or whatever. The name didn’t ring a bell. What he knows is that the Lowell kid wouldn’t have let this happen. “Who was that new knucklehead in the Council? For the werewolf? You know him?” He asks, since he has a bone to pick with that guy now. The door opens behind them and a group of people pour out, dressed similarly in hoods and masks. Terry grabs one of them and begins pummeling at them. As they try to surround him and Faolan, he releases the rampaging thunder and lightning stored in his body, electrocuting a handful of wolves. “Where do you think you’re going?” 

[thequotejournals]

Dear God, do old scars ever stop hurting?

Stephen King, The Shining (via thequotejournals)

[collinnmckinley]

[terrance-bradshaw]

[terrance-bradshaw]

naomi-clover·:

“What? What not- what the fuck?” Naomi nearly falls off her bar stool when she looks around to see the state of Terrance’s. With her eyes bug wide and her lips sputtering for breath, the witch can only really look at Terry as she gathers her thoughts…and words. “The fuck happened though?” She says a little too loudly and with a squeak. “Oh no…shit. Don’t tell me they got you too?” Somehow the scorch marks and the charred ‘open’ sign become all too telling as to what exactly happened to Terrance’s. That, and the familiar smell of burning hair…I can never get that weave back, the witch thinks, brow twitching. “I won’t tell Tilda. But you’ll have to eventually. I don’t want her getting pissed about me knowing and not telling her, like you,” she says with a smack to his arm while she steadies herself back onto the bar stool. 

Then she sighs when he asks what she came here to talk to him about. Well… now they’re back to that, are they? Ack. Is this even the time to bring up children? Or to be having them? Naomi sighs, waving her hand, “eh…you seem like you have a lot going on, I don’t wanna bug you.” She pauses. Well, actually….with a grimace, the witch goes on. “Actually, it is kind of important. And uh…time sensitive. Sort of.” Fuck….now he’s looking at her funny, so she should just go on and say it then. “I’m thinking about having a kid,” Naomi blurts out, eyes wide. “Er…I mean, I’m thinking about asking Tilda if she wants another kid. I do, I just…it’s the whole getting pregnant thing I’m mulling over. I want to, it’s just…y’know.” The witch gestures to her brain, her stomach, all around her, and then she slumps over with her head in her hands sighing loudly. Terry knows about the history with her mother and father; how Atticus never really took proper care of her after her mother passed away during childbirth. Why say it?

Terry watches her going off in mild amusement as he sips his coffee. “Observant as always, I see.” He shakes his head, cackling to himself. Naomi always had that one-track mind, eyes always on the prize. That means she sometimes misses the periphery. Kind of like Brad... but he wouldn’t hear the end of it if he brings that up to her. “Werewolf bullshit.” He rolls his eyes before giving her a look that reads ‘kid, you make me laugh’. “It’d be the day I die I let some werewolf punks get me.” He may be retired from the exhausting life of seafaring and battles, but it will take a century or two for him to forget how to fight. “Someone will eventually tell her. Doesn’t have to be me.” He grumbles. Tilda already has a lot on her plate. He didn’t want to worry her.

Apparently Naomi thought the same thing. Terry presses his lips into a thin line, but you know what they say-- do as I say, not as I do. “Just spit it out, kid. Can’t tell you I’m too busy for your problem if I don’t know what it is.” He says with a teasing tone, a small smirk curved on his lips. He nearly spits his coffee when she mentions having a kid. “You and Tilda thinking of the second?” he asks as he wipes the streak of coffee down his stubble. He expected something... well, Naomi, like a rave or getting sober but still stashing a flask somewhere in the house. But having a child? Now that is not what he expected from Naomi Goddamn Clover... And as he sinks back into his chair, old memories begin to ache again. “Well, it’s not like we’re living in the 1400s,” he points out. “I’m no expert in pregnancy, obviously--” he gestures at himself vaguely, “but it does change a lot of stuff from what I can tell.”

[queenbrooke]

[naomi-clover]

Date: May 7th, 2021 Location: Terrance’s  Time: 7:55 pm Status: Closed @terrance-bradshaw​

This decision Naomi’s been mulling over in her head is big. It could be even bigger than her decision to ask Matilda Ballantine to marry her. Yes. Actually, it definitely was. Because this decision involves one of her biggest fears. Pregnancy. Maybe she should have gone to her father for advice. But speaking to Atticus about the possibility of her conceiving seems a bit…well, triggering. Both of them have dealt and comes to terms with, on their own time; the death of Naomi’s mother, Constance Clover. Talking to Terry just seems like the logical choice, he’s not involved in all of that. And this is something she wants to talk through with someone else before she approaches her fiancee, someone who…who can put aside shit and tell it like it is. Terry’s the guy for that. 

So she finds herself at Terrance’s after putting Layla to bed and leaving Tilda with a glass of wine, along with the promise she’d bring back food while she was out. Food from the bar would do…right? “Hey, I need to talk to you…you got a second?” Naomi slides into a booth seat at the bar when she spots Terry behind it, knocking on the surface to get his attention. “It’s mildly important…also, Tilda’s hungry and wants me to pick something up. Do you have anything decent here? Like…onion rings? Fries? A burger?” Fuck. Now she’s hungry…

[terrance-bradshaw]

Terry stares at a stack of receipts on the table. They basically bled money from repairing the bar, and the restitution would take weeks to process... He doesn’t run this old bar for the profit-- Terrance’s barely break even-- but more for the sentimental value. It was a gift from a friend... a werewolf with a gentle heart. Decades later, a group of werewolves tried to burn it down. That must be some kind of a sick joke. He did not let the settlers build a town here for that kind of behavior. 

He snaps out of his thoughts when Naomi sits across from him, asking for food. “You didn’t read the note, did you” He can’t help but chuckle. He gestures at the broken glasses, toppled table with scorch marks and as such. He taped a note that reads ‘under repair’ but as always, nobody bothers to read. Naomi isn’t exactly the most observant one, anyway. “Sorry, bamboccia, the kitchen’s closed. As you can see, shits got crazy and we’re still under repair-- don’t tell Tilda, by the way. Don’t need her fussing about.” He sighs. It’s been like a week, but Terry being a recluse, he hasn’t bothered to talk to anyone about it, aside from those who were involved and perhaps the police that came to arrest the arsonists. “Anyway, what did you wanna talk about? Is everything okay?”

[terrance-bradshaw]

rtkns‌:

In the short time Ryo had been in Lethe, Terrance had started to resemble what Ryo could only vaguely call a father figure. It wasn’t like he had a good frame of reference to begin with however; his own father wasn’t exactly loving, and the master he studied under back in London had kept their relationship strictly professional. “Huh? Oh hey, old man… Just came out for a breath of fresh air.” He was fully aware of the irony of the cigarette in his hand. Just as he was about to offer Terrance a smoke, he looked up and noticed the group walking towards them. “Oh, for fuck’s sake…” Stamping out his cigarette, he held Terrance back and instead threw the man his blazer. Last thing he wanted was any obvious bloodstains on it that would make Nagisa worry. “Nah, I got this, old man. You should go inside. I don’t want you to see this. It isn’t going to be pretty…” He eyed the group up and down and couldn’t hold back his sardonic laughter. “I almost feel sorry for you lot. Almost. A load of shitty luck you’ve all got running into me tonight. I am not in the mood.”

Terry raises a brow and goes, “that shit’s gonna kill ya.” He doesn’t necessarily sound convinced or stop Ryo altogether. It’s just something he says in a true old man fashion. Can’t say he is a shining example of nonsmoking-- he used to burn through them like a goddamn train. 

Terry can’t say that he knows Ryo well, but he has always thought this kid was... well, soft-spoken, polite and well-behaved. So he is mildly surprised when the young shifter stops him and tosses him a blazer. He catches it out of reflexes, and looks at Ryo addressing the group. “What do you mean you’ve got this,” he repeats, hanging the blazer on the knob of the backdoor. One of the assholes pipe up, “the power of werewolves come from the pack!” and they mock howls like some dumb fucks. To that idiocy, Terry can’t help but yell, “Isn’t it well past your bedtime, ya big babies?! Christ Almighty...” 

[terrance-bradshaw]

faolanmeadowes·:

Faolan’s days of solving (or causing, depending on who you ask in that tiny pub in Ireland) problems inside a bar are long over. Stepping inside is usually for the nostalgia every few weeks, Long enough to exchange a few words with whoever is inside and continue on his way. He halts, looking from Terry to the wolf with silent curiosity. “Closing so early? How unusual,” he comments, hands in his pocket, watching Terry’s wounds heal with growing interest. “It must have been a rough night if even you are worse for wear. Last time I was here, a witch cursed the alcohol, what was it this time?” Wolf, clearly, and it’s hard to miss the racket occurring inside. Couple of possibilities, but he doesn’t assume, just lingers. There’s only a couple of people as old as him, and Terry is one of them. Faolan offers to help if only from that. “Need a hand?”

“It’s my bar, it’s none of your business if I close it early,” Terry sneers before looking back toward the parking lot and finding Faolan there. He essentially makes the face that reads ‘oh, it’s you’. Obviously he is not in a great mood right now. He snorts as Faolan calls it ‘a rough night’. That’s a grave understatement. “These godless punks are trying to set my bar on fire.” Terry snarls and spits out blood. The white hot angry inside him settles in comfortably like a cat snuggling to its favorite spot to sunbathe. It has been some times since he got this furious. Yet, the anger fits him like a pair of old gloves. “...sure, I could use a hand. I’m guessing the kids inside are taking care of themselves, so just gotta make sure no more fuckers go inside.” 

[alexbeaudet]

Visit Original Link

[terrance-bradshaw]

I will go if you ask me to I will stay if you dare And if I go, I'm goin’ crazy I'll let my darlin’ take me there If I go, I'm goin’ crazy I'll let my darlin’ take me there

[terrance-bradshaw]

Date: 28 April 2021 Time: 01:13 AM Location: Terrance’s

Terry runs a hand through his sweaty mess of hair as he walks toward the front of his bar. On his other hand is an unconscious body of a werewolf. He still hears the noise of commotion inside, but his bartenders are... well, let’s just say he didn’t hire them for their bartending skills. If they can’t handle this, they probably won’t fit into Terrance’s. And Bradley, well, he raised that boy. He can take care of himself. 

Seeing a figure walking toward the entrance, Terry calls out, “oy, we’re closed tonight. Get lost.” Grumbling old Italian curses under the breath, he tosses the body on the wall of Terrance’s. He rolls his shoulder as the cuts and bruises on his face begins to heal on their own with a crackling spark. Terry did not survive over 1,000 years for nothing.

@faolanmeadowes​

[orotundmutt]

[terrance-bradshaw]

Date: 28 April 2021 Time: 00:29 AM Location: Back of Terrance’s

Terry thought he heard a glass shattering, but he just assumes that it’s a drunk patron, Matt doing something weird or Brad accidentally knocking something over. He throws the bag on the dumpster and dusts his hands off as he notices a familiar face. “Hey, kid. What are you doing back here?” he asks. Not exactly the great spot to hang out, but he figures, Ryo likes this kind of ambiance or something... “We’ve got seats inside, y’know. Food too.” He points out. A set of footsteps come from the other side of the parking lot. A group of people in hoods and masks carrying bats and pipes... That does not bode well, he thinks to himself with a sigh. Kids these days. “You might wanna step inside, caro.” he warns to Ryo, gesturing at the backdoor, as he walks toward the group.

@rtkns​

[terrance-bradshaw]

Date: February 2020 Time: 08:14 AM Location: Terrance’s

Sitting by the empty bar, Terrance sips his mojito in quiet, the episode of the New Year’s on his mind. People say that those shades were the dead, returning from their graves... Then how come he didn’t see any of his ghosts from the past? There are faces he had almost forgotten, and they are names and jagged memories he clings to. If he could see them again... one more time, he would die a happy man. But no familiar face haunted him that night. He can’t help but wonder, have I lived too long? What if the ghosts of my past has moved on and forgotten me?

“We’re not open yet. Would it kill you kids to read the goddamn sign for once? For fuck’s sake.” he grumbles at the sound of the door. He should really remember to lock the door. “Isn’t it too early for drinking?” he says, in a true old man hypocrisy, with a half-empty glass in his hand.