A leisurely stroll through the trailer park was rarely to take a trip down Memory Lane– the further he could put Damian out of his memory, the better, and it was moderately shocking he hadn’t gone through a secondary lapse of recklessness when the other surly vocalist had reappeared and vanished into thin air again after berating him in the middle of the grocery store and in front of his kid. The irritation lurked around the fringes of his mind, reminding him that the other male existed somewhere in the world, sulking around back alleys and dark corners wherever he was. Cyrek didn’t care to know and he hoped to keep it that way, attempting to look forward to his future and with that, came consideration of what he would like in his life from this point forward. For today, the only plan on the agenda outside of work at the bar after six was a little bit of a last hoorah of sorts, the blonde hoping to evacuate the remainders of tainted, acrid taste of someone else’s skin burned into his tastebuds. Carefully picking his way through the snowbanks in his Doc Martens, watchful for the patches of slush that might have accumulated underneath it on the unsteady dirt that resided underneath it, his observant eyes were quick to catch on to the figure shuffling around, crouched low, off to the side of one of the trailers that looked like it might have taken a beating in the blizzard. The whole trailer park was rough, to put it lightly, and most of the trailers had seen better days if not been destroyed a fair amount altogether. His curiosity piqued by the male’s apparent turbulence with whatever he was dealing with, he decided it might be a situation that his help was welcome, unlike several predicaments he had run into with the less friendly neighbors of the trailer park that had been strung out on crack enough to threaten with a gun they may or may not own, either of his attire or general altruism. “Hey, kid.” Olive skin barely peeking from the collar of his faux fur coat, hands in his pockets and mismatched eyes shielded by sunglasses in spite of the cloudy day a little bit hungover, guilty as charged, he quirked his pierced eyebrow over the rim of the shades when he stopped beside him. Leaning forward, he peered past the piece of scrap metal, assessing the so-called Mickey inconvenience. “No good… I think he’s fuckin’ stuck down there.” Plucking the cigarette from behind his ear and placing it between his lips, withdrawing his hand from his other pocket to spark the cancer stick, the vocalist gestured toward the sheet of metal. “Think I could lift it, if you can get the old bastard out. Sound good?”
Warren eyed the other male with a bit of suspicion. He was clearly not from around here, and if you weren’t from around here, your motives were questioned a bit. The park had a drug problem, selling it, doing it, either or. It wasn’t uncommon for the cops to be at one home or another. “Yeah, either he’s stuck or he just wants someone else to come get him. It’s like he doesn’t realize his days are already numbered enough without the cold.” He rolled his eyes a bit and tucked a strand of auburn hair behind his ear. “Just like... be careful. He bites.” The boy adjusted his position, focused intently on Mickey now, ready to grab the bony old cat the second the sheet of metal was lifted. Despite not being a particularly athletic kid, he’d always had quick reflexes.