i exploit you, you still love me.

wild thing, you make my heart sing.

[waynecross]

independent private & selective single blog for original vampire rockstar character WAYNE CROSS from hit (ficticious) rock-band OVERBITE. played by billy / joe / seth. triggering material may occur in this blog, see temporary rules & about for more in depth explanation. affiliated with @drunivers & @molotovmary. part of the ever expanding overbite-verse.

meet wayne cross, once a guy with no job no prospects his talent has made him find a spot among the biggest stars. him and his angelic voice has swept the nation and the world off their feet! he's totally not harbouring a freaky secret. no he doesn't eat people and the fangs are just for show! now what's your blood taste like.

. ...to find more about wayne and overbite click here!

[outoft0uch]

wayne comes in through her window like some sort of storybook character. he looks the same as the last time she saw him, in a different decade, but she supposes that's part of it. wayne cross, the immortal rockstar, the boy who can never grow up. her very own peter pan in leather, wide smiled, confident, sweeping into her private hotel room like the wind. annie laughs, fights the window shut behind him. she's never met anyone who actually says things like hot stuff. "there's a zoo here! in the city. did you know that? it's the largest in the state." she's here because a friend of a friend of a friend saw her mom here, allegedly on this date. but annie wasn't able to find anything. a dead lead. she took herself on a consolation trip to somewhere, anywhere fun. annie turns her back to him, vampire that he is, and doesn't feel concerned in the slightest. both hands float over the mess she's made of the room's second bed, fingers wiggling to a silent tune, before she zeroes in and snatches something up. annie straightens her spine, holds her chin up high, and spreads out her souvenir shirt over her chest. "ta-da! it was almost as fun as you. obviously."

the shirt is thrown back to the pile and annie turns to wayne to really truly look at him. instantly, she feels a little hypnotized by the whole thing. the wayne thing. him showing up out of nowhere, making himself at home. maybe she's a little nervous about the undead rockstar in her room. "oooh, that would be amazing. i love you guys live." the shower is still running, steam starting to spill out the bathroom door, and she's still just stood in between the two beds. annie blinks and shuffles closer, closer to that big, dazzling smile. she's curious already drowning in curiosity as to why he's here. how he found her. whatever is going on in wayne's pretty head. "'s that why you're here? to gimme a concert invite from the headliner?"

[waynecross]

there's a zoo. and annie is so. there's no words for it. songs maybe. there's a thought for later. safely kept away. there's something refreshing about innocence, about being genuine, there's nothing genuine about one wayne cross. but that's the half game. it makes him smile, bright and true. head tilting to a side, looking more at her than he does the t-shirt. "glad you had your fun, babe." and it's not just said to appease her but rather there's a part of wayne that is always searching for something human, to cling to it. annie is all that. almost as fun as him. that's the way it should goddamn be. he seems satisfied with it.

he isn't doing anything too different, it's organic the way he's pulling annie closer. his eyes look at her, hazel mixed with red, something of a warning for those paying attention. she loves them live. annie listening to his records, doing whatever. oh be still his dead heart. "always. i mean. you're always invited, gorgeous." he sits up, meets her only slightly half way. he wants her to work for it. just a little bit. "-but you know...now that i'm here, i got a couple of idea of what we could get up to. y'know. if you're feeling up for it." his eyes shift from her face, to the bathroom door. smile only widens. he can hear her blood pumping. rushing. he's got an effect on her. and wayne's only wanting to push it. see where it takes him. he rests his head on his hand. leaning into the arm of the chair. ball on her court.

[waynecross]

do you want to come in ? i was gonna take a shower …

annie. sweet, sweet annie. wayne can't help but smile, he was neatly leaning on the frame of the window. almost posing, leaning into her space. he is invited in, and it is almost too easy. what isn't easy is finding a way to keep a lid on it. to avoid just digging fangs in her throat. wayne 's got teeth alright, but sometimes he's all heart. and he wants to indulge her, listen to the silly little stories she spins, let her carry a conversation in a way that feels right. on time, the tempo, the mood. he licks his teeth, nods. "sure thing, hot stuff." it's gentle, charming. and in between the lines...hungry.

her room in the hotel is cozy, they meet every now and then. different places, different cities. coincidences, accidents. maybe sometimes he even sniffs her out. he looks around, he can't remember he didn't stay at a place's suite. but he isn't about to invite her back up to his room. that's complicated and almost surely a death sentences. the shower, alright. mess free. it's not so much the sanguine hunger rather a much more simple desire. to have her, even for just a little bit. "what brings you around now? anythin' fun in the city...you know, besides me. obviously." he waltzes into the place like he owns it, sits down on the sofa facing the bathroom door, unlaces his boots. "-we got another gig tomorrow. could sneak you in some tickets, if y'wanna catch the show." kicks them off. smiles wide up at her then.

[molotovmary]

there, she’s got him.

wayne cross, always charismatic, always smiling, pushed past his limit. prodded into a vicious mood, complete with bright eyes and a look not too far off from hate. he pulls her up and she goes, the scald of his touch familiar, always ready to fall in step with what he offers. her lip curls, her hands go rigid and fall limply into her lap. with his palm to her cheek, tugging at her hair, mary glares. her eyes are dark, cold and glittering, and she would fucking kill him if it were anyone else on earth. it’s not, though, and wayne could do anything to mary like this and she’d take it, whatever it was, and enjoy it because it’s from him.

mary blinks rapidly as he blows the smoke, simultaneously offended and worked up, gaze lingering on his lips. he’s really never this reactionary. she doesn’t know what to expect beyond what she’s lived before, so she anticipates cruelty. it makes sense to her. she finally pulled at the right thread, the one that makes even the best of men turn callous. mary stays limp in his grip; blows hurt all the more when you tense for them.

instead, wayne gives her what she asked for in the first place. a cigarette placed between her lips. he’s still just fucking wayne, soft and trying not to show it, hiding away tenderness beneath his pretty exterior. mary clamps her lips shut around the thing, breathes in. she’d bite it in half just to spite him, if she wasn’t already friending for more solid ground, the calm of a nicotine buzz. mary shakes her head, rolls her shoulder to shrug him off. "’m goddamn peachy."

she pauses. the only place they’re touching now is their thighs, and even then, she’s started to lean back and away. it’s like the magnetization between them reversed. she’d been veering closer and closer to wayne, now mary’s repelled, as far away as she can get without outright climbing off his lap. her throat bobs with a thick swallow of spit, the paper of the cigarette clinging to her wet bottom lip. with anyone else, she would’ve already left the room, the whole building. mary stares at him, at eye level, gaze dragging from his wild hair to his burning eyes to the mirror scowl on his lips. fuck him. she plays plenty nice. "fuckin’ crybaby."

[waynecross]

there's something burning in his throat, something along the lines of regret. wayne expected satisfaction, but in his hands mary did not tense and he doesn't know what to make of that. the burn from the edge of his eyes turns to the pit of his stomach, she shoulders him off and suddenly pulls away. his hands remain where she once was and it feels cold, disgusting. worse. a poor's man attempt at steeling himself. the anger is still there. it boils him. the regret is harder to manage.

can't a guy get a break? some compassion. something. it's unfair. feels like the world's tallest order, unfullfilled. stab the ticket through the metal, that's not fucking happening. not with mary. she doesn't leave entirely, and he doesn't know why. her stare is piercing, revealing, feels like his guts are out there in the open. ready for her to just feast on the tragedy a bit more. hasn't she had her fill? crybaby. no no she hasn't she never will. fucking blackhole, swallowing everything up. insatiable. and wayne just sits in it, because he won't push her off. and he won't move and he'll keep staying until there's absolutely nothing left.

he crosses his arms. scowling. something eventually has to give. he doesn't know what is. "crybaby?" incredulous. not even the worst from her, not even a lie. he wallows in it, whenever he's drunk and stupid that's all he fuckin does. wallows. "-right." he forgot, god forbid he has feelings. it seems like mary doesn't forget. she just sticks a claw in and pushes, pushes. the rhythm is all off. eyes wet. and he looks away then. a sad little smile, like he doesn't believe her. "you pull shit like this and i'm supposed to just. take it, is that it?" he looks for it then, a reaction. something to give. it's unreasonable. hammer to concrete the cracks are all there for her to see them. wayne doesn't say the rules of the game aloud, he just plays. and he supposes they aren't that different, mary just keeps him at arms lenght. and he's greedy, and he wants more, but maybe those are just fantasies, make believe and pretend. illusions meant to make him believe otherwise. and he just fell for it, hook line and sinker.

[molomarymoved]

wayne's hand wraps around her wrist, the friendliest cuff she's ever felt. he plays mean too, some nights, but he never bites down as hard as she wants. she knows he wants an apology. he wants her to duck her head, bend into the person that doesn't want to rip his throat out. he's got no luck, seems he never has, 'cause she isn't even a person.

mary's lips split into a mean smile, thin, mean, her fangs cutting into her bottom lip. there it is: he's sparking mad, she's looking for a full blown flame. "you need it nice tonight, baby? that it?" mary sits further back on her hips, imposes herself further onto his lap. he's close enough for them to share breath, if that was a thing either of them truly needed. she takes an unnecessary breath in, then pushes it out through her nose, fanning the air from her lungs over his cupid bow. "alright. i can do nice." she shakes the hair out of her face, all animal instinct, and then she brings her other hand up, feels up wayne's chest. she's laying claim over every part of him she can reach. it's not enough of him-- never is, for an eternally open maw like mary-- but she'll take it. the line draws closer and closer. she can get him to snap, she knows they're well on the way, but she's savoring their twin descent. "nothing bad ever happens to good people like us. no one's gonna hurt us but each other."

mary's whole posture changes. she slumps down, presses her face ever closer to his, and she juts her battered bottom lip out. her fingers spread right over where that un-beating heart of his lies. "please, mr. cross, won't you give me a light?" slowly, mary folds herself further down, nipping gently at the fingers wrapped around her wrist. "gimme me something to put my lips around."

[waynecross]

@sordidery

he should be used to it by now. her circling him is just like cables by the water, sparks. the type that make wayne feel alive. just everything seems to catch fire, everything seems to want to burn down with them. and it's her fault, it's always her damn fucking fault. it's the shirt sticking on your back on sweat, uncomfortable but so familiar. and that is mary, less than human more monster than anything else he's ever seen. but fucking familiar, and it makes him nauseous, her breath on him so indistinguishably her. wayne has no clue what she tastes like, recognizes everything else. even when he goes out there looking for something to compare. if he could cry, if he could kick and scream he would. but he doesn't.

her hand trails up, her touch hot, stove hot any other one person would flinch away. his jaw sets, matches the thin smile on her face with a scowl, brow furrowed and something in him is always breaking. "man, fuck you." it's honest and candid and uncontrolled because that's how mary gets him. that little bit in him that remains awfully human. it's being stuck, vinyl with a cut in it and the needle seems to bump over it, over and over and over.

"shouldn't give you shit." shouldn't different from won't or can't. his hand let's go of her wrist only to hold her face, her cheek, fingers sneaking into her hair. and lifts up with some strength unsticking her from him. he's looking at her now, cheek smushed slightly by the hold. bright eyes look at her with something indescribable stuck between them both, between his ribs. she's not him. it's not her fault. he isn't her fault. placing blame where it shouldn't go. everything else though? "you never play nice." and it's not entirely fair or true, free hand sneaks a cigarette free. puts it in his mouth, keeps a hold of her while he sneaks a hand to the back of her jeans, he always keeps a lighter there and simply lights up the cigarette. one puff, two. curls into her face. he takes it then, decisive, putting it between her lips. imagining it's something else.

"there... fucking happy now?"

[waynecross]

important how like riko and mary like shape wayne and how he presents himself to others, something about being with riko makes him feel human still something about being with mary makes him feel more like a monster, and like this dude does not struggle with the morality of killing and eating but the loosing of his essence and himself, of becoming a vampire and such a thing happening under frankly traumatic circumstances

[pinktombs]

📍- are lost

kelsey honestly does not know how they managed to get themselves in this predicament. she felt vampires should at least have some cool internal navigation so they do not get lost. but alas, NOT the case. and that is between two of them. utterly ridiculous. despite this incredible situation, she did not blame wayne for it. they both got too distracted to notice how far they strayed and all the wrong turns made along the way. so being the doll kelsey usually is, the blond thoroughly blamed herself for this fun side quest.

kelsey turned to him now, leaning down to remove the heels off feet because she had zero desires to ruin her nice heels in this weather. " i can walk up to that sketchy gas station we passed and see if they have chargers or a map? " she offered with a half smile despite not entirely thrilled with going back towards that area. the men looked scary and like they'd do anything just to have the chance to touch a woman again. but she would be brave for wayne. he's so lucky he's hot or else she'd make him do this.

[waynecross]

is he still too wired up to do anything properly? the short answer is yes. it's some good old fun, he knows he's going to be in so much shit later. but that's something for wayne to handle later. so. he's buzzing, the kind that can just switch up on him. kelsey's got this sort of effect on him, makes him feel...good. a little better about his situation, decided to keep her around.

"oh. that gas station? ." wayne puts his arm around her shoulders, brings her in closer. "-'m not letting you go in there alone, babe. besides. maybe we could both use a snack break." it's a little teasing, feeding being one of those subjects they rarely breached. and it is that thing were wayne died and came back king of the world, eventually. she's sweet, sweeter than most. almost as if kelsey needs to be reminded how much they can get away with. he holds out his hand, offering to hold her heels. "come on. riko's gonna throw a fit when she sees i'm not there."

[drunivers]

she can see it, terrifyingly. reflected in the shine of those pretty-blue irises. this charmed new future, hard-launched with an announcement in people magazine and a million dollar silk wedding dress designed by marc jacobs.

mrs cross. her lip curls. the snake charmer who fell for her snake. an absence of a person. an empty shell trophy wife just like her goddamn stepmother.

realizing that her thoughts have wandered, riko mentally packs her feelings away, somewhere she doesn't plan on revisiting.

“i’m not the marrying type,” she says, cold. it’s the truth. (it’s all he needs to know of the truth.) “and neither are you, remember?" there's something in the way she says that, something she doesn't mean to reveal.

she releases him and pushes his head away in one motion. the casual intimacy is suddenly overwhelming, his closeness far too much. riko squirms off the sink, tugging her skirt back down. the bite on her thigh stings anew. “hand me the first aid kit. i need to clean this.”

[waynecross]

wayne can see something, a blur of things happen before he can put a finger on it. he smears more blood on the edge of his mouth in an attempt to clean.

and neither are you, remember?

right. here they are, falling back into place. lining up, he rolls his eyes. and hurt isn't the word to describe wayne here, it's a little more delicate. much more annoyed with reality than anything else. stomping the dream before it can even happen.

he listens, licks his fangs clean. and he slowly rises, taller than her no longer on his knees, satisfied but not entirely. something's misses, something sweeter. but he simply turns around, finds the kit somewhere in all the stuff thrown about in the bathroom. he holds it out for her to grab, leans closer, annoyingly so. wouldn't let her slide away so easily. he simply smiles, charming, nice.

"thanks, doll, you don't want me to clean you up?" he offers, it's a little more than just that he's putting on the table. but he's giving her an out.

[waynecross]

like this to plot !

[waynecross]

independent private & selective single blog for original vampire rockstar character WAYNE CROSS from hit (ficticious) rock-band OVERBITE. played by billy / joe / seth.

[drunivers]

riko thinks she likes wayne best when he's on his knees like this.

his eyes are dilated. he's sloppy when he's blood-drunk, and though he's stopped licking the bite, his mouth is a brilliant and vivid red and leaves stains where he rests his head on her thigh. her hand tangles in his hair, her designer skirt hitched up around her waist and her legs cold against the marble counter she's precariously balanced on. they're in the bathroom because it's easier to clean up in there.

she's a little dizzy with it. she loves it when he needs her. he could slaughter his way through the rest of the world and stay beautiful until the stars burn out -- as far as riko knows, anyway -- but right now, where it matters, she's in control. unconsciously, her fingers tighten in his hair.

@waynecross: WILL YOU MARRY ME?

"don't be ridiculous." she's weak for his voice, the way it comes syrup-slow, lisping through fangs. his old accent is coming through, the one they'd trained out of him so he'd sound perfect on interviews. she cards her fingers through his hair. even her words sound softer, without her meaning to, in this space where only the two of them exist. "what would your fans think?"

[waynecross]

man, what a way to keep living.

wayne thinks she tastes the best, out of anyone. out of all of them. everyone's he's had she keeps him coming back. there at her fingertips, he doesn't think about anything else. well, maybe one thing else. the words come out, genuinely, roll of the tongue better than anything else. he licks his teeth, his hands sneaking up her legs, settle on her hips, licks the wound. he really is drunk.

"think they would have to deal with it." looks up at her between lashes, thinks he's seeing an angel, the bathroom should feel cold, he doesn't feel it. feels something else entirely, in this space, her hand on his hair, a wild and unruly thing. he lifts his head up, as much as he's allowed to. fidgets with one of his rings, metal, and heavy. the one with the cross on it. "all complains would have to go through one mrs. cross." gives her a smile, adorned with her blood. whether it's the truth, wrapped up all tight in a bow or not. it does not matter, the sentiment is there. the lack of logic and planning goes with it.

he's playing, consequences be damned. riko seems to be taking it in stride, softer, for what it's worth. "we could get married in vegas, i'm not too keen about real chapels." keeps going, see where it leads him. how much is too much? he doesn't know, all wayne's learned recently is indulgence, excess, limits can go fuck themselves.

[molomarymoved]

"every fiber in me screamed out, but i couldn't make a sound." @waynecross

“poor little songbird. no voice to sing, huh?” mary walks her fingers across the shitty fabric of the hotel couch, veering closer and closer to wayne’s arm. she hates it when he gets like this. that pretty face all empty, hollowed out. christ, the melodrama never ends with the new ones. kids these days.

she crawls forward across the cushions on her knees, crossing the unspoken boundary of her space into his. they had a big show tonight. wayne’s supposed to be all hazy, jittery, hopped up on adrenaline. they could’ve fucked. they could’ve feasted. instead, it’s the whining, the incessant fucking soul searching. she cranes her head down, makes sure to get to his eye level. the expression she gives him- it’s crazed, it’s wide-eyed like an prey animal. mary would know; she’s spent countless hours in front of the mirror, pulling at skin, categorizing each expression. she once spent a week inside the empty house of a former meal, standing in front of the mirror and wasting away, watching the facade of life leak out— her own corpse rot, an audience to her own starvation. she’s seen everything her mask of skin can do.

“what would you have done? cried? whimpered? begged for help?” maybe she’s playing more of an antagonist than she needs to. maybe she’s itching for violence and barking up a volatile tree. mary doesn’t have it in her to feel all that torn up about it. they don’t call her molotov for nothing— give her something flammable and she’ll blow that shit up. “you think vampire daddy was gonna come back and help you out?”

mary shakes her head and breaks the unblinking eye contact. she pats down her too tight jeans, comes up empty, and seamlessly moves to pat down his. “jesus. you got a cigarette?”

[waynecross]

it’s this incredible anguish, wraps itself around his neck and toys with choking him out. he’s out of his head he doesn’t know what he’s saying what he’s projecting, what he’s putting down. dear mary is a goddamn knife, she’s cutting and while he appreciates it, admires it. it’s like a bite, rabid dog who won’t let go of him. her touch like pins on his skin but he doesn’t move, grounds him. piercing blue stare looks at her hand moving before meeting her eyes, a thousand lives something ancient lives in her and wayne doesn’t comprehend it entirely. mary does this, she looks like she is. nothing to hide, right now. she is a crazy unhinged animal, he doesn't know how she does that. she makes this shit look easy, effortless. fuck.

wayne knows there wasn't anything else to do that night but die, he had hoped for the longest time that something would go different, replayed the events in his head. he swears he can smell the bodies, the booze, the last of his life vanishing before him. he swallows, he’s always been incredible alone, her words get to him. he isn't alone, something to be played with now. he gets a smile, it's slow and steady, murderous. a click. something snaps, like it was bound to give. “so easy for you to just run your mouth. forgot who i was talking to.” as he talks his hand slides up from where it rested on his knee, leans into her space taking the decision to intrude back, he’s got claws too. a lingering sense of fight that mary digs in and twists to get at.

she asks for a cigarette and he rolls his eyes, she's on thin ice, patience barely holding him back. she takes it a step further, made of fire just consuming everything in front of her. he wraps his hand around her wrist before it can get to the pack, pulls it out of his pocket (a dare, try and touch me again. let's play one of those stupid games.) little to no space in between them, he knows what would piss her off, send her away but he doesn't want that. what he doesn’t know is what he really wants in the moment, he'd stuck his head in the lions mouth long before this, he stayed there. he is there now.

“like hell 'm gonna give you a cig after all that." lit up, it's alive, it's malleable and he's petty, easy to hurt, finds himself ready for a scrap, from zero to a hundred. she could do anything in this moment. he's not folding, it's not one of those nights. he makes this one terrible choice over and over again where he trusts her. "you want a smoke that bad?" raises and eyebrow, the anger clings to some of his words, only natural. fucking take it from me. i want to sink my teeth in you. i want you to sink yours in me.

[drunivers]

[ in the tub ] are you gonna join me or not ? /for ricky

his fucking baths. his non-negotiable ‘hotel room must always have a jacuzzi’, she’d know, she sent the contract over to the lawyers herself. a lot of people in her business have to deal with primadonna clients, but nobody’s walking the kind of high wire line that riko is. she tries to be always aware, to remember that he isn’t human. but she’s got a few wires crossed herself, and there is a kind of thrill to it. to being the only one with the secret. dancing under the knife every time she leaves him with all her blood still in her body and her composure intact. and on top of all that, there's her actual job.

while he lounges in his precious jacuzzi that added zero after zero to the checks she’d had to sign to the hotel, and there it is again, that hit of danger-lust-annoyance that has her either gritting her teeth or pressing her thighs together. (it’s the latter, now, but it’s an unfair fight. he’s naked, after all.) at least she hasn't spotted any blood on the tile this time.

riko finally has to look up from her phone. she’d been going over the next day’s schedule, something even wayne should know by heart by now, as an excuse not to look directly at him. “i’m sorry, am i boring you?” her tone is ice-cold, her gaze dismissive as she glances over. just like any animal, when she feels cornered, riko lashes out. “i don’t think that tub is big enough to share with you and your ego.”

[waynecross]

nothing could be more interesting than him in a hot tub. he could bet his life on it, he would actually if it was worth anything. "no, you could never be boring. it's surprising that you aren't, given how you try your hardest." it's true, but riko is interesting. layer upon layer of damage and stubborness, a guy is sure to loose himself in it. it's all very professional, it's all strictly business. but he can hear almost, the change in her heartbeat, the rise of her heat. it's a little intoxicating when he manages to get through.

makes him want to press down harder, skin turned pink. she makes him laugh. it's a full thing, glimpse of fangs and then some. "ouch. okay. what if i promise not to try anything. you're just so wound up tight, think you're gonna burst any second now." he leans back, competely unashamed. comes with the territory, and the inflated ego. nothing to be shy about, nothing to be embarrased. "i could scooch some of my ego out of the way, hell, i won't even take a peek. i'll turn around and everything. plenty of room then." it's not begging, he doesn't do that anymore that got left in a ditch somewhere along the way. he moves then, closer, to the edge. where she is, so far away, his elbow resting on prestine tile as he rests his head on his hand. perfectly innocent, recently fed. the warm water doing wonders for him.

there's no denying that something electric bubbles right up between them, the times he's gotten to sink his teeth in her have been far and few in between. they haven't done anything too scandalous, but there's something there. he thinks, pin pricks at her skin when he pierces it. he couldn't possibly be imagining things. he isn't delusional enough, some truth lingers. he wants just to pick at it, the anticipation killing him. what is ricky but the one thing he can't have? he's thought about it. it sort of haunts him.

[waynecross]

I think it’s interesting to think about Wayne with a goal Wayne looking to get into someone’s pants and then Wayne on a low activity season Wayne who’s like withdrawn and quiet and neurotic and on the verge of collapsing and no one would ever know

[waynecross]

what do you take me for? -> Clyde

a tender hearted moron. wayne smiles, tilts his head. he looks good enough to eat, but being an artist. another musician (not as good as him obviously. like duh.) means clyde is off the menu. well, off one menu. the other one is yet to be seen.

"just one of those guys, you know the type. but it's just me and my assumptions. i bet you're just great. an absolute hoot or whatever." he isn't trying to be mean, just teasing him. a little bit. it never hurt anyone, and wayne has to make his fun somewhere, somehow.

"-so brave of you, to like want to share-" wayne's eyes trail the makeshift green room. "-backstage with little old me. a lot of people just flat out said no, i think they're just boring. not up for a challenge." he leans back on the table set out for them, with all the silly ammenities put out, completing every silly request and whim. he wonders if clyde asked for anything. wasted potential if you ask him. "you the sharing type? up for the challenge?" he snickers. it's a quiet little thing as he sits on the table, swinging his boots, covered barely by printed bell bottoms.

[waynecross]

yes he had an accent, no he doesn't anymore he killed it but it can jump out every now and then mostly in private.

[waynecross]

' can you be honest with me? ' riko

"that depends, doll." his feet are on the table, he's strumming some nonsense into the unplugged guitar in his hands, he hasn't looked up to see just how serious riko is. he's trying out this new riff, it dawns on him that is just the two of them. and that lingers a bit, he sighs. maybe rolls his eyes a bit when she doesn't budge, he likes that about her just not when it's aimed at him.

"i mean. like what is this about?" he puts the guitar on the side, sits up without being asked, there's a whole lot he would do for her even if she never asked. wayne doesn't have time to think about it. so he won't. "a guy needs his secrets you know." as if there is anything left for her to uncover, like flipping through an old magazine you have that shit memorized, he'll pretend this doesn't make him nervous. it's cool, he's cool. cool as hell.