Will || 35 || Northside Rascals
The law ain’t never been a friend of mine
I would kill again to keep from doing time
You should never ever trust my kind
I’m a wanted man
I got blood on my hands
Do you understand?
Noah waited for the lights to come on in Will’s house, which took long enough that it might as well have been a sobriety test. “Unsurprising, since it’s what happened, but I’m glad that you believe me.” He checked his watch so he could time the process. You could practically hear the egg-timer in Will’s brain.
“No.” Slipping the keys into his jacket pocket, Noah turned and smiled at the bartender. “Tell Luke I’ll take care of the problem for him.” He jerked a thumb behind him to indicate that, in fact, Will was the problem. “Still no.” He steered Will towards the door, away from shots. “You can pass out in the back while I drive. And deal with any vomit that occurs to your precious baby.”
Will pouted, most literally pouted at Noah as he turned to the bartender, all but crossing his arms like a child who didn’t get his way. “Hey now, that ain’t entirely fair I’m a grown up I can handle myself, you don’t gotta baby me like that.” He said, knowing damn well that wasn’t the whole truth. In fact, it was barely even scraping the definition of the word ‘truth' in general, let alone at the moment.
He debated defying his boss, you know, the one of the crime variety, for only a moment more before relenting, just shrugging the whole thing off as he realized that a nap actually sounded pretty damn good right about now. “Alright, alright, fine, but there’s no way in hell I’m throwin’ up in my car, I’d rather choke on it and die first so write that down.” He said, only semi-coherently.
Alice had always attracted people. It was something she’d accepted, a while back. Her mother had been beautiful, when she was younger. The blonde had inherited the fact that she had something to flaunt. Something about her appearance that seemed to intrigue others. And yet if the attention wasn’t from the right person, she was disinterested from the very start. Will had captured her attention the first moment she saw him in Muddy Waters, and she was more than a little interested into seeing what could happen.
“And how are you gonna do that, hmm?” She questioned, pointing out the one flaw in his plan before chuckling softly. Alice raised an eyebrow at the mention of the clinic’s receptionists before she took a small step towards him, seeming to see how much closer she could push it. “They’d only be jealous. I know I wouldn’t have a problem with it.”
Will had always had a type, he was rather stereotypical in that regard, he liked the blonde girl-next-door sort of girls. Although he had to admit, back in his school days he’d gone after just about any kind of girl with all his preferences aside. It hadn’t necessarily been a good thing at the time, but he’d worked the ‘good bad boy’ thing as hard as he could’ve, seventeen years old with a big smile and a gang affiliation -- hell, how was he supposed to resist something like that? These days, however, he found himself more conservative about those things, careful. The last thing he wanted to do was cause a stir up by being a slut in his hometown, but felt that something about Alice was special. Though, that could just be him being blinded by how absolutely stunning she was, which was just as likely as anything else in his case.
“Well, that’s a mighty good question.” He said with his head cocked to the side, a sly smile on his face. “I guess it’s all a matter of figurin’ out how to get close to you.” He said with a one shouldered shrug, forgoing his usual confidence to perhaps come off a bit bashful, modest. He clapped his hands together then, as if just noticing something. “Why, I’m bein’ awful rude aren’t I? Would you like a drink? I have water, beer, and even some whiskey if you think four in the afternoon is late enough, though of course I wouldn’t want you all tipsy for your very busy schedule.” He teased.
Sasha had heard her boss was wandering around Saint Sabrina’s like a lost lamb and assumed that someone had shot Noah, since that was the only reason she could think of why he’d be doing that. But it was the other boss, and suddenly things became a lot clearer. First recording his drunken attempts to locate his keys on her phone for future use, she headed over to the girls to ask which one of them Will had offered a ride home to, and which one had taken his keys to make sure he didn’t die, since Luke insisted on that sort of thing. Sure enough, she found that little cow Miranda talking about how she was going to drive Will’s car home the long way and took the keys back, kicking her in the shin as a parting statement.
“I was going to drive your car home and leave it on your lawn, because otherwise you’ll never learn, but then I wouldn’t have a way to get home. You’re very lucky. Say ‘thank you, Sasha, you’re a better person than me’.” She dangled the keys in front of him.
The sight of the keys instantly gave Will a crippling sense of relief, shoulders sagging forward with the physical release of it. “Sasha, right about now I’d kiss your damn feet if you wanted, you really just saved my ass.” He said honestly, humor present in it’s natural twinge, amping up the dramatics in a typical Will fashion, clasping his hands together like he was praying. “Oh, Sasha, thank you from the bottom of my heart, you’re a much better person then I could ever dream to be and I worship the very ground you walk on.” He said, voice dripping with a charming sort of humor, eyes closed as if in a church before cracking one eye open, looking at her with a half smile, lips pulled back on one side of his face.
“Does that work for ya’ or should I get on my knees too?” He said, head tilting to the side almost playfully, his forever obscene flirtation and joking nature taking space as he grinned cheesily, wide and flashing his teeth. “’Cause, you know me, darlin’, always willing to get on my knees for a lady.”
Eva swore she saw a wave of relief on Will’s face. The man was on the brink of losing his shit, only to be pulled back by the keys’ reappearance. It’s a good thing she wasn’t the bitchy, mean girl type who further played with his spiral to paranoia.
“Get one of those chain thingies that was popular in the 2000′s.” A brief flash of the past in her mind remembered the annoy things that hung by the belt loop of boys who thought they were so cool for it. “Literally chain the key to your person, will you?” she suggested with a chuckle, knowing full well that should William lose his keys again on another night and someone else picked them up, all hell would most likely break lose over his car.
At the mention of shots, the lady perked up visibly, turning her head to gesture towards the bartender. “Vodka shots, please.” She’d definitely drink shots with him, easy.
Picking up the rest of her drink to finish, she eyed Will. “Don’t worry. I think I picked up an STI just by touching the floor to pick up your keys. So you’re welcome.” But she was merely joking around, glad at least that he was no longer on a freak of a spree.
Will shook his head with a bit of a laugh, already beginning to go back to his normal disposition since being reunited with his keys. “Like a chain wallet sort of deal? Those died for a reason, they’re real fuckin’ terrible.” He said, still taking a moment to entertain the idea anyways, balancing the anxiety losing his keys gave him with the level of embarrassment wearing a chain in twenty-seventeen would provide. “Well, who knows, maybe it’d be kinda sexy, like okay, someone would probably kick my ass on the street for it but it sounds functional, and having a car is a lot more likely to get me laid then not having a car.” He paused with a deep chuckle. “Fuck it, I might invest in a chain, clip it to my belt loops like I’m goin’ to a My Chemical Romance concert. You’re a woman of fine tastes.” He said finally.
“Well, damn, Eva, don’t tell me that. I don’t need to live with the knowledge that I gave a woman an STI, that’d weigh heavy on my conscious, but I appreciate the gesture all the same.”
The last car pulling out of the back field drew an end to the night, the last patrons of the fight club stumbling off into the shadows with broken noses and whiskey on their breath and Will watched with a careful, cold gaze as they disappeared in the blackness of the night, his own muscles releasing tension for a time. While the evening ended for those who fought as sport, his night was to continue until the early morning. Cleaning, picking up shards of glass and wiping blood off the counter tops; he was his own maid. He didn’t mind it, though, in fact he relished it, anything to get his mind off of things, busy work.
The after effects of the coke hit him like a train once the adrenaline wore off.
He wasn’t an addict, not in the normal sense of the term. He didn’t depend on it in his everyday life, he didn’t need drugs to get him through the day, but sometimes it was difficult to get into the festivities of the night, and he always hated to disappoint. It was for fun, recreational self medication to keep his guests entertained, the way it made him feel in the moment was just an additional plus, nothing more. That’s what he told himself, but as the euphoria wore off he was left feeling something sinister, the emptiness that usually greeted him once he was alone was filled with cold shakes and creeping paranoia pulling at the back of his neck, no longer feeling powerful but powerless. He looked over his shoulder constantly, checking to make sure he locked the door several times within the same hour, practically crawling out of his skin with apprehension.
He did this to himself, and in the hours following the high he always asked himself why the fuck he did it in the first place, muscle tremors and restlessness making it seem far less then worth it, but the memories where always less harsh then the experience itself. Besides, when it came down to it, who was he to refuse? He was known for physical strength within these walls, but as far as his neighbors were aware his psychological strength was still untested, but he knew better. Will had been weak at the core since the day he was born, impressionable at best, no matter how old he came to be, never really being forced to mature past that point.
Will was careful to never think about himself too much because it always upset him, spending too much time trying to figure out whether he’s a fucking phony or not, whether his personality around everyone else was real or fabricated. At night, at fight club, he really felt like a hard ass, he felt like he wanted to kick the shit out of everyone, he felt like he owned the entire fucking world with or without drugs, but he always had the underlying anxiety, that feeling that kept him up at night. The Will who would put a gun to another man’s head and the Will that smiled at pretty girls and small dogs can’t both be real, and if either of those are real, then who is Will when he’s alone? Sad, drunk, and lonely, that surely can’t be fake. Will didn’t know who the fuck he was, and when the paranoia kicked in he felt that with full force.
He scrubbed down the floor on his hands and knees, already bloody jeans getting smeared with the remnants of other fights, tonight had been a busy one, an especially violent one, a tone he knew he’d set. Will had taken to opening fight, and he’d fucked the town visitor up so bad he had to be driven to the ER, and even still he hadn’t felt bad about it, in fact he’d felt invincible. The crowd of people had taken up that energy and the staple gun was fucking abused, shattered bones, gashes, bruises that took up half of people’s bodies. It was night’s like that that really showed the animalistic nature of human beings, no better then wild animals when given the chance. Once you surpass that point of being scared to hit someone, of the fear of pain, nothing can stop you. The human jaw can snap a finger as easily as a carrot, but when you get a finger between your teeth you don’t bite down with the same casual mentality, you’re afraid, scared, but once you learn to snap a finger like that, nobody can fucking stop you. That’s what that fight club was for, and cocaine had become the snap of a finger between his teeth, that straw to break the mold, to take away the fear of being hit.
It made him unstoppable.
He stood up, throwing the sponge in the bucket and stretching his neck, hands twitched with the soap that had run red rubbed on his palms and he wiped them on his jeans reaching into his pocket and retracting his pack of cigarettes, taking one out and lighting it, the flame of his lighter casting shadows on his cheeks as it clicked. He was fucking tired but he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep for a few hours. He wanted to go for a jog but at this time he knew he’d panic, looking over his shoulder more times then he’d be able to count, it would prove to be a worse experience then staying in the warehouse til it wore off. He never went into his actual home like this because he had a bad habit of association, and he never wanted to walk in his own home and feel the kind of draw he feels when he walks into this room, the morbid whisper of self-grandiose followed by self-hatred, the destruction of others followed by the destruction of self. It was moments like that he was struck by how little he thinks of himself most days, the obstruction of care, the way he treated his body as if it were disposable, like he could move on without it.
Bullshit.
His eye was swollen shut, having taken a few harsh swings himself and blood stained his face, he was going to looked fucked to hell for weeks, but he couldn’t find the strength to worry about that now, the blow of smoke in front of his face the only focus as he tried to block out everything else. He didn’t want to worry, he didn’t want to make it worse but it was difficult in times like this, his skin practically itching with the weight of the come down. He was going to spend all of Sunday in bed, physically and emotionally drained as his skin tried to grow itself back. He could go to the hospital, fuck, he probably needed to, but a part of him just didn’t want Alice to see him like this, he didn’t want to have to answer her questions. It seemed that she was the only person in town who hadn’t seen the bad in him yet, hadn’t touched the dark pieces of who he was, and he wanted to keep it that way for as long as he could, when he was around her he felt like a decent person, just a local mechanic with a smile too big for his face. He envied that image of himself, the possibly fake, possibly not, side of him that the public saw.
That charming version of himself would never slam his fist into a twenty year old mans nose until it cracked under the pressure, he would never ram someones face into the concrete until he tapped out, spewing blood as he finally called for him to stop. No, the hospitable, country boy who showed teeth more often then not could never pull out anyone else’s. Who was he? Who was Will really under all the personas?
He stubbed out the cigarette under his shoe, knowing well that he just made more work for himself before going behind the makeshift bar and pulling out a half-empty whiskey bottle, unscrewing the lid and taking a big shot straight from the lip, not bothering to pull out a glass. He needed instant gratification, perhaps another sign of the maturity he lacked. He needed relief, a break, a fucking nap his wired body would never allow him to take. He turned the bottle and poured some of the amber liquid over his bloodied knuckles, hissing as the sting steeped into cracked skin, cleaning the dirt and drying blood from around the wound, hopefully saving it from the possibility of infection.
He was anxious to the bone, emotions swirling like the beginning of a hurricane in his chest, that feeling of everything being wrong, every emotion activated at once. He wanted to cry but his body wasn’t allowing it, he wanted to throw the bottle he was holding, shatter it on the wall across the room but he knew that would make it worse, it would free his hands and he wasn’t sure what they might do. He took another shot, the panic taking over as he broke, allowing himself to think, to think about his dependencies, his age, his loneliness. He was never going to have kids, get married, he was a long time alcoholic with nothing to show for his thirty-five years on the planet. He was doing fucking cocaine now, he was forever hiding from a gang in fucking Mexico, he’d killed a man who didn’t deserve a bullet. He’d gotten into this life too young, and now he was paying for his sins.
His hands were shaking, less from the drugs and more from their effects, from being alone and thinking too much, the things he represses during the day and drinks away at night. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He put the bottle down on the counter and started pacing back and forth, a feeble attempt at a come down, hands covered in fresh blood and sticky whiskey going to his hair, partially matted. This was the worst part of the night, this right here, it wasn’t getting his skin broken by fists or cleaning up everyone’s mess, it wasn’t just the feeling of coming down from a high, it was the time allotted to think about what he did, the borderline mid-life crisis, the anxiety attack. The fighting alleviated the anger, but it left behind the regret, that he had to deal with on his own time, by himself.
And the worst part was, he knew he deserved it.
He tore into himself, fingertips digging into the open wounds to try and block out his thoughts with pain, feet taking him to the solid wall at the far end of the room, hands with split open knuckles slamming into the concrete with blunt force, the skin breaking open further on his hands. How little he cared about himself, about his body, instead he catered to his minds needs, blocking out things it didn’t want with self-destruction. Drinking, drugs, pain, it was harmful to his body but did wonders for his brain, the noise and spit coming from his mouth in reaction to the sting and burn of solid rock on the open cuts was just a causality as his train of thought halted, now more concerned with the once drying wounds now pooling with blood, splattered on the wall as he placed his hands palm down on them, head hanging as he sucked in deep breaths.
This was by far the worst part of the night.
He’d need to disinfect his hands again, more whiskey down the drain, which was for the best, he supposed. His fingers being straightened sent pain up his arms, the stinging seeping into his bones. What did he expect? He was a criminal, a murderer, he didn’t deserve a proper reprieve, he was masochistic at best, feeding into his suffering with excuses, gas to the fire, he hated what he did more then he hated himself, a realization that should be calming but seemed far worse in hindsight. It wasn’t what he was given, it was what he did with it. He was holding himself back in some fucked up way, he had potential. He was born lucky in a sense, attractive, healthy, he could’ve done better, he knew he could’ve done better but he threw everything away at the age of sixteen, he still had the tattoo on his back to prove it, the shining symbol of the gang he was hiding from, marked forever like a fucking branded cow.
That was the worst part of the night.
He sucked in a shaky breath, shoulders vibrating with something that sounded like a choked off sob, face red and running while the tears broke free. He would feel better after this, he knew he would because he always did. Crying was the end of the worst part, it was the beginning of exhaustion winning over, it was the start of his emotions shutting down for the night, sometimes even the whole week. He let it happen, the suffering leaving in waves as broke down, pushing everything out in his own form of binging and purging. He didn’t know if he would ever get rid of it entirely, not sure if there was enough built up to last forever, the guilt never giving way to entire relief, to freedom. He wished he was so lucky, wished he could forgive himself like that but disgust won over in the end, denial.
He stood like that for what could’ve been a few minutes to an hour, crying and bleeding all over himself, wanting nothing more then to be reassured, held like a child by their mother. He craved what he never had, just purely lonely, lonely, lonely.
Then it was over, just like that. He stood silently for a few more moments, the sound of pulling air through his nose as he regathered, wiping his face gently as to not pressure the swelling, exhausted, just as expected. He stood up straight, another moment to stare at the wall splatted with blood that was only faintly shaped like his knuckles, processing with a stoic face, feeling nothing but empty, nothing left to feel, used up.
He turned back towards the warehouse, a mess of glass, blood, and cigarette butts. He sighed, getting back on his knees in front of the fighting space and sucking in a hard breath before sinking his battered hand back into the soapy bucket of water.
Alice let out a light laugh when he posed, biting down on her bottom lip as her eyes diverted towards the floor and she shook her head. “Pictures are never as good as the real thing.” She raised an eyebrow before looking back up to him. “I think I can squeeze you into my extremely busy schedule.” She teased. Truth was pretty evident, in actual fact - she had no plans for the rest of the day, but she didn’t want to come off too.. easy. The sarcastic tone to her response would probably let him know that she did have those minutes, if he truly wanted.
That damn smile. He’d have to stop smiling at some stage, right? Alice needed to keep her eyes anywhere but his mouth. It seemed suggestive. Maybe that was what her subconscious was trying to do. A tilt of the head and a pout sufficed as the nonverbal response to his reply about borrowing clothes. “I’d sure like to. At some point.” She shrugged, allowing him to collect the item from her hands. Alice chuckled softly, before she placed her hands back down by her sides and looked up at him again. “Well, it gave me an excuse to see you. I’m not exactly complaining.”
Will’s ceaseless grin and excitable demeanor had been likened to a golden retriever more then a few times, always jumping at new ideas and people. ever the charismatic under normal, everyday circumstances. That mixed with the fact that he’d been a sucker for pretty girls since he was old enough to talk meant that he was easily putty in Alice’s hands, simple as that, never one to be complicated or play hard to get. “Well, that would be much appreciated, I’ll be sure to save you the trouble and make an appointment next time.” He teased back easily.
“Well if you aren’t gunna steal ‘em for awhile I might just have to plant em on you, give you some more excuses to come on back here.” He added, tilting his head playfully and putting the flannel over one of his shoulders like a towel. “I would come visit you at the hospital but receptionists don’t tend to like that very much, I must admit.”
Noah looked at Will in the way that someone might look at their dog as it dragged its ass along the carpet, scooting deliberately slowly. There was affection, a little contempt, some concern, and mostly just a sense that he was too old for this shit right now. He’d come to Sabrina’s to talk to Luke about the whole Eva thing, which was a clusterfuck he’d have to resolve himself since apparently his entire group was made up of children hiding behind grown up bodies. Sighing, he didn’t speak for a moment, trying to put into words the complicated emotions he had going on right now.
“Will, you’re making me question a lot of my decisions right now. You gave them to me an hour ago when I said you shouldn’t drive. Though there was a naked girl writhing on your lap, so I can understand why you might have forgotten it was me.”
Will stared back at Noah as if he’d never seen him before in his life when he shared the news, eyes practically glazing over as he tried to remember said event happening. He felt like he could come up with a vague memory, but it was blurry so he couldn’t be entirely sure. That fact, however, was the very thing that made him come to terms with the realization that what Noah told him was definitely fuckin’ true. “Yeah, yeah, that sounds like me alright.” He said, as if just now realizing how truly fucked up he was. “Well, damn.” He scratched the back of his head, thinking. He had yet to break the seal, which sort of explained the prolonged realization of how totally piss-faced he was at the current moment. Now that he thought about it, though, he did really have to fucking pee.
“So, uh, can I have those back? I’m definitely sober enough to drive now, I’m not blacked out anymore so I can see the road and all that.” He said, knowing damn well it didn’t make a lick of sense. He had, however driven in this state before, but never his own car. He didn’t trust himself like this in his pride and joy. “On second thought, yeah you’re right. Can I just have the keys so I can unlock it and take a nap in the backseat? I think... I need to lie down.” He paused again. “Actually, no hold onto those, I need another shot.”
“Heavens, calm the fuck down, Will. Jeez.” Eva was slightly taken aback with how riled up he was getting. Clearly, the man was about to go bat shit crazy. To be fair, she did know how much Will utterly admired and adored this car.
Placing her drink down, she paused for a few seconds. Well, it wasn’t any fun now if Will was going to go berserk. “Fine.” Sighing in defeat, she dug into her pocket, producing a set of keys, ones she knew that belonged to a certain someone, hence the reason why she picked them up in the first place when she found them discarded on the bar floor.
“You’re lucky I found them, and not some rando.” she pointed out righteously, before handing over the set of keys without so much as a fight.
Will sighed, shoulders visibly relaxing at the sight of the keys. He could almost kiss her he was so relieved, honest to God he almost did, but he stopped himself before he so much as leaned towards her, cause Will knew better. Eva’d hand him his ass faster then he could take his keys out of her hand.
“Oh, dulce jodido Jesús, thanks Eva, I was aboutta lose my damn mind.” He said, taking the keys from her hand and clutching them in his fist. “God damn, I need to get a fuckin’ key ring or a lanyard or something, I can’t go through that shit again.” He said, immediately sitting down and releasing a long breath. “God damn.” He said again.
“You really saved my ass just now I was on the brink of army crawling through the club and probably picking up several STIs on the way.” He paused, thinking a moment. “I think I need another shot.”
Alice was busy admiring the car in the moment it took him to notice her. Her eyes wandered back to his face and God he looked attractive all sweaty and a little rough around the edges. It wasn’t as if it was a secret, and she happily didn’t hide the fact that she was looking him up and down just as she had at the Halloween party. She gave a smile when she saw his, the compliment coming from him. He had a good smile. It was one of the first things she’d noticed about him.
“I think that’s a lie, you look all hot and bothered over there, Mr. Alderson. Well, maybe not the bothered so much as the hot.” She teased slightly as she took a few steps closer. Alice looked over to the car again to realise the true reason she’d come to find him in the first place. “This, was very nice of you,” the blonde held up his flannel before chuckling slightly. “But I can’t make it a habit to steal your clothes, and I thought you might want it back.”
Will’s eyes followed hers as she shamelessly checked him out, amused and flattered all the same before striking an almost ridiculous pose. “You can take’a picture if you want, doll, just tell me where.” He said, tone humored and joking before he took a few steps forward to greet her. “Hot is it, Doc, I might need you to come cool me down if you have a few extra minutes.” He added, tone still upholding it’s humor but with a lick of a natural flirt underneath. Some would call it charming, others would say suggestive.
He smiled again at the sight of the flannel. Honest to God he’d almost forgot about it until he went looking for it yesterday. He was so piss-faced drunk when he gave it to her and the events of the night had been so important his brain edited out some of the more minor details the next morning, but boy was he glad to see it, of course, along with the blonde attached. “You can’t make a habit of it? Well if that ain’t one of the most tragic things I’ve ever been told.” He put his hand back over his chest. “I was hoping you would.” Another flash of teeth as he retrieved it from her. His hand automatically went to where his hat usually sat, used to tipping it above all else, but upon remembering it wasn’t there he settled for a funny sort of bow of thanks instead. “Really, though, thanks for bringin’ it back, it sure was missed. And, of course, it managed to bring you down here, which really heightens the value of this ol’ dishrag.”
It had been a whole week since Alice had a day off from the clinic, and it just so happened that the one day she had, was spent cleaning her house up a little. She hadn’t had much time at all, considering whenever she came in from work, she ate and then went straight to bed. She was exhausted. But she suddenly perked up a little when she realised she still had Will’s flannel. It was sweet, really. One of the only good parts about Halloween. A silver lining of sorts.
Getting dressed and ready, she made sure she looked relatively less tired than she felt before deciding to drive to his place of work to return it. Even if he wasn’t there, it would give him an excuse to call her, at least. When she got out her car, and walked into the garage, sure enough clear as day there he was. Working his ass off. “Well this is a treat.” She announced, walking a little closer towards him. “Working hard or hardly working?” Alice questioned, stopping a couple of metres away.
@williamalderson
Will had finally finished the project he’d been working on. It had taken about a month to get the mess of a vehicle running, but surely when he turned the key this time he heard the rumbling roar of an engine breathing it’s first breath. A smile broke across his face and he hit his hands on the wheel. “Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about.” He said lowly to himself, letting out a bit of a whistle before turning it back off and getting out of the drivers seat, whipping his towel at the back of the car before hitting his hand against the hood as well, feeling a bit celebratory. All that was really left was cosmetics, which usually wasn’t something he did himself but after coming so far he was considering it. He had to admit, he liked the idea of getting all the credit at this point.
He was about to grab some masking tape, considering how to get it painted when he heard the voice ring out, his attention being drawn away from the car to Alice. He grinned automatically on sight, lips pulling back over white teeth. “Well, look what we have here! If it ain’t our new town doctor lookin’ absolutely stunning right here in my very own garage.” He said, the hand holding the towel going over his chest. “Oh, you know me, darlin’, always hardly workin’.” He said, wiping down his forehead, worn appearance easily saying otherwise.
It was no surprise that Evanessence was hanging around Saint Sabrina’s. Why wouldn’t she, when it was basically the faux hang-out spot of the Northside Rascals? The gang had an all-access pass of sorts, which was why she loved making use of her privileges there, even if it isn’t solely for adult entertainment purposes.
And so there Eva was, sidled up by the bar, nursing a glass of scotch for the night, or morning, rather. The glass hung in mid-air, her eyes lazily fleeting around rhe place, barely interested in any of the - ehem - performers. She was there for the alcohol, and that was about it.
The second-in-command had already decided to call it a night, planning on leaving after finishing her drink, when a familiar face came up to her and took her attention. “William.” she acknowledged, recognising her fellow Rascal. “Keys, huh? Have you checked with the bartenders?” Gesturing to the people behind the bear with her head. “Either that, or one of the dancers might have accidentally picked it up or something.” A smirk played on her lips, as she brought the glass to her lips for a sip.
Will sighed at Eva’s response, turning to look around quickly, rubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah, yeah, I already asked the bartenders and they don’t have ‘em.” He said a bit breathy, almost winded, less from physical activity and more from stress. He wanted to sit down and take a breather, maybe a shot, but he was too wired, too concerned that whoever took his keys might just steal his fucking car while he was busy inside. He was bordering between his usual nature sinking into anxiety, and his more violent nature making itself much more prominent. He usually had pretty good control of his emotions, but it was late, he was tired, and he wanted to get into his car and go the fuck home.
“Eva, do me a favor and don’t fuck around with me right now, I really need to find those keys. Are you sure you haven’t seen ‘em or heard anyone say anything about ‘em?”
Will was absent-minded a large majority of the time, this was an undeniable fact. He tended to drop things he didn’t remember he was holding, leave his front door unlocked, and entirely forget about plans or engagements until approximately two hours after he was supposed to participate. It more often then not got him in some very apologetic situations, his friends and colleagues getting pissed at him before eventually laughing it off, knowing well that ‘oh, that’s such a Will thing to do!’ but where there’s things he often forgets, there are also some things he absolutely does not -- one of those things is that never, has he ever, lost his car keys before.
If there’s one thing on the planet that Will cares about more then his own well being, it’s his fucking car. He looks after the vehicle like it’s his child, catering to its engine more times then he eats in a day. Which means, needless to say, he keeps his eye on the thing that runs it, the real sign of ownership. The token that runs the whole machine.
So when he exited Saint Sabrina’s at the deeper end of the night and found that his keys weren’t on his person, he freaked out a little bit. A sense of panic that he rarely felt whirring in his brain and stomach, hands clapping all his pants pockets in hopes he just didn’t check well enough before emitting a groan. “Aw, fuck.” He muttered to himself, turning around to walk back to the club, first asking the bouncer if he’d seen the keys before pushing his way back in, stopping person after person with the same question. “Have you seen a set of keys by any chance? No? Alright, thanks.” He was on the brink of really losing his shit after clearing through about half the floor, almost taking to getting on his fucking hands and knees to search the ground for them before seeing someone he had yet to ask, tapping them on the shoulder. “Hey, excuse me, sorry to interrupt, but you haven’t seen any keys around here, have ya?”
Even in the mayhem Alice thought that the gesture was sweet. In any ordinary situation perhaps he’d be wrapping his shirt over her to save her from the rain, but in this case it was fake-blood and soot from the fire. It wasn’t the most ideal of situations, but they needed to get out of it. Then it hit her - the smell. “God, what the hell is that?” But she knew what the smell was, from the times she’d observed autopsies.
People bumped past her as she was struck by the smell, and would’ve toppled over if Will hadn’t been in the way. She instinctively grabbed onto his arm and waist for support, and though the contact was sudden and entirely not anticipated, it was welcome, if not for anything but the comfort of knowing he was there. Until he mentioned how drunk he was. “I sobered up when Clara text me.. Clara.” She mentioned suddenly, realising that she said she’d come back into the building. Alice wondered if she knew how bad it was in here.
Will attention was then grabbed away from the chaos once again, eyes snapping back to her face, the tension of the environment breaking for a moment as he asked, “You know Clara?” Suddenly feeling the alcohol slowly take a back seat in his system, situational awareness and self preservation taking the wheel as the room grew blazing with the heat of the fire. He found himself glad to know that his body was more concerned with living through the night then being drunk.
“You haven’t heard from her?” Was the next thing out of his mouth, a sort of panic building that he kept concealed, knowing now was a bad time to lose his shit, needing all the rationality he had in his body. Clara was practically his best friend, and by practically he meant that she was hands down his best friend, as he wasn’t usually one to go out of his way for other people too often. Though, perhaps that was a bit ironic given the situation, an arm slinging itself over Alice’s shoulder in an attempt to stay together while they found a way out.
