25 March 2006
Suicide Slum, Metropolis, DE
Caleb appears in the trash ridden alley beside the apartment building, and is immediately assaulted by the smell of urine. Not that it matters. It's not as if I'm here for the bloody scenery, now am I?
Every part of him is tense, and has been for hours. The first bottle of vodka didn't do much to address this, and as he staggers through the alleyway and works on his third bottle, Caleb finds that not much has changed. Well, almost nothing - his festering rage has found a voice in his inebriation.
The hobo he staggers past is awestuck, but the staring quickly grates on the Russian. "Take a pict're... it'll last longer, ya nosey...." he condescends, not even looking at the man as he staggers by. He is a man with a purpose, after all. And the whino isn't it.
The lack of elevators usually isn't an issue, but by the sixth floor, Caleb is thoroughly irritated with these endless sodding stairs. Just another thing between him and the door he's finally banging on...
Wait. He stands there for a moment, examining the numbers on the door. 615. That's not right. He turns around, slowly realizing why the picture just isn't right. He's oriented wrong. Trevor's door is the one on the right at the top of the stairs, not left...
"Oh, blooooody sodding ... sonufa... whore...." He turns around, and proceeds to bang on the correct door this time, unaware of just how many times he has knocked by now.
Caleb appears in the trash ridden alley beside the apartment building, and is immediately assaulted by the smell of urine. Not that it matters. It's not as if I'm here for the bloody scenery, now am I?
Every part of him is tense, and has been for hours. The first bottle of vodka didn't do much to address this, and as he staggers through the alleyway and works on his third bottle, Caleb finds that not much has changed. Well, almost nothing - his festering rage has found a voice in his inebriation.
The hobo he staggers past is awestuck, but the staring quickly grates on the Russian. "Take a pict're... it'll last longer, ya nosey...." he condescends, not even looking at the man as he staggers by. He is a man with a purpose, after all. And the whino isn't it.
The lack of elevators usually isn't an issue, but by the sixth floor, Caleb is thoroughly irritated with these endless sodding stairs. Just another thing between him and the door he's finally banging on...
Wait. He stands there for a moment, examining the numbers on the door. 615. That's not right. He turns around, slowly realizing why the picture just isn't right. He's oriented wrong. Trevor's door is the one on the right at the top of the stairs, not left...
"Oh, blooooody sodding ... sonufa... whore...." He turns around, and proceeds to bang on the correct door this time, unaware of just how many times he has knocked by now.