HE ONCE WAS A TRUE LOVE OF MINE.
WHO: Roderich and Vash.
WHEN: Sunday, November 1. 11:30pm
WHERE: A dark and scary street.
WHAT: Two old friends meet again. Destiny? A cruel twist of fate? Or just sheer coincidence?
It wasn't in Roderich's nature to leave the house at such late hour. In fact, it was heavily against his nature to leave the house at such late hour. But when one was in anguish and fighting the horrid loneliness, one did not care if it was already eleven at night and that he really shouldn't leave the house alone and walk to the store. There was milk that needed to be purchased, he reasoned, and fresh orange juice that needed to be brought. In case Macbeth decided to come home; Roderich did not want his roommate to return to a barren kitchen - lovely one, it was. Not exactly complete yet, but the fridge side of the kitchen was useable, and storing milk and orange juice was no issue.
Though the real reason was, of course, he could not stand to be alone in the house at the moment. It was too suffocating.
He walked out of the convenience store with two bags in hands. The October... No, the November night was cruel and how he wished he had remembered to bring a jacket instead of braving it with only a plain collar shirt. Even a scarf would have been a smart accessory. The street was quiet and devoid of late pedestrians. Except for a homeless man sleeping off the alcohol in his veins, it was a solitary walk home.
Or so Roderich had thought.
Quick footsteps that trailed behind his were not difficult to ignore. Nor were the shadows of two figures lurking behind him. He silently prayed that it was nothing what he thought it was going to be. But when a rough hand gripped his shoulder while another twisted his arm behind his back, Roderich knew he shouldn't have left home at such late hour. He was supposed to be smart enough. Baring the pain of his twisted arm, he could only breathed heavily as the two muggers fumbled into his pockets and searched for his wallet. He did not even bother fighting; for one, he wasn't carrying that much cash. Secondly, he had no intention of being stabbed with a Swiss army knife.
His trusty compass clanked as it landed on the ground. He watched the streetlight reflected off the cracked surface. His milk and his orange juice hit the ground as well.
He could really use some help at the moment.
WHEN: Sunday, November 1. 11:30pm
WHERE: A dark and scary street.
WHAT: Two old friends meet again. Destiny? A cruel twist of fate? Or just sheer coincidence?
It wasn't in Roderich's nature to leave the house at such late hour. In fact, it was heavily against his nature to leave the house at such late hour. But when one was in anguish and fighting the horrid loneliness, one did not care if it was already eleven at night and that he really shouldn't leave the house alone and walk to the store. There was milk that needed to be purchased, he reasoned, and fresh orange juice that needed to be brought. In case Macbeth decided to come home; Roderich did not want his roommate to return to a barren kitchen - lovely one, it was. Not exactly complete yet, but the fridge side of the kitchen was useable, and storing milk and orange juice was no issue.
Though the real reason was, of course, he could not stand to be alone in the house at the moment. It was too suffocating.
He walked out of the convenience store with two bags in hands. The October... No, the November night was cruel and how he wished he had remembered to bring a jacket instead of braving it with only a plain collar shirt. Even a scarf would have been a smart accessory. The street was quiet and devoid of late pedestrians. Except for a homeless man sleeping off the alcohol in his veins, it was a solitary walk home.
Or so Roderich had thought.
Quick footsteps that trailed behind his were not difficult to ignore. Nor were the shadows of two figures lurking behind him. He silently prayed that it was nothing what he thought it was going to be. But when a rough hand gripped his shoulder while another twisted his arm behind his back, Roderich knew he shouldn't have left home at such late hour. He was supposed to be smart enough. Baring the pain of his twisted arm, he could only breathed heavily as the two muggers fumbled into his pockets and searched for his wallet. He did not even bother fighting; for one, he wasn't carrying that much cash. Secondly, he had no intention of being stabbed with a Swiss army knife.
His trusty compass clanked as it landed on the ground. He watched the streetlight reflected off the cracked surface. His milk and his orange juice hit the ground as well.
He could really use some help at the moment.