Imagine here's a better feel
Who: Battler Ushiromiya riddlemered and Beatrice beatrolliche
When: Around 7 in the morning of the 28th.
Where: Beato's room in the Starter Apartments.
Summary: Following the ancient rites of Go Fish: Truth or Dare version, as the loser Beatrice is subjugated to whatever punishment Battler has in store for her. This is the perfect opportunity for Battler to have a little revenge for when she trapped him in his own bed two weeks ago in her drunken stupor. And so Beatrice must trap herself in her own bed, not able to move until he says so. This is... not nearly as dirty as it sounds.
Warnings: Here be potty words. And awkwardness. And death threats. Death threats with a very impressive amount of vivid detail. And some sexual innuendo because Battler never could keep his mouth shut. A bit of a hot and heavy makeout session, followed by EPIC FREAKOUT. And now the awkwardness level has skyrocketed.
The heavy clouds of snow had blocked out most of the sun, but it was light enough in the sky to distinguish the time as early morning. The siren's going off to indicate the Darkness's passing proved such. As did Battler's watch. "See you again," he said to the others in the locker room after changing into his street clothes, his trademark parting words somewhat mumbled and filled with exhaustion.
Tonight had been exceptionally busy with everyone trying to get out of the freakish cold. Battler barely had any time to sit down. It was true when it was said Club 24 didn't close down for anything. Drive by shootings, yes. Horrible, unpredictable weather, no. Battler didn't mind. It felt good to feel the cold, hear the snow crunching beneath his feet, see the wisps of his breath rise like silver smoke into the frigid air. It reminded him of the snowfalls of home during the winter. Home that he may never return to even if he could go back to his world.
Tonight had not been fun. Mostly because Battler had to restrain himself from clobbering a pair of old men that decided their waiter was very pretty to look at. And unlike that one conversation he had with Ace, there was no mistaking that Battler was being hit on. No, not hit on. Ogled at. Like meat. Battler could have a bouncer throw them out, except this was not the first time passes had been made at him during work and, given his looks, it wouldn't be the last. So Battler steeled himself and dealt with it, giving the perverted bastards smiles sharp enough to draw blood. Worse, the fuckers didn't so much as leave a decent tip. That was enough to nearly send Battler over the edge and he spent the rest of his shift trying to hide his horrible mood from the customers. Which required an exceptional amount of effort from someone who's emotions came in tidal waves.
Battler kinda wished the elementary school wasn't closed for the rest of the week. He was extremely tired, sure, but the class he helped with made him feel better. He really enjoyed being around the little rugrats. Their playful antics and innocent mannerisms helped him forget things, eased his heart a bit.
He scooped up some snow, packed it into a ball, and threw it as hard as he could. It bounced off a tree and shattered on impact, sending tiny chunks of white flying in all directions. It was a childish thing to do and did not make him feel any better.
Close to the Starter Apartments, he had every intention of going into his room and sinking in his bed when Battler remembered his game with Beatrice. Oh, yeah. She was supposed to be punished as the loser, wasn't she? But the way Battler's mood was now, he wasn't too enthused about the idea. He wanted to be alone. But a game was a game, and Beato would probably not let him live it down if he didn't take what was rightfully his as the winner. Battler sighed. Christ on a crutch, why was it he could never keep his mouth shut? He should have never suggested that stupid game. Someone should do him a favor and rip out his vocal cords. He thought he had outgrown that speaking-before-thinking habit, but no. Apparently not. His mood souring with every step he took on that long hike to the tenth floor, by the time he stood in front of Beato's door, the atmosphere around him was a dark, angry cloud of emo. He knocked on her door. Fuck if this was her room or not. He just wanted to sleep.
"Beato, it's me. Open up."
When: Around 7 in the morning of the 28th.
Where: Beato's room in the Starter Apartments.
Summary: Following the ancient rites of Go Fish: Truth or Dare version, as the loser Beatrice is subjugated to whatever punishment Battler has in store for her. This is the perfect opportunity for Battler to have a little revenge for when she trapped him in his own bed two weeks ago in her drunken stupor. And so Beatrice must trap herself in her own bed, not able to move until he says so. This is... not nearly as dirty as it sounds.
Warnings: Here be potty words. And awkwardness. And death threats. Death threats with a very impressive amount of vivid detail. And some sexual innuendo because Battler never could keep his mouth shut. A bit of a hot and heavy makeout session, followed by EPIC FREAKOUT. And now the awkwardness level has skyrocketed.
The heavy clouds of snow had blocked out most of the sun, but it was light enough in the sky to distinguish the time as early morning. The siren's going off to indicate the Darkness's passing proved such. As did Battler's watch. "See you again," he said to the others in the locker room after changing into his street clothes, his trademark parting words somewhat mumbled and filled with exhaustion.
Tonight had been exceptionally busy with everyone trying to get out of the freakish cold. Battler barely had any time to sit down. It was true when it was said Club 24 didn't close down for anything. Drive by shootings, yes. Horrible, unpredictable weather, no. Battler didn't mind. It felt good to feel the cold, hear the snow crunching beneath his feet, see the wisps of his breath rise like silver smoke into the frigid air. It reminded him of the snowfalls of home during the winter. Home that he may never return to even if he could go back to his world.
Tonight had not been fun. Mostly because Battler had to restrain himself from clobbering a pair of old men that decided their waiter was very pretty to look at. And unlike that one conversation he had with Ace, there was no mistaking that Battler was being hit on. No, not hit on. Ogled at. Like meat. Battler could have a bouncer throw them out, except this was not the first time passes had been made at him during work and, given his looks, it wouldn't be the last. So Battler steeled himself and dealt with it, giving the perverted bastards smiles sharp enough to draw blood. Worse, the fuckers didn't so much as leave a decent tip. That was enough to nearly send Battler over the edge and he spent the rest of his shift trying to hide his horrible mood from the customers. Which required an exceptional amount of effort from someone who's emotions came in tidal waves.
Battler kinda wished the elementary school wasn't closed for the rest of the week. He was extremely tired, sure, but the class he helped with made him feel better. He really enjoyed being around the little rugrats. Their playful antics and innocent mannerisms helped him forget things, eased his heart a bit.
He scooped up some snow, packed it into a ball, and threw it as hard as he could. It bounced off a tree and shattered on impact, sending tiny chunks of white flying in all directions. It was a childish thing to do and did not make him feel any better.
Close to the Starter Apartments, he had every intention of going into his room and sinking in his bed when Battler remembered his game with Beatrice. Oh, yeah. She was supposed to be punished as the loser, wasn't she? But the way Battler's mood was now, he wasn't too enthused about the idea. He wanted to be alone. But a game was a game, and Beato would probably not let him live it down if he didn't take what was rightfully his as the winner. Battler sighed. Christ on a crutch, why was it he could never keep his mouth shut? He should have never suggested that stupid game. Someone should do him a favor and rip out his vocal cords. He thought he had outgrown that speaking-before-thinking habit, but no. Apparently not. His mood souring with every step he took on that long hike to the tenth floor, by the time he stood in front of Beato's door, the atmosphere around him was a dark, angry cloud of emo. He knocked on her door. Fuck if this was her room or not. He just wanted to sleep.
"Beato, it's me. Open up."