ANZAC

[pride_of_kiwi]

Who: Logan 'Fucking' Mortlock and Iorangi 'Kick your face in' John Paul Key
When: Friday, April 23- Evening
Where: The conveniently abandoned warehouses on the edge of town
What: Making like the ANZAC- "I've got something to tell you, bastard, so listen up!"

Comments

TOOK A WHILE TO WRITE BUT FUCK I'M EXCITED

[brawldownunder]

Bloody city.

He had practically been kicked out of Aussie and into this cursed city. Lost souls seemed to be attracted to Liberty. Logan was damn sure it was the most diverse city in the whole united states, not just in nationalities but...mental stability. There was something horribly wrong that went on in the heads of the citizens of Liberty, himself included.

There was nothing wrong with him before! Everything was fucking sunshine and daisy's in Aussie. Sure his parents hated his very being but Logan had no idea, not until he moved to the big smoke and finally realized what it truly felt to be shit out of luck, piss poor and depressed. Murphy's law was the only law this city knew and no one had any control of it, there were no enforcements

KIRKLAND CONFESSIONS ARE LIKE PULLING TEETH <3

[pride_of_kiwi]

The fist was a conditioned response. Faster than the sharp inhale taken at an abrupt embrace, it was liberating cutting through the air, contacting with one of Logan's broad shoulders with a sharp 'smack' when arms stopped squeezing his organs into his throat. "You'll have a good time, y'git. S'just jetlag

I BELIEVE IN THIS CASE IT WILL BE LITERAL

[brawldownunder]

Logan was pleasantly surprised how easily they fell back into their usual routine. A punch here, an insult there, same old same old

BLOOD SHED IS CLEARLY SYNONOMOUS WITH LOVE~

[pride_of_kiwi]

John pounced. He'd puffed himself up, but the pre-tussle taunts were absent and the over dramatized posing, too, was gone. It was as though once the confirmation had been given for an energized, violent diversion, all pretenses toward civilized behavior had been dropped. He couldn't bring himself to do what he'd come here for.

The only obvious solution: Have it pummeled out of him. Or fall unconscious first.

To Logan, there was an startling difference in the way he was attacked. Not necessarily as brutally as their first, nor as amiable as their fourth- fifth? The atmosphere had turned abruptly, oddly, weighted. The power honed in the punch to Logan's face came surprisingly compacted, dangerous. Tension made muscles quiver visibly and John made a low guttural growl as he leaped away before a rebuke could be made.

No malice in the half lidded gaze following every twitch of Logan's body. Just a watchfulness. A silent goading via a slow, prominent smirk while John shifted restlessly from foot to foot.