Bad Apple [private] - Printable Version

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Bad Apple [private] - Kat - 09-23-2016

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RE: Bad Apple [private] - Kat - 09-23-2016

Holden was drunk. When wasn't he?

There were sirens in the background, somewhere close, but he wasn't listening. Pale blue eyes rested on the graffiti mural taking up the backside of the bar, trailing from the top where various tags were assorted in cryptic disarray, all the way to the bottom where the Rastafarian image was blocked by the guy Holden had clocked in the jaw. Ignoring the twitch of the body against his boot, he relieved himself with his free hand braced against the wall, failing to keep fluids from splashing over his fallen foe.

More sirens. Holden turned groggily, his eyelids heavy and his mouth slack, questing where the flashing lights had come from. Voices echoed from the mouth of the alleyway, authoritative. Demanding. Something about raising his hands over his head. "Lemme put my dick away..." He mumbled, but they couldn't hear him, sagging slightly into the brickwork, fingertips splayed against the wall busy picking at paint chips. whether he was ready to be tackled or not hadn't mattered; the deed was done.

The last thing he remembered was the smell of piss and decay paired with a sharp pain in his shoulder from the impact.

Whatever police station they had carted Holden off to was a newer one, all white walls and digital print taking. Still half conscious from his earlier scuffle, he allowed the cops to do what was needed without much hassle. He asked twice for a cigarette, but both times, he was met with the silent treatment. The only comment he received outside of standard booking procedures was, "He took a piss on the guy." Maybe he had? He'd had a fifth of Jack over the course of two hours, so had the police said he had robbed a bank, he could be convinced.

Holden didn't honestly remember.

They slapped him with assault and battery, but the charges were a misdemeanor at best. The other guy had swung first. It wasn't Holden's fault he had laid him on his ass faster than he could talk more shit. If anything, that was karma. Poetic justice. The sort of luck a guy like Holden usually had when it came down to the nitty-gritty aspects of life. Unfortunately, the cops knew he had to make a call, and perhaps their sense of victory came in the blanching of Holden's features at the mention of phoning a relative. Sure, there were friends who owed him a favor or two, but he wasn't about to bring a ring of thugs stomping through the precinct on his behalf.

His hands shook when he took the phone from the desk clerk. It didn't surprise him when it went to voicemail, though his throat tightened as he left the message.

"Kent, I'm gonna need you to come get me from the sheriff's department." He rattled off the details slowly, half tempted to leave out less savory portions, though he shared those too by the end of the message. "...I fucked up."

When he was done, he was escorted to a cell, still teetering drunk. All he had to do now was wait.

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RE: Bad Apple [private] - saronym - 09-25-2016

Kent was running through the streets of Winter Heights wearing a skin tight leotard with a black cape billowing out behind him. His feet slapped the pavement in time with a warning klaxon hailing an emergency. He shoved the bodies of fleeing residents yelling out, “Isha, Chameli, Amelia!” over and over. The dinosaurs were back ravaging the city and he didn’t know where his family was

“Chief Commander Captain Kent!” He was being grabbed and pulled away from his search. “Sir we have problem!”

The ground rumbled underfoot.

“I know! The dinosaurs!” Kent yelled back in frustration trying to get away from the young private. He needed to find his girls. He realized the pavement under his stockinged feet hadn’t stopped its rhythmic rumbling. Vzzzzt. Vzzzzt. Vzzzzt.

“Sir, not the dinosaurs!” The boy frantically pointed behind Kent.

The man in the leotard whirled around to stare up in horror at a giant vibrating dildo on legs running towards them. It was a towering phallus silhouetted in a multi colored sky which for the color-blind Kent was a pallet of mustard yellow, to yellow, to blue. Vzzzzt. Vzzzzt. Vzzzzt.

The dildo made a b-line towards Kent at a relentless pace. Vzzzzt. Vzzzzt. Vzzzzt. He grabbed his only weapon, a perfectly seasoned cast iron skillet, and held his ground against the incoming sex toy. Unfortunately, Kent was immediaely crushed under the dildo’s feet. Somehow he didn’t mind though because that stopped the terrible vibrating.

Well there was one last vibration - vzzzzt - and Kent opened his eyes to stare at his phone glowing on the bedside table. Who was calling at this hour? The only phone calls Kent got late at night were ones related to weather conditions that would shut school down the next day. But the weather had been fine. Beautiful, in fact. Reaching for the glowing device, Kent peered at an unrecognized number and the new voicemail.

An automated message from county jail informing that a detainee was calling. Then his brother’s voice. Kent rolled his eyes, tuning out until he heard something about public urination. “You have got to be kidding.” He said out loud, not even bothering to be quiet at this point.

He shoved back the covers to fumble around in the dark for clothes. Again called to bail out his shitass little brother. This is the last time he always said. But Kent was kind of a pushover when it came to family.

He touched Amelia’s shoulder, shaking her gently. “It’s Holden. I have to go.” Was all he needed to say. Amelia had heard every story of Holden’s life-long fuck up from the very cursed spermatozon that fertilized the egg that would become his shit ass little brother. Kent pressed a kiss to his wife's cheek and left.

Kent was familiar with the officers at the Valesport Police Department via his friendship to Dr. Rivers and Detective Crawford. He cashed in on his familiarity with the staff and got his brother released on promise of bail. Kent waited for his brother on a cheap plastic chair under sickly fluorescent lighting. He tapped his feet impatiently on the worn linoleum suppressing yawns and rubbing his eyes periodically while he awaited his brother’s release. He practiced a lecture in his head hearing his best teacher voice inside his mind.

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RE: Bad Apple [private] - Kat - 09-26-2016

As one of the officers who had initially brought him into custody gave him a nudge to his shoulder, Holden thought his circumstances were part of a dream. After all, he hadn't ended up in his apartment near where the mishap had taken place, and there wasn't a pretty girl in sight; he had to be dreaming. It wasn't until stiff legs jostled his sore figure into standing that he noticed the position of his inebriated sleep had left his body cringing due to aching joints and still muscles, aggravating his posture as he exited the cell. Head lolling with each ambling stride, the youth considered recanting mental claims that this was indeed a dream as the sterile lighting above blinded his vision, causing his steely gray hues to acclimate for coping reasons, rather than to actually make out further details of the building.

Once he had seen a police station from the inside, Holden had essentially seen them all.

Clearing through the main lobby where reception waited, he noted where his brother sat, all business casual and groggy - but in infinitely better shape than Holden was. Still squinting due to the harsh halogens above, a small wave was given like the two had planned on meeting up for some afternoon luncheon. Hardly a cautious gesture because one of Holden's most pressing issues was his lack of caution, even in the company of his older sibling. "Yer lookin' good." Hand swiveling in the air, it motioned over where Kent sat as he drew closer. "Tired as shit, but good none the less."

They hadn't spoken for a few months, what with how Holden had acted at the Christmas party. He could only apologize so many times for his offensiveness, but as he had tried to explain in his defense, 'I can't very well grope 'nyone else here, can I?' because Holden thought he still managed well with his alcoholism. Baby-faced as he may have been, he was pushing thirty, and each year brought about a sense of emptiness that seemed to tack on more grief to swallow; such grief was easier with liquor.

Holden came to a halt a few feet from Kent, solid where he lingered, like a blockade of tattooed flesh. His accent was slurred slightly, his system working to push out the last of the alcoholic remnants at a pace it was comfortable working at. "Glad that ye came though. I didn' wanna call anyone else." He didn't like to owe favors, realistically, but a favor to his brother was a much simpler matter than a boon to a gang banger he knew in passing. "Were ye already awake?" Holden knew he hadn't been, that Kent had been home cuddled next to his wife with the kids a few doors down, peacefully tucked in. Sometimes he wondered in his brother ever spent hard nights awake, overthinking.

That was a very Holden thing to do, but that didn't mean it couldn't be a Kent quirk as well.

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RE: Bad Apple [private] - saronym - 09-28-2016

Kent had his arms folded over his chest, head half-way nodding as he resisted sleep during the wait. He was roused by the sound of approaching footsteps. There was his shit ass brother just waving at him like he was picking him up for a ballgame or something. Kent didn’t wave back. His lips pressed together until they were a thin white line. His jaw worked back and forth as he ground his teeth.

Kent stood while his brother crossed the room. He scrubbed his hand back and forth through his hair. It did nothing for making him appear more together. It stuck up in places from where he’d been sleeping on it. Kent just made it worse.

When his brother was close enough, Kent swatted his Holden’s idiotically waving hand down. “That’s what you have to say to me you little shit? I look good?” Kent’s own accent also became thicker when he was angry.

“You’re damn right I’m tired it’s three in the fuckin morning! On a school night!” Kent’s voice rose to a booming pitch he’d honed as a teacher who frequently had to yell over the din of excited hormonal enraged teenagers.

“Hey take it outside boys.” Called the police secretary from behind the glass. “Not in here.”

Kent shot a glance to the receptionist and grabbed his brother by the upper arm to drag him towards the door. “I was asleep and you know I was.” Once outside Kent shoved his brother away roughly, he threw his hand over his nose dramatically. “You fucking reek. Smell like piss and liquor.”

Pressing the lock to his car, Kent located where he parked it when the horn chimed and lights of his red Subaru Outback flashed. He started walking towards it, turning to make sure his drunk brother was in tow.

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RE: Bad Apple [private] - Kat - 10-15-2016

Holden grunted, stumbling slightly as his hand was smacked, though his gaze remained firmly planted on Kent. Blinking a few times through the outburst, he questioned if calling his brother was his best option under the circumstances, but what was done couldn't be undone, and Holden didn't think Kent would take kindly to being sent home after the drive out to the station. "Well, do ye wanna hear you look like trash instead? Fuck, Kent, can't ye even take a compliment?" Not that it was a sincere sort of compliment, but it was a compliment none-the-less. Narrowing his eyes in an attempt to see more clearly, Holden added with an indignant sigh, "But thanks fer comin' ta get me, bruh."

With the commentary from the clerk at the desk, the two left the station only so Kent could continue with his tirade in the dark of the parking lot. "Well, what didja think I was gonna say, Kent? What sorta fuckin' response am I supposed ta give ye? 'Oh, sorry I got inta a bang up with some skav trash'? It ain' like I set off plannin' ta get alley jumped, an' yer damn right I knocked his ass out - wouldn' ye 'ave done the same?!' The push earned a scoff from Holden, his hands rising to shake out his hair which only furthered to accentuate his messy appearance. "Yeah, well, they didn' give me the chance te shower while they were bookin' me."

Stumbling along after Kent, Holden miraculously made it to the car without veering entirely off course, his hands flattening on the side of the vehicle when he was about to get in. "I'm sorry I woke ye up. That much is true, ye know." Fumbling a bit with the handle, Holden managed to open the door and slide into the passenger seat without much ado, buckling himself in with one hand while the other shut the door with a muffled click. "Not like I wanna fuck up yer beauty rest. Yer a right cunt when yer tired- you know that?"

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RE: Bad Apple [private] - saronym - 10-22-2016

Kent smacked his own forehead with the palm of his hand. The sound of it punctuated his frustration. “Oh you’re right. My bad.” The tone of his voice was biting and caustic with sarcasm. “Thanks little bro. For waking me up in the middle of the night to bail your piss soaked ass out of jail so you can compliment my continuing good looks. Real considerate of you.”

He charged ahead towards his car while his brother mounted a weak defense of his chosen activities that night. Kent scoffed and snorted at each point grumbling curses under his breath. Something like “Real fuckin’ nice brother I got here. Real fuckin’ joy mom and dad.”

Kent moved around to the passenger's side of the car and opened the door wide. He grabbed Holden by the upper arm with a grip that meant business. It was meant to bruise -- not that one would necessarily be able to see the bruising given his brother's tattoo sleeves. Manhandling his brother, Kent effectively stuffed the man into the seat. “Roll the window down and stick your head out if you’re gonna puke you shitass.” He instructed and slammed the door shut.

He entered the driver's side and cranked the engine. Kent put the air conditioning on full arctic blast although the evening was cool enough to ride without. Although he’d instructed Holden to do so, Kent took initiative and rolled the passenger window down as a reminder that if chunks were to be blown they would be blown out the window please.

Despite the fact that his brother’s stomach may have been queasy from the drinking, that did not stop Kent from driving aggressively as a sublimation for his anger. He accelerated an excessive amount for reverse and whipped the car out of the parking spot. “How about something to soak up the barrel of alcohol you drank?” The offering of food was less a suggestion and more a warning that Kent would shove greasy french fries down his brother’s throat to sober him up if he had to.

Kent pulled into the nearest fast food drive-thru and ordered several burgers and large fries and water, water, water. The car idled in the parking lot as Kent distributed some of the hot foodstuffs and a bottle of water forcibly at Holden.

“Eat.” He ordered and shoved some fries into his own mouth as if demonstrating. “Guess what motherfucker, you have to stay with me while your legal shit gets worked out. I’m essentially your guardian right now. Doesn’t that sound like oh so much fun?” He mocked and proceeded to eat some more of his feelings about the matter. He was not in a hurry to get home and announce this to his wife. Kent would allow her another, oh, half hour or so of peaceful sleep while they ate greasy food before he’d take Holden home and hit her with the bad news.

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