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.
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.
BDRP Admin. Writer. Villain. Personal Blog.
I tried running from the memory and the mourning.
I tried running from the memory and the mourning.
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Bad Apple [private] - by Kat - 09-23-2016, 11:24 AM
RE: Bad Apple [private] - by Kat - 09-23-2016, 01:05 PM
RE: Bad Apple [private] - by saronym - 09-25-2016, 05:34 PM
RE: Bad Apple [private] - by Kat - 09-26-2016, 07:54 PM
RE: Bad Apple [private] - by saronym - 09-28-2016, 09:17 PM
RE: Bad Apple [private] - by Kat - 10-15-2016, 09:43 PM
RE: Bad Apple [private] - by saronym - 10-22-2016, 01:13 PM