Now I know there's no one I can trust - I used to think there was
you can tell me that I'm cutthroat but I think you've got your eyes closed
you can tell me that I'm cutthroat but I think you've got your eyes closed
Bart is walking away with his head held high, back to wondering where the fuck he is when - is that a fucking panther?! He stumbles backwards with a shout, hand flying for the knife in his front pocket and brandishing it with a well-trained flick of his wrist, only to stare dumbfounded as the cat turns back into Scarface.
Alright so Lord of the Flies is out, clearly this is some science fiction bullshit world he ended up in. Fantasy? Fuck, he never read enough as a kid.
And then Scarface is calling him by that haunted name, and he’s running across the sand as red splashes across his vision, the hurt barreling down like a freight train. Scarred hands reach for the man’s collar, getting on his toes to get in the man’s face as he snarls. "Don’t fuckin’ call me that! Who th’fuck gave ya that name?!" It’s as close to a shout as Bart can get, eyes wild and aiming the knife threateningly at the man’s ribs. Still held away, but no less a promise. His accent swallows up the words, but slowly what Scarface said trickles through the haze of reactive emotion and he slowly lowers the knife, brows drawn together and eyes unblinking even as rain streams down his face. "Nate’s dead. Get his name outta yer mouth too while yer at it. It’s fuckin’ Bartholomew to ya, and nothin’ else." Roughly dropping the man’s collar and backing away, wary eyes never moving lest his boldness not go unpunished. Dude is a shapeshifter, maybe Bart should have thought about that before he pulled a knife on him. Oops.
Alright so Lord of the Flies is out, clearly this is some science fiction bullshit world he ended up in. Fantasy? Fuck, he never read enough as a kid.
And then Scarface is calling him by that haunted name, and he’s running across the sand as red splashes across his vision, the hurt barreling down like a freight train. Scarred hands reach for the man’s collar, getting on his toes to get in the man’s face as he snarls. "Don’t fuckin’ call me that! Who th’fuck gave ya that name?!" It’s as close to a shout as Bart can get, eyes wild and aiming the knife threateningly at the man’s ribs. Still held away, but no less a promise. His accent swallows up the words, but slowly what Scarface said trickles through the haze of reactive emotion and he slowly lowers the knife, brows drawn together and eyes unblinking even as rain streams down his face. "Nate’s dead. Get his name outta yer mouth too while yer at it. It’s fuckin’ Bartholomew to ya, and nothin’ else." Roughly dropping the man’s collar and backing away, wary eyes never moving lest his boldness not go unpunished. Dude is a shapeshifter, maybe Bart should have thought about that before he pulled a knife on him. Oops.
Feel the fear and swallow back the tears
let weakness disappear
let weakness disappear
BARTHOLOMEW
