open RP

[moralimperative]

An all-purpose post for all of your devot!RP needs. - post a prompt/starter/anything - pick a character for me to reply with (or don't) - ??? - profit!

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[beul]

[Click.
Like the turn of a barrel of a gun, echoing in the silence of the room, Harry flicks open the lighter, stares at the flint, slides his thumb slowly over the little wheel at the side.

Click.
Flame dancing in front of him, yellow and orange and he stares, for a moment. Watches it flicker and move, never sitting still. Why doesn't it ever stop? Does it have to keep itself warm? Whatever, chemistry. He doesn't care, not really. Not when all he needs to do is lean forward, cup the flame with one hand, puffing on the stick between his lips until it takes, until he sees the red glow at the end, feels the smoke being drawn into his mouth, washing over tongue and teeth and teasing down his throat.

Click.
The lighter falls with his hands, sliding shut with a twist of his lips and he stands, leaning a shoulder against the wall, staring out the windows of Perry's place. He probably shouldn't be here. He'd made a big deal of moving out. Again. Of moving in with Harmony, that it would work this time around. And yet, here he was, two days later. A dufflebag and a ratty backpack dumped in the middle of the room behind him. Perry would yell at him for that, for not just fucking taking it up to his room but did he really care?

Nah, not at all. Right now all he cared about was taking another drag on his cigarette and letting his mind go blissfully blank for just a moment. (In before well wow, when wasn't his mind blank because uh, fuck you, he has lots of non-blank moments. They just aren't advertised as well.)]

... Fuck.

[Yeah, today isn't his day. Harm dumps him, he has to sneak back into Perry's place with the key he'd forgotten to give back, and now he just burnt himself on his own fucking cigarette ash.

Just. Fuck.]

[vanshrike]

[Two days has got to be some kind of record, honestly, but the turnaround on Harry and Harmony's on-again off-again relationship gives him headaches to try and keep up with, so Perry's simply never bothered with it. The way he sees it there are three states of Harry to contend with; there's on-again Harry who hasn't packed his shit and left yet, on-again Harry who has, and off-again Harry who mopes around like the whole cycle isn't familiar to him yet and generally makes a nuisance of himself until things finally slot back together the way they'd been before he'd gotten it in his head that this time was different, hung up all over again on Harmony and destiny and bullshit.

He isn't getting tired of what essentially amounts to catching Harry on the rebound every time only by virtue of the fact that he's been tired of it since Day fucking One. But at the end of it all Harry still comes back, even if it's only because he's got nowhere else to go. And every goddamn time, against his better judgment, Perry gripes and bitches and threatens to throw him out, charge rent he can't afford, and then lets him stay. Every goddamn time.]

Don't leave your shit on the floor.

[It's a predictable greeting, upon coming downstairs to find Harry here again, but then everything about the whole situation is so trite and done to death that it doesn't really matter. Perry doesn't even have the decency to pause at the threshold of the stairs to take in the sight of him, just takes note of the fact that he's there and continues right along towards the kitchen as though his presence isn't unexpected at all, doesn't even warrant the distraction from what he'd been doing. Which it isn't, and it doesn't, but never mind. Two days or two weeks, he doesn't bother keeping track. There are only three states of Harry to contend with, anyway.]

[beul]

[Perry Van Shrike, ladies and gentlemen. The only fucking person in the history of humanity who can go up and down a flight of stairs without making a single noise. Without missing a single step and scuffing a heel or, fuck, stumbling even a little in order to not give a guy a heart attack.

Then again, maybe that was part of the plan in the first place.

... Well fuck, suddenly a whole lot of things make perfect sense. Jesus, the guy was like a Sociopathic James Bond or some shit. Putting his ninja skills to use for the sole purpose of freaking out roommates and other acquaintances. He probably got off to it, just sat there in the bathroom all "ha ha ha, sure got that Harry today. Fuck I got him bad, nearly fell off the balcony screaming. Shiiiiiit."

Not.

That.

Harry thought about Perry getting off. Like, ever.]

I'm gonna pick it up. [He grumbles around his cigarette, pulling it out of his mouth and turning - definitely still trying not to die a little jittery from that fucking scare entrance of Perry's - to just watch the other man move towards the kitchen, practically blinking and finding himself following him. Like some sort of fucking puppy trailing after him, whining for scraps.]

People put things down for, like, five seconds. It's normal in places that aren't run like army ca- what are you doing?

[Easily distracted, Harry. But fuck it, if Perry's making food, that's probably the best thing he's heard all day. Harm didn't even give him lunch before slamming the door in his face.

Again.]

[vanshrike]

[He'd been after coffee, in fact, but Perry's played Harry's on-again off-again keeper long enough to know his hopeful look for what it is--it's in the set of Harry's shoulders if it weren't already blatant on his face--and he sets about fixing a late lunch without missing a beat, as though that'd been his intention all along. He still turns on the coffee machine first, setting an extra mug out on the counter without so much as thinking about it. Harry isn't the only one who keeps making the same stupid mistakes. It's his own damn fault for falling back into routine so easily every time Harry shows his face again.]

I don't care what people do. [Perry grouses, sounding more irritated than he is. 'Lunch' itself amounts to sandwiches, but he'd already eaten and it's too early to start dinner; and for all it's an overtly generous gesture were anyone to realize, he still sits the plate of them on the counter for Harry to retrieve one for himself. Like all things it's a balance between doing too much and too little, letting Harry get too comfortable or driving him away for good.] You don't pay any rent, so you can either quit bitching about the things I do ask of you or find someone else who'll tolerate you for more than a week.