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Reginald Bullock | Location: Bullock Household| Interactions: Raymond Bullock, Kendell Bullock & Unknown | Flashback: 15 years ago
"Let me go!"
"Are you bloody damn near insane?!"
"I don't care! I-I can't take it anymore!"
Struggling. Grunts. Screams. A vase falling and shattering to pieces.
The shouting extended far beyond his room. He could pick up the scraping of fine leather loafers against hardwood, the sobs and cries anchored down by a despair so deeply implanted that only death could remove it. He stood there, forehead glued to the door as his breathing shuttered and rippled against his lungs like rough cotton. It stung. His lungs and diaphragm still burned from the assault, and the reminder yanked his gaze over to the pillow discarded onto the floor. Dented, crumpled, disheveled on both sides from a desperate grip.
Chest heaving with sobs and vision blurred with tears, the little boy marched over to the pillow and started stomping all over it. His ankles shook from the force behind it, though it wasn't much coming from his small body. He gave it his all and more. He didn't stop until his strength gave way and the fear from before wrapped around his throat like a grown man's fist. "I hate you!" he screamed. Over and over. Straight into the chilled and stagnant air of his prison room.
A tap at the window. Followed by several more, soft and insistent with a recognizable pattern.
The boy stopped, taking a moment to flex his hands into fists and tremble with unbound hatred. He wanted them to burn. To rot underground. He didn't know what happened to the human body after death, but he at least knew that they wouldn't be capable of harming or imprisoning him ever again.
Sucking in a sharp breath, he went over to his window and saw a murky silhouette outside. It was heavily shadowed by the moonlight's backdrop, but their figure was impossible to confuse with anyone else. Only this person knew of his room, let alone his existence. Slowly, carefully, he unlocked and lifted the window sill before his chin came to rest on it with a plop. His bloodshot gaze strayed up to the individual before him.
"I can hear them yelling," they said. A hand landed atop the boy's head, thumb carefully stroking the edges of a fresh cut on his temple. The child sniffled. "Your mother did this?"
"Y-yeah," the boy whispered. His eyelids were heavy with exhaustion, but ever so alert and paranoid. "It was hard to breathe."
A brief pause.
Then it extended beyond that. The comfort didn't stop, but they had no more words left for the boy. Which was okay.
Reggie could feel the apology in his touch.
---
Location: Black Rose Pub| Interactions: Leon & Ginny
"Here is your drink then sir. I mean no harm."
Reggie slipped back into the present without even blinking and grunted in bitter relief as the bartender finally served him a beer. "Thank bloody God," he grumbled before taking a short swig, testing the temperature. His lips pinched. It wasn't perfect, but he figured it was better than the crap-ass beer he had to settle for at the Outlet stops on his way to Tophet.
"The Bullocks run this place as much so as my ancestor still haunts the mayor's building. So, in a sense, they do own the place," the bartender said, which pulled the ghost of a smirk across Reggie's lips. Well now, wasn't this situation turning out ever so convenient.
"Be quick on getting me that number. I've got family business to settle with them." Reggie wasn't exactly a man of tact and any intentions of hiding his identity were clouded over by his desire to meet the Bullocks as soon as possible. Of course, he could tell that the woman sitting nearby had differing opinions on the matter. Edershem...the name rung a bell. That was about it. But judging by the bartender's reaction, this woman's name meant something important, so Reggie stowed her face and identity away in his memory bank. Ginny Edershem.
...And then said woman proceeded to flip her shit. She shakily declared the bartender's name--Leon--before tossing money onto the bar and setting out for a hasty retreat. Huh...well that escalated quickly. Regardless, Reggie just watched the show unfold while stocking away more and more information into his head. Every little detail. Facial expressions. Reactions happening at which triggers. The exact amount of money given. The clothes they wore. Their looks, their words. Everything.
Reggie raised his mug in a lazy toast. "Cheers to Tophet, the town of bloody drama and bullshitery."
He tossed back a generous gulp.
"Let me go!"
"Are you bloody damn near insane?!"
"I don't care! I-I can't take it anymore!"
Struggling. Grunts. Screams. A vase falling and shattering to pieces.
The shouting extended far beyond his room. He could pick up the scraping of fine leather loafers against hardwood, the sobs and cries anchored down by a despair so deeply implanted that only death could remove it. He stood there, forehead glued to the door as his breathing shuttered and rippled against his lungs like rough cotton. It stung. His lungs and diaphragm still burned from the assault, and the reminder yanked his gaze over to the pillow discarded onto the floor. Dented, crumpled, disheveled on both sides from a desperate grip.
Chest heaving with sobs and vision blurred with tears, the little boy marched over to the pillow and started stomping all over it. His ankles shook from the force behind it, though it wasn't much coming from his small body. He gave it his all and more. He didn't stop until his strength gave way and the fear from before wrapped around his throat like a grown man's fist. "I hate you!" he screamed. Over and over. Straight into the chilled and stagnant air of his prison room.
A tap at the window. Followed by several more, soft and insistent with a recognizable pattern.
The boy stopped, taking a moment to flex his hands into fists and tremble with unbound hatred. He wanted them to burn. To rot underground. He didn't know what happened to the human body after death, but he at least knew that they wouldn't be capable of harming or imprisoning him ever again.
Sucking in a sharp breath, he went over to his window and saw a murky silhouette outside. It was heavily shadowed by the moonlight's backdrop, but their figure was impossible to confuse with anyone else. Only this person knew of his room, let alone his existence. Slowly, carefully, he unlocked and lifted the window sill before his chin came to rest on it with a plop. His bloodshot gaze strayed up to the individual before him.
"I can hear them yelling," they said. A hand landed atop the boy's head, thumb carefully stroking the edges of a fresh cut on his temple. The child sniffled. "Your mother did this?"
"Y-yeah," the boy whispered. His eyelids were heavy with exhaustion, but ever so alert and paranoid. "It was hard to breathe."
A brief pause.
Then it extended beyond that. The comfort didn't stop, but they had no more words left for the boy. Which was okay.
Reggie could feel the apology in his touch.
---
Location: Black Rose Pub| Interactions: Leon & Ginny
"Here is your drink then sir. I mean no harm."
Reggie slipped back into the present without even blinking and grunted in bitter relief as the bartender finally served him a beer. "Thank bloody God," he grumbled before taking a short swig, testing the temperature. His lips pinched. It wasn't perfect, but he figured it was better than the crap-ass beer he had to settle for at the Outlet stops on his way to Tophet.
"The Bullocks run this place as much so as my ancestor still haunts the mayor's building. So, in a sense, they do own the place," the bartender said, which pulled the ghost of a smirk across Reggie's lips. Well now, wasn't this situation turning out ever so convenient.
"Be quick on getting me that number. I've got family business to settle with them." Reggie wasn't exactly a man of tact and any intentions of hiding his identity were clouded over by his desire to meet the Bullocks as soon as possible. Of course, he could tell that the woman sitting nearby had differing opinions on the matter. Edershem...the name rung a bell. That was about it. But judging by the bartender's reaction, this woman's name meant something important, so Reggie stowed her face and identity away in his memory bank. Ginny Edershem.
...And then said woman proceeded to flip her shit. She shakily declared the bartender's name--Leon--before tossing money onto the bar and setting out for a hasty retreat. Huh...well that escalated quickly. Regardless, Reggie just watched the show unfold while stocking away more and more information into his head. Every little detail. Facial expressions. Reactions happening at which triggers. The exact amount of money given. The clothes they wore. Their looks, their words. Everything.
Reggie raised his mug in a lazy toast. "Cheers to Tophet, the town of bloody drama and bullshitery."
He tossed back a generous gulp.