#twrpgstarter

[eddylyons-blog]

For perhaps the first time in the last week, Eddy actually looked presentable. As presentable as he ever did. If nothing else, he was devoid of any blood or gaping cuts on his face and hands and he didn’t smell like he’d just been dropped off after living on a fishing boat for a year and a half.

That did not mean, however, that he was fit to be in public. More often than not, it was the best plan to keep him removed from most social settings, even if it just happened to be walking down the same street as other people. As soon as a shoulder was ramming into his arm, he was turning, lips drawing together in a tight line and scowl half hidden behind sunglasses.

“Oy! You fucking blind?”

[scrumwithblake-blog]

In his head, it was supposed to be a bit smoother. Just grab a bench, eat the sandwich he’d bought in the shop just down the way, enjoy a bit of sunshine during his lunch break. Blake rarely got to eat lunch outside his office, so he was going to make the most of it. Except nearly everyone in London had the same idea, and the tiny park was packed. Sighing, Blake searched for an empty patch of ground and settled down, hoping that the mostly dry grass wouldn’t stain his khakis.

Empty was a bit of an understatement. As he opened his bag, Blake’s elbow bumped someone’s back. “Oh! Sorry about that. Not a ton of room.”

[emiliaxtorres-blog]

Slipping out of the coffee shop, Emilia tightened the belt of her coat as her arms moved around her waist, a grimace creeping onto her lips as she looked out into the rain. It was as if she hadn’t felt the sun in centuries, a permanent chill finding a home between her bones. London was the last place Emilia had imagined herself settling. She could only hope it wasn’t permanent. After all, she’d learned few things were. With a sigh, she ran into the rain, arm out for a cab that had just pulled to the curb. 

Sliding in without a thought, Emilia barked her address to the driver before leaning back in the seat, her eyes finally landing on the figure beside her. “Oh shit, do you mind sharing?” 

[eddylyons-blog]

Eddy’s apartment was a shit hole. There was no other way to describe the small two bedroom. The sophistication level didn’t rise considering the half naked woman he had bent over the edge of his couch, his own trousers around his ankles. There were two things that Eddy generally did to help pass the general monotony of life. There was fighting, which tended to fit into a rather specific set of times and rules, and there was fucking, which had no rules and no set schedule. Whenever The Pit wasn’t hosting a fight and he was left to find something on his own to do, he was resorting back to one of the few things he did well.

Or, at the very least, one of the few things he did often.

He didn’t have work, he didn’t own a working television, and reading had never really been his cup of tea. So the girl he’d picked up less than an hour before had become his distraction, and thus far she was doing a mighty fine job of it. All she really had to do was keep her mouth shut unless it had something good to do and then leave once he’d paid her. She was clearly good at it, because there hadn’t been one word from her mouth bitching about how the place was shitty or he wasn’t any good at this or anything negative at all, really.

It was a nice change of pace.

It would have been an even better change of pace if his front door wasn’t swinging open and he was hearing an all too familiar voice cutting through his enjoyable afternoon. It didn’t cause him to stop immediately, of course; he had business to take care of here and he didn’t like to leave a job half done. (Not when it applied to his two favorite things. Any other job wasn’t worth devoting attention to.) Eden was still speaking when he’d breathed out a satisfied groan and let a smile pull at his lips slightly. Short lived, though it may have been.

Looking over his shoulder, he was a moment or two too slow to fully react to Eden being close to him, and already his smile was gone and his eyebrows were pulling together in a scowl. “Fucking--Bitch!”

[eddylyons-blog]

The Pit was more like home than his actual apartment. It was entirely possible that he spent more time there than he did at home. Being in the ring was where he was comfortable. He controlled the space because he knew it more intimately than he did anything else. There wasn’t an unfamiliar side or apprehension that usually came from new situations. Being in a fight was easy, because fighting was one of the few things that he did well.

Lately, being high usually coincided with being in the ring. There was a sense of relaxation that came with being high; the ability to think more clearly that he wouldn’t necessarily say he craved as much as he enjoyed. Eddy Lyons did not hold himself to any vice. He was his own man, after all, not to be controlled by anything unless he specifically allowed it.

Half the time, people in The Pit didn’t use wraps, and even when he did they were sub-par at best. Today, he’d gone without them, and his knuckles were showing the trophies of his fights from the evening. Red and split across nearly every rise of his knuckle, though he didn’t really care. All things considered, he enjoyed it. Almost as much as he enjoyed the money that found its way into his pockets after a fight. Enough to cover his not-vices, whether that was heroin or pussy for the night. Often times it was both at the same time. Eden wasn’t around, so he’d need something to do after all.

He’d gone back to find his shirt and pulled it on, momentarily pausing to flex his hand and smirk at the blood that was already drying on it. It wasn’t his blood, at least most of it wasn’t, and that was what pleased him even more. There as a unique rush, separate from that of a drug, to know that he’d decimated someone else. Walking back out among the crowds, he was looking around for someone that could draw his attention for the evening. Rather than finding himself a beautiful woman, he was being bumped into by some man in a suit. Clearly not a man there to fight, which meant he hardly registered in Eddy’s books, even if he seemed like a man that knew how to carry himself.

“Can I help you?” He was asking, though an actual tone of helpfulness was missing from his voice as he said it, eyebrow arching and standard scowl crossing his features.

[eddylyons-blog]

Friends were hard to come by for Eddy. Mostly because he was an insufferable ass that spent more time scowling at people than talking to them. But there were a select few that seemed to stick around or draw his attention more than the rest. His girlfriend, though the reasons for that were pretty obvious. A few of the men at The Pit, though that was less friendship and more encouragement for his negative behavior. Ari was, perhaps, one of the few people that could be ranked a friend. Looking at the two of them, one wouldn’t have assumed they’d get along, and there were certainly times that they didn’t. Though, most of that stemmed from Eddy’s attitude and not Ari’s.

The fact that Eddy knew his face was one of the main reasons that he still choose to be around the kid. There was some saying about time and fondness or something. He didn’t know and it really wasn’t important. Not like he chose to live his life based on some quote from a dead person. Dead people were unimportant; if they mattered, they wouldn’t have died.

‘Having plans’ was a bit of a foreign concept to Eddy. If he wasn’t working he was at The Pit, and if he wasn’t there he was usually back at his apartment. Occasionally, those routines would deviate because he didn’t really care abut having a rigid schedule. Today, that meant going to the bar, apparently one where Ari was. When he’d walked in, he was looking for the kid. It wasn’t hard to spot them, shoving his hands into his pockets and heading over to take a seat.

His hello was more of a grunt than actual words and he hunched his shoulders forward as he settled into his seat. Conversation wasn’t necessarily his gifting, a fact that he was sure Ari had recognized by now. Glancing over, he was giving Ari a once over before looking back to the bar and motioning for the bartender.