#deadmxnsparty : garret.

[bruisedconscience]

Pump Up the Volume - Irving & Garret (deadmxnsparty)

[awanderingselkie]

[ STRADDLE ] from Garret!!

𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒.

Oliver hated the summers in New York. He hated a lot of things about the city, frankly, but the summer time was the worst. It was the height of mating season, the heat inside his body making his skin crawl and his mood sour. The heat outside and the humidity made his clothes stick to him, the smell from the streets became thick with rotting garbage and human stink, and the tourists flooded in in droves. The locals were easy to handle, no one bothered anyone or even really made eye contact half the time, but the tourists set his teeth on edge.

It was good for business, good for hunting, and horrendous for his mood.

Garret's penthouse was an oasis of quiet in the cacophony. His relationship with him was the closest he'd had to a friendship with a human in some time, he was tolerable (even if his dog wasn't), and there was a blessed, blessed pool. So he'd essentially moved himself in, taking to spending his evening in his air conditioned, nicely scented, living room.

He lounged deep into his couch, casually flipping through a novel he'd read perhaps a dozen times by now, when Garret made his entrance. Had he been home long? Did he just come back? Oliver didn't know, didn't care, just cocked his brow as his host unceremoniously took the book out of his hands and straddled his lap.

"...I was reading that," he said simply, his voice flat despite his interest. After all, it was that time of year...

[bulletballetarchive1]

@deadmxnsparty​   said   :   " god, your taste in music is terrible. " from Garret?

          Atlantic Starr’s “When Love Calls” plays from the club’s speakers. It’s a slower song. A laid back melody that doesn’t provoke too many to get up and dance. It is also a song that hasn’t been relevant in the last eleven years, but that means little to Sal.

          Firmly planted in his booth with Garret, he lets cigar smoke ease out his mouth. His manner is anything but relaxed. Sal doesn’t have his head so far up his ass that he would declare himself a connoisseur of music. With the old stuff, he’s never given Mozart or Beethoven a chance. And with the newer stuff, he won’t give them a chance purely based on their names. Backstreet Boys? C’mon, the band manager coulda done better than that. Hell, he still doesn’t know any fucking thing about The New Kids On The Block, let alone how many kids there are.

        Rick James? Bozz Scaggs? Those were his kind of guys. Donna Summer? Teena Marie? Sal would’ve killed to take just one of those ladies out on a date before dutifully wearing his wedding ring. He’s not dumb to the fact the singers he held dear have lost their relevancy on the youth. Nick and Cass personally prefer that rap shit, which - if he gave a chance, could have brought in a younger, fresher crowd. But Sal’s fifty-two this year. He’s at a point where he’s firmly stuck in his ways.

        So, it goes without saying that slick comments like Garret’s didn’t fly well. 

         “Who’re you, huh?” Sal knows who Garret is. As an individual. As a worker. But who was he in the bigger picture of things? Fuckin’ nobody, as far as Sal is concerned right now. 

         “My club, my rules.” He coolly says, but irritation hangs in his eyes. “Don’t like it? Fuck outta here...”

[tcpimpabutterfly]

THE KIDNESS OF STRANGERS 

Status: Accepting 

@deadmxnsparty​ said: “ I think we — switched orders ” from Garret to Munroe!

            Maybe this was his karma for never coming to pick up his own coffee and always sending his assistants to do it for him. It’s not like he knew much about the world of fast coffee anyway, always giving vague descriptions like, “Get me something with caramel that’s not too sweet” whenever the challenge of ordering was brought to him. So, it was no surprise when he went for a cup that was left unattended on the counter mistaking it for his. “Well, yours just looked so appealing I couldn’t resist.” He defended himself with a chuckle, outstretching his arm with the drink to return to its owner. “Don’t worry I didn’t slip out of it or poison it, but if you’re weary I can always buy you another one.”

[dxsole]

@deadmxnsparty​ | It’s Murder— Tea Time!

“Aren’t the cook’s nice? They’re always nice to me at least.” Yasmin murmurs between bites of...well, the chef had called it a teacake but it just seemed like a fruit bread to her. Ah, well, she’s not well-versed in the culinary arts like they are. She could barely even afford the food served at the restaurant she worked at; the only reason she got to taste anything was because she had made good with the cook staff.

She also figured Garret wouldn’t mind having extra snacks for tea time. “Apparently, you’re supposed to have these with tea so it’s pretty perfect.” She nods, daintily dabbing crumbs from her lip before continuing. “I’ve got a new one— New number, new guy.” It may sound difficult to juggle so many personalities all over the phone, but Yasmin seemed to have a firm handle on it; she clearly enjoyed being the perfect listener to so many. “He’s actually real sweet. A lot better than some of these snobby ones.” Her nose wrinkles as she thinks about it. 

“At least...he sounds nice. I don’t wanna get my hopes too high and regain my faith in humanity. A lot of them started out good too.” And then they got comfortable; told her things they shouldn’t have, about the bad things they did, said, wanted to do. Eventually, they start to see her as only a voice, as if the things they shared, the way the objectified and used her wouldn’t really matter. 

It’s a vicious cycle that just ends with her never calling again— You can’t call a dead number after all.

[bruisedconscience]

@deadmxnsparty​ liked for a stabby starter 

Sometimes, people had to talk to him for a bit first before Victor realized they needed saving. Sometimes people were Sionis’ business partners or one of the man’s lovers, sometimes they were a little too young or they were on their way to take care of their material baggage themselves, shuffle off their mortal coils on their own terms. Usually, Victor could respect that. Like that girl he’d slashed low across his neck for. 

Sometimes, people seemed too...eerily settled. They knew where they were going, not just that day or that minute, but in general; they were so sure that they could be content and at peace in their empty-ass lives, shambles of people walking around, zombies with fake hearts and shallow souls. 

And Victor had somebody like that walk by him, head high and important, and Victor just felt it. He just felt this guy needed to be set free from whatever the fuck his life was. So Victor started after him. It was dark, but the streets weren’t deserted. There’s a glance back as he’s rounding a corner, Vic surely about to be found out, but he was faster, his knife already out, and he found a spot at their back so easily, right against their kidney, probably piercing it as they started to struggle. Fuck, they were tall. Victor tightened his grip over their shoulder, about to wrap his arm around theirs in case they had their own weapon they were reaching for. 

Vic had been pepper-sprayed three times in the past. He thought he’d learned after the first time, and then the second, and then he’d started working out and the third was a matter of underestimation rather than indolence insolence.