[FRACTURE] -jack-

[KENNETH REESE WARRENS]

( someday I might stay sober )
FIGURE OUT WHERE I WENT WRONG

"Oh god, fuck, fuck fuck" the slither of words came out of thin lips as the hedgehog haired male hastily made his way down the hall. Burnt cinnamon eyes lit up in flaming tears, itching against drug-worn skin. A cascade of guilt welled up in his gut, sucking in every ounce of calm he could muster. The door, oh god, there it was. Fingers raced to pluck an extra key from the mouth of his pockets, his body practically flinging into the suite as the door was violently slammed shut behind him.

His movements were rigid, lifeless and disturbed. Eyes wandered around the living room searching for the only person that could remotely fix him. "Jack, you fucker. I need some blow, if you don't got any gi'mme some rock" Anxiety settled in as Kenny spewed the words into the vacant air. Dragging himself to the couch he slumped into it, hunching over so he could rest his fingers in the knots of his sweat riddled hair. He was entirely unaware of the fact that he was trembling like a small child does after a nightmare, but it was more than clear to any spectator that Kenny was officially off his rocker.

Heaving out a growl he lifted his head from the pit of self-hatred and glared at the gaping mouth of the living room "Fuck man! I don't have time for your fucking bullshit! I NEED something NOW!" the words came out viciously, a scowl setting over the place they came from. Feet tapped on the carpet as he stared down at it emptily. The bags beneath his eyes soggy from tears, though he wasn't letting tears seep through any longer. He needed something to make his mind race with different thoughts... not this.

Her skin, the whimpers she made. Fuck, my fucking god, what had he done? What the fuck did he just do? Why? He wasn't any better than the monstrosity that made him, maybe it ran in the fucking gene pool. He was a piece of shit that should be hung for what he took away just moments ago. Stealing innocence and trust is beyond forgivable. He reeked of sweat, with a toxic mix of her scent that rubbed off on him. He wouldn't be able to scrub this clean, but he could.. he could try.

Without any recognition from Jack, Kenny lifted himself up and placed himself in the kitchen. Tearing off his shirt and throwing it to the floor he stumbled with a shaken hand to grab an SOS cleaning scrub beside the sink. His anxiety was worse than he initially thought, an uncontrollable hand quivering horribly ended up knocking over the dish soap and a few dirty cups waiting for a bath. Ignoring the miniature mess he created Kenny blasted the hot water, getting the scrubbing pad a bit damp before taking it across his chest.
With violent determination he peeled the skin on his chest with the blue pad in a desperate attempt to cleanse himself from what he just took part in. The remains of angelic dust that pulsed inside him kept the pain to a minimal, the sensation of pins and needles only being sensed in the stir of his mind as he continued to scrub. Blood trickled from the wounds, skin peeling back like a macabre fruit roll-up. Eyes narrowed on the spot, subtle growls coming from the man as he continued to try and remove the filth that really plagued his mind, not flesh.

(make some sense of what's left of me)
MAKE A GO OF THIS ALONE

WORDS ::

581
CLOTHES :: Click this
TAGGED :: Jack
NOTES :: Blow obviously means cocaine, rock is slang for crack. Holy fuck, it's so short q_q
MUSE :: Crossfade and Mudvayne
CREDIT :: This Template was made by tarjarose @ Caution 2.0

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[JACK AUSTIN HUNTER]

Blood shot eyes lingered on the television, taking in the blur of images dancing on the screen. His body sat lifelessly on the couch, recovering from his previous intake of cocaine. It had been a rather slow day, seeing as how he had no shifts at the asylum, well, none that he remembered. He didn't really care either way, Xavier had enough guards, it wasn't like they needed him. So, he decided to spend his day floating on an ongoing high, maybe having a few drinks along the ride. There was no surprise in that, it was usually how he spent his time. If he wasn't screwed up on something, he was getting someone else hooked. It may make him seem like an asshole, but there was far more to Jack than he let on.

He was a confusing man, that was for sure. His actions were different from his thoughts, just because he acted like a heartless prick didn't exactly mean that he was one. He had feelings, just like everyone else, of course the only difference was that he never showed his. Over the years he had built up a wall, blocking his emotions from the world. He was a drug dealer, nothing more, nothing less. He had a certain reputation to uphold, he couldn’t come off as being weak.

He shifted his position, leaning forward as his eyes trailed away from the screen. Heaving a sigh he picked himself up, slowly moving to the kitchen. His fingers wrapped around the handle, pulling the door open with little force. He scanned the contents of the fridge before grabbing out a bottle of beer, popping the lid off while closing the door behind him. Jack brought the bottle to his lips, letting the cold liquid slide down his throat with ease. After doing so he moved passed the living room, entering his bedroom. He immediately placed his drink on the side table as he sat on the edge of his bed. Despite his career and reputation, Jack was a fairly clean individual. His bedroom, for example, was in order, nothing could be seen out of place. Of course, there were the occasional articles thrown on the floor.

A heavy sigh crept passed parted lips. He had too much on his mind, weighing him down more than usual. That was the price he payed, not being able to vent, or talk it out. No, he resorted to drugs and alcohol. Sure, it wasn't healthy, but it worked. All he needed was his cocaine to smooth everything over, help keep him sane. He rubbed at his eyes, trying to keep himself awake. He could have fallen asleep, if it weren't for the noise. It was faint, but he could tell that someone was trying to unlock his front door. He wasn't exactly worried, hell, he didn't really care. Jack was more than capable of taking care of himself, it came with the territory.

He sighed deeply once the familiar voice drifted to his ears. He knew exactly who it was, hell, it wasn't hard to miss. He cocked a brow at Kenny's words, each hitting him like a blow to the head. Fuck, he didn't have time for any bullshit, especially when it came to Kenny. He loved the kid, though his problems were too much for Jack to handle. He, like everyone else, had problems of his own, so adding more on top of that just added to the stress that was already present.

He lifted himself off of his bed once he heard the crash of items falling to the ground. Great, he was tearing apart his freaking house. The male wasted no time in exiting his bedroom, walking out into the living room at a steady pace. His eyes widened slightly at the scene that was playing out in front of him. Of course it wasn't going to be easy, it never was. His gaze locked onto Kenny, watching as he violently took the SOS scrub to his skin, dripping blood on his clean tile. ”What the fuck are you doing?!” His voice entered the still air in a harsh tone. How could he not be pissed? He picked up his pace as he reached Kenny, ripping the SOS pad from his hands and tossing it into the sink. ”Are you fucking stupid?!” His eyes dropped onto Kenny's chest, his skin clearly ripped back from the pad's impact. Yeah, it was going to be a long night.

What was he supposed to do? Just hand over some drugs, shrug off the events that just took place? No, that wasn't going to happen, only because his floor was now ruined. ”Jesus Christ, Kenny. What the hell is wrong with you?” Did he actually care? Maybe, it didn't really matter, all he knew was that he had a problem that he would have to get rid of. Jack dropped his stare from Kenny, grabbing a damp cloth from the counter, he sighed heavily as he tossed the cloth on the ground, letting his foot push it over the crimson stain. After soaking up some of the blood he looked back to Kenny, his stare cold. ”You're gonna have to clean yourself up, I don't want you getting blood all over the fuckin' place.”

[/blockquote]

WORDS
8 7 7
TAGGED
Kenny Warrens !
OUTFIT
Coming soon!
MUSIC
N/a.
NOTES
:3

[KENNETH REESE WARRENS]

( someday I might stay sober )
FIGURE OUT WHERE I WENT WRONG

Crimson slithered down the pure muscle body, hugging the contours of his ribs and scarily thin torso before leaping to the their death on the tile. His eyes muddled with tears of pure disgust with himself. How could he have done something so malicious? How could he have hurt someone that legitimately cared for him? What the fuck was wrong with him? Her scent still carried itself to his nostrils, defeating the filthy chemical burn that blow had left in the flesh walls.

His body stiffened as soon as Jack's words roared into the air, every movement froze as if time itself had stopped as he stared blankly at the furious drug lord. His expression was like a child's when their favorite toy is ripped from their hands as Jack tore the SOS pad from Kenny's possession. Hands stayed locked in place in mid-stroke as if the pad was still in his hand. Everything whirred around him, his body continued to tremble as the voice drifted into his brain piecing together the words "What the hell is wrong with you?" His muddy eyes fell to the floor that was assaulted with his blood, the cloth blanketing it and mopping it up sloppily. Pupils flicked back up to the empty stare of Jack as he demanded him to clean himself up.

Rage trickled through him, sifting through the complete despair he once was drowning in. Although fighting Jack wasn't a logical choice, Kenny was notorious for picking battles he had no chance in. Back home at the bars he always came out as a bloody mess because of it, and even here he dared to challenge Frankie Capone - something anybody with half a brain wouldn't do. He had taken Jack on before, it wasn't concluded who won every time that it occurred, but they both ended up as a bloody mess. Kenny gave him a dirty look, holding the gaze for a few seconds before his logical side retained him from throwing a punch. Instead he lingered over back to his shirt, slapping it against his chest to soak the spewing blood up.

Turning his attention back to the dealer he let out a chuckle "Sorry, man... jus' been a rough day.." Heh, yeah, that was the understatement of the year. With a free hand he quickly wiped his eyes free of any trace of his tears and shook his head as if embarrassed yet humored. "Dude, I really need some blow or something. I'll clean this shit up for ya and everythin'" He gestured to the rustic mess with a nod of his head before glancing back to Jack.

Jack and his relationship was a complicated one. Their history was filled with betrayal and most of it was based on drugs, but if you were to put drugs aside they would completely fine. He had a reputation for being a complete dick, Jack, but wasn't entirely one if you got to know him. There were plenty of times were they shared a good laugh together or just chilled and had a decent conversation not discussing the exchange of drugs. Kenny considered him as a makeshift friend when he was on his lowest terms, but he knew that there was a very thin line he just had to cross in order to receive Jack's temperamental side. And by temperamental, I mean completely homicidal.

(make some sense of what's left of me)
MAKE A GO OF THIS ALONE

WORDS ::

560
CLOTHES :: Click this
TAGGED :: Jack
NOTES :: Like I said, just getting back into writing again so it's fucking horrible.
MUSE :: The Ghost Inside
CREDIT :: This Template was made by tarjarose @ Caution 2.0

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[JACK AUSTIN HUNTER]

Eyes locked onto Kenny, watching as he used his shirt to soak up the blood residing on his body. He couldn't help but cock a brow at Kenny's words, frustration taking over slightly. It's been a rough day? Really? That was all he had to say about the actions that just took place? The man was nearly grating his skin off because it had been a rough day? Oh no, that didn't sit right with Mr. Jack. His floor had just been ruined because that fucker had been having a bad day, how did that make any sense? Of course, it was clear that the other male was probably tweaked out of his mind, crashing from a current high. Great, now he had to deal with that. Then again, Jack had spent a good portion of his life around druggies, including himself. The easiest way to deal them was to just hand over the substance that they craved, give them their medication so that they could get on with their miserable excuse for a life. It seemed rather harsh, though that was how he carried on.

He listened once again as Kenny spoke, words quickly registering within the male's mind. ”Sure you do.” He spoke in a calm tone, eyes still locked onto the male before him. The only part of his statement he really cared for was the cleaning bit. It saved Jack from having to clean up that shit, not that it really bothered him all that much. The man had seen plenty of things throughout his lifetime, a small amount of blood on his clean tile was nothing compared to some scenarios. It came with the title, though. Being a drug dealer wasn't exactly a career for the lighthearted. You needed to be tough, to shield away your emotions from the outside world. If another dealer were to catch onto even one weakness, well, that would be the end. Hence the whole reason for keeping to yourself, not letting anyone get too close. Loved ones would be seen as the ultimate weakness, one in which could be taken out rather easily. So, you could say that he lived a fairly lonely life, for the most part.

Heaving a sigh, Jack turned away from the male. His feet carried him over to the living room, grabbing a small box from the entertainment stand. He tossed a glance over at Kenny before placing the object on the table. ”Just don't get anymore blood on my shit.” His words carried through the air as he took a seat on the couch, attention falling off of Kenny. Swiftly the male opened the box, taking out a few things before closing it back up again. He pulled out a baggy containing what looked to be white powder, along with a razor. He reached over and grabbed a small mirror from the other side of his table, setting it in front of him before making a few clean lines. Part of him just wanted to throw Kenny out, tell him to sort out his shit on his own. However, there was something about the while situation that sparked Jack's interest.

[/blockquote]

WORDS
5 2 6
TAGGED
Kenny Warrens !
OUTFIT
Coming soon!
MUSIC
N/a.
NOTES
Sorry it sucks ass! Was rushing to finish. XD

[KENNETH REESE WARRENS]

( someday I might stay sober )
FIGURE OUT WHERE I WENT WRONG

Silently he watched as Jack's mouth swept out words that would be considered mocking, but Kenny knew better than to think that. It was just how Jack was. Eyes followed as the man trailed away to grab the white treasure Kenny's body craved desperately for. Seeing the powder physically before his eyes made his mind go haywire, a tiny headache planting a bomb in the remnants of his brain. Distraction was necessary, he didn't want Jack to realize just how pathetically hooked he was to the drug again. Or maybe he was just trying to prove to himself that he could wait a little bit longer.

Crunching his body down he began to lazily mop the blood up, the rusty scent staining the air. A wash of pink covered the tiles which screamed for bleach to cleanse them. He didn't have time for that, nor did he believe his lungs would be able to handle the dense cloud of chemical that bleach held. Flopping the doused rag into the sink he clenched tight against his shirt, blood oozing out of the fabric in which it was trapped within. Searing pain began to pulse, his flesh swelling and an off-coloured yellow puss replaced the blood. Cringing, Kenny pulled the shirt away and let it join the rag that happened to be in the same predicament. Dried crimson crusted around the massive wound, irritation taking reign with it's fleshy red glory amongst the edges.

After collecting the dishes that had tumbled moments before and putting them back by the sink, he took his rightful place eagerly on the couch. Impatience ruled over his actions and he slid the mirror to himself, snorting up two lines before pushing it back toward Jack. It wasn't like the guy was going to beat him to a pulp for it, it was obvious that Kenny needed the drug to go from psychotic breakdown to functional bastard. The chemicals drained down the back of his throat as the surge of electricity flamed through his veins. Aaah, that was it, complete bliss.

Mind flickered with brief memories, words swimming about to construct a proper sentence that didn't announce the filthy act he had committed. A hand ran loosely through the tangles of his hair before slapping back to his thigh as he gradually leaned back. A heavy sigh crept into the air from his lungs with words following close behind "I saw Riff- er- Riviara today. Jus' kinda got to me and then I was comin' down at the same time" a lame excuse as to why he had come bursting in here totally freaking out like a lunatic. Her whimpers echoed in the back of his head, his voice strung more words together in an attempt to drown them out "Made me think of Johnny n' shit, y'know? Still can't believe he's dead" the last word clumped up in his throat.

Fuck, if Johnny was probably turning in his fucking grave witnessing this bullshit. Wouldn't surprise Kenny if his friend came back from the dead and tore him to pieces for what he had done. Out of every person Johnny had known while he was still alive, he always told Kenny that he was the only guy he trusted with his sister. Pfft, yeah, and look what happened. Anxiety slithered up the ebony haired man, his hands wringing together trying to extract it.

The void he tried to fill with drugs wasn't satisfied with the measly two lines, the scratching and itching of the monster climbing around his head made his shoulders slump in defeat. A grimace filled his mouth before he drawled out another string of lyrics "I can't remember if you got a guitar kickin' around" Maybe playing a few tabs would keep his mind from ensnaring him in his own nightmare.

(make some sense of what's left of me)
MAKE A GO OF THIS ALONE

WORDS ::

635
CLOTHES :: Click this
TAGGED :: Jack
NOTES :: :3
MUSE :: Make Them Suffer
CREDIT :: This Template was made by tarjarose @ Caution 2.0

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