Inbox Call !! For Some Silly Small Stuff While I Don't Have The Energy To Actually Write Anything

inbox call !! for some silly small stuff while I don't have the energy to actually write anything

★ — They both know the given explanation is contrived ; a superfluous excuse given for Gregory's sake so that he can pretend he isn't being coddled. A small pout ghosts across the young boy's features, his head tilting as he decides if he'll let the silent appeal to his ego pass or not.

But Bonnie still doesn't push — only teases, good natured.

Ultimately, Gregory decides he'll let it slide. He doesn't want to argue ( especially when gossamer is pulled across the scene, flimsy, but still a veil for his own sake ), and there are worse things than being carried by an animatronic. Still, he has to make the decision look semi - suffering ; rolling his eyes and sighing.

"Okay, fine .... I'll do it."

Muttered answer, laced with affection as he closes the distance between the two and clambers up onto the rabbit's shoulders. A little clumsy ( he has more experiencing fitting into a small space rather than trying to balance ), but ultimately with no large struggle. Once settled, he rests his hands on top of Bonnie's head and leans his chin over top them.

"Happy?"

still knelt down, bonnie tips his head, looking at gregory silently for a moment, slight smile still on his face, affection in his glance. his head then droops with a joking sigh, before he raises his paws up in faux-surrender. 🎸‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ " okay, okay, you got me, superstar. i just wanted ya' up there, so ya' can keep an eye out for us. ", " this is some real 'mission impossible' stuff we're doing here, sn -eaking into a place like this. and, the best always need a lookout, don't they? " 🎸‏‏‎‏‏ " i just didn't wanna put too much pressure on ya', y'know? " bonnie chuckles, it's obvious he's embellishing a little: and, he knew the other knew that. he was a smart kid, after all, but. he was hoping gregory would still try and go along with it, and play this bit out, at least. 🎸‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ " b-uuu-t, if ya' don't want the job, don't think you're up for it, then i won't force ya'. " (he's still giving gregory an out, the choice, though, just incase he wanted to stick to his guns. god knows bonnie can be stubborn, too.) 🎸‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

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❛ We always think there's gonna be more time. ❜ @jeremangled :)

THE WALKING DEAD SEASON ONE SENTENCE STARTERS

★ — "Stop it. Shut— shut up."

Jeremy doesn't have to say the truth ; Gregory can feel it settle in the pit of his stomach with an absolute certainty. Overwhelming and unmistakeable, a violent whirlwind of emotions he's felt before threaten to knock him off his feet. His throat burns. His eyes burn. Grief, pity, anger, guilt. The guilt seeping in, filling every crack of his broken self.

There's a bone deep weariness to Jeremy that hadn't been present a few hours ago — the sort of resignation that only comes with the inevitable, especially when you take stupid risks like trying to smuggle a kid outside of the quarantine zone. Gregory's seen the look in his eyes before, reflected back at him only a month ago on the face of his best friend. Just as defeated.

How do you begin to mourn a person still standing in front of you?

There'd been some comfort, then, in thinking that maybe they'd go out together, united in losing their humanity until some poor soul came to put them out of their misery. Here, there's no comfort in companionship to be found.

Michael had made it out unscathed. Gregory was the only person in the world that would never know the real, true fear of turning.

( Marlene had called it a miracle, but he's starting to think it's a fucking curse. is this his life, now? forever haunted by the ghosts he has no choice but to leave behind, always seeing them reflected in the eyes of those his miracle cure wasn't fast enough to save? )

"You're infected, aren't you?"

one day I should just go off about the extended narrative in my head

★ — Every moment of time that this interaction stretches onwards feels more precarious than the last — Gregory's heart racing, a heavy, thrumming staccato in his ears, against his ribcage, beating so furiously ( like the wings of a scared bird ) that it's nearly painful ; trapped, trapped, trapped.

This is the edge of a cliff. One wrong move, and everything comes crashing down. Gregory will fall with the rocks and rubble, only to be buried. An afterthought, not even begetting of a footnote in the list of tragedies. Even in his own timeline, there's no one looking for him, no one that cares enough to make sure nothing happens to him. Hell, he'd been living on the streets for a week before he'd stumbled into the pizzaplex, found himself out of his mind and out of his time. Here? There is no one who will care — no one to notice.

Avoiding eye contact ; it's too much, the realization, this horrific game of cat and mouse he's found himself trapped in. All at once he feels much too small, too much of a child overwhelmed and in over his head.

Then Mr. Afton starts laughing, low and quiet but he's so close that Gregory has no choice but to hear. It's enough to snap him out of his head and back to reality ; the sound akin to ice - water being forced through his veins. His eyes go wide.

" i think you don't have any parents. "

It's a familiar taunt, one he's heard dozens of times from anyone who thought he might make an easy target — bullies in the form of other children and adults. However many times he's heard it doesn't make it sting any less, still clouding his reason and rationality as he begins to kick and shift his weight under Afton's vice - like grip, a hand reaching up to claw at the hand holding him aloft.

"Why do you care?! It's none of your business! I'm here and I leave and nothing else matters! Put me down ——! Put me down or I'll start yelling and all the people out there will come in here to see what's wrong!"

𝚆𝙰𝚂𝙽'𝚃 𝙳𝙾𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙰𝙽𝚈𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚃𝙾 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝚅𝙴 𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙸𝙽𝙽𝙾𝙲𝙴𝙽𝙲𝙴. . . . perhaps he didn't have to. somewhere within his charming visage is something dark -- somehow simultaneously screaming out both his innocence &. his guilt. to a degree in which if you saw him in the right light, every explanation would fall into place. henry was arrested, first. next he'll be put through the ringer, though he doesn't yet realize this. the police's lack of evidence was shocking enough as it is. confidence not allowing any sort of worry to live outside general paranoia. if nobody found out, they couldn't prove it. end of discussion.

he would not let this little shit be the end of him. pounding, pulsating compulsions pushing blood against veins . . . hearing the rush in his ears, in the twitches of curled fingers . . .

knows better. you think you're safe to put one down &. off they go crying to the police, or their parents. even if this one didn't have parents around, there were many concerned patrons outside ripe for the picking. no . . . he wouldn't go down so easily. needed to be ensured of silence.

" -- quite amusing, yes. perhaps you have." more than you know, little one. more than you know.

his brows were still lowered in scrutiny, lip curled a bit with jumps in twitching fits. the desire to mangle the child's spine is so unbearably hard to control, but he must. cameras, business. it was a horrid combination. besides, it just wasn't right . . . none of it was right, &. it stank like shit &. suspicion.

yet explanation sends his lowered brow in an arch, grey eyes flickering back &. forth over their shared eye contact. however, all of a sudden, all at once . . . features come alive with manic amusement. curling smile like a bow, with dark chuckles slipping from between the cracks in his teeth. "surely . . ." he replies.

"would you like to know what i think? i think you don't have any parents -- whether that means they've croaked, or that they just don't care about you enough to stay sober for an iota of their pathetic lives. now, would i be right about that?" he asks, hoping to use this as a bargaining chip . . . yes, with an eleven year old.