Story Mode. Ic [boomer]. - Tumblr Posts
✰ @madestars
' I lived a pretty good life all things considered. '
His epitaph for his impromptu grave, all he managed to think before the door's blown off it's hinges, death itself gracing the doorframe, a demon wrought from hell to claim his soul ( too bad Him already bagged it, what should he say - get in line?? ). Sure, the lighter from the selfie sent alongside the text was absent, flame flickering out and metallic casing disappearing down a sleeve with a flick of the wrist the instant he set the fuse of his brother's rage, but the remaining evidence is plenty damning of his sins. The perpetrator in question standing over the scene of the crime, a pile of things pilfered from Brick's room propped neatly in the center of the floor of his own.
Limbs jerk, flailing from the sheer force yanking him upwards in an instant, willing his weight to defy gravity as he hangs from the fist dangling him lopsided off the ground. Well, he did pretty much ask for this to happen. He'd take full extra credit points though before he faced a second untimely death - it'd been painstaking to arrange Brick's things in a facsimile of a summoning circle, complete with a polaroid of piercing red eyes, matching messy hair, and a twisted scowl. The same pair of eyes currently burning through his head with his gaze alone, setting nerves alight as fingers twitch before stilling, a sheepish grin plastering itself over a pallid face.
❝ Uh-- Set fire... to the rain... ? ❞
➤ ` BRICK. ( madestars )
SUCH A POOR, AND DELIBERATELY WEAK, CHOICE OF WORDS YOU’VE chosen, little blue. Were they not related — no, not by blood, but they’ve got undeniable kinship, a messy start with a messier climb and only each other to keep from falling apart again — solely for that, if that had not been the case, if this had been anybody else, Brick would have a huge red stain on the carpet. Such exaggeration for minor, trivial stuff, where they’ve done so much worse as children catered by the Devil Himself. He would like to believe that the middle brother is smarter than to pry around Brick’s privacy and actually burn down his belongings, “would like to” being the key words. Even Butch knew better.
They’re not children anymore, they’ve stopped sharing a single room a long time ago, and they all agreed to keep out of each other’s personal space unless invited or when necessary. Why Boomer decided to break their unspoken code ( the pros and cons of bro-hood ) is up on the air, but what’s more is the way he decided how to do it. Out of the three, Brick is the bigger arsonist. Is this some sort of joke he’s not getting? No one’s laughing now, are they?
Red eyes glow brighter, hotter, the replica of his features on the ground giving him yet another ounce of annoyance on every struck nerve. His brows furrow deeper, he exhales through his nose and like a waiting dragon, smoke billows out, promising a fire one way or another. “ You are going to put my stuff back, or I will perform laser surgery on your fucking face. ”
There it was, an expectation to fold under the leader’s whims borne of tumultuous beginnings. Personally, Boomer half expected that punishment right out of the gate, if not at minimum a smack to bury him halfway through his wall and then demands of picture perfect realignment of his things.
Tempting, the idea of getting into a fight. Natural love of violence rising to the surface, roiling under his skin, blue sparks jumping to and fro across the plane of his arms, before forcibly tapering it down. Naturally, as both a member of the Rowdyruffs and as the middle brother, he had to admit eventual defeat and acquiesce -
❝ I think my left brow is also getting wonky. Be sure to take a little off the top yeah ? ❞
The words are half out of his mouth before he realized lips are moving, honest musings easily construable as taunts. Lips pursed before smoothing into a thin line the moment the fully formed thoughts register to he himself, just a touch annoyed at the stutter of his brain to mouth filter.
Dumber than the dumbest !
Stupid, right ? A perfect thing to say when staring down the dragon guarding his hoard after being caught red handed. Only he wasn’t there to pilfer untold amounts of treasure. No, he was the one who showed up to stab said dragon while it was sleeping just to see what would happen next. Why ? What reasoning could justify bringing this unfortunate event upon himself ? Because he felt like it. Quite simply, boredom. Boredom caused abandonment of self preservation in hopes of alleviation, damn whatever consequences they may bring, and a secondary desire to wring a reaction out of volatile big red. Sure he could’ve gone to Butch, his junior always down to brawl or get high, but he’d wanted to poke the sleeping red bear. Reasoning aside, Brick wouldn’t be so blasé about learning of this particular brand of devil-may-care attitude in regards to his things.
( Shouldn’t you know by heart by now ? Siblings annoying each other just because — a ancient rite, a tale as old as time )
A quick amendment followed his slip up, the spoken threat hanging over his head serving as its guide. It’s poor, offering a shrug the best he could in his predicament, but the other option of eking out a chuckle would surely earn a nice new hole in the drywall, courtesy of his head being driven through it. ❝ Fine fine... Can’t guarantee everything will be back in order though. ❞
@madestars asked: “ they hate what they cannot control. ” / brick @ boomer
► ❪ VILLAIN / HERO // accepting ❫
It's not lost on even him– the obvious. Brick may as well just pointed out the color painting the sky. And yet some nebulous piece deep inside – existing in tandem on his brothers' wavelength – stirs. An urge to continue wells up, a scattered mind picks up where the sentence hangs, running along the same train of thought.
❝ No shit, Rick. But who cares what they think ? ❞ Words more akin to a curse than a statement. ❝ Sounds more like a ‘ them ’ problem, not ours. ❞ Normal people lacking the ability control everything meant little when they were busy sitting on their asses doing nothing as the Powerpuffs cleaned all their messes. Incompetent. Small wonder why they hadn't all fallen in a ditch somewhere and gotten themselves killed.
Tenuous line of concentration snaps, blue pops and sparks arcing around glowing fingers before fading, nascent power fizzling out as quick as it came. Breath escapes in a soft exhale, annoyance evident in its wisps, etched into his features. Boomer allows himself another exhale for a moment, before rolling out of his easy reclining position onto his side ( nevermind he's perched mid-air / floating several feet off the ground ) with all the grace of a lazing cat. Head propped on the makeshift pillow of his folded arms, cobalt eyes linger on him. Searching– for what ? He’s not sure.
❝ ...That's how I see it, Mr. ❛ They'll all be groveling at my feet when I one day run this city ❜. Butch... well y’know Butch’d just laugh his ass off. ❞
Hatred. Fear of what they can not fathom. The unknown, a terror steeped in some dark corner of every human's weak willed heart / inborn instinct of self preservation, survival. Too simple to trip over a hidden factor, cutting short lives shorter. The only thing that kept these pathetic sheep alive for as long as they have anyway. Understanding is present, tenable, but no love lost. The same principles failed to be applicable to him or his brothers, not in the same sense at any rate. No one controlled them. No one controlled him – not even Brick.
A light laugh did nothing to bury the unrepentant scorn, to stem the derision seeping out of it. ❝ If they hate us then I say we're just living up to what we were created to do or whatever, right ? ❞
The Rowdyruffs didn’t need them. Let them hate.
-`. @madestars \\ random starter.
❝ Hey, you don't visit Hell in your free time right ? ❞ The fact he stopped a random girl on the side of the road had absolutely no bearing on the conversation. Not that he really cared about the life of a human but even he could impart some pearls of wisdom after ruminating in that fire pit. The heavy miasma of that place was a feeling he wouldn’t forget anytime soon, and she was drenched in it. ❝ Cause there’s a million other places you could hang out instead. Like a beach, or uh... a park. Even school is better. Anything is better than that place. ❞
➤ `??? ( madestars )
“ Oh, uhh… ” 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐀𝐓 𝐀 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒, 𝐒𝐇𝐄 tends to have an abundance of them more often than not, but from the sudden question from a stranger out of nowhere it would only be natural to hesitate for an answer. It was brief, this was… not at all the most farfetched conversation she’s had. In a glance she can tell the boy is not a demon, or nothing like the demons she’s met, but it’d also be strange if he wasn’t. Does she smell, is her hair messy, does she look okay? No, no, and yes she looks great. So, what brought this up? “ No…? ” What she fails to mention is that Hell itself has visited her, and it sucked. “ I agree those places all sound lovely, even school. Um, you sound like you speak from experience. ” Well now she’s curious and she has to know. The only demons who’d know what Hell is like is after they die, and he looks very healthy and alive. He could have also at least said hello first.
❝ Yes. ❞ Yet it's clear he doesn't even think to elaborate on said experience. Maybe the deadpan or him waving it off with a nonchalant shake of the wrist gave it away. It’s not like it had any relevance to her anyways. ❝ So turn your life around or whatever. Read a book, get a cat, i don’t care, and swerve as hard as you can from there. ❞
Without further preamble, the blonde shoved his hands into hoodie pockets and turned on his heel, set on continuing his meandering stroll. Self satisfied smirk in place, paying no further regard to the accosted citizen. Ah, spur of the moment job well done. His good deed for the day accomplished. Even better if it pissed off the old man. All in all, a good day’s work.