same old mistakes — bonfire au

  • As Ryland tosses their last handful of dry branches into BloodClan's broiling bonfire, he revels in the angry crackle and hiss of the burning wood, deriving a certain satisfaction from the sheer size that he's gotten this thing up to. Cradled in the pleasant heat of the flames, the tension in his body relaxes—the bitter bite of this stupid persistent cold front can't touch BloodClan when they've got this fire going. Man, dare he say it? This may just be the life. Reclining with a pleased sigh into his trusty folding chair (which was totally NOT stolen from a garage sale a few days ago), he smiles somewhat softly, gray-blue eyes flickering red and orange in the wavering light of the flames. With everything that they've been going through lately, he has to say it: this has got to be one of his best ideas yet.


    The only thing that would complete the whole party would be an ice cold beer in his hand and waves of loud music thumping through his entire body, but unfortunately, beer and music isn't as easy to steal as a simple folding chair. But hey, life's fine even without all the pleasantries. Looking on the bright side, at least the party's kid friendly, right? Maybe he'll see Gaia and Rocco running around, who knows. With a deep inward breath and another relaxed sigh whisking through his teeth, Ryland slumps into the worn-down fabric of his chair, lifting a hand to pull his beanie over his eyes. "Alright, if anyone's got anything else to sacrifice to Satan, do it now," he calls to his fellow Clanmates, a slow grin crawling across his face. "We're all out of sticks. I nominate, uh... Sergei as firewood."


    / human reference that you shouldn't ask questions about + they're just a homeless gang who live out in the abandoned train station!

    ry only by greahound

    I'M GONNA HAVE THE STRANGEST NIGHT ON SUNDAY!

    RYLAND » LEADER OF BLOODCLAN » BIOGRAPHY » PLOTTING » PENNED BY GREAHOUND

  • Even with her poofy jacket, the chilly winds that the weather brought were harsh against every inch of exposed skin Venom had; her hands, her face, the rips in her jeans, her neck. Ryland's idea was a welcome one, and the thought of finally having something to warm her hands by had Venom walking over to the bonfire within moments, expression stoic. Biting her cheek, the femme dropped roughly to the ground, uncaring if dirt and dust got onto her clothing. With quick slapping motions, Venom removed whatever grime she could off her revealed, bruised knees. If Ryland could go for a beer at the moment, then Venom could go for a cigarette or hard liquor. Old habits died hard, didn't they? "I'd sell my soul, but I don't think I can sell it again." Palms were stretched out towards the crackling flames in an attempt to fight off the blue hue that had begun to creep onto their fingertips. Venom swiveled her head towards Ryland to meet his gaze with her own cold one. "I can throw him in for you, if you want."


    // aaaah apologies for low muse !! gonna jump on the human reference train ;^;

  • * If he wasn't Ryland's ride back, he probably would have driven himself back to his apartment instead of committing to his flimsy promise to attend. He pulled down the sun visor's mirror, leaning forward to stare dismally into his own, exhausted reflection a hand coming to try and swipe the dark circles from his eyes. He was absolutely spent— clean-cut appearance gradually worn away by the stresses of the workday. Hopefully in the fire's flickering lowlight the hilariously characteristic exhaust of the modern businessman would go mostly unnoticed (Who was he kidding? Weren't they all homeless?) He hooked his finger into his tie loop to loosen it up before opening his car door into the cold, wincing. He'd enjoy himself once he was there, lulled into the warmth of the flames and easy conversation. Yes. He'd enjoy himself.

    He made his way briskly through the camp, long, black coat buttoned up against the chill to give the impression of some tall, wayward shadow meandering unassumingly toward the only warmth and light it could find; yes, the bonfire. He wandered wordlessly into the firelight— stopping and standing beside the chair in which Ryland was slumped. With his hands in his pockets, he looked like a gaunt, dark figure wrapped in black wool, the only other color on him being the glimpses of white from his suit collar peeking at his neck. "Please, do," He encouraged lazily, pulling out a flask from his inside pocket and clumsily screwing the top off, "I could use the screams of the damned to wake me up right about now." He took a swig of chest-warming whiskey before offering it to Ryland with a few taps of it to his arm.

  • "Please, God, make it quick," he scoffed at Ryland's suggestion to immolate the poor right-hand-man, but a grin spread across his face all the same. He stood close to the flames, huddling deeply into his threadbare bomber, hands close to his face in the struggle to light a cigarette against the chill breeze. What an absolute waste of his meager paycheck it was to smoke, but it was the little things that kept one off the ledge. The consequences of the addiction were a problem for future Sergei.


    "Et tu, Venom?" He sighed as he circled around the bonfire to their side, a harsh swirl of grey leaving his lips. A square, strong hand, nicked with countless little scars and burns, offered a smoke to the girl -- a dual proposal of both comfort and death.


    Sinclair's arrival attracted a distasteful glare from Sergei. Ordinarily he could at least tolerate the businessman (he was good for banter), but his own (much less glamorous) workday had gone poorly enough to merit the vague spite he felt towards Sin and his wealth to flare up anew. "Damned indeed. Such is the plight of the working class. Not that you would understand." He muttered reproachfully. Evidently, he'd been reading again. As he spoke he produced his own miniature flask, in cheap imitation -- filled to the brim with barely-passable vodka, a gift from a more sticky-fingered coworker.


    // faceclaim!


  • Anubys stepped out of the darkness, appearing out of what seemed like thin air. “Sooo- uh-” He stuttered, holding up his extremely old sketch book, a faded picture of some formerly brightly colored pony and cat on it. “Do you guys think mistakes are flammable?” The vigitilo asked. He'd found it in the bottom of a pile of things and really wanted it gone after looking through it.

    SPEECH

    ATTACK

    ☾・゚. I THOUGHT I WAS AN ATHEIST

    ↪ UNTIL I REALIZED I'M A GOD ✦


    ( Tags┊ 32 moons ┊ Bloodclan ┊ by `~Maquaroonie~` )

  • At Sinclair's arrival, the “party” was certainly no longer kid friendly. Should he leave? Bleat wasn’t a kid, but the coward still felt like he didn’t belong with all the adults. They were worried about trivial things like staying alive and keeping warm. Bleat, on the other hand, had his mind occupied with much more important things! Like flies, or snakes. Or flying snakes! Great, at least he knew the subject of his nightmares tonight. “I don’t want Sergei to die...I don’t want any of you to die...” he muttered. Bleat was cowering in his grey hoodie, arms wrapped around his jean-clad legs, rocking back and forth. He’d never been good with jokes, had he?


    At Anubys’ sudden, phantom-like appearance, Bleat let out a short shriek, covering his mouth with his hands at the last second as to not disturb the others too much. “Are mistakes-what?” He eyed the sketch book, realization clicking within. “I don’t think you should burn it” he mumbled, too scared to raise his voice. “Mistakes are important, they remind us of where we came from, and how much we’ve improved. Oh! That reminds me.”



    Bleat dug around in his hoodie pocket, searching. After a few moments the coward pulled out a crumpled check, showing it off to everyone with a wide smile plastered across his face. “I got a job! It’s at the convenience store Sergei always buys cigarettes at.” Anyone inspecting the check would see that it was, in fact, genuine. The only strange thing about it was the absurdly low amount of money. “I started last week. My boss says that if I don’t cry for thirty days, he’ll consider thinking about giving me a raise!” It wasn’t much, and he was most certainly being taken advantage of, but the coward was slowly learning


    The post was edited 4 times, last by Shmevin ().

  • * Sergei's comment prompted a cruel sort of chuckle to shake his shoulders, one that was familiar with the Bloodclanner's animosity toward he and his wealth. "Look, Sergei— I've said it before and I'll say it again— I'll say it again," He brought prying green eyes to the Bloodclanner, his smile skewed by a sudden disgust for the man's likely lack of hygiene more than his prodding comment, "As soon as I run out of money, I'm gonna move here and we can both talk about how much we hate the one percent." He brought the flask to his lips, before— in a moment of sudden judgement— he lowered it, his finger tracing along the stainless steel ridges. In realizing he was responsible for driving his roommate back to the apartment, the risks of getting behind the wheel drunk suddenly didn't seem worth it (not even to make this bearable). Green eyes moved to rest over Anubys as he arrived, sighing in a mockery of wistfulness to put an end to his cynical anecdote, "But you'll have to wait until the market crashes." Such was the inevitability that haunts the life of any stock trader and buyer, often overlooked in the momentary bliss of reeling in heaps of wealth in dividends. At least the sleazy businessman had invested when the market was low (well his father had, and he'd inherited the shares. Same thing?)


    He observed his weight tip between his heel and toe, eyes wandering from the core of the fire to watch Anubys and Bleat (Both men with very strange names) flip through the pages of some book. Bleat's comment about wages produced a narrowing of the stock broker's eyes, reminding him of his own burning desire to become his own Boss someday. He had his plans, of course, but starting a business from scratch was no easy or glorious endeavour.


  • the idea of the bonfire was a decent idea from ryland. the wind was blowing her hair around, causing a messy hairdo. she couldnt be bothered by fixing it. victoria pulled her brown jacket close to her body, as she pushed her way to fire. they were talking about nonesense that couldnt bother her.


    she was already twenty, and looking for work around bloodclan was easy. tasks small enough to get her buy so she can spend her money. victoria raised her hands to the fire. she felf warmer awhile she squated. victoria glanced at ryland.


    bleat was busy talking when she flipped on her lighter. victoria had pulled out a pack of cigarettes from her pocket. "is it all 'class' and momey to you guys?" victoria asked. she couldn't understand why they would bicker while they could get drunk. although, she was ready if fists went down.


    faceclaim: linda cardellini https://icons80s.tumblr.com/post/158289108840

    i'm a prisoner on the run

    i am the moon that reflects the sun

    that i will rage against the machine

    long-furred blue smoke | 16 moons | member of bloodclan | information | tags

  • Venom shifted her gaze to Sergei, her eyes glowing as they landed upon the cigarette, and she took it without much grace. "You read my mind" served as her 'thank you' as she lifted the cigarette towards the flames of the bonfire. Once smoke began to waft gently from the end, Venom lifted it to her lips and took a deep inhale, relishing the burn the back of her throat received. "If only this could end my life as quickly as a knife could," she muttered jokingly, in reference to Sergei's quote as he had handed her saving grace. In an instant, her mood lightened. It wasn't the best thing to smoke- not for herself, and not for the reputation of the poverty-stricken in the eyes of the middle class, yet it kept her sane, kept her there, present, in the moment. "They'll just buy cigarettes with it" - well, what was she supposed to buy? A house? Venom scoffed. As if her low-end job would ever end up paying her enough to afford rent. No, Venom was happy here, with the only family she had. Yes, just as Ryland thought, this was the life. They didn't have many material things, but Venom never had a desire for those in the first place. However, the sense of community among them, however fickle, was enough for her. Sadly, it wasn't enough for others (and she could understand that).


    Venom's hand came to land a light slap on Sergei's thigh in response to his verbal jab at Sinclair. She could sympathize with his bitterness (hell, maybe they all could) towards the other man's wealth, but despite it, Venom was secretly happy for the businessman. At least one of them was making something for himself. Couldn't be her. Venom sighed as Sinclair responded in kind, deciding to take another whiff of her cigarette. Eyes flickered up to meet Victoria's own as she remarked on the argument. "You'll understand once you're older," she joked half-heartedly. Leaning back on her seat on the floor, Venom spoke up after taking another inhale from the cigarette. "Why don't we all make bets on how long Bleat's streak will last?" she offered. It was a cruel thing to do, to make jokes on Bleat's expense, but Venom meant no harm. It was simply a way to lighten the mood while sticking true to her 'heartless' disposition. It was uncharacteristic of Venom to be the one to do so, but the cigarette Sergei had given her had effectively placed her in a good mood. Plus, they could all use a bit less negativity in their lives at the moment, and they all knew it. To be transparent about her lack of malice, Venom shot Bleat a wink, even though it might have done the opposite, as it was accompanied by the absence of a smile.

  • Ocean eyes darted around, from the fire, to Bleat, to Sergei, back to the book in his hand. He set it down in the shopping cart he seemed to always drag around with him. He sat his almost-bursting backpack down to take out a package of cheap wood skewers and some off-brand package of oversized marshmallows. “Who wants one? They were on sale. Or clearance.” He asked the others. “Actually, I have no idea where I got them. I think I won them after a bar fight or some sh*t.” He looked at the off brand marshmallow bag, then tore it open.

    SPEECH

    ATTACK

    ☾・゚. I THOUGHT I WAS AN ATHEIST

    ↪ UNTIL I REALIZED I'M A GOD ✦


    ( Tags┊ 32 moons ┊ Bloodclan ┊ by `~Maquaroonie~` )

  • "Heh, you know I will be. Give it a few years, my friend, we're well due for a recession," he conceded his hostility with a short, half-wheezed chuckle. At least Sin had a bit of self-awareness, enough to keep any of Sergei's more serious contempt at bay. And hey, he may not like the guy all the time, but hopefully the wonders of the free market could fulfill his vindication for him.


    "Good shit, Bleat," Sergei congratulated, snatching the cheque out of tremulous hands for a brief inspection before returning it to the timid boy. "We'll make a tough guy out of you yet. If you need any tips, just ask. And keep yourself tidy, bosses don't like it when they're reminded you're homeless." To Venom's little game, he tipped his head thoughtfully. "I give him... 2 years. Then he'll find something better," he tossed Bleat a sympathetic half-grin and a punch on the shoulder. Go get 'em, champ. Realistically, he knew perfectly well that there was no path to better from a job like that. They were called dead-end for a reason. But why pass on his cynicism when the poor kid looked so proud?


    He took another drag to sate that indefatigable craving, a picture of absent-minded self-destruction -- cigarette clutched between his teeth, drink held loosely by the tips of his fingers. Despite the obvious hypocrisy, he still cast a disapproving look at Tori as she revealed her pack of the evil things. "Class and money make our lives what they are," he sighed stubbornly, but he would drop the topic until some little thing would inevitably set him off again. "Must you, сестра? It's terrible for the health," He held back the urge to grab the package away, shoving the flask back into his jacket to occupy himself -- she was an adult now, and he didn't want to get snapped at for fussing. Reluctantly, Sergei contented himself with rearranging the wayward strands of her windblown hair back behind her ears, wistfully remembering that innocent time when they had both been little more than children.


    The post was edited 1 time, last by SERGEI. ().

  • Ryland's casual nomination for Sergei's death by fire is pretty well received by the masses, though no sooner had Venom offered to delete his second-in-command's existence than Sergei had won her over with a cigarette. Though the fabric of his beanie still covers his eyes, their quiet exchange followed by the familiar smell of smoke assures Ryland that he has indeed been cheated out of his human firewood. Rats! All that leaves him is a chuckle that resonates through his chest, though—his attention doesn't linger on the interaction. Instead it's pulled by the slam of a car door nearby, followed by the familiar voice of his... Noticeably out-of-place roommate. He'd not expected him to show up to his little hobo get-together, but he's definitely not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Lifting one hand, he pushes his beanie backward and up onto his forehead to look up at his friend, grinning as the whiskey is tapped to his arm. Oh, so he's brought booze for the two of them? Well shit! Talk about living the life. "What would I ever do without you, million-man?" Ryland chuckles in warm greeting, graciously swiping the flask to take his own hearty swig before then returning it to its rightful owner. That's his only drink for the night (hopefully). He doesn't plan on getting smashed here... Too many things at stake. What if he tripped and became the firewood?


    Speaking of firewood—Sergei's bitter tone and Sinclair's returning banter prompts a roll of his eyes and a bit of a throaty scoff. Yeah, yeah, Sinclair's rich, yeah, yeah, nobody likes it. Well joke's on them: Ryland loves it. He's grown quite accustomed to his new life, fit with all the pleasantries he could desire... Well, the pleasantries that Sinclair is willing to give him out of the goodness of his own heart, at least. "Are you kidding? He'll never run outta money. Dude's fuckin' loaded," he interjects slyly into the conversation, though his attention drifts to both Anubys and Bleat as they join the fray. "Do mistakes burn? I dunno. Why don't'cha throw yourself in there and find out?" The joke is followed by a wide grin and flared eyes: it's obviously a joke, nothing more. Better not scare poor Anubys, right? "Kidding, kidding. Toss it, we need fuel anyway." But here comes Bleat in all his terrified glory, all warbling voice and wisdom and- Christ, is he rocking back and forth? Wow. Ryland almost feels bad for his new boss—honestly, Venom is probably right to take bets on his failure. Sergei gives him confidence, but Ryland... Well. "I say he'll last a month. I bet someone's gonna make him steal smokes at some point." A pointed glance at a few of those gathered: Sergei, Venom, and lastly Victoria, who had just pulled out her own pack. Jeez, she's loaded. And Anubys is coming through with the marshmallows, too! Damn, BloodClan sure is incredibly stacked, isn't it? "'Ey, give me a couple'a those marshmallows, would you? I need some sustenance."

    ry only by greahound

    I'M GONNA HAVE THE STRANGEST NIGHT ON SUNDAY!

    RYLAND » LEADER OF BLOODCLAN » BIOGRAPHY » PLOTTING » PENNED BY GREAHOUND

    The post was edited 3 times, last by RYLAND. ().

  • Oh! Great job, Bleat!” He said, smiling to the younger man. After Ryland had asked for the marshmallows, Anubys nodded and handed the bag to him. He then carefully opened up the package of skewers, making sure not to poke himself. He pulled one out and handed it to Ryland, the dull end facing the other as to not poke the, uh, 'leader'.

    SPEECH

    ATTACK

    ☾・゚. I THOUGHT I WAS AN ATHEIST

    ↪ UNTIL I REALIZED I'M A GOD ✦


    ( Tags┊ 32 moons ┊ Bloodclan ┊ by `~Maquaroonie~` )

  • The 'adult talk' wasn't quite entertaining enough to keep young Gaia around. Money and jobs and big words that she didn't understand weren't exactly something she deemed as fun. So, the child had been running around with the other kids of the group, playing and laughing and skipping along. Her red hair was pulled back into a sloppy ponytail, already beginning to fall out of the loose yellow scrunchie that attempted to hold it in place. She'd stop abruptly in her chasing as Anubys pulled out marshmallows, her eyes growing wide with yearning. She sprinted towards the bonfire, suddenly realizing how chilly the night had gotten. Pulling her flannel scarf tighter around her face, Gaia came to a bouncing halt right beside Ryland's chair, for he now held the package of goodies. "Can I have some?" She begged the man, gripping his sleeve and hopping up and down with each "please, please, please" that she added on.

    ARE YOU OUT THERE? DO YOU KNOW ME? —

    BloodClan + 7 Moons + She-Cat + Bio + Penned by Blitz Krieg

  • Hazel eyes followed the ensuing back and forth intently. Bleat as unfortunately unable to respond to Victoria's query since his knowledge of the world was so limited. Besides, even if he knew enough to construct a retort, the coward would be too scared to speak his mind. However, the conversation (regrettably, in his eyes) turned back towards him. Why did I speak up? This was a bad idea.”


    To absolutely no one’s surprise, Venom’s remark had Bleat cowering even further inside his grey hoodie. (Did he think it was a bomb shelter?) his friend’s attempt to show her lack of malice also didn’t go over well. If Bleat was bad with jokes, he was even worse with reading social cues (especially half-complete ones). What did a wink mean? Without a smile, it was hard to tell. Bleat, being Bleat, immediately jumped to the worst case scenario. Does she...want to do lewd things with me?” That was it, his brain short-circuited. Anyone watching him would see the coward with a thousand-yard stare, shaking his head over and over again.


    Bleat was brought out of his coma-like state by the feeling of his precious cheque being taken from him. At first, there was nothing but panic. However once he’d processed the praise, the spineless whelp calmed down. “A tough guy? You really mean it?” He asked, taking his cheque back with trembling hands. “I’ll try and shower every day!” That was essentially impossible, but the coward was nothing if not tenacious.


    Sergei’s gesture of friendship was thankfully far easier to interpret then Venom’s had been, and though he didn’t really appreciate the continuation of her proposed game (or the soft punch on the arm, which he was currently holding in pain), Bleat had a smile on his face. That smile was promptly brought crashing down by Ryland’s painful realism. “I won’t steal anything, I swear! Though, if it’s really that much trouble, I can give you all some of my money so you can get cigs.” Jesus, he really was the ultimate doormat, wasn’t he? His friends didn’t even need to try and push him over, he was doing it for them! The spineless whelp still had a lot to learn.


    “Thanks, Anubys.” Bleat turned towards Ryland and Gaia, leaning over to ruffle the young girl’s hair, a small smile on his face. “Could I have one too, Ryland? Please?” Christ, now the leader had to deal with two begging children.