of frying pans and dragons [leon + kiev]

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of frying pans and dragons [leon + kiev]

Post by Leon on Tue Aug 07, 2012 10:10 pm

Sometimes it was hard to believe that the South District was part of the same metropolis as the North District. The neighborhoods were just so different...

Leon scratched his head. He honestly had no idea what he was doing here. It was one of those days--days when he had absolutely no reason to be anywhere but snuggled under covers with the A/C on full-blast, inhaling a whole dozen pack of soda and watching reruns on television. And yet.

He adjusted his skateboard under his arm, sighing as he ambled down the dirt-crusted sidewalk. His shoe sent a small pebble skittering down the street, before it collided with the mucky foundation of a brick... building...

Leon looked up.

The building was run down to the point of being almost absurd. The majority of its yellowed windows were cracked and broken through, and rubble piled around the walls like rust-colored leaves in fall. JJHQ, read the huge, dusty, colorful letters across the storefront, framed in broken LEDs. Beside it was an enormous drawing of a liter-sized soda bottle, painted in faded colors.


"JJHQ," Leon repeated out loud. "...Japajuice HQ...?"

Wasn't that a hella old soda brand that had gone bankrupt a few years ago?

There was a rusty door at edge of the storefront. Leon considered for a moment, before tentatively turning the doorknob. With a soft creak, it clicked open.

Leon blinked, then poked his head through the door.


"...Hello?"

Leon
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Re: of frying pans and dragons [leon + kiev]

Post by Kiev on Mon Aug 13, 2012 12:37 am

He didn't come home often, considering the fact that he didn't actually have a home in the first place. Not a real home, not the kind of place where you could kick back and take off your shoes in front of an open fire kind of home, but what he did have was a pseudo-makeshift-temporary-excuse for a shelter tucked away deep in the confines of the southern district. Every so often he'd make the trip to some of the wealthier places nearby, but the southern district was about as homey as it could get despite the regular gang violence and, well, otherwise shoddy way of living.

Still, Kiev had to admit there was a certain charm of living like this. He could've been deluding himself into thinking this wasn't so bad, but, really. It wasn't that bad. He had a lot of freedom and he used it to its full potential, usually for slightly illegal things like breaking into bakeries and the like.

But hey, he's gotta eat, right?

All this, however, did not make his living situation any better.

Kiev was making his way down an alleyway (that he considered his due to his own untalented tagging) with an empty brown paper bag in one hand and a croissant in the other, raised up to his mouth in pre-bite position. That was, until he noticed that someone, someone was peeking into his little hideout.

Japajuice Headquarters, now metaphorically deceased. It was Kiev's favorite brand of soda and, well, when the factory shut down years ago it seemed natural to make the place his home. 'Cause, seriously, there was a literal hoard of unsold produce in the back. And apparently this visitor meant to rob him of some of his precious cargo.

He walked silently behind the other until he was less than a foot away, then, with bandanna pulled up snug over his mouth, he tapped the guy on the shoulder.

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