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This book reeks of Goodwill - because that is where he bought it. Perusing the aisles in a bid to find creepy old shit. A common enough pastime to stave off the looming boredom when the others are busy or he's looking to avoid them altogether. It had somehow led him to this awfully pretentious written rendition of every hallmark murder mystery there ever was. All because the cover exhibited the blood-stained visage of a distressed young woman.
He aggressively dog-ears one corner, knowing fully well he will never return to it. Sets it aside with a weary sigh, and sinks deeper into the chair. The quiet of the room stuttering with each breath from him, and from Ryder. The two of them in their own little worlds....
There is a spider inching its way from wall to ceiling. Spindly legs scrambling for purchase on the glossy surface, its fat body too much to hold up against the gravity that constantly brings it back down. Each inch gained is another two lost. Louis reaches forward to it, lets it slide from the wall into his hand. Where it is restrained, patiently awaiting death or salvation. Louis does not have time to play judge, jury, and executioner. In the next second the sound of gunfire cracks through the air.
He sighs, "and so it begins again."
“I hope you two are good with digging a giant fucking hole tonight because I’m going to bury this little shit!” Atlas is there and gone in such a short few seconds that Louis almost thinks he must have imagined him. Were that the case he could have simply returned to the pleasures of torturing the arachnid in hand. But he knows that Atlas would never stay his hand knowing his precious walls have been splattered with brain matter.
The itch to stand and follow is too much, he drops the spider with graceless mercy to the floor, where it will no doubt scurry beneath the furniture never to be seen again. Follows Atlas at a slower pace, casual as can be. Slow enough that Atlas has time to process and peer back out, screams again like he's got authority over them anyways. Maybe he does. Louis doesn't really care either way.
“Hey! Where did this fucker get a gun, anyway!?”
He pauses, not from nerves - he knows fully well wait he'll see - but rather for the purpose of savoring the moment because he knew that there had been a gun involved but the confirmation alone sends a thrill up his spine. Of all the messy (fantastically horrible) ways to go. Willing himself to calm, under the incredible fever of excitement swelling beneath his bones. He lets out a breath, moves forward, and see's Atlas, and his insurmountable anger.
"Probably somewhere shady," Louis answers and then peers past him. Just barely, only enough to be sure.
Something could be said of his morality when his first thought upon seeing the bloody corpse of a friend is -
'beautiful'.
Even more so, when his second is 'Where the hell did I put my camera.'
Or thirdly, 'Atlas is going to have a coronary'
Even more so, when his second is 'Where the hell did I put my camera.'
Or thirdly, 'Atlas is going to have a coronary'
All factual thoughts right from the brain of Louis Price. Who greedily drinks in the sight of blood as it slowly seeps across the floor, long lines of it dripping like paint from where the spatter has fallen prey to gravity on the walls, much alike the spider from earlier. He looks at Atlas, grins at him, but it's wrong - too many teeth. More like the start of a snarl without sound. If the other were a cartoon there would be steam rising from ears. Backs out of the room, doesn't care that much, he tells himself but he does, he really, really does.
This is a prime opportunity, of course, he isn't sure how long he has but he knows it isn't very. He backtracks down the steps, feet plodding along the floor without a care as to how much noise he's making. There's nobody here who cares to quiet him, one of the many good things about living with the only people who matter in his life, the only ones he cares enough to semi-listen to. Oh sure, for the first few years of his life his parents may have dictated his being out of sheer infantile dependence. However, his tolerance for their ways had waned eventually, and College had taken him far from their pleading grip.
And landed him right into the void that fed his every imaginative whim.
Power.
It felt good, even as he slowly moves, he is aware of its fluctuations beneath his skin.
Power.
It felt good, even as he slowly moves, he is aware of its fluctuations beneath his skin.
His room is one of many in the house on Tremont St. But uniquely Louis in a way that is saturated with something like death but not quite there yet. A morbid curiosity here and there, strewn haphazardly but sterile in a way that feels oddly natural given the setting. A circus sideshow packed tightly into a square bedroom. The soft reds of random stained clothing, and the blacks of shadows where the sunlight does not quite meet the browns of the floorboards or the off-white that is the walls. It feels like home, more so than the one he grew up in ever did.
Huffing at the mess, he sidesteps over cracked jewel cases of CD's that have no name and rumpled clothes that should be in the hamper - if Atlas came in here he'd probably die of pure shock - there will be time to clean later if he decides to bother with it at all. Searching for his camera amidst the mess, hurried, but careless. Either he'll have the time or he won't. The world does not turn for him - yet. And still, his thoughts just barely scratch the surface of where they need to be. He is a fractured mess, here and there, and everywhere because things will go back to boring soon. soon. soon. And he will go back to wasting away while he dreams up the next few photo shoots he wants to do.
But first.
He finds the Camera in the middle of his bed, he doesn't know why it was there or what his purpose was when bringing it to the bed in the first place. Memories fail him, but they are inconsequential. Much alike many things in life. He grabs it, turns, and heads with a newfound purpose back to the doorway to Cass's room. Back to viewing Atlas, who is still there fuming, and Cass, who is - well, still dead for now.
And like the huge asshole he is, and because he finds so few things in life amusing enough to catch his attention, Louis snaps a picture.