Beware the Witch » Places

          Sometimes he feels like his deck’s been coming up awfully short.

It’s a more recent feeling, wedged between all the good shit. Like he bet on a three of kings and lost to a straight flush.

And it’s not so much the fact that he might lose his life to someone who literally looks like the human (human-ish?) embodiment of a pillow pet. All soft curls and warm eyes turned ghoul. Claws for nails. More teeth than a person should really have. Always kinda reminded him of the stories he heard as a kid; dont look outside the windows at night, if you think it’s the neighbor’s kids callin your name it’s not, and don’t leave your car seat empty ‘cause that’s an invitation to all things evil.

Something dangerous hangs in the air like ash when the kid gets going, but he can’t place too much weight on self-preservation, on whether or not his roommates will still be around if Cass decides to go postal. He just see’s those black tar eyes and thinks, im takin everyone to hell if he eats my cat.

His jaw sets. It hasn’t come to that. Doubts he’d really be able to take everyone if it did, even if they’re all kinda built like lithe spaghetti, physically.

Still…

An apology creeks out between that razor wire grin, something distinctly human that signals an end to the spectacle. That is, until Atlas goes in. Supposes he can’t blame him, what with the once white walls looking like a makeshift slaughterhouse, prime cuts and spilled brains all inclusive.

"Next time we should get a before and after!" The comment elicits a snort as he watches the enigma that is Louis shrug out of Atlas’ arm and slink away. Probably off to mess around with his photos. Ryder’s briefly entertained by the idea even if it's a joke; they could stick ‘em on the refrigerator with some abc magnets and invite little Cass’ family over, then sit back and wait.

Not really.

But maybe.

Ryder looks back at the ruined floor, gears turning in his head as the kid goes in on some raw meat, already under and over both his suicide and Atlas’ berating. Eyes the remnants of his demise laying on the floor. He could easily see it inked on his skin; the hole in cassidy’s skull, blood leaving trails down otherwise flawless skin like red omens.

It’s an image he doesn’t doubt he’ll see again. Maybe a knife instead of a gun. A noose instead of a knife. The tide could turn a million ways and each one gets him a little excited; there’s just too much empty space to fill up where his skin was concerned.

The first thing Ryder notices once they make it back to the living room is the mug he left on the table. He flings himself back onto the couch before reaching for it, the makings of a scowl tugging at his lips. “Cass, you fucker, if this coffee is cold,” he calls, but a sip tells him it’s tolerable and there’s no longer a reason to send some of Louis’ photo’s to Cass’ family in an envelope. "Nevermind, buddy, nevermind."

It’s relatively quiet when guns aren’t going off. Maybe a by product of the company he keeps; readers, most of them. The remnants of a spider catch his eye while he’s looking around and he feels a little bad for it. Little thing couldn’t help being a fuckin spider, but maybe that’s just the universe having a good laugh at the expense of someone else.

Either way, it reminds him that there are things he could be doing besides laying on the couch. Louis dipping out with his bag only adds emphasis to the point as Ryder watches him leave. “Have a good day, kitten,” he calls after him, bending an arm behind his head and searching for cracks in the ceiling.