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Punk

"Where's the booze?"

0 · 542 views · located in Androit

a character in “Turning Tricks”, as played by twi-twi

Description

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Hair has brown roots, but is bleached blond. He has two lip piercings, a nose piercing, and his fight eyebrow is pierced.

Punk is nineteen years old.

Punk has ice blue eyes and often wears a small amount of eyeliner on his lower lid.

Tattoos:

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Right arm:

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Over his heart:

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Left arm:

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So begins...

Punk's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Punk

0.00 INK

#, as written by twi-twi
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The sun had just set on yet another day in the city of Androit, but that didn't mean that things were settling down. The busy streets of the city may even be even busier now than they were during the day. Neon lights flashed everywhere, advertising strip clubs, bars, casinos, you name it and it was probably there. Cars honked their horns and moved along the busy streets, everyone seemed to have a place to go in this city. Drunks and prostitutes lined the streets, fights often breaking out and much provocative language was being spewed everywhere, along with various bodily fluids. The streets were dirty but well lit, making the whole thing seem shiny and wonderful while underneath, there was a thick layer of grime.

Sitting against a building, in plain sight of everyone, there was a boy with a bleached blond Mohawk, multiple piercings and tattoos, and a small bit of eyeliner on. He had in his hand a syringe full of a liquid that no one other than him knew what it was, and he slowly poked it into a vein that he had ready. He pushed the pump down slowly, and felt the drug coarse through his veins. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back as he already began to feel the euphoric high that came with the injection. Punk was ready for another shift.

Slowly, Punk lifted himself to his feet and made sure that he wouldn't fall over or anything. He took a swig from the bottle in his right hand, a bottle that had once been at his side, and then let it drop to the ground when it was empty. By now, Punk could handle this small bit of beer. It was just enough to get him a little tipsy so that he didn't mind what he had to do so much. That with the drugs he just shot up, he would be stable for at least one shift tonight. Punk began to search the streets, looking for any idling cars or slowing men on the sidewalk looking at him. He couldn't see either, but he sure as hell would keep his eyes peeled. The Saints expected to be payed, plus he had rent in his rat hole of an apartment to pay for. Maybe someday he could get his life back, but that day was not today. Not while he still owed the Saints so much. Trying to leave now would only get his ass killed.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Punk Character Portrait: Trick

0.00 INK

#, as written by Sinkai
Trick fidgeted with her fishnets absentmindedly, her legs hanging over the edge of the metal fire escape facing the street. As far as she knew, no one lived in this apartment. At least, she sure as hell never saw anyone. It was on the second floor, but not too tall; perfect place to set up camp and seduce from afar. Well, that's the angle that Trick was playing on this particular night. Right, I have to actually get up. Ugh, another night in this godawful place. The not-so-new-to-the-business prostitute clambered to her feet. She lifted one of her legs over the railing, hooking her foot around the bar with expertise. Her other leg remained on the grated bottom-keeping her balance.

"Hey boys..." She cooed to the onlookers below, leaning back to lay across the guard railing. Trick's head was over the edge; she studied the potential customers from an upside-down view. At least this makes some of them look the least bit appealing... A bottle crash nearby caught her off guard-a brief flash of her history took her focus. In that split second of distraction she lost her balance-her torso sliding dangerously off the railing. The leg resting on the grates kicked up in reflex-her heel catching one of the spaces in between the bars. This momentary pause in her fall was enough time for her to grab the railing with her arms; she had been in this business long enough that her muscle could at least support her own weight. The men observing her gawked-they were sure that she was going to fall. Once Trick had caught herself and given her never-failing wink and lip bite, they were hooked.

Too bad for them. Just when she was about to beckon one (or all) of the men, she noticed Punk walking along the pavement. His movements staggered a bit and her heart dropped. Not tonight, you idiot! Flipping back up to normal standing position and taking a moment to let the blood circulate again, Punk headed down the black metal stairs. The men whistled at her, making kissing noises and movements that looked like they were-Ugh, this business.

"Not right now boys, I have something to deal with. Are you going to miss me?" Trick blew a kiss over her shoulder at the group, swaying her hips with years of practice. "Baby, where you goin'? We were having such a nice time..." One of the bolder guys-standing about 6 foot 2 with a pot belly and a trucker hat-started towards her. He soon caught up to her and grabbed her hip, his other hand lifting her left leg so he could place his disgusting, stained crotch against her. The man pulled her back-his nails digging into her thigh as he pressed up against her. The man's friends laughed in the background just as Trick's fists clenched.

"You fucking sleazy bastard!" Trick's elbow made contact with the man's nose with a satisfying crunch. He released her leg and hip to cover his face-Bad move, jerkoff. Lunging forward, Trick's right heel made contact with the man's crotch, hard. His weight was a strong barrier however, and she was sent forward due to the force. The young punk skidded on the ground a bit, her lip hitting the ground and cutting open. Other than that and a couple brush burns however, she was alright. Trick quickly made it to her feet and started towards Punk again, flicking off the group who were now hustling around their fallen friend.

"We're going to get you, you bitch!" One person called. In response Trick turned, licked her finger, and placed it on her ass. She released a sizzling noise before continuing forward. Soon her eyes locked on her original target, and she was focused again. Now to deal with this reckless son-of-a-bitch.

"Hey, you, asshole with the Mohawk." After a slight hesitation on his part, she caught up to him. "Are you trying to get all of our asses fried? Angel is coming tonight. If you're doped up on anything he'll serve us all on a platter. I ain't getting my ass beat because you're stupid enough to do whatever the hell it is you did tonight." Grabbing his wrist, she pulled him down an alley to a shady looking door. She pushed him inside, not turning on the light until after the door was closed and locked. The inside of the building was surprisingly nicely adorned. A red couch with accented throw pillows were in the center of the room, just beside a black recliner chair. In one far corner a tiny kitchen sat, and the other contained a door presumably for a bathroom. To the left there was a loft-ish area where the area closest to the ceiling was dug out in a long 6ft high rectangle. In the small compartment a thin mattress had been laid down, surrounded by blue Christmas lights. A couple blankets and sheets were thrown over the mattress, and three pillows saw atop of them.

Trick walked in her home and slipped out of her heels, plopping down on the couch and looking up at him expectantly.

"Well?!" One of her eyebrows raised challengingly as she crossed her legs. "Sit your ass down until ya' sober up. Why don't you explain your obvious death wish while you're at it. Also, give me a good reason why I shouldn't beat your ass myself."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Punk Character Portrait: Trick

0.00 INK

#, as written by twi-twi
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Punk was too stoned to do much fighting against the girl who was cursing his name and mentioned something about Angel. He's coming tonight? Damn, forgot about that. Oh well I suppose. He thought to himself. When the girl continued to give him attitude, he scowled up at down. "Listen, you don't know me. You don't know my life. So why don't you just shut the fuck up and leave me alone. This is the only way that I can do this God damn job! So why don't you just but out of my business and leave me the hell alone?!" Punk was yelling at this point, getting himself worked up.

"Yeah, real fucking smart of you to just give up a group of clients for some fuck up that was about to find a corner to work! You know what you've done? You've wasted Angel's time, and wasting Angel's time is wasting his money. Did you ever stop and think of that? Or are you just trying g to get us both killed? I don't know about you, but I am in enough debt to these assholes already without you fucking it up! So, if you'll excuse me, I'll be going." With that, Punk opened the door to the apartment that Trick had pulled them into, and slammed the door shut.

The bleach blond rebel was looking around for the usual, sick old fucks, confused married men, women who had money and wanted sex. He was gonna get at least one job tonight, he was determined. Punk headed for the gay bar across the street and hung out outside the door. He got a few eyes, but they all passed or had someone on their arm already. Finally, an older guy walked up to him. He obviously had a bit of money. "Hey there, handsome. You window shopping, or coming in?" Punk asked with a bit of a flirty smile. The older man smiled, his eyes crinkling slightly at the sides. "Well, I was window shopping until I saw you. You available for a few moments?" Punk felt like puking right then and there. God, he hated this job. But he easily hid his disgust. "Well, don't keep me waiting handsome." Punk replied, and was led off by the man back into the gay bar, which also happened to be a strip club.

After about five minutes, Punk was out of the place, disheveled and rather disgusted. But, he had a nice wad of money in his pocket and a gold ring he managed to slip off the old man's hand while... Punk shuddered. He didn't even want to think about it anymore. His his was coming down, his dealer must have gave him a bad batch. He would have to go get his other syringe later and come back up. Or take some oof the oxycotin he got later so he could sleep.

Punk roamed the street again, looking for more work. Well, he was, until some pricks from the Scorpions showed up. Three of them, to be exact. "Lookee here, boys, this poor confused boy seems to think that he can work our turf." One of the guys said and they all chuckled. "I don't know what the fuck you're talking about. This is Saints turf, all the way up to fifth up there. Then it's no-man's land." Punk scowled to the men. "It looks like you're the one that's lost and confused, ya prick." With that, the three boys looked at each other. "Well, there's only one of you, and three of us, so it looks like it's our turf and we can do as we damn well please. Boys, I think we need to show him the rules of the Scorpions."

Two of the three started coming toward Punk. Immediately, Punk punched the one on his right in the nose, causing that one to recoil, but Punk was out numbered three-to-one. There was no way he was going to win. He turned to run, but one of the Scorpions tackled him to the ground, knocking the wind out of him. They then proceeded to turn him over onto his back, and while two held him down, the other sat on his chest and pulled a knife out. "We'll show you that you can have Scorpion pride too." He said with a sadistic smile, ripping Punk's shirt off and pressing the knife to his skin, beginning to cut into it. Punk refused to make a sound or show any weakness. He just prayed someone would find him.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Punk Character Portrait: Trick

0.00 INK

#, as written by Sinkai
The emotionally distraught boy left her apartment with a slam of her door. Prick. Who does he think he is?! I was trying to help him. I've been around here long enough that Angel won't give me too much shit. Maybe he'd bump my debt up a bit, bastard does that anyway. The fact was; Punk's punishment would be far more severe than this experienced prostitute. Trick could only imagine the things that Angel could do.... Would do. Goddamnit, why did I have to think about that..?! The woman groaned at herself as she slipped into her combat boots-they were much more comfortable than her heels, and she would need a more efficient speed to catch up with Punk. The boy was hopped up on something, and Punk needed to be sure she was able to protect herself. He was well built-a goddamn fine body-and though Trick definitely knew how to protect herself, a knife might persuade him to back off, and she would avoid getting blood on her boots. She grabbed her knife by the door (a typical switchblade with a wonderful grip) and started after the emotional prostitute.

Bastard. Alright, his clientele should consist of mostly men... Yay. Gaybars. Trick headed down across to a strip club she knew of. Her apartment was strategically placed by it; the homosexual population provided little trouble towards her, and in that way her apartment was safe from wanderers. Looking around a bit, there was no sign of the punk anywhere. Turning back, Trick decided to give up on him. "If he wants to get himself killed tonight, it's not my problem anymore." She muttered to herself. Just as she was reaching her apartment door she took a quick habitual look left and right. That's when she spotted a Mohawked man with a bulging pocket. After shifting her gaze from Punk to her door a few times, Trick begrudgingly turned and trailed him again. Almost caught up with him, Trick waited as Punk turned a corner. She needed to give him a couple seconds lead again to remain unnoticed. When she finally sidled around the building edge what she saw was horrific. Three Scorpions were harassing Punk, and he was giving them attitude. If there was anything Trick hated more than Saints, it was the Scorpions. This wasn't going to end well... for them.

Two men were crouching on the ground on either side of Punk. One was sitting on top of him, playing with a-carving with a knife?! Trick had much experience with sneaking around; this process usually occurred the next morning after a work night when she was looking for the sleeping client's wallet. When she was within a few feet of them Trick could finally see the dark liquid trailing over Punk's skin. He bore his pain silently, which sent Trick into even more of a rage. Her leg lifted and cranked back slowly before-contact. -Specifically, with the back of the man on the left's head.

"What the FUCK?!" The Scorpion prowling over Punk screamed. Trick flicked her knife out and pressed the tip to the back of his neck. "Anyone moves, he's dead. Throw your knife over there." The two accomplices held their positions. One did so because of the threat, the other wouldn't be getting up for a very long time. After a few moments of excruciating silence, the leader finally threw his knife far to his right.

"Alright asshole, here's how it goes. You break it, you buy it. I should have seen the signs of you struggling with your sexuality earlier. The insecurities-does walking with two duds even duller than you make feel you special or something? How cute. If you wanted free cock up your ass, you could have just asked one of your buddies. Isn't that some sort of Scorpion initiation ritual or something?" With that, she spat on the man's head to mark her target and kicked him (in that spot) off of Punk, into the other person he came with.

"Hi, I'm Angel's girl. Unless you want him to tell your boss that you three were taken down by a chick in fishnets, I suggest you scatter." Her tone was unflinching. Trick had to lie everyday, it's an art she has perfected. The two staggered to their feet, suddenly worried about their fallen comrade. Maybe it was her stance, or simply her pierced and inked appearance, but after they finally saw who they were dealing with the pair grabbed their friend and dragged him off.

"We'll be back, you bitch!" The leader called, but Trick could barely hear him. All of her focus was on the boy at her feet.

"Shit, kid, are you okay? Let's get you back to my place, you'll be safe there. We have to move quickly." Trick tore a huge chunk of fabric off of her shirt and placed it over his wound. She hadn't seen how much was cut, there was too much blood for that. Applying pressure, she attempted to get Punk to his feet. Come on kid...

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Punk Character Portrait: Trick

0.00 INK

#, as written by twi-twi
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Punk had watched the whole scene go down, he heard everything that Trick had said and he was shocked she would even bother with him now. He had pretty much spit in her face earlier, he didn't see any reason for her to be nice to him. Well, maybe not nice, he wouldn't expect her to protect him like this. It was unexpected oon these streets, anyone protecting anyone. But now he owed this chick too, and since she saved his life, it would end up being her choice of payment. Great. Just great. He thought to himself.

Well, he could hardly think to himself. The pain in his chest was pretty close to unbearable, but he stayed silent. But his sheet white face exposed the true pain coming from his bleeding chest. The cuts weren't too deep, but they had come dangerously close to cutting muscle. Punk struggled to get to his feet with Trick's help, his face turning even whiter than it had before as he did so. "You- you didn't need to do that." He spot through his teeth, which he was grinding together through the pain. A thin sheet of sweat covered his body and he clutched the fabric that Trick had pressed to his chest tighter against the wound. Punk panted slightly as he leaned heavily against the girl and they walked in some direction, he didn't know where. Punk stumbled to the ground, falling onto his hands and knees.

"You should have," Punk's words were cut off by a small grunt from him as he attempted to stand again. "Just left me there. Better off dead anyways." He finally found his footing once again, not sure exactly where to go from here. He wasn't even sure where he was anymore. All he knew was that the word queer was now forever carved into his skin, a title he had been fighting ever since he had to join this career. He didn't like any of what he did. None of it was pleasurable. But since he hadto have male clientel, everyone tagged him as being gay, and this diminished his chances of ever finding a girl. God, I could use a needle right now.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Punk Character Portrait: Trick

0.00 INK

#, as written by Sinkai
Trick had finally gotten him to his feet, and she breathed a sigh of relief. The happiness was cut short however, when she heard a strained voice whimper, "You- you didn't need to do that." Trick was astonished he had said that. Of course she needed to help him. Whether he had been an asshole to her or not, they were in debt to the Saints, and the trio were all Scorpions. She'd defend another hopelessly in debt person like herself any day. He had to experience the same blows to self-worth that she did. There was no way she could have let him lay there. Suddenly, Punk fell back down on the ground, luckily catching himself on his hands and knees. Goddamnit... She swore silently; she needed to be more careful. Eventually he made it back to his feet, mumbling something about how she should leave him. What really hit Trick were his last words, "... Better off dead anyways." It was the same concept that Trick had struggled with throughout her entire career as a prostitute. She wouldn't let him follow her path down that road. Trick had barely crawled out of it herself. She had finally been able to convince herself that her life was worth fighting for. That one chance that she could make it out of there was worth waking up each day for.

Trick decided it was best just to ignore his comment. She darted under his arm-the layer of sweat over him not phasing her for a moment. Her right arm held his right arm; making sure it remained strung over her shoulder. Punk's left side was grasped by her right hand-snaked around his back and holding him firmly against her. "Come on, we're going back to my place. It's not far at all." The two staggered around the corner, down the strip next to the gay strip club, and they began heading down her alley. There were a few close calls, but Punk never fell down again. Just as she was unlocking her door, some man burst out of the gay bar, looking left and right rapidly. You could tell his was rich after a single glance. The man was fidgeting with one of his fingers. Must have lost his ring. Sucker. Removing the man from her mind, she nudged her door open with her foot and led Punk inside again.

"Shit, just sit right there for a second." Trick placed him on her recliner chair, darting over to her bed and removing the blankets. She placed them over her couch and positioned the throw pillows so he could lay comfortably. Next, she closed the door to her apartment and started towards him again. Punk's eyes were circling lazily around the room, and he was breaking out in sweat. Without another thought Trick helped him to his feet again (practically carrying him herself) and laid him down on her couch.

"Keep applying pressure.." She cooed, grabbing a washcloth and running it under cold water in her kitchen sink. She squeezed out the excess water and made her way back to the couch, sitting beside him and placing the rag over his forehead. "Shh..." Trick whispered, stroking his face comfortingly. Her hand laid over his, she could apply more pressure than his body could in his current state. Punk's bleach blond hair was spread over her throw pillows and his breathing was sharp and ragged. At that moment, while looking down on him, is when one thought that would never leave her head was branded into her mind. I can't let anything happen to him... I won't.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Punk Character Portrait: Trick

0.00 INK

#, as written by twi-twi
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The boy with the Mohawk had stumbled along with his fellow prostitute, allowing her to guide him to her house. Or apartment. Whatever it was, he couldn't care less. He just wanted to stop the bleeding from his chest. This much blood lost was definantly not healthy. Well, no blood loss is healthy, but you get the point. When they had gotten to the apartment, Punk saw the mman he had stolen the ring of. "Shit." He hissed under his breath, hoping that Trick would get them inside before he spotted them. Thankfully, she had, as far as Punk had seen at least. If he saw, then Punk would find out eventually. Nothing really stopping it. Not like he had very good luck in the first place.

When told to stay put once they were inside, he gave a small smirk. "Nah, think I'll go run a marathon." He gave a light chuckle. He could still be his smart ass self after all of this shit. It was good to know he hadn't completely lost himself. Yet. He thought to himself. It was inevitable. At some point, everything that had once been Punk would be gone at some point on the future. He didn't know when, he didn't know how, he just accepted the fact.

Punk was holding the rag to his chest as tightly as he could, which wasn't very tightly. Fortunately for him, Trick came back shortly after that with a washcloth. It felt heavenly against his forehead, and his hissed when she applied more pressure to his wound. He winced often, but her hand on his face was comforting. Punk looked up at Trick. "Why- why are you doing this?" He asked her in a strained voice. "You don't know me. And I've given you no reason to like me thus far." Punk relaxed a bit more on the couch, yawning but knowing he wouldn't be able to sleep. When was his last injection? Was the withdrawal coming already? It would make sense, the sweating and yawning and the insomnia he could already feel. Fuck. He thought to himself.

"Do you know where I can get any heroin?" He asked her, hoping with all his heart she would say yes. He needed it. He needed it so the pain wouldn't start. The other pains from withdrawal, that is. He didn't want to feel it. God, he really didn't. His other hand gripped her arm. "Please, I have to have it. You don't understand, I have to!" He had started sitting up in his excitement and winced, laying right back down, tears coming out of his eyes, but not as crying. Simply as another side effect of the withdrawal, the excessive tearing.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Punk Character Portrait: Trick

0.00 INK

#, as written by Sinkai
Something was wrong. Punk was sweating more than he should be. He was shaking slightly, and his eyes were still hazy. Trick had been in this business for a looong time. She knew a junkie when she saw one. "Why- why are you doing this? You don't know me. And I've given you no reason to like me thus far." Trick simply shook her head and smiled, continuing to dab the washcloth over his forehead. Sure, he had been a complete asshole to her when she tried to help him in the first place, but he was much worse off now than he had been originally. Someone had carved into his skin. Carved for a good amount of time, and Punk took it silently. She had a ridiculous amount of respect for him because of that. The next question he asked was the one she had been dreading. Trick kept trying to convince herself that he wasn't going through withdrawal, maybe it was just a quick infection. But his words confirmed it. "Do you know where I can get any heroin?"

Trick's heart sank. Her hand clenched the washcloth for a moment, freezing in one area. If he acknowledged her dismay, she wouldn't have noticed. Her eyes were frozen, staring just past his face-lost in thought. Her state could be more accurately described as a mix of paralysis and panic. After a few seconds of blankness her mind finally caught up with the realization. This kid's in deep. Look at his withdrawal symptoms. How long could it have been since he last used? Couple hours, maybe. And he's already getting hit this hard? Fuck. This is bad. This is beyond bad. He can't get mixed up in that shit. He'll never be able to repay his debt-the Saints will always have that one something he wants... Trick finally blinked a few times, shaking her body from its still-frozen state. Her one hand put pressure on the wound again, the other finally dabbing the washcloth in other areas like it had done so before. Trick continued her medical care, completely ignoring his request.

"Alright, we have to clean that up now. This is going to hurt like a bitch, you and I both know that. But we have to make sure it doesn't get infected. With a wound that bad, just by your heart-you'd be a goner without a hospital. You and I both know that's out of the question, too." Trick slid back up on her feet, bringing the washcloth with her. She rinsed out the water and flushed the cloth with more water-once again stringing it out so it wouldn't drip all over her couch. Rummaging around her kitchen drawers, she finally found another washcloth. Trick made her way into the bathroom, opening a cabinet and finding the oh-so-recognizable brown bottle. Gathering all the materials in her hand, she made it back over to where Punk lay-a crashing junkie. Despite his protests and comments about his heroin, Trick poured some of the liquid into the other washcloth. Placing the cold rag on his forehead again, she slowly removed the material of her shirt from his wound. There was too much blood... Trick took the cold rag and gently swabbed it over his wound-attempting to clean up the blood so she could then clean the wound. With the alcohol-soaked rag sitting in her lap, Trick's other hand found Punk's, grasping it tightly.

"I'm sorry..." The girl forced a determined expression on her face, not letting her own grimace show for even a second. If she showed lack of focus, even for a moment, she knew that her emotions could distort Punk's perception of what was happening. So far, it was going well. Then again, she hadn't applied the alcohol yet...

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Punk Character Portrait: Trick

0.00 INK

#, as written by twi-twi
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She's ignoring me. The bitch is ignoring me.

Punk was becoming highly irritated now, and quite anxious. If she wasn't going to give it to him, who was? And she was about to treat his wound? That was going to hurt even worse without his heroin. If she wouldn't get it for him, he would get it on his own. Punk struggled to get up, only to have Trick holding him down. "Let me go! If you won't fucking get it, I will! Fucking bitch, you're trying to kill me!" Of course, this was the withdrawal talking. Irritability and anxiety manifested themselves in him. He didn't want to feel the pain. But it was too late, she already had the cloth and-

PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN

Without the heroin numbing his senses, his perception of pain was heightened and it was pretty bad. He whimpered a bit, finally showing the signs of his pain, gripping the fabric of the couch underneath him. "Son of a bitch." He hissed through his teeth, grinding them together as he shut his eyes tight. And this was only the water? It had to be, he knew the sting of alcohol. It was worse than this. But he could smell the alcohol, which meant she would be applying that soon enough. "Please don't...." He whimpered to her when she put the water cloth down and picked up the one sitting in her lap. But she didn't listen to him. She did it anyways.

When the alcohol touched the flesh of the wound, Punk yelled out in pain. The alcohol stung the wound worse than the water had, and his heightened sense of pain made it all that much worse. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he cried out in pain from the alcohol. He knew he was probably just being a wimp, but it hurt so very badly. He could hardly take it. He wanted that needle. He needed that needle. But he didn't have it. And that made everything worse.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Punk Character Portrait: Trick

0.00 INK

#, as written by Sinkai
Punk squirmed under her, and she had to push his shoulders down to keep him from running and getting the heroin himself. "Goddamnit, hold still! This is going to be 10x worse if you keep, fucking, squirming!" Trick flinched when he swore at her. He had called her a bitch, and that definitely took her back for a second. Then again.. Maybe I'm not meant to help him. Trick shook her head. This isn't him, Trick. Calm down. The edge of this withdrawal with curve in a few hours. Then he'll be alright... For a little while. Don't give up on him now, you're all he's got. Trick's fist clenched and she gritted her teeth as she heard him whimper, "Please don't..." Her chest felt tight. She was biting her lip so hard it began to bleed. She didn't want to hurt him. Despite everything he had said, that was still the last thing she wanted to do. "I'm sorry..." Her voice sounded just as pathetic as his did. Biting down even harder on her lip, she applied the alcohol.

Punk's reaction was instantaneous. His scream filled the small space of her apartment, and his body spasmed slightly. Trick's grip on his hand tightened. "Just squeeze my hand! I'm so sorry..." To emphasize her words, her hand squeezed his for a few moments. The washcloth continued to dab over his wound, cleaning the area without mercy. After a few moments of the torture Trick declared that the area was disinfected. She removed the rag and placed the bloodied thing on her lap. Her hand reached back over to his face, running her fingers along his cheek and jaw in an attempt to calm him down.

"It's okay, it's over..." Trick's hand caught a few stray tears, but it didn't bother her. She lightly blew cold air over the wound, hoping it would cool the burning area even in the slightest bit. "You're alright. You're here, you're safe. I promise I won't hurt you anymore. The pain is over." Trick continued cooing words of comfort into his ear, leaning down so her face was just above his. She looked into his eyes searchingly, she wanted him to be able to trust her, and she wanted him to know that her words were true. The hand that was still gripping his pulled his hand towards her, and she kissed his fist lightly.

You're safe. I promise. I won't let them touch you ever again.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Punk Character Portrait: Trick

0.00 INK

#, as written by twi-twi
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Now that his wound was cleaned, Punk fell silent and looked down at his chest, where the word Image could now easily be seen by all who looked. An anger rose in him and he looked away from Trick, pulling away from her. "I am not..." He muttered to himself and then attempted to get up. He winced as he did so, but somehow managed to do it. He was still pouring sweat, and now his nose was running too. He couldn't stand this withdrawal. Punk took the money he had earned out of hhis pocket and counted it. Only 100 bucks, damn. But he also had that ring in his pocket that he knew would cash in for a pretty penny. But how would he get out of here? Trick was watching him like a hawk. He was surprised that she had even let him get up. Then again, he hadn't really been paying attention to her. She might have said something to him, he had no idea.

He turned back to her now, giving her a small smile. "Thanks for patching me up, doc. I'm gonna head out though. Don't want to get you into any trouble. Doubt you've made anything tonight because of me. So, y'know, I'm gonna go and see if Bull can finish the job." Punk's face fell a bit. Bull was the Saint's doctor. He wasn't very friendly, nor very gentle. And going to him would put Punk into even deeper debt. But if he stayed here, there was no way he'd get his fix. Damned if I do, damned if I don't. Punk looked around for his shirt, remembering that it had been torn off. He had turned for the door then, but Trick was already there standing in front of it. She wasn't gonna let him go? Punk scowled a bit at her.

"Listen, bitch, I am going to get my fix. Don't make me hurt you." He wasn't thinking about the fact that he was the one injured and weakened by withdrawal. There was only one thing on his mind. His heroin. And he wasn't about to stop any time soon. As more time went by, he craved it more and more. He knew if he didn't get it he wasn't gonna sleep tonight, and he would be in pain tomorrow which woukd put him out of work. And if Angel decided that Punk was just being lazy, then he could easily... do away with him. And he knew he would without a second thought. So he had to get past her. He had to.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Punk Character Portrait: Trick

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#, as written by Sinkai
"Listen, bitch, I am going to get my fix. Don't make me hurt you." Trick clenched her fists. She had been fast enough to make it in front of the door before Punk did, luckily. But if he kept calling her a bitch, things weren't going to end well. When Punk first attempted to get up, she tried being calm. She told him to sit back down nicely, but he headed towards the door, sweat and all. Now she was sick of treating him nicely when he would always respond with hostility. Stupid fucking junkie!

"No, you listen, dickweed. I saved your ass twice already. I'm not going to let Angel do anything to you. If he gives tries to come after you, I'll take the blame. I'll tell him I held you against your will, which is what I'm actually planning to do." Angel would definitely not be pleased if that happened. Whatever he did, Trick was sure she could handle it. How wrong she was... But she didn't know that. If there was anyone more stubborn than Punk right now, it was Trick all the time. Once she had her mind set on something, she wouldn't let anything come in the way. Trick's eyes flashed to the drawers by her bed. If she could only get there... I have to buy myself a few seconds. He's definitely not going to like me after this. Sighing internally and closing her eyes, Trick nodded to herself. When her eyes flashed open, a new form of determination evident in her stare. Leaning back on her door, Trick lifted her right leg and shoved it forward-square in the center of Punk's chest. Much weaker, and definitely caught off guard, Punk fell backward. Trick didn't see how hard he fell-she was already across her apartment at the drawers. Opening the slim top drawer, her focus was caught by a shining metal. Smirking, Trick grabbed the cuffs and dashed back to Punk. Luckily, he hadn't completely made it to his feet yet.

"Sorry dude, you did this to yourself." One handcuff clicked around his wrist, the other tightening around the radiator. As soon as Trick was sure they had latched-she put a good amount of distance between herself and the all-drugged-out junkie. She made her way back to the drawer, ignoring any comments Trick made. Inside it were the kinkiest things you could imagine. Hey, she'd been in this business for years. She knew how to please a wide range of clientele. Once it was closed Trick turned back to Punk. He was pissed. Avoiding eye contact, the girl walked over to her kitchen. Since she definitely wouldn't be working tonight, she had time to make herself a better meal. Right now, however, she was just thirsty. Trick closed the fridge again and opened an upper cabinet. She grabbed herself a bottle of raspberry Smirnoff, pouring it into a small glass. Only then did she return to her recliner chair, turning it so it was facing Punk. She sipped at her drink lightly, eyebrow raised with pursed lips. She had been victorious, though it was no wonder when Punk was down like this.

Son of a bitch owes me.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Punk Character Portrait: Trick

0.00 INK

#, as written by twi-twi
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Punk cried out when her foot connected with the fresh wound, making it bleed all over again. And before he could get up, she had hand cuffed him to the radiator. She was right, he was pissed. But none of that was going to help now. His depression was creeping in, it's black tendrils stroking the very recesses of his mind. Punk watched as the blood came out of his chest, and he turned toward the radiator and faced it. Trick had disappeared to the kitchen, so he began to pick at the flesh with his finger. It hurt like hell, but maybe it would make him bleed out faster. He really fucking hoped so. He wanted death right now. Death would be amazing to him at this moment. He heard Trick's footsteps coming back into the room.

As he heard her sit down and face him, he kept his back to her and scooted closer to the radiator. Blood slicked down his chest as he continued to discreetly pick at it without moving his arm at all. He slowly pressed his head against the hot metal of the radiator, relishing the pain as he closed his eyes and felt himself pass out from the pain.

It was dark and Punk was walking home from work one night. He knew the streets weren't safe, but it was the only way to get home from the radio station he worked at. His roommate would wonder where he was if he arrived too late by taking the long way. But he should have, because out of no where, Scorpions came out and jumped him, beating him severely and taking his money. But before they could go, Angel and his posse came out and fought them. When it was over, Angel took him to Bull and got him patched up. When he came to, Angel was smiling over him. "Hey man. You owe us now. Bull went to a lot of trouble to fix you up, man. Now you're with the Saints."

As his dream that was a memory went on, Punk tossed and turned, grumbling and crying out. At points, he thrashed so hard that his wrist that was cuffed began to bleed along with his chest. His forehead had a red mark on it from the self inflicted burn on the radiator. But he couldn't wake up, and the nightmares kept coming.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Punk Character Portrait: Trick

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#, as written by Sinkai
Thoughts were flying around Trick's head. What the fuck am I supposed to do with him? Helping him is the right thing to do. Too bad he's a fucking asshole. Maybe then he wouldn't be cuffed to a bloody radiator. He's going through withdrawal. This isn't him. Well, so far, it's the only "him" I know. What if that's all there is? I should give him a chance. Though he's had enough chances. Just fucking-... It's quiet. Trick finally zoned back into the present world. Punk was turned with his back facing her, barely moving at all. It was ridiculously suspicious. Just as she moved forward, the man began thrashing around wildly, mumbling to himself and crying out about something. Goddamnit... What the hell did he do to his wound? And his head? Jesus fucking Christ.

Trick unlatched the handcuff from the radiator and cradled his head in her arms. He was still sweating, and he wouldn't wake up. "Kid, hey, wake up! It's just a dream!" Her hands wiped the sweat off of his forehead, blowing cold air to cool him down. "Hey, shhh... It's okay..." Punk remained in his nightmare, and Trick decided to take advantage of the moment. Placing him down gently, Trick made her way to her First-Aid kit. She found the bandage wrap and grabbed the entire roll, snatching the cloth roll as well. When she made her way back to Punk, Trick lightly pressed the cloth against the carving, wasting no time before covering it with the bandage wrap that she spun all over his chest. When his eyes flitted open, Trick continued stroking his face. "Hey, it's okay. You're here now. Take some of this-" She poured the Smirnoff into his mouth, tipping his head back so he'd drink it. After he swallowed the liquid, she placed the empty glass by her side. "It'll take the edge off of things. And this raspberry Smirnoff is good-be happy it's not gin." Trick smiled to herself. Punk was a lot easier to deal with when he was subdued.

"Are you hungry? Have you eaten anything recently?" Trick doubted it. Eating a hearty meal before work wasn't a great idea. It was a lot easier to not puke up at the horrors of their work when there was nothing to throw up in the first place. "I can make you something. How's some warm Easy-Mac sounding?" It was weird. No matter what Punk threw at her, Trick felt responsible for him, and she continued trying to help him. Most people she would just tell to fuck off, just before she left them to die in the street. It was a completely different role for her-caring for someone other than herself. Trick definitely wasn't going to be great at it, but she'd put up an effort. Plus, he was attractive. The last time she had an attractive person in her room was... Oh, right. With Angel. Trick attempted to erase the memories from her head.

Call me a bitch one more time though, Punk...

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Characters Present

Character Portrait: Punk Character Portrait: Trick

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#, as written by twi-twi
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Punk was finally awake. Finally back in the real world. Not that the real world felt very good. With each beat of his heart, his chest ached furiously. He felt something soothing though. Someone stroking his cheek? His eyes fluttered open to see Trick holding him. She eased alcohol down his throat, and it felt fucking amazing. He wanted more right away. The alcohol felt warm in his stomach, and it was better than what he had been feeling before. But he still hurt, and he groaned, rolling to his side and clutching his chest. There was a bandage there now, somehow. And his forehead felt like it was on fire.

"Do you have anything more potent than wine coolers?" He asked in a croak. He felt like he was coming down with a flu, but he knew better than that. And as soon as his thoughts went to the source of his flu-like symptoms, his craving came back and he groaned again. "I don't understand why I can't just have the needle. Just a little, just to tide me over. God, I'm so pathetic." He thumped the side of his head against the ground, causing an instant headache to flare up. Punk pulled himself back onto the couch, holding his head in his hands as he curled in a ball. At the mention of food, Punk's stomach made loud protests to being empty. He hadn't had money for food for a couple of days now. And the hunger pangs were there now. He groaned again. What else could go wrong right now?

His mind recoiled from that thought. A lot could go wrong at that point in time. And he knew things were going to get worse before they would get better. And he hated that. His anxiety spiked up again and he got up and began to pace back and forth across the room. What would he tell Angel when he asked for the money from tonight? He couldn't lie to Angel. It always got him caught. He could tell him he got jumped by Scorpions. That wasn't a lie at all. And no one in the Saints actually believed a word that the Scorpions said, so when they told the truth, Angel would never believe it. But that still shoved him further into debt. "Fuck." He muttered to himself, running a hand through his now drooping Mohawk. After all the sweat and tossing, it had lost the styling he had put in it. Oh well. He had bigger issues.

Like where he would get his next fix with this chick watching over him all the damn time. She obviously wasn't going to let him have any. That still irritated him, but he pretty much accepted it by now. He needed it. That was the only way he'd be able to do his job and dig himself from this hole of debt. Then there was this whole injury thing. How would he get any business with a giant carving in his chest? Even when it went away, he knew a scar would be there. And who ever wants damaged goods? No one. That's who. But even worse, what if it got infected? It was so close to his heart, he'd die so quickly. Punk sat on the ground, rocking. He was having a full blown anxiety attack.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Punk Character Portrait: Trick

0.00 INK

#, as written by Sinkai
"Do you have anything more potent than wine coolers?" Trick smirked down at him. He was lightening up, finally. Being quite the alcoholic herself, Punk definitely had a bountiful booze cabinet. "I don't understand why I can't just have the needle. Just a little, just to tide me over. God, I'm so pathetic." Trick's eyes flashed back down to the boy just as he dropped his head against the ground. She rolled her eyes.

"Because I'm not bringing any of that shit in my house. It's a fast track to more debt." Trick growled, just as Punk made his way over to the couch. Her animosity towards him dissolved when she saw him clutching his head, curling himself into a small ball on the furniture. His stomach growled, and Trick got herself to her feet and walked over to the kitchen, empty glass in hand. Grabbing a small pot, Trick poured water into it and placed it over her electric stove. Next on her list was getting him more alcohol. She reached into her booze cabinet and grabbed the entire handle of Smirnoff. It was still 3/4s full; she had been weaning herself off of her alcohol addiction for the last few months. Turning back towards Punk, handle in hand, her cheery face dropped. Now he was pacing her room, stressing out over his thoughts. "Fuck..." He cursed under his breath, just before he dropped to the ground. Punk curled up into a ball, rocking himself back and forth on the carpet. No no no no...

"Hey, kid? It's going to be okay. Just take some of this..." Trick stepped quietly beside him before settling down on the carpet to his right. "Here." She held the handle out in front of him, tapping his shoulder so he would look up. "Take it easy, I don't want you to puke. I don't know when the last time you ate was, but I do know that if you don't have food in your stomach this handle is going to be that much more potent." It was true, alcohol works in funny ways. Considering Punk hadn't eaten in days, he would be flagged pretty quickly. Trick didn't know that however, so she simply made it a point to watch how much he was drinking.

Trick's eyes shifted to the handle. She hadn't had a good drink in a very long time. Angel knew that, and that's why she constantly found full bottles of the substance on her doorstep. Angel wanted her to keep drink. He wanted Trick to stay addicted to the alcohol. That's what landed her there in the first place, and Angel didn't want to lose her now. The alcohol in her hand called to her. I can get drunk tonight... Not working anyway... Then I'll just stay sober for a week, and that will make up for it. Yeah, and then I'll just have a small glass for that week. I can wean off again. It'll be fine... No. Trick shook her head left and right, squeezing her eyes shut and ridding herself of those thoughts.

"By the way... People on the street call me Trick. What do they call you?" The back of Trick's hand lightly stroked his cheek, still encouraging him to lift up his head.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Punk Character Portrait: Trick

0.00 INK

#, as written by twi-twi
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Punk wasn't particularly listening to what this girl in front of him was saying. He just saw the alcohol and grabbed it, taking a swig to wash his troubles away. The bit he already had was making him buzz already, and the good bit he just drank would send him even further. He wanted it. If he couldn't have his needle, then he'd get his booze on. Something to numb the pain. Something to cope with everything going on around him. He still was freaking out pretty badly, still lost in his panic. But the drink was helping. It was taking it away. Just a little bit, but it was enough for now.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when Trick touched his face. He backed quickly away from her, still remembering the kick to the chest he had already gotten. He didn't trust her to not hurt him again. Maybe she had just patched him up so he'd be in her debt so she could take some percentage of his earnings. He had heard of it before. After the way Angel recruited him, he learnedly that he coulsn't even trust the people who appeared as Savior's. They could just be doing it to hang it over your head, black mail you into doing what they wanted. That's what he learnedly from the whole experience, anyways.

Anywho, Punk was looking at the girl, who named herself as Trick, apprehensively. That name could either be because of her career, because she tricks and cons people, or both. Which didn't make him trust her any more than he already did. "I'm Punk..." He said, his tone guarded. He watched her a bit more. "Listen, what do you want from me? You had no reason to save me unless you want to use me for something, so what is it? Might as well tell me now." He was defeated. He'd be in debt to yet another person. He would die in debt, he knew that he would. And he hated it.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Punk Character Portrait: Trick

0.00 INK

#, as written by twi-twi
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Her jokes absolutely sucked. Or at least the one she told him sucked. He wasn't going to trust her any time soon, no matter what she said. Actions proved worth of trust. So he'd just have to see about everything, and that would take a bit of time. Especially after saying she wasn't gonna hurt him, then kicking him square in the chest. He hadn't attacked her, she attacked him. He was fucking bluffing to get her away from the door. He wasn't about to trust someone who changed their stories, said one thing and did another. He dealt with enough of that shit. As she left, he took another swig of the bottle. Ah, it was all taking its wonderful effect quickly.

When he heard her hiss about something, he got up a little slowly and began walking toward the kitchen carefully. He was a pro at walking when drunk. He had done it enough. By the time Trick had called out to him, he had made it to the doorway of the kitchen. Ye put the bottle on the counter and walked over to her silently, grabbing the hand she seemed to be cursing over. He saw a small burn, hardly anything. He nearly scoffed, but held it back. What a baby, cursing and trotting her teeth over this tiny thing. He allowed himself to roll his eyes as he took her hand and placed it under the faucet, turning on the cold water and letting it pour over the tiny burn.

"Cold helps burns, genius. Simple logic. Hot bad, cold good." He snickered a bit to himself. If this girl cringed so much at a tiny burn, how the hell did she survive this line of work? He shook his head a bit. "Keep it under there until the heat is gone." He said, then turned to the Mac and cheese. He stirred the noodles so that they wouldn't clump together as they were absorbing the water. He didn't really have anything to say other than that. There really was nothing to say to this girl that he didn't trust, who had happened to save his life. He resented that fact at this moment in time.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Punk Character Portrait: Trick

0.00 INK

#, as written by Sinkai
A bottle was placed on the counter next to Trick with a clank, and she nearly jumped back two feet. Punk had joined her in the kitchen, and without a word he picked up her hand and placed it under the faucet. After the cold water was pouring over her hand, the man finally spoke. "Cold helps burns, genius. Simple logic. Hot bad, cold good." Trick rolled her eyes and was about to retort something equally sarcastic, but Punk continued. "Keep it under there until the heat is gone." The cool water felt nice over the burn, and Trick closed her eyes and sighed for a few moments. When she opened them again, Punk was stirring the noodles beside her. Hey, if he wants to make it then who am I to stand in the way...

Trick reached around him for the bottle, her arm just barely brushing over his back in the process. Normally, Trick would disregard the contact and continue with what she was doing. For some reason, however, it felt different. Her breath caught slightly as she observed the muscles in his back contorting as he spun the noodles around the pot. Flicking her eyes over him, Trick's mind wandered. A flash scene flooded her mind: Punk's muscles rippled under his skin as he hovered over Trick. Her nails dug into his back, trailing down alongside his spine as he - Trick finally grabbed the bottle, taking a hearty swig as she hopped up on the counter. Her back rested against the cabinets, her eyes staring forward blankly. She shouldn't be thinking such things. Placing the bottle at her lips again, she tipped the glass back and let the liquid burn down her throat. Her chest warmed, the alcohol was coursing through her veins more efficiently with her heart racing like it was. What the hell is it about this kid?

Trick turned her head so it was resting against the wooden cabinet door as well, but now she was facing Punk. The girl studied his facial features. His eyebrow piercing made his determined face appear that much firmer, and his lip piercing stood out on his pursed lips. When his eyes flashed over to her, she cleared her throat and sat up again, praying that he thought the color on her cheeks was just an alcohol blush.

"The plates are just to the right of your head. Though, if you prefer a bowl, they're behind the door left of that one." Swinging her feet up on the counter, Trick pulled at the drawer just beneath her. She grabbed a single spoon and one fork. Though she personally preferred a spoon, she was unaware of his eating habits. Next Trick reached for the strainer in the bottom drawer. She placed it in the sink for whenever Punk felt the noodles were ready. After opening the fridge and placing the milk on the counter, the girl pushed the butter container next to the gallon. Finally satisfied, Trick sat back up on the counter to his left.

"I trust you know how you like your Mac and Cheese. By all means-" She gestured to the set-up she had just placed on the counter on the other side of Punk. Her eyes flashed over him again-she couldn't help it. She could, however, hold back the images that were threatening to flood her mind. Shaking her head, Trick took another swig of the vodka.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Punk Character Portrait: Trick

0.00 INK

#, as written by Sinkai
Trick couldn't help but smile as Punk made himself at home. He continued preparing the Mac and Cheese, even reaching into her fridge and adding cream cheese. How odd... She thought to herself. The man seemed so in his element however, and Trick wondered briefly about what his life was like before he had a run in with the Saints. Did he have younger siblings? Did he make Mac and Cheese for them? Or maybe he just enjoyed the snack often? Not like her questions would ever be answered, however. Trick was sure that the moment Punk knew that he could leave, he would take the chance and dart out the door, never to be seen by the girl again. Shrugging to herself, Trick focused on a bowl in front of her. "Ere ya go." She hadn't expected him to make her a dish, and she accepted it with mild surprise.

"Thanks..." The girl mumbled, just as he grabbed the bottle from her hand. An eyebrow raised as she watched him take another swig. This kid will be on the floor if he keeps drinking like this... The bottle was handed back to her, and she took a swig of it herself. Then again, I might just join him. Chuckling silently, Trick spun the noodles in the bowl with her spoon. She had never eaten the snack with cream cheese in it, and she was a bit hesitant. One spoonful entered her mouth, and all hesitation vanished. It was delicious, and just what she needed right now. The warm noodles slid down her throat and warmed her stomach. With the help of the alcohol and the food, Trick's entire torso was radiating with warmth.

"Mm.." The girl cooed quietly, swallowing the a second spoonful. Her eyes found their way back to Punk, who was obviously absorbed in the enjoyment of the food. Smirking, she shook her head. When her vision focused again, the young prostitute was playing with his lip rings. Her chewing stopped. Damnit. Does he have to do that? As the alcohol continued to set in, parts of her wished to reach out to him. Trick suppressed the immature urges, scolding herself mentally as she focused on the yellow noodles in her bowl. The girl decided that she should alert Punk of his freedom. She cleared her throat, tipping her head up to look at him again.

"Uhm, Punk. You can leave now, if you really want to. I can toss you a shirt if you want one, as well. I strongly suggest you wait until morning, but if you really want to go out where Angel is prowling you may. I won't hold you captive any longer." Her eyes again avoided his, and especially avoided looking at his lip piercing. If he kept doing that, she might just have to make him stay. When Trick was intoxicated, all thoughts were focused on who could provide her with entertainment for a few hours. As meaningless as the sex or hookup itself was to her-the temporary affiliation with another person prevented her from being left alone with her own thoughts. That would most definitely end poorly for her health. Trick's eyes grazed over the man again, and she bit the inside of her lip.

Why couldn't I just be the giggly drunk?

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Punk Character Portrait: Trick

0.00 INK

#, as written by Sinkai
"Ain't gettin' rid 'o me that easy, sweetheart." Tricks face quickly contorted into a smile. Her eyes caught his as he looked at her with a crooked grin plastered on his face. She beamed at him, her back shaking from laughter. He hadn't even said anything that funny. She was just partially intoxicated, and she hadn't had a nice release in awhile. In fact, she couldn't remember the last time she had just laughed. It was a nice feeling. The girl continued laughing uncontrollably, her entire body shaking as she listened to his voice again. "If you're gonna go an' pick a mutt up off the road, ya gotta take care of it." Trick covered her mouth as she continued with her drunken laughter. Finally she was able to calm herself, taking a few deep breaths. When she had finally come to control herself, Punk was washing his dish in the sink. Trick ate the last spoonful of her mac and cheese, savoring each bite before she swallowed it. Trick then appeared to the left of Punk. She bumped his side with her hip-forcing him to give her more room to wash her dish. She rinsed the bowl, washed it thoroughly, and rinsed it a few more times before she considered it clean. Drying it with the rag hanging over the sink, she put the bowl away as well. Trick repeated this process with the spoon, dropping it in the drawer when she was finished. There.

"So, Punk, what shall I do with you now? Still hungry at all?" Punk hopped up on the counter, swinging her feet much like a child. It was then that she noticed the brush burns on her knees. She tilted her head, trying to recall when she had fallen. Right. That jerkoff and his pigs for friends. Trick looked down at her knees again. The fall had ripped her fishnets, and there was now dried blood on either knee. Lifting her hands in front of her face, she noticed matching brush burns. So that's why it stung when I was tending to his wound... Trick's inebriated mind went through this realization slowly. Welp, I'll clean that later.

"Hold that thought-" Trick walked the few feet to her dresser, bending over to search the lower drawers. She grabbed a plain black tank top, socks, and comfortable sweatpants. Her apartment was small, and she wasn't used to having to hide somewhere to change. Hell, she'd been naked in front of strangers, but she knew it was common courtesy to change in private. "Er, just stay there for a second, I guess." The girl opened the bathroom door and stood behind it, making quick work of her clothing. Hey, if there was any benefit from being a prostitute... Trick patted down her new outfit, slipping into the shoes and sighing with relief. Comfort, thank goodness. Stepping out from behind the door, she hadn't really been paying attention to her position. If he had seen her, she wouldn't care anyway.

"Right, so-" Trick looked him over briefly. "Do you want to change? I've got some clothes here that would fit you." The girl wasn't lying. The clothes were placed there and forgotten by a certain someone... A certain someone Trick continued to try and forget.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Punk Character Portrait: Trick

0.00 INK

#, as written by Sinkai
Trick could see Punk contemplating her question. His gaze swept over his attire, and she could tell he was unsure of how he would answer. After a moments, he finally did. "Uh, I could use some new britches... I don' sleep with a shirt." There was that accent again. Has he been speaking like this all night? Did I just not notice until now? She was slightly confused, but it didn't really matter anyway. The boy continued, "'Sides, you'll need to have easy access to the bandage, right?" That was true. Trick shrugged and nodded, deciding it was best that he did change. Maybe she could get the blood out of his jeans... She knew she had bought bleach sometime recently... Well, within the past few months. That was only if he wanted to keep them however. Trick shuddered. I certainly wouldn't want a constant reminder of that around...

"Alright. Would you prefer jeans or sweatpants?" Trick looked him over once, then remembered the time of night it was. She decided for him. "Sweatpants. No sense squeezing into jeans to be uncomfortable for the night." Trick made her way to a small closet. It was built most likely to hold utility items, but Trick kept her apartment clean without ever needing enough machinery to fill the closet. A large box rested on the upper shelf, which Trick reached for after locating it. She stepped back and placed it on the glass coffee table in front of the couch. Removing the cardboard lid (which notably had no dust over it), Trick rifled through the contents. Different colors and fabrics were thrown aside until Trick finally found what she was looking for; nicely sized black sweatpants. As she lifted it from the bottom of the box, a few papers and photos fell out. Trick's hand lashed out and swept up the items, stuffing them into the bottom of the box. Unknowingly, she had missed a photograph, which was laying on the floor next to the table. Trick cleared her throat.

"Yeah, you can wear these. They should fit you just fine." Trick held the pants by the hem, and the pant legs dropped down in between the two. She took a step towards Punk and pinned the pants to his hips. "Yeah. Definitely." She mumbled to herself, before placing the pants on the coffee table. After a moment of starting at him awkwardly, Trick shook her head.

"Right, privacy. That's a thing now." Trick turned away from him and walked back to the corner of the apartment containing the kitchen. Grabbing the bottle, she took a swig as she stared at the wall with her back facing Punk.

I told myself I'd never open that box again... Trick took another gulp of the liquid, before biting her inner lip and waiting in silence.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Punk Character Portrait: Trick

0.00 INK

#, as written by Sinkai
Lost in her own thoughts, Trick did not notice Punk until a photo was thrown down onto the counter in front of her. She jumped, and her eyes darted right to the enraged boy’s face. His expression was... Terrifying, at the least. His eyes seemed to burn into her, and his jaw was stern and tense. She quickly moved her vision to the item he had thrown down in front of her. It was... A photo. Shit. Trick immediately knew what had been printed on the photo paper without studying it. Already intoxicated, her emotions went haywire. Trick had never been the angry drunk, so first her mood changed to fear, and depression. Her throat choked as she tried to speak, and she couldn’t form words until after he had dumped the box’s contents into the sink.

“You... You fucking egotistical bastard.” The moisture that had formed in her eyes originally from sorrow were now simply blurring her hateful glare at the boy. Yes, the boy. He was no man. “Are you eleven?! Where do you get your kicks throwing these fucking temper tantrums all the goddamn time? Everything I’ve done for and to you I’ve down for your own goddamn benefit, because I couldn’t leave a pathetic little boy in the street. But you couldn’t just be fucking grateful could you?! You’ve called me horrible things, tried to kill yourself on my floor, and now you have the audacity to fuck with my stuff?!” The flames on the box of memories grew.

“I’m not Angel’s girlfriend. Hell, I might have even told you the story if you hadn’t reacted only out of rage like a child. But you know what? I don’t owe you shit. Angel is the reason I’m still stuck in this godforsaken place. I have more reason to hate him than you do, you fucking prick. Why do you think that shit was hidden in my closet? Everyone has their past. I have a goddamn right to my own privacy.” Trick was done with being nice to this kid. She had certainly tried. She had kept her temper, tended his wounds, fed him, clothed him, housed him. But what had come to show for it? Smoke was filling the room. Trick’s eyes burned from standing so close to the flames. Grabbing the box quickly, she darted towards the door. She just barely got it open before the flame reached her hand. It burned like a bitch, but her inebriated self didn’t care. Trick flung the box out into the alley her apartment laid on, turning away from the flames and not looking back. Her gaze quickly fell on the boy by the sink.

“There. It’s gone. Does that make you happy? Do you think you’re going to stop with your fucking temper tantrum?” Her voice cracked again. Shit, not with the tears goddamnit. Trick’s eyes began to water. She walked towards Punk for a moment, but refused to look at him anymore. She grabbed the bottle she had left on the counter, and walked back into the crisp outside air. The emotionally distraught girl dumped some of the alcohol onto the flames. The heat grew more intense. With a deep sigh, she walked back to her apartment and left the door open. Trick climed the ladder to her bed and laid across the matress-leaving her back to Punk. The only sounds from her were strained breathing and the occassional movement of a bottle.

“The door’s open.” Trick had come to the point where she didn’t care if he left. Her horribly burned hand clutched the cool bottle beside her, tipping it to her lips every few seconds. The alcoholic that was suppressed in her could finally show. All Trick could feel anymore (or cared to feel, for that matter) was the burn in her throat.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Punk Character Portrait: Trick

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#, as written by twi-twi
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When it was all said and done, Punk could honestly say he felt like a complete Dick. He wasn't raised to act this way. What had he done with himself? He couldn't even remember how he used to act, but he knew it was a hell of a lot nicer than this. He despised himself in this exact moment, but there was no ti.e for that right now. He had to attempt to fix things. To help the girl who had helped him. It was the right thing to do, he knew that. He had to deal with his wrongdoings.

He sighed and went around the room, picking up the mess that he had made in the process of getting everything done that be did before. He took the money and the ring out of his pocket, knowing that he didn't deserve to have any of it. He found a sort of piggy bank on a shelf, and stuffed the money and ring in there. It was the least he could do to pay this poor girl back. This poor, strong girl, that be had reduced to tears. He really was scum. He couldn't deal with that, with knowing that. He used to shun men who made women cry. And here he was, doing the same thing. He might as well be hitting her! Which he remembered that hhe also threatened to do. What was happenings to him?

Punk walked silently over to the bed, standing behind Trick nervously. "I... I wanted to extend my apologies, ma'am..." He began in his drawl. "See, I'm not usually like this. I used to look down upon men who did this to women... and here I am doin' the very same thing." His voice wavered slightly, but he was determined to stay strong. "This business has taken its tole on me, and it ain't even my fault I got sucked into it... not that there's any excuse for the way I been treatin' you, miss." Punk sighed a bit, knowing that none of this was probably helping. "Now, I'm sure you don't want to see the likes of me again. Just say the word, an' I'll be gone, I swear it." Punk stood there, awaiting the response from the young girl in front of him.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Punk Character Portrait: Trick

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#, as written by Sinkai
”I used to look down upon men who did this to women... and here I am doin’ the very same thing.” The same thing Angel had done, and the same thing Trick’s father had done. Trick blamed her father for where she was now... He was an abusive psychopath. The reason she had asked for money from the Saints was to escape him. When her father had finally come after her, Angel was in the area. Angel took the man down-and Trick was left with a far less harsh beating than her faher had planned. Trick had thought Angel as her savior... An actual angel who was sent to help her, actually. Only later did she realize that Angel had come after her for her money; he wasn’t just passing by. Trick had been surrounded by abusive men with extreme tempers all of her life. The fact that Punk displayed the same characteristics simply reminded her of her pathetic childhood, and as strong as she was, that little girl inside of her was frightened, and Trick was forced into an emotional breakdown. All she wanted now was to be held, and to be told that everything was going to be alright, just like Angel and her father would say after they had hurt her.

“It’s sick isn’t it? Broken people always find their way back to the ones who broke them in the first place...” Trick mumbled, unsure if Punk could hear her at all. It was then that she heard his words. “Just say the word, an’ I’ll be gone, I swear it.No. Please don’t leave me here alone. That was the last thing that Trick wanted at that moment. Unable to form words, Trick flipped over and studied his face again. Her eyes were wide; partially with fear, partially with hope of acceptance. She couldn’t stand being this weak in front of anyone. When she didn’t see any animosity on his face, Trick made her way down the ladder. She stood directly in front of him, looking up at him due to his height. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but no words would come to her. Instead, she bit her lip, and moved forward.

Trick's arms wrapped around the man's neck, and her face buried itself into his shoulder. She took a deep breath; inhaling his scent. Her eyes closed and she tightened her arms around him.

I just don't want to be alone.