make cheese, not war // human au, jor

[VALE]

Vale kicked up one foot onto the table, fingers laced together behind zir head. People usually presented their best manners on first dates, but Vale always hated the custom. Why pretend to be someone you’re not, under any circumstance? Authenticity ranked at the top of Vale’s value system, which explained most of Vale’s eccentricities. Like why ze wore heavy chains as necklaces and painted zir nails black, as though this first date took place in an underground punk concert instead of a restaurant.

1970’s. New York City’s Little Italy. Going out at night looking like a posturing peacock. These three facts contributed to the reason why Vale packed a revolver in zir leather jacket, tucked into a custom pocket sown on the inside. The gangster shit Vale’d gotten involved in over the last month only reinforced the need for a firearm.

Tapping a finger, Vale sighed and stretched out onto the chair. Impatience or nervousness? Even Vale couldn’t properly label the emotion. Only after the date’d been setup did Vale figure out who ze’d gotten involved with. Vale grimaced at the memory—a guy in zir gang pointed out the fact, got super huffy about it, and a fight broke out. Something about being a traitor? Someone else saying some shit about an opportunity? Hell, Vale wanted a fuck, not to receive fucking hell.

Vale’s grey eyes flicked off the ceiling. The waiter brought out a plate of raw mozzarella, an uncut roll, per Vale’s odd instructions. Why bother ordering a caprese salad when all Vale wanted was the damned cheese?

“Thanks,” Vale said, already reaching for the cheese. Ze picked it up like an apple and took a mouse-sized bite.

“Are you going to order anything else?” He sounded mildly irritated, but Vale couldn’t figure out why.

“Once my date gets here, probably,” Vale said. Took another minuscule bite, savoring the cheese. “It’s rude to eat while he’s not—goddammit. Jesus, Mom was right. The day I regret my atrocious table manners has finally come.”

The waiter huffed and wandered away while Vale looked at the cheese in zir hand, frowning. Oops? Maybe this is why people bothered to order the appetizers on the menu.

pittian ★ crow shapeshifting into a winged serpent ★ literally chaos

[sup]template made by tikki[/sup]

[Windowmemer]

JORMUNGAND

male — the Pitt — newblood — pinterest board

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Spoiler:

  Eric Belanger faceclaim btw lol

IC TEXT

1970's New York. What a lovely place. Full of drugs, money and sex. He wasn't here for that, no. Well, maybe the drugs and money. The corner of his lips tilted up in a smirk and he rubbed a hand over his stubble. He was slightly stressed, it showed by the tensing of his muscles under his form-fitting suit, but he exhaled the cloud of smoke from the cigarette that was placed between his lips.

But first, the date. He wasn't sure who picked it, and how high they've been to set it up in this place, but fuck it. As long as the person he was meeting was cute, he didn't mind. He'd most likely be distracted, though. Gang shit was on his mind, but today was going to be the day he'd attack. Get that small part of this place under his control. Kill the other leader, what was his name... Ricardo? "Fucking stupid name." He muttered to himself, dropping the cigarette and stomping it out with a heeled boot.

He stopped at the entrance, brushing the dust off his suit jacket. Who the fuck picked this? At least he had a white shirt underneath it. He checked his pistols at his side, hidden safely. Check. Knives, check. Money, check. He took a deep breath, and pushed the door open with... a bit of force. It hit the opposite wall with a small bang, the sound of a pistol, and he smiled. "My bad." He lifted a shoulder, eyes scanning for his date. A waitress hurried over but he waved her off, shooting a flirty grin in her direction that made her blush red and look away.

Mouth returning to the hard pressing again, he finally located the female? No, zir back was towards him and ze seemed to be holding something large in zir's hand. He walked up to zir, brushing zir hair back and plucking the food- a mozzarella roll - out of zir hand and popping it into his mouth.

"Hello there, I believe you are my date for tonight?" His voice was soft, charming, uncaring about zir attitude and her boots on the table. Fuck manners. If ze didn't show any, he wouldn't too. He slid off his jacket and placed it on the back of his chair, unbuttoning the top three buttons of his collared shirt.

#psychosocial.

[VALE]

Vale glanced from the cheese to the doors, head leaning back. Vision upside down, Vale watched zir date approach, waving the mozzarella ball in greeting. He dressed so terribly boring, weren’t suits the least chaotic fashion accessory?

Vale’s eyes widened when he stole the cheese, touched zir face, and sloughed off the suit. Then a smirk flashed, and Vale leaned forward in the chair. The chair’s front legs tapped back on the floor. The other boot tapped down on the table; Vale’s hand rose to zir face, half hiding the growing smirk. The top two knuckles, the only areas in Vale’s hand lightly dusted with fresh purple bruises, demonstrated Vale’s hand to hand skills. And the aftermath of the intragang fight Vale’d unintentionally started.

“That would be me. Vale Aston, if you don’t remember. I know I was sky high on sativa.” Vale laughed a bit at the memory, and gestured to zir black slacks covered in white paint splotches. “Doesn’t look too bad, given I barely remember painting this after coming home, eh?”

Vale had gotten so high, ze’d wandered home and painted until passing out on the floor. If Vale had been born into different circumstances, there was no doubt Vale would’ve ended up in an artsy vocation.

“I’ll be blunt as hell. I’m weird as fuck. Most people can’t deal with my shit, you know? I’m a loose cannon. Can’t tell you how many variations I’ve been called on that theme.” One of zir nails, painted black, tapped zir cheekbone. “But at least I’m not boring. Fuck that noise, right? It’s more comfortable to sit with your feet on the table, so why does everyone collectively pretend it’s not?”

pittian ★ crow shapeshifting into a winged serpent ★ literally chaos

[sup]template made by tikki[/sup]

[Windowmemer]

JORMUNGAND

male — the Pitt — newblood — pinterest board

[div style="background-color: #292727; color: white; font-family: arial; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-align: justify; overflow: auto; width: 500px; height: 340px; padding: 10px;"]

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So she was a painter. It hadn't said that in her file, but whatever. He cast a curt glance at the bruises and shrugged it off, pulling his collar down to expose an actually quite new scar, fresh from a scrap a few days ago. "Hello Vale. Call me Jor. Care to tell me a bit about yourself? Aside from the fact  that you don't really care about anything and you're an artist." Not gonna tell zir he read zir file, but he wanted too see how much of it was true or not. Ze then said ze was weird, a loose cannon, not boring. "Heh," His shoulders shook as he chuckled, waving away the same waitress from before.

"Guess that's something we have in common then, eh?" Yeah, also that they were in gangs but whatever. Not going to mention that right now. He'd seen the glint of zir weapon against the lights and was sure he could kill her ze before ze could even blink, but that would be messy. Plus, she was cute.

#psychosocial.

[VALE]

“Already on nickname basis, am I?” Vale smirked, but zir fingers drummed on zir knee. Zir gaze flicked down to the white scar. Lingered. Vale flexed zir bruised knuckles. “More of a musical artist. Any idiot can learn how to paint clothes.”

“I wouldn’t say I don’t care about anything,” Vale said, eyes narrowing skeptically. Jor sounded… cautious. “I care about my band—drafted. Wasn’t like playing in underground, small concerts paid well before. Doesn’t help that the music industry is digging anti-war songs in a totally different genre.” He would know about that part; Vale’s connections in punk subculture positively impacted zir gang’s profit margins.

“My brother died in Vietnam a few months back. My friends might come back corpses next. Before they got drafted, I already lived each day like it’s my last—what artist doesn’t, are they really an artist if they don’t?—but now it’s deeper than a platitude.”

Vale’s gaze met his again, finally tearing away from the scar. “It’s a shame Clarence was the son, the brother. I’ve always been better at violence. I…” Vale cut zirself off with a huff. Ze lacked a word to pack all the mental angst into a neat and tidy package. Zir painted fingernails tapped on the wooden table again, and ze added with a sarcastic chuckle, “Lucky for me, I can’t get drafted, eh? I also gotta punch the lights out of dumb men trying shit, but that’s a fair trade.”

Vale’s characteristic smirk, lopsided and full of teeth, reappeared. “So, Jor, you going to return the favor? I know the rumors—who doesn’t!—and I’m curious.” Gang leaders tended to be monstrous.

And Vale liked monsters.

pittian ★ crow shapeshifting into a winged serpent ★ literally chaos

[sup]template made by tikki[/sup]

[Windowmemer]

JORMUNGAND

male — the Pitt — newblood — pinterest board

[div style="background-color: #292727; color: white; font-family: arial; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-align: justify; overflow: auto; width: 500px; height: 340px; padding: 10px;"]

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"Nickname basis? Wouldn't say that. Just sounds better than fucking Jormungand. Don't know what my mother was smoking when she decided to give me that name. Pretty nice though, but I prefer Jor. Or, y'know, others just call me please, and don't kill me for some random reason." He lifted a shoulder in a shrug, a smirk playing on his face as he watched zir look at his scar. "Like what you see?" He joked, the smile twitching the cut on his lip. He ignored the comments on the war stuff and waved it off casually.

"Yeah, sorry about all that babycakes, but war is war, it's all in the past. I wouldn't want you on a battlefield anyways, you'd probably end up killing your own teammates. I like that though." He lifted an eyebrow. "Don't know how offended you get talking about about your brother but to be honest, I don't really care." He leant forwards, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Oh, so you heard rumors, eh?" He chuckled, a dark sound. "Not sure which you've heard, but if they're as bad as I've heard, it's probably all fake. I'm even more of a monster than the media portrays me to be. Torturing, killing, slicing people's faces open in front of a mirror, making them watch their body parts get cut off, having friends come around, get drunk, and play piñata with a victim... I'm just getting started." The smile grew on his face as the good times happened with Junkboy, Loki and the gang. But they split ways, and he had killed most of them. No regrets.

"Anything else you'd like to know about me, darling?" He sat back and spread his hands.

#psychosocial.

[VALE]

The boots slid off the table. One leg flung over Vale’s armrest, fidgeting, while the other folded into zir torso. Vale leaned forward, both elbows on the table, and ignored the loud pops and cracks. One hip, both shoulders, multiple vertebrae. But who was counting?

Vale shifted again, into something resembling a normal seated posture, but ze grimaced. Both legs went over the left armrest this time, right foot twitching. Ankles crossed, uncrossed, crossed again. “A mirror? Interesting. Suits your style,” ze said, as nonchalantly as though discussing the differences between types of violin strings.

Vale’s smirk widened a tad at the remark on how the battlefield didn’t suit zir. “From you? I’ll take that as one hell of a compliment.”

“Sounds like violence is your art form. I can respect that. Do you know if it’s possible to melt someone’s eyes out while they’re still alive? I’d ask a physician, but they generally want to classify me with hysteria as it is. Fucking morons. If the psychology field rallied around Freud’s original findings on the pervasiveness of trauma in women, specifically childhood sexual abuse, humanity wouldn’t be this backwards.”

Vale cracked a grin, completely unaware of how impossible to follow zir speech could be. “But psychologists are so close to the connection between women and hysteria and intelligence. Intelligent girls are more depressed, because they know what the world is really like. Well, I know. You may not understand the logic leaping from here to there and back around again, but here I am, choosing my demons and a monster instead of the expected societal bullshit.”

Both hands pushed Vale’s black hair out of zir face. “I’m a moron. This isn’t just a date. You’re trying to recruit me.”

Finally, Vale stopped talking. Eyes narrowed, brow furrowed. Thinking. Fucking hell, this complicated shit more than expected. Foot fidgeting faster, which hadn’t seemed possible. Jor would know from the file that Vale had been the band’s drummer; given zir energy levels, it wasn’t surprising.

“Look, you clearly have the emotional capacity of a rock. That’s cool and all, with the whole horrorshow violence.” Vale swept zir hair back. Both legs burned, falling asleep—how the fuck did people manage to stay seated for so long? “But I’ll bite. I always thought Valhalla was the most interesting afterlife, anyway.” And hopefully where Clarence ended up.

Hands on the table again, Vale vaulted onto it, grumbling incoherently about discomfort. Dangling off the ledge in front of him, one foot propped up, ze leaned forward. Invading his space, but with both hands visible and resting on zir knee, away from the gun digging into zir ribs.

“One. Last. Clarification.” Vale’s gaze dropped to the scar on Jor’s collarbone, tempted to reach out. “Are you insecure enough to try controlling me? I’d hate wasting both our times.”

pittian ★ crow shapeshifting into a winged serpent ★ literally chaos

[sup]template made by tikki[/sup]

[Windowmemer]

JORMUNGAND

male — the Pitt — newblood — pinterest board

[div style="background-color: #292727; color: white; font-family: arial; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-align: justify; overflow: auto; width: 500px; height: 340px; padding: 10px;"]

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He had a smile on his face as ze shifted zir position, then winced as many bones cracked. "Sounds painful." He threw the casual words out, not really meaning it. Yeah, ze had energy. Good.
Mirror? When did he talk about a mirror? Oh well, as long as it suited his style, whatever that meant. Thought ze liked battles, but apparently not. He shrugged. Whatever. Made a mental note.

She then proceeded to talk about psychology, and he gave an irritated snort. "Who gives a fuck about psychology?" It was one of the most boring subject he had ever taken, and the minute he graduated he found his professor and murdered him.

Ze then noticed, finally, that this wasn't a date. He smirked and slow-clapped. "Cupcake's finally figured it out, eh? Took you long enough." His response was direct and he watched zir brows furrow and her feet move even faster- she was a drummer, after all, then a look flashed in zir eyes that let him know zir legs were falling asleep. He did not offer any help, did not offer to take a walk, did not offer to carry her. In real danger situations, your legs fall asleep, you're dead.

Ze vaulted on the table, with a grumble about pain and zir legs, and he ignored it. Better wake them up quickly. Ze got a bit too close to his personal space, but he didn't mind it one bit. Ze leaned forwards, looking at the exposed scar, and something made him understand zir wanted to touch it. He lifted zir chin with his index finger, pulling zir close to him. "Oh yes, darling. I'm very insecure. Plus, I'm not trying to control you. You'll have free reign as long as you listen to me when I occasionally want you to do something." His mouth was close to zirs and he shot zir a charming smile like he did the waitress earlier.

#psychosocial.