08-21-2018, 02:36 PM
[size=9pt]Things are always busy at The Halfway House. Peak times and rush hours don't exist here. Assassins and felons don't exactly work from an Office. You won't see them creeping down the highway in a Ford, pissed off because they're late for their kid's soccer practice. They're either off spilling blood or cleaning up spilled blood, or they're here.
So Moon's always busy. It's the reason he took this job in the first place, 3 years ago. 16 year old Moon was a troubled kid with a troubled family and bruises that came up blue on his dark skin. This place was a temporary distraction 'till he got out of dodge. Problem was, dodge grew on him. So there he stood, running out of shot glasses and hopping the counter every 20 minutes to break up a fight, watching adulthood creep up on him like fungus.
Speaking of; some fucking woman wouldn't stop with the shots. Every 2 minutes he'd hear a tap on the counter and he'd turn, ready to tell her they were all out. But each time he'd see the lean muscle in her arms and the colors around her eye and he'd remind himself this wasn't how he wanted to die. Besides, they were closing up, soon. There was no chance she'd fit in ano-- 'another shot of Jack, thanks.'
"Where the fuck is it going?" he snaps, throwing his hands up in the air and rounding on her with a raised brow and an exasperated expression. "You slipping into the little girl's room and pouring that shit down the toilet? If you're still able to piece a sentence together, there's no fucking way you've downed every one of those." A part of him was impressed. Eight done, and she was looking for another one. Who was this chick? He sighs, grabs his rag to rub down the counter before pulling the bottle out from under the bar and placing it on the counter. "[i]Ninth.[/i] You're asking for your ninth shot. So what is it? A breakup or are you looking for Death by Jack?"
So Moon's always busy. It's the reason he took this job in the first place, 3 years ago. 16 year old Moon was a troubled kid with a troubled family and bruises that came up blue on his dark skin. This place was a temporary distraction 'till he got out of dodge. Problem was, dodge grew on him. So there he stood, running out of shot glasses and hopping the counter every 20 minutes to break up a fight, watching adulthood creep up on him like fungus.
Speaking of; some fucking woman wouldn't stop with the shots. Every 2 minutes he'd hear a tap on the counter and he'd turn, ready to tell her they were all out. But each time he'd see the lean muscle in her arms and the colors around her eye and he'd remind himself this wasn't how he wanted to die. Besides, they were closing up, soon. There was no chance she'd fit in ano-- 'another shot of Jack, thanks.'
"Where the fuck is it going?" he snaps, throwing his hands up in the air and rounding on her with a raised brow and an exasperated expression. "You slipping into the little girl's room and pouring that shit down the toilet? If you're still able to piece a sentence together, there's no fucking way you've downed every one of those." A part of him was impressed. Eight done, and she was looking for another one. Who was this chick? He sighs, grabs his rag to rub down the counter before pulling the bottle out from under the bar and placing it on the counter. "[i]Ninth.[/i] You're asking for your ninth shot. So what is it? A breakup or are you looking for Death by Jack?"
[align=center][div style="width: 500px; height: auto; text-align: center; font-family: ; font-size: 9pt; color: COLOR; letter-spacing: -.5px;"][i][b]and die like a hero going home.[glow=black,2,300]