[Exhaustion weighs down Adam Parrish's bones as heavy as his skin, and today is no exception to that rule. Adam has never been a Thank-God-It's-Friday kind of guy-- due to working weekends and then filling up any free time his has with homework and studying-- weekends are just as much Adam's enemy as weekdays, and this Saturday had already tried him.
It's only a little bit of snow, but the snow is a product of the cold, and Adam's piece of shit car responds negatively any time the weather is colder than "Viriginia Summer," so there he was, knuckles turning red from the cold, 6 AM, running late because his starter just wouldn't catch.
When he did finally make it to the factory, it was ten minutes after the start of his shift and, though Adam was fairly punctual most days, he could feel his boss's disappointment, and his ears burned in shame. And so, to make up for it, he had skipped his lunch.
He told himself he'd eat before he went to the Barns, but then he didn't, and so he told himself he'd eat at the Barns, and he would eat before he attacked one Ronan Lynch with his mouth. A promise to himself.
And so, as Adam slams the door to his car and heads up the steps, his stomach is aching, and his eyes are tired, and his hands are cold as hell.
Ronan's words don't make sense to him at first, and he blinks once, twice, thrice.] Hooligans...?
[And then, all at once, he takes in the bat in Ronan's hands, and the screeches of birds that don't quite sound like Chainsaw, and the pieces start melding together. His stomach throbs.] How can I help?
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It's only a little bit of snow, but the snow is a product of the cold, and Adam's piece of shit car responds negatively any time the weather is colder than "Viriginia Summer," so there he was, knuckles turning red from the cold, 6 AM, running late because his starter just wouldn't catch.
When he did finally make it to the factory, it was ten minutes after the start of his shift and, though Adam was fairly punctual most days, he could feel his boss's disappointment, and his ears burned in shame. And so, to make up for it, he had skipped his lunch.
He told himself he'd eat before he went to the Barns, but then he didn't, and so he told himself he'd eat at the Barns, and he would eat before he attacked one Ronan Lynch with his mouth. A promise to himself.
And so, as Adam slams the door to his car and heads up the steps, his stomach is aching, and his eyes are tired, and his hands are cold as hell.
Ronan's words don't make sense to him at first, and he blinks once, twice, thrice.] Hooligans...?
[And then, all at once, he takes in the bat in Ronan's hands, and the screeches of birds that don't quite sound like Chainsaw, and the pieces start melding together. His stomach throbs.] How can I help?