fandomtownies | Imperial Junkyard, Thursday morning

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Imperial Junkyard, Thursday morning

For a change, Walter was only there for a workout and not violence therapy. He'd found another part of the junkyard that looked like it could use some clearing and was starting some wire practice.

His ribs complained at first, but once he was warmed up, he didn't notice, lost in a dance of precise destruction that was as close to meditation as he was likely to ever get.

[ooc: Open, but the sounds of falling metal and whipping wire would hopefully alert your character to walk cautiously before walking in where Walter's "working." I don't want him to cut any precious bits off of anyone.]

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~~Finally, an offer I can't refuse~~

John smirked.

"Live hard, die young, leave a good looking corpse?"

If only it were that simple, but Walter still smiled. "Something like that."

John shrugged.

"Going to go all cryptic on me, then? Fair enough."

He gazed out past Walter, taking the the dammage the boy had wrought.

"I don't think I know you well enough to go pouring out all my personal information," Walter said. "Especially when you now know much more about me than I know about you."

John shrugged and walked past Walter, getting a closer veiw. He poked the severed fender of a car with his toe and looked up.

His grin could, indeed, be described as shit-eating.

"Personal? An' here I thought we were just discussing retirement plans. No need to get huffy just 'cos you don't fancy a cottage in the Isle of Wight."

Walter rolled his eyes and went to pick up his water bottle. "Pointing out that you know about me than I know about you is hardly huffy."

John's eyes scanned the place for something slim and metal and pointy. The school had a no weapons policy, but who's to say he's not just got a very odd collection...

"Maybe you just need to get better at asking questions, mate."

Nothing caught his eye. Bugger.

"Maybe you're just like being cryptic yourself," Walter said, watching John. "You didn't want to answer questions at Caritas."

John shrugged and took another drag on his cigarette.

"Don't recall much about Caritas," he said, "But if it was last night you were talking about, I wasn't exactly meself."

A spot of colour buried underneat some wire and cans and various other junk caught his eye.

He quirked an eyebrow and headed towards it.

"Sunday, actually." Walter said, watching him curiously. "Why weren't you yourself last night?"

John dropped into a crouch and peered at the spot of colour. His eyes lit up and he began to dig for it, throwing cans, and bottles, and an old telephone over his shoulder.

"Eh...ever had a living ghost step out of the shadows and go 'Boo' at you?"

Walter's eyes were hooded when he answered, saying simply, "Yes."

John had his back turned to Walter, so he couldn't see the boy's hooded eyes.

"So you see...what I'm on about, then," he said as he started to tug a pile of rusty wire out of the way.

Walter didn't see what he was on about, nor could he see just what John was after, so he moved to get a better view.

"The last time people were seeing ghosts around here, there was a demon behind it."

John snorted.

"Right. Exactly. Seein' a normal ghost would just about do the average person in. Seein' something one of those infernal bastards cooked up..."

John trailed off as he tugged the wire enough out of the way to be able to reach his hand underneath it to grab at the coloured square of cardboard.

"More than one person." Walter wasn't even sure how many. "We took care of it."

He was quite curious about what had John's interest so.

"Ha!"

John pulled his treasure out from under the pile of wires with a small cry of triumph and only a little wince of pain as they scraped across the back of his hand.

He stood up, dusted off his knees, then did the same to his prize (http://www.superseventies.com/ac1bollocks.gif).

"This? In a junkyard. You people must be mad."

Walter cocked his head to look at what John had gone to such effort to obtain. "Most likely we're all mad here. What's that?"

"This? Is an album by one of the most brilliant bands of all time," said John, his grin slipping into something more boyish and charming, "At least, I hope it is."

The scratch on the back of his hand had started to sting, and he sucked on it for a moment before poking his fingers into the album cover and sliding out the record. His smile widened as he held it up and gave a low, pleased whistle. No scratches.

Staring for a moment while John sucked on his hand? Certainly not.

"I've heard that claim from different people about different bands since coming here," he said sceptically.

"Oh yeah?" asked John as he slid the album back into it's cover, "Who're the contenders, then?"

Walter waved a hand. "I don't like most of this modern stuff, so I don't remember ~~because the mun has a memory like a sieve~~."

John grinned and clucked his tongue.

"Our music too rowdy for you, Gramps?"

Walter smirked and blew a cloud of smoke toward John. "According to the owner of the music store, I've now been brought up to the 80s."

John waved the smoke away absently as he scanned the back of the album's cover.

"Ah well. Can't say I fault you for picking Louis Armstrong over that Vanilla Ice wanker."

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walter-n-wires.livejournal.com - 2006-09-01 05:32 (UTC) - Expand

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