Shounen Bat (Lil' Slugger) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
strike_you_out) wrote2011-08-20 03:13 pm
strike_you_out) wrote2011-08-20 03:13 pm
Entry tags:
twenty two | vitamin D & calcium & razor blades
726 Anderson Lane; Saturday morning
[Every morning, a row of fresh milk bottles greets the first resident to step foot out onto the front porch of 726 Anderson Lane. Today, the foot belongs to Slugger. After witnessing firsthand what sort of punishment awaited those who didn't go along with the Milkman's latest folly, he's decided that straight-up drinking the milk is less dangerous than the alternative. Not so much for himself but for his "family", whom he would surely massacre in a heartbeat along with a good section of Mayfield if he were droned, and Slugger much preferred to do his murdering while in his right mind.
Picking up a bottle, he uncaps it, smells it, dips a finger into it experimentally. Something sharp pricks his skin below the milk's surface. This bottle may as well have his name written all over it. Slugger takes a seat on the steps and silently braces himself before raising the bottle to his lips and tipping it back.
It takes him a long time to finish the bottle because each time he takes a drink, his throat instantly swells to repair itself from the damage. Occasionally, he can't help but cough up and spit out a milky razor blade. Perhaps the worst part of it, aside from the pain of course, is the unsettling sensation of milk sloshing about in his insides whenever he moves and vague metallic clinking sounds. Luckily, he now has less than half a bottle left. With a resigned sigh, he begins to accept that this was possibly how life would be from now on in this town, this hell.]
[Every morning, a row of fresh milk bottles greets the first resident to step foot out onto the front porch of 726 Anderson Lane. Today, the foot belongs to Slugger. After witnessing firsthand what sort of punishment awaited those who didn't go along with the Milkman's latest folly, he's decided that straight-up drinking the milk is less dangerous than the alternative. Not so much for himself but for his "family", whom he would surely massacre in a heartbeat along with a good section of Mayfield if he were droned, and Slugger much preferred to do his murdering while in his right mind.
Picking up a bottle, he uncaps it, smells it, dips a finger into it experimentally. Something sharp pricks his skin below the milk's surface. This bottle may as well have his name written all over it. Slugger takes a seat on the steps and silently braces himself before raising the bottle to his lips and tipping it back.
It takes him a long time to finish the bottle because each time he takes a drink, his throat instantly swells to repair itself from the damage. Occasionally, he can't help but cough up and spit out a milky razor blade. Perhaps the worst part of it, aside from the pain of course, is the unsettling sensation of milk sloshing about in his insides whenever he moves and vague metallic clinking sounds. Luckily, he now has less than half a bottle left. With a resigned sigh, he begins to accept that this was possibly how life would be from now on in this town, this hell.]
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Drinking the milk for today.
[His voice is harsh as he speaks but he's surprisingly still capable of speech and without blood gushing from his mouth.]
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[He doesn't know drinking milk stops drones from killing, as he's been out of it the last few days.]
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[He faces forward again and takes a dry swallow. There's one razor blade back there that just doesn't want to go down.]
Today's my turn to drink.
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You have to take turns? There's got to be a better way of doing this, especially if this is permanent.
[But that at least answers his question about why he and Edward acted the way they did.
...Not that he felt any less guilty about it. Especially what he did to Edward, luckily the rest of the family was able to stop him in time.]
Speaking of which, thanks for stopping me those few days ago, by the way.
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You were harder to restrain than I thought...
[Never again will he underestimate the strength of a murderous drone. He wishes he could have handled Luke's confinement better. He wishes he would have known to drink the milk.]
What happened to your arm?
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Sorry.
[His memories are kind of fuzzy from that time, but he remembers a woman holding a gun at him. Only the next morning when he was undroned did he realize what happened, and already the wound near his shoulder was starting to swell and turn red. It made moving his other arm difficult, and he had no idea what to do about it.]
Um, I think I was shot by someone.
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[Slugger isn't sure, but he thinks this is supposed to be something people go to the hospital for.]
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[But he knows he'll have to suck it up and go sometime, even with needles. He glances down at the razor blades.]
Shouldn't you go too?
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[Persuasion, done hardcore.]
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[He doesn't want to go, and he doesn't want to ask for help to get there.]
And how come? You're swallowing razors!
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...
Can humans regrow lost limbs?
[He ponders.]
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[He hopes.]
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You should have Tiffany look at it.
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Well, after talking to Susan and people who think they're countries, he's learned it's less of a headache to ask questions.]
Is she a doctor?
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Basically.
[Doctor, witch, what difference did it make?]
She's a friend of Susan's.
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[He's met her before but he's having some trouble recalling.]
That's awful convenient.
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While Luke ponders over the suggestion, Slugger takes another careful sip of the milk, holding a hand over his mouth once it's down to keep from coughing it back up.]
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[Luke winces at Slugger drinking more of the milk.]
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The non-droned ones aren't even doctors.
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They aren't, are they? That's not very comforting to know...
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[His shadowy gaze meets Luke's as he delivers the following warning.]
If you see one wearing a paper bag over his head, hide.
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[Yeah, he doesn't really get it.]