#man is bald and covered in tattoos and has an accent that got him arrested once and uses the exact words 'lefty-socialist' as a compliment

[grabby-raccoon-hands]

my dad was a lefty-socialist teenager in 80s northern england so you can imagine the kind of gender I have now

[despairforme]

basics !

FULL NAME.  Nnoitra Gilga. ( pronounced; Noitora Jiruga ).

NICKNAME.   Nnoi, the Mantis ( stagename ).

GENDER.  Male.

HEIGHT.   7 feet / 215 cm.

AGE.   26. ZODIAC.  Scorpio.

SPOKEN LANGUAGES. English / Japanese. It depends on where the setting is. I tend to keep things ‘ open ‘ to not make it so difficult with interactions. But typically I tend to center it around an ‘ american ‘ setting, because I don’t speak Japanese.

physical characteristics !

HAIR COLOR.  Black.

EYE COLOR.   Nnoitra only has one eye, which is S\stormy grey. It appear a little purple-ish in certain lighting. Like a dark thundercloud. His other eye is completely gone. Before he got shot ( when it was just blind ), it used to be milky white. SKIN TONE.    Pale, and he doesn’t tan. In summer, he might get a little sun-burnt. 

BODY TYPE.  Skinny. Underweight. And he hates it. Nnoitra is extremely ‘ lanky ‘. His arms and legs are long and thin. His waist is small. His shoulders, however, are very wide. His entire body is ‘ bony ‘. You can see his ribs, collarbones, hipbones. You can see his ribs across his chest as well. His hands are large and bony as well.

ACCENT.   Heavy. Uses slurs a lot. Incorrect grammar. ‘ Ghetto ‘ dialect.

VOICE.    Hoarse, deep. Voice claim is his Japanese voice actor (  Nobutoshi Canna  ) - not the English. DOMINANT HAND.  Ambidextrous. Tends to favor his left hand a little bit when fighting, but usually writes with his right.

POSTURE.   Slouches a lot - depending on his mood. Often drags his feet.

SCARS.   A completely missing left eye. The scarring on and around his eye extends from his brow-bone all the way down to his cheekbone. He also has a small scar on his left temple ( and a bald spot here ), from the exit wound caused by the bullet. His knuckles are also permanently scarred. 

TATTOOS.  He has a big, black ‘ 5 ‘ tattooed on his tongue, and “Santa Teresa” on his upper chest, and a tiny infinity symbol on his inner right wrist. He’ll also be getting a black-and-grey sun tattoo on his inner right arm.

BIRTHMARKS.  None.

MOST NOTICEABLE FEATURE(S).   His height is definitely what people notice the most about him ( only around 20 000 people in the entire world are as tall as Nnoitra ). His large eye-patch also draws attention, since when people wear eye-patches they usually aren’t this big. He wears such a large one because the scarring on his face covers a good portion of the left side of his face.

childhood !

PLACE OF BIRTH.    A small town. The kinda town that’s not so small so that everyone knows everybody, but the kinda place where you recognize people on the street, and if something happens ‘ everyone ‘ knows about it. HOMETOWN.    The town where he was born is also ( technically ) his ‘ hometown ‘ since this is where he grew up. However, he doesn’t exactly look at it as a ‘ home ‘. BIRTH WEIGHT.   Nnoitra was a small baby, but not so small that the doctors had need for concern. BIRTH HEIGHT.    He was about average size - a little on the small side maybe -.

MANNER OF BIRTH.  Natural. His birth took almost 24 hours, and was exhausting and very painful for his mother. FIRST WORDS. It took him longer than most children to say his first word. Most of his ‘ first words ‘ were just weird jibberish, and apart from ‘ yeah ‘ and ‘ no ‘, his first word was ‘ mom ‘. 

SIBLINGS.   Nnoitra has an older brother, Shinji. Though he’s not aware of this, since his dad left with Shinji before Nnoitra was born, and his mother never told him about any of them.

PARENTS.   Nnoitra doesn’t know who his father is ( his mother never told him about him ), but his mother was named Teresa ( that’s where his tattoo comes from ).

PARENTAL INVOLVEMENT.    Nnoitra was raised by his mother. She raised him to be a Christian, but she raised him with very little love ( because she didn’t love him ). She did her best to provide for him, and though they were ‘ poor ‘, Nnoitra never starved and she was never mean to him. She just didn’t love him. 

adult life !

OCCUPATION.  Nnoitra works at the club ‘ Hueco Mundo ‘ as a cage-fighter. He’s been working there for four years now, and is the club’s top fighter and hold the title of the ‘ undefeated champion ‘. His job pays well, and he absolutely loves it. 

CURRENT RESIDENCE.   He lives with Grimmjow, in a spacious, modern apartment on one of the top floors of an apartment building. The apartment has big windows in the livingroom, with great view of the city ( and even the nightsky ). Grimmjow bought this apartment for them for Nnoitra’s birthday in 2017, and they moved in shortly after. The apartment looks something like this ( only bigger and with larger windows ). 

CLOSE FRIENDS.  Does he have any ‘ close ‘ friends? Not really. He has some people who he would consider friends - Rangiku ( @jishintcra ), Ikkaku ( @yperifaneia ) and Emil ( @someidioticurl ), but he wouldn’t call these people ‘ close ‘ friends, and he doesn’t really share much with them or spend too much time hanging out. 

RELATIONSHIP STATUS.   Taken. Nnoitra is dating Grimmjow ( @grimmjxw ). They started dating in August 2017. FINANCIAL STATUS.   Middle-class. He’s got a good income, and pays for most of the living expenses they have as a couple ( since Grimmjow’s job doesn’t pay much - actually right now he doesn’t have a job ). Nnoitra has saved a lot of money ( he’s not even aware of how much he’s actually saved up ). Every month, he puts away money - out of habit. He’s done this for years, as his own personal ‘ medical insurance ‘. 

DRIVER’S LICENSE.  No. He doesn’t have one, and has never tried to get one either. He lives in the city, and everywhere he would want to go is ( to him ) within walking distance, since he likes to walk. For example, there is about a 20 minute walk to work. The chances of him passing the driver’s test aren’t that great either, and he has no plans of giving it a go.

CRIMINAL RECORD.   None. Off the records - YES. Nnoitra has done many criminal acts during his life. The worst one being attempted murder. In addition he’s done many acts of violence and theft. However, he’s never been arrested or charged, so for now, his criminal record is ( officially ) clean. It’s been a while since he did anything illegal, and he does try to live a life on the right side of the law, since he doesn’t want to ruin the life he has with Grimmjow.

VICES.  None, really. Nnoitra doesn’t drink too much, he doesn’t do drugs and he doesn’t smoke. He does tend to eat very unhealthily, but that’s about it.

sex and romance !

SEXUAL ORIENTATION.   Bisexual. ROMANTIC ORIENTATION.   Grey-romantic. Nnoitra rarely gets a romantic attachment to anyone. Actually, he’s only ever felt romantic love for two people. His ex - and Grimmjow. He has never fallen in love with a woman, or considered wanting a relationship with one. PREFERRED EMOTIONAL ROLE.    Dominant. Nnoitra likes control ( even though he can’t really deal with responsibility ). He likes to feel like he is the ‘ man ‘, in a very traditional and old fashioned sense of the word. 

PREFERRED SEXUAL ROLE.    Dominant. Nnoitra literally won’t bottom or submit. Being dominated is not an option for him, since he simply doesn’t find that arousing.  LIBIDO.  High. His sex drive is very ‘ healthy ‘. He relieves himself at least once a day, in addition to the sex-life he has with Grimmjow ( they have a good sex life ).

TURN ON’S.    This is a very long list. Tongue kissing, dirty talk, feeling wanted, biting, scratching, choking, blood, spit, cum, hair pulling, grinding, public sex. He enjoys firm touches - the firmer the better. As for physical aspects of his partner ( Grimmjow ), his abs are a big turn on. To be fair everything about Grimmjow is a turn on but yeah his abs are really hot in Nnoitra’s opinion. Also his thighs, dick and ass. Nnoitra likes it when Grimmjow is being pushy and a bit dominant, since Nnoitra enjoys being the one to dominate someone who isn’t naturally a sub.

TURN OFF’S.   Being dominated. Grimmjow being ‘ dominant ‘ from the bottom position is good, as long as he doesn’t expect Nnoitra to let him top. Nnoitra also finds crying unattractive ( though silent tears are nice ). Another turn-off for him is his partner using pet-names on him like: darling, sweetheart, angel ect. He’s okay with being called ‘ babe ‘ by Grimmjow, but he really prefers his name. Another thing that would be a big turn-off for him would be being physically restrained by ropes or anything of the sort. He also doesn’t enjoy sex if he’s too cold or if the scent of smoke is too strong. 

LOVE LANGUAGE.   Nnoitra’s love language is almost only physical. He doesn’t show affection through his words all that much. It’s all about the small touches. He doesn’t show much of this in public, but the small touches are always there. A hand on Grimmjow’s shoulder when they’re about to cross the road. Fingers through his hair. Walking on the road-side of the pavement. The looks he sends other people who seem interested in Grimmjow. Standing very close to him in lines. And in private? Hair touches. Cupping his face. Kisses - especially the top of his head. If they’re sitting next to each other, Nnoitra will always touch him, even if it’s something as simple as their shoulders pressed together. Nnoitra also loves to touch the back of Grimmjow’s neck. Another thing that speaks of his affection is how he looks at him - and how often he looks at him. Even if they’re watching something on TV, Nnoitra will spend a good amount of time looking at Grimmjow instead. 

RELATIONSHIP TENDENCIES.  It can’t be denied - Nnoitra can be somewhat toxic. He doesn’t mean to be, but he is. He’s controlling to the point of it not being healthy. He’s definitely way too jealous to give his partner much freedom when it comes to hanging out with others. He also constantly needs validation to feel like he’s loved. Because he rarely talks about his feelings, it’s often hard for Grimmjow to understand him and how he’s feeling. Nnoitra also has an act for always thinking the worst, and this causes unnecessary ‘ drama ‘. He’s simply not good at communicating ( neither is Grimmjow, to be fair ). He needs things explained to him properly in order to understand what’s going on. He’s also very bad at realizing when he’s doing something wrong. His over protectiveness is also so strong that it can sometimes come off as controlling and toxic. On the plus side - he is incredibly loyal. He goes out of his way for his partner and often compromises his own happiness or safety.

miscellaneous !

CHARACTER’S THEME SONG.   Undead and Whatever it takes by Hollywood Undead.

HOBBIES TO PASS TIME.   Walking, or just spending time outside. If he didn’t live in the city, Nnoitra would be outside even more, since he really enjoys nature. He’ll often spend time in the park. He also likes to play Auralux on his phone. If he has time to spare though - he prefers to spend it with Grimmjow. 

MENTAL ILLNESSES.   Nnoitra is rather paranoid, but he doesn’t consider this a ‘ mental illness ‘. The same goes for him being dyslectic. He probably has ‘ chronic depression ‘, but he’s never been diagnosed, and he doesn’t consider himself mentally ill, nor would he ever agree to take medication. 

PHYSICAL ILLNESSES.   Nnoitra has a chronic undiagnosed heart and metabolic condition. His BPM is higher than average. This causes light paranoia ( so some of his paranoia is actually physical and something he can’t help ), a high body temperature and high metabolism. This is why Nnoitra is unable to put on weight. 

FEARS.  Losing Grimmjow is probably what he’s most afraid of. Either losing him, or anything happening to him. Especially if it’s his fault. As for irrational fears - Nnoitra has a fear of being paralyzed. 

SELF CONFIDENCE LEVEL.   Low. Unless it concerns fighting, in which his confidence is very high. But other than that, Nnoitra’s confidence is low. His self-worth is low. He considers himself both a bad person and a worthless person. There are so many things about himself that he hates. VULNERABILITIES.   Depression. He’s incredibly pessimistic. His mental state is fragile. It doesn’t take much to make him feel down, sad, frustrated. He sometimes re-visits his suicidal thoughts. It’s hard for him to open up and trust others. He gets anxious when it comes to things he thinks he can’t handle. Another problem he has is that his pride doesn’t allow him to back down. Death before defeat. 

Tagged by: Stolen from @autumnswordsman ( now I know lots about Zoro, thanks! 8) ) Tagging: TAKE IT.

[forgettinggirlinterrpted]

5/8 - 5/13/19

It’s so easy sometimes to forget why I’m here. That’s my problem- I forget things. I forget my keys, I forget to turn my car off when I get gas, once I even forgot I biked somewhere and ended up walking home.

But worse than that, I forget emotions. I forget how miserable not having AC in my car makes me until late April rolls around, I forget when I’m mad at someone, I forget how happy I felt during some of the most important moments in my life. Most importantly- I forget when I’m sad.

I have brief moments that pop up in a sea of darkness that allow me, for just a moment, to laugh and feel like a real person. These moments happen a lot. I can see light and laughter during a panic attack before the flip switches and my brain turns back into a train running off static electricity and black mold. The fog clears for just a brief stop on the tracks and the mold crawls back to its host.

But same as the the fog clears, eventually so does my forgetfulness. My ability to forget is just as weak as it is powerful. Slowly but surely those mold covered trains start moving again with no clear destination. The black creeps in as I sit in the real world, hunched over, grasping onto my surroundings- yet failing to grasp onto any sort of consistent breathing pattern. I can forget sadness, but I can just as quickly forget happiness.

So here I am, in the day room of a psychiatric hospital, surrounded by people just like me. We have become our own ragtag group of misguided grownups. When I arrived here 7 days ago almost a year after my last admission to this hospital, I felt the trains moving at full speed through a pile of sludge. I stared at the painting on the wall and began to fear that here, I may not be able to utilize my warped superpower: my ability to forget.

But slowly, the other patients and I have begun to forget together- somehow forgetting without truly forgetting. Together, we can laugh not through the pain, but alongside it. This is the place where I don't have to feel bad for my moments of forgetfulness. Moments of comic relief and simple enjoyment. I don’t need to feel like my laughter negates my 10-year-old depression diagnosis.

Here, we are embracing those moments. We embrace the moments of happiness and sadness- in whichever order they decide to arrive. In a room full of people so different it looks like the set-up to a bad joke, we can forget in a place that is simultaneously forcing us to remember.

When I got here, my doctors told me to embrace the community. “If you don’t want to talk about your anxiety and depression, then just listen.” So I listened. And then I started talking.

One night, we all gathered in the day room, attempting to avoid the loneliness of our windowless rooms. As a Die Hard sequel blasted in the background, the addicts in the room discussed their journey through meth addiction. I asked questions. They answered. We all laughed. A heroin addict around my age told me, “seriously, don’t touch meth.”

The man next to me, Nate, said through the bustle of conversation and laughter, “are you here cuz of a drug?” I said no, and in his thick, mumbled, country accent he asked me, “then why you here?” 

I told him that I’m sad. 

He sighed, looked down at his folded hands and said, “yeah, I’m sad too.”

Nate loves movies and reading, M&M cookies, and meth. Up until he injected 3 grams of “ice” in a suicide attempt, he has been living on the streets. I halfway listened to the ongoing conversation about how incredible and horrifying hard drugs can be as he told me about a time he was arrested after ending up inside a university dorm building thinking he lived there. We all took a brief break to laugh even more when another patient, also coming from a recent suicide attempt, tried to enter the conversation by saying he had only ever “done weed once.”

Later, in his mumbled speech, Nate told the group about when he was high and stood in the middle of park downtown for 4 hours with a knife in his hand. We asked him what the hell he was doing just standing there. 

He simply replied, “lookin’.” 

I think we were unable, or even unwilling to truly focus on the scary reality behind Nate standing in a public park, knife in hand, waiting for cops that neither we, or even Nate, knew for certain were even coming. 

So we just kept laughing.

As the night and following day before his release passed, I kept talking to Nate. I shared my extra cookies with him, and forced him to come paint in recreational therapy with me. But I couldn’t stop thinking about how genuinely scared I would be if Nate tried to open my dorm room door in the middle of the night. Or if I saw him middle aged, 6’2”, with a bald head, tear drop tattoo, and the psychique of a retired bouncer, standing in park, knife in hand, having the time of his life.

I asked him if it scared him to be out of control like that. He said that was his favorite part; he didn’t mind losing control. Between him telling me about his attempt to end his life and the meth fueled antics that cost him both his new job in Florida and his boss’ iPad, I realized Nate was funny, knowledgeable, and vaguely socially aware.

During one of our conversations, we found ourselves trapped in a seminar about nutrition. He slapped his hands on his thighs and said, “well, time to go.” I whined and asked him to stay. My insistence on attending every activity offered was at odds with Nate’s style. A style that told me that maybe once he did have my naive enthusiasm towards recovery, but lost it somewhere along the way. He said “you want me to stay?” and plopped back into his chair. He knew I wanted him to be there, just as I had begged him earlier to attend a journaling group session- declining my invitation with a non-committal hand gesture and a “nah.”

We sat through the nutritionist explaining “My Plate,” an updated version of the food pyramid. Nate leaned sideways and quietly grumbled, “is that like MySpace,” and I chuckled quietly in a way that reminded me of my habit of exchanging bad jokes in attempts to survive a boring lecture. When the nutritionist asked what could be used as a meat substitute for protein, Nate shouted out every type of bean he could think of. She asked if anybody had eaten eggplant and he shouted, “oh hell yeah, I had an eggplant lasagna once and that shit was delicious.” His southern drawl made everything he said more melodic, and added a level of enthusiasm he often didn’t like to show- unless he is shouting expletives about his incredible experience with eggplant lasagna.

After I had completely tuned out the nutritionist and began to draw in my notebook, Nate leaned over and asked if we could be friends on Facebook. I sneakily handed him paper for him to write his name down. As he wrote, he told me he may not be able to respond for about 30 days.

It happened again. I had forgotten.

I had spent that day arguing with Nate about whether the book or movie version of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest is better. This was an especially unwinnable argument given that I had never seen the movie and only gotten 100 pages into the book, and Nate had only ever seen the movie. 

He had given me movie suggestions, quoted Carrie, and given me shit for thinking a Pink Floyd song playing on the radio was by the B-52’s. 

He ranted about the symbolism behind the music video for Another Brick in the Wall as he painted a birdhouse that he could have easily crushed by closing his fist.

So I forgot. I forgot when he interrupted my conversation with a social worker to mime towards my extra cookie I had leftover from snack time. He had already eaten the first one when I offered, and originally declined the second. 

I was happy he asked for this one though, since I had only asked for the extra cookies so I could give them to him. 

But he didn’t know that.

His casual mention of the 30 days made me chuckle, but also made me remember. Remember where I was, why I was here, and who I was talking to.

I remember that when we first met, Nate told me his father had been in this same hospital almost 23 years ago. He also told me he killed himself right after being discharged. He tried to tell me it didn’t bother him, but shrugged and mumbled, “I mean it prolly does but I don’t know.” I want to say he said it casually, but that wasn’t it. He wasn’t laughing, but he wasn’t crying either. Mainly, he seemed defeated. Tired, like this was just the beginning of a long list of bullshit he has tried to deal with in his own way.

He looked at me, but never fully turned his body. 

He told me the only thing he truly remembers about the day his dad died. 

During checkout, his dad checked a box on his discharge forms stating yes, he did think his time there had helped him. But his father made it clear to Nate that he didn’t think it helped his depression. When he asked his dad why he lied to the doctors, Nate’s father told him, “I just want to go home.”

This all flashes back, and I remember that despite a potential Facebook friendship, this was the last time I would see him. Mainly, I was forced to remember that I have no control over his sobriety- and that 2 days of talking and painting with a depressed 24-year-old is not going to keep him from running back to the life he is used to the moment things get difficult in his new facility.

I began to think about my plan of action if I see Nate in 30 days, 3 months, or 3 years from now, standing downtown waiting for a dealer, or embarking on one of the never-ending walks he takes to kill time when the meth steals his ability to sleep.

Would I stop for him? Am I prepared to know fully and truthfully that this attempt at sobriety had failed? That the system had failed? Am I ready to accept the fact that I live in a world where kind, smart, and funny people just aren’t given the chance at life they deserve?

I asked him why he thought this shot at sobriety would work, and he said, “I’m just tired man, this ain’t no life.” So again, I remember. I remember why he is here in the first place- Nate had tried to kill himself. What happens if this doesn’t all go according to plan? What’s next?

His favorite part of the drug he wants to quit is the lack of control, and his drug-fueled delusions grant him his own ability to forget. Nate wasn’t ashamed to tell me his stories, but made it clear he wasn’t particularly proud of them either- with an ambivalence that is both inspiring and troubling. 

I fear the thought of everything he hadn’t had time to tell me about. I worry about what will happen when he begins to allow himself to remember.

During our first conversation, I told Nate I was afraid to leave the hospital because I thought the real world was scary. Without fully looking at me Nate shrugged and said, “it’s only as scary as you let it be.” 

Before he checked out, I gave Nate my copy of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest to read in rehab. 

Maybe one day we can finally finish our debate on the merits of each version of the story. 

Selfishly, I mostly did this so Nate would remember me. But even if he throws the book away, I just hope he remembers to take his own advice. The world really is only as scary as we let it be.

In our groups sessions this past week, we have talked a lot about forgiveness and second chances. For the past 6 months, I have struggled to handle my anxiety and depression, making my constant battle between forgetting and remembering unbearable.

I’ve learned I need to give myself a second chance, and allow myself to to let go of the things that fuel the trains in my head.

Nate and I are both giving ourselves our own second chances- ones that might end up with us both back in this hospital. Ones that will be scary. 

Whether or not we crash and burn, these are second chances I think we both truly deserve.

The trains in my head will never fully stop, and that’s ok. I feel ready to go home. I feel ready to attempt to live in a world without fear.

And, for the sake of Nate and every single way our short friendship changed me- I just want to allow myself to forget, but always remember to remember.

[tekowolfsbane]

Tale of a Murderor

Chapter 1 - Fresh Meat Darkness falls over a desert land; with skulls and dehydration filling the bottom of the cup, it is then topped with skin piercing sand. As one fateful night a mysterious conversation fills the echoing corridors of a tall stone building, that has stood for decades slowly degrading as many travel by. A slender women puffed her cigarette dunking and darkening the room, she sat dominantly in her high chair as it towered over a short stubby man while he gave his proposal to the lady. "I can't let this happen!" The Short man demanded. "If this is why you have brought me here then I will leave immediately!" "Well aren't you quick to jump to conclusions?" The women smirked sucking her life away. "All I need is a few months and I assure you he will change..." "What makes you think this murderer will change after he's employed to do exactly what he was imprisoned for!?" He yelled as she smiled creating more vapors curling around her body. "This isn't your average Company...He will get quite the surprise when he gets here" A wicked grin spreads right up to ears as the smoke escapes her lips. "Bring him along he has 3 months and if you fear he hasn't changed you can take him back, but this is much more worse than prison...." 500 miles away from the institute is the most secure prison in America; with walls stretching over 10 foot, with many attempts leaving cracks and some scratches since it was built back in the 1900's, Not one criminal has escaped and for good reason. The jail is full of the worst inmates in the world, some even not based in America; they have flown from all over the world and put in the tightest of rooms and people, all of them big muscular and frankly scary. One day this slammer got some fresh meat. Four Men stood in line as the Governor checked them all out; first in line was Bones, he was a big lad with muscles complementing his shirt, tattoo's and scars covering his upper body and his tiny legs barely lifting his weight. Next was Rocky he was your typical sized man regular height, weight and tone and finally Savage he didn't seem to look like he knew a lot or speak for that matter but he was slightly beefed up but not as much as Bones, Oh I forgotten one...There was a lot of difference between the three with this guy he was tiny, in fact in between them he was barely visible cramped between Savage and Bones, this little one's clothes looked like it was draped over him, they were so baggy he had to roll up his sleeves and tuck his trousers in his socks, his sneakers looked stolen in fact it all was probably stolen and his dog tags just poking out from the white shirt underneath. The heat was sweltering making it hard to breath, the sweat from the two big guys helping the runt; with it running to his wrists making them slip out, a huge grin was on his face as the Governor drew close. "STAND STRAIGHT FAGGOTS!" The officer instructed. "Bones, convicted for theft and before arrest smashing 5 officers ribs and bones...Don't think we won't just kill you if you act out of line" Bones snarled as the governor walked past unfazed. "Rocky, responsible for being able to crack concrete and aiding in the theft" Rocky smirks as he breaks a large rock in his hands....the chief not moved. "Savage, jailed for explicit uses of dynamite and fierce attacks on officers" Savage glared trying to intimidate him but the head just snuffed at him. "And finally D-...E-Erm Deo?" "Yo wha'sup?" Deo smirked as the Governor stood before him. "DON'T TALK TO TH-" Shouted the Officer beside him as he got cut off with a raised hand. "Are you sure your in the right place?" He asked Deo slightly bending down to his level. "You tell me?" Chuckled Deo as he smugly rocked back and forth in front of both of them. "STAND STRAIGHT I SAID!!!" The officer demanded. "Whoops sorry pal" Deo giggled. "I guess I shouldn't be so bold yeah?" "What are you smug about boy? A simple beating will wipe that look off your face" The Governor explained as the officers readied there batons. "OH PLEASE NOT THAT!" Deo sarcastically pleaded. "JUST SLAP MY WRISTS AND SEND ME TO A CORNER!" He fell to the floor exposing his unchained wrists to the Chief. "How did you!?" The Head exclaimed as Deo's wrists were quickly bonded. "Maybe you shouldn't expect big bald guys coming into your prison ey Chiefy?" Deo laughed as his hands were rapidly shackled. "You address me as Governor, Nothing else you hear me!?" Yelled the Chief spitting in Deo's Face. "Nice Slobber you got there" Deo smiled. "Maybe I'm not in the right place? But who knows there was only evidence of me with a gun nothing ELSE!" Deo Raged as he was smacked across the face with a baton. "YOU NEED TO LEARN SOME MANNERS BOY!!" Exclaimed the Governor. "I WOULDN'T BE SURPRISED IF YOU WEREN'T BEATEN TO DEATH THE FIRST NIGHT!!" The Head of the institute left in a rage as he was humiliated by a infant; he struggled on his feet as they were dragged along by the guards to get moved into there cells, he barely was able to stand when they got shoved in the holding rooms. Each criminal was taking into a separate area and questioned for general details; Where they live, Any Relatives and what they were convicted for. This was simple for the others but with one prisoner it caused a lot of distress for him and the officer that was interrogating him; he was in the room for well over 5 minutes, not saying a word and refusing to cooperate. It came past 20 minutes and the convicts outside were  waiting on him and getting very impatient. "I'll ask you again and if you don't say it this time we'll have to use force" The Guard sighed in frustration. "Where are you from?" "Why don't you beat it outta' me" Deo scuffed rocking in his chair. "WE'VE BEEN AT THIS FOR 20 MINUTES!! TELL ME OR ELSE!!" The Guard yelled with all his force throwing his chair to the floor. "If you say 'or what' you will be shot where you sit!" With a big sigh and rolling his eyes he stopped rocking on his chair and sat forward with his hands clumped in a fist, he looked directly into the cops eyes and spoke with great sympathy. "Boston....Massachusetts" Deo sighed looking to the floor. "34 Terrace St, You happy now!?" "That weren't hard now was it big Baby?" Snarked the Guard while writing the information down. "Any Family or Relatives?" "I DON'T NEED TO TELL SHIT ABOUT THAT OKAY!!!" Deo lunged towards him but held back by a officer behind him. "WHY DON'T YOU FUCKING LOOK IT UP!? I'M NOT SAYING SHIT ABOUT MY FAMILY! I'M FUCKING INNOCENT YOU HEAR ME!? I DIDN'T DO FUCK ALL TO THAT WOMEN!" "Calm down..So no relatives?" Cautioned the Guard as reinforcements were going to be called in any minute. "DIDN'T I SAY FAMILY!!! I HAD ONE A'RIGHT! A FUCKING GOOD ONE...." Deo slumped back in his chair. "A real good one...but then she...she died..." He was practically on the floor as his life was presented on a board to the guard; all about his father leaving him at the age of 8, breaking his mothers heart causing her depression and then finding out the news she was addicted to pills and at the age of nine coming back from school she had overdosed herself and she lay lifeless in the tub not knowing what could happen he was on the streets for 10 years and in a gang got him in the mess he is now. The Interrogate sat there in shock as the once arrogant kid were melting in the chair before him, tears running down his now deformed face from the excessive droplets coming from the eyes of a crook. "M-Maybe I'll get details off the governor about your arrest? If your not feeling up to it?" Gulped the guard as he reduced a kid to a puddle. "Yeah...." Sniffed Deo as he whipped memories from his face. "They won't be any hold-up's either next time..." Everything seemed to skip Deo that day from the many questions he was asked by several officers, being searched and being given his prison uniform, the bundle of blankets, cups and plates, then getting seen by the doctor which didn't take long as he was in fine shape and finally being shoved into a cell with the 3 he met today; These three were a gang for sure, all from Boston and all looked like they knew nothing but to cause trouble. Bones was stood at the back dominating the room with his strength, Rocky carving into a stone like it was bread and Savage grumbling on the bench to himself...Deo just sat beside him and with a little growl from Savage he just shrugged it off and leaned on the wall putting both feet onto it. "So your the runt who took on the Governor?" Bones spoke in his american accent. "Yeah what of it!?" Deo spat still pissed after the interview. "Nothing man, takes guts to do that, me and Bones give you props to that" Rocky smiled stopping his sculpting in the process pointing at Bones. "Yeah well I don't fucking deserve to be here" Deo puffed in anger. "Ha none of us do, But who'll believe us?" Rocky chuckled continuing with his model. "They had no fucking proof with me! All I did was had a gun in my hand at the scene...THAT'S IT!" Deo fumed. "That's all they need....Especially with a baby like you" Bones joked. "Did you just call me a Baby?" Deo looked at bones with fury. "I did, I heard you crying" Bones laughed as Deo stood with dominance near him. "What are you going to do about it?" "THIS!!" Deo violently said leaping onto his opponent swinging around his neck, the brute underneath him tried grasping the twig on his shoulders, but because it was only a stick it was impossible to lay a punch into the twerp, The runt on his back were grabbing his bulky neck trying to choke his foe; since his hands were doing nothing he ripped off his dog tags and latched them around his throat the only thing saving the opposer were the one thumb separating the chain from his nape. Rocky and Savage stood there seeing who would kill the other and become there leader, at first they thought the kid would have perished a few minutes back but the fight was getting intense, But there fun was soon drawn to a close when guards flown from every angle separating the two and putting them in different cells.

***************************AUTHORS NOTES*****************************

Before publishing any more chapters I will only post this chapter on Tumblr until I get more people wanting more... If you would like to follow more of this story you will find it in my gallery on DA: http://furryfluke.deviantart.com/gallery/ On another note I apologise in the future for my bad German writing I noticed after learning some of the language that it’s shocking but I may change it in the future once I learn more thank you and enjoy