Mumble

②⓪①⑤ - C H A P T E R : [1 7]

TW: Sadistic Violence

17.

Clint lived in Beverly Hills. The building was a ritzy, sleek, modern thing erected in a plot just north of Sunset out of sharp stainless-steel edges and various shades of opaque glasses. It transcended the thin lines between the 'commercial' Hills everyone saw sprawling across television screens in shows like 90210 and into what true Angelinos knew as 'The Hills', sequestered behind rows of carefully maintained hedges and private security firms. It was a distinction that, while not overly important to Ozzie (probably in part because he was not actually a born and bred Angelino and just didn't get it) was important to those native to the climate, where a few tacked-on zeros to mommy and daddy's paycheck made all the difference to the validity of one's chronic mental illness. An ironic dichotomy considering the defense of 'I'm south of Sunset' was supposed to somehow encompass 'I'm like rich-poor but still have millions and because I'm rich-poor and you guys are like Rich it's suddenly okay for me to have these issues when it wasn't before since I'm obviously totting my little ToTo dog in my new Givenchy purse'.

L.A was one gilded bitch. A pretty face of make-up to mask that ever-present rotting stench of an empty soul.

Clint's house was kind of like that, aesthetically appealing to the eye if not counter to every Feng Shui or other pseudo-scientific belief out there. It was exceptionally jarring in places in the way purely abstracted geometric form purposely played opposite the particularly well-maintained garden of turf and other synthetic (if not exotic) plants that led to the front door. Clint's home was a palace of iron, harsh its angles, cold in its beauty, and second to none in function; Look but do not touch. Look but do stay away. Fitting for a character so far removed from the everyday workings of society like Clint was.

Ozzie knocked on the door. His hair was plastered to his forehead from the ride, damp with no small amount of sweat and echoes of mist from where the air had chilled and coalesced into small whispers on the wind. He'd left his bike at the gate. Clint was a very peculiar person and this peculiarity translated to the most peculiar idiosyncrasies and bike tracks up the gravel pathway was one of them. They add a symmetry I truly detest Ozzie! Can't you see the lengths I've gone to remove the Apollonian shackles of order from my life?! Fuck Feng Shui, Ozzie! Fuck! It! The world could use a little less structure to it! Clint was weird and honestly Ozzie found it easier just to go with it than fight it. Especially when he needed something. Like now.

The door opened. Ozzie's eyes widened. He was suddenly very thankful for the flush his ride had given him. Clint hummed in recognition. Or maybe disappointment. It was hard to tell.

"Well this is a," he paused, sifting through the air for his words, a study in apathy, "surprise," Clint drawled, leaning loose and long limbed across the threshold of his abode, "and not," one surprisingly well arched eyebrow went up, "an entirely pleasant one, I might add." He crossed his arms over his chest.

"Uhm," Ozzie said eloquently.

No shit, Ozzie wanted to say as he took in Clint's appearance. It was miles and miles of tanned skin covered in nothing more than a semi-sheer silk bathrobe and a pair of lace panties. And no, they didn't cover nearly enough. No one should ever have to see all that outside of a bedroom. Just...No, man.

Clint smirked, looking faintly amused as he cocked his head to the side, "Cat got your tongue?" He purred, eyes going half lidded as he trailed the muzzle of a gun down the line of his neck and— Wait. The fuck? A Gun?! "Taco will be so pleased to know she's got a playmate."

Ozzie blinked. "That's... That's a gun." He frowned as the rest of what Clint said finally caught up to the 'WTF this skinny ass dude in a bathrobe is holding a gun to his neck and I don't know if I should be calling the cops or a suicide prevention hotline' part of his brain. "And fuck your cat." Taco was a menace.