The Human Condition / / [Frerard]

5: In Which Lindsey Ballato Surprisingly Is Actually Not On Drugs

Steve Montano was completely and most definitely done with life. Not in the suicidal 'currently blowing my own brains out' way, but in a more 'angsty teenager stuck with boring grandparents in mid-July' type of thing. Of course, Johnny Seward was hardly your average old knitting granny perched up in a wooden rocking chair, sipping tea and catching up on the latest antique roadshow, but Steve was done with him all the same.

They hadn't been on a job for two years now, money was running low, and their only source of income was some old crappy run-down cafe in the middle of a desert.

A fucking desert.

Because they are definitely going to find piles of customers wandering around a fucking desert.

Granted, opening a cafe in the middle of a desert wasn't their most brilliant plan in the long run, but a few years back they had used it to lure some shapeshifters in, and it worked just fine for making a couple of extra bucks when they needed to.

But there were a few things wrong with this plan:

1. It was a fucking desert (as already clarified).

2. They only had about two customers a week.

3. They weren't good at business or money. They charged about a dollar for an entire meal.

and finally

4. Neither Steve nor Johnny could cook for shit.

It was enough, though. Enough for them to survive and neither of the two complained - not out loud, at least, because Steve spent his entire waking time ranting to his subconscious on the shittiness that was his life.

Johnny? Well, nobody really knew exactly what Johnny thought on anything; He never really had opinions - Just pointless anecdotes and useless stories that Steve never actually listened or payed attention to. In all honesy, Johnny was a severely dozy man, but he had a good-heart nonetheless and Steve knew this more than anyone they had ever encountered.

As most people mistook Johnny for an alcoholic, a druggie, Steve knew him well enough to know that he was completely sober and his so-called intoxication was just his drowsy personality shining a light, because, although neither of the pair was completely against alcohol or drugs, they really never had the money to afford either of them.

What they needed was another hunting job, something to keep them going and feeling alive, maybe that would get them a little bit of pay from Bob Bryar, the leader of the American Hunting Community, but activity was taking an all time low in Jersey, and they would be damned to hunt in someone elses territory.

They may have been desperate, but they weren't prepared for a deathwish.

That was the one rule they must abide as hunters: Stay in your own territory.

Most lands had around twenty to thirty hunters around, but Jersey had always been desolate when it came to activity and two hunters were enough to fill the job and protect the citizens, even if one of them consisted of the very lackadaisical Johnny Seward.

"...and then I grew a beard!" Johnny burst out laughing, throwing his head back to read Steve's expression, which he assumed would be similar to his own.

"Johnny," Steve sighed, disappointing his younger friend at his lack of laughter, "you've told that story three times today. Twelve times this week, if you want me to get more accurate, and it's still only Wednesday."

Maybe Steve was a tiny bit sad for couting the amount of times Johnny repeated himself, but, in his defence, entertainment wasn't very easy to scavange around the desert, hence the reason Johnny tried to fill conversation with - in his opinion, and no one elses - hilarious stories.