Tattoo

Chapter 10

Note: This chap is intense. It's full on Laxus pov, no restraint made by me to be PG. This is a chap thats 17+ for sure. Also I was high when writting this, so its a little crappy, but I felt inspired so sue me.  

everything was planned at the start of the book fyi, just in case y'all bitches thought this was sudden. 

Playlist at bottom 

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My starting neighbourhood wasn't a pleasant rose smelling one. There were no flower bushes glittering the streets. Hell, well there had been Rose. I could laugh at the ironic name, she'd been a working chick, a junkie actually if the dazed expression always resting on her was any indication. A nice woman, however, good to the passing kids hoping for a chance, well, I couldn't say if it was kindness or just want for sex. Most of the guys 'round my block had lost their v- with her -for free. I'd known her only boyfriend well enough to be on a first name basis with the guy, he, like her, had been a civilian, livin' 'round a bunch of darken'd wizards out of nowhere else to be.

I'd been sixteen.

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I expected to get back to silence, as was usual, Dad being gone with the guild for the day, and I had been roamin' 'round trashing shit in next town over.

Uprooting their crappy business out of nothing left to do for the day, ignoring the bitterness of resentment clouding my judgment, personal vendettas' didn't matter here unless you wanted to do something extreme. My experience was blowing buildings, but that's as far I could bring myself to do, even then it was usually Pops putting some kind of pressure on me to actually do something about my anger.

To him, it was restrained.

Opening the cracked door and seeing my father eating slowly some fast-food had made me nearly punch the guy. Glad for my own caution, considering I could've found myself knocked fast on my ass for that one. Pops gave me a look, disdained, yet uninterested in what had been going on, focusing on having his drink and eating. That didn't matter to me, I expected nothing from the guy, knowing him as long as I have, and having him ignore me was not a surprise. I stole his fries instead, because he always let me, and it happened to be from one of my favourite places.

Even still, without him saying anything, I knew he wanted something from me, I practically raised myself, in this city, that meant dirt poor and with thugs about to shove you on the wall and take all you had. Or just people who got a boner from free flowin' blood. Raising myself here meant I knew when someone wanted something, hookers and junkies, thugs and fathers, most the time it was easier just to do what they wanted and not get wild about it. Whatever it took to keep alive, as it were.

He fixed me a stare, finishing off his burger with a swipe of a greased napkin to his beard, it did nothing but leave a smear.

"Laxsinian," I hated that name, I scowled at its use, and he pretended not to get irritated at my insubordination. Fucker.

"Eat'a dick." He didn't pause, only rollin' the same eyes I got. and making a gesture with his hand indicating for me to shut up. It was a familiar enough routine that at this point he didn't even bother to try and fix my attitude as he used to.

"Watch it boy. I got a job for you." That grasped my attention fast, it was rare. Most of the time he didn't give a shit what I did. Lettin' me blow up what I wanted, fuck around with a random ass chick. Even walkin' in once when I was high outta my mind on coke, and smoking a joint on the couch. No shits given. He only gave me jobs rarely, and when he did I was expected to fulfill them with no questions asked.