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Uhn.
Propping his head up in his hands, Will leant casually against the counter in the infamous Brotherhood hideaway in the kitchen. The usual scowl contorted his pale features, and his eyes were dark and deep like the swirling promise of a thunderstorm, a clear signal of restlessness. With those eyes he gave a frustrated glance out a high window.
A light drizzle had begun early this morning. Over the course of the day the drops became bigger, faster, and if possible... wetter. It irked the redhead to no end that the feeble rainstorm was nothing more than rain. There was no show of lightning that he was always silently fascinated by, and no thunder that would make the building shake and tremble at every echo of nature. This also meant that with only rain pouring from the sky, there was no racing about in the streets on his motorcycle unless if he wanted to risk crashing it from weariness after being short-circuited by the precipitation. And with that fact, there was only one thing he could do about it...
...sulk.
Narrowing his eyes, he glared at the half-finished glass of whiskey on the table before him. Obviously, Will kept incorporating new ways to get his hands on alcohol, despite the fact that he was underage by three years, and still had to have his ID checked because of his obviously being 'vertically challenged'--making him appear younger than he actually was--if he ever decided to take it upon himself to go to an R-rated movie. It didn't happen often, but it ticked Will off immensely when adults thought he was fourteen. Good god. He was eighteen. Eighteen.
Muttering obscenities to himself, his hand suddenly shot out and he took the glass up, draining about half its contents in one swift gulp. Perhaps getting drunk at some point in the day was in order...
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