@Gertrude Fitzgerald
OOC Note: Sorry if this is completely random for you. I just checked my list of Family members and wanted to get some threads going. If you want to thread, you can just reply. If you'd rather not, or would prefer to plan a bit first, you can let the thread die or shoot me a PM. Again, this must be a bit random for you, but I hope you'll enjoy it regardless!
“Bloody cow!” Oliver yelled at the top of his lungs. The other boy, Peter Coutts, ran away laughing, his fat ankles shaking whenever his feet hit the ground. The butcher’s boy was a tool with fat for brains and an ill-fitting, sheepish laugh. Coutts, Oliver thought, was probably hired by Robby and Ellen to annoy him. At least, he thought so up until the moment Coutt’s meaty fist had landed square on his nose.
He had retaliated of course, made the pig squeal. It had all happened so fast, he hadn’t meant to hurt anyone, but Peter had lashed out first. It wasn’t until all hundred and twenty pounds of his older classmate had vanished around a corner that he became aware of the throb in his nose and the drops falling from his nostrils.
“Shitter,” he muttered under his breath, pinching his nose with his fingers to stop red drops dripping on the slippery wet street. He let out a soundless yelp as he tried to stumble ahead. Only now did he register the kick Peter had landed against his shin.
Struggling to keep on his pins, and with no one out and about so late into the afternoon, Oliver decided it was best to head towards his aunt’s house. It was closer by, and maybe they could help him get home.
Five minutes before supper, Oliver arrived at the front door, clenching his teeth ocassionally. Peter was a brainless tool, but he knew how to land a good hit. After having taken a moment to straighten his jacket and neckerchief, to at least try and appear proper, he let the knocker drop.
When his aunt, or any of his nephews, would open the door, they would find Oliver looking rather dazed, shoulders hanging low and stripes of dried-up blood smeared over his philtrum and upper lip.
“Sorry to disturb you,” Oliver would say faintly, “but can I come in?”
OOC Note: Sorry if this is completely random for you. I just checked my list of Family members and wanted to get some threads going. If you want to thread, you can just reply. If you'd rather not, or would prefer to plan a bit first, you can let the thread die or shoot me a PM. Again, this must be a bit random for you, but I hope you'll enjoy it regardless!
---
“Bloody cow!” Oliver yelled at the top of his lungs. The other boy, Peter Coutts, ran away laughing, his fat ankles shaking whenever his feet hit the ground. The butcher’s boy was a tool with fat for brains and an ill-fitting, sheepish laugh. Coutts, Oliver thought, was probably hired by Robby and Ellen to annoy him. At least, he thought so up until the moment Coutt’s meaty fist had landed square on his nose.
He had retaliated of course, made the pig squeal. It had all happened so fast, he hadn’t meant to hurt anyone, but Peter had lashed out first. It wasn’t until all hundred and twenty pounds of his older classmate had vanished around a corner that he became aware of the throb in his nose and the drops falling from his nostrils.
“Shitter,” he muttered under his breath, pinching his nose with his fingers to stop red drops dripping on the slippery wet street. He let out a soundless yelp as he tried to stumble ahead. Only now did he register the kick Peter had landed against his shin.
Struggling to keep on his pins, and with no one out and about so late into the afternoon, Oliver decided it was best to head towards his aunt’s house. It was closer by, and maybe they could help him get home.
Five minutes before supper, Oliver arrived at the front door, clenching his teeth ocassionally. Peter was a brainless tool, but he knew how to land a good hit. After having taken a moment to straighten his jacket and neckerchief, to at least try and appear proper, he let the knocker drop.
When his aunt, or any of his nephews, would open the door, they would find Oliver looking rather dazed, shoulders hanging low and stripes of dried-up blood smeared over his philtrum and upper lip.
“Sorry to disturb you,” Oliver would say faintly, “but can I come in?”
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