Scott had enjoyed his day. He usually did. It wasn't a hard life once you got the hang of it, being a seller. He didn't have much of an ambition, so he kept things small and manageable. His suppliers were happy with him, and he made sure he had a reserve of cash for if things ever went sideways, which they still did on occasion. Bryce would hear it then, and have to deal with his friend's bad mood. Scott was half a head taller than his grease-monkey roommate, and on occasion Bryce would jab about that, hinting at a bit of an inferiority complex. Scott, who dealt with the absolute dredge of human specimens, didn't mind a little envy. There were worse things that could exists between two men.<br/><br/>It wasn't like Bryce didn't have things going for him, too. Bailey was a blaring example. She hadn't been all that interesting in the beginning - cute, girlfriend material - but the more they saw of each other, the more she'd gotten under Scott's skin. She had a head on her shoulders and a confidence he liked, if only to see if he could shake it. Mostly it was their sweet relationship. It didn't make sense. Scott had always thought the pair was due for a bit of turmoil, but the two seemed to honestly love one another.<br/><br/>At first he'd been curious, assuming Bryce would fuck up, or she would, and it'd be like any other ex-complication he was used to, but the longer he knew them, the stronger they became. It was hard to relate to the down-to earth Bailey when the girls that hung around Scott were technicolor train-wrecks. How was he to come down from volatile fucking sessions and mirage-lined adventures when she was her normal, sweat pant self at home, smelling like a good night of sleep and honest work? It made Scott irate, and it was becoming difficult to keep it together, lately.<br/><br/>His costumers and the circuits he spun in when he wasn't in their shared house saw it in him. Scott was a violent soul that hadn't come across the right calamity to pivot him into a bloody kind of madness yet. He woke up with whiskey on his tank top, sticking to the black tattoos on his chest, and had real impulses of killing whatever figments he'd been dreaming of. Some of the girls who tried to get close usually had bruises for their trouble, and the few instances when buyers disagreed with his - very - reasonable rates and payment plan, they had to add hospital bills and sometimes surgery to their expenses. He could tell what kind of break he'd caused by the sound the bone made.<br/><br/>Still, Bryce was a good guy, and Scott liked that. It's what the dark haired dealer had seen the first time they met in a rusty drinking hole out in nowhere. Their friendship had been sealed when a handful of patrons had taken offense to Bryce's liberal opinions on how not every dispute should be solved with violence or vengeance. At the end of that conversation, which Scott had interrupted to mediate with his own fists and knees too - mostly so that the yet to be name Bryce wouldn't actually die from his moral stance - they all laid on the floor, though the other participants were worse off. Bryce had clung to Scott out of gratitude and perhaps a little idol worship after that, and it was difficult not to take a liking to the hard working, earnest fellow.<br/><br/>It made sense to split the rent with them, and his little obsession with Bailey hadn't been so bad when the offer came long. Bryce and she pretty much just smoked and popped up what Scott owed most months anyway. He hadn't considered that it'd be a fucking ordeal to see her in all her everyday clothes all the time. Sometimes he wondered why Bryce wasn't more of a bum, staying home all day and keeping her constantly pregnant.<br/><br/>That was another frustration Scott had. He heard the couple sometimes. Her moans were pretty, but from what he could tell, Bryce wasn't nearly giving her what she deserved. It was a good thing the girl didn't know better, but that didn't comfort Scott much. He still spent his frustration inside the belles with powder mustaches and bleeding nostrils, plastering Bailey's face on their make-up, and pinching her ring on their lips.<br/><br/>It had been at least a week since he'd had any kind of release. No impromptu brawls to ease the tension in his long muscles, and he'd missed out on a handful of parties too due to his delivery schedule. He played plenty civil with her when she came, but still had to watch her smoke in those shorts and homebody t-shirt.  She looked like she'd get up and cook a meal, or like she might be okay if he just put her down on her back and slid her shorts to the side. Sometimes he thought she did it out of spite, but her innocent, almost naive expressions absolved her. Today he'd worn a band-tank, arms with subtle ink and the shadows between his strung out details visible over destroyed jeans. His black hair was kept from falling into dark eyes with a tie, even if the strands were a little short for it.<br/><br/>Scott was relieved when Bryce came home, and looked forward to looking up brunette porn on his laptop in the privacy of his room. He was fed up with this house, and had every intention of leaving. There was probably something going on somewhere, and they usually wanted what he was selling. Once alone, though, Scott and all his strung tight sinew couldn't shake how good the joint had tasted after she'd sucked on it, and much that lip ring was fucking with his concentration lately. He broke a few drawers getting his stash out, and had just shrugged into a jacket when he overheard Bryce's plans.<br/><br/>The rest was on automatic. He had met this kind of self-justified darkness in himself before, and the girls didn't usually complain more than to put up a show, but he tried to keep that persona who provided needles and rainbow pills and gray smoke separate from his home. It was just becoming too much. She smelled too good - like her hand soap and make up and subtle fucking sweat - and now Bryce had left for at least two days. Scott ran his hand over his head, maybe a last attempt at calming himself, and leaving his friend's girl be. It only resulted in a few black fangs falling over his right eye.<br/><br/>He was waiting, sitting on the couch table with is jacket on, rubbing his eyebrow when she came in from having seen her last protector off. She had always looked great in casual home-wear. He wondered what she wore under those shorts, and what a miserable loser Bryce was for leaving her alone. "So." he said, and she would notice something new in his vice, something with a sordid intent, and low notes. It fitted Scott - he'd always been this kind of monster, it's what made those other women cling to him when they recognized his edges might cut them, too. "You wanna just hang out then, while he's gone?" he got up and came over to her. Their difference in size was almost laughable as he looked down at her. He tugged at the sleeve of her t-shirt, and it might be obvious he was trying to affect the cut of the neck to see down. "I've got a couple of new brands we can try."