Post by Brandon Blaylock on Dec 5, 2006 10:58:19 GMT -5
Brandon opened up the telegram that Rose Hauser had sent him. The messages were always short and sweet, sending him from location to location.
"San Diablo. Stop. M. Carter. Stop. Sean kicked out of house. Stop. Drunk every day. Stop."
He was young, but he wanted as much experience as he could get towards fighting and bounty hunting. He read the note, giving him the next location and the next contact. As he read it and put it to memory, he burned the note on the cement of the balcony of his hotel room. Through the sliding window doors, he looked for Mariella, and he could see the outline of her figure move across the room and apply some eyeliner to her soft brown eyes. The sun was reflecting hard on him and he turned to look across the dusty streets that could be seen in the distance, a contrast from the resort he had chosen to stay at.
Cabo had been a stopover, a small vacation, if you could call it that. It was a way to get really drunk without people asking many questions. Kano's memory haunted him, a voice rough and tumbled telling him to go home every other second of the day. He lit a cigarette to burn his lungs and burn the memories from him.
In his pockets were always a wad of cash, fake passports and identification. One day he was Geraldo Newsberry, another he would be Dane Jules. Didn't matter, he was still Brandon Blaylock, a 17 year old runaway with something to prove. At least he had someone pretty to look, someone intelligent to talk to now. Why she had travelled here, he didn't care. She was here when nobody else could seem to get through to him, and he was greatful of that so he could overlook the obvious doubts and questions that would normally plague him.
There was a distance he kept between them however. He had hurt her, or maybe he hadn't. Mariella was never quite vocal about how she had felt. He wasn't up for pushing buttons, even though while he was very drunk, he was sure he had made many passes at her. Sober however it was a different story and he seemed to stumble through conversations unwilling to bring up the short lived past.
Brandon finished his cigarette and walked back inside. He told her his next stop, and wondered if she'd follow. As he packed he bitched about his father, knowing all too well that now Sean was kicked out of the house because he had fallen off the wagon. Typical, he though, because it was all to typical for Brandon to do the same things as Sean. Like father, like son.