Dec. 1st, 2010

mnt_raph: (Dom Guilty)
It's a mild night, all things considered. The weather is as even keeled as the Scotland of the Wizarding world is this time of year, and Raph is glad for it. He's glad for the partly cloudy skies, and the chill-yet-not-cold air that breezes past him...and the wounds newly opened on his knuckles.

Yes, he truly wouldn't be Raph if he metabolized his rage using completely healthy means. And there are fewer things less healthy for knuckles than being used to punch brick walls.

They tend to be unforgiving, brick walls.

Kind of like some blondes he knows, Raph muses to himself with a dry chuckle.

"'Least with walls you know where you stand," he says to no one in particular, before lifting the pilfered bottle of Jack to his lips and downing a sizable gulp. He wipes the corner of his mouth with the part of his free hand that isn't currently bleeding, and gives his surroundings a good once over.

It's been a long time since he's been up on this roof. His roof. Even longer since he's sat, legs dangling over the edge, with a bottle of his favorite spirit close at hand.

"fuck."

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Raphael

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