>>6155286>>6155294>>6155331>>6155340>>6155806>>6155360You look longingly at a box of Muay Thai sparring equipment before pulling away. You really aren't looking to stuff more nonsense into your apartment... right now at least. You pull out your phone and use your toe to push a few boxes aside until you see something that catches your eye. A box full of religious junk, pendants, candles, and books. Including a small silver flask, about the size of your palm, gently shaking it you hear the liquid inside slosh about. You set it down gently and snap a photo, maybe you'll ask Reiner if he'd be fine with you taking it, after your experience at John's you see a little more value in carrying holy water.
A grunt next to you and the sound of a limp pile of cloth and dense fiber falls next to you, sending new clouds of dust and dirt swirling into the buzzing lights, Hawthorne sniffles and lets out a huge sneeze.
"Jesus Christ." He mutters. "Would it kill em to store this thing closer to the front."
"Looks pretty old.. and ugh it has a tail?" You say, giving it a light tap with your foot.
"It's a fucking dog, DeLucia. Last time they replaced it was about ten years ago since we don't really parade around in the damn thing." He yanks and rips at velcro straps until the head of a cartoon dog rolls to your feet. You glance down at it then back up at Hawthorne, who is now repeating the process, ripping open the costume's back.
"Gonna need your help."
"Looks like it, why're you putting it on now? We have a ride to the school to do still."
"You'll understand. Now c'mere."
You listen and step up, helping Hawthorne maintain balance as he slides into the foam blocks that make up it's feet. Afterwards you help refasten the velcro straps on the back, making sure to keep it nice and snug. Hawthorne bends down and grabs the head. He turns to face you and his face is a mask of regret. Letting out a sigh he slaps the head on and spreads his arms.
"Well?"
Your poker face is struggling. Your chest is assaulted by a slowly growing pressure. Your lungs burn as you hold your breath. You're pretty sure you taste blood from how hard you're clamped on your tongue.
"Go ahead." Hawthorne orders.
You lose your shit, your sides ache the same as when you out-ran Firebug, you feel hot tears brimming in your eyes as you wipe with the back of your hand.
"Holy shit.." You manage to squeak out. "Are we sure this isn't going to, y'know, traumatize the kids?"
"Fuck em." Hawthorne barks, sending you into another fit.
"Get ahold of yourself, you're a grown ass man." He shakes his head in disappointment which make his ears wiggle and shed more dust.
"You're right... sorry.. Oh fuck, sorry sir." You sniffle a few times and huff away a few defiant giggles before gesturing towards the door. "Should we get going then?"
He claws at the back of the mask and removes it. His eyes are tired. He jerks his head and you follow them to the door where he rests a paw on the handle.
