Billy got used to waking up in strange places a long time ago; riding with a partner who never got tired or needed sleep meant long stretches covered when Billy wasn't paying attention. And he's used to waking in spots that don't look so inviting. The bugs are new.
So is being alone, and feeling woozy, and feeling the dirt and grit under his hands as he gets back to his feet. He doesn't have much time to think about that, though; those bugs are weirdly big and there's a lot of them. Billy can't help a sad sort of smile as he tightens his grip on the neck of his guitar.
"I've got the strangest feelin'," he drawls in a voice much stronger than his legs at the moment, "that y'all wouldn't mind a little piece of me." He hears the sirens now – a faraway, tinny sound, but then he can't seem to hear properly – and chuckles ruefully, strumming a chord. So these are just the first batch of cannon fodder and there's more on the way? That's nothing new, either. His guitar crackles to life. "Well? Come on!"
Barely back to life and he already feels like he's dying again, vision all dark and sparkling at the edges, head swimming with every little turn, chest tight and breath coming short (good lord, he'd forgotten what it's like to breathe). If he's gonna go out like this, he can at least put on a good show.
[ OPTION 3 ]
Springtime. It's springtime and Billy's almost in sensory overload because how could he not be out and about on such a gorgeous day? It may take him forever to readjust. He's fine with that.
One would think watching him stop and smell as many different flowers as he sees, stare too long at the brilliant decorations hanging in windows and from eaves, and the way he just stops and looks at the sky like he's never seen it before that he's a bit simple. The idea does occur to him… after a good twenty minutes and multiple stops to sniff and touch things. Oh, but he missed this so. He whistles an aimless, happy tune as he walks along the shops, just soaking up sunlight and colour.
Nothing can ruin this. Everything's bright and real and alive like he hasn't seen the world in ages. And, Billy thinks as he pauses in front of a little shop with tables full of knick-knacks out front, it's full of weird new things.
"Uh, pardon me, ma'am?" he hails the shopkeeper as he holds up an odd little charm. "But, uh, what d'you call this thing?"
Rocketbilly Redcadillac | Gungrave: Overdose | Option 1, Option 3
Billy got used to waking up in strange places a long time ago; riding with a partner who never got tired or needed sleep meant long stretches covered when Billy wasn't paying attention. And he's used to waking in spots that don't look so inviting. The bugs are new.
So is being alone, and feeling woozy, and feeling the dirt and grit under his hands as he gets back to his feet. He doesn't have much time to think about that, though; those bugs are weirdly big and there's a lot of them. Billy can't help a sad sort of smile as he tightens his grip on the neck of his guitar.
"I've got the strangest feelin'," he drawls in a voice much stronger than his legs at the moment, "that y'all wouldn't mind a little piece of me." He hears the sirens now – a faraway, tinny sound, but then he can't seem to hear properly – and chuckles ruefully, strumming a chord. So these are just the first batch of cannon fodder and there's more on the way? That's nothing new, either. His guitar crackles to life. "Well? Come on!"
Barely back to life and he already feels like he's dying again, vision all dark and sparkling at the edges, head swimming with every little turn, chest tight and breath coming short (good lord, he'd forgotten what it's like to breathe). If he's gonna go out like this, he can at least put on a good show.
[ OPTION 3 ]
Springtime. It's springtime and Billy's almost in sensory overload because how could he not be out and about on such a gorgeous day? It may take him forever to readjust. He's fine with that.
One would think watching him stop and smell as many different flowers as he sees, stare too long at the brilliant decorations hanging in windows and from eaves, and the way he just stops and looks at the sky like he's never seen it before that he's a bit simple. The idea does occur to him… after a good twenty minutes and multiple stops to sniff and touch things. Oh, but he missed this so. He whistles an aimless, happy tune as he walks along the shops, just soaking up sunlight and colour.
Nothing can ruin this. Everything's bright and real and alive like he hasn't seen the world in ages. And, Billy thinks as he pauses in front of a little shop with tables full of knick-knacks out front, it's full of weird new things.
"Uh, pardon me, ma'am?" he hails the shopkeeper as he holds up an odd little charm. "But, uh, what d'you call this thing?"