I'M READY, WARDEN / OPEN

[BRUCE H]

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/ drunk, weirdly philosophical win bc writer's block

There isn't always a reason for things. Accepting the senselessness of the universe doesn't necessarily bring a sense of peace. There are no flowers and birds and moments of "I'm totally free", because no. Even if the universe just really fucking sucked and did things for no reason, they still happened and you still had to deal with the consequences of choices that not even you made. You may not even know the asshole who did, and that didn't make things any fucking easier. At least when it was your fault you knew whose ass you wanted to kick. Or if you, you know, knew the person. Bruce finds himself wondering who the catalyst had been all those years ago. The one that started all of this mess and threw them into the end of the world. Hunt for food, fight for a safe place to sleep, and pray that you made it another week. He's not tired of it, really, because the world doesn't work like that. You don't just decide to quit one day — or maybe that's just him. Everything exhausted him but that didn't mean he got to sleep. Quitting wasn't allowed when he had a family and more to try and protect. This place wasn't a lot, but it was still something. No matter how many times you got hit, you're supposed to get right back up.

No, it led to other things instead. Like sitting on the arm of a couch in a mostly deserted room in the lodge, dark bottle held loosely in one hand and a slightly unfocused look to pale blue eyes. It's rare to see him looking this relaxed, though it's not the loose-limbed ease usually associated with a comfortable Win, soft brushes and sunshine. There's something complacent about him, borderline clumsy when he lifts the bottle to his mouth again. He hasn't had that much, to be entirely honest. A third of a bottle — the equivalent of two glasses, though he's not sure how much he's planning on drinking. Pale, chapped lips are already stained a bit of a dark red, made worse by both the fact that they were pale and that they were chapped, but it hasn't reached the outer edges (he's not that sloppy of a drinker). If anything, Win just looked... Warmer. Softer and compliant, every blink seeming lazier than the last. The thoughts playing in his head aren't anything terrible. There's not much in the way of heaviness, though there's still a weight on his tongue, as if there's something left to say. Maybe it's just the wine talking. He wouldn't put it past it. Truthfully, Win rarely drank much of anything. The fuzzy feeling it left was far from a favorite of his, especially when he'd been trained to stay on guard at all times.

When he does drink, it tends to be in moderation. Tonight? Not quite. He finishes the drink he'd paused halfway to his mouth, making a quiet, discontented noise at the taste. "Gross," he tells the bottle quietly, though it seems to be growing on him with every drink. He's still frowning (he's always frowning), but there's less scowling. A step forward with the wrong substance. Bruce allows himself to slide off the arm of the couch with a strange sort of twist, one that ends with him mostly on his back, head resting where he had previously been sitting. It's not that comfortable, but it's not that bad, either. "Why 'm'I doing this," he asks without any inflection, tone flat and soft. But as all of this had started — not everything in the world has a reason for happening.

[div style="width: 517px; text-align: justify; line-height: 1.1"][spoiler=MY PAST HAS TASTED BITTER FOR YEARS NOW —-— INFORMATION; 02/04/2017]
GENERAL INFORMATION / BIOGRAPHY / NOTES PAGE / PINTEREST BOARD
‣ Bruce "Win" Holloway / Usually Introduced as "Win" / Dislikes Being Called Bruce
‣ Cisgender Male / Heavy Preference for He/Him Pronouns / Neutral Pronouns Allowed?
‣ Gray-Biromantic Bisexual / Monogamous and Possessive / [Very] Taken by Dick Holiday
‣ ½ Boysoldier [BROTP] / Father and ⅙ of the Batfam [Dick, Damian, Cam, Meg, Stevie]
‣ Adoptive Father of Damian / SORTA has a tendency to adopt every sad-looking child
‣ Mid-Twenties / Born February 19th / NPC x NPC; Deceased / Older Brother of Jason

PHYSICALITY & POSSESSIONS / PARTIAL / PARTIAL / PARTIAL / HEALTH: 90%
‣ Important Tropes | Death Glare, Disapproving Look, and Faces Death with Dignity
‣ 6'3 & 180-200 lbs. | Muscular, solid build, well-defined but not overwhelmingly so.
‣ Slightly wavy hair, between dark brown and soft black. Shorter on the sides; messy.
‣ Pale steel blue eyes. | Usually scowling or at least looking unhappy. Rarely smiles.
‣ Warm, formerly tanned skin, lightly freckled from sun exposure. Paler with the cold.
‣ Wears layers. An undershirt, usually an overshirt or hoodie, and a black field jacket.
  ‣ Black or white undershirts. Blue or red plaid or solid navy overshirts, navy hoodie.
‣ 9mm pistol; holster on left thigh. | A large, single-blade, semi-serrated pocketknife.

PERSONALITY / BROKEN ACE / FRIEND TO CHILDREN / 1 / 2 / 3 / HEALTH: 80%
‣ Slytherin Primary + Hufflepuff Secondary / Chaotic Neutral / INFJ-T / Weirdly Moral
‣ Abrasive and domineering, tends to dislike taking orders from anyone he doesn't trust.
‣ Disciplined, calm. Can sometimes seem blank or can hyperfocus on one thought/action.
‣ Oddly gentle, particularly with young kids who have been through some sort of trauma.
‣ Borderline playful with people that he actually likes; tends to smile only around them.
‣ Measured, collected, steady. Holds himself and those around him to high standards.
‣ Would die for a stranger, but particularly overprotective of his family and close friends.
‣ Can be incredibly charismatic when he needs to be. Typically can't hold a conversation.

[DICK HOLIDAY.]

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Having all the answers wasn't always possible, and sometimes, for certain people, it wasn't even wanted; not everyone wanted to learn the truth about everything when it was easier to gloss them over, although in certain cases it didn't seem like finding a definite truth was possible. Calling it coincidence, or chalking it up to a toss of fate's dice- it was almost a kind of acceptance, and what else were they supposed to do? Rebel against something no one could completely understand? Dick knew the appeal in controlling your own life, and your own future, but oftentimes, it was more about the responses than the cause. In other words, they couldn't choose where the fires started, but they could choose how they extinguished them -if they did- and when. It wasn't the greatest turn of events, no, though that was just how life was, wasn't it? There were ups, there were downs, and places in between, and he supposed it was much easier to experience the steeper, rougher sections of hills in this time period, when a blow struck humanity down a few pegs and opened up several mostly closed vulnerabilities. Was there a specific reason for that? Had there been a straw to break the camel's back? Or, like many large scale events, did several causes contribute? Dick couldn't know. He didn't even have direct experience with how the world was before- his memories didn't extend to when he was one year old. All they could do now was pick up the pieces and hope they didn't fuck everything up even worse.

Dick hadn't figured out what went along with that yet, however. He hadn't even discovered what the hell he was supposed to be doing as an individual, other than helping keep this place up and running and offer whatever he could to his family. He wasn't dissatisfied, because everyone had to do their part and he wouldn't complain about pulling his own weight, but living this precariously- Dick wanted to support more stability. Routine didn't translate exactly to that, and sometimes routines worked; sometimes they didn't. He couldn't decide which way their general living was headed, and he didn't know if he ever would when some days were better than others, and some were consecutive horror shows.

This was shaping up to be a fairly average day, at least until, in search of something to keep his hands busy, he found Win on one of their couches. He was sitting with a bottle of wine, eyes a bit nebulous and lips bearing an extra pop of red he knew had to be the wine. The things his presence did were different when he was like this; here, he wasn't imposing. Win sat there with such a casualness Dick almost laughed, because even when he was loose-limbed and languid, something about him still said uncomfortable. Holding back, he continued to watch for several more moments, until Win slid down from the armrest; he took that as his cue to announce himself, which he did by leaning over into Win's vision, a light grin tugging the corners of his mouth. "If you have to ask that, maybe it's time to call it a day." Dick didn't say it sharply, maintaining the smile, and then ducking more to press a kiss against his nose.
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[spoiler=info (1/31)]GENERAL
-Richard "Dick" Holiday | 21 years old | Born October 25th | Flintlock Lodge
-Bisexual | Very much taken by Bruce Holloway | ½ Boysoldier (brotp to otp)

PHYSICALITY
-Stands at around 5'11 | Athletic build oriented around an acrobatic/aerial base (see next line)
-A bit thinner due to lack of proper nutrition, but musculature is still clearly defined and present
-Dark ebony hair that is always disheveled; currently a little shaggy and curling down over his ears
-Bright, vibrant blue eyes | Tends to wear baggier pants with tighter shirts when inside the building
-May occasionally wear Bruce's clothes (dark undershirts, lighter tops, or his hoodie that are all far too big)

PERSONALITY
-Stubborn and far from being a pushover | Polite, but will not take shit from people
-Typically friendly and outgoing; isn't difficult to get along with most of the time
-Prefers to see the brighter side of things, although he takes it all with a grain of salt
-Sets high standards for himself and strongly loathes the idea of failing/imperfection
-All in all, more of a lighter kind of person, except his extroversion acts as a concealer

[BRUCE H]

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Wouldn't the world be such a peaceful place if everyone knew what was going on? There were other words for that, of course. Complacent. Dependent. Slothful. If you had all the answers, you would never strive for anything more. You would have nothing to question. Even now, as someone who's just bordering on one too many, Win understands that. He hated leaving things up to fate. He hated the idea that some things just happened and that he couldn't stop it. He hated the fact that in the grand scheme of things, he's basically useless. Some people find comfort in the fact that the universe doesn't fucking care — Win? He detests the universe. Hates its senselessness with every fiber of his being. It's just calmer like this. Soothed. He bares his teeth at forces that are not cowed just because it makes him feel better. Maybe one of these days it will listen, right? Stop fucking things up for him, because no matter how he blamed himself (and he never stopped blaming himself), there were some things in his life that just happened because things fucking sucked. His parents dying, for example. Why? There was no point in it. They were good people who did good things. They had two little boys and a long life ahead of them. While his life certainly had several high points, Dick was right. It was easier to have a bad day. Good days were the ones that you had to fight for, and so he did. Don't misunderstand, of course. Bruce treasures his good days. The ones where even his stoic fucking face hurts from smiling so goddamn much. Days where nothing went wrong, they hadn't worried about food and water and people from the Badlands.

Picking Damian up and spinning him just to listen to him laugh, making fun of Stevie — for pretty much anything, though she gave as good as she got. Friendly bantering while they walked, before all this crap with Cam and Stevie, before things went sideways all fucking over. He can't say for certain that he prioritizes any happy movements over each other, but there are several that stick out. Dick smiling when he kissed him, picking up Damian for the first time. (He can't count meeting Stevie because she annoyed him at first, but now he liked that memory more.) That's what he's alive for. There are so many bad days that it's almost not worth it, and then he wakes up to a sleepy mumble and a head on his shoulder and a little bit more is okay. It's a process. It takes time. But he's getting there.

Maybe there's nothing in this world except making it nice for you and the people around you. Maybe you could never change the whole world on your own, but you could make it easier for someone else to make the same difference that you did. And that was how you changed the world. It's not stable, and it's not easy, but it's good, sometimes. It's good enough. Better when the space between two blinks can bring about such a change as Dick's face leaning over him, and Win can't help it that his eyes light up a little bit, can't help that he's already smiling. The kiss to his nose has him laughing low and happy, going a little cross-eyed for a second, and then he just stares at him for a second. Awe is a familiar thing with Dick. He's always amazed with him. It's just a little more obvious like this. "Or," he murmurs, and pauses to gently pull his partner down (just a bit) with his free hand at the back of his neck, fingers threading through his hair — almost kisses him, just lingers there instead, close enough to feel his softer breaths against his lips, "I could try and convince you to have some too." Only then does Bruce kiss him, knowing full well that his mouth tastes of wine and he's a little bit slower than usual, letting his eyes close. He has enough presence of mind not to pull Dick closer to him, at least, no matter how badly he wants to. "Feels kinda nice," Win coaxes once he stops kissing him, pulling back and licking his own wine-stained lips. Time has a way of slowing around him, but he can proudly say that he didn't kiss him long enough for it to be obscene. "Everyone can drink. Make a party out of it."

[div style="width: 517px; text-align: justify; line-height: 1.1"][spoiler=MY PAST HAS TASTED BITTER FOR YEARS NOW —-— INFORMATION; 02/04/2017]
GENERAL INFORMATION / BIOGRAPHY / NOTES PAGE / PINTEREST BOARD
‣ Bruce "Win" Holloway / Usually Introduced as "Win" / Dislikes Being Called Bruce
‣ Cisgender Male / Heavy Preference for He/Him Pronouns / Neutral Pronouns Allowed?
‣ Gray-Biromantic Bisexual / Monogamous and Possessive / [Very] Taken by Dick Holiday
‣ ½ Boysoldier [BROTP] / Father and ⅙ of the Batfam [Dick, Damian, Cam, Meg, Stevie]
‣ Adoptive Father of Damian / SORTA has a tendency to adopt every sad-looking child
‣ Mid-Twenties / Born February 19th / NPC x NPC; Deceased / Older Brother of Jason

PHYSICALITY & POSSESSIONS / PARTIAL / PARTIAL / PARTIAL / HEALTH: 90%
‣ Important Tropes | Death Glare, Disapproving Look, and Faces Death with Dignity
‣ 6'3 & 180-200 lbs. | Muscular, solid build, well-defined but not overwhelmingly so.
‣ Slightly wavy hair, between dark brown and soft black. Shorter on the sides; messy.
‣ Pale steel blue eyes. | Usually scowling or at least looking unhappy. Rarely smiles.
‣ Warm, formerly tanned skin, lightly freckled from sun exposure. Paler with the cold.
‣ Wears layers. An undershirt, usually an overshirt or hoodie, and a black field jacket.
  ‣ Black or white undershirts. Blue or red plaid or solid navy overshirts, navy hoodie.
‣ 9mm pistol; holster on left thigh. | A large, single-blade, semi-serrated pocketknife.

PERSONALITY / BROKEN ACE / FRIEND TO CHILDREN / 1 / 2 / 3 / HEALTH: 80%
‣ Slytherin Primary + Hufflepuff Secondary / Chaotic Neutral / INFJ-T / Weirdly Moral
‣ Abrasive and domineering, tends to dislike taking orders from anyone he doesn't trust.
‣ Disciplined, calm. Can sometimes seem blank or can hyperfocus on one thought/action.
‣ Oddly gentle, particularly with young kids who have been through some sort of trauma.
‣ Borderline playful with people that he actually likes; tends to smile only around them.
‣ Measured, collected, steady. Holds himself and those around him to high standards.
‣ Would die for a stranger, but particularly overprotective of his family and close friends.
‣ Can be incredibly charismatic when he needs to be. Typically can't hold a conversation.

[DICK HOLIDAY.]

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People wanted that kind of omniscience because they wanted solutions to the previously unsolvable. They didn’t think of the gateways that might lead to in the end; they saw problems, and they couldn’t see answers, so wishing for something that might provide the impossible was understandably appealing. Did Dick wish, sometimes, that he could have answers for why, exactly, he and his father weren’t enough for each other? Did Dick wish that he had answers for why Bruce lost his parents, for why children were abandoned, for why people became divided because of the very things they fell in love over? Yeah, he did, but answers didn’t always fix everything, and in certain instances they could make them worse. Guess it was for the best none of that was possible then, right? Dick could do without the increased possibility of screwing things up, especially after he’d already managed to do that on more than one occasion. Sometimes there wasn’t an answer for why they made mistakes- they just did and they had to deal with it, the way that Dick nearly got Win killed and had to see the scar on his throat every morning when they woke up together as a constant reminder. In the beginning, he’d tried ignoring it, pretending it wasn’t there- he’d denied it. Later, he’d grown angry at himself, at the person who hurt Bruce; he’d wanted to know why they would done it, but after that stage, he’d realized it didn’t really matter why. The answers weren’t always important, especially in comparison with the aftermath and trying to make something better of what sat bitter and ugly between his shoulders. Now, instead of averting his gaze from the scar, instead of glossing over it as though it was inconsequential, he brushed his lips there, across what nearly took Bruce from him.

He tried not to think about what could eventually do that. When he saw him smile in spite of the apocalypse they lived in, holding Damian or trading affectionate repartee with Stevie and Cam or discussing vegetables with Meg- he did his best to ignore the part of his mind that lowered itself to musing what those images would be without him in them. He didn’t want to think of what a life without him was; he’d been without him up until they met, of course, but that was different. That was not knowing what he was missing. This would have him wholly and painfully aware of what he was losing, and it was inevitable that he would, but he wanted it to be when Win’s hair turned white and his eyes bore a lifetime of laughter’s imprint, not when there was still so much time between them that Dick would know being without him longer than being with him. That was almost how it went that day.

It was the very last thing he wanted to focus on though, so he shoved away that part of his mind and chose to see that he was alive and well now. Chose to focus on the way his expression was loose and open, and how easy it was to fall in love with yet another side of Win. It sounded sappy, and he knew it was, but he also knew it wasn’t always this light, that there would be days when he didn’t smile and Dick would try his best to smooth the wrinkles from his brow. He learned to laugh with him on the good days, and hold him on the bad, and maybe it sounded ridiculous, but he wouldn’t want all their days to be cheery copies of each other. That wouldn’t be love, would it? Not without the trust that came with knowing you could stumble and your partner would be there to keep you from hitting the ground. In this case, it was a warm hand weaving through Dick’s hair that kept him from drifting off, pulling him down, and his eyes nearly closed entirely in anticipation. A brief shiver spiraled down his back, Bruce’s breaths just fanning across his mouth, and then his answer had only a few sparse centimeters to travel between them. It was a short distance Bruce finally closed after speaking, and Dick succumbed to it without resistance, savoring the blend of wine and Bruce that he tasted. He sighed quietly into it, matching the slowness with his own deliberateness. When the pressure disappeared, he found himself chasing after it, until reality struck and he pulled back slightly, realizing they had a conversation he needed to participate in, but, embarrassingly enough, his mind was nearly blank. ”We’d have to get something for all the little ones,” Dick began, licking his lips for the remaining taste of wine. ”Or would this be for the big kids only?”
[div style="text-align: justify; width:500px;font-size:11px"]
[spoiler=info (1/31)]GENERAL
-Richard "Dick" Holiday | 21 years old | Born October 25th | Flintlock Lodge
-Bisexual | Very much taken by Bruce Holloway | ½ Boysoldier (brotp to otp)

PHYSICALITY
-Stands at around 5'11 | Athletic build oriented around an acrobatic/aerial base (see next line)
-A bit thinner due to lack of proper nutrition, but musculature is still clearly defined and present
-Dark ebony hair that is always disheveled; currently a little shaggy and curling down over his ears
-Bright, vibrant blue eyes | Tends to wear baggier pants with tighter shirts when inside the building
-May occasionally wear Bruce's clothes (dark undershirts, lighter tops, or his hoodie that are all far too big)

PERSONALITY
-Stubborn and far from being a pushover | Polite, but will not take shit from people
-Typically friendly and outgoing; isn't difficult to get along with most of the time
-Prefers to see the brighter side of things, although he takes it all with a grain of salt
-Sets high standards for himself and strongly loathes the idea of failing/imperfection
-All in all, more of a lighter kind of person, except his extroversion acts as a concealer