LET'S MISBEHAVE | OPEN

[WOLF BITE]

tracking for later!

[J. HOLLOWAY]

[align=center][div style="width: 520px; text-align: justify; font-size: 10pt;"]Jason had never learned to copy his brother's strange ability to whistle well even when he was doing other things. It was a rare day when Bruce had been in that perfect zone of distracted and happy to let himself take that low breath and let it out in smooth trills, sections of songs that he must've heard when he was younger. What he'd gleaned from him over the years was that their mother liked swing music, and their father was a fan of jazz. He had mentioned black and white films that didn't have sound, and rickety projectors that whirred. He had described it as comforting. Jason had barely been born when the apocalypse took everything away, and now he was stuck with the knowledge that he would never know exactly what had endeared his brother to it so much. This was a poor mimicry of the song he had so often turned to as they scrapped parts from post-apocalyptic machines, things that could be used however people saw fit. It was a bright tune, something that was broken in a cheerful, jumpy way.

His version isn't entirely accurate or all that sweet, but he keeps it up idly as he starts cleaning up his handgun checking to make sure that he emptied the chamber, and checking again after that. Better safe than dead, right? Jason finds himself tapping his foot as he disassembles it, and then tipping his head with every beat as he cleans out the barrel. Anyone else stumbling on the scene likely wouldn't understand what was going on, but that's alright. For once, the younger Holloway is lost in his own little world, almost cheerful as he works. Even if his work is a little morbid.

[ALLOY]

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His own family had their tunes they'd carry between each other. Praxis never knew the history of the songs they sang and whistled, but they simultaneously lightened the mood of the older family members and saddened them. It was obvious, then, that they were songs from before the blackout, and remembering them was bittersweet, the same way it was for Praxis today to recall the way they'd have their hands in the dirt, planting seeds or digging up vegetables with melodies on their lips. His older sister would sing too, but hers were different songs; looking back, maybe she wrote them herself, in between sketching the little birds sitting on their fences and the barn cat mother with her kittens. He had that sketchbook with him now, resting against his chest within a pocket in one of his jackets, bouncing slightly with each step. Praxis knew he shouldn't keep it. The less tethering him to the past the better, but he couldn't bring himself to get rid of it just yet, especially after slowly turning its pages every night of the last year when the silence became isolating. He remembered the words to some of the songs she sang, and some of the songs the others would hum or murmur while taking a bucket to the well. They were lucky, weren't they? While not completely cut off from the rest of the world -they'd help wary travelers whenever they'd come- they didn't have to see some of the worse things Praxis had passed by.

He'd never realized until he was alone just how secluded they'd been. He probably knew more about the world as it was today than they had.

"If you're going to whistle, try not to be completely tone-deaf." Jason wasn't, not really; he knew his mother couldn't carry a tune very well, but she'd been happy when she sang, so it hadn't mattered. He just didn't want to be reminded of that, and maybe he could get him to shut up if he pissed him off enough.
[spoiler=I RAN SO FAR AWAY (INFO; 9/14)][size=8pt]GENERAL
-Praxis Terzi | Cisgender male, male pronouns | 18 years old | Born June 13
-Unknown sexuality | Single; not looking to grow close with anyone like that
-Resident of NorthStar District (for now; may choose to wander off later)

PHYSICALITY
-Shaggy, curly black hair; perpetually messy | Sharp, vivid green eyes; almond-rectangular shape
-Willowy and slender | Weighs in around 105 pounds, so he's a bit underweight, but not greatly
-Stands at 5'6 | Gains a few inches from the heels of his combat boots (5'8 while worn)
-Unblemished for the most part, but has faint scars all along the knuckles of both hands
-Tends to wear baggier clothing in layers, to seem both more muscular and larger than he is
-Owns a Smith & Wesson Model 642 kept in his pocket | Also owns a small combat knife

PERSONALITY
-Convinced he needs to be the "bad guy" to survive, so many traits are faked/forced
-Sharp-tongued and typically hostile | Keeps to himself and rarely socializes willingly
-More timid than he reveals | Self-serving, though with his own strain of sympathy
-Honestly just a mess with a shit-ton of guilt and confusion (with morality, especially)