the_star_child: (spiky shoulders)
[personal profile] the_star_child
As Blaine got off the elevator, he turned down the hall that lead to Elliott's apartment. Turning a corner, he could see from a distance the apartment door was standing open and hear several loud voices coming from within. Slowing his steps, he listened in. Initially it was just to determine if Elliott was in trouble, but it quickly shifted into curious eavesdropping.

"Would you stupid c*nts get out of here?" Elliott's voice rang out with irritation.

"Aww, is Lil Gilbert getting upset? Does he need a tissue?" An unfamiliar, older than Elliott man's voice answered in a mocking tone that prevented Blaine from being able to tell much else about him.

"Oh fuck off, Jacob. You've been making that same joke for years," Elliott grumbled back, not sounding 'sad' at all.

"But what are we gonna tell Ma?" A third male's voice whined, this one sounded younger than the other unfamiliar one that apparently belonged to Jacob, one of Elliott's older brothers.

"Tell her what? There's nothing to tell," Elliott responded frustrated. There was a curse under his breath and some rustling around. If Blaine was to guess, their voices were either coming from the main room or the bedroom. It might be a mix of both as they seemed to be moving around quite a bit.

"What about the funeral?" The younger unidentified voice nagged. "She wants an answer Lil G!"

Elliott let out an aggravated sigh. "I don't give a fuck what you tell her!"

"You can't just not come to the funeral," argued the guy.

"What funeral, Ronny? The man isn't even dead yet! He's just old, so who the hell knows when a funeral will happen. Didn't I tell you guys to get out of here? Seriously, I got shit to do tonight and hanging out with you two ain't it," Elliott snapped. Ronny, Blaine remembered was the youngest of the three older Gilbert brothers. "Fuck!" He cursed again, slamming something like a drawer or cabinet shut. "I'm never buying this brand again."

"If you didn't wear that f*ggy makeup your eyes might not be so bad," Jacob remarked. "Whatcha got going on that you want us gone so bad for?"

"Well, one, I loathe the sight of both of you and if you must know, I have a date. He should be here any time now and I don't want him having to deal with the likes of you," Elliott answered bluntly.

"Oooh, a date?" Ronny responded in a sing song teasing voice. "I thought you didn't do dates, just fucked around."

"That's none of your damn business, now get out. Both of you, out!"

"I think we should stick around and meet this guy," Jacob suggested with an unfriendly laugh.

"We can't leave till you tell us what to tell Ma! She said you haven't talked to her in a month," Ronny complained.

"I don't care what you tell her but even if he was dead, I wouldn't go to his funeral. The door is that way."

"You know, you'd be a lot more intimidating if you were crying," Jacob pointed out. "Or walking around in your underwear."

"You're lucky I was even in my underwear. You walked in here while I was finishing my shower," Elliott said exasperated.

"That's your fault for leaving your keys in the door," Ronny laughed and Blaine could almost hear the glare he was given. It only made the offending brother laugh harder. "You got Ma's look down pat!"

"Get out!" Elliott ordered loudly, but was ignored.

"He sure does," Jacob answered Ronny amused as though Elliott hadn't spoken at all. "How 'bout a bribe? That might work."

"Oh my god, just leave already. I'm not giving you any money!"

"A bribe! I like that idea, Jacob," Ronny excitedly got on board. "Even just enough to get some dinner or a show.. or both."

Elliott sighed again heavily and his footsteps led back to the bedroom. While he was in there, the other two kept talking.

"Wonder what kind of loser he's got coming over," Jacob commented thoughtfully.

"Who cares. It's just another f*g," Ronny replied without much interest. "I'm sick of Ma asking me why he hasn't called. It's almost worse than how long she complains after he called the last time."

Before they could say anymore, Elliott came back. "Here. Now get out."

"What about Ma?" Ronny pressed.

"I'll call her now leave before I get my whip," Elliott threatened, sounding like this was a real threat of some kind.

"It's really stupid you have a whip," Ronny criticized.

"It's really stupid till I leave another welt on your face like I did two months ago," Elliott shot back.

"We're good," Jacob spoke up now that he was done counting the money. "Come on Ronny. Oh and Elliott.. you should really do something about your face. Tears and red eyes aren't going to get you any dick, especially how blotchy your face gets when you cry."

"I'm not crying!"

Blaine realized the guys were coming this way. Glancing around, there wasn't anywhere to hide and with the flowers in his hands it wouldn't be hard to figure out why he was standing there. He hurried down the hall as far as he could go before spinning around as the two large men stepped out. One of them was visibly older looking than the other even though they weren't that far off in age. His skin and face just had a weathered texture from smoking cigarettes (and worse). The other one reminded him a lot of Puck. He was far better looking than the other one with thick muscles and slicked back hair. He looked like he was a couple decades too late for being a greaser.

Pretending he had just come from the elevators, Blaine started back down the hall toward them as casually as he could. Fortunately, the brothers looked him over but seemed far more interested in the wad of twenties they were re-counting. Blaine paused at the open doorway to Elliott's apartment and looked back towards the brothers. They never looked back his way as they got into the elevator and left with their loot.



From the doorway, Blaine could smell pot. It had lingered in the air as the brothers walked by. The sound of something glass smashing against a wall rang out from inside the apartment along with a very loud and furious, "Fuck!"

Elliott sank down onto the edge of the bed and put his head in his hands, a lit blunt tucked between his lips. He hated them. He hated them so much it hurt.
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Elliott Gilbert

November 2016

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