Lucky for the ghost that Butcher can't hear, High Gate Terrace is right here. It's the place Billy has called home for more than a couple months. However reluctantly, he will admit that he has a certain fondness for the place. It's a right side nicer than Ocean View. Why the place he found was fully furnished, he will never know. The first month or so he was half-waiting for someone to come back from whatever a Darrowean might consider a vacation and try and relocate him. It never happened. Pity, that.
He misses violence, not because it's easy, even though it is. MM and Frenchie talk about it like it isn't. They even posited there was a time that Butcher found it difficult to do harm himself. They were wrong. He learned early on that there is little to no difference between protection and destruction.
Those aren't really the stakes he's living at anymore. Sometimes there are ice bees, other times the best the place has got is a slow-moving meteor that doesn't happen. Even on the streets it's a slow fuckin' news day. There's a car alarm going off a block over that people are yelling about in the dumbest feedback loop of noise Butcher has ever heard and that includes the bloody Spice Girls.
On the other side there is - upon inspection from over his shades - a bloke having a very casual conversation with no one around. It's fascinating. After a few moments of observing this painfully New York experience, he decided to do a thing he was much less likely to do in New York: engage.
"Oi!" Butcher calls to this twiggy lad, making his way a bit closer. He looks oddly familiar. "Heard you're new here. Welcome to the neighborhood. Hate to break it to you, lad, think it's you havin' a breakdown."
no subject
He misses violence, not because it's easy, even though it is. MM and Frenchie talk about it like it isn't. They even posited there was a time that Butcher found it difficult to do harm himself. They were wrong. He learned early on that there is little to no difference between protection and destruction.
Those aren't really the stakes he's living at anymore. Sometimes there are ice bees, other times the best the place has got is a slow-moving meteor that doesn't happen. Even on the streets it's a slow fuckin' news day. There's a car alarm going off a block over that people are yelling about in the dumbest feedback loop of noise Butcher has ever heard and that includes the bloody Spice Girls.
On the other side there is - upon inspection from over his shades - a bloke having a very casual conversation with no one around. It's fascinating. After a few moments of observing this painfully New York experience, he decided to do a thing he was much less likely to do in New York: engage.
"Oi!" Butcher calls to this twiggy lad, making his way a bit closer. He looks oddly familiar. "Heard you're new here. Welcome to the neighborhood. Hate to break it to you, lad, think it's you havin' a breakdown."