Un-beta'd.
Hints of ChristophexKenny :)
Hell Isn't So Bad
Everytime I die, every fucking time, it's always someone's fault. But this time, I'm certain I won't come back; because it's not anybody's fault but my own. You know when you really should listen to the adverts on television and the fucked up people that come to your school and tell you that you're a twat if you smoke?
Yeah, well - I wish I actually had listened and had given a crap. Because I wouldn't be here right now. But I'll admit to you all - silently, in my head of course - that Hell isn't so bad.
There's people you pass who know you, and it's hilarious. There's the Devil himself, who actually isn't that bad of a person, only to the people he assumes really do need a kick up the ass. Most people are just in Hell because they're either not Mormon, didn't confess their sins - or they just deserved to be there.
I was a little bit of them all I suppose.
But anyway, moving back onto the topic at hand. You really should listen to those smart cookies who inform you of the risks and dangerous circumstances of doing what you're doing - whether it's smoking, taking drugs, sniffing glue or any other kind of crap - because they're all right. They're protecting you, even if they dance around and sing pathetic rap songs about the circumstances - it's for your own good.
But don't listen to me when I say Hell isn't all that bad because this is coming from somebody who has died probably more times than you've ever blinked. Hell, that's an over exageration. Okay, more times than a baby has blinked.
That's the average amount. Shocker, right?
"Welcome back,"
I turn to the person who's said that in their deep, accented voice and I grin insanely at their posture. Leaning against the rocky wall with a cigarette between his own lips and ruined gloves, a shovel to his left and his boots to his right. "Thanks,"
Christophe nods his head simply and pushes himself off of the wall, suprised; "What 'appened zis time?" He asks. I shrug my shoulders and shiver as his hand runs over my chin, hoisting it up and dropping it again in expection of any cuts and bruises. I swear, he takes pleasure in my pain - that sick, French asshole.
"Cancer," I reply simply as if I'm answering a simple how are you? Christophe laughs slightly, shaking his head and stabbing his cigarette out on his arm, tossing the dry stub away and sighing against my face.
"You never learn, do you?" He patronises.
I frown, "This is coming from the mercenary?" I snort, "Real mature, Mole, real mature." I reply, just as patronising and sarcastic as he had put it. He shakes his head more in amusement then anything else and slings his arm around my shoulders.
"Shall we?" He teases, nudging my hip with his own. I grin and take the hand dangling over my chest, and entwine our fingers with a grin.
"Of course, darling.."
Christophe shakes his head again and lets a chuckle escape him. Not a laugh, nor a giggle - but a simple, humoured chuckle that erupts from his throat and vibrates against my back. Our feet start in the same pace and beat as he leads me to meet the two people we always ensure to meet.
Damien and Pip.
Okay, so Pip's a shocker but I mean, suicide does that to you. He killed over three people in a suicidle rampage - well, purely he was going to kill himself but they got in the way of it, and he accidently slit their throats. Sure Pippers, sure.
"Oi, Damien," Christophe calls, kicking the door in front of him with his bare foot. I glance down at his socks and scoff. He glares at me, squeezing our fingers as he leans against me waiting for the door to open and the noises to stop inside.
The door does open after a few minutes, and I keep my eyes open as familiar blonde hair pops into my view. "Kenneth!" Pip exclaims, a smile falling over his face. I shake my head and flick blonde locks away from my eyes to look at him and smile as softly back.
"Hey there, Pipsqueak." I comment, he giggles to himself and steps outside, followed by the oh-so-Mighty-I'll-make-you-shit-your-pants Damien. He glares at me for a while before sighing and glancing me up and down.
"Again?" He mutters, amusement falling through his voice and a flash of humour in his eyes. Pip nudges himself against the wall and glances back and forth between the two of us. Christophe yawns and shakes his head, keeping himself awake. Did he wait all this time? How sweet.
"Yeah, again." I reply, dropping my grin and stretching, purposely squeezing Mole's fingers enough to make him grunt. He thumps me with his hip and grunts again as I laugh. Damien shrugs and stretches to himself, grabbing Pip's arm and pulling him back inside.
"Well, have fun." He throws us a look and smirks, "Same room, two beds - bye, ladies." He teases, shutting the door with a flash of crimson humoured eyes. I growl and kick the door.
"Bastard," I mutter.
Mole laughs, "You're offended already, and you 'aven't even been back an 'our. 'Ow sad." He mutters, pouting in an impression of a kicked puppy. I glare at him, but lose my glare as he beams me a smile. I roll my eyes and push myself away.
"Come on, you French piece of ass, I'm hungry."
Christophe's eyes are probably rolling but I shrug it off as his arm wraps around my waist and his breath brushes against my ear. "For what?" He teases.