A/N: Another one...
Still don't own anything.
The streets were almost quiet, city life having slowed to a slow hum, and cutting their losses. People turning up sheets and crawling under comforters, night owls nestling in their dens- to the backdrop of glittering stars, that had only mere hours left upon the earth, until one by one like the electric buzz of the street lamps, they would snuff out. One..Two…Three...blink by blink. By blink.
The only sound heard was the bottle crashing against the brick, tiny firework shards of glass exploding with the beer, fits of giggles escaping the assailants. Like rats, they scurried through alley ways, shimmed into the cracks and crevices of the earth, setting their sights on this particular morning on the diner up ahead.
It wasn't anything special, the neon buzz going in and out. In and out, like two virgin teenagers sloppy, and misguided- and over all unappealing, the paint from the establishment fading into an ugly brown, where once had been white, the upholstery coming off the seats, and no health food regulations…but the food seemed decent enough to be edible, the people didn't judge, and if you asked real nice and batted your eyelashes, they gave you a coloring menu.
Jimmy sat eating morsel and morsel of deep fried waffle, syrup running down his chin in deep contrast with the stark alabaster of his skin, not even bothering to greet the party goers barging into the little hole in the wall. "Saint!" They cheered holding up a broken beer bottle like it was some trophy, and parading it around the diner, girls barely dressed slithering behind them, strung out- like limp strands of blonde plastered to their forehead.
Normally Jimmy wouldn't give a shit. These were his people; but today he'd been in the mood for a breakfast of solitude, and by 'solitude' he meant a breakfast where he could shoot up and no would beg him for a score. A breakfast where he would stand on the throne of wasted youth tossing drugs, their very lives depended on each score. He pushed his plate back throwing the cook his guilty pleasure, before passing through the doors.
Well shit.
"Johnny" The call resembled more of a whine than anything else as he burst through the apartment door, to find his protégée passed out on the couch, hair mused, boxer shorts and a t-shirt, with a drag dangling on his lips and an alcohol bottle in his limp grasp. The TV seemed to illuminate his form, giving the Jesus a halo of mass hysteria, frequencies and light.
Jimmy sauntered over to his master piece with a smirk, pressing a finger gun lightly to his temple before poking him in the ribs.
No response.
He poked him again a bit harder, almost shoving him.
The so called Messiah of the mundane only groaned, moving to turn over so he faced the other direction, nose buried into the worn fabric of the couch leaving Jimmy unimpressed and a ultimately annoyed. I mean. Who the fuck did this kid think he was? When St. Jimmy demands attention, he better damn well get it. Rolling his eyes, Jimmy lowered himself to Johnny's ear, "Hey kid, Whatsername's here, nice boxers"
Blue eyes shot open instantly, John nearly falling off the couch in his startle, Jimmy laughing his ass off and falling to the floor along with him in a messy embrace. "Good morning Jimmy" John said dryly, rubbing some sleep out of his eyes, "Morning asshole. My breakfast was ruined" He stated expectantly flipping on the TV and vacating John's position on the couch. Flipping through channels and waiting for his response.
John stood looking at the mess in front of him, who had decided to settle on cartoons, "So?" He asked a vacant stare on his face amidst the confusion. "So.." Jimmy drew out, grabbing one of John's cigarettes and lighting it, "Aren't you going to ask me something?"
John continued to look at him, still obviously confused, "Why are you here?" He ventured, leaving the Saint to jump up with a growl that made the inferior shudder, "Make. Me. Breakfast. Now Bitch" He spat, his eyes taking a dark and dilated fixation, his body trembling slightly. "Besides it should be an honor that I'd decide to show up at your shit hole apartment." He shrugged, moving to flop back on to the couch, the growls subsiding to steady drags of nicotine.
That's when Johnny really took in the patron saint's appearance, he had circles under his eyes, his lips chapped to the point of cracking and bleed, his skin a worn looking pale, crashing together with the face of an angel…Johnny knew it was better not to ask, Jimmy was temperamental tempest when without his drugs or with his drugs, or all the time really ; but today more than any other mood swing he seemed burned out, like something was badgering him. Today Jimmy almost looked like nothing more than Jimmy, far less glorified- "Well?" He snapped eyes slamming to meet his in a glare. "Uh sure" Johnny mumbled quickly, walking over to the counter and pulling out a box and handing it to Jimmy.
"What the fuck is this?" Dark rimmed eyes scanning the read and gold box with obvious distaste. "Lucky Charms" Johnny shrugged, scratching the back of his head, "I uh..can't cook..that's Whatsername's thing" "Lucky Charms?" Jimmy asked again sniffing the box, "It's cereal..I used to eat it when Brad was too drunk and Mom was away at work..I ate it all the time. Breakfast, lunch. Dinner, second breakfast" He said with another apathetic shrug. Jimmy looked from the boy in front of him to the box, to the boy. "You. Have. To. Be. Kidding. Me. You actually expect me to eat a cereal endorsed by a midget in a suit?" John shrugged, "It's all I have" He mumbled lamely..
Honestly the idea did kind of appeal to Jimmy, I mean he'd never had a mother to take care of him, or feed him kid's cereal. He never got to eat marshmallows or scrounge through sugar coated puffs of wheat to find some rinky-dink prize..but he couldn't say that. He was fucking Saint Jimmy, the glorified god of partying, and the ultimate man for a score- not some lost puppy with a mother complex. So, with an over dramatic heave of his shoulders and a sigh he tried the cereal.
"What do you think?"
"It's stale."