We Are Bulletproof

Never again.

Never again did Niall ever want to experience that bunny... changing thing. He couldn't even believe it happened, but it was there, recorded for posterity on his phone. A selfie of a black bunny staring into his phone's camera.

"Typing as a rabbit was not fun, let me tell you, Kenny," he complained as they stepped off the bus and onto the concrete sidewalk. "I was trying my best the whole time and you just thought I was what, some retarded kidnapper? What were you thinking? I thought you were the smart one between us!"

Although to be fair, if Kenny started texting him in wildly shitty words... Actually, he would know right away it wasn't Kenny... Or he'd think it wasn't. So... same thing, really, since Kenny didn't believe it was him!

"But--but, here's the thing!" Niall quickly added, a hand on Ken's chest as they walked toward the apartment building. Apparently, somebody that could help was here. Seer or something. "I wouldn't know it was you because you're so... YOU. You know, so proper and all. But ME? Why didn't you just think I was drunk or high? I would've thought that immediately if it was me! I'm always high or drunk!"

And then thinking better of what he just said, especially since Ken was sure to give him a Look, he hastened to add, "Not that I am anymore but, you know what I mean...!"

He waved a flourish of a hand. Before he knew it, they were at the front gate of some fancy gated apartment building. Niall peered through the iron bars. "Think we slide through? Do we have to get buzzed in? Key? Number pad?"

@Blue

Ken?
What's takin you?

Slipping out alone was becoming increasingly more difficult with Ken around but the withdrawals were too much to bear. He pretended things were okay but the minute Ken left him alone, he was running straight back to chemicals. The worst part was the withdrawals from prystal and from the sex demons. Ken didn't want to have sex with him at all and beyond innocent touching, there was nothing. Nothing!

So when Ken left for a meeting with his hunting pals (and JEM--he spat the name even in his mind), Niall decided it was time to skip the apartment and go find something sweet to gel over the pains and sickness that had been overtaking him for days. They said it took like... he couldn't remember how many days. Like a month? To kick a habit. But Niall felt like it was taking too long. Why didn't Ken realize this?

Why didn't he see that his skin was crawling and that he couldn't sit still? He was biting his nails, the skin around his nails, he was pulling at his hair, he was fidgeting, fidgeting, fidgeting. God, he couldn't sit still for a moment. It really felt like there were bugs crawling beneath his skin, waiting to burst out.

So yeah. Ken was on business. And Niall pretended to be so tired that he wouldn't be able to get up and go anywhere. Don't answer the door, blah blah blah. Once enough time had passed, Niall threw the blankets off and scuttled to the closet. Once he was dressed and ready, he peered through the peephole. No Ken waiting on him. Well, he shouldn't be. If he was still there waiting nearly an hour after he left, he had REAL issues to deal with.

Downtown. Midday.

Not the ideal time to be out here looking for drugs but he knew the places to go, no matter what time it was. The brothel, for example, was a 24 hour deal. Pulling his hood over his head over his curls, he smirked as he approached. He really felt like he was getting away with something. That was... until he opened the door and found a couple of familiar forms standing inside. One was Kyle. The other was...

All the blood drained out of Niall's face.

"K-ken!" He immediately backed up toward the door. "I can... totally explain what this is about..."

@Blue @Kenneth Branagh

Swaying idly back and forth in time to the music playing nearby, Niall perused the various art pieces on display. It was some kind of art in the park deal that they held near the end of the month every month. Niall was sort of a regular. Before he decided to stop working with his dad, his favored hobby had been this: painting. Sketching. Drawing. Photography. Hell, he even tried pottery and he liked it. He loved creation. But lately, all he had a hand in was destruction. Kinda poetic, actually, if he thought about it.

He didn't like to, though.

Instead, he swayed to some hipster's rendition of a Mumford and Sons song, knuckles pressed delicately to his lips while his eyes darted from one image to the next. The work was pooled together so there was no cohesion. One was a violently stricken piece in harsh, bright colors and then one next to it was softly touched pastels of a little girl. Niall liked that one. It sang innocence. He closed his eyes. Then he snapped his fingers and opened his eyes, grinning widely.

The closest person in the vicinity was grabbed by the shoulders and Niall leaned in. "Which one?" he asked, trying to bring his head down so that their eyes were level and he was seeing whatever his hapless victim was seeing before them.

"Which one?" he asked again, more insistently.