the shepherd's dog
12 December 2015 @ 10:24 pm
"Stop me if you've heard this one. Jesus Christ walks into a hotel. He hands the innkeeper three nails, and he asks, 'can you put me up for the night?' Beep!"

Ringtone: Fake Blood
IC: Voicemail | Text messages | Trolling
OOC: Contact | Scene requests | PM
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the shepherd's dog
01 September 2012 @ 03:30 am
 
i am lonely and sad and i want to die.
 
 
 
 
the shepherd's dog
27 May 2012 @ 03:55 am
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting --
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
 
 
 
 
the shepherd's dog
Brody comes slinking back eventually.

Of course he does; where else would he go? He could get his own place, it's not hard, he's done it before... but he's not equipped to live by himself. Last time, it drove him crazy. He's not equipped to do anything, lately, he vacillates between locking himself in his room for days or disappearing outside, where he comes back looking dazed and sick. He's not getting any better, he's getting worse.

He doesn't have his key -- dropped it somewhere in Brooklyn, probably down a storm drain by now -- but that doesn't make getting in difficult, not when he's perfectly capable of scaling the walls and crawling in through the bathroom window. That should be too small for him to fit through, except for the fact that now he can fit anywhere his head fits into.

It's just not any fun to watch. Or do.

He comes back around to open the front door and bring the dog up, then shuts the door quietly behind them. Nothing in his hands, he didn't take anything with him and he doesn't bring anything back. He smells a little bit like carrion, indicating he probably ate at least once, but that's all. Maybe it's just from the dog.
 
 
 
 
the shepherd's dog
After two hours of wandering around downtown LA at night, it occurs to Brody that he has nowhere else to go.

He left his money and valuables -- a plastic shopping bag full of expensive leather wallets, watches, rings, cufflinks, and cash, some of it blood-stained -- in his room. He could hustle for the money for a place but he really doesn't feel like it, hasn't felt like it in a long time. He could kill for it, but he isn't hungry, there's no guarantee whoever he picks will be carrying cash, and anyway he doesn't feel like putting in enough effort to get rid of the body. There's no one he knows well enough in New York to crash with, not considering his situation. There's definitely no one in LA. He can't spend the night on the street and he doesn't want to go hang out in the sewers again. It's disgusting and it stinks.

He comes slinking back to the Room instead, relieved that Harvestman isn't there anymore. He doesn't want to talk to him right now. He knows he's being unreasonable, but it bothers him that all of a sudden he's treating him like a child when he's been expected to be an adult for the past year, and it upsets him that it's taken him a year to get around to caring enough to bring it up. Then why do you insist on doing it by yourself? He felt like screaming, still feels like screaming. Because I've fucking had to.

But talking makes it worse. He can scream it until he's blue in the face -- not that that can happen anymore -- and it won't change anything. It won't help. It won't make him feel any better.

It takes him a long time to knock on Lucas' door, clutching a jar full of dirt with his creepy dead dog sitting at his feet. He's been wearing the same clothes for weeks.
 
 
 
 
the shepherd's dog
19 February 2012 @ 06:39 pm
 
fuck trying

f;uck caring

fuck im drunk

fuck fake friends

fuck

everthing

fuuucclk

I LOSET MY HOUES KEY OK BEYYYEEEEEEEEEEEEE
 
 
 
 
 
the shepherd's dog
20 December 2011 @ 01:35 pm
 
Christmas passes quietly and unobtrusively -- in spite of the great fuss Brody puts up a few days before when he scrambles to find gifts for every single person that he knows, which, given that he evidently knows the entire universe and then some, is quite an undertaking. He ends up stressed and upset and worrying about everything, but he can't just ignore it like he wants to because he can't bear the thought of anyone feeling forgotten or left out. It's not about getting stuff, it's about being thought of. He was too sick to do this last year and the guilt has obviously been eating at him. His gift to Harvestman is something practical and thoughtful, not sentimental, knowing that neither of them wants to own anything they couldn't stand to lose.

Otherwise, nothing happens. He doesn't even mention it. Neither does he go outside, actually, he doesn't want to hear about it, or see people celebrating, or be told "happy holidays" as if that's possible. He's dead; they have no idea.

Still, it's kind of nice to be thought of as some normal kid. Someone's cared for teenager.

He finally relaxes when it's over, like he's endured some kind of trial and passed. Afterwards it's just a waiting game until the new year -- which he spends gone, he doesn't come back until the second, bleary-eyed and still drunk -- and he still hasn't slept by the time they've taken their few paltry belongings out of the motel room and to the apartment in downtown LA he found for them. The landlady looks extremely dubious of Brody's prior claim that they're related when she actually sees Harvestman, but hopefully they won't have to see her more than the once.

The place isn't bad at all. Not the kind of shitholes they're used to, but neither is it some luxury apartment, not even quite middle-class. It's intact, the ceiling isn't covered in cracks and waterstains, and the beige milquetoast carpeting only has a couple small stains. They could probably afford better but Brody is afraid to go anywhere too expensive -- he's never sure if Harvestman is going to decide he doesn't want to work anymore.

The dog has been warming up to them. Brody does not mention that he's been feeding it his vitae, because even he feels the slight shiver of guilt over that -- but dead animals are dangerous without a blood-bond, they don't know how to survive with the bloodlust inside of them, and without someone looking after them, they die within a few weeks. Gets blamed on rabies. He just wants to take care of something, anyway. Sometimes when he's tuckered it out, though, the dog will come and lie down on the foot of Harvestman's bed and sigh and pretend to nap.

There are two bedrooms and no furniture, which is going to be a problem since neither of them has any. "Which one do you want?" he asks. They're about the same size but the master bedroom has a private attached bathroom and a slightly bigger closet.
 
 
the shepherd's dog
17 December 2011 @ 02:04 pm
He's only two years old; that's too young to be fighting the ennui of immortality already. Without the fear of the inevitability of death, what is there to live for? He's young enough to be able to think of enough reasons to stick around. Instead, he's passing through that phase where the reality of it starts to sink in -- that there are things he is never going to be able to do, maybe not for a few years, but maybe also never. He knows this, he's very self-aware, and he's already tired of it. It's not like it really has anything to do with being dead -- it's more about what he's lost. A feeling like something's been stolen from him.

He'll be out at the mall, tentatively looking at things, the kind of stuff that he likes -- Hot Topic, JC Penney, Forever 21, where once he used to shop at Barney's, Bloomingdales, paid cash for shiny bits of metal that must have gone to the pawn shop or else some NYPD evidence locker -- and out of the corner of his eye he'll see them. Small groups of teenagers, laughing, shoving each other, their in-jokes, off-kilter humour, even their posturing, their sense of entitlement. His attention will be arrested by their presence until they walk out of his sight, and then he has to stop. He buys nothing. He goes back to the hotel and doesn't speak to anyone for the rest of the night.

It's been over a year since he tried to end it, and the feeling's never gone away. He's just come up with more why nots.

There are, of course, other stages of new immortality most dead people go through -- the oh god I'm a monster one. Sometimes it comes quicker than others, but only rarely never at all. In theory, it doesn't bother him -- it's just the reality of having a dead body leaking at his feet, dead eyes staring up at him and him imagining an accusing ring in them... But what else is there to do? Would the world really be any better if he weren't in it? Who measures the good versus the bad, who decides? It's why he doesn't bother trying to justify who he kills, because he is no judge, he knows well enough that he's not qualified to make an objective determination of whether or not anyone deserves to die. It's unfortunate for all of them, but how can he know how much good they've done in their lives as opposed to all the bad things -- how could he make that call?

So he doesn't. Nobody deserves it. It just happens. Life's unfair.

Lately, though -- lately a thought's occurred to him. Another way.

kiss my gentle burning bruise [tw: suicidal ideation, graphic violence] )
 
 
the shepherd's dog
18 October 2011 @ 01:32 am
When they're out of sight of the rest of the Room, Brody bites down in earnest with the flat, blunt teeth in between his fangs -- not to hurt, just to leave a little mark. He waits a few seconds before releasing and repeating it a little to the left.

He keeps one arm around his neck but lowers the other, his hand running down his chest as far as he can reach, trying to hold relatively still; he knows Lucas still doesn't eat as much as he should and is a little concerned about being dropped on his ass. Being picked up and carried around is usually pretty annoying for him -- people do it a lot, he's tiny -- but he doesn't mind it when it's Lucas. If that's because he just likes him, or because he doesn't do it to make fun of him or rub it in his face, he's not sure.

"Missed you," he murmurs. It's hard for him to find excuses to not go to the Room every day, because doing so makes him feel a little pathetic.
 
 
the shepherd's dog
22 October 2009 @ 08:48 am
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the shepherd's dog
19 August 2001 @ 02:26 am
FAQ.  
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the shepherd's dog
01 January 2001 @ 12:30 pm
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