worth all this (atlanta)

YOU DIDN’T HAVE A CHOICE. I KNOW, { BUT I DID IT. }

the stiff strands of wheat-coloured hay poked and prodded romeo uncomfortably, and he wriggled about in futile attempt to get rid of the itching sensation. really, he could have chosen a much better place to crash at—the barn was massive enough to house several large animals; cats were hardly a space issue—but the tom was soaked right down to his bones, exhausted beyond measure, and any place was far better than lying curled up on a pile of twoleg garbage surrounded by remorseless murderers and the smell of decay. romeo reasoned to himself. he’d gone through so much worse. sleeping on hay was on the very bottom of that list. slowly lulled by the claps of thunder and the menacing crash of rain against the barn roof, romeo let himself succumb to his fatigue. least i’m not getting trampled by those dumb horses. mousebrained, good-for-nothin’s...

the weight bearing down on him knocked the wind right out of his lungs. i can’t catch a damn break! romeo growled and scrambled to his paws, darting away from whoever decided he was something to sit on. “Get your tail out of a tangle, you wet bag, I was just coming down to help.” he rolled his eyes, and quietly hoped that he was actually still facing the other tom instead of looking like an idiot and spitting at thin air. “yeah, some help you got,” he scoffed, “think you broke my ribs or somethin’, mousedung! i knew the fleabags who live here got good grub, but nobody ever told me you guys weigh more than the freakin’ livestock!” romeo hissed at the dull throb of his foreleg—when did that even happen?—and the pain on his side. he was skin and bones as it were! romeo was glad this idiot still had the ability to move with some speed or else he would’ve been nothing more than a flattened splatter of fur on the ground. “Maybe if you had had enough sense to not just fall down in the middle of the damn floor, I wouldn’t have fallen on you.” wait, this guy actually had the nerve to blame him? romeo’s ears flew back against his head, the still-damp hairs along his spine bristling. “oh, yeah? well if ya had the damn sense to.. oh, gosh, i dunno—look where you’re goin’, we wouldn’t have this problem.” or, well, that was the gist of what romeo was saying, at least, sans the colorful vocabulary he so eloquently displayed that would surely have his dead mama coming back to life to beat the hell outta him.

for cat’s sake, romeo just wanted to get away from laughing jack and his grimy crew and get some damn sleep! he shook out his fur, and he couldn’t give a rat’s tail if any of the mud caking his fur landed on the barn cat. serves ‘im right.

YOU DIDN’T HAVE A CHOICE. I KNOW, { BUT I DID IT. }

romeo cursed his luck, cursed unfortunate circumstance after unfortunate circumstance he stumbled into, cursed the unseen stars and moon and sun, and cursed his virtual inability to really do anything about, well, any of it, really. some optimisim he displayed; though, romeo could admit he found some sort of sick, twisted comfort in knowing that sinclair was sharing this unfortunate happenstance as equally as he was.

even blinder than a bat, romeo always knew if there was a stare on him, and the uncomfortable sensation it was giving him did wonders for his rapidly deteriorating patience. and by wonders, romeo meant none at all. his whiskers twitched and his bony shoulders hiked up defensively. cloudy eyes looked away. he could stand having his lack of weight being the target of someone’s words. he knew he was dangerously thin; romeo didn’t need to see his own reflection to know that he wasn’t eating right. he didn’t care for anyone pointing that out, but having someone know he was blind? romeo would rather slit his own throat and throw himselves at the very cannibals he called his protectors. he pinned his ears back and barked a dry laugh at the mention of muscle. “muscle, fat—sounds all the same to me. ” he grumbled, his conscience adding in a pleasantly dark thought of, sounds all the same to lj and his crew of crowfood-eatin’ bastards, too. he shook his head once in a violent motion. there was no need to be the lure right now. as much as sinclair grated at his nerves, romeo wasn’t going to do that. he did things for survival, not spite.

there was a lick of warm satisfaction in the pit of romeo’s stomach when he heard the privileged cat’s yowl of protest. “watch it!” oh, how ironic. if his blindness wasn’t already so crippling without anyone knowing of it, romeo would have said something about that. instead, he settled for a toothy grin with, okay, a little bit of amusement in it. “you’re effin’ insane if you think i’m goin’ back out there, ya narcissistic pain-in-my-tail. and besides, dirt suits you. brings out your true colors, yeah?” what romeo would give to see sinclair’s actual appearance, see how much of lies were truths. instead he saw black and that was about it. blows.

YOU DIDN’T HAVE A CHOICE. I KNOW, { BUT I DID IT. }

romeo was expecting an immediate reaction - a sharp intake of breath, another turn at verbal abuse, anything. but as he stood there, damp hackles pathetically raised and body poised to attack (as if romeo even knew how to start a physical altercation. don't even mention surviving one) the scraggly wretch was met with an uncomfortable silence. long, thick-with-tension silence. romeo made it his job to keep cats talking, to distract, to deviate, to verbally disarm them. hearing absolutely nothing from sinclair, whom romeo was so sure was reluctant to give up even a sliver of his pride to any injury, made him nervous. talking meant noise, and noise meant romeo could anticipate where they were and had a clue on what they were doing. his sense of smell was still a proper wreck from the onslaught of the storm, and it was impossible to detect sounds of pawsteps on the floor with the way the downpour was abusing the barn roof. romeo was vulnerable, and he loathed that. sinclair could so easily end his life there, and romeo could do othing about it. the tabby wanted to say something else, jab at sinclair one more time, attempt to elicit another response. if he didn't, romeo worried his mind might finally get pushed off the metaphorical ledge into the spiral of insanity.

romeo was torn between shuffling and moving and even attempting a hasty escape but wanting to stay still and hold his breath and strain to hear what he could of his surroundings. his skin was crawling and his heart was pounding, and for a brief moment, he was even thankful for this godawful weather if only because it concealed the thundering of his own heart against his chest. ”There is…space in the loft that is more comfortable than this floor,” came sinclair's voice again, and underneath the suspicion tugging at romeo's gut all over again, he was comforted by a lulling sense of relief. god, he hated the silence so much more than he hated this tom. ”If that doesn’t sound favorable to you, you could always do the world a service and stay down here. If we’re lucky, the horses might just trample you in the morning.” romeo's pale green gaze narrowed to slits. was this barn-dweller actually offering him something.. nice? romeo was no stranger to sudden mood changes; he could thank his years spent slinking along next to laughing jack for that. but sinclair was no laughing jack, and if it wasn't the idea of trusting a stranger in the middle of a storm in a barn he wasn't familiar with that made him wary of the suggestion, it was the fact that it required climbing. now, romeo was no boy-genius or anything like that, but he didn't need to be a genius to know that climbing while completely bat-crap blind was not advised. at all.

but it was either risking his life scaling the lofts or risking it via fighting off diseases and hypothermia. romeo was not a cat accustomed to luxury, but if he was going to die one way or another, it might as well be in the pursuit of comfort instead of getting trampled in a stack of itchy hay. besides, the wet excuse for a cat could barely make a decision because from what he could tell from the pattering sheets of rain outside, sinclair was on the move. romeo gritted his teeth and hastily followed, subtly brushing his whiskers against the tip of the other tom's tail to lead him forward. sinclair's warning almost made romeo laugh. thanks. perfectly sound advice to give to a cat who can't see mousedung. wood platforms bumped against his front legs, and romeo began to count all of his regrets (a lot of them) and accomplishments (barely any) as he cautiously hefted himself onto the elevated surface. “yeah, i bet you’d be over the damn moon if that ever happened, huh?” romeo was no looking forward to this at all. and sinclair was moving too damn fast.