[ OPEN ] the goal is to touch your soul / everywhere I go I make it warm

[eversohandsome]

WHO: Handsome Bob & YOU
WHERE: All over!
WHEN: APRIL
WHAT: April Catch-all | Cars, doggos, april fools pranks with a pinch of crime
WARNINGS: None yet!






01. { HEROPA #007 } 

a. DRIVEWAY

It's not that Bob is trying to look like a contestant from a wet t-shirt competition, but washing a car is wet work and he's got the whole afternoon to lavish his attention on the red beauty he's claiming as his own. There's something relaxing to it, the wide arcs of his hand as he lovingly washes away the dust, dirt and dead flies from his most recent street race. The car wasn't his but nobody's come looking for it or him yet and he distractedly consoles himself with the idea that hopefully whoever's car it was has decent insurance. It's his car now.

He's crouched down by the number plate at the back of the car in full view of the street, has parked himself behind the parked car as he rubs lazy, soapy circles into the number plate with a sponge. New plates for a stolen car - that's just standard practice and Bob, well-versed in car theft, had made that one of the first tasks to get done.


b. FRONT GARDEN

"Oi, you a pro gardener or...?"

The single question hangs in the air, wrapped up in an amused laugh as Bob, newly initiated Foster Dog Dad, watches his scrappy little charge dig enthusiastically at a patch of dirt. He's a cheeky little fella, a little bit like himself, he reckons, as he watches the dog get dirtier and dirtier. Might be bath time later but, for now, Bob's not got the heart to stop the little guy having fun. Even if that's at the expense of the front garden outside his house. 

Holding on to a fresh-looking tennis ball, he finally wanders across the stretch of grass to give the little dog a pat, some ear scratches and holds up the tennis ball in an attempt to redirect his attention.

"You any good at fetch, Ozzy? Or you more take the ball and run? ...wouldn't blame you. Bit like me..." 

Tossing the ball in a low arc once he's backed up, Ozzy makes a lazy attempt at trying to snap it up in his mouth but it bounces off his nose and ricochets out onto the sidewalk, hitting whoever happens to be walking past. The little dog, for his part, is just expectantly staring at Bob. 

"Alright, alright. I'll go get it, yeah?" he laughs and straightens up to go and retrieve the ball from wherever it's rolled to.

02. { ANY CITY }  

a. YOUR BACK GARDEN??

The thing about sometimes operating on the wrong side of the law is you need to be able to get out of tricky situations quickly. Situations that require not still being at the scene of the crime when the police show up. It's exactly the reason Bob, sweating and out of breath, has just vaulted over a fence and into somebody's back garden. Enjoying the adrenaline spike that comes with sprinting away from trouble, he walks a couple of paces before realising he's not alone. Falling back into old habits isn't hard and he offers up what he's hoping is his most friendly, innocent smile.

"Alright? You haven't seen my dog, have you? Been out looking for him and thought I heard his little bark in here..." 

It's a lie - Ozzy, his foster dog, is safely tucked away at home and not party to Bob's adventure in illegal bullshit.


b. ANY BAR, ANY PLACE

It's not that Bob's a card shark, he's just a lot better at hustling than he really lets on. It's deceptive but always delivered with a smile, a cheeky wink here and there, a thoughtful hum as he's stares at his hand of cards secure in the knowledge that as soon as he plays it, the money in the middle of the table is his.

But he also can't help himself, partly because he has no self-restraint and partly because it's a good way to distract the people he's playing with - he chats, almost without a pause for air, about anything and everything that comes to mind. The conversation isn't highbrow but he's friendly enough with it, curiosity always running bright and untamed in his mind. Even if he's trying to fleece his fellow card players out of their money, he's still interested in socialising.

"Honestly, mate. Falling out of a plane without a parachute? One of the best things I've ever done."

Comments

[eversohandsome]

"...maybe."

Bob's shrugging an easy shoulder, his expression a mix of delight and surprise. The car's suspension creaks as he stands up from his seat on the bonnet and he throws his arms wide. Whether it's an invitation for a hug, a physical gesture of here I am or both remains to be seen.

"Better me than your fanclub. ...some of them are proper weird. Makes a lot of fucking sense, though."

It's good-natured, a little banter between friends and while the back of Bob's brain is trying to grasp a hold of the notion that he had guessed right, distraction means he won't be pinpointing that until much later.

"And I could tell you missed me," he adds, smirking as he turns his mind more fully to keep the joke that he's stalking Cassidy afloat. "You did miss me, didn't you mate? Because if you didn't..." he blows out a theatrical breath of air from his lungs.

"...I'll be upset."

[crassidy]

Cass scoffs some light amusement at the mention of fans, unable to nod his agreement, because imPort fans sure are fucking weird, especially when combined with vampire enthusiasts. They're a damn good way to make money though.

"'Course I missed yeh, daft bastard. Ain't a minute that goes by that I'm not pinin' for me mate. C'mere..."

He spares only the briefest of squints skywards before deciding the umbrella can be taken down, instead hooking it over his arm and then spreading them both wide in mirror to Bob's action, striding forward for a gangly hug that doesn't bother with the usual male bravado back slaps. Joking aside, he did miss Bob, even being a few hours apart from his buddies is hard. Life is difficult for a clingy vampire.

[eversohandsome]

"Not just me then. Fucking relief, that," Bob slips into the conversation with a grin as he wraps his arms around Cass' taller frame, settling around his torso and squeezing fondly, gratefully, at the physical contact. Truth be told, he's incessantly tactile on a good day and hugs with the people he's got a lot of time for are, in his opinion, better than sex.

If he keeps his arms wrapped around his friend a little longer than is socially acceptable, he doesn't give a shit. Buoyed by the affectionate greeting, even as he pulls back from the hug, he slides an arm around Cass' shoulders and points a little way down street to something not entirely obvious yet.

"You in the mood for being a naughty little shit?"