Realistic or Modern [OPEN, LITERALLY ANYONE CAN JOIN]

[Mister Glass]

Theo ran until his lungs were burning. He ran until the filthy street had blurred before his eyes, and the stabbing pain between his ribs became a lot harder to ignore. So hard, in fact, that the ground rushing to meet him was less of a surprise and more of a welcome shut down.

But he couldn't shut down, not now, not really. Not with his blood slowly trickling down the brick wall he was plastered against, sweat rolling down his forehead and breath coming out from him in between wounded animal gasps. Everything hurt, from the tips of his toes to the whites of his eyes, the world having shrunk until it was just him, and the relentless hammering in his head. The warden, tall ass motherfucker, had given him a cracked rib and split lip for the road.

His orange jumpsuit was stained with blood. He didn't know what was worse, wearing that thing around town, or being stark naked in broad daylight, in the busiest street of New York.

The wailing of a police siren nearby made the decision for him.

Between one breath and the next, the teenager had collapsed in one of the nearby stores, blood stained glock held in front of him by a shaky hand. The door slammed behind him, little brass bell hanging above it ringing like its sole purpose in life was to make Theo's drug muddled brain scream from pain. Everything was too bright. Too loud. Too there.

'Get on the fucking ground,' he wheezed out to store owner, praying to whichever god was listening there was a bullet in the gun, and that the sight of him was enough to shut the poor person up.

And it really was a sight to behold. Theo, in all his lanky glory, with blood oozing from his lips, his nose, scrawnier than he had any right to be considering the gray mush he'd been fed regularly for the past three years. 'Didn't you fucking hear me?' he spit, cocking the gun. 'On the ground. NOW.'

 

[Ukko]

Ilya, walked through the few passages in this shop. To his dissatisfacion not really stacked with any products he would have normally bought, in shops he knew from his homecountry.

He grabbed a pack of chips and tried to find his way back to the counter, while music blasted through his headphones.
As he was just about to take the corner he saw a guy looking like the walking dead before him...with a literal gun?!?!

"Fuck", was the first thing he said.
For a moment he just stared then he glanced to the middle-aged shop owner who sat behind his counter. Ilya got to his knees in the most laid-back way he could in such a situation, however couldn't stop his hands from shaking.

Shit, shit, shit...Ilyas mind went blank.
He did say that this day was crap. But this. This is just straight up a whole new level of being hated by heavens.

He just kept cursing himself quietly. And after a while he noticed he's been unconsciously munching on some chips from the chips bag in his hands.

 

[Mister Glass]

'Good, good.' Theo breathed, one hand pressed up against his chest as if it would slow the frantic beating of his heart. It didn't, but the steady thrum underneath his fingers was comforting for whatever reason. He couldn't usually feel it. Couldn't usually feel anything, medication they put him on screwing with his brain harder than two newlyweds on their wedding night.

The store owner along with the one other customer in the store had gotten on the ground obediently, blood draining from their faces as he angled the glock in their direction.

'Good.'

From outside, the sirens were getting closer. Red and blue lit up the store windows, as cop cars zoomed past and circled back around. Fucked. He was fucked. He was so fucked.

His breath was coming out in shudders, the panic of a cornered animal painted all over his face in shades of crimson and bone white. Blood was dripping from his lip onto the filthy tiles of the cornerstore.

Theo's fingers wrapped around a jar of something...he didn't know what. A jar of thick viscous sauce that claimed it was good on chips. Wrapped his fingers around it, and with one jerky move hurled it at the camera in the corner of the room. The one pointed straight towards the door. The one which had been filming him in his stained orange jumpsuit and shaved head and shaky hands. It shattered, along with the jar, sauce staining the old peeling wallpaper in white. The smell of blue cheese exploded into the room, taking up the air, overbearing everything else. Glass rained down on them.

'Take off your coat and slide it to me,' he told the guy with chips. 'Now.'

 

[Ukko]

Ilya was feeling like being trapped in a bad movie. Everything that just happened, the scared, darting eyes of the guy with the gun. How he held on to the jar and smashed it with the cameras, Ilya just noticed the camera now that it was broken.

It just wasn't feeling real. Until a voice brought him back. Demanding his coat.

With one chip in his mouth he groaned: "Oh come on..that's like my favourite!", and after that he immediately regretted it.

He completely forgot how earnest his situation was.

With now a barley audible voice Ilya squeezed out the words. "S-sure. Absolutely no problem man.. .. ...sir, I mean sir." He shed off his coat like a second skin, already missing it's comforting warmth, never imagining it would ever leave him like this.

After he finally got the coat off he didn't really know what to do, how was he supposed to slide it on the ground in this guy's direction when there was glass all over. He surely wasn't eager to slash open his own coat by trying to slide it over.

But Ilya didn't really wanted to go near this guy any more then he already was either.

Now that he thought of it, more thoughts rushed through his mind. Like what if this guy who seems to have completely lost it, quivering at the whole body, accidentally hit the trigger of that gun pointed at him.

Ilya still in paralysis now got on to folding the coat neatly. After that he reached out his hands slowly as far as he could in front of him and placed the bundle of a coat there. He softly whispered: "H-here you go." And put his hands back into his lap holding tight onto the bag of nearly emptied chips.
The last few of them crushing under the pressure of his hands, crushing just as the glass did some minutes ago.

'Shit' Ilya just remember, that in one of the inner pockets of his coat there still remained a small book, one of his classmates who put it there, with pictures that would elsewise be only found in adult movies.
And Ilya handed this really bad joke just to this guy in front of him?!

And with that Ilyas face turned as red as the lights in the redlight districts here.