Rent! [OPEN]

[Tristan Butcher]

Bang, bang, bang.


Silence.


BANG, BANG, BANG.


"Where's my rent, boy?!"


Waking up with a start, Tristan Butcher peered up amidst the bedsheets, his hair ruffled and messy. Pushing himself up from the divan, he stretched out luxuriously and failed to suppress a yawn, pulling on a pair of jeans which were frayed and torn in places. What a night. Rumaging around for his shirt, his toned abs impressively on display, his fingers grazed something silky - definitely not his. He eyed the delicate little panties and raised his brows, a roguish grin lighting his features as he remembered the events of the previous night. Then, as the door shook with the force of the landlord's fists once more, he dropped them and continued to look for the shirt - eventually seeking it out and throwing it on quickly. It was a good thing his "lady friend" had already made her exit before things really kicked off.

Grabbing his jacket and a few of his personal items - including a few coins, his keys and a couple of expensive looking trinkets - the twenty-five year old dropped the trinkets into a rucksack and slung it over his back before reaching up to smooth his hand through his hair, leaving it looking effortlessly stylish. He had just opened the fridge, nothing but a couple of beers, a leftover sandwich and the tiny bulb illuminating the box staring back at him.

"I'm gonna give you to the count of five before I bust this door down!"

Grinning crookedly to himself at the fury in his landlord's tone, he sighed and grabbed the leftover chicken sandwich, closing the refridgerator door over and heading towards the window. Opening it as wide as it could go, he peered down at the morning traffic - it was a long way down but he'd done this thousands of times before. Climbing onto the ledge, Tristan felt the wind breeze across his face coolly, whipping at his shirt and flowing through his hair. Still crouching, he steadied himself before shuffling over to the drain-pipe.

"Well, this is it old boy", he told himself, before positioning himself onto the pipe and beginning to climb down - ignoring the gasps and yells from a few pedestrians who had stopped to watch - probably fearing that he was one of those "suicide freaks."

[Tod Tweed]

Of course, not all of the yells and gasps were from people worrying for the safety of the man heading down the drain pipe-- some were more concerned with their own personal well-being.

"Woah!"

Tod's intuition and quick reflexes plastered him to the wall just as the other man dropped the last few feet to the pavement. The redhead's eyes flicked back up the pipe in momentary, and then widened.

"Hey, nice hustle! I don't even see any handholds, either." He circled around to in front of the other man, smiling and stumbling a bit over his skinny legs in his excitement for another friend talented in the art of roof-hopping and window-dropping.

"My name's Tod, what's yours? Do you do that sort of thing often? If you like that sort of thing, I know a really cool apartment set by the docks that's got this huge old overground station rusting in it, 's got rungs on the walls and support beams in fun places and everything."

[Tristan Butcher]

Tristan barely registered the person peering up at him from against the wall, before he jumped the short distance from his position on the drain-pipe to the concrete slabs of the sidewalk - landing with a faint scuffle of his boots. He gave a little bow to the little audience that had gathered, grinning to himself as a few of the older woman tutted and turned to go on their way, muttering about "time-wasters" and "morons." Surely they couldn't be talking about him, right?

The lad hitched his backpack strap over his shoulder properly and was about to continue on his merry way, when a slightly shorter, bandy-legged guy appeared right in front of him causing him to hault before he stumbled right into the redhead. He listened to the guy's over-excited ramblings about some kind of apartment down at the docks and began to unwrap his chicken sandwich, taking a bite - he figured he'd be here a while at this rate, and his stomach wasn't getting any less hungry judging by the low growl it released. When "Tod" had finished speaking, Tristan swallowed his food and quirked a brow, an amused grin still gracing his rugged features.

"Listen, kid. That sounds like...all of my Christmasses rolled into one ... but I got some business I need to take care of so unless you're any good at selling shit, I gotta get moving", he said shiftily, peering up in time to see the landlord yelling at him from the open window of his apartment. Scampering along the street, he eventually slowed his pace and peered back at Tod, feeling only a little guilty for being abrupt. "Name's Tristan."

[Tod Tweed]

As the building manager's head popped out the window shouting and his new found friend began to take off, Tod's instinct's, highly honed from years of getting into trouble at and then running as they yelled behind you, followed the other man around the corner and down the block, til they were safely lost in the crowds. The landlord didn't look in good shape either, so Tod didn't think that they'd be followed.

He couldn't help but be disappointed that the other man, Tristan, didn't want to hang out, but he put on his most serious and mature face-- only slightly less wide-eyed and eager than his normal one-- and nodded.

"Er, oh, it's fine, I get it. You've got something to take care of..."

But he didn't really look like he had much to sell. He didn't look like he had much of anything, really, because if he had the cash then why was he high-tailing it out the window to get away from his landlord?

Tod had been there a few times, before he found the Burrow. He rubbed the back of his neck in thought. Well, he really was bored, and this guy looked like fun. Moreover, he looked like he might be the type to enjoy the same type of fun Tod did, especially if his situation warranted such a thing. And while he didn't know the guy that well, there couldn't be much of a danger if he led him to a few of the Red Fox's dump places, right? The Red Fox worked entirely anonymously, so it's not like any of them could ID him as Tod Tweed if things got weird... and the cops had never had much luck catching him anyway.

"I guess-- if you're in a spot, or anything, I do happen to know a few places that'll pick up valuable stuff, no questions asked. If you have anything they'd be interested in."