[ when loona runs, he lets her go. it's a tough call to make, but after several attempts to try and connect with her - asking her questions on the ride home to try and get to know her (and when that went nowhere, talking to her about random shit whether she was listening or not), welcoming her to her new home by way of a very short apartment tour, showing her her bedroom (clean and spacious and all hers!) - all to no avail, he decides to give her some space.
it's a big change for both them; blitzø's lived alone for longer than he really cares to think about, and this is probably just another home loona won't ever get a chance to settle into before she's dragged back to the shelter, except - blitzø has no intention of doing that to her. he's an asshole and a prick, but there's not a chance in the seven rings. if time and space is what she needs in order to come back around, well. that shit's free, and the last thing he wants to do is drive her away by being overbearing (a sentiment he'll later let go of in favor of showering her in love and adoration and support, as much as she'll allow). he sends her a handful of texts (r u good and orderd u food if u wnat and lmk if u nede a ride) but otherwise, he leaves her alone.
it's only after a few hours have gone by without hearing from loona at all that blitzø decides he needs to do something. as much as he's willing to allow her her freedom, she's still his responsibility, and whether she believes it or not - he cares about her well-being. which says a lot, considering he barely cares about his own.
the only picture he has of her is the one from her official adoption documents - just a little, poorly lit polaroid in which she looks less than... pleasant, but he takes it with him anyway. he starts the search by checking off the most obvious places one might find a pissed off teenager, flashing her picture at random passersby to ask if they've seen her, all of whom are, unsurprisingly, no help. when that fails, he takes to driving around with his head out the window, shouting her name and giving the occasional finger to anyone who looks at him funny, just because it's fun.
bars seem unlikely, but not entirely out of the question. it's not like he didn't spend a handful of his teenage years being rebellious and stealing booze from under his father's nose, so. he doesn't rule it out.
the first one he hits up is a bust, half empty to the point that loona would be easy to pick out. the bartender at the second one says he hasn't seen anyone that looks like her, says he'd remember a girl like that, and the only reason blitzø doesn't haul him over the bar and rip is throat out is because he simply doesn't have time. if loona's not here, then he has to keep moving.
the third bar is probably the busiest of the night, though it's not too tightly packed. too many people for blitzø to get an easy look at everyone, so again, he pushes his way to the bar, climbs up on a stool, and slaps loona's photo down on the bar top. no dice, apparently, but blitzø's halfway through tucking the polaroid back into his jacket pocket when he hears what sounds like a fight starting to break out. when he turns to look over his shoulder, mostly out of mild curiosity, it's a flash of silvery-grey in the center of small group of people that makes him pause.
immediately, even without having seen her face, blitzø knows it's her, and judging by the body language and the comments being made by the people surrounding her, well - he can recognize a shitshow about to happen. ]
Oh, you guys picked the wrong fucking girl.
[ with zero hesitation, blitzø grabs an empty beer from the bartop that's yet to have been cleared away, and he moves away from the bar with purpose toward loona. somewhere along the way, he smashes the bottle against the edge of a high top, holding it by the neck, and uses his size to his advantage to push his way through the ring of people surrounding his daughter. ]
Loona. [ he says her name with authority, not because he's angry or upset with her, because he isn't, but just to get her attention so she knows she's not alone. he turns his back to her as he speaks, putting himself between her and as many people as he can, broken bottle held tight in one hand, but kept low by his side for now. he can tell that this little group of hellhounds aren't particularly happy about someone getting in their away, especially not a shitty little imp, but blitzø seems unbothered. guarded, definitely, his eyes shifting and watching for anyone who might try to start shit, but otherwise, unfazed. ] You okay?
She can take down a few, she's pretty fucking sure of that, but numbers will overwhelm in the end. It's not like this'll be the first time she's taken a proper beating, but that doesn't mean she's looking forward to it. And it's not like she has any illusion it'll end any other way. Even if this shithole is crammed full of people, none of them are about to get involved in a fight that has nothing to do with them.
It's not like she blames them, she'd be the same way. Hell is a fucking nightmare, why put yourself on the line for some shitty stranger who probably wants to fuck you over too? So she squares her shoulders, snarls loudly, and prepares to fight. Alone. Like she always has, like she always will, when...
...what...
It takes a couple of frozen moments for her to work out that the newcomer to the fight not only isn't joining in on ganging up on her, but that it's the little imp who adopted her earlier. Here. He's here and he's got a broken bottle, standing in front of her like he's actually going to try and defend her?!
Why does she suddenly feel like someone is stood on her chest?]
What the fuck are you doing here?
[It's easier to focus on that, on if he followed her, than the unfamiliar feeling of gratitude for someone coming to her aid.
The group of hounds look just as surprised, but hardly intimidated. It's still seven against two, and this is just a little fucking imp, not exactly a threat. One of them, a huge rottweiler looking hound, takes a step forward.]
Back the fuck up before you get hurt, imp. We're just talking with her, it's none of your business.
Oh, you know, just— [ he starts before he's interrupted. his nonchalant smile vanishes quicker than a blink, and he whirls his attention toward the rottweiler, yellow eyes as sharp as the broken bottle gripped tight in his hand. ] It's all my fuckin' business, asshole!
[ he drags the vowel, aaall, brandishing the bottle and kind of waving it in the hellhound's face, almost like a taunt. blitzø loves a good fight; the chance to stretch and flex his muscles, test his reflexes, definitely wouldn't go unappreciated. whatever he has to do to keep loona safe.
speaking of loona - blitzø casts her a quick glance over his shoulder, his back still facing toward her, and it's like a switch being flipped when he talks to her compared to how he'd addressed their potential opponents. ]
There's pizza at home, if you're hungry. Extra pepperoni. I wasn't sure what you like so I kinda guessed.
[ is he insane? this probably isn't the time for casual conversation, but he just seems so... relaxed in the face of their current circumstance. or as relaxed as one can appear with a broken bottle in their hands, but still.
blitzø turns, and again, it's like he's a totally different person, snapping at the group surrounding them. either he has a death wish, or he's very confident in his ability to fight. possibly a little bit of both. ]
Here's the deal. If anyone's gonna back the fuck up, it ain't gonna be me. You wanna "talk" to my daughter? You gotta talk to me first, and I fuckin' hate small talk, so back up - [ his stance shifts, one of his feet sliding back, center of gravity lowering like he's getting ready to take a tackle or spring forward. his eyes narrow, and he smiles, but it's halfway feral. ] - or bring it, bitch.
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it's a big change for both them; blitzø's lived alone for longer than he really cares to think about, and this is probably just another home loona won't ever get a chance to settle into before she's dragged back to the shelter, except - blitzø has no intention of doing that to her. he's an asshole and a prick, but there's not a chance in the seven rings. if time and space is what she needs in order to come back around, well. that shit's free, and the last thing he wants to do is drive her away by being overbearing (a sentiment he'll later let go of in favor of showering her in love and adoration and support, as much as she'll allow). he sends her a handful of texts (r u good and orderd u food if u wnat and lmk if u nede a ride) but otherwise, he leaves her alone.
it's only after a few hours have gone by without hearing from loona at all that blitzø decides he needs to do something. as much as he's willing to allow her her freedom, she's still his responsibility, and whether she believes it or not - he cares about her well-being. which says a lot, considering he barely cares about his own.
the only picture he has of her is the one from her official adoption documents - just a little, poorly lit polaroid in which she looks less than... pleasant, but he takes it with him anyway. he starts the search by checking off the most obvious places one might find a pissed off teenager, flashing her picture at random passersby to ask if they've seen her, all of whom are, unsurprisingly, no help. when that fails, he takes to driving around with his head out the window, shouting her name and giving the occasional finger to anyone who looks at him funny, just because it's fun.
bars seem unlikely, but not entirely out of the question. it's not like he didn't spend a handful of his teenage years being rebellious and stealing booze from under his father's nose, so. he doesn't rule it out.
the first one he hits up is a bust, half empty to the point that loona would be easy to pick out. the bartender at the second one says he hasn't seen anyone that looks like her, says he'd remember a girl like that, and the only reason blitzø doesn't haul him over the bar and rip is throat out is because he simply doesn't have time. if loona's not here, then he has to keep moving.
the third bar is probably the busiest of the night, though it's not too tightly packed. too many people for blitzø to get an easy look at everyone, so again, he pushes his way to the bar, climbs up on a stool, and slaps loona's photo down on the bar top. no dice, apparently, but blitzø's halfway through tucking the polaroid back into his jacket pocket when he hears what sounds like a fight starting to break out. when he turns to look over his shoulder, mostly out of mild curiosity, it's a flash of silvery-grey in the center of small group of people that makes him pause.
immediately, even without having seen her face, blitzø knows it's her, and judging by the body language and the comments being made by the people surrounding her, well - he can recognize a shitshow about to happen. ]
Oh, you guys picked the wrong fucking girl.
[ with zero hesitation, blitzø grabs an empty beer from the bartop that's yet to have been cleared away, and he moves away from the bar with purpose toward loona. somewhere along the way, he smashes the bottle against the edge of a high top, holding it by the neck, and uses his size to his advantage to push his way through the ring of people surrounding his daughter. ]
Loona. [ he says her name with authority, not because he's angry or upset with her, because he isn't, but just to get her attention so she knows she's not alone. he turns his back to her as he speaks, putting himself between her and as many people as he can, broken bottle held tight in one hand, but kept low by his side for now. he can tell that this little group of hellhounds aren't particularly happy about someone getting in their away, especially not a shitty little imp, but blitzø seems unbothered. guarded, definitely, his eyes shifting and watching for anyone who might try to start shit, but otherwise, unfazed. ] You okay?
no subject
She can take down a few, she's pretty fucking sure of that, but numbers will overwhelm in the end. It's not like this'll be the first time she's taken a proper beating, but that doesn't mean she's looking forward to it. And it's not like she has any illusion it'll end any other way. Even if this shithole is crammed full of people, none of them are about to get involved in a fight that has nothing to do with them.
It's not like she blames them, she'd be the same way. Hell is a fucking nightmare, why put yourself on the line for some shitty stranger who probably wants to fuck you over too? So she squares her shoulders, snarls loudly, and prepares to fight. Alone. Like she always has, like she always will, when...
...what...
It takes a couple of frozen moments for her to work out that the newcomer to the fight not only isn't joining in on ganging up on her, but that it's the little imp who adopted her earlier. Here. He's here and he's got a broken bottle, standing in front of her like he's actually going to try and defend her?!
Why does she suddenly feel like someone is stood on her chest?]
What the fuck are you doing here?
[It's easier to focus on that, on if he followed her, than the unfamiliar feeling of gratitude for someone coming to her aid.
The group of hounds look just as surprised, but hardly intimidated. It's still seven against two, and this is just a little fucking imp, not exactly a threat. One of them, a huge rottweiler looking hound, takes a step forward.]
Back the fuck up before you get hurt, imp. We're just talking with her, it's none of your business.
no subject
[ he drags the vowel, aaall, brandishing the bottle and kind of waving it in the hellhound's face, almost like a taunt. blitzø loves a good fight; the chance to stretch and flex his muscles, test his reflexes, definitely wouldn't go unappreciated. whatever he has to do to keep loona safe.
speaking of loona - blitzø casts her a quick glance over his shoulder, his back still facing toward her, and it's like a switch being flipped when he talks to her compared to how he'd addressed their potential opponents. ]
There's pizza at home, if you're hungry. Extra pepperoni. I wasn't sure what you like so I kinda guessed.
[ is he insane? this probably isn't the time for casual conversation, but he just seems so... relaxed in the face of their current circumstance. or as relaxed as one can appear with a broken bottle in their hands, but still.
blitzø turns, and again, it's like he's a totally different person, snapping at the group surrounding them. either he has a death wish, or he's very confident in his ability to fight. possibly a little bit of both. ]
Here's the deal. If anyone's gonna back the fuck up, it ain't gonna be me. You wanna "talk" to my daughter? You gotta talk to me first, and I fuckin' hate small talk, so back up - [ his stance shifts, one of his feet sliding back, center of gravity lowering like he's getting ready to take a tackle or spring forward. his eyes narrow, and he smiles, but it's halfway feral. ] - or bring it, bitch.