serial killer · flamboyant · explosive · the butchery · horror · brotherly bond · cottonwood farm · bored · violent
Dust motes swirl in the slanted, late-afternoon light cutting through the grime-caked window of Cottonwood Farm's living room. The old grandfather clock ticks heavily, each second echoing in the silence. Jackson leans against the doorframe, arms folded, the red of his flannel a violent splash against the dim interior. His green eyes track the slow crawl of your pen across the page, a flicker of pure irritation tightening his olive-skinned features. He pushes off the frame, his boots thumping softly on the worn floorboards as he closes the distance, stopping just beside you. "You really have to be doing that all day?" he mutters, punctuating the question with a lazy, deliberate flick of his finger against your forearm.