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Blue can’t help but let out a scoff, shaking his head in mock disbelief. He suddenly feels the need to point out how he isn’t [i]that[/i] bad a driver - besides, he wasn’t the one who’d managed to get themselves roofied by a couple of Bombers - but the urge quickly vanishes when Skav gets up from their spot on the couch to make a beeline for the kitchen. He follows behind them like a shadow, partly because he’s curious, but also because they looked about as steady as a toddler hopped up on NyQuil. If they do end up tripping over their own feet, he wants to make sure that they didn’t crack their skull open on the kitchen counter. For a moment, he just watches Skav extricate a seemingly infinite number of canned goods from every nook and cranny. Just how long could these things last? Blue picks up one of the dust-covered cans, and turns it over to read the label. [color=d24dff]“Corn chowder.”[/color] He arches a quizzical eyebrow, pursing his lips a little. Just how long did these things [i]last[/i]? Some of the labels were so faded that he could barely tell what they were. [color=d24dff]“These’ll be good for the road if they haven’t already gone rank.”[/color]

With all this, they’d be set for a month, at least. Blue helps with the packing, lugging a plastic bag filled with provisions off to the side to make room. Still, they wouldn’t be able to live off canned food forever - they needed money. He doesn’t have much, of course, having spent most of it in pursuit of his next high, but he did have a few stacks of tens and twenties hidden away at his place. Briefly, his thoughts flicker back to the Interceptor. It’s been with him through thick and thin, salvaged from the chopping block of, well… a chop shop. He’s already lost count of how many times it had gotten him out of a too-tight scrape, weaving through alleys and sideroads like a jackrabbit fleeing from a coyote. Now, however, he had to face the possibility of leaving it behind. Two vehicles meant twice the gas, and [i]that[/i] was a problem. But Blue just pushes the thought to the back of his mind, trusting that he’ll make the right choice when it actually came down to it. After all, there were other things to worry about - like getting the hell out of San Marzano.

[color=d24dff]“Uh, yeah. I got some cash at my apartment.”[/color] Blue doesn’t bother to mention the stash of coke and molly he has squirrelled away in his freezer - the last thing he needed was another lecture about the horrors of drug use. [color=d24dff]“You wanna get the rest of your shit? I’ll just get dressed and take these to the Qrow, then you can drive me to my place.”[/color]

Blue makes for the bathroom, picking up the pieces of clothing he’d left discarded on the floor last night. They smell a little musty, still slightly damp from getting soaked through with rainwater, but they’d have to do. His t-shirt had taken the brunt of the damage, a large, brick red stain clearly visible against the grey fabric. Instead of putting it back on, he just dumps it on the floor, shrugging his jacket on over Skav’s shirt, and frowns when he sees himself in the grimy bathroom mirror. There’s a new, jagged rip across the sleeve of his jacket, almost like a Medal of Honor, a brand new battle scar to add to the collection. He feels like he should be proud, somehow - but for what? Stabbing the life out of someone just to survive? His entire existence has been built on the back of bloodshed, and this hole in his jacket was nothing but an inconvenience. 

After that, he doesn’t see fit to linger a second more, fishing both Skav’s and his own knives out of the sink, and heads back outside to the kitchen. [color=d24dff]“Your knife, Sasquatch.”[/color] Blue drawls, holding it out for Skav as he passes them. Then, he grabs two provision-filled plastic bags in each hand, hoisting them off the floor with a rather unflattering grunt. His mind is running a million miles an hour, countless thoughts bleeding together into a single, shapeless blur. There were too many things to do, and not enough time. But instead of panicking, he just… carries on. With an almost single-minded purpose, pausing to lace up his boots, and makes his way out of the apartment, down the stairs to where he’d left the Qrow parked last night. The key to the Qrow - he should probably return that soon - is still tucked away in his back pocket, and he uses it to unlock the trunk, dumping the bags inside.

[color=d24dff]“You ready?”[/color] Blue calls when he stomps back into the apartment, a little too excited. San Marzano has left him with a patchwork of bruises and scars, but that’s not it. There’s a constant ache deep inside his bones, a cold weight dragging him down. And now, they were finally going to get out of here. It doesn’t feel real. For so long, he’d thought about leaving the city, but there was nothing for him out there, nowhere for him to go. Things are different now, a streak of neon that cuts through the darkness. Maybe they’d actually be able to make it. No one outside of San Marzano knew about him, or the Razors, for that matter. A new life… [i]God[/i], Blue feels like a kid again just thinking it. But he doesn’t want to get too far ahead of himself, not when there was still a chance for everything to go to shit. Schooling his emotions the best he can, Blue grabs another plastic bag, using his free hand to pass Skav their car keys. [color=d24dff]“Don’t know if you still remember, but my place is just a couple blocks down from The Grotto. Shouldn’t take long.”[/color]