[ jack loves nights like these. when it's all torrential rain and the streets are empty - no one wants to be out in this. for as often as jack feels all alone in crowds of people, it's something like darkly relieving to actually be alone, in a world of stinging streams of rain like icicles puncturing his skin. sinking down to his bones and freezing him from the inside out. it's quiet, like this, just the constant static of rain drowning out all the rest. it feels almost like the end of the world, as he walks through deserted midnight streets, feeling like the only one for miles in a desolate city scape. his clothes - expensive, custom, featured in vogue - are completely soaked through and he left his phone at home. as aching and heavy as the solitude and isolation is, it's fulfilling, for once, to feel like it's real. not just being sealed away in his mind alone. time feels frozen and jack can just be. scream all he likes (he does), cry all he likes (he does), and laugh himself hysterical.

he looks like a mess, hair plastered against his face, and nothing really close to recognizable as the prince, heir to the throne. the few that do pass him while rushing for cover don't so much as glance twice at him, and jack loves it that way. his head's spinning a little, from what he's been nursing from his flask, but not enough that he's close to falling over and drowning in a puddle. eventually, he finds himself under a familiar overpass, knowing it as a sort of secret meeting place for people that want their lives to be the utmost of private. there's always someone stopping by, and jack flops down heavily against the gritty, grime crusted underpass sidewalk, among the litter and mud. he wonders how it'd be to sleep down here. just never go back to the palace at all. his thoughts are interrupted as a civic pulls up, window rolling down, and jack tilts his head back to lean against the dirty bricks behind him, eyeing the driver impassively.

'Hey, you okay over there?' is what comes, not a come on, not a proposition, not a quietly pushed open passenger side door for him to slip into. It's too dark where he's sitting, and his face is too wrecked to really be recognizable, but maybe he does. It's happened once or twice and Jack has had to threaten blackmail to keep lips from flapping. either way, he doesn't sound like he knows what this place is, or what jack's doing, and that alone drags a giggled, drunken laugh from him before he answers, calling out over the pounding of rain. ]

I'm waiting for my knight in shining Buick to come whisk me away and fuck my brains out. [ A moment's pause, and he shuffles his way up, not the most graceful of shows, and paces up to the open passenger window, leaning his forearms heavily against it as he sticks his head a little in the care, face clear now. still, he's a far cry from Prince Jack Benjamin. His skin is pale, bags under his eyes, red rimming his eyes from the crying before, and lips a bright, bright red, a little shining with the coat of rainwater on them. ]

Civic works too, if you want to take his place.