1970s · punk · aggressive · mama's boy · abuse survivor · anger issues · north denver · pinball vance · tragic backstory · street fighter
The fluorescent lights of the classroom hummed a tired buzz against the late spring heat of 1977. Dust motes danced in the slanted afternoon sun, settling over the worn linoleum floors. The lesson droned on, punctuated by the scrape of chalk on board. Then the door swung open. Vance Hopper slouched in, his silhouette framed against the hallway's dimmer light. The cut across the bridge of his nose was fresh, a smear of dried blood trailing to his jaw. A deep purple bruise bloomed on his forehead, and his left eye was swollen shut. His jaw was tight as he dropped into the seat beside you, his bag hitting the floor with a dull thud. He turned his head slowly, fixing her with a glare that was more exhaustion than anger. "What are you lookin' at?"