driftfleet | (no subject)

Who: Zhas and whoever wants in on this grumpy trainwreck.
Broadcast: None probably.
Action: All day every day.
When: Forward dated to the dust moon because SOMEONE (me) can't be patient.

---

[gunning for the prestigious "first asshole to get irresponsibly drunk as soon as they land" award, there's this guy. he doesn't normally do this kind of thing, but it's been a spectacularly harrowing six months or so. he landed, took one look at this tiny town, and thought, "Nope. Not going to participate."

he has since been working hard to remove himself from the responsibility of being a functioning human being. is this a good idea? of course not. but he has reasons and he has a gnawing evil in his chest, and he'd love for one of them to just shut up for a while.

so, acquaintances will be surprised to find him out in the late evening, dressed up like a normal person and not covered in face paint. his eyes still have kind of a dim orange glow to them, but genetics can't be helped. anyone, friend or stranger, is welcome to find him either:

a. in the process of getting drunk (at the bar, hunched grumpily over his glass of bourbon)
b. getting into a fight (because the other guy... something... doesn't really matter anyway)
c. wandering the town streets (uncoordinated, content, and oblivious to a bad nosebleed)

on the bright side, the ratings he'll get from this will probably pay for his bar tab.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[he notices. today's a day for forgetting and ignoring and pretending to be someone else, but there's a little something at the back of his head that draws his eyes in her direction in the middle of an otherwise aimless wander.

he stops. his stare lacks clarity, but he he knows who this is. rather than get all murderous and venomous, he... sniffles, smears under his nose with the side of his hand. looks down to see that there is, in fact, the color red on his hand.]

Hn. Look at that.

[Well. That's a different sort of thing than she was expecting, or than that she was used to. Her eyes narrow just a tick more, and then she tips her chin up at him.]

You'd think you'd be more concerned about that, hm?

[Except he seems a little bit more generally than specifically fucked up, so who knows? Who knows what hunters think anyway? If they even do.]

[not thinking is the whole point. you stop and think, you start questioning things. you start doubting things. and doubt makes you weak. faith keeps you strong.

and he has faith that she isn't going to attack him out here like this--not in a specifically vampire-y way, anyway. he didn't think Cassandra was lying about that.

he waves his hand. the not-bloody one. he isn't even looking at her.]

Why, gonna do something...?

[he sure doesn't sound concerned, either.]

[Her mouth ticks up at the corner, a wicked half-smile, and she laces her fingers together over her stomach.]

I don't know how things work where you come from. But where I come from, there are standards. Even if I were going to drink blood, it wouldn't be yours. Not in that state. Affects the taste.

[It's completely possible that she's joking, but it's equally possible that she isn't. Who can honestly say.]