Dracon (dracon) wrote in darkcarnivale, @ 2011-09-17 10:56:00 |
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Entry tags: | drake rasmussen, tabbart crumb |
Who: Drake OT Tab
What: A dragon and a gremlin walk into a bar...
When: Saturday night, after this
Where: Hooch tent
Rating: Some coarse language, but Drake definitely behaved lol
Status: Complete
What a long day. Dracon had spent all morning Saturday packing his few meager possessions. Chiefly his clothes, and whatever fireproof necessities he thought he might use. He had even found two torches that would still work. The time consuming part was always deciding what to keep and what to toss, regardless that Dracon was not the kind of person to get attached to much. In fact, his most and only prized possession was a torn up, singed grainy picture of his baby brother Devon. He'd had other pictures of his family that he'd saved from the gutted compound that had been his home before humans slaughtered all his kin, but those he had lost over the years. His life had been rough, there had been murders, robberies, natural disasters, and many, many fires. And more than once he'd had to skip town with only the clothes on his back. But it had been a fire that had destroyed his other pictures. Only Devon's photograph had survived, and Drake had kept it in his wallet ever since. He'd been meaning to get it scanned and retouched. Maybe get a better print. Modern technology could do miracles with that kind of thing. But he'd never gotten around to it. A part of him felt it wouldn't be the same. This was the original. It was the closest thing he had to a remaining tie to his clan, and his favorite baby brother who he had failed. Drake had never forgiven himself for not being there when his family was attacked, even though it was more than likely that he would have simply died with them. It would have been preferable to a lifetime alone.
Not that Drake was maudlin, nor suicidal. His self-preservation instinct was too powerful for that. Self-loathing, however, that was a whole other ballpark, and he had been an angry young man even before the tragedy that left him homeless and an orphan. He hadn't been the eldest son. He was actually third born, but he had the most 'alpha' in him out of all his brothers. His cousins too. Dracon's uncle was clan leader for their Weyr or nest, but like their dragon counterparts, draconian leadership is not inherited. It is earned. All of this, however, was pointless to think about, Drake decided as he took the last swig from his beer. He called for another and took one last long, hard look at his dead baby brother's picture before putting it away. The kid had been big for his age back then, at ten years old he had looked fourteen. Devon had always been Drake's favorite, and not because he was the youngest of the litter. Drake had never been known for liking rugrats much. No, there had just been something about Devon that made him smile. He'd loved that little kid, and doted on him like he was his own son. Dead at ten years of age. The injustice of it was staggering, but then when had the world been fair? For decades, looking at his picture had put Drake in a murderous mood, feeding that bottomless pit of anger at his core. Lately, that anger was tempered with a more mellow sadness. He shook his head and scowled into his beer. He hated packing. Packing always led Drake to indulge in these short walks down memory lane.
He had little problem breaking his lease, although he'd exchanged some hard words with his landlady over it. What did she think, that she'd bagged him and he was eventually going to shack up with her or something? Clearly, that's exactly what she had thought. A little farewell nookie had done the trick, however, and off he went. He'd gone to the bank from there, then had come over to the Carnival a second time to drop off his stuff. He looked at a few trailers before settling on his current choice. From the outside, his trailer looked like a beat up old thing, but the inside was pristine, if old and not very pretty looking. Like Drake would care about something like that. The real selling point had been the fact that the motor purred like a contented kitten. When he looked under the hood, as it were, he didn't think there was a single part in there that hadn't been replaced. The engine was as good as rebuilt, and he didn't see any of the usual signs of rust, damage, or wear and tear. After retrieving his things and moving them to his new trailer, he fueled up and went to find the food tent. It had been a pleasant surprise. Some things had certainly improved with time.
After a long day, Drake thought he deserved to have a sit down and have some ale. Because of his metabolism, it was nearly impossible for Drake to get drunk in the sense humans did, but he could enjoy a pleasant buzz that dulled his senses, and his anger somewhat. This, however, didn't make him any friendlier.
Speaking of, an overly friendly dancing boy had just come over and introduced himself. Drake was wearing his human skin, jeans, and a worn, black tank top that had stayed too long in the dryer and now strained to stretch over his wide chest. It was dusty from moving and had a small stain from a bit of splatter from his dinner earlier. His jacket hung from the back of his chair. He hadn't been paying much attention to the people around him, so he didn't even catch what the boy said, only that he was eyeing him like he was good to eat and was staring at him expectantly, plainly expecting a response of some kind.
"Fuck off," he muttered with no more than a cursory sidelong glance.
"Ach. So rude," the boy said, and walked off in a huff.
Drake sipped his beer, staring straight ahead, the boy already forgotten. What? He'd promised Arkady he wouldn't be an asshole and start trouble, as in getting in fights and beating people up willy nilly like he used to. He would do just that. This didn't mean he would suddenly become mister sweetness and light. Besides, he wasn't in the mood. If he hadn't done the landlady earlier, which left him an unpleasant taste in his mouth, perhaps this little scene would have ended differently. Drake wasn't too choosy when it came to bedpartners, and the kid was cute enough. But whatever. The way that boy had been undressing him with his eyes, Drake figured he could have him any time he wanted, mad or not. And knowing him, he probably would. His libido might not rule him, like it did so many other men, but Drake wasn't the kind of man who was used to going without, except by choice.