Who knows. Who cares? (abloodymess) wrote in athinblackline, @ 2009-03-09 23:20:00 |
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Current mood: | confused |
Who: Violet and Damphyr (Mason)
When: Nine o clock PM Monday Feb. 10th
Where: Near the house of horrors, out on the grounds
What: Skipping work
Two days had passed since he'd been in the pits..and hauled out and carried to the morgue. That was some freaky shit, but in a way it didn't surprise him, seemed he was meant to be a freak, in ever sense of the word. In a way he supposed it was good he hadn't really bit the big one, at least the green man wasn't wallowing in depression. Of course now he was acting like a worried mother hen, which he wasn't used to at all, being fawned over like that. He was currently cutting out on work, not feeling like it, plus business was shit anyway, no one would notice if he slipped out for a while, he was sure, and fuck them if they did. If anyone got in his face about it he'd simply get in their faces right back.
He a short ways away from the house of horrors, sipping out of a pint of rum he'd found that he'd stowed away a month or so ago, right where he left it. At least something was going for him, and damn, he needed a drink, trying to figure out all of this shit was putting him in a bad mood, though that was really nothing out of the ordinary at all. He gave a sigh and looked up at the stars, ripping off a particular bandage on his arm, tossing the thing down to the ground.
He shook his head and tossed down another few gulps, closing his eyes about halfway as the liquid burned a pathway down his throat. This evening he was dressed in a pair of jeans, black ones, ripped out at the knees, and a pair of heavy duty black combat boots with lime green laces. A tight fitting black T-shirt was worn on his upper half, the bottle of liquor in one hand while he held a burning cigarette in the other, he taking a drag of that as he thought back to how surreal the fight had been for him.