Who: Garin Braden and Open What: Having a drink When: Tuesday evening Where: Lou's Warnings: TBA Status: Open/On-going
After a while, birthdays started to become largely meaningless. When you were immortal, there was actually a lot of stuff that didn't really matter. Some things really did start to blur after a bit, and birthdays were definitely a little wonky considering he'd been born before the Gregorian calendar was even a thing. Granted, it wasn't a huge difference, but really. Nobody wanted to go through life mentally calculating the difference between the two. There was more work to remembering what did what and when than people really expected and any time he really thought about it, he just got annoyed as shit.
He'd always been one to roll with change, especially since adapting to change was what had kept him... well, not alive, because Joan of Arc's sword had done that. But adapting to change had definitely kept him safe. And comfortable. Oh, and well-off. Extremely so.
Yeah, more like overall wealthy as hell. Garin Braden was a snobby, selfish, materialistic bastard with the best of them who rarely cared about people back home. Madison Valley, however? Well... he was mostly the same, he just cared about people. Ish. More or less.
At the moment, though, he wasn't doing anything more than people-watching at Lou's. People were ridiculously easy to read most of the time, so it wasn't even much of a challenge, but he wasn't in it for the challenge. He was in it just for something to do.