they made a mockery of him once 'look at the walking tragedy' now they whisper when he passes
he's a demon, with a crown of blood
It was always surprising how quickly things could change.
Luckily, he’d managed to stash away a decent amount of alcohol in back rooms that Phoebe hadn’t gone to when she’d trashed the place. Unluckily, everything that’s happened has him cracking open a bottle and going at it. He’s drank around half the bottle at this point, door to the back of the bar open as he hauls the broken furniture out, getting the larger pieces out of the way before he has a chance to try and sweep up the mess and the glass left behind.
He’s found the cigarettes he’s disregarded while the illness takes its course, forgetting all about the concerns over whether he does it or not. Did it matter anymore? He lights one, setting the pack on the lightning scorched bar top, reaching for the large floor broom to brush everything out of the way. But it’s been awhile since he’s drank, especially this hard, and it’s been awhile since he’d gotten this warm, and after a change of clothes to better suit the task at hand, not sure how long he’ll be at it, he starts to sweep up a pile.
He’s not sure when the last time he’s eaten is, either, and that mixed with everything else is already a slightly bad sign. He can’t find it in him to care, pausing to survey the room with a deep draw of the cigarette, gaze flitting over to the memorial wall – most of it in tact, aside from Lusea’s lantern which had fallen off the wall, a part of it dented. And he sighs, abandoning the broom to pick up the lantern to place it back on the shelf, gaze shadowed and dark as he looks at the last bit of her that he has.
Luckily, he’d managed to stash away a decent amount of alcohol in back rooms that Phoebe hadn’t gone to when she’d trashed the place. Unluckily, everything that’s happened has him cracking open a bottle and going at it. He’s drank around half the bottle at this point, door to the back of the bar open as he hauls the broken furniture out, getting the larger pieces out of the way before he has a chance to try and sweep up the mess and the glass left behind.
He’s found the cigarettes he’s disregarded while the illness takes its course, forgetting all about the concerns over whether he does it or not. Did it matter anymore? He lights one, setting the pack on the lightning scorched bar top, reaching for the large floor broom to brush everything out of the way. But it’s been awhile since he’s drank, especially this hard, and it’s been awhile since he’d gotten this warm, and after a change of clothes to better suit the task at hand, not sure how long he’ll be at it, he starts to sweep up a pile.
He’s not sure when the last time he’s eaten is, either, and that mixed with everything else is already a slightly bad sign. He can’t find it in him to care, pausing to survey the room with a deep draw of the cigarette, gaze flitting over to the memorial wall – most of it in tact, aside from Lusea’s lantern which had fallen off the wall, a part of it dented. And he sighs, abandoning the broom to pick up the lantern to place it back on the shelf, gaze shadowed and dark as he looks at the last bit of her that he has.
does it look like he's still under your control?
SUNJATA
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
