NATE
Life is hard that's why no one survives
I'm much older than I thought I'd be
I'm much older than I thought I'd be
"I... it was late. And I was tired, so tired, I'm so tired... and... sad." The word is whispered like it's shameful, a shuddering sigh leaving Nate with it. The pause that comes with it lingers, almost long enough that it seems like he's forgotten the story altogether, before Pemota drifts into his sights again and reminds him. "I asked the... the stars, and the sky, if I'd be abandoned forever, and they answered with her." Again, he reaches out for Pemota, his whole being filled with love for her, for the Voice for giving her to him, enough that she can't help but nuzzle into him. Smiling, Nate holds her close for a moment, then glances towards the woman beside him, eye managing to avoid the dragon this time, though only barely. "She really doesn't like you though." His previous distress is forgotten completely, a laugh ringing through him now.
Nate doesn't know the danger he's in, the threat Amaris represented, not really. Here, in his state, she's the ony one who's given him the time of day, who'd let him ramble, tethering him back in reality, just a little bit. It won't last, it can't possibly, but for the moment, he manages to seem halfway competent, finding the path to the bar almost easily, once he'd found something recognizable.
The closed signs go right over his head, a gaze that's already swimming slipping right over the notices in his haste to enter, to thank this woman and to find Sunjata. "Amaris." He repeats, stressing all the wrong parts, like he's trying to sing it in a language not meant for it. "Thats pretty. I'm Nathaniel." He leans in like he's going to share a secret, some eathshattering truth, and whether or not she leans in whispers: "It's not pretty." Her talk of not day-drinking is met with a shrug, Nate turning to throw open the doors and finding them quite solid, locked up tight. An irritated snort leaves him, hands trying the handles again and again until all he can do is growl, and throw himself away from the stubbornly locked doors.
What kind of dickhead conspiracy is this? Get him to Halo, get him all lost, and then lock the doors to the closest place to home? Gods he hates this place. "I fucking... I'll get it." He promises, face set in a scowl when he turns back to Amaris, before suddenly shrinking down, becoming a bat before her eyes. The cold hits him first, sends naked wings flapping frantically, though in his haste to do something Nate has forgotten one key fact. He doesn't actually know how to fly, hasn't ever had the chance before now. How foolish he must look, flailing about on the ground, in his least favourite shape.
Nate doesn't know the danger he's in, the threat Amaris represented, not really. Here, in his state, she's the ony one who's given him the time of day, who'd let him ramble, tethering him back in reality, just a little bit. It won't last, it can't possibly, but for the moment, he manages to seem halfway competent, finding the path to the bar almost easily, once he'd found something recognizable.
The closed signs go right over his head, a gaze that's already swimming slipping right over the notices in his haste to enter, to thank this woman and to find Sunjata. "Amaris." He repeats, stressing all the wrong parts, like he's trying to sing it in a language not meant for it. "Thats pretty. I'm Nathaniel." He leans in like he's going to share a secret, some eathshattering truth, and whether or not she leans in whispers: "It's not pretty." Her talk of not day-drinking is met with a shrug, Nate turning to throw open the doors and finding them quite solid, locked up tight. An irritated snort leaves him, hands trying the handles again and again until all he can do is growl, and throw himself away from the stubbornly locked doors.
What kind of dickhead conspiracy is this? Get him to Halo, get him all lost, and then lock the doors to the closest place to home? Gods he hates this place. "I fucking... I'll get it." He promises, face set in a scowl when he turns back to Amaris, before suddenly shrinking down, becoming a bat before her eyes. The cold hits him first, sends naked wings flapping frantically, though in his haste to do something Nate has forgotten one key fact. He doesn't actually know how to fly, hasn't ever had the chance before now. How foolish he must look, flailing about on the ground, in his least favourite shape.
Feel like a fool, yeah, like a dancing fool, yeah
Footloose and fancy free
Footloose and fancy free
