Happiness is not an ideal of reason but of imagination
He was mildly amused, through the haze of the alcohol, at the others’ response to his ‘enemy’. It was mostly true though – Pennywise had been the stuff of nightmares for the young Chuy, many a sleepless night and an eternal hatred for clowns born from the horror film he’d watched as a young and rather more foolish child.
“A demon of the underworld, who lures children into his realm with promises of gifts and abilities – then he eats them.” His words may have slurred here or there, as he determinedly painted the last touches to his target with intense scrutiny. He accepted more alcohol and having just finished his third, he was feeling rather pleasantly buzzed, if not well over the threshold of tipsy.
Hey, he was a cheap drunk.
He couldn’t help a snorting chuckle at Kiada’s fate, watching with amusement as Deimos had to step in. It would seem for all her ability in combat, she simply wasn’t gifted when it came to preparing training materials.
The next task was announced, and he continued to sip at his drink as he turned. When he made to move towards it, he found his steps not quite as coordinated as normal, and mumbled something that vaguely sounded like “Reckon all my luck’s pretty drunk” to Kia the next time she came in earshot. What did it mean? Not even he could tell you, having already forgotten what he’d intended to say and what he actually said the moment the words formed.
Then he got to work, tugging at stitches and stuffing materials in, absently thinking that perhaps it wasn’t the best idea for him to do the re-stitching in his current state – but then, he was so good at it before, of course he’d be fine with that again. And so he tried.
--
Rather drunk Chuy unstitches and stuffs, and restitches if the dice allow!
“A demon of the underworld, who lures children into his realm with promises of gifts and abilities – then he eats them.” His words may have slurred here or there, as he determinedly painted the last touches to his target with intense scrutiny. He accepted more alcohol and having just finished his third, he was feeling rather pleasantly buzzed, if not well over the threshold of tipsy.
Hey, he was a cheap drunk.
He couldn’t help a snorting chuckle at Kiada’s fate, watching with amusement as Deimos had to step in. It would seem for all her ability in combat, she simply wasn’t gifted when it came to preparing training materials.
The next task was announced, and he continued to sip at his drink as he turned. When he made to move towards it, he found his steps not quite as coordinated as normal, and mumbled something that vaguely sounded like “Reckon all my luck’s pretty drunk” to Kia the next time she came in earshot. What did it mean? Not even he could tell you, having already forgotten what he’d intended to say and what he actually said the moment the words formed.
Then he got to work, tugging at stitches and stuffing materials in, absently thinking that perhaps it wasn’t the best idea for him to do the re-stitching in his current state – but then, he was so good at it before, of course he’d be fine with that again. And so he tried.
--
Rather drunk Chuy unstitches and stuffs, and restitches if the dice allow!
CHULANE
