'Souls RPG

Full Version: [M] And I chewed my only necktie from the metal frame of my bed
You're currently viewing a stripped down version of our content. View the full version with proper formatting.

WARNING: This thread contains material exceeding the general board rating of PG-13. It may contain very strong language, drug usage, graphic violence, or graphic sexual content. Reader discretion is advised.

Specifically, this thread is marked mature because of: intoxication, possible sexual references or content.

OOC » Cape Acadia, a few miles east of NC.

Though irreverent and impulsive at most times, Odysseus adhered to some important habits — maintenance of his blades and of himself chief among these. These days, as a lonely vagabond, only so much care could be taken: his singular shirt dirty with dried blood and the soil of the wood and hills, his hair windswept, his fingers barren of rings. For his weaponry, however, he made do.

Most of the small daggers and hunting knives strapped to his person were a lost cause, already dulled beyond saving or overtaken by corrosion; these had been traded for cheaply or scavenged from corpses. They would sooner than later fail them; they were at best decoration or used for sloppily gutting prey or other tasks that could chip a blade.

But his shortsword he tended to with great care.

He sharpened it now, seated with his back to an old pine stripped of it slower branches, whetstone in hand and amber eyes focused. He was quiet in a way he often wasn’t, reflecting on his journey thus far and what destinations he’d seek next. When his thoughts drifted too far, into places too dark, he took a swig from the bottle of whiskey at his side. It couldn’t compare to the spirits distilled by the Ashen bartender, but it had been bartered for cheap, and it did its job.

His senses were not so numb, though, that he couldn’t hear a stumbling in the wood. Dark ears flicked, and the lean man stood, wiping the blade and sheathing it. He sniffed the air and strode toward the sounds, patches of sunlight through the spruce boughs bronzing his striped coat.
I lived my days just for the nights - I lost myself under the lights

He wasn't the sort to go get sloppy drunk anywhere far from home, even preferring to avoid being too sloppy at home. When drunk, he was liable to make moves on people who were not inclined to be very receptive of them and he already saw what familial disgrace had done to Hoko. He kept any heavy imbibing to places outside of home or away from his family. Naturally, this meant he ended up not partaking all that often.

So how had he ended up in the middle of nowhere outside of New Caledonia? An excellent question that he had only the very foggiest idea of how to answer. Something about a random gaggle of passersby with a stringed instrument and a generously filled barrel of ale. He had been keen to trade some basic shifts (which is why he had wandered out anyway) and trading away the garments had given him space at their fire and in their cups.

Coming home after that night had been a brutal reminder of why drinking with strangers unsupervised was not the best choice. But since when had Dorian made good life choices all of the time?

Sure, it was well past morning and a morning hangover but the throbbing of his head reminded him that he was paying for the night's indulgence. Was it worth it, though? Absolutely. Maybe if the travelers passed by again he would do more than just waggle his brows and lean suggestively toward the very handsome dog mix with the wandering hands.

A thought for later when his brain wasn't trying to punch its way out of his skull. He rubbed at his eyes as he walked, trying to ease the ache a little, though the pressure was only a temporary relief. At least his mouth didn't feel like sandpaper thanks to the copious water and meat the travelers had pressed upon him before they, too, departed for wherever they were going.

Naturally, with eyes shut to the world, he nearly ran himself into a tree. Thankfully, he opened them just in time to stumble in a different direction. Only to get caught in a tangle of nettles that tugged at his pants and forced his attention downward at the worst moment. He smacked the side of his head right into a low hanging branch. Dorian stumbled with a hand to his even more aching head before his feet caught on a root from the same tree and he rolled right into the actual game trail he had been following.

Splayed out with a hand to his head, he stared up at the canopy. "I'm sorry, did I offend you?" he yelled up into its silent boughs which only rustled as the wind whistled through.

OOC » lmao poor Dorian :laugh: some pp to help him up, just smack message me if no good!

It was less of a stumble that he heard than a crash, at which point Odie broke out into a brisker lope. There was a litany of reasons not to head toward a crash in the forest, but the man was well-practiced at ignoring common sense.

(One could assume that he did it on purpose. One would be right.)

What he found was far from dangerous, however. Shouting toward the heavens was a well-dressed young man, a wolf of agouti hues and average height (or so Odie surmised he’d be if he weren’t sprawled on the forest floor).

The brindle hound laughed, his voice a bright bark. “No offense taken, amigo,” he teased, stepping closer to extend a hand in aid. He helped him up, his amber eyes mindful of the boy’s footing before they flicked keenly back to the handsomely dark-streaked face. ”Did you take a tumble, or did some villain trip you?” His sharp teeth flashed with mischief.
I lived my days just for the nights - I lost myself under the lights

Dorian stared up at the trees when a voice laughed right back at him. His eyes widened. Oh, no. The trees were starting to answer him back? Just how much alcohol did he still have in his system for that to start happening? He really ought to be more careful and maybe take a nap before he tried to wander home. No, he had slept that night but the hangover couldn't have been causing him to hallucinate talking flora. Unless he had been drugged or it was still a hangover dream.. All those thoughts in the matter of a few heartbeats and it was no wonder he was so exhausted by his stupid mind.

Ah, no, it was a person. A hand extended out to him, revealing that the trees were not talking to him. Good.

Oh god, no, not good, it was a person.

"Uhhh," he eloquently replied as he took the man's offered hand and let him pull his achy body back to standing. His head throbbed from both remnant drink and angry tree branch. Dorian touched his head where a knot was surely forming and glanced at the offending oak. "Well, if you can call a tree a villain, then here is the offender," he explained with a pat on the branch that had struck him (or rather that he had smacked like a fool in the first place). The tree branch rustled and the faint plop of acorns falling made him twitch. The last thing he wanted was to suffer even more indignities; how much pride did he have left anyway?

Absently, Dorian licked at dry lips without thinking. "God, I don't know what I did to offend the forest today. Please tell me you're not a vengeful avatar come to kill me for it?" Though, honestly? He wouldn't too much; the man wasn't displeasing to look at and death by an attractive face was hardly the worst death imaginable.