Re: [M] It's here I stand as a broken man

Tora

POSTED: Fri Mar 27, 2020 3:53 am

hangman is coming down from the gallows, and I don't have very long

It all passed him by, an orgy of sex, drugs and alcohol. John couldn't say if he fucked more than just the two willing ladies or if he and his new buddy pal guy had gone at it either. Maybe there had been a kiss or two? But really, why care? A little bit of swapped spit made for a stronger brotherhood.

He did remember getting their names mixed up at one point, and the brunette hadn't hesitated to slap him, and twist his nuts something fierce; he remembered begging at least. He was a man without shame, ain't nothing too depraved for him to do.

Morning slammed into him with the weight of a charging moose.

Dear fucking god, did the birds have to scream their horny little asses off so loudly?

Groaning John hauled himself to sit upright, head lolling on his useless ass neck like a broken rag doll. Gummy eyes wrenched themselves open and he cursed it for a bad decision, the sunlight was sharp and painful against his reddened retinas. His orgy friend was passed out on his side, snoring loudly. Maybe that had been what ripped him from his blessed slumber.

Idly he nudged the prone man with his foot,

Tora. He muttered half heartedly, slumping to the side slightly. God, he needed to piss.

John seriously considered the merits of pissing himself right there rather than standing to relieve his bladder. His laziness over not wanting to bathe again in the cold as fuck river won over his laziness to want to remain right where his ass was planted.

The Virginian managed to stagger himself a few feet away and let out a long sigh of relief, and a strong stream against the nearby tree. Chores completed, he threw himself back down onto the soft grass and kicked his companion again, harder,

Wake t'fuck up, y'shit. He mumbled, again, in a half-assed manner.

ooc[wc — 472] template by hilli
Johnathan Winthrop
I'm a dead man walkin'
Del Cenere Gang
El Elegido
User avatar
Jace
Luperci Maestro Cervecero You have to love yourself a fire

POSTED: Wed Apr 01, 2020 4:40 am

It wouldn't have surprised him if someone told him that a drink hadn't been more than a wildly flailing grab away from him the whole night. It had been one of those evenings where all of his repressed urges to fight, fuck and generally raise hell had managed to break free and make him drop the act, bad decisions one after the other compounding to make sure he was feeling like shit the next day. At some point the girls had left, but was that when the party stopped? Tora didn't know and couldn't ponder it because he was too busy convulsing on the ground in the grip of his night terrors.

They weren't anything unusual. Shadow people tried to choke him to death as his home burned and his mother bled out, poison flowed through his veins while his spine snapped under the weight of a heavy hammer blow. The usual suspects and more played through his head for however he slept, low snarls and fang-baring growls ripping from his throat at random. He was in the midst of a particularly vivid one of his father barreling towards him with a closed fist when some stupid jackass knocked him awake.

The reaction was instantaneous. Tora screamed, a feral roar of murderous rage that made his throat crack and shook the birds from the trees. An open palm smacked his assailant square in the balls as he rolled atop him still screaming that banshee scream. The hand that had slapped the fuck out of the bastard's nuts was closing around his throat as the other scrabbled for the buffalo robe discarded in the grass, pulling that heavy tomahawk free. Watashi wa anata no kawa o jaketto to shite mi ni tsuke, anata no sebone o tsue to shite tsukai, sorekara anata no shitai o fakku shimasu!

The threats he borrowed from dear old dad only really seemed to slip free in his native tongue. His English wasn't natural enough to warrant such eloquence. Anata no baishunpu no haha to chichi ga anata no karada o mitainara, karera watwatashi no shōben o nomanakereba narimasen! The edge of his hatchet was ready and waiting to shatter a skull, Tora a twitch away from crushing John's windpipe.

Wait, John?

Kuso...

Glazed and bloodshot eyes stared without sight into the coyote's, Tora rolling off his good buddy with a pitiful groan. The adrenaline that had allowed the burst of violence fading away. Now all the consequences of his bad decisions could set in, head feeling he had rammed it into a tree a few times and body like he had served as makeshift bridge for a few dozen horses. Shit, my bad. Nightmares, you understand. The wolf didn't wait to John to confirm whether or not he actually did, shaking himself off as he went about the process of picking up his clothes and fighting off the need to vomit.

Hey did we end up, you know... fucking? I could have sworn the girls left before we passed out. He was pretty sure anyway. Everything from before two minutes ago was a blur. It doesn't matter I guess. It is what it is. In the context of the situation it was pretty low on his list of concerns, Tora trying to force himself back into business mode via constant chatter after nearly slaughtering his new friend.

By the way, wheres your hat? You tried to tip one last night.

Wordcount:588

New Caledonia
Distinguished
User avatar
Smike
Luperci Pathfinder I What the spud!?
Dishonor is removed through death

Northern Tides

cron