M - Drownin' in a cold vat of whiskey

The Ugly Coyote - John

POSTED: Mon Feb 24, 2020 5:29 pm

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.

he's dry as an old river bed

A lone man padded slowly toward the old red-brick building, his glassy eyes downcast as though considering the long, skewed shadow that stretched away from him - a symptom of the setting sun. Upon terse inspection, the man appeared to be lost in thought, but he was in fact taking great pains to ensure he loped within the markers of the Charmingtown path, knowing that to cross outside of those boundaries may mean certain death. Jack had put his faith in the promise of a stranger; an irresponsible, reckless gamble, and the stakes were his life. But what was purported to lie at the end of the path, if the tale was true, would be oh-so worth the risk.

The dog was amazed when he reached the building and crossed the threshold without incident. A pungent aroma prickled his nostrils and teased his olfactory senses. Moonshine. Just the thought of taking a sip of that hellfire made him shiver with anticipation. To have his senses anesthetized, his emotions numbed, for just a little while would be worth any price.

Jack hadn’t had a drink in months – his abstinence hadn’t been the result of a desire to change his habits or turn his life around, rather it was simply the result of the nomadic lifestyle the shepherd had led for the last six months or so. It simply was not a thing that was readily available, save for those who had a safe place to distill their spirits – those within a pack.

Whiskey, the coydog muttered casually, tapping two fingers upon the wooden bartop like he was an old regular. One bar was just as good as the next and on that account, he was an old regular.

As he slid onto the stool his rucksack slipped from his shoulder and landed with a thud on the floorboards, and in an old subconscious habit, he slipped his foot through the loop of the strap and planted his pads firmly upon the ground so a thief couldn’t do a snatch-and-run with his stuff.

After taking a brief look around and surveying the bar’s various clientele, his mismatched gaze focused on the earthen bartender. Rummaging around in his trouser pocket, he proffered a gold ring. Yer establishment take this kinda payment? The ring dropped onto the countertop, drawing the attention of a few ears as it spun on the wood before settling. The ring was old, tarnished, and the stone had long since fallen out of its setting, but the gold might still be of use for something. Though Jack peered at the stranger with deference, he quietly hoped he would accept the trinket as payment for a few drinks, for he had sorrows to drown but couldn’t afford to give up his trail food in exchange for a night of detachment.

Jack will be joining DCG after a conversation with John. 469 words

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POSTED: Thu Feb 27, 2020 11:01 pm

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

Told'y it were new. He guffawed, as Ronnie pulled a face at him, sticking his tongue out and gagging. It was moonshine alright, but something had gone distinctly wrong, and now John was, in his true asshole style, trying to get as many of the Ashen to try to noxious concoction as he could just to witness their disgusted reactions.

If he weren't scared it'd outright knock him senseless, he'd've probably knocked the whole carton of the paint thinner back for himself. But why should he go and deprive the masochistic glee that he swam in.

He got Zsorthia a good cracker with it too, to his endless amusement, and she'd punched him straight in the arm for his audacity. Idly he rubbed at the bruise that blossomed beneath his skin. The hurt felt good.

Ronnie abandoned him, to go serve someone who waved an empty glass and left him watching as a newcomer dropped himself into one of the bar stools. The attitude and manners of a man after his own heart, frequent flyer of the alcoholic program.

Y'got it. He said, reaching for the right bottle and pouring out a measure, taking a chug for himself as was expected. John looked the gold ring over, turning it over in his fingers, and then slipped it into his pocket,

Ah reckon this'll do mighty fine. A bastard's smile, all teeth and nothing tenuous. The golden ring in his ear gleamed in the flickering candlelight.

What brings y'out t'our little hole in th' wall then? He asked, pouring himself a drink too.

ooc[wc — 000] template by hilli
Johnathan Winthrop
I'm a dead man walkin'
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Luperci Maestro Cervecero You have to love yourself a fire

POSTED: Fri Mar 27, 2020 12:33 am

he's dry as an old river bed

Jack’s mismatched eyes watched the ‘tender as he considered his payment for a beat, and then the gold ring disappeared into the man’s pocket. Jack was relieved for the acceptance, though he wondered if the barman would give him more than just one swig for it. It was one of his last few pretty possessions, and though he had to go on blind faith, he’d always been told it was true gold.

The shepherd nodded his sullen appreciation, just one slight dip of the muzzle that might not have been perceptible if one wasn’t looking close enough. Out came the liquid amber then, and Jack’s chops watered like no tomorrow. The horseman took the glass within speckled fingers, black spotted nose twitched as he savored the tangy-sweet scent of the whiskey.

Sum’times, he said in a low drawl. …sum’times, just waitin’ ta take that first sip o’a glass a’ the devil’s water is better’n a whole cask down the gullet… His eyes slowly shifted to the bartender while his peculiar words settled in. …it’s the anticipation… promise a’ somethin’ beautiful over the horizon… With that, the newcomer tossed the drink back; the fingers of whiskey disappeared into his maw and with his head pointed up (for Luperci had to deal with drinking without the aid of dexterous lips), he sloshed the liquid in his mouth for a moment before it slithered down to his belly.

The glass plunked on the table with a thud and he nodded to the bartender, who, if he was worth his salt, would take that to be a request for another.

With his soul mildly soothed from the fast-acting spirit, Jack decided he was willing to open up to the man for a yarn. After all, he seemed like the sort who might be privy to the type of sorrows Jack Hawthorne now harbored.

What I’m doin’ in this frozen fuckin’ hell hole I ain’t rightly know, he began.. though of course any cowboy knew that was just an easy way to dodge the beginning of his tale. What I’m doin’ here is enjoyin’ a place rumored ta’ be non-too-welcomin’ ta them fuckin’ wolves… them fuckin’ fleas… What I’m doin’ drinkin’ this? he gestured to the glass, Same as every other sorry sap who sets paw in here. That, now… that’s about a girl. Jack’s eyes glazed as though peering into the past. Yeap, a girl with the most beautiful, sable mane, chestnut coat, and oooooo boy, the finest little git’up in ‘er walk… Leave a man hard fer days, I tell you what…

400+ words

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