thread title missing - Printable Version +- 'Souls IPB Archive (November 2007–October 2012) (https://soulsrpg.com/ipb) +-- Forum: Dead IC (https://soulsrpg.com/ipb/forumdisplay.php?fid=110) +--- Forum: Dead Topics (https://soulsrpg.com/ipb/forumdisplay.php?fid=21) +--- Thread: thread title missing (/showthread.php?tid=1249) |
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- Ahren de le Poer - 03-17-2008 [html] Endymion.
indent Addiction was a disease. He knew that as well as he knew that he was never going to be able to crawl out of the bottle. Alcoholics rarely ever do, not completely. Still, it was better, he reasoned, to go to the bottle then the needle. At least this way, he could tell where his limit was. He knew when to drop it and run for fear of what he might do. It was a parabola and a terrible one indeed. Still, these things gave him a bittersweet comfort. indent He was in a bar, bent over a pool table. The bottle at his left was half-empty wine. In his left hand was a cigarette, burning as he positioned the stick towards the white ball. Pool had been a game he had learned in Europe, one that was perfect for long nights like this was proving to be. With a sudden movement of his left hand, the stick shot out and sent the white ball across the table with a crack. It struck a triangular pattern of striped and solid numbered balls that bounced around the bordered area, clattering together loudly. None fell into the holes, though, so the game was still afoot. Ahren inhaled on the cigarette and sighed, for no reason in particular. - Endymion Russo - 03-17-2008 [html] [/html] - Ahren de le Poer - 03-20-2008 [html]
indent As soon as the stranger walked in, Ahren looked up. It was not surprise that he gave but a faint sort of dull amusement. They had reclaimed this city as they had in Europe, and this young man was half-clothed as it stood. Once, a long time ago, Ahren had picked up the fashion. Eventually his jeans had worn thin and offered no more protection from the broken glass that cut his feet. He still wore the belt, which hung at his hips dully, sporting the knife and the small pouch. Unless things served a use, Ahren would cast them by the wayside. He did this with people as well as he did with objects.
indent Reaching over to the bottle of wine, Ahren spoke. “Where are you going, all dressed up like that?” It was a comment that sounded amused, because Ahren truly was, but also dripping with sarcasm. He swallowed a mouthful of the alcohol, took a drag on the cigarette, and once more struck the white ball. This time, it collided with a solid purple one and sent it into one of the corner pockets. “You want in?” |