07-07-2011, 08:58 PM
(Set at this exact date, No werewolves, modern tech, and *gasp* we get to see Saluce as a human in the flesh)
The man looked at the bottom of the shaker glass, a thin wash of whiskey settling at the bottom, his eyes looking through remembering back a few short months ago to a place much more desolate and hostile than this old hole in the wall bar he currently sat at. About the time he had gotten his “dear john” letter. The man was dressed in Marine fatigues, fresh off the plane, the adrenaline from Afghanistan still running hotly through his veins, with nothing at home to return to anymore. He had went on tour with a lady waiting for him at home, but a few months later he had received the news that she was leaving him. On top of the war time scenes of blood, death and the constant boredom followed by moments of pure shock. The marine was impressive physically, standing well over 6 foot, built, iron jaw line, blonde hair and blue eyes, and a temper at times to match..
He tapped the bar, motioning for another from the barkeep, the rounds where on the house. Seemed the barkeep and owner where veterans.
“Bourbon” the man quietly called out before returning to his thoughts. His best friend had died over there, father had died a few years ago, all he had left was his poor ole mother and he guessed he’d return home sometime to see her.
Today though he was content to sit at a bar, taste a bit of the famed freedom he was supposedly fighting for, maybe get into a fight, and get laid. Because when you’ve been on the edge for a year, it’s hard to drop that addiction in three days.
The man looked at the bottom of the shaker glass, a thin wash of whiskey settling at the bottom, his eyes looking through remembering back a few short months ago to a place much more desolate and hostile than this old hole in the wall bar he currently sat at. About the time he had gotten his “dear john” letter. The man was dressed in Marine fatigues, fresh off the plane, the adrenaline from Afghanistan still running hotly through his veins, with nothing at home to return to anymore. He had went on tour with a lady waiting for him at home, but a few months later he had received the news that she was leaving him. On top of the war time scenes of blood, death and the constant boredom followed by moments of pure shock. The marine was impressive physically, standing well over 6 foot, built, iron jaw line, blonde hair and blue eyes, and a temper at times to match..
He tapped the bar, motioning for another from the barkeep, the rounds where on the house. Seemed the barkeep and owner where veterans.
“Bourbon” the man quietly called out before returning to his thoughts. His best friend had died over there, father had died a few years ago, all he had left was his poor ole mother and he guessed he’d return home sometime to see her.
Today though he was content to sit at a bar, taste a bit of the famed freedom he was supposedly fighting for, maybe get into a fight, and get laid. Because when you’ve been on the edge for a year, it’s hard to drop that addiction in three days.