11-24-2009, 02:34 AM
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TELL ME, ARE YOU FREE, WHEN THE FEAR FALLS ON YOU?
All welcome. Set along the eastern edge of Shattered Coast.
It was cold, rainy, and Andante had a goddamn hangover. The hybrid boy wasn’t in the most pleasant of moods, waking up with a pounding headache in some random little cove along the rocky coast. The worst part about it was that he didn't even have a clue how he could have wound up there. He must have been completely shitfaced the night before for his memory to have such a blank stretch. The thought annoyed him, and though he hated to admit it, it frightened him a little too. Usually the only time his memory skipped out on him was when he flew into a blind rage and beat the living shit out of anything that was nearby. And it was beginning to become a habit of his to console himself with booze once he regained his lucidity after such episodes. As fun as it was to kick someone's ass, at times he hated going berserk because Viola had the tendency pop up in his mind after he did. And the kicker was that she usually haunted his thoughts while he lost himself in the drinks. He just wanted her to disappear. Even putting distance between him and their old home couldn't make her go away completely, it seemed.
Dante looked around in an effort to find anything to piece together what exactly had transpired the night before. All he could spot nearby were two half-empty bottles of vodka lying within the cove and his hunting knife sticking up in the sand several feet away. He realized sorely that he had left his baseball bat and everything thing else back home, or wherever the hell else he had wandered to last night. He wondered vaguely if there was a body to be found somewhere nearby, but the combination of the heavy rainfall and his pounding head prevented him from scenting anything other than salt, water, and alcohol. Maybe he had dumped the damn thing into the ocean, he thought with a laugh. The simple action sent a sharp pain through his head and had his stomach start to flip. The doggish male groaned, pulled his knees close and rested his head against them. It didn’t do him any good, but at least he could block out the sight of that damn rain.
It was cold, rainy, and Andante had a goddamn hangover. The hybrid boy wasn’t in the most pleasant of moods, waking up with a pounding headache in some random little cove along the rocky coast. The worst part about it was that he didn't even have a clue how he could have wound up there. He must have been completely shitfaced the night before for his memory to have such a blank stretch. The thought annoyed him, and though he hated to admit it, it frightened him a little too. Usually the only time his memory skipped out on him was when he flew into a blind rage and beat the living shit out of anything that was nearby. And it was beginning to become a habit of his to console himself with booze once he regained his lucidity after such episodes. As fun as it was to kick someone's ass, at times he hated going berserk because Viola had the tendency pop up in his mind after he did. And the kicker was that she usually haunted his thoughts while he lost himself in the drinks. He just wanted her to disappear. Even putting distance between him and their old home couldn't make her go away completely, it seemed.
Dante looked around in an effort to find anything to piece together what exactly had transpired the night before. All he could spot nearby were two half-empty bottles of vodka lying within the cove and his hunting knife sticking up in the sand several feet away. He realized sorely that he had left his baseball bat and everything thing else back home, or wherever the hell else he had wandered to last night. He wondered vaguely if there was a body to be found somewhere nearby, but the combination of the heavy rainfall and his pounding head prevented him from scenting anything other than salt, water, and alcohol. Maybe he had dumped the damn thing into the ocean, he thought with a laugh. The simple action sent a sharp pain through his head and had his stomach start to flip. The doggish male groaned, pulled his knees close and rested his head against them. It didn’t do him any good, but at least he could block out the sight of that damn rain.
OH, TO BREATHE IN FIRE, AND KNOW I'M FREE