thread title missing

[Ahren de le Poer]

[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.

[/html]

[Endymion Russo]

[html]

He was wearing that thin, silly gray shirt again. The hem was snug around his waist, as were the long sleeves, but the rest was rather loose. Especially the wide v-neck; it gaped open as if it were going to swallow Endymion's head whole. Perhaps it was odd that he was wearing the same shirt as the last time he ventured into the human city. It couldn't have been fate. No, it was just a simple coincidence that the two-year-old had pulled the thing over his head and stepped out the door (so to speak) to wander the dark, sleeping human city. The place was rather eerie on a still, frozen night when the buildings loomed above the barren streets, their thick stone walls muffling all sound from the feral outside world. It was quite a change from the natural, green place of his birth. Normally Endymion never gave a thought for the jungle of concrete, glass, and metal, but on nights as this was he could hardly stay away. The forgotten lives of humans was so... perplexing and foreign to the red wolf. There was so much he didn't know, that didn't relate in any way to the life he was leading now, but still sparked his interest. He wandered aimlessly down the littered sidewalks, pausing here-and-there to observe some irrelevent artifact for a few moments or several, until his interest was lost. This slow process led him to a door, just like any other. He was about to pass it by when a smart 'crack' sounded from inside. This was by far the most interesting thing he had encountered all night, so, with two seconds of hesitation, he gently eased open the door and let himself in. Endymion was surprised to see the red-eyed male within, though it wasn't as if he wasn't expecting such. The emotion closely resembled the type of surprise one experienced when walking in on someone's nap, or meditation. Perhaps it was the stranger's form of meditation, drinking and doing whatever-he-was-doing with a stick. At any rate, he didn't back out apologetically muttering half-excuses under his breath. "Oh," said the wolf, hand still on the door handle. "Good evening."

[/html]

[Ahren de le Poer]

[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?”

[/html]