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Post by kawaiideadpool on Dec 14, 2017 21:07:33 GMT -6
That'll Kill Ya.
Hawke | Gulliver
kawaii-deadpool | War-Colt
Hawke, who has gone out to celebrate her newfound place in the Circle, has drunk enough liquid courage to become more friendly than she normally is. In between her screams for more drinks, she's picked out a poor soul to bother, Gulliver. After all, why come to a bar if you don't plan to get harassed by someone who's had too much to drink? Also is that coffee you're drinkin', mate?
Time of Day: Late at night
Timeline: Y1700, Early Winter. About two months in the past.
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Post by kawaiideadpool on Dec 14, 2017 21:40:35 GMT -6
  
Hawke
War-Forged | Stone Circle
Hawke has made a down-right fool of herself, but it's not like she particularly cares at the moment as she is downing more shots than she can keep up with. Frankly, she's lost the ability to count at this point, but she definitely still has the ability to talk. Her voice just progressively gets louder and louder with each word that leaves her mouth till she is basically screaming at everyone she talks too. The bartender is half tempted to stop filling her glass but he doesn't- partly because he finds her current state humorous and for once she isn't drinking herself into a depressed stupor that he is more than happy to fill her glass as long as it remains in celebration.
She had discarded her skull mask hours ago, not something she would typically do as she hated it when others stared at the third eye in the middle of her forehead, but liquid courage was coursing through her veins and frankly, she didn't give a damn. (She would later thank the bartender for putting her mask in a safe spot, somewhere hidden under the bar so that it wouldn't be stolen or broken.) "Have a good day, Hawke?" The bartender finally pipes up, watching her shot back another glass- her facial expression not changing as the liquid burns it's way down her throat.
"What gives you that impression?" She leans over the bar, lips twisting up into a smile as a loud laugh slips from her lips. Her glass is filed while she's distracted, and she nods a 'thank you' in his direction, "Of course it was a good day." Her words were slurred and it sounded as if she had a mouth full of food with how jumbled her words were.
"It's apparent," the bartender says, "You've literally talked to everyone in the bar." Whether that' annoyance in his voice or humor, Hawke wasn't sober enough to tell the difference between the two.
She nods, eyes scanning the room as she takes in all the drunks. Most are loudly talking and she can hear a few songs among the ruckus, even in her drunken state she gives it a few more minutes until a fight breaks out. Her aqua eyes pick out a few Raiders, some Valkryies, and even some Herders that seem a little out of place- she has literally spoken to them all, and she thinks there is no one else she can harass inside these walls- she thinks she spots once unfamiliar face in the crowd, but isn't quite sure since her vision isn't in the best shape right now. A loud and audible groan slips past her lips as she slams her head down on the bar-top. A groan from the bartender vibrates through her ears as he pushes her off of the countertop.
"Go find someone else to harass, alright Hawke?" He instructs, brows furrowed down in annoyance, "I'll still be here with your drinks while you're gone."
"You're no fun, mate." She groans out, turning from the bar and slinging into the crowd. Prowling around the bar, and once she finds an unfamiliar face in the crowd, a smile creeps onto her face and her voice echoes out among all of the noise and conversations;
"AYE! You look lonely."
"I ran to the Devil,
He was waiting."
Word Count: 556
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Deleted
Deleted Member
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Post by Deleted on Dec 20, 2017 21:26:37 GMT -6
 The medic found himself in a place he was rarely in.. if ever: a bar. Even though he swore against alcohol and all the terrible things it could do to ones body, he still would find himself sitting in a back table every now and then. It was nice to pretend to be socializing without actually speaking to anyone. Not to mention, the drunks would often give him a well needed laugh. However, instead of drinking, he would sit in the back with one of his medical books, cigar pressed between his teeth, and a steaming hot cup of coffee on the table before him.
He was having a moderately relaxing time between skimming the words and pictures on the pages of his book and glancing up to see what sort of ruckus a drunkard was causing. Luckily for him, the night was still young, so the bar was not quite packed yet. He puffed on his cigar, tapped it against the edge of the table to clear the ashes, and placed it back between his lips for another drag. Oh, what a piss poor medic he was, claiming the evils of alcohol while turning his lugs black.
It was then that a voice called out in the room, causing him to glance up from his reading and narrow his brow as someone approached him. While a typical equine might have noticed the third eye blaringly obvious in the middle of her forehead, the medic found himself fixated on her leg implant at first. He had always wondered at fake limbs, especially on the front legs as that was where most of the weight of the equine sat. He could always imagine all the struggles they cause, if not now, than later down the road. He was convinced he would find a better way to manage them- it was one of his favorite topics in fact- but now.. he was getting distracted.
Lifting a gaze, a grimace-like-smile pressed on his lips as the mare claimed he looked lonely. "Do I?" He asked with a breath, shaking his shaggy mane. "My mistake." He could smell alcohol on her breath and a daze in her eyes that made him certain nothing he would do would make her leave him alone. So instead, he sighed and turned back to his book, hoping the lack of conversation would discourage the drunken mare.
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Post by kawaiideadpool on Dec 31, 2017 20:48:04 GMT -6
.Hawke. "It's the witch's fault."
  
WC: 332 | Post #2 Her eyebrows shot down into a furrow, and her lips twist down into a grimace as she watches him turn his attention back to his book. Who brings a book to a bar? She thinks, well does her best to as even her thoughts seem to be a little slurred and mushed together at this point. "Yes, ya do." She groans, leaning in a little closer as she tries to peek at what he is reading- not like she really cares, but more of a test to see how much she can focus on something right now. Let's just say it's not going very well as she has a hard time telling certain letters apart. Oh, how she was going to regret this in the morning.
She sniffs, nose wrinkling up at the smell of the cigar smoke. The tip of her tongue pokes out in a disgusted manner, looking like a child who has just tasted something awful. She had half a mind to tell him how bad that was for her, old medic ways kicking in before she realizes she has drunk herself into a stupor and frankly, she has no right to be judging someone for their sins, so she turns her attention back to him.
"And I think you could use some company," She grins wickedly, satisfied that she has found someone else to harass other than the bartender. (She mainly was hoping that if she left him alone for an hour or two that he would return to filling up her glasses with whatever she wanted.) She makes herself right at home across from him, not bothering to ask if she could join him. He should've told her to go away. Now he's stuck with me, Hawke thinks- her own thoughts are now giggling with her drunken state.
"Hawke," she leans across the table- eyeing the cup of coffee. Who drinks coffee at a bar??
"The name is Hawke." |
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