(Untitled)

[i_love_squats]

Who: Zack Fair i_love_squats and Heine Rammsteiner stray_gunner, Open
When: Today
Where: Foxhole
Format: Paragraph
What: Zack’s drinking and confused, while Heine’s pointing and laughing. Yeaaaah. Something.
Warnings: Probably not, but it all depends on how much Zack is allowed to drink.

Comments

[stray_gunner]

It wasn't the first time he'd woken up with no recollection of how he'd gotten there. It wasn't the first time he'd woken up with blood on the floor either.

It was, however, the first time he'd opened his eyes and saw a poster of a shirtless man on the wall.

You could say that the ensuing gunfire was a defensive reflex.

Heine sighed and scuffed the heel of his boot on the ground, flaking off more dried blood. There was definitely something wrong when the sight of copious amounts of leftover gore didn't bother him, he decided, staring down at the mess.

D'you think it's yours? The dog's question was rhetorical - they both knew that it could be no one else's. Heine sniffed(not to smell it or to check the scent - he hoped) and left, walking through Dismas with very little incident and reaching the Foxhole in less than half an hour

[i_love_squats]

Zack had his own share of inconsistencies: blood on his gloves, up his arms, but he had little reason to think it was human. After all, who would he hurt? And no one had been reported missing that he knew, and his posts were

[stray_gunner]

He snorted quietly and leaned his chin on his palms, eyes half-closed in exhaustion. The dreams had increased in frequency after he'd woken up - apparently ten days after his last memories of Anatole ended - in that room in Dismas, walls painted with blood and the smell of gunsmoke thick in the air.

They were familiar things, he realized. He wasn't sure if he liked the thought.

He noticed Zack's apparently instinctual reaction and raised an eyebrow, though he stayed silent in favor of wrapping his fingers absently around the glass.

Too quiet, it hissed. Not enough fun, not enough blood. Heine pushed it away (down down down into darkness) and replied darkly, "I don't even know."

Brushing away a few strands of hair, Heine stared at the opposite wall for a few seconds before turning to Zack. "The blood was mine. I think." He went silent again for a moment before continuing. "I wouldn't know, in any case."

He downed some of the beer and added, "You look worried." Accompanying that was an irritated scowl, as usual.

[i_love_squats]

Heine was a good person to have a drink with when the opposing person was in a certain mood: no nonsense bullshit with a need to relax. In Zack's current state of mind, he could appreciate Heine's attitude, could relish in those customary scowls and to-the-point words. Bluntness. Can you dig it