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Characters: pimpmyship AND YOU
Where & When: IN SOME BAR... in the Metropolis district why not!! The night after Christmas.
Rating: PG?? KIDS DON'T DRINK WHEN YOU'RE SAD. YOU KNOW WHAT JUST DON'T DRINK IF YOU'RE A KID
Summary: Warrius drinks because he's sad and has guilt complexes the size of harlock's hair
The clink of the glass placed against the bar counter was barely heard, drowned in the sounds of other clients, dragging chairs and exchanging words. It was a discreet place -- precisely the reason Warrius had picked it -- dim lights contrasting with the occasional neon decorations. Not a lot of class to speak of, but that had been the least of his concerns. He was wearing his jacket, as usual, cap placed neatly by his left arm.
He remained silent and absent-minded the entire night, except when he asked for the next glass. Gloved fingers curled around it before another drink, interrupting heavy and unpleasant trains of thought. It was easier to drown the guilt and accusing voices of destroyed lives; and there was nothing to pull him out of this escape. No outstanding responsibilities, no crew, no mission. No one to call a friend and snap him out of his break downs.
Nothing too out of the ordinary for your every day officer with a dead family and subdued civilization amirite.
Where & When: IN SOME BAR... in the Metropolis district why not!! The night after Christmas.
Rating: PG?? KIDS DON'T DRINK WHEN YOU'RE SAD. YOU KNOW WHAT JUST DON'T DRINK IF YOU'RE A KID
Summary: Warrius drinks because he's sad and has guilt complexes the size of harlock's hair
The clink of the glass placed against the bar counter was barely heard, drowned in the sounds of other clients, dragging chairs and exchanging words. It was a discreet place -- precisely the reason Warrius had picked it -- dim lights contrasting with the occasional neon decorations. Not a lot of class to speak of, but that had been the least of his concerns. He was wearing his jacket, as usual, cap placed neatly by his left arm.
He remained silent and absent-minded the entire night, except when he asked for the next glass. Gloved fingers curled around it before another drink, interrupting heavy and unpleasant trains of thought. It was easier to drown the guilt and accusing voices of destroyed lives; and there was nothing to pull him out of this escape. No outstanding responsibilities, no crew, no mission. No one to call a friend and snap him out of his break downs.
Nothing too out of the ordinary for your every day officer with a dead family and subdued civilization amirite.