Abel Nightroad | Trinity Blood | M/*, 20+falsicrimenOctober 21 2011, 22:58:59 UTC
Character Description: A horrible dorky priest who just wants everyone to get along, Abel is a cowardly (but loyal) failure whose only real talent seems to be consuming anything and everything remotely edible. Very friendly, too trusting, bad at his job, and pretty irritating all around. Breaking him out of his cheerful/plaintive/idiotic façade takes a lot, and it’s probably safer just not to.
Scenario #1: Caught in the rain - it’s pretty typical, isn’t it? One minute, the beach is bustling with activity: sunbathing, games of volleyball, the surf packed with swimmers. The next, that ominous cloud bank far off on the horizon has swept in faster than anyone can blink, and those who haven’t evacuated ahead of the downpour are either booking it for proper shelter or ducking under anything strong enough to hold up beneath such a merciless beating. For the latter, only hopes that the bad weather is sure to blow off again soon and relative sanctuary reassure.
Unless, of course, they’ve ended up in good company. Wrapped in an oversize beach towel, Abel is huddled down on a very comfortable beach chair located in one leaky-roofed cabana. He smiles worriedly as a stranger barrels in out of the rain, but only nods to the empty chair next to him. "Ah, quite an impressive storm, don't you think?"
Scenario #2: After an uneventful morning of exploring that convenient nearby rainforest, the trip has finally paid off - in the form of a beautiful, towering waterfall, pouring down into a pool of clear, blue water so deep it’s almost black. It’s an incredible sight, but Abel is fairly certain he’d have enjoyed it just as much without having gotten himself talked into climbing all the way to the top. A week’s vacation, and his partner has gone utterly mad! …Though, well, maybe the view is rather spectacular- But he still isn’t going to jump. Definitely not.
"Y-You know I can’t swim, right?"
Scenario #3: No vacations, ever. After five full days of tirelessly tailing his boss from one end of the resort to the other and back again, as any proper bodyguard would be made to by such a terrifying woman, Abel has finally been granted a momentary reprieve - one which he intends to spend napping in a cushy chair underneath a giant, frilly umbrella, next to a cold drink… And just generally not moving at all. Once he’s finally gotten away to the beach, however, it seems only the chairs are in adequate supply - and he hasn’t got the money to afford either refreshment or shade. With a sigh, he collapses into an empty seat, stretched out on his stomach with his head on his arms.
"Fucking hell," is the answer he gets from the young tattooed woman who just barged in. She's carrying a tray from the resort bar around groin level, and probably for a good reason, if the fact that her white bikini top has become quite sheer in the rain is any indication. She lets herself fall into the chair by the man. "Of course I had to be working the beach right then."
"O-Oh my." That's hardly the most unpleasant curse he's ever heard (far from it, after years of working in tandem with Father Leon), and it's safe to assume that the reason he turns a little red, anyway, carefully averting his eyes, is not for such heated language. At any rate, he's quick to take the towel from off his own shoulders and offer it out to her -- a little damp, but still quite warm. And hopefully preferable to that woefully inadequate serving tray.
"That's remarkably bad luck! You have my sympathies." Not that he isn't stuck in (mostly) an identical predicament, but it sounds just a little better to his ear than the even more obvious assertion that she might need the towel a little more than he did, at the moment. His shorts' one saving grace was that they weren't at all see-through.
A horrible dorky priest who just wants everyone to get along, Abel is a cowardly (but loyal) failure whose only real talent seems to be consuming anything and everything remotely edible. Very friendly, too trusting, bad at his job, and pretty irritating all around. Breaking him out of his cheerful/plaintive/idiotic façade takes a lot, and it’s probably safer just not to.
Scenario #1:
Caught in the rain - it’s pretty typical, isn’t it? One minute, the beach is bustling with activity: sunbathing, games of volleyball, the surf packed with swimmers. The next, that ominous cloud bank far off on the horizon has swept in faster than anyone can blink, and those who haven’t evacuated ahead of the downpour are either booking it for proper shelter or ducking under anything strong enough to hold up beneath such a merciless beating. For the latter, only hopes that the bad weather is sure to blow off again soon and relative sanctuary reassure.
Unless, of course, they’ve ended up in good company. Wrapped in an oversize beach towel, Abel is huddled down on a very comfortable beach chair located in one leaky-roofed cabana. He smiles worriedly as a stranger barrels in out of the rain, but only nods to the empty chair next to him. "Ah, quite an impressive storm, don't you think?"
Scenario #2:
After an uneventful morning of exploring that convenient nearby rainforest, the trip has finally paid off - in the form of a beautiful, towering waterfall, pouring down into a pool of clear, blue water so deep it’s almost black. It’s an incredible sight, but Abel is fairly certain he’d have enjoyed it just as much without having gotten himself talked into climbing all the way to the top. A week’s vacation, and his partner has gone utterly mad! …Though, well, maybe the view is rather spectacular- But he still isn’t going to jump. Definitely not.
"Y-You know I can’t swim, right?"
Scenario #3:
No vacations, ever. After five full days of tirelessly tailing his boss from one end of the resort to the other and back again, as any proper bodyguard would be made to by such a terrifying woman, Abel has finally been granted a momentary reprieve - one which he intends to spend napping in a cushy chair underneath a giant, frilly umbrella, next to a cold drink… And just generally not moving at all. Once he’s finally gotten away to the beach, however, it seems only the chairs are in adequate supply - and he hasn’t got the money to afford either refreshment or shade. With a sigh, he collapses into an empty seat, stretched out on his stomach with his head on his arms.
Sunburn be damned, he’ll take what he can get.
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"That's remarkably bad luck! You have my sympathies." Not that he isn't stuck in (mostly) an identical predicament, but it sounds just a little better to his ear than the even more obvious assertion that she might need the towel a little more than he did, at the moment. His shorts' one saving grace was that they weren't at all see-through.
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