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+---- Thread: TURN YOUR BACK, LIKE YOU ALWAYS DO // Open (/showthread.php?tid=17810)
TURN YOUR BACK, LIKE YOU ALWAYS DO // Open - GAWAIN - 02-18-2023
we must away, ere break of day
TW: MENTION OF ALCOHOL AND SELF HARM
The fact that Red had smuggled some, to his knowledge, some very hard alcohol was surprising -- at least, it would have been if he wasn't dealing with a grave he dug himself into. And even after a few drinks, he couldn't bring himself to talk about what drove him to drag his taloned claws across the draconic scales and wings he bore. What caused the acursed, greed-filled blood to spill into his deep grey fur.
Red became an old drinking buddy in a matter of hours, though she had to leave once she got a little too drunk. She, too, didn't want to reveal her pain, but mentioned it along the way. And before long he was alone near a campfire, with the dying light, next to around four bottles of unlabeled alcohol.
Years ago he considered drinking Taboo. For his responsibilities to The Knights was requiring him to keep a sound mind and body. And even when he faltered on it, he never drank too much. Just enough to get a good laugh out of his men. The only big time he nearly drowned in liquor was when Morana was officially exiled out of Knight and Kingdom. It was a heavy day for him, for Veyla. He remembered her screaming at him, cursing him for not helping her son. And when he got to his barracks, he drank until his heart was heavy enough to let him fall asleep.
And after that, he stopped. He went on with determination, even after his group had spread out, even when he met Merlin, the one he wanted to hold so closely, even after his disappearance and resurgence. Eventually he fell back into the liquor, a sickly sweet gold that coaxed him. Like gold to a dragon. And then it all went crashing down. And he was sober for only a day.
'You greedy dragon'. The words had been beaten and branded into his mind before he had even touched a bottle. It took him back to when he was traveling, finding a dragon and fighting it, only for it's dying breaths to be used to curse him. Folks at home would call it 'Dragon Sickness'. A sick obsession for anything that glitters and shines. For material things, for beings. It showed itself completely when it came to Merlin. And it drove them apart.
As the sunset started to die out, he started to hum. A low, somber tune. Something that would have been more upbeat if more people joined in, if people sang. But there was no one, for now. Just a lonely, tired, half-drunk tiger humming himself into a grave.
The fact that Red had smuggled some, to his knowledge, some very hard alcohol was surprising -- at least, it would have been if he wasn't dealing with a grave he dug himself into. And even after a few drinks, he couldn't bring himself to talk about what drove him to drag his taloned claws across the draconic scales and wings he bore. What caused the acursed, greed-filled blood to spill into his deep grey fur.
Red became an old drinking buddy in a matter of hours, though she had to leave once she got a little too drunk. She, too, didn't want to reveal her pain, but mentioned it along the way. And before long he was alone near a campfire, with the dying light, next to around four bottles of unlabeled alcohol.
Years ago he considered drinking Taboo. For his responsibilities to The Knights was requiring him to keep a sound mind and body. And even when he faltered on it, he never drank too much. Just enough to get a good laugh out of his men. The only big time he nearly drowned in liquor was when Morana was officially exiled out of Knight and Kingdom. It was a heavy day for him, for Veyla. He remembered her screaming at him, cursing him for not helping her son. And when he got to his barracks, he drank until his heart was heavy enough to let him fall asleep.
And after that, he stopped. He went on with determination, even after his group had spread out, even when he met Merlin, the one he wanted to hold so closely, even after his disappearance and resurgence. Eventually he fell back into the liquor, a sickly sweet gold that coaxed him. Like gold to a dragon. And then it all went crashing down. And he was sober for only a day.
'You greedy dragon'. The words had been beaten and branded into his mind before he had even touched a bottle. It took him back to when he was traveling, finding a dragon and fighting it, only for it's dying breaths to be used to curse him. Folks at home would call it 'Dragon Sickness'. A sick obsession for anything that glitters and shines. For material things, for beings. It showed itself completely when it came to Merlin. And it drove them apart.
As the sunset started to die out, he started to hum. A low, somber tune. Something that would have been more upbeat if more people joined in, if people sang. But there was no one, for now. Just a lonely, tired, half-drunk tiger humming himself into a grave.