Returning from the dead was something that Pincher wasn't entirely used to nor could wrap his head around. He was used to focusing on science and the realistic aspect of lives despite the Haitian religion that was supported by the island and its inhabitants. Perhaps it was because he didn't think there was any reason to return from the dead. He didn't hold any desire to have his life ended but there were times where he wondered what was on the other side. The possibility of seeing his first born sons again was something that tended to lurk in the back of his head when he thought about it. Yet, when Pincher's life had been cut short by the spear from a fucking human, the male now understood the abstract behind "normal" life. There were powerful forces at play, more powerful than he would allow himself to imagine. Those very forces had been the reason why Pincher was now alive, why he had returned from the wet grave of the sea. He knew that was the reason but why was another problem that he was struggling in finding answers to. Despite trying his best to focus on other matters such as leadership duties and whatnot, all he could really focus on is trying to take a breather from it. Four days and so much had happened that the tired father needed to catch up on but the traveling had forced Pincher to a state of tiredness.

His jaws parted in a yawn as the male stepped out of his submarine home, gently closing the door as he didn't want any attention especially if his daughter was around. He knew what she thought of his smoking and drinking habits and could understand that it wasn't good for his health. But he was dead. There wasn't anything that could really affect him anymore and with that sense of freedom, Pincher didn't worry too much of what was deadly to his body as he pulled an ivory cigarette from his dark armband and lit it with a spark of bright electricity, immediatly inhaling he smoke before puffing it out in a small tight circles before heading towards the tavern. He trekked in silence, vibrant electric blue gaze locked onto the ground as he kicked up sand while softly humming a tune in his low rumbling voice before walking into the building and immediately making his order. "Five shots of tequila, please." He mumbled as he went to go settle on a lonely wooden table, his jaws still clamped on the cigarette while he waited. Once they arrived, Pincher killed the cigarette or well...ate it. He ignored the tickling sensation as he swallowed the long thin roll of nicotine before reaching down to take one shot. Once he swallowed, he bit down a slice of lemon. He watched others sing songs in a drunken tune and he was half tempted to join in but for now, he remained alone with his tired oceanic blue gaze locked onto the four small glasses filled with the bitter liquid.

[member=862]CONNOR[/member]

He knew that the habits he had were meant for only harm and destruction. They were only temporary solutions to a permanent cost but now...Pincher didn't care as much. Maybe he had returned with a more reckless attitude, perhaps he was no longer afraid to die after already facing death before. But Pincher had been trapped in that murky darkness, haunted by not only the creatures that had brought him back to life but also memories that taunted his future and blinding him with shame. Mainly it was his first born sons that came to destroy whatever confidence he had in himself, their faded wails all that he could cling to. He had been an idiot, a fool. He had gotten them killed and had not been able to help them and so now they taunted him, mocking him to the point that he felt completely and utterly alone as if he was back in those cursed waves.

His lower jaw locked as he glared at the tequila, a dark aching expression beginning to crack into his facial features. He wanted to cry. He needed to cry so why didn't he? The whispers in his head were faded and beginning to grow murky as he bent his head down to bite down on the edge of the shot glass and jerk his head quickly to take another quick shot of the burning golden liquid, grimacing ever so slightly before settling down with a small sigh escaping his jaws. He lowered his head to softly thump against the table wood, his usually sleek obsidian fur slightly deshuffled. His eyelids began to feel heavy and he grumbled softly, tempted to slip into sleep but the loud cluttering of other crewmates socializing wasn't really helping so he pulled himself up to press his back against the chair and preparing to take another shot when he heard the clearing of a throat. He stopped midway from his drink, the glass slightly tipped before Pincher's piercing arctic blue eyes snapped to the warm coffee brown gaze of Connor. He raised a fictional eyebrow at the "Captain" as he let out a small chuckle as he mumbled "No one else calls me Captain. Evening, kid. And sure why not, step right up." He nodded towards the empty chair across the table with his cool hazy eyes fluttering back to the liquid, wondering if he should drink it but then he remembered Connor was joining him. Might as well be polite as Pincher questioned "Ya want some good ol' tequila?" Did the blue tabby drink? He seemed rather different, a little too pure for someone that was rugged like Pincher. But who knew, he wasn't really one to judge based on one's appearance, where was the fun in that?