Pincher was rather happy with his life at the moment. Many old faces seemed to have decided to return while also new ones arrived with a desire to join the ranks within the Typhoon. It was impressive and frankly, Pincher was proud of not just himself but the hardwork that everyone had been putting in. It showed that they were progressing and if one knew Pincher, it was that he had an unquenchable thirst for improvement. Despite things being good as they could be, he had always been the one to question the limits, to push one farther than they expected so they can see how far one could go to succeed in what they dreamed of. He had been in those extreme measurements before, blinded by the amibiton that he had copied from his father and uncle. Be better at being worse. However, Pincher had shifted from what his father had desired him to do like forcing him to believe he had no control over his life because destiny was always going to force him into something he did not in the end. And in reality, he was slightly right. The jaguar despite his hunger had never really desired to be captain of the Typhoon because well, the confidence he had tended to shift into insecurity when he realized all the possiblities that could go wrong. They branched out, every decision he made weaving themselves into smaller possibilities and outcomes of what could happen if he did or say the right or wrong thing.

Currently, he was hidden within the Capricorn Tavern in the higher locations where they had tables so he could hide from peering eyes that demanded his attention. Some sought him out to complain or demand something. Other tried to flirt with him or kiss his ass so they had some advantage over him. The head of the Rouxes was tired and his glacier blue eyes were half-lidded as the immortal tattooed wildcat tipped his head to the side as he gnawed on a salted sardine, a dish in front of him filled with them and small slices of lemon to compliment the dish. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment as he savored the food in peace, the salt bitter yet satisfying for the sea dweller. Being immortal seemed more like a task than an advantage, one requirement needed him to have a daily intake of salt to feel refreshed. The demigod sighed, lowering his head to bite down on the head of another sardine and continue chewing, ears pricked as he heard the faint singing voices of some drunken bastards in the lower floor of the tavern.

[member=1498]VANDAL R.[/member]

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Vandal has been rather quiet and pensive since her entrance ritual. Something about seeing the love of her life fade beyond her eyes for a second time in a single lifetime - it's not something she thought would happen, she thought the grief would end, but it's back and stronger than ever, leading her thoughts astray with uttered memories of a life she could've had - if she only had the strength to pursue it. It would have been a good life, a happy life, a simple life, a life she can no longer have. It slipped away from her grasp the moment her own claws slipped across her throat.

She winces - she shouldn't dwell on it - it had been a hallucination and nothing more, and Vandal doesn't exactly believe that her spirit is lingering on Midgard. It's impossible, perhaps even beyond the realm of impossibility and already into something more concrete. It's a fact. It's a fact, she tells herself, a fact that she's dead and gone and never coming back because you killed her -

The mutated wolf shakes her head, rubbing the back of her talons across her eyes as she pads into the Capricorn Tavern. She's been living in one of the room upstairs because she hasn't found the time to search for a place of her own, and heads for the stairs before deciding that she'd like some sort of drink to ease her into another deep, restless sleep (as if she hasn't had enough of that in the past season or so). The barmaid is quick to set her up with a pint of something, she doesn't exactly care anymore, and then the wolf is on the lookout for a place to sit.

Is it Friday? She doesn't know, she can't remember, there are too many people and too few available seats save one tucked into the far high-corner and holding only one patron - Pinch? Vandal shakes her head, rubbing at her face with her free talon, before squinting again. Yes. Yes, it is Pinch, nursing his own drink and looking rather worse for wear, not that Vandal's looking any different. Maybe they can bond over how shit life is and forget everything they said in the morning.

Without a word, she approaches her brother's table and unceremoniously plops herself down, barely managing to the contents of her tankard from sloshing around and spilling anywhere. "You look like shit," comes Vandal's greeting. Her voice lulls into a low, thoughtful hum, and then she adds, "So do I." That's better. The wolf takes a swig of her watered-down - oh, it's ale, like that's new - drink, but a swig turns into two, three, four, and she's requesting for another pint from a passing barhand all over again. "A penny for your thoughts?"

/oof this isn't the best response but my muse is like 00000%

TAGS • VANDAL ROUX OF THE TYPHOON

Pincher didn't know what had happened to Vandal but he knew that deep down, they were connected in more ways than just siblings. She walked around with a cautious touch to her footsteps as if she knew how toxic and risky it was to be a Roux. They were the family that walked on the line that sepereated life and death, their past always holding a dark secret that they were unable to share except among each other in hushed whispers. He loved his sisters, he really did. He adored having them around but there was always that slight fear that would add weight inside his heart that he could lose them forever if anything happened in the future. Death was a cruel player in the game of life and always enjoyed shuffling cards with Pincher especially with the ones he cared about. He once believed there was a curse that he had been born with, buried deep beneath his skin and invisible to the naked eye but it was still there, lurking among the darkness of his own dirty secrets. Did Vandal feel the same way too?

He had never had to go through the entrance ritual because he had been the one to create it. Yes, he was the creator of pain and agony for many joiners that decided to take the cruel concotion that lead to twisted hallucinations and burning fears to come to life and haunt them. Was it wrong that Pincher didn't stop it despite seeing multiple members mentally and physically scarred by the ritual? No. He didn't. Because he had suffered those damn hallucinations all his life and he had pushed through it, he had been able to shake hands with the devil and walk away. He wanted to see that members of his crew knew what they were going to face, that if they were able to face their fears that haunted them, that they would be able to push through anything the world hurled at them. It was satisfying to be able to get by even if one was wounded from the battle. He just hoped that his crewmates understood his point of view and didn't cause a mutiny because of not being able to, though it seemed no one had decided to complain to him. Maybe they did understand. Maybe they were too scared to tell him face to face about the horrors. He understood the multiple reasons why but never questioned it for Pincher knew that some horrors were better left unsaid than told into the ears of someone that they considered a stranger.

The broad-shouldered figure of the captain was craving a cigarette, his forked tongue slipping out of his jaws to trace his lips before forcing himself to take a gulp of the rum that was beside his plate. While he enjoyed the odd liquid's taste, Pincher's stoic piercing blue eyes flickered up when he heard footsteps and then someone deciding to sit on the table he was in. A daring move but he knew a lot of brave souls, Vandal included. So, he wasn't surprised to see his sister with her own drink join him, causing a faint smirk to flutter over his muzzle as he raised his head to look at the other Roux. The dark jaguar snorted at the comment, raising a front paw to rub off any of the liquid that littered his mouth as he answered warmly "Gee, thanks. I work very hard in looking like shit every day." He remained silent after she admitted to her own appearance and then drinking. He wondered how she was but decided not to intrude for Pincher understood privacy since it was one of the many things he enjoyed.

However, it seemed that after she requested another drink, she craved the taste of his mind by asking what he was thinking about. This caused his fictional eyebrows to quirk up in surprise but the male shrugged his tattooed shoulders as the cyan blue eyed male muttered "Eh, not much. Work. Captain shit. You know the usual. I...I'm nervous about the wedding but you know, I'm sure it'll turn out fine." Pincher's rumbling low voice was laced with a soft touch that he only offered to people that were close to him and despite Vandal only returning, he was happy to see her around even if she tended to make him look like an idiot in public alongside Roxanne and Rosemary.

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