08-15-2023, 12:02 AM
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[div style="margin-bottom: 4px; height: auto; font-family: baskerville; font-size: 26px; letter-spacing: 3px; text-align: center; text-transform: uppercase; color: black;"]OH LORD, DON'T LET ME
BE MISUNDERSTOOD
BE MISUNDERSTOOD
ACTIONS | "SPEAKING" | THINKING | TELEPATHY
Nothing good ever lasted for long. Tonight was no exception.
The relaxation that filled Zjarr's body as his mind wandered off elsewhere would disintegrate as he heard a grating, unfamiliar voice. His drooping eyelids fluttered open, chocolate eyes on the lookout for whoever the hell was talking to him. Can't a fella have some goddamn peace 'round here? As if the smell of rum wasn't enough, the reek of another form of liquor permeated the air around him, something he did not bring with him tonight. Amid the darkness of the night, his eyes finally focused on the black wolf that manifested itself near him at some point and just now made its presence known.
Under normal circumstances, Zjarr would have offered a more outgoing, laidback response to this fellow. He was inebriated, and the man before him seemed to have slipped from sobriety as well. But even with the overpowering scent of alcohol covering them both, he could still make out the scent of a different clan on the other male. And not just any group — the Typhoon.
The demon's reflexes kicked in as fast as they could given their current impairment, his physical form rising to its full height and stepping away from the stranger. "What the hell do ya think yer doin' here?" he spat, his lips pulled back into a menacing snarl. "Wanna cause a ruckus, huh, pirate? Where's the rest'a y'all hidin'? Tell yer friends to-to come out." His words slid from his mouth with relative ease, though they were hardly checked for coherence or anything of the sort. On guard he may be, but sober he was not.
Zjarr stood his ground on the docks now, his dirtied paws planted firmly on the wooden planks that suspended him over the shallow waters that lapped at the nearby sandy coast. Instinctively, he tapped into his magical energy and tugged at the presence of his sword, testing its boundaries. After its use during the raid, he had cleaned it thoroughly and left it in his cottage not too far from the Tanglewood shore. If he needed to summon it tonight, he would not need as much channeled energy as he did earlier.
"You'd best tell me what business ya got this side of the channel, pirate, 'fore I beat it out'a ya." Though the Tangler was visibly agitated and prepared to throw hands with the intruder, there was no doubting the weariness of the male. Bitter and aggressive came out his words, but his expression detailed very little actual interest in the situation. Drunkenness aside, the man was simply exhausted, physically and otherwise. His first day back in the mainland, and he was forced to take up arms when the Typhoon decided to show up and attack the town. The only thing the demon wanted more than to defend his clan from intruders was getting to sleep in his goddamn bed.
The relaxation that filled Zjarr's body as his mind wandered off elsewhere would disintegrate as he heard a grating, unfamiliar voice. His drooping eyelids fluttered open, chocolate eyes on the lookout for whoever the hell was talking to him. Can't a fella have some goddamn peace 'round here? As if the smell of rum wasn't enough, the reek of another form of liquor permeated the air around him, something he did not bring with him tonight. Amid the darkness of the night, his eyes finally focused on the black wolf that manifested itself near him at some point and just now made its presence known.
Under normal circumstances, Zjarr would have offered a more outgoing, laidback response to this fellow. He was inebriated, and the man before him seemed to have slipped from sobriety as well. But even with the overpowering scent of alcohol covering them both, he could still make out the scent of a different clan on the other male. And not just any group — the Typhoon.
The demon's reflexes kicked in as fast as they could given their current impairment, his physical form rising to its full height and stepping away from the stranger. "What the hell do ya think yer doin' here?" he spat, his lips pulled back into a menacing snarl. "Wanna cause a ruckus, huh, pirate? Where's the rest'a y'all hidin'? Tell yer friends to-to come out." His words slid from his mouth with relative ease, though they were hardly checked for coherence or anything of the sort. On guard he may be, but sober he was not.
Zjarr stood his ground on the docks now, his dirtied paws planted firmly on the wooden planks that suspended him over the shallow waters that lapped at the nearby sandy coast. Instinctively, he tapped into his magical energy and tugged at the presence of his sword, testing its boundaries. After its use during the raid, he had cleaned it thoroughly and left it in his cottage not too far from the Tanglewood shore. If he needed to summon it tonight, he would not need as much channeled energy as he did earlier.
"You'd best tell me what business ya got this side of the channel, pirate, 'fore I beat it out'a ya." Though the Tangler was visibly agitated and prepared to throw hands with the intruder, there was no doubting the weariness of the male. Bitter and aggressive came out his words, but his expression detailed very little actual interest in the situation. Drunkenness aside, the man was simply exhausted, physically and otherwise. His first day back in the mainland, and he was forced to take up arms when the Typhoon decided to show up and attack the town. The only thing the demon wanted more than to defend his clan from intruders was getting to sleep in his goddamn bed.
bio — attack in [b]#f24b00[/b]
✰ — I'M JUST A SOUL WHOSE INTENTIONS ARE GOOD
zjarr ignibus / tanglewood / hellcat / weapons dealer / plot