08-18-2018, 11:48 PM
[align=center][div style="borderwidth=0px; width: 55%; line-height:115%; text-align: justify;font-family: calibri;"][ because I dont have the energy to rewrite his return thread, assume it happened already ]
The waves that buffeted his body were gentle, the caress of nature rather than it's wrath. It was far from expected, for he had assumed that his untimely return would have angered whatever spirits were out there... people didn't just come back from the dead. They shouldn't just come back from the dead. Not him, at least. There were about a hundred different individuals he could name who deserved the privilege more than he ever had, and yet it was his paws that had dug their way back through the otherwise impenetrable membrane of the thing he called 'reality.' He never wanted to return, it hadn't been some conscious effort by his part to come back to the land of the living. If he had any say in it, he'd had stayed buried six feet under so no one else had to deal with the repercussions of his childhood.
Des was by no means a violent individual, not often at least. He had held an anger inside of him that could tear down entire villages when released, but those days were far gone. He was tired now, nothing more, and he had hoped that he was allowed to be tired, allowed to be weak for one god damned second before he was shoved back into a body he resented with every single molecule of his being. Death had given him the perfect excuse to let it all out, to do the next best thing to relaxing. Neither were offered to him for long, however, and now he had to resort to his old vices to take the edge off of life once more.
He was never a fan of drugs much heavier than marijuana. They messed with your head, made you an idiot without your input. Des had never bothered trying anything more than what he had so far, and although the idea was tempting, tonight was another night he would ignore the call of things stronger than cigarettes and alcohol, and so he settled for seeking out a dealer who could hit him up with some of the good shit. He needed it in situations as dire as this. Nothing else worked to keep him calm, and right now... he couldn't promise he wouldn't lash out at the first person he saw who tried to give a damn about his well being.
It was for the better that he was stoned out of his mind, and, by extension, unable to do much to hurt anyone at the moment.
The waves that buffeted his body were gentle, the caress of nature rather than it's wrath. It was far from expected, for he had assumed that his untimely return would have angered whatever spirits were out there... people didn't just come back from the dead. They shouldn't just come back from the dead. Not him, at least. There were about a hundred different individuals he could name who deserved the privilege more than he ever had, and yet it was his paws that had dug their way back through the otherwise impenetrable membrane of the thing he called 'reality.' He never wanted to return, it hadn't been some conscious effort by his part to come back to the land of the living. If he had any say in it, he'd had stayed buried six feet under so no one else had to deal with the repercussions of his childhood.
Des was by no means a violent individual, not often at least. He had held an anger inside of him that could tear down entire villages when released, but those days were far gone. He was tired now, nothing more, and he had hoped that he was allowed to be tired, allowed to be weak for one god damned second before he was shoved back into a body he resented with every single molecule of his being. Death had given him the perfect excuse to let it all out, to do the next best thing to relaxing. Neither were offered to him for long, however, and now he had to resort to his old vices to take the edge off of life once more.
He was never a fan of drugs much heavier than marijuana. They messed with your head, made you an idiot without your input. Des had never bothered trying anything more than what he had so far, and although the idea was tempting, tonight was another night he would ignore the call of things stronger than cigarettes and alcohol, and so he settled for seeking out a dealer who could hit him up with some of the good shit. He needed it in situations as dire as this. Nothing else worked to keep him calm, and right now... he couldn't promise he wouldn't lash out at the first person he saw who tried to give a damn about his well being.
It was for the better that he was stoned out of his mind, and, by extension, unable to do much to hurt anyone at the moment.
♔ — I want brimstone in my garden