09-16-2018, 12:00 AM
The Typhoon is full of drunkards and crewmates smelling of booze. He’s always reminding himself of that. Drunkards. Booze. Bakugou never wants to drink, he never intends to drink. It was one fateful day, however, that he found a drink in his hut he hadn’t seen before. He doesn’t remember what was going through his mind. Perhaps there was a lack of thought that went into it when he consumed the whole bottle after a long day of blacksmithing, thinking it would satiate his dehydration. Oh boy had that gone wrong. He can’t even remember what had happened but from the stories the ragdoll has heard, they were indeed frightening. Bakugou learnt very well why alcohol shouldn’t be touched and why, in the tavern, he should watch out for anything intending to play a trick on him. He’s afraid of who he is when under the influence of alcohol, vulnerable to acting without a filter. His mind can’t even process the horrific possibilities of what he might do.
Another aspect of their island was the beaches. The beaches are always the subject of conflict, poetry and emotion. It was something about the sea which lures every creature, a tidal wave of possession. He’s heard of crewmates finding all sorts of weird junk washed up by the ocean, but he’s never actually found anything himself. Perhaps he is unlucky. He wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case. There are too many instances where he suffers the case of bad luck, but these thoughts quickly retreat when he catches the ivory form of Australianpaw. He still has yet to know the male’s name, approaching to see boxes and smashed toys. The reaver raises a figurative brow, unimpressed before he hears the horrified squeal of Linux. His fur rises, unaccustomed to such an ugly shout and glancing briefly at Silus. The sage has already voiced his question so there is no need for the ragdoll to waste his breath. What he does recognize, however, is a golden label. He reads the words and scoffs.
”I bet you won’t find a single one,” the ragdoll says, scrunching his nose at the smell of alcohol. God, the feline reeked of it. Disgusting. Bakugou raises his head, as if belittling the Australian male. ”Euch. You smell fuckin’ awful. If I had the power, I’d send ya straight to jail for smellin’ like that.”
Another aspect of their island was the beaches. The beaches are always the subject of conflict, poetry and emotion. It was something about the sea which lures every creature, a tidal wave of possession. He’s heard of crewmates finding all sorts of weird junk washed up by the ocean, but he’s never actually found anything himself. Perhaps he is unlucky. He wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case. There are too many instances where he suffers the case of bad luck, but these thoughts quickly retreat when he catches the ivory form of Australianpaw. He still has yet to know the male’s name, approaching to see boxes and smashed toys. The reaver raises a figurative brow, unimpressed before he hears the horrified squeal of Linux. His fur rises, unaccustomed to such an ugly shout and glancing briefly at Silus. The sage has already voiced his question so there is no need for the ragdoll to waste his breath. What he does recognize, however, is a golden label. He reads the words and scoffs.
”I bet you won’t find a single one,” the ragdoll says, scrunching his nose at the smell of alcohol. God, the feline reeked of it. Disgusting. Bakugou raises his head, as if belittling the Australian male. ”Euch. You smell fuckin’ awful. If I had the power, I’d send ya straight to jail for smellin’ like that.”