11-14-2018, 01:35 AM
[align=center][div style="font-size:9.3pt; max-width:420pt; text-align:justify;"]They were all full of bullshit, weren't they? Everyone sold or traded theirs for different results - perhaps concealment of personal issues, or for very material gain (Hawke's favorite) - but quite frankly, he was hardly the sort of man to give a damn about how other people lived their lives, unless they kicked puppies and stole from children, and all other deeds equally morally corrupt. He was even less suited to pose as a therapist. Something about his face gave away how utterly fucking disinterested he was after about thirty seconds, but why it couldn't say that before people approached him with their issues completely escaped him.
The only therapy Hawke would willingly involve himself in was booze and booty. Not the worst of poisons to choose. Infinitely better than actually verbalizing any of those Maker-damned emotions bouncing around like kids on candy. Hawke shuddered at the thought - both of them.
There were worse coping mechanisms - the type that didn't get Hawke drunk or laid. Everything else in the world seemed so hackneyed by now that only the meaningless had significance. It was a scant bit difficult to care for the miserable floating ball of self-absorbed lifeforms at times, particularly when it was the miserable floating ball that chewed Bethany to undeserved bits.
But again: running. Not touching that raw memory with even a redwood tree pole.
Fortunately, Hawke had company, if, "staring down critically from atop a wall" counted as guests over for teatime. "Oh, I love snakes," the mixed-canine agreed, "my favorite like to hiss from across the street about how terrible of an influence I am. Or am I thinking of old biddies?" Hawke's head tilted, broad shoulders angling up into a smooth shrug while a sly smile levered one corner of his mouth. "But I'd hate to keep a lady and her toothy worms waiting. I'm here because I have a burning passion for crossing bridges." And setting them ablaze quite judiciously. "You can call me Hawke, by the way. You look like a Victoria, or some sort of 'ia.'"
His dark visionaries pursued new movement, belonging to a kitty cat with just the right grumpass facial vintage that he cursed his lack of opposable thumbs - and fingers as a whole. That was a face Hawke would gleefully pinch into a supreme state of assholery. Helping him transcend to a higher plane of existence and whatnot. "I'd ask what crawled up your ass and died, but it didn't die, did it? Looks unpleasant - I'm sorry."
What did he have here? (Not enough booze or booty - did he mention he loved those?) Hawke supposed it wasn't the worst facade he had ever seen (watching Carver blunder through conversations broke nearly every record possible) but it was considerably noticeable to the mixed-canine. He did spend time in front of a mirror. However, as mentioned earlier, Hawke could only handle giving so many shits at once before he had to ask for refunds. Whatever ailed the lion was his business alone. "If I knew the island had someone so pretty cooped up, I'd have walked faster. Is there a dragon I have to fight?" Hawke made a spectacle glancing around the area. "Or is there a curse I have to break with a kiss?" The canine smirked, eyes sparking, before they found the new figure of a griffon, accompanied by a crow.
Was it some variety of a fashion statement to have a feathered friend? "Jingle Bells?" He pressed a paw to his chest, feigning affront, although the poorly concealed grin betrayed that attempt. "Give it another few weeks - then I'll start cramming the spirit of Christmas into every hole I have. That will be a performance to look forward to, I swear it."
//aaa, thank you!! is this the talia from ff, by any chance? :0
The only therapy Hawke would willingly involve himself in was booze and booty. Not the worst of poisons to choose. Infinitely better than actually verbalizing any of those Maker-damned emotions bouncing around like kids on candy. Hawke shuddered at the thought - both of them.
There were worse coping mechanisms - the type that didn't get Hawke drunk or laid. Everything else in the world seemed so hackneyed by now that only the meaningless had significance. It was a scant bit difficult to care for the miserable floating ball of self-absorbed lifeforms at times, particularly when it was the miserable floating ball that chewed Bethany to undeserved bits.
But again: running. Not touching that raw memory with even a redwood tree pole.
Fortunately, Hawke had company, if, "staring down critically from atop a wall" counted as guests over for teatime. "Oh, I love snakes," the mixed-canine agreed, "my favorite like to hiss from across the street about how terrible of an influence I am. Or am I thinking of old biddies?" Hawke's head tilted, broad shoulders angling up into a smooth shrug while a sly smile levered one corner of his mouth. "But I'd hate to keep a lady and her toothy worms waiting. I'm here because I have a burning passion for crossing bridges." And setting them ablaze quite judiciously. "You can call me Hawke, by the way. You look like a Victoria, or some sort of 'ia.'"
His dark visionaries pursued new movement, belonging to a kitty cat with just the right grumpass facial vintage that he cursed his lack of opposable thumbs - and fingers as a whole. That was a face Hawke would gleefully pinch into a supreme state of assholery. Helping him transcend to a higher plane of existence and whatnot. "I'd ask what crawled up your ass and died, but it didn't die, did it? Looks unpleasant - I'm sorry."
What did he have here? (Not enough booze or booty - did he mention he loved those?) Hawke supposed it wasn't the worst facade he had ever seen (watching Carver blunder through conversations broke nearly every record possible) but it was considerably noticeable to the mixed-canine. He did spend time in front of a mirror. However, as mentioned earlier, Hawke could only handle giving so many shits at once before he had to ask for refunds. Whatever ailed the lion was his business alone. "If I knew the island had someone so pretty cooped up, I'd have walked faster. Is there a dragon I have to fight?" Hawke made a spectacle glancing around the area. "Or is there a curse I have to break with a kiss?" The canine smirked, eyes sparking, before they found the new figure of a griffon, accompanied by a crow.
Was it some variety of a fashion statement to have a feathered friend? "Jingle Bells?" He pressed a paw to his chest, feigning affront, although the poorly concealed grin betrayed that attempt. "Give it another few weeks - then I'll start cramming the spirit of Christmas into every hole I have. That will be a performance to look forward to, I swear it."
//aaa, thank you!! is this the talia from ff, by any chance? :0
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LAUGHING WITH A MOUTH FULL OF BLOOD ✕