11-15-2018, 12:27 PM
[align=center][div style="borderwidth=0px; width: 55%; line-height:115%; text-align: justify;font-family: calibri;"]Unlike Feliks, the Tavern had become a rather frequent place of visit for the lion, the alcohol that it provided soothing the worst of his moods. He lived off of alcohol and cigarettes these days and was certain that at this point his liver was as dead as his father and his lungs as black as the void who birthed him. That didn't trouble him much, though. He could die and then he'd be back in the land of the living soon after because nobody stayed dead these days. It still fucked you up, but you'd return and there'd a grand party awaiting you, only to forget you've ever died in the first place. Unless you were someone important, of course. Then everyone mourned and constantly asked if you were okay.
No one bothered to ask if he was okay. The only person who gave a damn about his disappearance and death had been Gabriel, who made a point of at least appearing happy that he had returned. Now that the old man was gone and Des was too afraid to check if he had keeled over himself, there was no one who would care much if he disappeared. He wasn't important, and beyond his good looks, there really wasn't anything that could make a lasting impact on people as far as he saw it. He was replaceable, and whereas that used to get him all melancholy and brooding, now he just accepted it as a fact. It made his life easier, and in turn, meant he required a lot less alcohol to drown his demons in. The fewer demons there were, the easier it was.
But that didn't mean he didn't still need to get drunk once in a while when the other problems started to rear their ugly head. The nightmares rarely left him alone at night and the only way to get a decent bit of rest was to take a quick visit to the tavern, refill his stocks, and then drink until he passed out and the light hurt too much to get out of his hut in the morning. No one missed him then, either. No one looked to see if he had drunk himself to death, just left him alone and trusted he'd be back come the next evening to do what he always did best: smile, banter, and sneak around like some kind of cryptid. It was why the fact that the Tavern of all places was what caught flame felt like such a personal blow to him. He needed it to stay sane at times, for cigarettes could only do so much and didn't work well to put a guy to sleep.
So instead of getting drunk on his secret stash and moping about that his source of free drinks was gone... he decided to help in the renovation, of which Feliks seemed to be the head of.
The tavern itself was far lighter than he remembered it being, a result of the cracks in the roof that the flames conveniently made. It made it easier to clean, surely, but it still pulled the male's lips back in disgust to see his favorite hangout on this god forsaken island in such a state. The faster it would get back to working order the better, both for his sake and everyone else's. "Saw you might need help?" that was the only indication he gave that he was there, waiting for Feliks to either confirm or deny it and to order him around.
No one bothered to ask if he was okay. The only person who gave a damn about his disappearance and death had been Gabriel, who made a point of at least appearing happy that he had returned. Now that the old man was gone and Des was too afraid to check if he had keeled over himself, there was no one who would care much if he disappeared. He wasn't important, and beyond his good looks, there really wasn't anything that could make a lasting impact on people as far as he saw it. He was replaceable, and whereas that used to get him all melancholy and brooding, now he just accepted it as a fact. It made his life easier, and in turn, meant he required a lot less alcohol to drown his demons in. The fewer demons there were, the easier it was.
But that didn't mean he didn't still need to get drunk once in a while when the other problems started to rear their ugly head. The nightmares rarely left him alone at night and the only way to get a decent bit of rest was to take a quick visit to the tavern, refill his stocks, and then drink until he passed out and the light hurt too much to get out of his hut in the morning. No one missed him then, either. No one looked to see if he had drunk himself to death, just left him alone and trusted he'd be back come the next evening to do what he always did best: smile, banter, and sneak around like some kind of cryptid. It was why the fact that the Tavern of all places was what caught flame felt like such a personal blow to him. He needed it to stay sane at times, for cigarettes could only do so much and didn't work well to put a guy to sleep.
So instead of getting drunk on his secret stash and moping about that his source of free drinks was gone... he decided to help in the renovation, of which Feliks seemed to be the head of.
The tavern itself was far lighter than he remembered it being, a result of the cracks in the roof that the flames conveniently made. It made it easier to clean, surely, but it still pulled the male's lips back in disgust to see his favorite hangout on this god forsaken island in such a state. The faster it would get back to working order the better, both for his sake and everyone else's. "Saw you might need help?" that was the only indication he gave that he was there, waiting for Feliks to either confirm or deny it and to order him around.
♔ — I want brimstone in my garden