01-11-2021, 04:15 PM
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RIFTWEAVER
[W]iskerRIFTWEAVER
[div style="background-color:#242924;width:90%;max-height:200px;overflow: auto;text-align: justify; font-size: 8pt;color: white;"] "speech"
It was safe to say that the last few weeks had been exceptionally difficult for, well, just about everyone. Between Goldie's amnesia and the influx of returnees and joiners, the Typhoon seemed to be teeming with activity. As things tended to go, that also meant they were swamped with happenings. There was always something going on. One could get whiplash from trying to keep up with it all.
That was why Riftweaver didn't. He was too focused on trying to keep his own situation under control to really think too hard on everything else. His worry for his mother's health, paired with the recent discovery of his other half, had left the Roux male weary and worn. A tired that sleep just couldn't fix. He could feel it in his bones, in the way his muscles remained tense. Instincts on high alert, poised and ready. He could no longer trust the calm days, always waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Perhaps those were the reasons behind his current state. You see, Rift was drunk. Very drunk. The leaf-maned male was not a composed drunk, either. He was sloppy. And that was fine with him. As he stumbled forward, a bottle of clear vodka in one hand, it became evident that this likely wasn't his first bottle of the day.
As the tiguar peered around through his drunken haze, he would giggle lightly. Alcohol may have not been the healthiest way to cope, but this was the happiest he'd appeared in a long while. It was hard to judge him for drinking with the goofy grin plastered across his faze, the lazy way in which he swung the bottle to his lips. "Ahhh." He smacked his lips, feeling the alcohol burn a trail of fire down his throat.
It was safe to say that the last few weeks had been exceptionally difficult for, well, just about everyone. Between Goldie's amnesia and the influx of returnees and joiners, the Typhoon seemed to be teeming with activity. As things tended to go, that also meant they were swamped with happenings. There was always something going on. One could get whiplash from trying to keep up with it all.
That was why Riftweaver didn't. He was too focused on trying to keep his own situation under control to really think too hard on everything else. His worry for his mother's health, paired with the recent discovery of his other half, had left the Roux male weary and worn. A tired that sleep just couldn't fix. He could feel it in his bones, in the way his muscles remained tense. Instincts on high alert, poised and ready. He could no longer trust the calm days, always waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Perhaps those were the reasons behind his current state. You see, Rift was drunk. Very drunk. The leaf-maned male was not a composed drunk, either. He was sloppy. And that was fine with him. As he stumbled forward, a bottle of clear vodka in one hand, it became evident that this likely wasn't his first bottle of the day.
As the tiguar peered around through his drunken haze, he would giggle lightly. Alcohol may have not been the healthiest way to cope, but this was the happiest he'd appeared in a long while. It was hard to judge him for drinking with the goofy grin plastered across his faze, the lazy way in which he swung the bottle to his lips. "Ahhh." He smacked his lips, feeling the alcohol burn a trail of fire down his throat.