LIFE'S LIKE A BOX OF CHOCOLATES | private

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[align=center]Andres Rosario Ballen > Talking. >info.

✤> This white stuff. Andres loved it. He had no idea what to call it, but it had a texture like seafoam - if seafoam could have a gentle crunch with each step. He had heard of Inverno before, but back where he was from- Inverno was simply a moving of seasonal prey. There was no  frozen sea foam, but he had heard tales of lands so cold, water would become fluffy and cold - from travelers. Something he never envisioned himself becoming.

With no purpose , no family...and no honor, he found himself drifting along, scrounging for alcohol where he could by working small jobs here and there, with people he could hardly understand. Sobriety was agonizing for him. it made hours drag on, and it made him tremble. Genuinely tremble. The withdraw at least had been slow. Had he dropped drinking altogether, he surely would of died before sunrise due to body shaking withdraws.

He would sometimes stop to admire the birds nesting in the trees. He was warm like them, with lots of fur. He didn't feel cold. He got over that after the first three nights - though he'd say the first three are always the worst. He took the sudden loss of familiar heat like he would with an injury at war- 10 seconds at a time. He could always remain calm counting down from 10 in his head - because days may be hard, but 10 seconds of pain is much easier to handle then hours of it - uninterrupted.

Andres was scratching at a rabbits den- wondering if anyone was home. Lo and behold , there was a very different kind of rabbit, separated only by the bushes- a rabbit that couldn't see him simply because he was leaning over to look in the burrow. Suddenly, Andres hears someone ask why they're dysfunctional. He doesn't understand what that means of course- in english he knows only the most necessary words.

Those words being: Hello, goodbye, fuck, you, die, please , give, me , alcahol  and sorry.

or - those where the words he could think of off the top of his head. Now, the lion stood up to look at Jack directly.
"Er....Hello? Yes?" His accent was very thick, like he was reciting some form of poetry. Gentle tone had no threat in it - though eh was hanging on the silence scrambling for anything to say- but he had just exhausted half of his usable english vocabulary. To compensate, he tilts his head and gives them a curious look- before bounding over the bushes.

That might be a little overwhelming,  a massive near thousand pound lion jumping over the bushes to talk to you out of nowhere - but Andres is used to scaring people at first, and no longer really cares. "Meu nome é Andres." People could usually understand that one , so he decided that could explain for them that he's not from here- if the appearence didn't give it away.

Left with a communication barrier, and need for a drink - he sits in the snow and gives them a strangely expectant look. "I am ....Not... from here." are his next words, heavy thought into each of them. Not for a second does he break the intense eye contact - as if he could burn into their soul what he was trying to say. Thank you Andres.



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