04-22-2022, 01:17 AM
Blackjack was quite relieved that Jormungand didn't pry any further about his own life, though in his current inebriated state, there was a good possibility that anything could've spilled without him even realizing it. Anything can happen when you're drunk, after all, especially when the other is getting there, as well. Still, he felt that he was grounded to an extent, albeit hanging to said ground by a microscopic thread, but it would be enough for him not to loosen his lips too much and reveal a dangerous amount to the other.
He watched the other feline eye him, taking in his scars, his rugged looks, his muscles, and he caught himself doing the same. There were marks of war and age upon him that he hadn't taken the time to notice earlier: scars upon his muzzle, torn flesh, a strange crocodile-shaped branding upon his dark chest, the way Jormungand's muscles rippled beneath his dark coat, the way his cheekbones looked strong and defined as the rest of his body did... He felt that he would disintegrate if the other panther so much as looked at him directly, much less pointed out that he had been staring. For certain the alcohol was poisoning Jack's thoughts, filling them with ideas he would not have even considered with a clear head. He licked his lips again, his body crying out for hydration and his thirst for perhaps something more than just water or more vodka. Good thing he had a tendency to zone out a little in conversation.
"What numbers do you have?" Shit, they were still playing. Blackjack blinked, his eyes falling upon his cards. His body was warm (and likely red beneath his obsidian fur — thank God he was covered in it) and his mind was fuzzy, causing him to lose his focus quite rapidly. His paw landed onto his cards, exposing the values that he held. "Eighteen. You got me," he said with a soft chuckle, lifting his rich golden gaze up back to meet Jormungand's icy, penetrating eyes. Yeah, he got him, all right.
He watched the other feline eye him, taking in his scars, his rugged looks, his muscles, and he caught himself doing the same. There were marks of war and age upon him that he hadn't taken the time to notice earlier: scars upon his muzzle, torn flesh, a strange crocodile-shaped branding upon his dark chest, the way Jormungand's muscles rippled beneath his dark coat, the way his cheekbones looked strong and defined as the rest of his body did... He felt that he would disintegrate if the other panther so much as looked at him directly, much less pointed out that he had been staring. For certain the alcohol was poisoning Jack's thoughts, filling them with ideas he would not have even considered with a clear head. He licked his lips again, his body crying out for hydration and his thirst for perhaps something more than just water or more vodka. Good thing he had a tendency to zone out a little in conversation.
"What numbers do you have?" Shit, they were still playing. Blackjack blinked, his eyes falling upon his cards. His body was warm (and likely red beneath his obsidian fur — thank God he was covered in it) and his mind was fuzzy, causing him to lose his focus quite rapidly. His paw landed onto his cards, exposing the values that he held. "Eighteen. You got me," he said with a soft chuckle, lifting his rich golden gaze up back to meet Jormungand's icy, penetrating eyes. Yeah, he got him, all right.
[glow=#f4c430,2,300]how to rob men blind[/glow] — ♠