04-25-2017, 12:15 PM
At some point, he found his pants, climbed the stairs, and sought a giant glass of water. Maybe Nox was asleep? He didn't care either way. He just grabbed hsi shit and left. Suppose he could honestly tell Jacques he had a good time, and it was totally possible he texted a message relaying that sort of thing to their CEO general dictator Overlord dude. In fact, as he leaned over some kind of sink in what he thought was a kitchen, scrolling through messages from the past few hours, he wondered if it was possible to delete a message already received and read with their powers? Was it possible to go back in time and change things? Wouldn't that be a shitload of chaos, if so.
He scratched his head, found his hair to be mess and himself in general need of a shower. Given that he just downed an entire glass of water in about three gulps, he contemplated pouring another over the top of his head right there in the kitchen. It was dark out, nobody would know. But as that was rather impolite, he opted to just splash water on his face instead. He felt cleaner, but it did nothing to sharpen his mind.
By sometime in the middle of the night, they (and by that, almost entirely Jay) finished the bottle of Macallan. Nox joked it would cost a couple grand, which was entirely possible. Jay would pay him back, of course. He wasn't exactly dead broke. Life in the Legion wasn't the quick route to riches, but when almost all your expenses are covered, there's nothing to do with money except save it or send it home. Mom and dad got a good chunk, but he still meant to fork over the money to replace the bottle before Dorian even knew it was gone. Maybe even go out and buy one for himself.
He stumbled into a chair lined up along the nearby table, and realized as he sat that he'd forgotten to put his shirt back on. At least he wasn't totally disrobed, as what usually happened when he drank. He'd sworn off alcohol at some point in the time between leaving the marines and joining the Legion, and it'd been a good year since he'd drank anything more than a beer. Probably why he was such a pansy and couldn't hold serious liquor anymore. Course, that was just a challenge to rebuild his tolerance, right? Thinking about this power within only made him want to dull the idea. Maybe he could block it completely? But, given that he has to like work and function and stuff, a consistent state of inebrieation was probably a bad idea. Jacques may find the drunken text message funny, but a drunken soldier was likely to get fired like that.
That left one choice. Given that Nox repeatedly told him over the past couple hours that he had to get control. or die. Jay wasn't particularly keen on the idea of dying yet, so control it was.
He pinched his eyes, laid his face on the table, and heard a crash.
"Damnit"
he muttered when he saw the broken shards all over the floor. Right about then would have been a handy time for one of the servants - or staff - or housekeepers - or whatever they were called this day and Age, to show up. But as it was just his lonesome little self, he scraped back the chair, picked his barefeet carefully across the floor, and went in search of a broom or rag or something.
Two hours later, he'd completely forgotten about the mess in the kitchen and instead found himself sprawled passed out on some kind of gaudy sofa. Head pounding, he rolled over, and found another crystal bottle, this one two-thirds empty, crooked in his arms, and his phone in his hand.
Fearing he'd done something stupid like called Jacques and told the frenchman his life story, he looked at the screen history. Briefly noting the 6 AM hour, he gasped a sharp intake of air.
He'd called Natalie.
He bolted out of the room before some actual housekeeper, or worse yet, Dorian himself, found him.
He scratched his head, found his hair to be mess and himself in general need of a shower. Given that he just downed an entire glass of water in about three gulps, he contemplated pouring another over the top of his head right there in the kitchen. It was dark out, nobody would know. But as that was rather impolite, he opted to just splash water on his face instead. He felt cleaner, but it did nothing to sharpen his mind.
By sometime in the middle of the night, they (and by that, almost entirely Jay) finished the bottle of Macallan. Nox joked it would cost a couple grand, which was entirely possible. Jay would pay him back, of course. He wasn't exactly dead broke. Life in the Legion wasn't the quick route to riches, but when almost all your expenses are covered, there's nothing to do with money except save it or send it home. Mom and dad got a good chunk, but he still meant to fork over the money to replace the bottle before Dorian even knew it was gone. Maybe even go out and buy one for himself.
He stumbled into a chair lined up along the nearby table, and realized as he sat that he'd forgotten to put his shirt back on. At least he wasn't totally disrobed, as what usually happened when he drank. He'd sworn off alcohol at some point in the time between leaving the marines and joining the Legion, and it'd been a good year since he'd drank anything more than a beer. Probably why he was such a pansy and couldn't hold serious liquor anymore. Course, that was just a challenge to rebuild his tolerance, right? Thinking about this power within only made him want to dull the idea. Maybe he could block it completely? But, given that he has to like work and function and stuff, a consistent state of inebrieation was probably a bad idea. Jacques may find the drunken text message funny, but a drunken soldier was likely to get fired like that.
That left one choice. Given that Nox repeatedly told him over the past couple hours that he had to get control. or die. Jay wasn't particularly keen on the idea of dying yet, so control it was.
He pinched his eyes, laid his face on the table, and heard a crash.
"Damnit"
he muttered when he saw the broken shards all over the floor. Right about then would have been a handy time for one of the servants - or staff - or housekeepers - or whatever they were called this day and Age, to show up. But as it was just his lonesome little self, he scraped back the chair, picked his barefeet carefully across the floor, and went in search of a broom or rag or something.
Two hours later, he'd completely forgotten about the mess in the kitchen and instead found himself sprawled passed out on some kind of gaudy sofa. Head pounding, he rolled over, and found another crystal bottle, this one two-thirds empty, crooked in his arms, and his phone in his hand.
Fearing he'd done something stupid like called Jacques and told the frenchman his life story, he looked at the screen history. Briefly noting the 6 AM hour, he gasped a sharp intake of air.
He'd called Natalie.
Quote:<dl>
<dt>Mumbled voicemail left for Natalie</dt>
<dd> </dd>
</dl>
"Nat,
Hey. Hows goin? You alright? Really gotta see you today. Killed some cannibal. Monsters. Ever heard of Private Eye? Me neither. Is real good. I mean i've killed lots of evil Nombres, but this was different. Right, not wrong, which is wrong. Felt good. I'm scared. Oh. I'm also a wizard. Dont tell vanders--"
He bolted out of the room before some actual housekeeper, or worse yet, Dorian himself, found him.
Only darkness shows you the light.