04-23-2017, 09:58 PM
In the wake of Nox's departure, Jay sank into the couch and rubbed his eyes. The minutes leading up to now were a blur, yet moments stuck like shards in his mind, clear and painful. For the first time the entire evening, he let his mind empty.
His hands rest in his lap, tame for once, and not doing what he joked about with Nox. In fact, they lay on his knee. Beneath the denim, his legs were taut despite the apparent rest, and now that he focused on the remainder of his body, he found everything to be tense.
He let his head drop back, suddenly heavy, and he just stared at the ceiling. For a basement, it was strangly lofty. What the hell was he doing here? He just wanted to go to a concert. His ticket should have gone to Jacques, and instead, fell to him. The fucked up cannibal guy, didn't Nox give him some kind of name? Whatever it was, that guy was probably coincidence. But everything after that was bizarrely entrapping. Maybe it was some plot to go after Jacques? Eh that was stupid. It was a terrible place to assassinate someone. Or given the blood on their hands, maybe it was the perfect place. And magic? He'd seen Vanders use it. It was real enough.
He rubbed his eyes again, and jumped when Nox's voice obliterated the silence.
"Fuck,"
he muttered, sitting up, and wondering why he was so jumpy.
He took the glass and bottle, studying the label. "Macallan Private Eye Single Malt Scotch"
and glanced upward, "never heard of it."
He'd heard of Macallan of course, but if he were to judge anything from the cover, this looked crazy expensive.
With a shrug, he twisted off the foil and popped it open with a satisfying thwap.
He recalled the way that Nox iced up their beers, and although Jay's was sitting abandoned and half-empty, the glass was still cool. But even if he could chill the scotch, he'd not do it. It seemed wrong.
He tipped the glass of amber liquid back. It was smooth as silk as the warmth passed over his lips. He took three long drinks before he realized how easily it went down.
He turned to Nox, blinking with a mix of awe and fear. A healthy fear. He could drink that entire thing without even realizing it. God save him if he ever had a real reason to drink. Well, a recent reason, at least.
"So who is this Dorian guy? And how'd you get tied up with him and the kid,"
he nodded toward the door where Sage disappeared just as he poured himself another glass, shoved off his boots, and sank into the seat cushions once more.
Not that he really cared about their scotch-benefactor. He did sample another taste, though. That stuff was good. Dangerously good.
((Sorry this is a really boring post, couldn't think of anything "to do" really.))
His hands rest in his lap, tame for once, and not doing what he joked about with Nox. In fact, they lay on his knee. Beneath the denim, his legs were taut despite the apparent rest, and now that he focused on the remainder of his body, he found everything to be tense.
He let his head drop back, suddenly heavy, and he just stared at the ceiling. For a basement, it was strangly lofty. What the hell was he doing here? He just wanted to go to a concert. His ticket should have gone to Jacques, and instead, fell to him. The fucked up cannibal guy, didn't Nox give him some kind of name? Whatever it was, that guy was probably coincidence. But everything after that was bizarrely entrapping. Maybe it was some plot to go after Jacques? Eh that was stupid. It was a terrible place to assassinate someone. Or given the blood on their hands, maybe it was the perfect place. And magic? He'd seen Vanders use it. It was real enough.
He rubbed his eyes again, and jumped when Nox's voice obliterated the silence.
"Fuck,"
he muttered, sitting up, and wondering why he was so jumpy.
He took the glass and bottle, studying the label. "Macallan Private Eye Single Malt Scotch"
and glanced upward, "never heard of it."
He'd heard of Macallan of course, but if he were to judge anything from the cover, this looked crazy expensive.
With a shrug, he twisted off the foil and popped it open with a satisfying thwap.
He recalled the way that Nox iced up their beers, and although Jay's was sitting abandoned and half-empty, the glass was still cool. But even if he could chill the scotch, he'd not do it. It seemed wrong.
He tipped the glass of amber liquid back. It was smooth as silk as the warmth passed over his lips. He took three long drinks before he realized how easily it went down.
He turned to Nox, blinking with a mix of awe and fear. A healthy fear. He could drink that entire thing without even realizing it. God save him if he ever had a real reason to drink. Well, a recent reason, at least.
"So who is this Dorian guy? And how'd you get tied up with him and the kid,"
he nodded toward the door where Sage disappeared just as he poured himself another glass, shoved off his boots, and sank into the seat cushions once more.
Not that he really cared about their scotch-benefactor. He did sample another taste, though. That stuff was good. Dangerously good.
((Sorry this is a really boring post, couldn't think of anything "to do" really.))
Only darkness shows you the light.