There’s a buzzing in his ears that drowns out the voices whispering in the background of his mind, a constant old-paper rattle he can barely decipher, the call of that thrice-damned vulture whenever it lands near him, and he wonders sometimes if this is what going mad consists of -- if his mind has been poisoned from the beginning, a ticking time bomb, a loaded bear trap just waiting to spring -- did he ever really have a chance, when he was playing against a loaded deck? The alcohol makes those thoughts slip away, a scoff leaving his lips at the soldier’s question. “Sure, I could drink in Solterra… but then I can’t watch people make asses of themselves in shitty costumes.” He smirks, his attention turned towards a passing party-goer, and he leers after her for a few moments -- she was passably pretty, and hey, if he couldn’t find a fight tonight, he wouldn’t oppose trying to find some other way to entertain himself. “Maybe I just got sick of being surrounded by fuckin’ sand, ever consider that?” |
@teiran
