02-18-2019, 02:29 AM
[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 1.4;"]Daniel’s sleeping schedule was fairly sporadic. He’d integrated into the lifestyle of both early birds and night owls, and those he takes preference to staying up late and sleeping in, there were those days where those days of rarity where he likes to enjoy a sunrise or those less than rare days where he's jolted by a nightmare. He hadn't had many of them in the past, but since Sarah died, they encompass his very being, and it's so unlike him. He sits on his bed for about fifteen minutes, face cradled in his hands, before finally deciding he'd rather not suffer from whatever internal damage that'd tainted his conscious, plucking his pants and sweater off the ground, putting them both on (because even in the coldest weather he tends to sleep in his boxers).
Since arriving in homely Flintlock Lodge, he'd uncharacteristically tended to keep to himself. He was not the one to brag or anything, but his charisma would have already landed him on both good sides and bad sides, in his eyes both being eminent as it assures him to being the center of attention, but instead he'd rather watch. Enjoy the sentiments that come with being in a group that's not filled with drama-filled lunatics who attempted to be more than they were (ironic). Was he actually? growing up God, gross. Even his internal dialogue revolted at the thought. It'd just reminded him of a normal he'd come to know, and he knows holding onto it was holding onto something he just wasn't meant to be. Maybe it could be his day to move from the memories of Sarah that plagued him. Whatever that meant.
Maybe it meant her.
Blake was an potentially a ticking time bomb, painted as an appealing distraction. Every ginger he'd associated himself with ended up crazy, but crazy always ended up being the most mind-consuming. He hadn't seen much of her since he'd arrived, so when he walks into the kitchen to see her perched on the counter he'd take this as the sign he was looking for. He was still induced by his conscious, of course, but he wouldn't let it turn him into a sensually deprived bitch. After all, Sarah didn't seem to mind giving herself to other men. Perhaps it'd give him the opportunity to piss her off in the afterlife, if there was one.
"I bet you I can guess what's in that mug." It started as joke; however when he nears, elbows leaned against the counter, the smell of alcohol unmistakably radiates from her. He snorts in amusement, reeling back, beginning to inspect the cabinets, not for alcohol, but for tea. He needs a warming stimulant after a night semi-naked. "Rough morning?" He inquires, his hand landing on the tea, rolling it over in his hands. "God, had people makin' this for me all my life and it's depressing to admit I've got no clue.... hot water, hot water and you put the bag in there, right? But judging by what you got in your cup I'm sure you don't know much either." He raises his eyebrows, the hint of a teasing grin pulling the end of his lips.
Since arriving in homely Flintlock Lodge, he'd uncharacteristically tended to keep to himself. He was not the one to brag or anything, but his charisma would have already landed him on both good sides and bad sides, in his eyes both being eminent as it assures him to being the center of attention, but instead he'd rather watch. Enjoy the sentiments that come with being in a group that's not filled with drama-filled lunatics who attempted to be more than they were (ironic). Was he actually? growing up God, gross. Even his internal dialogue revolted at the thought. It'd just reminded him of a normal he'd come to know, and he knows holding onto it was holding onto something he just wasn't meant to be. Maybe it could be his day to move from the memories of Sarah that plagued him. Whatever that meant.
Maybe it meant her.
Blake was an potentially a ticking time bomb, painted as an appealing distraction. Every ginger he'd associated himself with ended up crazy, but crazy always ended up being the most mind-consuming. He hadn't seen much of her since he'd arrived, so when he walks into the kitchen to see her perched on the counter he'd take this as the sign he was looking for. He was still induced by his conscious, of course, but he wouldn't let it turn him into a sensually deprived bitch. After all, Sarah didn't seem to mind giving herself to other men. Perhaps it'd give him the opportunity to piss her off in the afterlife, if there was one.
"I bet you I can guess what's in that mug." It started as joke; however when he nears, elbows leaned against the counter, the smell of alcohol unmistakably radiates from her. He snorts in amusement, reeling back, beginning to inspect the cabinets, not for alcohol, but for tea. He needs a warming stimulant after a night semi-naked. "Rough morning?" He inquires, his hand landing on the tea, rolling it over in his hands. "God, had people makin' this for me all my life and it's depressing to admit I've got no clue.... hot water, hot water and you put the bag in there, right? But judging by what you got in your cup I'm sure you don't know much either." He raises his eyebrows, the hint of a teasing grin pulling the end of his lips.
[align=center][font=arial][I]so, i heard the world doesn't revolve around me /:
Hoot loves your aesthetics
Hoot loves your aesthetics