01-30-2021, 06:18 PM
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trigger warnings alcohol, death, lots of blood, profanity, heavy violence, religion.
tags 45 years old, difficult/hard opponent, nonviolent interactions are open, pm or ask for violent interactions.
tags 45 years old, difficult/hard opponent, nonviolent interactions are open, pm or ask for violent interactions.
"speech" 'thought' text
To be fair to Mike, the man had seen a lot, done a lot, and been through a lot. Though that did not excuse the self destructive habits he had now, it at least explained them. While Cat had been in charge, Mike had actually managed to get clean, sober, have a semblance of his life back.
But they was a different era, and though it seemed ages ago, the detestation of Mike to his current state had taken less than a year to happen. His eyes rolled to the side as he heard the sound of footsteps. He couldn’t identify everyone’s footsteps in the Badlands, but there were a few he could. Teddy for one, Juliette for another, Micah a third and a handful of the members as well.
They all had distinct ways of walking, indicative towards their mental state. Juliettes walk exuded confidence. Teddy’s cocky indifference, Micah’s capability. His lips turned down into a sneer at Teddy’s first words, the alcohol coursing through his veins inhibiting any caution he might feel in sobriety.
Truth was, Mike untainted by alcohol was rare. He grimaced as Teddy grabbed his bottle and poured drink into a glass for himself. Shoulda gotten his own damn bottle the damn child. As Teddy continued to speak, Mike gaped, what kind of audacity was they. He coughed undiplomatically at Teddy’s accusation. Then pointed an angry finger at Teddy’s lithe frame.
"You..." His words slurred. "dont know what you’re talking about-" He paused jabbing a finger in Teddy’s general direction. "-boy." He pushed himself to his feet, unsteady as he struggled to find his bearings. Though drunk, he was by no means completely helpless.
"Maybe-" His voice was raised slightly, though a bit of uncertainty seeped into it, though whether it was directed at Teddy or not was unclear. "-maybe they talk to me because you’re such a self absorbed little brat. Maybe the talk to me because I listen instead of ignore. Maybe it’s bedside I don’t prattle on about how amazing and powerful I am. Maybe it’s because I don’t take them for granted or see them as disposable." His words slurred slightly and he raised his voice with every rendition of the word “maybe”.
"You’re a spoiled little prick." He continued, common sense totally gone from him at this moment. "You can’t command respect when you ooze unintelligent smarminess." He finished slamming his glass down so hard on the table that it shattered and alcohol mixed with blood pooled on the smooth surface of the table.
Mike didn’t seem to notice the small cuts on his fingers, and snatched at the bottle, drinking directly from it, as though that would get the bad taste of the conversation out of his mouth.
To be fair to Mike, the man had seen a lot, done a lot, and been through a lot. Though that did not excuse the self destructive habits he had now, it at least explained them. While Cat had been in charge, Mike had actually managed to get clean, sober, have a semblance of his life back.
But they was a different era, and though it seemed ages ago, the detestation of Mike to his current state had taken less than a year to happen. His eyes rolled to the side as he heard the sound of footsteps. He couldn’t identify everyone’s footsteps in the Badlands, but there were a few he could. Teddy for one, Juliette for another, Micah a third and a handful of the members as well.
They all had distinct ways of walking, indicative towards their mental state. Juliettes walk exuded confidence. Teddy’s cocky indifference, Micah’s capability. His lips turned down into a sneer at Teddy’s first words, the alcohol coursing through his veins inhibiting any caution he might feel in sobriety.
Truth was, Mike untainted by alcohol was rare. He grimaced as Teddy grabbed his bottle and poured drink into a glass for himself. Shoulda gotten his own damn bottle the damn child. As Teddy continued to speak, Mike gaped, what kind of audacity was they. He coughed undiplomatically at Teddy’s accusation. Then pointed an angry finger at Teddy’s lithe frame.
"You..." His words slurred. "dont know what you’re talking about-" He paused jabbing a finger in Teddy’s general direction. "-boy." He pushed himself to his feet, unsteady as he struggled to find his bearings. Though drunk, he was by no means completely helpless.
"Maybe-" His voice was raised slightly, though a bit of uncertainty seeped into it, though whether it was directed at Teddy or not was unclear. "-maybe they talk to me because you’re such a self absorbed little brat. Maybe the talk to me because I listen instead of ignore. Maybe it’s bedside I don’t prattle on about how amazing and powerful I am. Maybe it’s because I don’t take them for granted or see them as disposable." His words slurred slightly and he raised his voice with every rendition of the word “maybe”.
"You’re a spoiled little prick." He continued, common sense totally gone from him at this moment. "You can’t command respect when you ooze unintelligent smarminess." He finished slamming his glass down so hard on the table that it shattered and alcohol mixed with blood pooled on the smooth surface of the table.
Mike didn’t seem to notice the small cuts on his fingers, and snatched at the bottle, drinking directly from it, as though that would get the bad taste of the conversation out of his mouth.
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MICHAEL FORD
Michael Ford is a 45 year old, man, he's stubbornly loyal to whatever cause he chooses, protective of his family and friends, he's a member of the Badlands. Michael has issues controlling his anger in most situations. He is a difficult opponent and well trained, feel free to power play nonviolent interactions though.