02 | Action/Voice | Beds aren't doing their jobs of making me restful.

[fuckthemission]

[Doyle wakes up often in the middle of a dead sleep with his heart pounding and a swear word on standby, masked in a thin veil of sweat. It's times of the night like these that he slips up out of bed and paces around his room, working his arms and shoulders and leaning against his window until he's too cold to remain there. But if he travels back to his bed and lays back down, he feels smothered. Growls a 'shit', slips on his shoes and jacket, and goes outside to walk.

He's got a bandaged arm from a vampire trying to kill him two days beforehand—stitches and everything—but the thought of being hurt again is illogically pushed aside by the need for the dewy cool outdoors. Whatever. He could deal with vampires over persistent night terrors. It's why he slaps his hand against the windowsill in frustration and goes out for yet another night in a long string of nights.

It's his morning trip, right before the sun rises up over the distant canopy, that he finds something familiar in the shop: it's a sniper rifle scope, without the actual rifle. He rolls it in his hand, humming a sound of contentment. Just a harmless little spyglass as-is, but he appreciates having it. Doyle sits on the bench he'd appeared on two weeks ago and lazily stares through the scope at the people passing. Sorry, man, he feels like snooping on y'all.

When noon is creeping up on him he's out in the forest wandering. Can't do much until his arm's back in full commission, but he can at least go to the lake closest by and practice bouncing some stones across it, or perhaps use that little rifle scope to spy on the nature beyond the lake itself, or even go fishing like he's been working on these last few days (though it's a little less fun when you're working around said arm injury.

It's all slow and quiet and in a way meticulous, but he was alright with it. He simply needed something to occupy his hands with while he thought about things.]

[Voice]

This book is pretty damn good for asking a lot of pointless and not-so-pointless questions, ain't it? Good way to keep your mind focused. I'm sure some of you probably agree by now, especially the old-timers who've been here for a while... but see, the problem is, I'm complete shit at picking out decent questions. Why is the sky blue, what's the numbers for pi, why did the chicken cross the road, etc., etc.

So... how about... [he rubs his chin]

You ask me a question instead, and I'll try to get a good one to throw back at you; don't care what it is, as long as it keeps me occupied. A little company goes a long way. Besides, you guys probably got your own topics you'd rather shoot the breeze with, not my crappy attempts, huh?

[And then after this voice entry, more exploring of course, because Luceti's forests are pretty spacious.

After a while of boyscouting traveling he gets hungry and goes to eat at the restaurant, but sooner or later he'll get to the bar, because that's just a place he's been finding himself at lately. Sometimes he drinks a little, sometimes he drinks enough to get drunk, and other times he sits in the back and reads a book. Today it's a sensible glass of whiskey next to an old copy of First Blood, and he's thumbing quietly through it in no time while he's at the bar.

He'll shuffle on home, but no doubt end up on one of his nightly or morning walks yet again, with no real destination in mind.]

((ooc: it's dated for the 29th unless you wanna tinker with the date; lemme know.))

Comments

[relictusdeus]

Hah.

[It's an unusual, surreal thing to have a human being in his midst who does not seem the least bit hostile or intimidated by him. Who seems comfortable, almost, sexual advances aside. Of course, he knew he would be a fool to factor out the possibility that this was only a trick to coax him into lowering his guard.]

Please. They will not always be there to be save you; do not think that they will place your well-being... and your life... above their own.

[If there is something he has learned, it's that one has to know how to fend for oneself. Fight back or be trampled down; kill or be killed. Depending on someone was only a source of suffering, in the end; after all, one day, they would no longer be there. In the madness of the world, the only person one can really trust is themselves.]

[fuckthemission]

If that's the case, then I'm definitely as good as dead.

[Not that he entirely agreed with Isaac. Buffy had give him enough to work with to make him believe she was hardly a selfish vampire slayer. He shakes his head, snickering. Him, a vampire. Or a vampire's raisin. The horror of it all.]

Not the first time I've dealt with life-threatening gigs. It's just the most supernatural shit I've ever had to deal with.

[relictusdeus]

[At this, the Forgemaster breaks into a husky laugh, rolling his eyes as he returns to the rock and seats himself upon it. Look at that guy, laid out over the ground like some sort of bait. This wolf opts to keep his distance, watching keenly and hungrily, albeit warily.

And this... is only the beginning.

[He neatly folds one leg over the other, the lazy rise and fall of his foot betraying the itching of his nerves. It's been far worse, however; this he can manage.]

[fuckthemission]

I get the feeling you're bored. [He tangents for a moment, and glances over to the guy. It's not hard to see that he's the kind to go rushing into a battle.] Ever consider keeping yourself occupied with those 'missions' they give out to people?

[relictusdeus]

[Neither needing nor wishing to reveal everything to Doyle, he keeps his answer brief and in a light, lilting voice, meeting his gaze cooly.]

Perhaps. [He lets it hang in the air for a moment before tilting his head in a show of curiosity and amusement.] ...How considerate of you to think of me and my interests. ...And after rejecting my proposition. [He muses aloud in afterthought, laughing dryly.]

[fuckthemission]

[Gosh, you so silly, Isaac.]

No offense, but I prefer my bedfellows with a female touch. Still, I wouldn't be much of a local villager if I didn't make sure my fellow prisoners weren't losing their minds from boredom.

[He rubs his chin, considering something.

GUESSING GAME TIME. He's trying to connect some dots in his head.]

Let me see... You talk like you're from a really early time period, but you've got tattoos that look more like they'd be from my time; your world's obviously supernatural, even if the people in your world are appalled by that sort of shit.

[He tosses a stone casually into the lake, letting it skip for a while first. If they were appalled and had that way of talkin--]

1500's? 1600's?

[relictusdeus]

[Silly indeed!]

Prefer...?

[He repeats, jabbing at Doyle's choice of word. Perhaps 'prefer entirely' would have been more fitting, he muses - unless this fellow did in fact take men to bed but simply had no interest in him. Turned away by his ugliness, he supposes bitterly. But chuckling gently, deep in his throat, he adds teasingly:]

'twould seem you have yet to find a man who can... ahaha ... satisfy.

[Ah, he still wants and will forever want what he so often cannot have. Well, the only solution is to tease at every opportunity - it is a release from some of the frustration, and humour is a familiar and comforting defense mechanism.]

What good is a woman... if she cannot please you?

[Another laugh bubbles out of him. How can he resist? 'Pleasing' another person is not exactly something he considers a high priority, to say the least; a selfish lover, this one.]

'Female touch'. [Isaac contemplates the answer with an accompanying eye roll, drumming his cheek while his chin rests in his palm.] How very boring. [Then he falls silent for a moment, amusedly inviting Doyle to guess at the year from which he hails.]

You were closer with the former.

[fuckthemission]

[eyeroll]

I'm heterosexual.

[GET MY DRIFT. well he figures you probably do but you're just being an enormous troll.]

14... 50's?

[relictusdeus]

[Indeed he is.

The word 'heterosexual' does not mean very much to him, nor does 'homosexual', for that matter, unfamiliar as they are.]

'79, if we are to be exact. ...Not bad~.

[fuckthemission]

What can I say, I try.

[He squints at Isaac though now, thoughtful.]

Though, you don't look much like any person I've read about from the 1400's. It must be a drastically different type of world from mine.

[relictusdeus]

[A deep, muffled, throaty chuckle builds into a short-lived albeit genuine laugh. Oh Doyle, you're a funny guy.]

Oh...? And what exactly do you expect me to look like?

[fuckthemission]

[Hm...] Well, during those times? Piercings weren't exactly a big thing. Tattoos, either, and the hair... well, either you had hair-dye, or that's a natural color. Never seen anyone with that shade before, not without them pouring chemicals all over their heads.

As for the leather and the creepy spear, no comment.

[relictusdeus]

[Pouring… chemicals?

It’s strange hearing his time being referred to ‘those times’.]

The good book… forbids cuttings and marks made in the flesh. Dishonour the body… and one dishonours the Lord God Himself.

[Giggling, he glances down at himself as if to say, oops, not happening to be wearing his laced-up shirt; it is how he is most comfortable this evening, thank you very much. He sweeps his splayed fingers across his skin.]

Were I to carve His glorious name into my… [He lets out a breath, smiling unabashedly.] ... chest... perhaps he would be more pleased with me. How ever could he resist such suffering and tribute?

[Another giggle, this one as deep and sensual as the first.]

There is far more to me than what it is you see before you...

[This is the tat that never ends, it just goes on and on my friends He remarks, gauging Doyle's curiosity. Levels are at 0.0001%.]

I don't suppose you would be much interested in a glimpse at the rest of my work~? [While he doubts this is the case, it's fun to toy around with this guy, and he by no means puts forth this invitation with a straight face.]

[fuckthemission]

Not much interested, no. [Level is at 0.0000001, yes.] God forbids all that? Not in my neck of the woods; maybe you were just born in the wrong universe. Or time.

[relictusdeus]

Leviticus, 19:28.

[He remarks casually, having memorized some of the passages of the Bible on subjects relevant to his interests. As to being born in the wrong time...]

Hnph. Indeed. [A grim, lopsided smirk. Often enough as a frustrated child, he had wished he hadn't been born at all.] ...what was that expression of yours? To 'fuck up', was it? Ah! No, 'twas, 'fucked up'.

[fuckthemission]

[Ha.]

Fucked up. Using it in a sentence? 'A vampire tried to chew my neck to pieces, and that's fucked up.' Or 'It's pretty fucked up that people are holding us in a big forest cage against our will'.

It's very classy diction, y'know.

[relictusdeus]

[Contemplatively, he responds:] I am familiar with the word fuck.

[And no one was surprised.]

And fucking. [You bet. He bites his lower lip, emphasizing the breathy 'f' sound in a strong albeit sensual way.]

As you can imagine, I supposed this to refer to penetration of a particular form. How silly of me.

[Forever true to his name, he can't resist a little chuckle.]

I have been enlightened.

[fuckthemission]

[Groooooan. He just slaps his hand over his eyes at that.]

Christ, you're too much.

Didn't think that word was so common in the 1400's.

[relictusdeus]

It isn't... as far as I am aware.

[The things one picks up while in Dracula's castle!]

I knew not of it for quite some time. My guardian never breathed a word of it... But of course, most women will not speak of such... unsavoury things. 'tis very unbecoming.

[fuckthemission]

Oh, very fuckin' unbecoming. But considering I spent most of my life in the military, there's worse words to throw around.

[relictusdeus]

Did you?

[He's not questioning the truth in Doyle's words; rather, he finds this tidbit about his military experience somewhat interesting.]

[fuckthemission]

Since I was 18. [True facts.] There's always wars and battles out there to fight; someone has to do the dirty work when things go wrong.

[relictusdeus]

[A considering silence.]

...You enjoy this dirty work, don't you? [The way in which he poses the question, it is as if he is confronting someone about a fetish they preferred to keep under wraps, finding some roguish pleasure in their guilt and embarrassment.]

[fuckthemission]

[NICE TRY PERVERTED... GUY... PERSON. Look he still doesn't know if you're human or not. He'll just assume he can talk to you like you're a normal schmoe.]

Yuuuup. Getting hot and sweaty playing with guns, my favorite pastime.

Only it's more like having sand in your ass-crack somewhere hot while you bitch at your team as you set up to sit around for hours without moving. When I say dirty work, I mean things even you wouldn't enjoy.

[relictusdeus]

[OH REALLY NOW.]

Know me that well, hn?

[Have another throaty man-giggle, although his eyes are cool and unsmiling in contrast. After a long moment, he offers almost half-absently:]

...I was in the military, myself.

[The trip down memory lane is not a pleasant one, but his manner suggests the opposite.]