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

[fuckthemission]

Something they inject you with that makes whatever you got maimed painless. They pumped me with some after I tore my arm up and I was in pain-free paradise.

[relictusdeus]

Please. Is it so very unbearable? Does it make you toss fitfully in your sleep?

[fuckthemission]

Oh, absolutely. I hate pain. Less of that I have, the happier I am.

[I totally won't address the sleeping issue.

ISSUE WHAT ISSUE]

[relictusdeus]

Hah. Pathetic. I find it astounding you had anything to do with the military.

[fuckthemission]

Oh, you're just breaking my heart. I'm crushed.

[relictusdeus]

[The Forgemaster grins at a response that sounds distinctly like one of his own.]

Do forgive me for wounding you... [He offers in a lilting, teasing voice.] I could not bear the thought of you in any pain.

[fuckthemission]

Yeah, well. I got plenty of wounds as it is; you don't need to add to the pile. But I appreciate the sentiment there.

[relictusdeus]

...Show me your arm.

[fuckthemission]

... Show you my arm.

This sounds like a trap.

[YOU SAID YOU WOULDN'T IMPALE OR MAIM ME

YOU SAID]

[relictusdeus]

[Ah, distrust. Hardly surprising! With a lingering smirk, his gaze slants to the side, towards Abel.]

Return.

[And the waiting devil dissolves into a wisp once more at the command, lazily circling its master.]

[fuckthemission]

[... sigh. You're just going to stare creepily at him until he listens, aren't you? But don't you already do that? He rolls his eyes, distant as he puts out his arm. The specks of blood are already the size of half-dollars now.]

[relictusdeus]

[Isaac has a look.

No biting, licking, or other animalistic behaviours one might expect of him. No snatching hold of his wrist and tugging him forward. Just looking, thanks. But it isn't long before this doesn't do. In fact, within a few seconds, he's already glancing back up at Doyle as if the man held out the wrong arm.]

Well...? [A thread of impatient annoyance runs through his voice. Aren't you going to unwrap the bandages?]

[fuckthemission]

...

Are you gonna stick a straw in my arm if I do?

[the snark, it burns

But after a beat he at least starts pulling the bandage open halfway, like a person toeing cold pool water. It's still a painful looking mess, red and raw, especially after straining it.]

[relictusdeus]

Is that all? From your complaining, I had been expecting something severe.

[Well, it's not Isaac if he doesn't tuck an insult in somewhere, even if he doesn't mean it wholeheartedly.]

Well. Balaur... if you please.

[Pausing briefly to concentrate, another one of his children familiars soon phases into existence - a red scaled dragon, this time, with crystal-like spikes jutting from its spine. While it is fairly small, it can't perch on his shoulder - and so it flaps closer to Isaac's side instead, awaiting instruction. The Forgemaster turns his head just slightly, whispering something to it before sending it off deeper into the woods.]

It will be a moment.

[fuckthemission]

[He rolls his eyes.]

What can I say, I love complaining.

Are you putting some weird ass voodoo spell on me?

[relictusdeus]

[There's a sudden rustling of bushes in the distance - - and then, nothing but for the soft, ever-present chittering of insects.]

Voodoo? ...What nonsense is this?

[fuckthemission]

Exactly what you said it is. [He nods his head toward the rustling.] The hell's that supposed to be?

healing done with permission, of course o/

[relictusdeus]

[He glances in the direction of the noise, but is none too concerned.]

He must have found something nice. ...Ah.

[Speak of the devil.

The dragon emerges from a dense patch of trees and soars towards Doyle, the bits of fur clinging to its bloodied snout explaining enough. Stopping a few feet away, it gapes its fanged mouth at him, beating its leathery wings all the while as to remain airborne. But instead of letting loose a fearsome roar, sonar-like waves radiate from its maw and are absorbed by the oozing gashes in Doyle's arm. A soothing, pleasantly tingling sensation will wash over him as the lifeforce drained from some small woodland critter is used to knit together flesh and take the edge off the pain. The end result is not perfect, for this is not a healing-type devil, but it is something.]

NO NEVER, I GIVE YOU NO PERMISSION HISSS

[fuckthemission]

[Doyle stares like Issac just grew a second head. That is, surprised, but aware that Luceti is a fuckin' weird place. He's not flinching away, at least. There's a plus.] ... The hell is that thing doing?

D'8

[relictusdeus]

[A scoff in amusement.] What do you think? Or do you not think at all?

[After a moment, he lets up on the insults and explains:]

He has drawn the life force from some animal in our midst and is using that energy to mend your wounds. [The dragon earns a look of approval and quiet fondness from its master.] ...A clever trick.

[fuckthemission]

Are you telling me you're stuffing my arm full of animal spirit or some shit?

[Excuse him while he's skeptical always.]

[relictusdeus]

[He just smiles at the man's attempts to brain something that is so very simple to him.

Well, the dragon's used it all up and the gashes haven't all healed. Not bad, still. It snaps its jaws shut and turns, flapping to Isaac's side. He unthinkingly strokes its cheek with the backs of his fingers as if it were a house cat.]

'tis more than you deserve.

[fuckthemission]

Awww, thank you, sweetheart.

[He'd be more genuine if you weren't always so mean to him, but oh well.]

I'll send you a card for injecting me with animal mojo.

[relictusdeus]

[But meanness is an essential part of the whole snarky package you never asked for!]

Such a touching display of gratitude.

[He doesn't quite understand all that was said, but he snorts nonetheless, a humourless sound, tilting his chin at a challenging angle.]

You can keep your worthless card... [What use has he for a piece of paper?] ... and consider how you may one day repay your debt in full.

[fuckthemission]

[Of course.]

Debt? Why does it have to be a debt? Why can't it be a nice deed toward a poor sap, free of charge?