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 Posted: Mon Nov 13, 2017 6:12 pm
So what if I'm 'visibly intoxicated'? That's no excuse to refuse a sale. It's not like selling a suicidal man a gun. Or maybe it is. But it's not like you're pulling the trigger…
Maybe I'll just pour some shitty convenience store beer up my a**. I don't need to taste it. Who needs taste. Ice's bitterness was written across his features as he left behind DestinyMart.
The world spun wildly out of kilter, whipping about in a manner where his brain sloshed about in his head. It was, he decided, a pleasantly familiar feeling — a reminder that the world was about this ******** up and twisted around. And for every stumble, every knock-kneed half-numb trip of one clubbed foot over the other, he received reminders of the state of his life. Here he was, this one-armed country song of a man, who had very few marketable skills, and a drink coaster degree, and a catastropically shitty career as a knight, and he was wandering around Destiny City on a Monday with too much blood in his alcohol system. Here he was, looking for an oasis of alcohol that no one let him buy. Instead of actually powering up and doing his job. Knight of Scholomance indeed.
Ice hiccuped, and looked blearily at the sky where stars twinkled their benign indifference at him. "'Eah, ******** you," he spat bitterly. No answer came in response — not even the familiar foreboding of Scholomance projected onto him.
So stumble on he did, using his three points of reference, until his foot tangled with a bench that very clearly jumped out in front of him and he fell, clocking his head on the way down. Ice smacked the ground with a veritable thump and his half-numb hand reached around to find his face. It took a minute, perhaps longer than a minute, but he found the part of him that was supposed to hurt. A knot was going to swell on his forehead — a travesty indeed — but it wasn't his worst problem.
His worst problem was the way the earth lurched about, threatened to turn upside-down. The way it threatened to throw him into the sky, so he clung with all his might to the welded leg of the bus stop bench. He needed it, he decided, even as passersby stepped over him with disgust in their eyes.shazari lame start but words are hard and a strick is all nerves
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Posted: Wed Dec 06, 2017 7:43 am
Not every passerby stepped over him with looks of disgust in their eyes. One passerby -- a girl in her twenties, wearing a tatty-looking coat and a cheap vinyl Rainbow Brite fanny pack slung around her waist -- stopped to do a double-take. Her high ponytail whipped around to slap her in the face momentarily with the sudden movement, and she had to stop to spit hair out of her mouth before speaking. "Oh my God," Laney Sutton called out, crouching beside him in her jeggings and her knockoff Uggs. "Isaiah, is that you? What happened?!" The look on her face very clearly said, do you need me to call an ambulance.
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Posted: Sun Dec 10, 2017 2:26 am
Ice would have — should have — vomited on Laney's outfit, but his stomach contents long ago repainted a bench. Not this bench, but some other bench some blocks away that once had a criminal law sign on it. Luckily he didn't have to train his eyes on the awful that was Laney's fashion choices, for they spun and turned and curtseyed their way out of his squinty gaze.
Her lips moved, and he took a minute to realize she wasn't offering oral. Or, really, anything of value — just concern. And concern was boring! Concern didn't come with parties or night lives or arm candy on both sides. Concern didn't offer him poppers to make the lights feel lighter and the louds feel louder. No, concern sounded like the life he left behind in Nowheresville, Wisconsin, where cattle roamed and ranchers got drunk off of piss beer. And he couldn't think of any other way to spell boring.
Nor could he literally spell it right then.
"I'm fine," he mumbled out around fake teeth. "Everything's fine." He sat up just slightly from his prostrate position and the earth spun wildly. He flashed her the cutest smile he could manage, even if most of his face felt numb with drink. She had nice tits — maybe he could drop his number in there sometime.
Or his face. Or Something Extra.
"It's my birthday," he drawled, half-expectantly.
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Posted: Mon Dec 11, 2017 12:09 pm
Everything was most certainly not fine. Isaiah appeared to be about as drunk as Laney had ever seen anyone she knew personally -- and while Laney was still only working through self-directed courses on vaguely related subjects, she knew that directly disagreeing with someone on the state of their health was unlikely to encourage their cooperation. "Okay," she said, easing back on her heels until she was sitting down, legs folded crossways. "Well, happy birthday. Are you celebrating by hugging this bench? It's a little gross down here on the ground. Don't you think so?"
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Posted: Sun Dec 17, 2017 3:55 am
"Oh, thank you," he replied perhaps theatrically, but he meant it with all the mist in his eyes.
Isaiah hummed out his slow deliberation. "Mmmmmmmaybeeee…" Squinting, he watched the leg of the bench rotate by once, twice, thrice. The rest of the world sure enjoyed spinning — including Laney. How about that. Everything was in a pirouette mood today.
Except that made walking frustrating as all ********.
"But if I stand up, I think… I think I'll vomit. And I reeeeaaaaally hate vomiting." He hated it like he hated Schörl, or Cinnabar, or any part of the Negaverse that told him to do something he didn't want to do, or how he hated the way his ex-fiancée whined, or how putting dishes in the sink always caused them to slip and slide at the most inopportune moments (and accidentally putting his hands into that once-food soup)…
Oh.
Wait.
There was a point there, wasn't there? Well it's gone now.
Slowly he let go of the bench, however, and flopped his hand around for something else to grapple onto. "Getting up is just…" He hiccuped. "Such a trouble these days."
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