Post by shinigami on Jul 16, 2008 0:13:18 GMT -8
Valentine Crow has his head in his hands. His hands are strong hands, well-worked; a craftsman's hands. He has had his head in his hands for the last hour, except for when he needs a hand to drink. When that happens, he stays slumped over the countertop. Occasionally, he buries his head in his arms.
His shirt is gray, and unbuttoned; his tank is white, and unstained. He has a slim band of silver around his wrist and it is set with a single stone: moonstone, for clarity of thought, for good dreams. He would smell good if it weren't for the heavy and practically visible halo of booze smell that lingers around him.
Valentine Crow doesn't often go out to get drunk. Not like this. Not like this: his beautiful silvery eyes bleary, unable to focus, so of course they look too focused. And they're too focused on the mirror behind the bar, and his own reflection. He looks like he'd kill it.
He looks as sad as a kicked puppy. He tells the 'tender to get him another drink. The 'tender doesn't argue, although he might start arguing soon. Sooner, if he realizes how much cash Valentine does NOT have on his person.
The bar is a deadend dive in the middle of nowhere, off the main strip. Val hadn't gone there alone, but he was alone now.
Yeah. Alone. Except for his thoughts. And he was trying to get rid of those.
His shirt is gray, and unbuttoned; his tank is white, and unstained. He has a slim band of silver around his wrist and it is set with a single stone: moonstone, for clarity of thought, for good dreams. He would smell good if it weren't for the heavy and practically visible halo of booze smell that lingers around him.
Valentine Crow doesn't often go out to get drunk. Not like this. Not like this: his beautiful silvery eyes bleary, unable to focus, so of course they look too focused. And they're too focused on the mirror behind the bar, and his own reflection. He looks like he'd kill it.
He looks as sad as a kicked puppy. He tells the 'tender to get him another drink. The 'tender doesn't argue, although he might start arguing soon. Sooner, if he realizes how much cash Valentine does NOT have on his person.
The bar is a deadend dive in the middle of nowhere, off the main strip. Val hadn't gone there alone, but he was alone now.
Yeah. Alone. Except for his thoughts. And he was trying to get rid of those.
