to chase away the boredom (rowen)

[Eoin Fitzpatrick]

Eoin smiled widely as he rested against the cage, watching everything with his intense blue eyes. A loud clanging of the bars produced a harsh melody, while his lips were curving around a sweet tune.“And it’s all for me grog, me jolly, jolly grog. All for me and tobacco. Well, I spent all me tin with the lassies drinkin’ gin.”

[/color] The song contradicted his situation—the melancholy should have crept in, should have killed his spirit, but he found it all to be quite amusing, almost like a vacation. And he just happened to be spending his days in a very, very dingy motel. The trader let out a string of curses, jutting out a very pudgy looking finger. “Shut your mouth you little fucker.” A snicker let Eoin’s throat—the threats fell on deaf ears. He knew they wouldn’t touch them, didn’t want to ruin their little cash cow. Humans were greedy for money, they were idiotic. Money talked, and nobody waked. But, to appease the trader, he zipped his lips with long fingers. The man seemed to deflate, all the tension disappearing from his body. And he seemed oddly pleased with himself, his ego must have suddenly go into overload.

Sadly though, Eoin liked to push buttons, and he didn’t know how to keep from spewing words. “Oi mate, ye know what ye need? Ye need some wee curtains—they’d really spruce the place up, don’t ye think?”[/color] he asked innocently. And to his delight, he could practically see the smoke coming out of his ears. A job well done. Oh, if only he was attractive—but sadly, the trader looked like he had hit every ugly branch on the way down and then some. His teeth were a yellow color. And his breath, oh god. He’d have to chug bleach just to erase the memory.

His blue eyes flicked down to his wrists, feeling the weight of the metal against his skin. He scrunched his nose in disgust—the metal was rusted and eroded, not even fit for a slave. He was afraid that he might end up with green rings around his untarnished skin because it was so cheaply made. The smell of urine and body odor wafted through the air, making him nearly choke. It was disgusting. They were all pathetic characters, all hopeless and destitute. And they were not very good company—they were too busy living in their own hellish haze. And the moans weren’t even the good kind. What a pity.

Eoin grew bored quickly, wanting some sort of excitement, some sort of adventure. And, he could, if only the trader would stop eyeing him up, like he was trying to make his head explode, or undressing him. Either way, he was not that desperate. With a sly smile, he moved to the side of the cage, his chains jingling quietly. He met the wide, fearful eyes of another slave. Clearly they thought he was odd—what with the merry attitude and colorful mouth. “Hey love, how about you distract tubby over there, and I’ll give you this pretty good coin.” He said, letting the gold glint in the dim light. The slave seemed wary, his eyes scanning the room for a moment, before snatching the coin and nodding. Eoin smiled in delight when a loud wail reverberated around the room, causing the trader to jolt with shock and then waddle over to the human. It probably wasn’t all that moral or fair to toy with the hopeless and downtrodden, but, he was sure he wouldn’t lose any sleep. “Catch me if ye can.” He said in a sing song way, before disappearing into thin air.

Some whiskey would really hit the spot right now.
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[Rowen Krosby]

The bar was calling his name that day. He could practically hear the jovial music playing in his mind, calling for him. Tonight was a night for merriment. He loved to be around happy people, to have as much fun as possibly before dropping dead. Or maybe, whilst dropping dead. Either way, it seemed like the pub was the place to be. Besides, there were always interesting people to be met when alcohol was flowing through one’s veins. Even if Rowen rarely remembered their names the day after.

It seemed like a good night for everyone to go to the Laughing Villain. It was bumpin’, everyone seemed to be there, having a good time. Rowen found a spot at the bar, and he quickly ordered a shot of tequila and then a kamikaze, just to start the day off right. As he finished that, he ordered another.

He was enjoying himself, yes, but it was time for him to find some company. He loved being around people. It was in his blood. People came, people went, but it was always good to have someone around. Especially on nights like this. Rowen was new to Corpus Christi, and he didn’t have any friends in the area. But he figured he could find someone to keep him company, maybe many someones, preferably male with loose morals. But really, those were technicalities.

[Eoin Fitzpatrick]

Eoin casually walked into the bar, his blue eyes roaming the room. Now, this is where someone like him belonged, this was his atmosphere. The small trickle of conversations and the lazy smiles crawling on their faces as the alcohol starts to burn in their stomachs. Everyone was here to have a good time, to forget the day, and perhaps to make some hazy mistakes. And, he’d see if he could work his magic, if he could meddle a little bit, if he could help a few people lose all their inhibitions. His blue eyes were alight with mirth, winking at a young lad who seemed to be transfixed and watching him blush a very delicious red. Oh yes, this was far better than sitting in a dank room with a bunch of beast-like humans.

He made his way to the bar, giving a nod to the man who was sliding his hands down a bottle. It looked like a very sensual gesture, but he tended to see innuendo everywhere—Freud would have been smiling with pride. Oh, he was a cheeky little Austrian back in the day, and a bit of a crackpot, but fun nonetheless.“Hey mate, I am in need of a whiskey.” He said, smiling widely. Eoin knew of his slave status, but that didn’t stop him from mingling, from hiding in plain sight. Besides, if he was going down, he was going to make sure to make it a hell of a night.

He eyed the amber liquid, licking his lips, before downing it easily. Sometimes he cursed his Irish blood, because it took awhile to actually feel it, to be able to feel loose. He hummed lightly, wondering how drunk everyone would have to get to actually be a bit of fun, to not be so uptight. Sometimes the morals of humans were really a turn off—they couldn’t just let go without the help of some liquid courage. “Whiskey, you're the devil, you're leadin' me astray. Over hills and mountains and to Americae. You're sweeter, stronger, decenter, you're spunkier than tae. O whiskey, you're my darlin' drunk or sober.” he sang quietly, his Irish lit wrapping around the words. So, who would be his prey tonight?