[ P ] Withdrawals

Yorkshire's taverns, primarily catering to soldiers blowing off steam after a long day of work, weren't Nicharion's usual haunt. He preferred places where he might enjoy more anonymity, let loose a little more without worrying about keeping up appearances. Tonight, however, he wasn't in the right mindset to enjoy that, so he might as well go with the closest and simplest solution.

When he entered the tavern, his steps heavy and deliberate, it took just a moment for the soldiers closest to the door to notice him, putting a staggered pause on the rowdy atmosphere. His crimson gaze rolled over them unhurriedly, keeping them guessing, until at last the corners of his lips curled upwards ever so slightly, lessening the sternness of his presence to match the setting. "Don't mind me, boys. Not here to give you any extra work." Something he's been guilty of doing from time to time, he couldn't deny that much. The ability to pick any random soldier to direct them towards a task he wanted to be done was as convenient as it was satisfying.

As he seated himself at the bar, leaning against the counter with a paw, thoughtfully tapping his claws against its surface, the soldiers gradually lost interest in him and returned to their conversations... maybe sans gossip about high rank officers, but Bastien often delivered him that regardless. The thought caused his eyebrows to furrow, and he gestured to get the bartender's attention. "Give me... something vile. Set my throat on fire." The accidental rhyme caused a hoarse, amused exhale, but simultaneously poked at the sore spot that made this night impossible to enjoy.

"Bastard's late again..." he muttered under his breath, complaining to no one but himself. His partner traveled regularly, that much was easy to get used to, and even consider useful. But the colonel always grew cranky towards the tail end of Bastien's absence, ceaselessly distracted by thoughts of the familiar scent filling his lungs again, of teeth breaking his skin... And any delay to this could mean only one thing - the birdbrain was causing a ruckus somewhere again. Over the years, Bastien proved his almost uncanny ability to get out of trouble almost as easily as he got into it, so it wasn't much of a cause for concern. Nicharion merely wished he could be there, too.

manip + code: clae

This was the last place Delcan ever thought he'd be but given his circumstances... he needed a fucking drink. Apparently he and Lenora had been in some sort of coma for the past five years and were only just now waking up. He'd learned as much as he could from wolves out on the street, like the current year and which King ruled, but that did nothing to quiet his nerves and mind.

How could this have happened?

He didn't know much about the fog or the time he'd lost but he did know that he was finally free... his father, and unfortunately his mother, were dead. He'd found bones at their home and suspected they were the ones they'd belonged to. He couldn't be certain but he felt in his soul that it was true. It had been a long time, after all, and they had been old before all this. He, on the other paw, had not seemed to age a day. It was peculiar but he decided not to question it too much. He was free... free to do whatever he wanted. Yet he still felt burdened with the weight of his family, or what was left of it. He supposed he'd better get to finding out who was left now that he'd found Lenora again. She had her own things to sort out, he was sure, but when they reconvened he was going to tell her the truth. It was the least he could do.

He slipped into the bar and looked around, noting many of these men were soldiers. Figures, he was in Yorkshire after all.

Declan cleared his throat quietly and moved to the bar, sitting beside a large wolf with ruddy brown and red looking fur and crimson eyes. He didn't look familiar but he smelled almost like any other soldier in here. "Hope this seat isn't taken," he murmured, casting the man an apologetic look. He turned his head to look at the barkeep, made his order, then sat back and waited. He closed his eyes, his mind a blur with thoughts he could not contain. What was he going to do now? Where was Killian? Aely? The rest of them? He didn't want to stay in the Thieves' Guild or run drugs for them, he wanted... hell, he didn't know what he wanted he just knew he didn't want to do that anymore.

Fuck, maybe he'd join the Army too and become some upstanding citizen of Rionnach now that Saora was gone along with his parents. He chuckled to himself, finding the thought amusing.

speech

art by alz

The presence of a large wolf interrupted the wait for his drink, forcing Nicharion to turn his head with a glare ready... which he quickly reined it, realizing after a quick whiff that the man wasn’t a soldier and therefore there was nothing to admonish him for. “It is not.” he stated, plainly noting the fact, though the tone of his voice implied that going for any other seat, even a taken one, might have been a wiser choice. Then again, it might not be. As quick as he may be to judge, there’s always a way to thread the needle just right and placate him... no matter how unpleasant his mood is.

But first, a glass was placed before him, which the red brute downed without even bothering to check its contents. The beverage was strong, warming up his stomach and leaving his tongue numb.. but it wasn’t what he wanted. “Fucking mild.” he snarled, pushing the glass back towards the bartender dismissively. “Don’t make me repeat myself.” Clearly, he couldn’t hope for any of the Seagull’s offerings here... but he hoped for something at least remotely similar.

The stranger’s chuckle might as well have been claws scratching against a blackboard. The colonel’s ears folded backwards and he was one indulged impulse away from his fur bristling. But instead, he clenched his jaws like an injured soldier that’s about to have a bone re-set, and turned his head with a look of lukewarm curiosity. The man likely wasn’t a local, they have their own preferred taverns that soldiers frequent less often, and he looked young... ordinarily it would be safe to peg him for a youth considering to sign up, but appearances just don’t mean much these days. He might as well be over a decade old. “What’s so funny?”

Nicharion wanted nothing more than for the answer to be an interesting one. His patience just might run dry otherwise...

manip + code: clae

The large man beside him seemed a little annoyed that Declan had chosen to sit here, but not annoyed enough to do anything about it. At least he wouldn't have a fight on his hands so soon after waking up... at least not yet, anyway. The night was still young. There was still time, he guessed. Declan got his drink and started sipping at it, while the other man downed his in one go. His brow rose slightly and he angled his head to side-eye the soldier for a second as he complained to the bartender that his drink was not what he'd wanted.

It wasn't until he was addressed directly before he turned his face fully towards the man. He looked him over once, wondering just how far up the chain this one was. He had never liked soldiers, but then again he had always been on the wrong side of the law thanks to his father. He shrugged his shoulders, a small smile winding upon his thick muzzle. "Just laughing at myself," he admitted. Maybe the man had thought he'd been laughing at him but he hadn't been, despite his reaction to his drink being amusing.

"Declan." he offered with a nod of his head.

"I had never thought about it before today, but I thought about joining the Army. Seems funny to think about after all this time." he said. "I'm one of the sorry fuckers that just woke up and now my life's all fucked and I don't know what to do about it." he said with a shrug, as if it wasn't the entirely huge deal it actually was. This was actually a pretty big problem considering he didn't know anything about his family's whereabouts or what the future held but then again he hadn't known the future before either. He was used to going at the world blind, but he'd always had the direction of his father or brother. They had always been his compass, despite being a bad one. Without them... without his shitty family, who was Declan O'Conaill?

speech

art by alz

The answer was stalling for time, neither satisfying the red brute nor annoying him further. Fortunately, the dark-furred male proved to be rather chatty, quickly offering his name and elaborating further. Nicharion mirrored the other’s nod, acknowledging the introduction but not deeming it necessary to return the favor just yet. ‘Colonel Valentine’ was the only identity to wear here, but the rank had a way of influencing conversations in ways that he would prefer to avoid for now.

“Hmmh. Been there.” he commented, rather unamused by the memory, though in a way it was comforting. His mood might be sour tonight, but it was nothing compared to how shitty he’d felt before blind chance caused him to completely turn his life upside down. But in the end, it wasn’t the change of profession that made life worth living.. it merely provided engaging challenges to tide him over until he found what he needed.

Finally, Declan threw him a bone, something to draw his curiosity, when he admitted to being one of the wolves who have slept through the fog. “Ah.. must be an interesting experience.” Nicharion had no regrets about being awake and unaging for the past five years, but it was entertaining to imagine the perspective of someone who had slept through it. To see in an instant how much the world has changed... and how much it hasn’t. “There will be many new recruits in the same position as you, I reckon.” he mused, tapping a claw against the bar counter with a slow rhythm. The army always was a compelling choice for those who feel lost, because it sorts everything out for them, at least so long as they occupy the entry level ranks. All they have to do is act as they’re told and not ask any questions.

He put the thought on hold, turning his attention to his new drink. The smell alone would be enough to make a wolf of more delicate tastes gag. Nicharion took a slow sip, savoring the burn in his nerves, the fleeting feeling of lightheadedness that sank into him and dulled his senses. “Passable.” The closest to what he wanted that he could hope for here, at any rate. “Pour the boy one, too.” he barked out, pointing to Declan with a tilt of his head. After another sip, his eyes turned back to the young wolf, looking him up and down with practiced thoroughness. “Think you got what it takes to stand out among them?” There was a particular edge to his words, a faint growl that was frisky rather than condescending. He wasn’t asking Declan to merely guess his chances, nor implying that he had none. He wanted to be impressed.

manip + code: clae