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F.A.Q. ♦ RULES ♦ PLOT ♦ FACE CLAIM ♦ CANON SPECIFICS ♦ BIO FORMAT ♦ CANONS ♦ DEATH TO MARY SUE! ♦ BELIEFS ♦ EVENTS |
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JOLY Technicolor-Werewolf SISTER SITES  
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| Angst, Brandy, Absinthe, and Confessions; For 'Ferre-Bear. <333 | |
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| Topic Started: Jun 19 2009, 03:25 AM (50 Views) | |
| Erical | Jun 19 2009, 03:25 AM Post #1 |
Leader of the Surete
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Alec couldn't tell if he was asleep or alive, dreaming or drowning, dead or in hell. There was a scorpion-tail of light coiling over the bed, so hot that his foot... why was his foot bare and muddy?... was beginning to... and the bottoms of his trousers all torn into frothy snake-tongue rags?... burn... It was hardly a new state of affairs to have a hangover. Become a habit. Stagger home, brush yer teeth to get rid of the smell of vomit, spit and rinse, fall over, wake up, drink raw eggs with brandy, and be violently ill in some corner of the room that didn't stink yet. It was amazing he still had an apartment. Merde. What wasn't normal, usual, or even bloody likely was the gaping holes of memory that were creeping around the edges of his mind. Where the hell had he been yesterday? Out with Marie? Or maybe Georgette? Over at the Cafe Musain letting Enjolras know how many apostrophes... Dieu. With a rattling creak, the stretching yawning maws of forgetfulness closed, and Alec remembered. Ignoring the ache in his chest and the blood-pounding pressure in his head, he rolled over and was sick all over the floor. |
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| Elise | Jun 19 2009, 09:48 AM Post #2 |
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He squinted in the bright sunlight as he stepped out of the door of his flat. Too bright. Too early... well, actually Antoine, it's half-past eleven. Not early at all. Combferre had meant to get a much earlier start on the day. But somewhere the day had slipped past his fingers. He woke up early enough, that was certain. Antoine notied a smudge on his glasses, and paused for a moment to polish it off. He gently breathed on the glass, and commented silently to himself that he could smell the brandy on his own breath. A morning spent with a comforting glass--or two-- of brandy. It had occurred to him that it was probably a very bad idea to get drunk so early. So he had stopped. Stopped and prayed on his knees for an hour and a half, the entire rosary. One hundred and fifteen invocations to Marie, Meré de Dieu. He wound about the streets, calmly obeying the small scrap of paper with the address on it. He gripped the strap on the leather bag tightly, counting off in his mind everything that could be wrong with the man. And hoping that he hadn't died during the night-- --because at the hospital, they always had Antoine carry away the dead children. He approached the door, death fresh on his mind, and knocked gently. |
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| Erical | Jun 20 2009, 11:30 PM Post #3 |
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Leader of the Surete
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Fragments of horror, Tartarus personified, slipped through Alec's mind and settled in the soupy, alcoholic mess on the floor. The stench gagged him, and he retched on an empty stomach, his chest sore and his heart lost somewhere around the core of the earth. ...Enjolras... 'Ferre... Dieu how many of them had seen him hacking up his lungs like a baby with consumption? Like a weakling, a fool... and then Bahorel. Dieu forfend that sot should remember. Dieu forfend the sot should have seen. Dieu... Dieu forfend he should live. There was someone knocking, rap-rapping on his door. Fates come in, take me away with you. I've had my fill of it. Enough. Bloody hell enough. Let me go to hell and kick my heels at the sky. With his luck it would be Apollo himself come to see how the winecask looked without his armour. "Go. Away." It had been planned as a defiant shout, a carousing yowl that would teach the world to presume upon Alec Grantaire. But it didn't succeed, crashing into another wrench of his stomach and gurgling away into oblivion. |
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| Elise | Jun 21 2009, 12:09 AM Post #4 |
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"Grantaire." He knocked on the door once more, believing he had heard something and praying that the man wasn't dead. Seeing him cough so violently was painful enough, but finding a dead man... Antoine shivered involuntarily. Hard enough, when you find the dead child in the morning. Someone's precious fair-haired ange, a soul gone flying in the night, when you had spoken with her mere hours before. Told her that she'd be better soon. You're better now, ange. And that thought was painful enough. "Alec Grantaire, please open the door, it's Combeferre." he said somewhat loudly, recalling that he was, more than likely, terribly hung over. He'd been drunk the night before. Drunk and coughing. He knocked again, trying to hold his mind in the present. ...come on, lad. Just cover her up and put her in the morgue. You'll have to get used to them. They die all the time... ...I have a niece just your age, little one. She loves to run outside and chase birds. She has hair just like yours. Rest in peace... He moaned, and let his head fall on the hard door. It was warm outside, no, hot, and the brandy had already rushed to his head. Just open the door... |
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| Erical | Nov 1 2009, 09:56 PM Post #5 |
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Leader of the Surete
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Knocking. Hephaestus at his forge, knocking. Banging out thunderbolts by the dozen. Allo pretty thunderbolts, where are you off to? Smite away and rid me of this damned cough. Please. Please please please. Alec Grantaire, consummate failure. Maybe they could put it on his grave. Drunkard, could not even kill himself, failed. Maybe he should write it down somewhere in his will. Coughs followed stomach cramps which then produced more coughing. Damn you to hell whoever you are, just come the bloody hell in or go away. |
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