ruffians | eames » open post

[cont]

[Eames watches Molly, taking in the way he holds himself and the way he moves, enjoying the view as he closes the front door.]

It's made with oíche fíniúnacha mostly, they glow beautifully this time of year.

[He doesn't savour the spectacle of the drink the way Molly does — it's normal for him, after all — simply taking a sip, allowing some of that mist to travel up his nose. It has a scent vaguely reminiscent of fog in autumn and a taste that's sweet and crisp, lightly fizzy on the tongue. He sighs when he swallows, it's been a while. The easy way it slides down his throat and leaves a warm feeling sitting in his stomach-- there's no mortal drinks that do that for him.]

I can't do dinner tonight :(

[x]

You seem like you'd be unbearable on meth.

Sweeney, I'm not dealing with them anymore.

[The knock on Eames' flat door came from much lower than usual, and was considerably lighter. On the other side of the door stood a small boy, no more than seven-years-old. He stood there in a second-hand school uniform, his backpack, which was nearly half his size, on the ground as he put his tablet back in, waiting for the door to open.

When it does, he looks up at the man who appeared.]

Mr. Eames? Hi. Mummy said to find you if I need help. And I founded you.

[Meet William John Sikes.]

"Who was that?" Reynard's voice sounds casual, just on the verge of not even interested, almost bored, nothing to show that he cares much about the answer one or the other. Except, of course, the fact that before just now stepping up next to Eames and asking said casual question, he had been nowhere to be seen, heard, nor otherwise in any way present for a good while.

That part might be a bit suspicious, given the timing and the all too intentionally casual tone. "A friend?"

[ She'd closed up at the bar early, seeing as how they'd had a total of two customers her whole shift, a stolen bottle of Jack tucked under her arm as she unlocks the door to her apartment. Stopping in her tracks at the messy trail of blood on the ground in front of her, she sets the bottle down, drawing the gun holstered inside her jacket and stepping quietly into the entryway to follow the bloody trail towards the bathroom. ]

If this is some kind of practical joke, it's a pretty shitty one.

She's never been to Deerland. She has absolutely no idea what hell Eames has been through. All Nancy knows is that Eames wants to see her and she's going to see him even though she's pretty sure she just saw him on Saturday. But, whatever Eames wants, Eames gets- at least according to a grumpy temper-tantrum werewolf.

With an eye-roll as she recalls her beloved's attitude this afternoon, Nancy knocks on Eames' front door before letting herself in.

"Hey," she calls into the house, before preparing for the incoming Boxer attack. He's the best boy, and can smell Bull's Eye on her before she's even fully in the house. "You wanted to see me?" He'd sounded different in his message. It was worrying to say the least.

@maukingthegrave

you wanted text action. when everyone's honeymooning, before murder

@potofgold

no subject

possessive jealousy or something or other, let us just run with it

hurt me, comfort me

welcome home eames?