( tagging @devilsiniquity )
the drawback of stepping through a portal of unknown origin is that there’s not necessarily someone on the other side waiting to bring you back. he’d waited around for awhile, trying everything he could think of to find his way back, only to come up empty-handed. wherever this reprieve was, whether it be in their dimension or a mirror universe, for the time being — he was stuck.
stuck but also free of the clave’s clutches.
there were worse cages to be trapped in.
mirror universe or not, thankfully things like barsremain consistent. he slips inside and settles one one of the stools, ordering himself something strong from the menu as he lets his eyes cast around. call it a sixth sense but he can feel eyes on him; senses something prickling at the back of his neck. he spots the man and makes eye contact, giving him a once-over before turning back to wait for his drink.
no runes. clearly not a shadowhunter.
there’s something about him that makes him uneasy however and once his drink’s in hand, he decides to indulge his curiosity.
“ you look just about as thrilled as i am to be here. ” he comments once he’s approached the stranger’s table, sinking into the seat opposite him without invitation.
it had gotten F A C I L E to be pressed into the smallest space: to hear water against metal and associate it with suffering ( purposeful at least and yet he missed it or certainly the hand of knowledge over the worth of his suffering ). not draining the first collateral footing in his step to aid himself back to health wasn’t without PURPOSE —- paranoia filtering through every tiny crack. filling a larger pot ready to blow just in time for foes to see his ashes; he was scared, an UNCERTAIN narrative regarding the survival of his family. that they lived, hayley had brought them back and their daughter...he’d hardly stand for anything bar her SAFETY. alas, the threads weren’t adding up: the calm tones of blues and yellows did nothing to drive comfort but to find the hollow confines of harsh reds...blacks ( when one couldn’t control life, it was often best to strive for it until his hand broke again and again from clutching a little too hard ).
the demand for answers falls short: stewing BLISSFULLY in the back of his mind was a recipe for the destruction of WHOEVER had given him refuge here. CRUEL FATE HAD PULLED THE STOCKS ON A THOUSAND YEARS OF BAD KARMA —- he’ll drink to that. scotch, bourbon. he’d lost count of the flat-tasting versions, of vegetarian options, for immortals without the stomach to indulge in EXACTLY what they needed. ( leggy blonde, the guy in the corner with the annoyingly out of place mullet? both raring options for a pick me up and yet it’s the hollow gaze of another like him that he seems to gravitate towards...call it prior convictions to judging a person before knowing them ).
a quick throwback; the last of the bourbon eliminated from the war that rages on. he’s HARDLY surprised by the approach. finds it best to wait for the ticking time bomb of whatever profane monologue was bound to leave the other’s mouth or curiosity may just kill the cat —- a worthy sacrifice in the name of his survival ( selfishly led but should leaving a trail of the man’s organs be enough to grant him access to a map, he’d do so without guilt ). “ but perhaps not as...presumptive as a man choosing to step into the belly of the beast, ” a quiet melodrama, a harsh and often merciless glow to features that don’t ever reach emotions beyond darker constructs ( certainly not for those that weren’t family ). “ thrill-seeker or a fool? —- pick wisely, there’s a ticking time bomb beneath this chessboard and it’s certain to go off with one wrong move. ” metaphors he’s almost willing to smile for: the thrilling joy of poetry never quite did more than set aflame to a candle destined to go out.
annaxmalina
snowghoul
discoholicmusic
jbbartram-illu
areudirty
stormborns
