time: 12:30am location: triton’s availability: closed for @ofchvrming
his heart hurt watching the expensive woodlander cars go up in flames, but there was an unmistakable ache when he spotted his own beat up, dark green scrap - as he lovingly called it, usually accented with kicks to the already dented exterior - caught in the ignited row of cars.
it wasn’t much, no, but it was his - a growing rarity as of late - and complain as he may of the creaking car, it was what carried him from norwich to columbia, from manhattan to fable city - one escape to another with what little he had crammed in the backseat. at the very least, soren’s grateful for the car for getting him out of a number of personalized hells (though admittedly, it always carried him to yet another hell of its own right, so he supposes the fact that it went up in flames was rather fitting, but still -- )
he flags down the bartender and slurs something similar to just two of anything that’ll fuck me up, eyes determined when he downs whatever’s slid over to him, the liquid burning his throat and the boy shuddering before pushing the other glass to the figure who just joined him.
roland park himself. or at least soren hopes so - he’s edging past tipsy and everything is slowly hitting that haze he’s wanted since the night began, smiling too wide at the other man.
“it’s on me. it’ll make you feel significantly worse, but - “ a pause. his brain is turning too slow and his vision is spinning too fast. “ - the night’s already in the shits, so might as well just say fuck it anyways.”
