#threads: daniel l.

[arch-slash]

it had been a year since daniel lost his entire family. a year since he's set foot upon the now charred land of the le domas estate. a year of calls from the family lawyer pleading for daniel to begin the process of going through all of the assets left behind. he can admit he's been neglecting his responsibilities. now that daniel was doing well in his sobriety, he felt more inclined to deal with the aftermath of his tragedy. the problem was that he didn't think he could do it alone. 'you can say no,' daniel confirms after asking mason to accompany him back to his childhood home. palms rub nervously together. 'no obligation, of course. i just think it would be easier, you know? if i had you there with me,' close lipped grin is given to mason. he tries not to look too hopeful or desperate. 'and you can slap the bottle out of my hand when i inevitably need a drink, afterward,' he follows his request with a joke, as usual. @greenelight.

[slashaer]

the bar was dim, quiet, and smelled of cigarettes and regret, just the way daniel liked it. a safe place to disappear for a few hours without anyone asking why he was nursing the same glass of bourbon for half the night. somewhere between a dive and a memory, it had a jukebox that didn’t work and a bartender who didn’t talk unless you tipped too well. he was halfway through his second drink when he noticed her. she had that kind of presence, like a lit fuse in a crowded room. pretty, sure, but there was something off-kilter in her smile, something watchful in the way her eyes scanned the place like she was casing it. like she was waiting for a reason to bolt — or a reason to strike.

she slid onto the barstool next to him like she’d done it a thousand times, like she belonged there. that confidence, that electric edge to her, daniel didn’t know her name yet, but he knew the type. he didn’t look at her right away, just sipped his drink, then said without turning his head, 'you don’t strike me as the quiet, drink alone kind of girl,' daniel finally glanced over, studying her. young. sharp. that same storm he’d seen in a mirror once, before he decided to slowly drink himself to death. 'you’re not local,' he added. 'too composed. no small-town rot on you yet. let me guess — running from something, or running toward it?' he gave her a crooked smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes. 'either way, you don’t end up in a place like this by accident,' @by-reign / jill roberts.

[arch-slash]

'i promise i won’t cry on you if you sit next to me,' @eurosleaz.