#tokenofambition

[shuibhnc-blog]

@tokenofambition liked [ x ]

            ❝ ...don’t much care fer wheat. Prefer rye,                            t’be honest with ya. ...but s’pose beggars                            can’t be choosers, eh? ❞

            He remarked in good turn, plucking the palm-sized loaf of bread from the windowsill and tearing off a piece of it between his smirking teeth.

[cladhaire-blog]

continued from x

Watch: sprawling grin tugs at the corners of his lips, gold glints the corner of his eyes. A brow arches slow. Amusement warms his countenance, molds the hardened edges into something uncharacteristically unguarded -- something soft. 

 “ Deadly things, those eyes o’yours. Could bring a man to his knees, I’d wager. ” 

[coiintriicks-blog]

@tokenofambition​ gave this a ❤

       This place was so strange, it was similar to home. The open fields and large woodland areas did bring back some memories, but other than that everything was different. The people, the weather even the animals were unlike the ones back in Éire. He’s not sure if he likes it or not. It’s not to see a change from the nearly 4000 years of being stuck on the same island. He’s travelled all over the small country, see nearly everything three times already. So he should be happy that he doesn’t have to suffer that repetitive life. Shouldn’t he?

      Leaning against a large oak tree, smoking from his old pipe. He sat there, near enough to a small settler village. It was pretty close to where she was, Essie, he smiled at the thought of her name. She’s the reason he’s here. Her belief in him brought him here. He couldn’t be angry at her for it, nowadays less and less people leave bread and milk for him. So he was grateful that she was there, still believing him. Pausing as he heard the sound of footsteps. He waited, curious to see who was approaching.

[madkingsweeney-blog1]

he needs a drink. his night's been rougher than a dominatrix with a bullwhip and it shows from the black eye and busted lip he's sporting. luckily he's been to bars like this before a thousand times or more: dive joints that offer cheap swill that float your problems away for a few hours --- until you wake up the next day with your head split in two. just what the doctor ordered. they all look the same as the one the next town over, smell the same too, but the minute he steps foot through the door something doesn't FEEL the same. there's a low hum beneath his skin that he hasn't truly felt in a few hundred years. f a i t h. faith in HIM -- and not the kind of him that's plastered on a cereal box and peddled off to bratty little ankle-biters. it's real and it's pure and it nearly knocks him off his ass as he approaches the near empty counter.

she's got her back to him but when she turns to look, he can't help staring a moment. her face is thinner, her eyes a bit dulled, but he thinks of another face from another life so many years ago and it takes him a moment to find words. ❝ southern comfort and coke, love, ❞ he gets out in a raspy tone, the softest irish lilt left in. his eyes linger on the curve of her cheek a moment more before he silently scolds himself for being a damn puss. his gaze drops to the wood finish and his fingers search for the cigarettes in his jacket pocket.  ❝ bother ya fer a light as well? ❞

@tokenofambition. starter call.