alchemistgirl: *pokes with stick*

promptly grabs the stick.
             breaks it.
                  tosses over shoulder.

Anonymous: What are you interested in a woman?

▊✘┆—                     ❝… I'm about yey-close t’clockin’ ya one right in th’jaw, pal. Keep yer goddamn nose in your own shit.

Anonymous: If you dont tell us your love life we won't take you out for walks!

▊✘┆—                        ❝Fuckin’ great~!❞


▊✘┆—                      It’d started before she’d even chance to round the corner. A low, rumbling growl in the depths of his throat.

The chimera stood where he’d be seen, a deliberate action of warning towards one of his lesser liked intruders. He guessed she earned a few brownie points for not showing her fugly mug around here too often but when she did?… she should know about the consequences by now. 

                  ❝… what’cha doin’ in this part’a town, doc?❞

Anonymous: Come on dorochett who was your crush? First dates??

▊✘┆—                       Th’hell is this so damned important t’ya?

This was starting to get real fuckin’ annoying. It showed through minor twitches in his lips and a dangerous glint in his eyes as they broke contact with the stranger’s, settled instead on their shoulders. 

                   ❝Mind your own goddamn business.

Anonymous: I bet you had all the girls wrapped around your finger. How do you do it?

▊✘┆—                      ❝… uh. 

Weird. Thought they all hated me. Most’ve’m anyway. …'specially now.

                ❝… diet ‘n exercise…?❞ 

Anonymous: How was your teenage life. Did you had any crush one a girl? Did you had your first time?

▊✘┆—                      He quirked a brow. And a snort emitted sharp from his nostrils. 

                ❝Uuuuh, nah.
                   I just worked on th’farm with m’Pa.
                  Didn’t get out much, wasn’t interested.

The chimera shrugged his shoulders and turned away to continue cleaning the bar counter. Seems the topic was considered dropped.

Anonymous: Do you have a favorite food?

▊✘┆—                      Cobbler.

Nah. And even much as his newfound appreciation for meat brought saliva to his lips, there was still one food which won over all. That he’d snack on no matter the day or time. 


▊✘┆—                       He stepped by the tiny blanket thrown across the ground, scooping the little form into his arms and pressing a sloppy kiss to her forehead as she squeaked, wiggled in playful protest.

Whether he’d a gift for her or not, he knew it wouldn’t matter. Not to her, anyway. Not yet. But, for him it did. In the past year, so much had been taken away from her. Things were so fucking psychotic lately that he’d hardly time or energy to get himself too far from the Nest, and he didn’t want to leave her there for too long… safety precaution, some stupid irrational fear that she’d feel abandoned…

The most he’d been able to get her was a new pair of pajamas for the winter, since she’d grown like a weed and hardly fit in her oldies. Also a new box of crayons for all the wall-doodles down in the storage room. Again, he knew it’d hardly matter to her, but… he just wished he could do her better, somehow. They weren’t even wrapped.

He bounced her into one arm, balanced against his hip, and pulled the two items from their hiding spot under the bar counter. 

                ❝… Happy birthday, kid.
                         Sorry it ain’t much.

She began to babble, reached for the crayons and clumsily pulled them into her tiny hands. It was enough to bring a soft chuckle to his throat, though it fell short. Ended with a weary sigh. For a few seconds there was silence. He was still, watching her pluck and tug at the box’s top with weakened features, lips which trembled and pressed firm together. Until he forced a breath from his nose and ducked his head, nodded as path was taken to the stairwell. 

                 ❝C'mon. Let's go try those suckers out, huh?
                    …see if y’can tell’m apart ‘re not. ‘Cause I sure can’t.

Anonymous: Since you know Vulch, is he married?

▊✘┆—                        Vulch? Married? Y’mean like committed t’ONE person?

He barked a short, half-genuine laugh, the smirk on his features mildly crooked.

                 ❝That’s cute.