iä!

“ lost little baabeasts usually spend more time gawking than they do actually enjoying themselves. ”

lanque puts a hand on his hip, allowing his body to be put fully on display. anyone else would think this game gets old eventually, picking up whoever walks by that seems interesting. he’s just too busy adoring all the attention to really care.

“ oh, they don’t need too much roughing up if they get in your way. i bet a strong man like yourself could take ‘em, though. ”

he drapes his arm around demyan and starts walking with him down the street.

This guy sure is touchy, huh?

Demyan’s curiosity gets the better of him and he allows Lanque to walk him down the street; if it turns dicey or violent then, well. He’d deserve it, which would be absolutely fine. Demyan’s always been a bit reckless, a bit ... lacking in the self-preservation department.

🎶 | @GODSOFT // “Having a great time being in immeasurable pain.”      ↪ MEME // NOT ACCEPTING

✧*:･ﾟ| THAT must be sarcasm, yes? Siebren’s glance is utterly apprehensive, bright eyes awash with concern. As someone who befriends others with REMARKABLE quickness, so too does his emotions flow freely. Hands reach out, steadying the other, firm, but not bruising against the crux of an arm. ❝I do not believe it is normal to consider being in PAIN a great time. Please, let me help you.❞

It feels like cracked ribs, a shoulder wrenched out of socket. His sardonic grin twists down into more of a grimace of pain when Siebren comes close enough to steady him with a hand.

“Gimme. I’ll do it.” She holds out her hand for the cloth. “If you’re gonna look like less of a mess, we can at least save your skin.” 

“Your master?” Of course her mind immediately goes to where it shouldn’t, which is the kind of master only she’s been called before. “Maybe you should get that checked out, for the sake of your clothes. It’s gonna be such a bitch to get blood out of everything if it happens for-fucking-ever.”

Her eyes roll in mild annoyance, but she finds herself smiling anyway. “Oh, for sure. A lot more blood than you, too. Kinda nice to not get sprayed with it when someone gets a nosebleed for once.”

Demyan hands the cloth over, moving forward a little to let her help. He’s considered getting help for it before, but it never sticks enough for him to pursue it. So he stays quiet for a beat.

It’s not supposed to be like this; the healing factor seems so far out of reach now that he really needs it. It’s like his consciousness can’t reach that part of him, and what good does it even do when he’s so prone to this Godforsaken illlness? 

His hand comes weakly against the door, far too weak to really be heard by his roommates --- if they’re even home. 

He drinks in deep breaths as well as he can, and he slumps against the door even further. How pathetic.

If there’s a cure for this wanderlust, then Demyan hasn’t found it. He spends more time outside than he does inside, in search of something he has no name for. Purpose, people? A fight, a cure? Who knows.

He has one hand cupped around the end of a cigarette somewhere in Archimedes, thinking that if someone were to come by it’d be nice. At what feels like an hour way too early, he doesn’t think its likely.

Someone approaches, and Demyan takes a step back.

@godsoft liked for a starter!

the nightlife in spirale is just so much better than it was in outglut. so many different kinds of people, and the landscape just never gets old. a city that truly feels alive. every time lanque thinks he’s met everyone, “ oh aren’t you interesting! ” a new target always surfaces.

he saunters over to skulk around demyan’s frame. the troll always adores how thin everyone’s skin is. it’s such a thrill to see all that red, and while he’s met some people that have a bit more to expose underneath… lanque has never seen a color he genuinely couldn’t comprehend. “ i’ve never seen you around here before… but you aren’t exactly new, are you? ”

“How could you tell ... ?”

Lanque is interesting himself; Demyan cocks his head to the side some, eyeing over the horns, the frame. If Lanque is raking him over then Demyan’s doing the same. He takes a step backwards, however.

The grin grows, a little lopsided.

a very specific plot i wanna play out!

in short, i’d like for someone to be friends with demyan and to maybe teach him that he should want more for himself — he feels like he deserves his ink sickness, and i want someone to help him realize that he can do better, feel better.

this is a long term plot obviously, so i’m in it for the long haul. please IM me if you’re interested!

in short, i’d like for someone to be friends with demyan and to maybe teach him that he should want more for himself --- he feels like he deserves his ink sickness, and i want someone to help him realize that he can do better, feel better.

“ isn’t it kind of silly how people feel like they’re supposed to celebrate that it’s been a year since a really specific thing happened? anniversaries and shit are kinda dumb~ ”

          “– Been a while since I’ve had one of the weak ones… But I just ran out of my usual stash tonight, and it looks like someone’s in a good mood. Who am I to dampen the moment?“

     A gloved hand was quick to snatch up one of the offered sticks, his fingers making it twirl around so effortlessly as he brought it up to his lips. The well-dressed crook had been out for a late-night stroll, taking a break from his own bar to see how the competition was doing… He certainly didn’t expect to come across this. But Roman Torchwick is certainly no man to turn his nose at the sight of a beating, no sir! If anything, this simply helps brighten up his own mood. There’s nothing quite as exhilarating as the aftermath of a good street-side brawl… That’s the explanation he’ll go with, at least.

          “What’s the occasion for tonight’s fun, stranger?”

The comment gets a grin from him, lopsided and toothy; pinching the smoke between his forefinger and thumb, Demyan flicks the ash off into the night air. Blood runs down his chin, his neck, dripping thick.

“Well thanks for playing along.” he goes, looking from Roman to glance back at the brightly glowing sign behind him, a beacon for the other drunks and derelicts wandering the streets at night.

“Wanderlust, is all. I don’t like my place much, I’d rather not hole up unless I can help it.” he sniffs, wipes the blood away --- finally --- with the back of his free hand, “I don’t think anyone wants to mess much with a guy like me but this joint has decent drinks.”

He looks to the person next to him, a new arrival, offering a smoke from his pack.