#beccabobecs

   “are you for real?”

                    FOR A THOUSAND-YEAR-OLD former -whatever, it had become ever-harder to say that the hard day he had had was worse than OTHERS in his very long life, but Kol was having a HELLACIOUSLY BAD DAY. What had started as a series of one souring of fortune after another had become an almost-laughable cacophony of What-Not-To-Do 101. By the early afternoon, any grace he carried had faded; any patience he had was used, and any humor he could have had had curdled to an irascible energy looking for a way to get out. He ( and his personal raincloud ) made their way to the only place in the city where the prying eyes of the ANCESTORS were made moot, and in the bar, he made a place for himself at a small table to the side, silently fuming, though the his face only betrayed a furrow in his brow and a tight – almost to being locked – jaw. He glanced over at a pair of wandering eyes, feeling them on him from when he had made his seat. “Welcome to New Orleans,” he said, lips curling into a soured faux-grin. “In case you were wondering, whatever brought you here was a mistake. Or if you were born here: leave.”