#doomslayermarineguy

Mistletoe / Accepting

Cursed plant. Leaving this awkward tension between them--like it already wasn’t so evident these past few days. The King appeared more like a cornered mouse than a man ready to soak up the given opportunity, eyes glancing hesitantly between dangling decoration and suited man currently standing between him and the bar. Presumably, DOOMGuy had just returned from his break, and yet--against all odds and despite the best of his efforts, they still seemed to have finally crossed paths no matter how frequent he’d darted to the restrooms just to wait his presence out.

Red glossy lips parted, brows furrowed, an overwhelming sense of panic and dread stealing whatever excitement he would have had before--and then he steps back with a thick swallow, ducking his head down and adverting his gaze.

“ Pardon me. I-- have customers to attend to... ”

Decorating / Accepting

Oh. So THAT was a ladder. A step ladder, at that. For some reason, with whatever logic King Knight had, he’d mistook the damned thing for useless junk, and where else did useless junk that King Knight didn’t want BELONG than out in the back where the dumpsters were.

But he could fix this! Maybe. Ok--he could try to salvage this. Both of them eye’d up at the marked spot where some rinky-dinky decoration was suppose to go. One notably more angry than the other.

Between the two, the Marine was certainly much taller, and lifting him would only increase that tally-tallness, right? Perfectly logical, and at this point, the King wanted to be done doing “dirty” work with his hands. The decoration is carefully placed into DOOMGuy’s hands, an unamused look and eyeroll shot towards his brief confusion before he readies himself behind, arms around hips, strength put into legs to lift him up in a wobbly, unsteady fashion. A strained grunt followed by Hungarian rambling ended with a sigh. He’s not even sure if the man’s actually putting the damned sparkly thing up or flailing like a started cat being mishandled, but either way, putting down the Marine and laying on the floor (after cleaning a spot, of course) was all he could think about.

“If *you* cause anyone problems, *I’m* gonna be the problem.”

“I can check for authenticity–”

SYMBOLS / ACCEPTING

#SUICIDE WARNING #DRUG WARNING

      Out of everyone he would have ever anticipated to take such a route, Dakota was the last on his list, even one point above himself. To see the empty bottle, see the drained look in his eyes, even more empty than what they had usually held, it was... Unnerving.

      He’d seen the man gore into so many demons. He’d seen him shriek and yell, scream into the skies with gunfire and rockets painting his surroundings red with blood and guts. And now-- he was seeing the man defeated. It was an unnerving feeling to witness it. Samuel would never admit it, not even during his hardest days where everything seemed to topple over onto his shoulders and knock him down. He was afraid--but not in the way one would expect. Not in the manner a man caring for another, be it platonic or loving, or mere acquaintances would.

      This fear was overwhelming. It felt... He felt as though he was being tested to react. Even worse, he saw himself in the Marine’s eyes. Desperate to drown away pain, much like himself. Only the Marine was “stupid” enough to take such thoughts to the next step. In theory, to save the Marines life would imply he could forgive himself for all the others he let die. It made no sense, really. He forgave himself years ago after pinning the blame onto others. After disconnecting himself from it all.

      How long had it been? Liver would fail at some point. There wasn’t any vomiting yet, implying the man might have taken it recently or kept down the contents out of sheer willpower. Despite his bodies rejecting the toxins he’d ingested.

      Thoughts raced, pounded in his head in a rhythmic beat. He contemplates CPR if the man’s heart had stopped, but what fucking mouth did he have to perform this? Even worse, what was the emergency number in this fucking CITY. It all comes down to his first actions. His instincts. His fears that drove him to race closer after having just calmly walked in with a bag of tea and other assorted groceries. They scatter to the floor, much like ants would after a bundle had been stomped on. Knees slam against the ground. Anyone living underneath would think a fridge had just fallen over. 

      He had two options here:

      Stare and watch the man die, or take the risk and shove his fingers down his throat and hope for a reaction. Then hope he was fast enough to find a hospital and intimidate the doctors into performing an emergency-whatever the fuck they do for this. He wasn’t a doctor--a medical one at least, but he knew most of the basics. It would be enough.

“ Whatever damned reason you convinced yourself was worth this... ”

      He can preach all he wants later. No warning for Dakota is given. It’s only him, a hand gripping his face and forcing his jaw open with strength that made sure he couldn’t fight back--even if he wanted to. He had to be cautious. Mindful of the gripping parts of his fingers as to not tear open anything if it was possible. Two fingers were about to go in until he realized that might be a bit too much for the man to take into his mouth. One finger it was, and with careful aim, it’s forced into the back of his mouth and held there until the man’s gag reflex took over. For a moment, Samuel contemplates punching his stomach until it happened. This was disgusting...

♚ MEME SUNDAY ♚

♚ – “ BÁTOR! ”

He wasn’t sure what had happened, the rush of adrenaline only leaving him with the knowledge that somehow his companion was writing on the floor, breaking out desperate gasps, crying out on how he couldn’t breathe.

Panic had him slamming his knees against the ground, hands desperately scrambling to figure out how to remove his plastic helmet safely. Through shaken fingers and several failed attempts, he finds the latch, nearly whipping the damned thing off, leaving gilded fingers desperately cupping the Marine’s face to keep him steady.

This wasn’t something he knew how to handle. In the Valley, danger was nothing like this. Magic and Knightly battles were one thing, but in Hive City, he’d experienced so much that left him panicked over the many ways he could die.

There weren’t bottomless pits to avoid, or beetles and propeller rats, or spikes-- or what have you. Here he was, forehead pressed to his, feeling tears sting his eyes, clouding his vision and leaving droplets pouring down his chin onto DOOMguy’s cheeks. Green eyes could only keep losing their focus as he tried to think. There had to be something he could do-- anything instead of being so useless hovering over him and staining his face with tears.

A choked up sob burst out with trembling shoulders as it dawns on him that there was nothing he could come up with. There wasn’t even a wound to examine, or to clean, or find.

The King resorts from patting his cheeks gently to nearly slapping the poor man just to keep his eyes open.

“ B--Breathe! Slow. Breathe slow, kedvesem- I... Ne halj meg! Tudom kijavítani ezt-- I’LL- I’LL FIGURE THIS OUT! ”

Forcing himself to push away and stand, the King quickly finds himself getting angry at himself for being so useless. Something else in Hungarian is screamed out until his short tantrum dies, and he’s quickly trying to scoop the larger male into his arms.

[♚]  From the heights of the canopy Inha spots a familiar figure. She has to say it’s not someone she actually expected to meet here. So ill fit Inha could do him a favour and offer company for a while. She’s bored of drinking alone by now anyway..

“ Heyyyy!!! You--- “ 

What’s his name again...? Oh well.

“ Heyyyyy, won’t you look up here already? Can’t recognize my voice? I’m heartbroken. Even though you heard it soooo much of it the other day--- “