#fangsforhire

recent commissions!

@fangsforhire / @salvationofsouls is truly a great friend to have within the RPC. They can be a pain at times ( lovingly ), but they've gotten me through some tough times, and their muses are all so incredibly thought out, with complex backgrounds and so much detail to them. You can honestly tell that they love each muse they write, both from the detail put into them as characters, and in their writing.

Abel's rarely out and about without any sort of company nowadays; Usually one to visit restaurants with Anna (his wife) or to lounge at a bar together with some coworkers for a beer or two, it almost feels wrong to exist at this place all by himself.

---He'd needed a breather, felt his own temper rising to extremes he'd almost felt afraid of; Pressure had built, emotions tugged at vulnerable insides, a patience growing so thin words had left his lips he wished to have remained unsaid instead - so here he is, inside a bar he's never seen the inside of before, taking drag after drag from his cigarette in an attempt to steady his tense nerves.

---And then there it is, a sudden drink appearing from seemingly out of nowhere, with the young bartender setting it down in front of Abel; A somewhat confused gaze flicks up to that guy before a voice interrupts, causes attention to trail to the side instead, to another man who must've taken a seat next to him earlier, without Abel having even noticed...

A blink follows, full lips part before they close - then part again, just to fall closed for a second time - and Abel doesn't even know what to say to that; He looks lonely, really? ...Well, perhaps he does. He supposes that not many men wearing an expensive camelhair coat decide to take a seat at a bar all by themselves, just to have one cigarette after another---

"...Thanks." Awkward, a little unsure still, Abel lifts a careful brow at the unknown man before eyeing that drink; Whiskey, he supposes. Shit, he hasn't had anything else than wine in... a very long time, yeah. It does appear alluring to him however - said drink - and he curls the fingers of his free hand around the glass, blinks, then dark eyes are back on the stranger next to him.

"You didn't have to, though. But I... appreciate it."

Another drag of that cigarette, a much slower exhale, followed by Abel taking a sip of said Whiskey - it burns a bit, tastes bitter at the back of his throat, but also... nice, in its very own way. Like returning to an old friend one hasn't met in literal decades...

He stood there, mouth pursed in a thin line as he took in the other man. He finally raised an eyebrow slowly, realizing he had just realized what irked him.

@fangsforhire

It was Blair's first year in professional psychiatry, her doctorate newly minted and not even hanging on the wall because this wasn’t officially her office. She shared it with another recent graduate, both of them new to the practice. She'd seen patients before, of course, in clinicals, some with supervision and some without. She didn't mind paying her dues. She'd always known she wanted to help people.

The office was comfortable but not terribly personal, her manner relaxed, kind, and non-judgmental. She might not be able to identify with everything her patients were going through, but she felt for them. Paying for his choices was an interesting way of phrasing it. Blair believed that actions had consequences, but it was another thing to say they paid for them. It almost implied an element of punishment, not as overt as paying for one's sins, but in the same neighborhood. "What choices do you feel you're paying for?"