welcome to your new hell, Welcome to the Menagerie. Or as we like to call it, Dome Sweet Dome! We are an eight-year strong futuristic shapeshifter and sci-fi creature roleplay, dedicated to bringing you a world unlike any other; a world in which your character has become an experiment and must fight for survival in a domed city, cut off from the rest of the world. Choose to be any animal in your fight for survival in an artificial world built by the Keepers as they subject you to experiments beyond your control. Choose to wander the world inside the walls alone, as a Rogue, or find safety in numbers in one of the groups known as Rings. How will you survive?
60 - 65 ºF
blustery with scattered showers spotty sunshine
YEAR 2309
shift bans.
» Cougars (aka Puma, Mountain Lion, Panther)
» All Tiger Species
» All Lion Species
» All Wolf Species
» African Leopards
group bans.
none.
encouraged !
FEMALE CHARACTERS! create a RETRO or ANTHRO and get 250 CP + a free skill! read me for more info!
last updated: april 19th, 2016
Click on each Ring or Retro group image to view their ranks!
GROUP UPDATES
CARNARING
Jocelyn Edelwolfe is the new Alpha! Seija Mulviene is the new Beta, and Grey is the new Delta. Lead Hunter is now Boone Haywood, Head of Border Patrol is now Noelle Ndango!
FALLENRING
-
FULSIRING
Fulsi has a standing treaty with the Nakoma, granting limited access to their fresh water.
NAKOMA TRIBE
-
ANALOYA PRIDE
a while back, the Analoya suffered a suspicious poisoning of their river, luckily with few casualties; the Bellator are suspected of having taken part in it, and there are whispers that Pride leader Wanderer is talking alliance with the Nilda for access to their clean water.
BELLATOR HERD
As new leader of the Bellator, Loril has instituted some rank changes. See this thread for more information!
LAWAII FLOCK
no updates!
NILDA PACK
no updates!
CARNARING QUICK STATS
ALPHA -- Jocelyn Edelwolfe, Clouded Leopard, played by IronChild
BETA -- Seija Mulviene, Spotted Hyena, played by Seija-chan
DELTA --Grey, Mackenzie Valley Wolf, played by Kriss
_______________________________________________
He couldn’t make out what that monstrosity said, but Bonifacio saw him snarl something at Jazz, then reach into his coat pocket and pull something out that Boni couldn’t quite identify. He saw the smile on the man’s scarred face - a scar that he himself had carved with knife in hand - and he tried desperately to increase his speed but his legs were already burning, his lungs screaming and choking in ash and smoke, chest heaving for breath. His body began to fail him as the wind blasted him with a rush of hot, smoky air, and he found himself hacking on the black smoke that choked him; he stumbled blindly onward, the smoke clearing for a brief, enlightening moment - a Molotov cocktail. The bastard had thrown a Molotov! “No-" He screamed, pulling to a halt as the glass bottle exploded in front of him, raising his right arm to shield his face from the blast as the flames exploded around him, searing through cloth and flesh and muscle.
Bonifacio fell to the ground, writhing in agony as the flame scorched his body - god, he was on fire! Horrific screams tore through the air and he wished they would stop, realizing yet again it was his own screams that wrenched from his chest till his throat bled raw and he could scream no more. Dragging himself along the gritty cement in attempts to escape the never-ending flame, a trail of blood and burnt flesh trailed behind him, his entire right side horribly burnt and bleeding; he pulled himself on with one arm, the right one burned almost beyond recognition. “Aiutatemi!" He cried, though it came out a whisper. “Help me..."
Bonifacio barely registered the hands pressing against him, the shocked gasp of the Medic as he took in his wounds, barely felt the pain any more. All he saw was Crash’s grinning, twisted face as he slipped into unconsciousness beneath a flurry of frantic medics as the Carna returned to their territory, victorious. He felt nothing.
He awoke peacefully for once, all was well. The sun was shining with nary a cloud in sight, the sand were pleasantly warm on his back, and there was a light breeze cool his neck. Wait, where was his scarf? There should be no breeze, pleasant or not on his neck because he always wore that precious green and white scarf! Jolting up into a sitting position, he clawed at his neck, trying to feel for the soft wool but just grabbing air instead. Slowly his hands settled into a position normally used to signal that one is choking and in a way he was, not having that long strip of fabric wrapped around his throat was like not being able to breathe. His shock soon gave way to fury, he would find the moron who had taken his scarf and he would make them regret being born, he’d give then cancer so bad they’d have two head for him to kick in. Leaping up from his sitting position, he was on the hunt.
***
Seven hours had passed since he’d awoken without his most prized possession and he’d yet to find it or even a hint that might lead him to the thief. So he had counted his losses, which would explain why he was sitting on a rickety barstool nursing another bottle of the harsh whiskey that was the only form of hard liquor he could find. Dmitri was determined to get stoned out of his mind, he planned to drink until he could no longer stand up and that was a hard task for someone with his tolerance. He’d been drinking ever since “the incident” and that was what, since he was eight? He couldn’t exactly recall anymore, too much alcohol running though his veins. Another swig of the dusty bottle and Dmitri felt the room begin to spin, it was finally taking affect. Lowering his head onto the cool wooden bar, he looked at the collection of empty bottles that lay haphazardly on the counter, there were only two so far but that would soon change, he intended to drink himself to death, perhaps literally. There was no point in living if he couldn’t even care for something so important. He was an idiot, worthless, and also done with this bottle. Tossing it across the room, he laughed bitterly as he heard it shatter against the far wall. He almost wished he was that bottle, living was hard, dying was so easy.
The other bottles he’d found, he had left laid out on one of the speakeasy’s tables for easy access but as he tried to pull himself up and off the stool he found that he’d overestimated his drunken self’s balance. Stumbling over to the table after falling on his butt and having several unsuccessful tries to haul himself back up, Dmitri finally made it. However that short lived moment of success was overshadowed by his lack of depth perception. He over reached as he went to snatch another bottle of whiskey and went hurtling forward, crashing into the old table. The alcohol went flying as the table flipped over yielding to the added weight and Dmitri found himself laying on the wet floor covering in strong smelling whiskey, several large buries, and pieces of yellowed glass. Brushing the wet hair from his face, Dmitri watched the ceiling boards multiple into twin pairs and swarm as he wondered when god would just decided that it was time for him to go. Hadn’t he drunk enough for it to be fatal yet? Reaching to grab a half broken but still whiskey filled bottle, he pressed the jagged glass to his lips. Sour whiskey mixed with blood but it wasn’t like he could taste it anymore, alcohol was alcohol, all that mattered was it made him forget.
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Augustine Wolfgang speaks!
Augustine Wolfgang thinks!
the notes;; the muse;; the music;; the word count;; the marionette doll;;
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Last Edit: Aug 10, 2010 14:03:26 GMT -5 by Deleted
If I were young as once I was, and dreams and death more distant then, I wouldn't split my soul in two, and keep half in the world of men. So half of me would stay at home, and strive for Faërie in vain. While all the while my soul would stroll up narrow path, down crooked lane. And there would meet a fairy lass and smile and bow with kisses three. She'd pluck wild eagles from the air and nail me to a lightning tree.
And if my heart would run from her or flee from her, be gone from her. She’d wrap it in a nest of stars and then she'd take it on with her. Until one day she'd tire of it, all bored with it and done with it. She'd leave it by a burning brook, and off brown boys would run with it. They'd take it and have fun with it and stretch it long and cruel and thin. They'd slice it into four and then they'd string with it a violin.
And every day and every night they'd play upon my heart a song. So plaintive and so wild and strange that all who heard it danced along. And sang and whirled and sank and trod and skipped and slipped and reeled and rolled. Until, with eyes as bright as coals, they'd crumble into wheels of gold . . . .
"wtf is Gaiman doing here?"
But I am young no longer now, for sixty years my heart's been gone. To play its dreadful music there, beyond the valley of the sun. I watch with envious eyes and mind, the single–souled, who dare not feel the wind that blows beyond the moon, who do not hear the Fairy Reel. If you don't hear the Fairy Reel, they will not pause to steal your breath. When I was young I was a fool. So wrap me up in dreams and death.
----- words; o3o ooc; Neil Gaiman's The Fairy Reel
He awoke peacefully for once, all was well. The sun was shining with nary a cloud in sight, the sand were pleasantly warm on his back, and there was a light breeze cool his neck. Wait, where was his scarf? There should be no breeze, pleasant or not on his neck because he always wore that precious green and white scarf! Jolting up into a sitting position, he clawed at his neck, trying to feel for the soft wool but just grabbing air instead. Slowly his hands settled into a position normally used to signal that one is choking and in a way he was, not having that long strip of fabric wrapped around his throat was like not being able to breathe. His shock soon gave way to fury, he would find the moron who had taken his scarf and he would make them regret being born, he’d give then cancer so bad they’d have two head for him to kick in. Leaping up from his sitting position, he was on the hunt.
***
Seven hours had passed since he’d awoken without his most prized possession and he’d yet to find it or even a hint that might lead him to the thief. So he had counted his losses, which would explain why he was sitting on a rickety barstool nursing another bottle of the harsh whiskey that was the only form of hard liquor he could find. Dmitri was determined to get stoned out of his mind, he planned to drink until he could no longer stand up and that was a hard task for someone with his tolerance. He’d been drinking ever since “the incident” and that was what, since he was eight? He couldn’t exactly recall anymore, too much alcohol running though his veins. Another swig of the dusty bottle and Dmitri felt the room begin to spin, it was finally taking affect. Lowering his head onto the cool wooden bar, he looked at the collection of empty bottles that lay haphazardly on the counter, there were only two so far but that would soon change, he intended to drink himself to death, perhaps literally. There was no point in living if he couldn’t even care for something so important. He was an idiot, worthless, and also done with this bottle. Tossing it across the room, he laughed bitterly as he heard it shatter against the far wall. He almost wished he was that bottle, living was hard, dying was so easy.
The other bottles he’d found, he had left laid out on one of the speakeasy’s tables for easy access but as he tried to pull himself up and off the stool he found that he’d overestimated his drunken self’s balance. Stumbling over to the table after falling on his butt and having several unsuccessful tries to haul himself back up, Dmitri finally made it. However that short lived moment of success was overshadowed by his lack of depth perception. He over reached as he went to snatch another bottle of whiskey and went hurtling forward, crashing into the old table. The alcohol went flying as the table flipped over yielding to the added weight and Dmitri found himself laying on the wet floor covering in strong smelling whiskey, several large buries, and pieces of yellowed glass. Brushing the wet hair from his face, Dmitri watched the ceiling boards multiple into twin pairs and swarm as he wondered when god would just decided that it was time for him to go. Hadn’t he drunk enough for it to be fatal yet? Reaching to grab a half broken but still whiskey filled bottle, he pressed the jagged glass to his lips. Sour whiskey mixed with blood but it wasn’t like he could taste it anymore, alcohol was alcohol, all that mattered was it made him forget.
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He awoke peacefully for once, all was well. The sun was shining with nary a cloud in sight, the sand were pleasantly warm on his back, and there was a light breeze cool his neck. Wait, where was his scarf? There should be no breeze, pleasant or not on his neck because he always wore that precious green and white scarf! Jolting up into a sitting position, he clawed at his neck, trying to feel for the soft wool but just grabbing air instead. Slowly his hands settled into a position normally used to signal that one is choking and in a way he was, not having that long strip of fabric wrapped around his throat was like not being able to breathe. His shock soon gave way to fury, he would find the moron who had taken his scarf and he would make them regret being born, he’d give then cancer so bad they’d have two head for him to kick in. Leaping up from his sitting position, he was on the hunt.
***
Seven hours had passed since he’d awoken without his most prized possession and he’d yet to find it or even a hint that might lead him to the thief. So he had counted his losses, which would explain why he was sitting on a rickety barstool nursing another bottle of the harsh whiskey that was the only form of hard liquor he could find. Dmitri was determined to get stoned out of his mind, he planned to drink until he could no longer stand up and that was a hard task for someone with his tolerance. He’d been drinking ever since “the incident” and that was what, since he was eight? He couldn’t exactly recall anymore, too much alcohol running though his veins. Another swig of the dusty bottle and Dmitri felt the room begin to spin, it was finally taking affect. Lowering his head onto the cool wooden bar, he looked at the collection of empty bottles that lay haphazardly on the counter, there were only two so far but that would soon change, he intended to drink himself to death, perhaps literally. There was no point in living if he couldn’t even care for something so important. He was an idiot, worthless, and also done with this bottle. Tossing it across the room, he laughed bitterly as he heard it shatter against the far wall. He almost wished he was that bottle, living was hard, dying was so easy.
The other bottles he’d found, he had left laid out on one of the speakeasy’s tables for easy access but as he tried to pull himself up and off the stool he found that he’d overestimated his drunken self’s balance. Stumbling over to the table after falling on his butt and having several unsuccessful tries to haul himself back up, Dmitri finally made it. However that short lived moment of success was overshadowed by his lack of depth perception. He over reached as he went to snatch another bottle of whiskey and went hurtling forward, crashing into the old table. The alcohol went flying as the table flipped over yielding to the added weight and Dmitri found himself laying on the wet floor covering in strong smelling whiskey, several large buries, and pieces of yellowed glass. Brushing the wet hair from his face, Dmitri watched the ceiling boards multiple into twin pairs and swarm as he wondered when god would just decided that it was time for him to go. Hadn’t he drunk enough for it to be fatal yet? Reaching to grab a half broken but still whiskey filled bottle, he pressed the jagged glass to his lips. Sour whiskey mixed with blood but it wasn’t like he could taste it anymore, alcohol was alcohol, all that mattered was it made him forget.
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ace - asher - valeria - aiden - duke - soren - ebony - klaus - queenie - phoenix
He awoke peacefully for once, all was well. The sun was shining with nary a cloud in sight, the sand were pleasantly warm on his back, and there was a light breeze cool his neck. Wait, where was his scarf? There should be no breeze, pleasant or not on his neck because he always wore that precious green and white scarf! Jolting up into a sitting position, he clawed at his neck, trying to feel for the soft wool but just grabbing air instead. Slowly his hands settled into a position normally used to signal that one is choking and in a way he was, not having that long strip of fabric wrapped around his throat was like not being able to breathe. His shock soon gave way to fury, he would find the moron who had taken his scarf and he would make them regret being born, he’d give then cancer so bad they’d have two head for him to kick in. Leaping up from his sitting position, he was on the hunt.
***
Seven hours had passed since he’d awoken without his most prized possession and he’d yet to find it or even a hint that might lead him to the thief. So he had counted his losses, which would explain why he was sitting on a rickety barstool nursing another bottle of the harsh whiskey that was the only form of hard liquor he could find. Dmitri was determined to get stoned out of his mind, he planned to drink until he could no longer stand up and that was a hard task for someone with his tolerance. He’d been drinking ever since “the incident” and that was what, since he was eight? He couldn’t exactly recall anymore, too much alcohol running though his veins. Another swig of the dusty bottle and Dmitri felt the room begin to spin, it was finally taking affect. Lowering his head onto the cool wooden bar, he looked at the collection of empty bottles that lay haphazardly on the counter, there were only two so far but that would soon change, he intended to drink himself to death, perhaps literally. There was no point in living if he couldn’t even care for something so important. He was an idiot, worthless, and also done with this bottle. Tossing it across the room, he laughed bitterly as he heard it shatter against the far wall. He almost wished he was that bottle, living was hard, dying was so easy.
The other bottles he’d found, he had left laid out on one of the speakeasy’s tables for easy access but as he tried to pull himself up and off the stool he found that he’d overestimated his drunken self’s balance. Stumbling over to the table after falling on his butt and having several unsuccessful tries to haul himself back up, Dmitri finally made it. However that short lived moment of success was overshadowed by his lack of depth perception. He over reached as he went to snatch another bottle of whiskey and went hurtling forward, crashing into the old table. The alcohol went flying as the table flipped over yielding to the added weight and Dmitri found himself laying on the wet floor covering in strong smelling whiskey, several large buries, and pieces of yellowed glass. Brushing the wet hair from his face, Dmitri watched the ceiling boards multiple into twin pairs and swarm as he wondered when god would just decided that it was time for him to go. Hadn’t he drunk enough for it to be fatal yet? Reaching to grab a half broken but still whiskey filled bottle, he pressed the jagged glass to his lips. Sour whiskey mixed with blood but it wasn’t like he could taste it anymore, alcohol was alcohol, all that mattered was it made him forget.
Text here, text here. Text here, oh yes indeed the text goes here. Text here, text here. Text here, oh yes indeed the text goes here. Text here, text here. Text here, oh yes indeed the text goes here. Text here, text here. Text here, oh yes indeed the text goes here. Text here, text here. Text here, oh yes indeed the text goes here. Text here, text here. Text here, oh yes indeed the text goes here. Text here, text here. Text here, oh yes indeed the text goes here. Talk talk talk talk talk talk. Text here, text here. Text here, oh yes indeed the text goes here. Text here, text here. Text here, oh yes indeed the text goes here. Text here, text here. Text here, oh yes indeed the text goes here. Text here, text here. Text here, oh yes indeed the text goes here. Text here, text here. Text here, oh yes indeed the text goes here.
Text here, text here. Text here, oh yes indeed the text goes here. Text here, text here. Text here, oh yes indeed the text goes here. Text here, text here. Text here, oh yes indeed the text goes here. Text here, text here. Text here, oh yes indeed the text goes here. Text here, text here. Text here, oh yes indeed the text goes here. Text here, text here. Text here, oh yes indeed the text goes here.
occ: one of two Zakariah tables that I distracted myself with last night and had to finish today-- the other will be made sometime tonight, probably after a post or two (if we don't spend an entire day in town getting my school stuff >.>)0
He awoke peacefully for once, all was well. The sun was shining with nary a cloud in sight, the sand were pleasantly warm on his back, and there was a light breeze cool his neck. Wait, where was his scarf? There should be no breeze, pleasant or not on his neck because he always wore that precious green and white scarf! Jolting up into a sitting position, he clawed at his neck, trying to feel for the soft wool but just grabbing air instead. Slowly his hands settled into a position normally used to signal that one is choking and in a way he was, not having that long strip of fabric wrapped around his throat was like not being able to breathe. His shock soon gave way to fury, he would find the moron who had taken his scarf and he would make them regret being born, he’d give then cancer so bad they’d have two head for him to kick in. Leaping up from his sitting position, he was on the hunt.
***
Seven hours had passed since he’d awoken without his most prized possession and he’d yet to find it or even a hint that might lead him to the thief. So he had counted his losses, which would explain why he was sitting on a rickety barstool nursing another bottle of the harsh whiskey that was the only form of hard liquor he could find. Dmitri was determined to get stoned out of his mind, he planned to drink until he could no longer stand up and that was a hard task for someone with his tolerance. He’d been drinking ever since “the incident” and that was what, since he was eight? He couldn’t exactly recall anymore, too much alcohol running though his veins. Another swig of the dusty bottle and Dmitri felt the room begin to spin, it was finally taking affect. Lowering his head onto the cool wooden bar, he looked at the collection of empty bottles that lay haphazardly on the counter, there were only two so far but that would soon change, he intended to drink himself to death, perhaps literally. There was no point in living if he couldn’t even care for something so important. He was an idiot, worthless, and also done with this bottle. Tossing it across the room, he laughed bitterly as he heard it shatter against the far wall. He almost wished he was that bottle, living was hard, dying was so easy.
The other bottles he’d found, he had left laid out on one of the speakeasy’s tables for easy access but as he tried to pull himself up and off the stool he found that he’d overestimated his drunken self’s balance. Stumbling over to the table after falling on his butt and having several unsuccessful tries to haul himself back up, Dmitri finally made it. However that short lived moment of success was overshadowed by his lack of depth perception. He over reached as he went to snatch another bottle of whiskey and went hurtling forward, crashing into the old table. The alcohol went flying as the table flipped over yielding to the added weight and Dmitri found himself laying on the wet floor covering in strong smelling whiskey, several large buries, and pieces of yellowed glass. Brushing the wet hair from his face, Dmitri watched the ceiling boards multiple into twin pairs and swarm as he wondered when god would just decided that it was time for him to go. Hadn’t he drunk enough for it to be fatal yet? Reaching to grab a half broken but still whiskey filled bottle, he pressed the jagged glass to his lips. Sour whiskey mixed with blood but it wasn’t like he could taste it anymore, alcohol was alcohol, all that mattered was it made him forget.
Ooc: SADIKI TABLE...SADIKI IS ANU'S LITTLE BROTHER THINGY!
He awoke peacefully for once, all was well. The sun was shining with nary a cloud in sight, the sand were pleasantly warm on his back, and there was a light breeze cool his neck. Wait, where was his scarf? There should be no breeze, pleasant or not on his neck because he always wore that precious green and white scarf! Jolting up into a sitting position, he clawed at his neck, trying to feel for the soft wool but just grabbing air instead. Slowly his hands settled into a position normally used to signal that one is choking and in a way he was, not having that long strip of fabric wrapped around his throat was like not being able to breathe. His shock soon gave way to fury, he would find the moron who had taken his scarf and he would make them regret being born, he’d give then cancer so bad they’d have two head for him to kick in. Leaping up from his sitting position, he was on the hunt.
***
Seven hours had passed since he’d awoken without his most prized possession and he’d yet to find it or even a hint that might lead him to the thief. So he had counted his losses, which would explain why he was sitting on a rickety barstool nursing another bottle of the harsh whiskey that was the only form of hard liquor he could find. Dmitri was determined to get stoned out of his mind, he planned to drink until he could no longer stand up and that was a hard task for someone with his tolerance. He’d been drinking ever since “the incident” and that was what, since he was eight? He couldn’t exactly recall anymore, too much alcohol running though his veins. Another swig of the dusty bottle and Dmitri felt the room begin to spin, it was finally taking affect. Lowering his head onto the cool wooden bar, he looked at the collection of empty bottles that lay haphazardly on the counter, there were only two so far but that would soon change, he intended to drink himself to death, perhaps literally. There was no point in living if he couldn’t even care for something so important. He was an idiot, worthless, and also done with this bottle. Tossing it across the room, he laughed bitterly as he heard it shatter against the far wall. He almost wished he was that bottle, living was hard, dying was so easy.
The other bottles he’d found, he had left laid out on one of the speakeasy’s tables for easy access but as he tried to pull himself up and off the stool he found that he’d overestimated his drunken self’s balance. Stumbling over to the table after falling on his butt and having several unsuccessful tries to haul himself back up, Dmitri finally made it. However that short lived moment of success was overshadowed by his lack of depth perception. He over reached as he went to snatch another bottle of whiskey and went hurtling forward, crashing into the old table. The alcohol went flying as the table flipped over yielding to the added weight and Dmitri found himself laying on the wet floor covering in strong smelling whiskey, several large buries, and pieces of yellowed glass. Brushing the wet hair from his face, Dmitri watched the ceiling boards multiple into twin pairs and swarm as he wondered when god would just decided that it was time for him to go. Hadn’t he drunk enough for it to be fatal yet? Reaching to grab a half broken but still whiskey filled bottle, he pressed the jagged glass to his lips. Sour whiskey mixed with blood but it wasn’t like he could taste it anymore, alcohol was alcohol, all that mattered was it made him forget.
He awoke peacefully for once, all was well. The sun was shining with nary a cloud in sight, the sand were pleasantly warm on his back, and there was a light breeze cool his neck. Wait, where was his scarf? There should be no breeze, pleasant or not on his neck because he always wore that precious green and white scarf! Jolting up into a sitting position, he clawed at his neck, trying to feel for the soft wool but just grabbing air instead. Slowly his hands settled into a position normally used to signal that one is choking and in a way he was, not having that long strip of fabric wrapped around his throat was like not being able to breathe. His shock soon gave way to fury, he would find the moron who had taken his scarf and he would make them regret being born, he’d give then cancer so bad they’d have two head for him to kick in. Leaping up from his sitting position, he was on the hunt.
***
Seven hours had passed since he’d awoken without his most prized possession and he’d yet to find it or even a hint that might lead him to the thief. So he had counted his losses, which would explain why he was sitting on a rickety barstool nursing another bottle of the harsh whiskey that was the only form of hard liquor he could find. Dmitri was determined to get stoned out of his mind, he planned to drink until he could no longer stand up and that was a hard task for someone with his tolerance. He’d been drinking ever since “the incident” and that was what, since he was eight? He couldn’t exactly recall anymore, too much alcohol running though his veins. Another swig of the dusty bottle and Dmitri felt the room begin to spin, it was finally taking affect. Lowering his head onto the cool wooden bar, he looked at the collection of empty bottles that lay haphazardly on the counter, there were only two so far but that would soon change, he intended to drink himself to death, perhaps literally. There was no point in living if he couldn’t even care for something so important. He was an idiot, worthless, and also done with this bottle. Tossing it across the room, he laughed bitterly as he heard it shatter against the far wall. He almost wished he was that bottle, living was hard, dying was so easy.
The other bottles he’d found, he had left laid out on one of the speakeasy’s tables for easy access but as he tried to pull himself up and off the stool he found that he’d overestimated his drunken self’s balance. Stumbling over to the table after falling on his butt and having several unsuccessful tries to haul himself back up, Dmitri finally made it. However that short lived moment of success was overshadowed by his lack of depth perception. He over reached as he went to snatch another bottle of whiskey and went hurtling forward, crashing into the old table. The alcohol went flying as the table flipped over yielding to the added weight and Dmitri found himself laying on the wet floor covering in strong smelling whiskey, several large buries, and pieces of yellowed glass. Brushing the wet hair from his face, Dmitri watched the ceiling boards multiple into twin pairs and swarm as he wondered when god would just decided that it was time for him to go. Hadn’t he drunk enough for it to be fatal yet? Reaching to grab a half broken but still whiskey filled bottle, he pressed the jagged glass to his lips. Sour whiskey mixed with blood but it wasn’t like he could taste it anymore, alcohol was alcohol, all that mattered was it made him forget.