Entry tags:
LIBERTUS ->> NYX ;; if love is what you need, a soldier i will be
[Night running long, and it's a wonder he doesn't smoke. A drag of nicotine would do him better than this piss warm beer and the nonsensical shit on his phone. Old memories. Better times.
Home.
It was the same grind, didn't matter if they were on the field or in the city. Daemons or pissy soldiers who didn't think twice to spit at their feet or in their faces; the world didn't want 'em. Or that's how it felt, when the numbers on his bedside clock burned red and angry. Almost three a.m.
Should be in bed.
Ain't in bed.
Probably won't be in bed until the middle of the day.
Libertus had nothing better to do, could stay at home. Crowe had duties... somewhere, Nyx probably did as well. Could spend time with Luche, but the mopey ass bastard had been insufferable lately, and was one of the main reasons why his mood tanked so spectacularly during the middle of the night. He always had something to say about the War.
Always turned his stomach, made mediocre food run sour in the pit of his gut. Heavy. It felt heavy like lead.
And today was hard. The type of day that kept him late at the bars, the watered down beer managing to settle his nerves and soften the adrenaline rush after risking his thick neck for a city that didn't give a damn.
...At least he didn't nearly die this time. No one did. Which... was nice, he guessed. Libertus came out of it with some bruises and scrapes but nothing serious.
Nothing outwardly.
But it was everything in between that kept him up late, in the darkness of his small apartment. Warm beer at his side and a bottle of pills. Open. ...Two couldn't hurt. Helps shut his brain up for a few hours at least.
Heaving a sigh he set his phone down next to him on his couch. Even the scalding hot shower he took earlier didn't put him to sleep.
The pills might.
...Pills would.
Crowe and Nyx hated 'em. ...But they weren't here.
So he reaches for them, ignoring the twist of guilt in his chest.]
Home.
It was the same grind, didn't matter if they were on the field or in the city. Daemons or pissy soldiers who didn't think twice to spit at their feet or in their faces; the world didn't want 'em. Or that's how it felt, when the numbers on his bedside clock burned red and angry. Almost three a.m.
Should be in bed.
Ain't in bed.
Probably won't be in bed until the middle of the day.
Libertus had nothing better to do, could stay at home. Crowe had duties... somewhere, Nyx probably did as well. Could spend time with Luche, but the mopey ass bastard had been insufferable lately, and was one of the main reasons why his mood tanked so spectacularly during the middle of the night. He always had something to say about the War.
Always turned his stomach, made mediocre food run sour in the pit of his gut. Heavy. It felt heavy like lead.
And today was hard. The type of day that kept him late at the bars, the watered down beer managing to settle his nerves and soften the adrenaline rush after risking his thick neck for a city that didn't give a damn.
...At least he didn't nearly die this time. No one did. Which... was nice, he guessed. Libertus came out of it with some bruises and scrapes but nothing serious.
Nothing outwardly.
But it was everything in between that kept him up late, in the darkness of his small apartment. Warm beer at his side and a bottle of pills. Open. ...Two couldn't hurt. Helps shut his brain up for a few hours at least.
Heaving a sigh he set his phone down next to him on his couch. Even the scalding hot shower he took earlier didn't put him to sleep.
The pills might.
...Pills would.
Crowe and Nyx hated 'em. ...But they weren't here.
So he reaches for them, ignoring the twist of guilt in his chest.]