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tushanshu_logs2013-02-21 12:06 am
cynisme) wrote in tushanshu_logs2013-02-21 12:06 am
OPEN | We'll drink beyond the boundaries of sense
Characters: Grantaire and YOU!
Date: February 21
Location: Wood sector, specifically the window of WO-2B
Situation: Grantaire is drunk and commenting out his window.
Warnings/Rating: None yet.
The wine on La Tortue is stronger than what he's used to. It hits him harder and quicker, despite the amount of alcohol he's had in his system rather consistently since he first discovered the magic of drink. It must be something in the water or in the way they make it that has him stumbling to the window quicker than he normally would, leaning against the sill with bottle in hand, watching people pass below.
He can't help but call out at them, whether about their dress or whatever they happen to be doing. It's the commentary that comes with the street below.
Date: February 21
Location: Wood sector, specifically the window of WO-2B
Situation: Grantaire is drunk and commenting out his window.
Warnings/Rating: None yet.
The wine on La Tortue is stronger than what he's used to. It hits him harder and quicker, despite the amount of alcohol he's had in his system rather consistently since he first discovered the magic of drink. It must be something in the water or in the way they make it that has him stumbling to the window quicker than he normally would, leaning against the sill with bottle in hand, watching people pass below.
He can't help but call out at them, whether about their dress or whatever they happen to be doing. It's the commentary that comes with the street below.
no subject
Prouvaire is always troubled, that is the nature of the poet. They are troubled by the wind, by a smile, by the lack of a smile or a misplaced flower. I've a mind to never take a troubled poet too seriously, lest I want to find myself at the receiving end of an endlessly over-dramatic speech about nothing at all. He is troubled though, none the less, and has been sleeping here when he sees fit. Apparently my drunken fits and inability to decide whether or not I prefer the company of others or the company of no one at all do him good. How much more harping must I do before you lay down and go take a damn nap?