obrennon

[obrennon]

[obrennon]

[obrennon]

Lucas Till as Bobby in ‘The Curse of Downer’s Grove’

[obrennon]

Cam Gigandet as Jake Green in Ice 

Made and credited to @kbunburyhelps

Taken from here | Permission to post given here

[obrennon]

Cam Gigandet as Derek Grant in In The Blood (2014, dir. John Stockwell)

[obrennon]

[obrennon]

ihalliwell‌:

He has the night off, Isla. She could still hear the frustration in her father’s voice the night she was taken. She’d questioned for nearly twenty minutes why her bodyguard wasn’t there – true, she had several of them at her father’s request, but her wold was by far her favourite. She loved to annoy him, make his life as difficult as possible, but she’d never felt safer than when he was by her side. It had been argument, Isla claiming she hadn’t agreed to it, but the conversation seemed to end just as her new nightmare began. She couldn’t remember what happened next or who took her. All she could remember was pain. Pain and screaming. 

Isla. Her name sounded so foreign, pulling her from the Hell her mind was taking her back to. She almost shot up, only to wince and fall back to the ground with a cry, her vision blurring and the desire to vomit building. Tears spilled from her eyes and she just continued to lay there for a few minutes, listening to whoever was yelling on the other side of the cell doors. She still hadn’t seen who’d called her name, but they were angry. Part of her hoped it was her wolf, but she didn’t dare to hope that. The thought of it brought another sob from her lips, the heaving in her chest sending more pain shooting through her ribs. She wanted to scream at whoever it was to make it stop, to stop screaming, to do something. The pain was everywhere and now her head was pounding. The arm she wasn’t laying on rose to her head, covering her ear to try and silence the yelling that was echoing throughout the cell. It was only then that she was able to discern that the person had an accent – and Irish accent. “Lance?”

This time she did shoot up, bright blue eyes coming to rest on the wolf despite the throbbing in every part of her body. She tried to push herself to more than just a seated position before she collapsed again, shaking her head as more tears streamed down her cheeks. Had she always been this weak? This pathetic? “No.” She croaked, settling against her side and trying to wipe the tears from her eyes. Unless she was indeed dead or hallucinating things, he was here – still trying to protect her.

All Lance could do was watch as she pulled herself up and tried to drag herself to him, his name from her lips made the wolf all but whimper, soon overtaken by another growl. This fucking door. It was the only thing separating them and Lance would be fucking damned if he let it stay that way, with the guards either too far away to hear his shouts or just ignoring it completely, Lance took matters into his own hands. Literally. He wasn’t as strong as he would have been had he not dulled his own abilities, but with a good amount of focus Lance knew he could get rid of the barrier separating.

“M’coming in, love, hang on,” he spoke softly, growling firmly as he spread his stance to better yank at the door, after checking that he couldn’t get the hinges out simply by pushing a nail out, Lance did as he had first done. Pulled hard. Clang, clang, clang, clang. Four hard pulls and the metal soon gave away with a deep wolf like snarl as his eyes flashed to a golden hue, the noise finally drew the attention of the guards and they started to come down the hallway, observing the Irishman as he put the door aside and swept into the cell. 

His hands were gentle on her body and then her face, cupping softly and brushing her hair out of her face, Lance smiled down at her, a sadness in his gaze but it didn’t last for long. They were soon joined by the guards who were yelling about the door but Lance didn’t care, he smoothly pulled her into his arms, shooting a glare and a growl at the guard who tried to come near them. Returning his gaze to his witch Lance smiled at her again, petting her face some before he spoke softly. “M’gonna take ye outta ‘ere, okay?” He leaned in, pressing his lips to her forehead, gentle, so gentle. She was real and she was here, fuck, she was in this fucking god forsaken city. 

[obrennon]

maverickvolc‌:

The man before him was a fresh and new face - at least to him. However Maverick was pleased the man was nice enough to help him up rather than simply laugh at him for the state he was in. Lifting his arm he took hold of the males hand and pulled himself to his feet. His legs bucking ever so slightly before he managed to find his center. The males accent was unfamiliar, but intriguing none the less.

“I’ve seen better days that’s for sure, I should be fine now that I’m standing though.” Whenever the guard called for them to go inside he would simply sit in his cot and not have to move. “Thank you for helping me up. Most I’m sure would have simply laughed.” He didn’t have much faith in the people of Thorn Haven. 

“Aye, I can relate to t’at,” Lance nodded, pulling the other as he shifted to pull himself up, offering another half smile and habitually letting his gaze move over the other, checking for severe wounds. He couldn’t help it, sometimes Lance did such things without even thinking, blame it on his copious amounts of military training, or the fact he cared too damn much about others’ well being before he did his own. Lance put his other hand on the other’s arm in an effort to help steady him if that was what he needed, keeping hold of his hand just a moment or two longer before he released it and shrugged his shoulders. 

“No problem, eh, I try not t’be an asshole all t’e time,” Lance teased and patted the others arm before dropping his hands away completely, giving another glance at the guards, always aware of where a potential enemy could be. “Looks like ye ‘ad a real number done on ya, I’d ‘ate t’see t’e ot’er guy.” 

[obrennon]

littleredxblu‌:

“I’m sure. Chance may good to have around if stuff goes south, but I can take care of myself.” he chuckled, finishing his drink and ordering another, and a shot to even the playing field. “Hm, I’m not great with cash.. Because I don’t really use it other than for drinks.. But we could bet something else? Like.. Well..” he blushed, “We could perhaps spend the night together and whoever wins gets to pick what we do?”

Chance, so that was this Alpha’s name, Lance’s lips twitched some and he kept his gaze on the game as the other finished his drink and made an order to perhaps either catch up with the Irishman or look like it. As the game came to an end Lance glanced back over at the young wolf and let out a soft laugh, husky and amused, the lust was heavy in the other’s scent and Lance couldn’t help but be amused. At least this kid was a welcome distraction. 

Lance leaned back some and let his blue gaze move over the other wolf, he had to be careful regardless, he didn’t want to start shit but he also wasn’t afraid of any jealous alpha that may or may not come his way for fucking with the redheaded wolf. “Aye, I see now,” he hummed, tone still teasing and amused, nodding at the bartender and gesturing towards the pool table as if to tell them that he’d be moving there and to keep bringing his drinks to him. Slipping from his stool the Irishman drew closer to the younger wolf, head tilted a bit. “-- alright, I’ll bite, t’ink ye can keep up kid?”

[obrennon]

ihalliwell‌:

Her body hit the cold cement with a loud thump, the pain in her ribs intensifying as it shot through her tiny frame, her body instinctively curling in on itself. The witch was used to falls, having been stuck with terrible dance partners as punishment for being late – or just because she was being a brat. What she was not used to, however, was being manhandled and tossed to the ground as if she was nothing more than a rag doll. 

The last two weeks had passed in somewhat of a hazy blur, though it had felt more like an eternity had passed. She remained curled in on herself, whimpering as she tried to hold onto whatever strength she had that kept her from completely passing out. The creatures she’d spent the last two weeks with had done a number on her, though she’d never actually had the chance to stop and take count of her wounds. If she had, she would have noticed that three of her ribs were cracked, dark purple bruises covered the entirety of her thighs and large welts had formed on her back. The worst of it were the ribs, which were now aching from her unceremonious landing on the ground of what was now her new home. Minutes of her whimpering on the floor had passed before she dared peak an eye open, attempting to look around. “Wh..where am I?” Her voice was rough, lips cracked and bleeding as she tried to keep her tears at bay.

He was in a drunken stupor, again, and found himself wandering down to the place people who were deemed unworthy of normal decency were kept. It was as if he thought that he’d find her there, or perhaps it was just trouble the Irishman sought for he believed it impossible to find his witch in the cells that held people who weren’t that different from him. But here he was being hopeful, again. What was the definition of insanity? Repeating something expecting a different outcome. As he slumped against the wall in the cells Lance wondered how long he’d keep doing this, it was always a question of how long he’d make himself suffer and be in pain, until a light filled his life again. But none would be as bright as her. 

A flash of blonde hair distracted the man and he sniffled, wiping at his face as he realized he’d been silently crying, again. Blue eyes snapped from the ground to a couple of guards tossing the blonde into her cell. A twinge in his chest, his pulse accelerated with his hopefulness as he moved slowly along the wall, watching as the guards slammed the cell shut and brushed past him as Lance walked toward the cell in a sort of trance like movement. Could it be her? Surely not. He was just drunk and mistaking another person for her, there hadn’t been a body but he had seen the house after---

It was like a fifty foot wave had crashed into him when the woman spoke, he was only a few paces away from her cell and still leaning against the wall for support but he soon sunk to his knees in his shock. “Isla,” he whispered, breathing her name for the first time since he had found out she was gone. He inched closer, the weight of reality making it near impossible to walk, crawling over to the bars before he fully realized what was going on. Reaching the cell Lance drew himself up to his feet, heat rushing to his cheeks before he looked quickly over at where the guards had gone, the men with the keys. “Oi! Open t’is fuckin’ door!” He called out with a desperation in his tone, but the guards were too far away to hear his request. 

Lance looked back at Isla, of which he was sure who it was, her scent was strong now that he was closer and he was overwhelmed by it. There those tears were again, he wiped at them viciously, the alcohol and wolfsbane muddling his senses. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He’d fucked up again, of course she wasn’t dead, Lance was a mixture of relieved and furious at himself. Why was he such an idiot?! He could have been tracking her this whole time. Where had she been though? And who the fuck did he have to strangle in order to put his revenge for taking his witch in the first place. “Isla,” he spoke her name again, hoping there was enough reassurance in his tone to put her at some ease. He was still gripping those bars that separated them, but he was moments away from tearing the door from the fucking frame. 

She was hurt he could smell the  blood and hear the strain in her voice, God he just wanted to touch her, hold her, fuck! Where were those guards. Again he looked down one side then the other of the hall and growled low in his frustration. He had to focus, see how damaged she was, this could have all been a cruel joke, someone had found him and had put her here, surely, someone with power, whether they were here to torment Lance or Isla was still in question. “Can you stand?” He asked, tone soft and cracking some, Lance pressed into the bars, trying to reach her if he could. “It’s okay, m’ere, I won’t let t’em fuckin’ touch ye again.” He pulled back and slammed a hand against the bars in his frustration, tugging at them some before looking back down the hallway and growling. “Oi! Ye fuck’eads!! Do yer fuckin’ job an’ open t’is god damn door!” Oh, he was gonna tear it from the hinges, he gripped the bars and pulled back hard, making the metal clang and groan with his efforts. 

[obrennon]

littleredxblu‌:

“I don’t cry to my alpha for anything. I am more than capable of handling things myself.” he smiled, “I’m Blu, by the way.” he smiled, extending his hand to the other. “Do you want to make things a little more interesting?” he questioned, sensing the alpha wasn’t part of Chance’s pack.. Yet. He drank down half his drink before putting it back down and watching the game that was coming to a slow end. Perhaps some people in his pack would think it was disrespectful of Blu to be teasing the other alpha, but both him and Chance slept around.. So long as they were open and honest about it, and as long as they both agreed to be the others only mate then there was no issue.

The Irishman chuckled, action throaty and amused as he shook his head some, bringing his refreshed drink to his lips and eyeing the shot that was being poured for him. Lance had never thought himself a leader, even if he could easily fall into such a position given a threat to the things that he cared about, that was likely why some sought him out, that and his age but he usually tried to keep to himself, keeping away from others limited his responsibilities-- not that he didn’t mind them, it was the people that came attached to them that worried him, that and the inevitability that he’d lose them or they’d walk out of his life forever. But he wasn’t in Thorn Haven to join a pack, just forget and get lost in his distractions. “Ye sure ‘bout t’at?” He teased, smirking some more before he downed the shot that was put in front of him, wiggling the glass at the bartender for another and holding up two fingers to make it a double. Glancing over at the young man, brow arching some before he let his head lull over his shoulders some to catch up on the game. “Interestin’ ‘ow? T’row a little money on it?”

[obrennon]

@nessaozmand​

He was coming down from the night before, ready to start all over again but he knew he should take a break. Too much of a bad thing would kill him and although that was something which had sounded so sweet since he was still a teenager, Lance wasn’t ready to commit to such an adventure, just the getting there process. His body was sore and the small amount of wolfsbane he’d ingested to aid in the getting him really fucked up and the busted lip that was still healing, along with the bruising on his face, told Lance that he had succeeded. 

Coffee was what he really needed, perhaps with a little bit of whisky in it, he was in search of the substance when he spotted her, a blonde and a witch, but not his blonde witch. A sadness pressed at his chest, threatening to break his ribs when he noticed an item fall from the woman, he wasn’t sure if he was seeing things or not but Lance still trotted over and picked up the item, eyeing it before he called after the woman. “Oi, Miss, ye dropped t’is I t’ink.” He called out to her, holding up the item and flashing a smile, tired but still genuine in nature.

[obrennon]

Basic Information

Full Name: Lance Grayson O'Brennon

Name: Lance 

Alias / Nickname: Irishman, Wolf.

Age: Looks 37 | Actually 700

Date of Birth: February 24th

Species: Werewolf

Hometown: Wexford, Ireland (Southern Ireland)

Current Location: Thorn Haven

Nationality: Irish

Gender: Male

Pronouns: He/Him

Orientation: Pansexual & Polyamorous

Religion: Agnostic

Occupation: Fighter | Bodyguard

Living Arrangements: Where ever Lance does stay he usually has minimal things, enough to make it seem lived in but nothing that would hold any personal touches to it.

Language(s) Spoken: Gaelic, English, Russian, some Italian& Latin, enough French.

Accent: Lance has a thick Irish accent which only gets thicker the more he's either drunk or angry, but he doesn’t try to hide, however, if absolutely necessary and or if he’s feeling like it, Lance can do a rather decent American accent (&& it’s not southern!)

Physical Appearance

Face Claim: Cam Gigandet

Hair Color: Dirty Blonde

Eye Color: Blue 

Height: 6'2

Weight: 155

Build: toned, athletic, muscular

Tattoos: TBD

Piercings: N/A

Clothing Style: earthy & blue colors,  basic and plain style. Jeans, t'shirt and hoodies/jackets. Unless a uniform is needed (i.e. job or fancy event).

Usual Expression: tries to maintain a friendly & welcoming expression, 

Distinguishing Characteristics: has a bite scar on his neck & some medium, claw like scars on his back. a small birthmark on his bottom lip, a small white line. various scars all over his torso, old bullet & knife wounds from before he was a wolf.

Health

Physical Ailments: none anymore

Neurological Conditions: N/A

Allergies: bee stings. which are no longer an issue

Sleeping Habits: Lance finds sleep when he can, but it is very infrequent and only for at least an hour or two. 

Eating Habits: he loves food, always has, Lance can eat at any given moment. 

Exercise Habits: Lance doesn’t need a lot to keep himself in shape, he loves to walk & run, but can also be found boxing & or fighting. 

Emotional Stability: Lance has always been an emotional and passionate person, he gets invested far too quickly & has a problem with trying to be a protector for those who cannot protect themselves. 

Sociability: Lance can be a social butterfly, all smiles & jokes

Body Temperature: Lance has a higher temperature from humans, it’s rather noticeable & sometimes it can be thought he is ill as it is far warmer than any normal temperature.

Addictions: alcohol, fighting

Drug Use: only in an effort to subdue the pain & ache within him, drowning out his demons & the memories that haunt him. but it’s nothing regular & certainly not his choice of self-medication.

Alcohol Use: what day is it? Lance could go for a shot or a few beers, that’s for sure.

Personality

Label: The Warrior / The Challenger

Positive Traits: compassionate, reliable, protective, sincere, passionate, romantic

Negative Traits: self-destructive, aggressive, hot-headed, needy, 

Goals/Desires: other than wasting away to nothing? getting into a good fight is probably his other goal, maybe making a name for himself in The Pit.

Fears: Lance has always been afraid of losing people & yet it is something that happens to him constantly, 

Hobbies: drinking, fighting, billiards, going to concerts / music, enjoys dancing w/ pretty people, karaoke if the urge hits him.

Habits: Lance runs his hand through his hair when he’s anxious or nervous or gets himself into an awkward situation, he also taps chews at his cheek when something is bothering him. 

Favorites

Weather: rain, Lance has always loved the rain. he’s also particularly fond of snow

Color: black & blue

Music: celtic, rock, some hip-hop

Movies: action, thrillers, murder / mystery

Sport: rugby

Beverage: beer, whisky, scotch, coffee.

Food: see food, literally any food will do, are you gonna eat that? no? okay, Lance will.

Animal: wolf

Family

Father: Sheamus O’Brennon (deceased) 

Mother: Caoimhe O’Brennon (deceased)

Sibling(s): Younger sister, Joan O’Brennon (deceased)

Children: none

Family’s Financial Status: poor

Biography

(trigger warnings for suicide (mentioned), sexual, verbal & physical abuse, alcoholism, death, murder, fatal illness)

Lance was very much a mama’s boy growing up, the earliest memory that Lance has of his mother was that she used to sing and read to him, folklore and songs of Ireland; before his sister was born Caoimhe used to take her son to her family's beach house in Wexford where Lance was actually born. His more fond memories of his childhood were spent at that beach house and even after his mother got sick shortly after his little sister was born they continued to go to the beach and it was something he cherished. When his mother became worse and the fights that she had protected her son from got worse, Lance found himself stepping between his father and his mother to stop the blows he would give her.

Distraught his mother made him promise to protect his little sister, no matter what, and even if anything happened to her, only shortly after that Lance’s mother died. The children were devastated and thus was the end of their happy days on the beach. Joan was Lance’s world after his mother died and he did everything to protect her, from fighting bullies in school to keeping his father preoccupied with beating him instead of Joan. They were very close and spent as much time together as possible, she was the one person in his life that truly understood what he did and why he did it; even though she didn’t like that their father beat Lance, Joan understood, even as a young child, that all her older brother was doing was protecting her to the best of his abilities.

One of the things that Lance fondly remembers about his sister is how she used to make little trinkets and jewelry out of the things she found on the street or around the house, thus why he has a pendent of hers that she made for him. It wasn’t until a fifteen year old Lance came home from school to find his father assaulting his sister did he actually fail at keeping her safe.That day still haunts the Irishman, the memories still as fresh as if they had just happened yesterday. The relationship Lance held with his father was little to nothing, he hated the man for not only what he had done to his mother but especially for what he found the man doing to his sister that day. Inevitably it ended badly for Lance and even worse for his father; the blood of the drunkard will never be a regret the Irishman holds, taking that bastard's life was the most assured thing he ever could have done.

The events that followed the incident were not the best either. Traumatized by the whole thing to begin with the siblings were separated and there was no way Lance could have gotten to Joan sooner. But when he did his absolute worst nightmare had come true, unable to handle the pain of what her father did and losing her brother a young Joan took her own life, leaving Lance on his own. When Lance was nineteen he joined the military and never looked back, he excelled through the ranks of the military quicker than anyone had ever thought and soon he was chosen for a special task force.

Still he worked harder than anyone else in the program and soon he was being sent on his own operations only a few years into his training, with experience came the bigger missions and soon he was a deadly assassin. Then everything changed when a great war began and Lance was sent into the forces against others just like him. However, that wasn’t all that changed during the war, there, in the dead of night the Irishman met a creature that was unlike anything he had ever known to be real, the great wolf attacked Lance. As if it wasn’t difficult enough for the man to live with his haunted memories he was destined to live with his mistakes as a creature of the night, a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

When Lance woke up on the battlefield he wasn’t sure what had happened, if everything that had happened was a dream or not, but the blood that stained his clothes and the pain that was throbbing in his head made it more of a reality. The eerie silence of the field surrounding him, the bodies that still were laying where they had fallen was almost too much for his confused mind to process. But he got up and dragged himself back to his troop, what was left of it anyways.

His wounds were nursed and bandaged and eventually healed quicker than what was expected. The attack of a crazed creature was long from his mind by the full moon, of course, that did not last long as the change took over his body and when he woke from that nightmare there were more horrors than he had seen in all his days in this horrendous war. His squadron, his comrades in arms, his family was dead and from the amount of blood that coated his body, Lance had no doubt he was the horror that had caused this tragedy. He had no other choice but to go AWOL. Lance had become the monster of legends, of myths and stories.

The Irishman shipped himself off to the Americas, doing so with great difficulty due to his monthly changes and his want to keep from harming people, but it didn’t always work out to despite his best efforts. People were hurt along the way, many more were killed as he tried to teach himself how to harness the beast within him, this was not something so easily attained. This monster was not as easily conquered as learning to use a weapon or to fight was, his new situation was something he’d never be able to accomplish what he wanted and that was to keep from hurting more people.

There was a point where he wanted to die, wanted to stop the pain he was causing by his inability to control anything. In the cusp of complete despair, however, there was hope. An older beast, one who had been turned many decades before him and was soon to find their own place of peace found Lance, it was not of his doing but he clung to the hope he was given. It was as if his mother, the kindest soul he had ever known, was reaching out to him in the form of another to bring him solidarity and control. It took a long while, the two traveled together all over the States before they found a spot deep in the woods of Colorado, where no one but the wild animals would be hunted by the beast until the young one was able to focus his mind.

Old age soon took the other wolf and with him a part of Lance, but not before he had been taught key skills that would help Lance on his journey through the outside world, not only with the politics that were always in play, but also with how people would handle him with the knowledge that he was a beast which caused disaster if not controlled. When he felt the moment was right, Lance ventured out of the woods, very much the image of a mountain man in the early 1930′s just in time to get a leg in some kind of society, keeping to himself before the next war began.

So it continued like this, he would join the military under whatever alias he came up with before going MIA or being pronounced dead and would find himself back in the Americas, it was safer there– for his memories, anyways, it was away from the place he called home. Decades passed and Lance finally found the world had eased on its blood-lust for war, but of course that couldn’t last long. There were some supernaturals that lived among the humans, even married them, an effort to keep the peace between their kinds. In his distrust and doubt, Lance kept to himself, keeping everything to himself, running into trouble whenever his memories needed drowning and he got a few drinks in him.

Eventually he found work in the bodyguard and security detail business, a family of witches, they understood his needs and it was a comfort to have an employer that could excuse Lance once a month for the full moon. He was assigned to his employers daughter, meant to protect and keep her out of trouble, something he had to shape up in his own life, but he was diligent and in his protection the Irishman fell for the beautiful blonde witch he was protecting. That was until his protection wasn’t enough and he wasn’t there to save her, the scene Lance found made him believe she was dead, still, without a body he couldn’t be sure, but it didn’t stop the wolf from mourning and trekking across the land to the worst place to be, which was good enough a place for him to drown his sorrows and try to rid himself of her. Something he found to be impossible, even as he joined the ruffians within Thorn Haven.

[obrennon]

littleredxblu‌:

Blu rarely found himself in the bar, but with Chance being busy with a meeting or something, he decided to head down and get a couple of drinks. He sat at the bar, ordering a jack and coke before turning to look around the bar to see if he could spot any of his pack members before turning back to his drink. He caught a whiff of the other wolf beside him and following his gaze to the table. “You know, I could always play you if you are lacking a partner.” he smiled.

Lance grunted and offered the other a smirk, finally glancing at the other wolf. He was young, perhaps too young but only in the sense that he was far younger than Lance. The Irishman shook his head lightly, mostly at his own thoughts and took another drink of his beer, returning his blue gaze to the remaining moments of the others’ game. “Yeah?” He hummed, clearing his throat and stretching some as he swung the bar stool he was on back around to face the bartender and the other wolf better. “You can’t go cryin’ t’yer Alpha when I kick yer ass in pool t’en.” He teased, grinning playfully and even adding a wink for good measure, gesturing that he wanted another drink from the bartender and ordering a shot as well. Most wolves had alphas or were a part of a pack, Lance had his fair share of interactions with both and had determined them less for him and more for others, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t comforted by being around other wolves, that much was innate.

[obrennon]

@littleredxblu​

Yet another night consuming copious amounts of alcohol, Lance was surely going insane and squandering off all his money but he was well past the point of caring. At least he was out and drinking, not stuck at home holing himself away in a drunkard mess, but either way, it likely didn’t matter both were equally self-destructive. It was still fairly early in the evening though and Lance hadn’t started drinking whisky just yet, he’d been working on a few beers and was watching a couple people go back and forth in a game of pool, back to the bar as he watched them, contemplating a game himself. Then a scent hit him, wolf, he didn’t look away from the game, just sort of smirked and took another drink from his beer.

[obrennon]

Cam Gigandet as Carter in Plush (2013, dir. Catherine Hardwicke)

[obrennon]

alasademon‌:

Alasdair raised an eyebrow, carefully poised in questioning at the tone of the other’s voice. Ah — how many of them in this world had a story deep within their chest, threatening to break the ribcage open and send someone bleeding out from the truth? Too many. But it was something that always interested Alasdair. To pull at the threads and discover the secrets one by one. Truths were always as much fun as lies. “What is lost can always be found,” Alasdair challenged with a slight wave of his glass. The ice clinked against the glass, the noise a familiar comfort. A dancer swept by and he offered up a glance. Hm. He’d have to get his own favorite to dance for him. “Unless your favorite has met an unfortunately end, then I could perhaps only give you the barest of comforts as to where she might have found herself.” Heaven or hell. Among the angels or the demons. “But if she is simply lost, for a price she can certainly be found.” Alasdair could send out those under his command to find a person. That was hardly much of a chore unless hidden.

Loss. Yes, that was what it was. Lance experienced a lot of loss in his lifetime, so much time, what rotation of the Earth was he on now? No matter how many people he’d lost though, Lance always found himself back in the same spiral downwards. He needed people to ground himself,  his mother, his sister, lover after lover after lover after... whisky burned his throat as the Irishman threw back one of the two shots, a nod offered to the waitress as she also sat down another brew, had he drained the other so quickly? Lance cleared his throat and let his gaze move from the dancers to the demon, gaze heavier for a moment as he sized the other up, it was soon draw back to the dancers as one moved by and Lance couldn’t help the ache throbbing in his chest, no matter how much more he threw back. He didn’t deserve comfort but that was only because Lance believed himself unworthy of ease. “T’anks mate but uh, m’not lookin’ fer any favors,” another glance at the man, smirk vaguely playing at his lips. “---or deals.” He added, leaning back in his chair to push the front two legs off the floor for a moment before he sat it back down, it didn’t matter because he was sure she was dead. 

A noise left his lungs as Lance took a deep breath and exhaled, a groan of sorts, he was already restless and as the whisky started to warm his system Lance knew he was getting to the point where he needed a change in scenery. What other places could he get wrecked and possibly find some action? Any action would do at this point. He pondered his next move as he drank down some more of his brew and threw back his second shot.