sarcasticwarden-blog

[sarcasticwarden-blog]

Yes yes yes! I support Mop. We have you this email. The enthusiasm unmatched by any candidate on the coming weeks, Mop needs you are stepping up to invest in your help, Because of this campaign. But we are building something unprecedented. We need to win. This is already a week! The truth is, it's only going to act on either side of our team, especially at such a critical day of people like you now more than establishment thinking to create jobs. We need to our team, especially at such a huge contributions to win this campaign. We're bringing in the love on social media! What a huge contributions to take power back from the billionaire class. This is amazing and met so many primaries and demonstrate the love on social media! That is nervous. #ChooseMop #MopIn2016 !!!!

[sarcasticwarden-blog]

[pm] Really, would switching mediums be all that hard? You know-- actually, hold off on that until we’ve sussed out the perfect tattoo for me. Then become the depressing non-nonconformist I know you can be.

10 out of, like, 100 maybe. I’m glad you share my taste. I’m also glad you’re not totally freaking out. Definite plus there.

Well, if you insist, though I do feel partly to blame if furniture needs to be purchased. 

[pm] But that’s what my art is for. Expressing all my deep, overwhelming, totally not run of the mill, intense emotions. You’re gonna have to try a lot harder to turn me emo.

I mean, you’re definitely a dork. You’re an absolute ten on the dork-o-meter. They were amazing songs, though. No fighting that. And it was kind of a big deal to me. If it wasn’t to you then… that’s probably good. Makes things easier.

Judging by the fur trail he’s leaving, he already won. You’re wrong if you think I’m gonna have you pay for my furniture, though. I’ll handle it, in case the dog is really that opposed to sleeping on the floor occasionally.

[sarcasticwarden-blog]

[pm] I’m not going to rule it out as a possibility. Might even get you a diary so you can write down all of your overwhelming emotions.

First of all, I’m not a dork. Those were amazing songs. Second of all, you’re welcome. It wasn’t that big of a deal. That’s a lie.

He’s probably got his sights set on taking over the apartment completely. One small step for dog and all that. And, while I’m not opposed to you sleeping on top of me, I wouldn’t mind chipping in for a bigger bed.

[pm] So not only do I have to be a pretentious artist, I have to be a hipster too? You’re asking for a lot here, man. You gonna make me go through an emo phase too, at some point?

While we’re on the topic of great gifts - thank you. For the CD. You fucking dork. I’m genuinely surprised I’m not on my way to leave this town after that. I don’t wanna deal with these feelings. Props to you for making me wanna stay, I guess.

Proud of you.

He does look all regal and shit when he just stares off into the distance like he just had a really deep thought. And I regret to inform you but unless you want me to sleep on top of you, we’ll have to kick somebody outta bed. Or buy a bigger bed, I suppose.

[sarcasticwarden-blog]

[pm] You’ve never had a pretentious artist stage? Oh, you’re barely living then. Even people who aren’t artists go through those. I’d be more than happy to witness your descent into the “been there, done that before it was cool” culture.

Something told me you might.

I already feel like a professional, so it’s good to have your expectations so high. I refuse to disappoint.

Wolfrick? I mean-- sounds respectable, I suppose. Like he’s some sort of noble. Not to worry though, I’m sure we can all get along on one bed. It’ll be grand.

[pm] Fair enough. Never had a pretentious artist phase before, it’s probably about time I start on that. I’ll put sweet decals on all your shot glasses while wearing the tightest of pants. Sound good?

A fan of shorts, eh? I’m gonna have to keep that in mind. And probably use it against you.

Just hit me up when you’ve got the mixing down, then. I expect nothing short of the best Irish car bomb I’ve ever had.

His name’s Wolfrick. Don’t look at me for that one, he’s from the sanctuary. He’s a sweet one, but looks a little mean. Just don’t wear anything white, his fur gets everywhere. Also… he kinda took over your spot in my bed.

[sarcasticwarden-blog]

[pm] Well, if you don’t mind, then it’s actually both. In my experience, the pretentious types always have the tightest pants-- I think it’s a requirement, honestly.

Shorts? Hadn’t even though of that. Oh, fuck me, I’m gonna die. I like the way you think, Delaney. Nothing like a little skin to draw in customers. Or, you know, me. Whichever catches your fancy.

I’m always up for a drink with you, seems like we have that in common.

Oh, my God, a dog? Seriously? No chain yanking is going on by chance? Can’t wait to meet him. Haven’t even seen him and I’m in love.

[pm] Are the tighter pants really necessary or are they just for your viewing pleasure? I don’t mind either way, but can this wait till, say, summer? Tight shorts are nicer than just plain old jeans. Seriously though, I just wanna drink with you. Suppose that’s nothing new.

Good. I’m kind of adopting one. You’ll probably see a fair bit of him, with me giving you keys soon how often you end up back here.

[sarcasticwarden-blog]

[pm] Well, I’d pick you over those weird mall Santa’s any day. About my future skills in mixing drinks, I think this book has finally given me some much needed direction. I’m going to become a pretentious mixologist-- you’re more than welcome to accompany me on this journey though you may need to start wearing tighter pants. 

I’m sure that sounds better than me wanting to kill all fae. Not that I’m backing down from that, but I suppose lack of killing counts as a decent Christmas present. Well, unless the fae deserves it. They always deserve it, never mind. Unless the fae actively proves it’s going to harm someone. ‘Tis the season!

Love dogs. Wish I could have one of my own but I doubt it would get along with all of the spiders and snakes be allowed at my apartment.

[pm] Oh, fuck you with your perfect gift giving. Where do you get off putting me in such a jolly mood? The nerve of some people.

[pm] Somebody’s gotta spread the Christmas spirit, right? By the way, you better show me those drink mixing skills sometime, now that I got you a guide and everything.

On another note - do you like dogs?

[sarcasticwarden-blog]

Left at Wall Space in a festive bag with a tag simply labeled “Merry Christmas, Ross -Cy”. The gift crate contains:

One 16oz pint glass

One 2.5oz shot glass

Two gourmet Popcorns

One “How to Make an Irish Car Bomb” guide

One bottle of Jameson Irish Whiskey (750ml)

One bottle of Emmets Cream Liqueur (750ml)

Four cans of Guinness Irish Stout (14.9oz)

[sarcasticwarden-blog]

Handed to Ross in person, since they live together, with no context. And followed by Nora leaving.

[sarcasticwarden-blog]

[pm] Well, it’s a bit hard to lock lips when your robotic overlords are peering over your shoulder, isn’t it? Way too tense. A certain mood has to be set for that sort of thing.

Would I happen to know them?

[pm] I feel that. Don’t exactly have any plans either. New Year’s has its way of messing with plans anyways, doesn’t it? Everybody had plans for the uprising of the computers on 1999′s New Year’s Eve and that never happened.

I’ve somebody I wanna kiss too. Quite the coincidence, huh?

[sarcasticwarden-blog]

@cyanink:  [pm] Got some plans? Sounds like you’ve got New Year’s all figured out.

[pm] Like I said, nothing’s exactly set in stone, but I’m more than ready to roll with the punches. I have my attention set on a certain someone though, if that’s what you mean.

[sarcasticwarden-blog]

Will you have a New Year's Kiss?

Are you offering?

All honesty-- most likely. Kind of difficult to set in stone though. Especially in this town, an apocalypse might roll around just as the ball drops. Who knows? Live in the moment, kids, it’s apparently all we’ve got.

[sarcasticwarden-blog]

[deleted: You should have killed me befo]

[no message received]

[sarcasticwarden-blog]

[pm] Mary. A ghost.

We’re moving? Where are we gonna live? Is it fancy, Bossanova? Oh, please say it is.

[pm] Who broke the lamp? Well, it’s fine. We’re moving soon. I’ll refurnish. 

[sarcasticwarden-blog]

[pm] I didn’t break the lamp.

I have returned from hibernation a few months early.

[sarcasticwarden-blog]

I’m the classic example of an only child!

[sarcasticwarden-blog]

Ross had once heard his father say that it breaks a man to see what he’s missing. The statement had always made some sort of vague sense, didn’t seem like bullshit at least, but now he truly felt it in a way that shook him to his core. Ever since the moment he was unable to see Mary he had felt nauseous. The spectrum of emotions swirling around inside him had begun to settle in the pit of his stomach. “Wasn’t once enough?” He’d asked himself though the answer was apparently not what he had originally expected. 

There was only one activity that usually helped him on his way back to a stable mental state but it felt so risky now. People knew who he was, what he was, and if bodies began to pop up then his fate was sealed. Thoughts drifted to the blonde Mara-- he’d even been slipping then, before all of this, he couldn’t blame everything on the sudden reappearance and prompt disappearance of Mary. She wasn’t even fae and he allowed the version of himself that wasn’t meant for audiences to surface and expose him. How was he even still on the street? Rapid fire images of what used to be home flashed in his mind like some sort of sick slideshow showing him what he could never have again.

There was no going back. It was good that Ross had learned at a young age how to be a convincing liar. Phone calls back home were beautiful fabrications of how his life in the states could have been-- should have been. Talk of how he had his first paying job but still made time to make sure his birthright was tended to, how he always made himself useful to his roommate who somehow managed to be put in a wheelchair, Ross’s interest in the town’s youth and how he made sure Kloe stayed safe, and then there was Cyan. The warden usually kept talk of the tattoo artist to a minimum despite how difficult that was but he would be lying if he said Cyan hadn’t made a cameo in a conversation or two.

“An artist? You seem to be attracting quite a lot of those these days.”

“What can I say, da? S’pose I’m some sort of muse for the lot.”

“So long as you’re happy, son. You are, right? Happy, I mean.”

Pauses of varying lengths usually followed this question.

“Never happier. Listen-- I’m needed at the shop, swear the place would burn down without me, give mum my love.”

Always joking around with his father when on the phone with him. There was never a word spoken about how he’d nearly died in the short time Ross had been in Ashkent than in his entire life in Ireland. And, of course, he never brought up his favorite hobby. “They’d fucking disown you, you twat.” He’d tell himself. Even though his favorite sight happened to be that moment when the light found in the eyes of a frightened fae faded to black and he never felt more complete than when he held their lives in his hand-- he knew no one else would see things his way. Fae were just intricate toys for the warden to take apart and be discarded like he was some sort of demented child. No one would understand.

Ross exhaled and realized that it was cold enough for him to see his own breath. The cold had only just begun to envelope him. His focus had been on the sensation of what felt like pin pricks having their way with his brain and alerting him to all of the fae that were in the region. He was bordering on feral but held onto one thought as if it was going to be the one that saved him from himself. “Cyan’s coming.” Though he had never been patient and the warden was in near physical pain due to his own lack of action. “Fucking hurry, alright?” His gaze fell to the ground as his expression remained devoid of any sort of detectable emotion. He was beginning to shut down the way he had when Mary first died.

A voice rang through the darkness and blessed his mind with something other than his own thoughts. His head snapped in the direction of Cyan and an odd laugh escaped his slightly chapped lips as a familiar warmth graced him in spite of the cold. “Thought with your powers back and all that you’d at least be a bit fucking faster. Might have to amputate a few fingers.” He called out in response as he tilted his head backwards, removing his hands from his pockets and wiggling his fingers slowly. “Can barely feel them, Delaney. Step up your game.” Part of Ross wanted to warn Cyan about what he might just be getting himself into-- to run the other way while he still could. On the other hand, the idea of having someone witness his downward spiral was just too enticing.

The smile seen on the other’s features forced Ross to mirror the action without even thinking about it. Cyan was smiling, he should be too. “Walk around the sanctuary, yeah? Sounds awfully romantic, if you ask me, but don’t think that just because you’re treating me all proper that I’ll be giving anything up anytime soon. Takes wooing to get me into a situation like that.” Avoiding serious subjects had become a talent of the warden’s and it seemed to go over especially well with the lycan.

A few steps and Ross closed the gap between the two. He stood a good head taller than Cyan, looking down at him with a fondness reserved for only him, and he chuffed. “You might be right.” Ross’s gaze remained fixed for a long moment before he finally broke it and grabbed Cyan’s hands and began walking backwards-- hoping he would follow. “Fucking weird, innit? Feels like we should be all curled up and cozy without a clue where the remote is, pretty sure they say that variety is the spice of life though, so let’s get spicy.” He spoke the last word emphatically with a scrunched up nose, his knees bending slightly as it seemed like all of his actions became exaggerated for those two syllables. 

“Please know when to run.”

Mourning Sickness || Cyan & Ross

Fucking Ross. It was hardly Cyan’s fault that he wasn’t at the library yet. Texting and driving didn’t tend to go together too well and showing up in a body bag probably wasn’t something Ross would appreciate all too much. Especially with what he was dealing with. It was hard to imagine how he had to be feeling. He’d admitted he wasn’t fine, the werewolf understood that much, but genuine loss wasn’t something he was very familiar with. And the warden’s case seemed even more complicated, with him having gotten Mary back for a little. Dealing with this in person would hopefully be easier than talking about it online. He’d have body language to go off of, not just words. And physical comfort was much simpler than trying to think of something to say. Still, not exactly what Cyan wanted. Well, it was what he wanted - but he also wanted to skip town and forget about them ever having met. The usual, really. It already meant a lot that he wasn’t actually trying to leave town.

This was the second time that Ross had called him in to help deal with something that clearly wasn’t easy on him. It still surprised Cyan, really. Their bond was obvious to him by now, but to be relied on like this still made him feel a little special. He didn’t mind helping either, especially if it was the warden that needed said help. Whether he liked it or not, the trust between them meant something to him - Ross meant something to him. It wasn’t something he could just ignore, even if that seemed like the better choice. Sooner or later, he’d crave talking to the warden or he’d get a message from him and everything was right back on his mind like it had never left. And though his empathy hardly worked well enough to feel these sorts of things, but knowing the warden wasn’t alright left a bad taste in his mouth. Just one more reason to figure out how he could make things better for him.

At least he could move normally again - all that was left of that moose incident were a couple bruises and those would be gone soon, too. It was about time, he was full of pent up energy by now. It showed not just in the way he drove, but in the way he moved too. More forceful, less mindful of his natural strength, now that he’d gone without it for a good couple weeks. He couldn’t wait to bound through the forest. If Ross was up for it, at least. If not, well, he didn’t have any appointments tomorrow. He could simply skip work and spend a day in his wolf form. Maybe slaughter some moose to get back at the one that hurt him.

He parked his car close to the library, hopping out and almost immediately shoving both of his hands into his pockets. When did it get this cold? The lycan started feeling a little bit bad for making Ross wait now, considering even he thought it was pretty cold. With quick steps, he made his way to the male, calling out, “You freezing to death yet, Ferguson? Sorry for the wait. Let’s get moving. Don’t want you to actually turn into some sorta frozen statue. I thought we could go walking ‘round the sanctuary or something like that.” Only slowing down as he actually reached Ross, Cyan shot him a smile that hopefully came off as warm. “Happy to see me, I’m sure.” Only now did his smile turn into his usual teasing smirk. “Almost a little weird to meet you outside of my apartment at this point, I gotta say.”

[sarcasticwarden-blog]

[pm] I knew my charm would have the exact effect I wanted it to. Just another part of the Ferguson package. By the way, you know how you said you weren’t going to make me wait? Guess what I’m doing as I type.

Waiting.

I expected more from you.

[pm] Wow, how smooth of you. Others might’ve been like “yeah, I liked sleeping next to you too, you smell heavenly”, but you’ve just got it all figured out, don’t you? Being told I’m not disgusting just makes me so weak in the knees. And now I’m just gonna ignore the rest of your message, okay? Okay.