#[greywood rp :: thread :: asher baudelaire]

[asherbaudelaire]

Closed Starter for @mayarparker Setting: The Morning After *****

This is not his phone.

It's the realization seeping far too slowly through his hungover, mildly dehydrated brain as he sits upright on the sofa where he'd passed out after getting home from yet another eventful night out a few hours ago. Asher blinks the groggy sleep from his eyes, head pounding as he turns the device over in his hand and tries to focus on the details. It's the same model as his phone; similar case, too. But this is not his phone. This is not his phone.

It buzzes again. Asher sits up a little more, pushing the tousled hair from his face as he tries to recall what drunken shenanigans last night might have led to such a predicament. He'd gone to that dive bar a few streets over after work. Not unusual. Shots were 2-for-1 on Thursdays. There was a woman partaking of the same, who had joked she could drink him under the table. That was how it started. Isn't it always? Somehow they had ended up in the bathroom together, and--Oh. His eyes go wide.

Oh...

"Fuck." Asher breathes, wincing as a flush of heat rises to his cheeks. Now he remembers. "Fuckin' Hell..." He feels the telltale churning in his stomach and reaches for the small garbage can he keeps beside the sofa, worried he's about to hurl. He's certain the nausea isn't only from the alcohol; this is not good. What if--were either of them sober enough to consider precautions? He doubts it. Fucking a stranger in a filthy bar bathroom is one thing. It happens. Potentially infecting an innocent woman with lycanthropy is entirely another. He doesn't even know her name. Panic sets in full-force, and Asher doubles over to retch into the garbage bin. There's a moment of clarity in the wake of it. They'd been in such a hurry as they scrambled to grab their things and go; the phones must have gotten mixed up...which means if he has her phone, then she has his.

Asher snatches the woman's phone off the cushion beside him and dials his own number. It rings, and rings, and rings, until finally he hears the receiver pick up the line.

"Hello?? Please don't hang up..."

[asherbaudelaire]

Closed Starter for @werewolfroman Where: White Oaks Dive Bar *** It hasn't been a good day. Work has been slow for a while now, and every contract that has come his way has been one Asher can't afford to lose. Of course, today he lost one. It was mostly his own fault, he knows--his initial estimates were off, quote was under, the usual--but he had tried to make it work. He needed to make it work. The customer pulled out anyway.

There was nothing left to do except get well and truly shitfaced about it.

He was well on his way, too, before Roman walked into the bar. Asher does his best to ignore him for a while like he usually does, but it's like the third rule of the universe that there is no greater buzzkill than drinking in the same establishment as one's asshole dad. Resigned, he pays his tab and hits the can before heading for the door. Two steps into the parking lot and the day gets worse...

"--Are you fuckin' kiddin' me?" Asher snaps angrily, sprinting over to rip the keys from his father's hand before the older man can climb into the driver's seat of his vehicle. It's hard to tell which one of them reeks worse of cheap liquor, but even through his inebriated haze Ash can see that Roman has no business being behind the wheel at the moment. "What the hell are you thinkin' right now?"

[asherbaudelaire]

Closed Starter for @opheliasflood Setting: Ophelia and Asher's Balconies

***** This week has been a contender for worst of his life, and that's really saying something. Top three, easily. In some ways it's been a blur, but not the good kind. It's like that for a lot of people who got sucked into the madness Halloween night, or so he's heard. Most of them handled it better than Asher had, though. He should probably still be in the hospital--would be, if he were human--but they hadn't made him stay. It didn't feel like much of a victory. If this isn't rock bottom, Asher isn't really sure what is.

It's chilly outside in the early hours of pre-dawn, but the night sky is clear overhead. Asher sits on the cold decking, arms crossed over his knees, staring up at the waning moon. There's no beer in his hand tonight, only a lit cigarette between his fingers and an open book turned over on its pages by his side. His watch buzzes on his wrist; 3am. Balcony hour. If that even exists anymore. He takes a drag from his cigarette and looks over at Ophelia's balcony, prepared to resign himself to the end of an era.

And then her door opens. He hesitates a moment, not really sure what to say, before settling on the obvious. "Hey."

[asherbaudelaire]

Closed Starter for @magicvet Where: Greywood Veterinary Care *** It's well after business hours, but then that's a concept which never really meant too much to Asher. Besides, he knows damned well this is where Corey Patterson is most likely to be at any given hour, anyway. He knocks on the door, but doesn't wait for an answer before pushing it open and stepping inside; hauling his oversized cargo in precariously behind him. The oversized cat-tree, artfully constructed from rustic cuts of wood to very accurately portray its namesake, barely fits through the front door. "Uncle Corey?" Asher hollers across the seemingly empty veterinary lobby, insomuch as the typically soft-spoken young man ever really raises his voice. "--You in the back? I could use a hand with this damned thing..."

[asherbaudelaire]

Closed Starter for @opheliasflood Where: White Oaks; Ophelia and Asher's Balconies ***

"You're late," Asher teases dryly when he hears the screen door creak open from the adjacent balcony, not bothering to glance over. He already knows whose face he's going to see when he does. It's Friday night, and this is their thing. His eyes are turned upward, studying the waxing moon in the night sky overhead. "It's like three twenty; what happened, you get stuck on the pole?"

Ash doesn't wait for an answer, finally pulling his attention away from the sky and stepping over to the railing to pass a bottle of beer across the way. From the state of his clothes it doesn't look like he's had his usual post-work shower yet, but he's clearly gotten a head start on the drinking. "Sorry it's kinda' warm. Came home to a busted fridge. When it rains it fuckin' pours, y'know? Anyway. Cheers."

[asherbaudelaire]

Closed Starter for @matthewbaudelaire Where: Sunday Farmer's Market *** When Asher was a kid, Sunday mornings used to be his favorite. Mom would get up early and make a big breakfast for everyone, and the whole house would smell like pancakes and maple syrup. Some of his happiest childhood memories--few and far between as they tend to be--are of those Sunday mornings sat around the kitchen table with with his siblings; laughing over spilled orange juice or challenging his big brother to rock-paper-scissors over the last slice of bacon. Somehow Ash never lost. Looking back with the clarity of hindsight, he's fairly certain it didn't have anything to do with luck.

Sunday mornings aren't the same these days, but even still Asher insists upon clinging to some semblance of what they used to be. It's family tradition, after all, and they have so few of them left to hold onto. The hour is stupid early and he's braving a killer hangover as usual, padding around the outer edge of the farmer's market as he makes his way to the stall where Matt sells his ceramic creations; a brown carry-out bag from the Blue Frog Cafe clutched in one hand and two plastic containers of orange juice in the other. "Y'know, you could've taken up a hobby that starts at noon..." Asher grumbles, rounding the display to set the food and drinks down on the nearest clear surface before collapsing into one of the uncomfortable folding chairs along the back end of the stall. "I forgot the hashbrowns. Sorry. You got any aspirin?"

[asherbaudelaire]

Closed Starter for @opheliasflood Setting: Ophelia and Asher's Building

***

Asher hardly recognizes the face staring back at him. Clean shaven, hair carefully combed and tied back; even the dark circles beneath his eyes seem fainter now that he's actually sleeping at night. He reaches out to tap the mirror, half convinced he's fooling himself. Between the glow-up, the fresh scent of fancy bath products, and the finely curated outfit--shacket included--there's hardly a trace of his usual grunge. J.C.'s expertise has yielded quite the transformation; the vampire has solidly outdone himself. For the first time in a very long time, Asher is pretty sure nobody is going to mistake him for a bum tonight.

Trying his best to cling to that confidence, he heads for his front door and makes his way down the hall to his neighbor's. Their reservation isn't for half an hour and it's only a short walk from here. On second thought, maybe he's a couple minutes early. He hesitates, but then he figures that's better than late. Steeling his resolve with a deep breath, Asher knocks on Ophelia's door.