#☨ ŧhe things that make us (ṃoṇsŧeṛs)v1

[theweredrifter]

@unapxlogeticme

"haaaa, on a scale of one, to butthole, where are you, right now?"

[theweredrifter]

@luposcainus asked: “ ah.. you seem different yet familiar.”

Gabriel stood outside his camaro, leaning against the back and chewing on a piece of mint gum while mentally preparing for the inevitable. It was a different time of day, so perhaps his appearance wouldn't be spotted by anyone who might have seen him the night prior. Around lunch time, the warm rays beat across an already sun-kissed complexion from lack of proper shelter, thus being forced into the elements with the exception of his car. About to lean off the bumper, he's approached by a unknown male whom he'd assume was going to pass by like all the others to head into the grocery store.

"...?" The drifter turns to eye the source of the voice. The tall dark stature did not ring a bell, but the remark piqued interest. "Familiar?" The question aired in a Western Australian accent whilst curious blue eyes cast down at himself in thought, although paranoia of what that could mean begins to fester at the back of the consciousness. The two meet eyes, the obvious does not yet reach the mind. "Care you elaborate? .. You a cop or something?" It's subconscious, the frame tenses, and appears.. defensive.

[theweredrifter]

@silentime asked:

Hands him a chocolate bar.

Gabriel was having a particularly rough day, feeling alone, and isolated from the world. He's sitting down by the pacific ocean, on a beach with lots of large broken up rocks, and washed up trees. He's sitting on one of those large rocks, arms hugging his partially bent legs as curly, greasy hair blows every which way in the wind. It's about 7:15 pm, the sun is mostly gone, he's looking out across the water at an island, seeing faint flicking of lights in homes in the barely visible distance.

It sucked, not feeling like he had a place in the world. Werewolves weren't supposed to exist, but here he was with an incurable infection. A heavy sigh as the shoulders slump, the drifter is cold, but multiple shirts were worn to combat most of its discomfort. The wooshing of the ocean providing some far off cradling effect, but what he wouldn't give to have the arms of his family around him.

Blue eyes glass over, wishing for the unreachable when- near by rocks crumple under weight. "...?" Turning toward the noise, a strange woman or.. girl? He couldn't tell, was approaching him with something in hand. He doesn't say anything, but then- neither does she. The item is handed out, its slim, rectangular shape familiar, and nonthreatening. There's a look of confusion, but he reaches out. "For me?" Nothing is said, but he offers a meek, appreciative smile and offers a thank you, loud enough to be heard over the wind and water, but not a shout, either.

[theweredrifter]

@cigarettesandcoffee

Continued from here.

Gabriel took the extra towels handed over after Caspian went to retrieve clothing while remaining by the back door entrance to keep the mess of water contained to one spot. The drifter is trying to dry off and desperately contain his crying. The emotional strain from having to run from the law under such conditions, having to let Caspian see under his normally well kept facade destroyed him. The elder male was all he had, to risk losing them after showing up as he did- put them in possible danger-know what kind of man he really was- it just made him sick.

Despite all effort, the most Gabriel could resort too was heavy, focused breaths while leaning down to take off his shoes and set them by the door, then awkwardly keep the towels draped over the shoulders and head while removing wet clung pants, and under garments. There's a lot of sniffling going on, and it's probably observed how hard the facade of being okay is trying to be upheld for the sake of his company.

When Caspian returned to him, clothes are placed on the counter. Gabriel is nude and still shivering while drying off. Normally there'd be some restraint when removing his clothes, but one couldn't very well put wet underwear on under clean dry garments. Then again, they'd both seen each other, so there was comfort in familiarity.

When asked about what occurred, there's a long pause while continuing to dry off. Lips pull tight into a subtle snarl, but the eyes are cast downward. "...It's.. it's alot-" Beginning to start, he hears the crackle of the fireplace and looks up with interest; then to Caspian. "May I..?" If given permission, the feet would be thoroughly dried, grabbing the given clothing and treading over toward the fireplace to stand in front of it. The intense heat procured a heavy sigh of relief through his strained breaths, it warms the body, and the ache in sore, overworked joints. "I need a minute.." Commenting in a low mumble, hands wringing over themselves to warm.

After a long while of simply standing there to settle, and warming himself up, Gabriel slowly proceeds to set the towels aside and dress in borrowed clothes. The restraint of not crying had also dissipated, at least from observation, and he stood quiet. Still facing the fire, the head turns slightly to glance over as his company;"Um.." A tongue presses into the cheek, the subject is evidently uncomfortable. Out of shame, he's only willing to look at Caspian from the side. "What if.. I told you, I was .. a shitty person?"

[theweredrifter]

// Closed starter for @devildungeondm

Gabriel stood over the open trunk of the Chevy camaro, looking down at the black duffel bags of leftover money he had been 'loaned' from a shady businessman. After being railed about it for weeks, blue eyes take a long moment to consider what was really needed. Having the police on his tail was already enough stress, which in turn could trigger an unwanted transformation and cause more harm. He didn't need actual criminals after him too.

There's a long silence, the lower lip sinking beneath the teeth in uncertainty. This was the 4th town he'd stopped in within a months time, and he couldn't get anywhere without gas money. With an exasperated sigh, the trunk is left open while he went and sat on the wooded fencing that separated the parking area from the wooded trails, or from going off the cliff.

In the other hand hung a large glass bottle with two small thumb holes toward the spout. There's some dingy yellow, discolored label across the one side, but it cannot be perceived in the dark. Bracing weight on the wood fencing, and crossing one foot over the other, the drifter drinks straight from the bottle and stares at the open trunk. Luckily hiking trails, and recreational parks were not frequented during late hours, which allowed him some peace, not just from people, but in case he lost control.

Drinking and humming under his breath, he appears to be contemplating what to do about the current predicament, with the aid of the alcohol- possibly in an effort to not have a complete meltdown. It was a common thought among many, to hold it together, but now stuck between a rock and a hard place the drifter wished now, more than ever that there was a way out, a way to escape.

[theweredrifter]

@malka-lisitsa

"oh, that Mistress Kat again? Look just because you won that arm wrestle does not mean I'm soft- REMATCH- RIGH NOW!" Thrusts his arm out.

[theweredrifter]

@accordedxneutralxterritory:

"Play along or they might take us both." for Verse 1 or Mafia

From: ???

Roped along everywhere his captors went, the drifter never knew where he was going, or why. Had to care about making appearances in a different way; far more than just hygiene and perfectionist grooming. Presentable yet also present. At first it felt like a luxury, being allowed out in public and getting essentials while feeling protected from police, an eye over his own shoulder on his behalf. But the novelty of freedom wore thin, eventually running out of money to give, to be protected and he'd become a liability.

A naive civilian turned fugitive over a disease that shouldn't exist to begin with, the choice to find shelter among the mafia had not been the wisest option- then again, who would so blatantly refuse authorities beyond a common thug? From protected to victim, the issue with his choice quickly overwhelmed, and now he was in over his head.

A tool, some semblance of use to the syndicate. More than enough ammunition not only to shoot him down, but also to hand over to the police on a silver platter with his pants down if any resistance was shown or to be deemed without use, whatsoever. These high profile criminals didn't mess around, and that comfort became a source of fear.

Another meeting to attend, the 5'10 drifter is pushed out into the pouring rain around 8 o'clock at night while being crowded by two others and a third who drove an unmarked inconspicuous beige vehicle. Having no means of shelter, no choice is given, cold water pelts the body and face while awaiting orders, often in silence with a forceful gesture.

However, something isn't right. There's no longer a push for him to get into the vehicle, and the heavy rainfall masks any noise or bypass of wind from movement. The driver was waiting, but the drifter.. stood there.. moments ticked passed, and eventually, had courage to peer over his shoulder.

His captors were on the ground a few feet away, face down. A tall, slim unknown figure knelt down over one of the bodies. The sight alone was so unexpected, he froze. He didn't hear anything, not a cry out or a grunt, let alone a scuffle. Complete silence.

'Hey, what's taking so long? Let's go!'

Whipping around toward the driver's voice who was aware of the situation at hand, the drifter found himself in an unusual predicament. Does he get into the vehicle, or does the figure who removed his captors be his key out of this mess? Turning back to the estranged individual, something is heard, uttered but it can't be made out, something about playing along. Unsure of what to do, hands are lifted to be non-threatening, naive enough to assume he could possibly be next without making the connection that if he had been a target, there would have been no more time to react than his captors had.

[theweredrifter]

Closed starter for @malka-lisitsa

Gabriel made a poor choice this night. Fingers tap idly on the table while looking at a menu he'd been too embarrassed to say no too. Leave it to him to not know the difference between a regular bar and the VFW post. What was worse, he couldn't drink, only veterans got the bar, and immediate family. He'd made a fool of himself, and as he sat there feeling particularly anxious, a right leg bounces- contemplating just how he'd try to salvage his own idiocy as quietly as possible. It was evident his presence did not belong, and while he wasn't the center of attention, a couple eyes peered in his overall direction, but luckily the attention did not last long. Others of varying age were coming in too, couples, people by themselves

With people continually pouring in, the drifter saw his means of escape and took advantage. Feet pull him to a halt outside while others went in, a tall 5'10 frame steps to the left to allow entry while taking a breath and looking out at the open air to no place in particular. The chest heaves, and the worn expression is sullen, defeated, the shoulders lowered, and hands balled into leather jacket pockets for some semblance of warmth. The stomach gurgled in emptiness, and the frown deepened. It wasn't worth it, though the vague onset of a headache from lack of food made him seriously contemplate going back in.

Worn converse hit the pavement in a slow stride back to the parked camaro with the intent to find somewhere to park and sleep. It was better to sleep through the hunger, than squander the only money left. There was always tomorrow.

[theweredrifter]

@unapxlogeticme ⚠ - gabriel & emerson, for the mafia verse. Send ⚠ to find my muse next to a dead body

Gabriel had been with and under the protection of the mafia for quite some time, but his naivety thought one could simply sit pretty and stay out of the criminals way. No, a ridiculous notion at best. Forced to become part of the crime, the drifter found himself holding a complete stranger at gunpoint. In a sense, he too was held at forcible point, with the threat of the syndicate revealing his secrets to the police and making his disease known to local and far reaching authorities. That wasn't a hard thing to do, the Were was wanted federally, and nationally as a known fugitive.

The stranger is cornered down an alleyway that went down and to the right, but both ways were cut off by fellow members. Forced through a initiation process, the weapon trembled in the drifter's hand, he didn't want to harm people, yet it seemed, curse or no- he was doomed to be a monster. The victim cowered and pleaded for their life, while the dread and fear mimicked that of his would-be victim. "I don't want-" 'Shoot him!' Gabriel bumbled under his breath an apology through tears..

Bang!

The cowering frame drops to the ground and blood begins to pool around the head injury, whereas Gabriel's arm lowers, he is in shock of what he'd just had to do. The smell of fresh blood triggers hunger, but he's too shaken to experience much of the bestial urges before being ushered away by members back to the car. The weapon is snatched away while being returned to the back of a inconspicuous car, with another unknown face. The other male could see everything from inside the car through the front windshield. Was he not the only one going through initiation today? Gabriel wondered what kind of sick games he and the stranger had gotten rounded up in.

[theweredrifter]

Starter for @thelostboylonelyworld

Gabriel had come to a new area, thanks to slowly but surely figuring out how to get around on free forms of transit. The camaro had been left behind somewhere with a trusted friend or relative, he's only got feet to carry him around now. The cycle repeats again, new place, where's the homeless shelters, where are the free food donations to the needy, housing if the shelters were full, places to crash, over and over. Running from the law was tiresome.

Told about reputable resources from people he'd met, the drifter had learned libraries were great sources of information, from maps, to volunteer opportunities. Making his way there based on google maps, the drifter grips tightly his iPhone 11 while keeping it close to the body when the sliding doors to the public subway closed. City life was extremely vast, and he was not used to it. Bustling city types were just a different set of people than what he was used too back home in Australia. Less friendly, more pushy, more diverse too.

Feeling partially paranoid, Gabriel eventually held his backpack on his front, fearful people might take his things since everyone had to stand so close to one another. He couldn't touch people, and was already hungry.. Some time later he makes it off the subway and some distance before reaching the inside of a large, multi-floored library. Curious and intrigued at the inside atmosphere, he looks around for awhile but eventually goes to the front desk where he expected somebody to be there. "..Hello?" He clarifies in English.

[theweredrifter]

@gollldrush sent in: "who do you think you are?" ↪     𝑴𝑶𝑹𝑩𝑰𝑫 ᶜᵘʳᶤᵒˢᶤᵗʸ .    (  a  collection  of  various unsorted question prompts .  adjust  phrasing  as  necessary .   will  be  updated  frequently .  )

Brows furrow while the jaw cracks when slacked to one side. What kind of question was that? Here we was, trying to be nice and strike up a conversation in the gas station while she waited in line, and he's chalked up to be another homeless that wandered in and around the area. While that was wholly true, the drifter took great pride in said appearance, even if self care was.. limited. He had the right to talk to a lovely lady, especially when she carried a scent he deemed.. somewhat familiar.

Some might call it, peacocking, others might call it desperation, but whichever it could have been, he refused to leave the conversation alone. She wasn't an average woman, and having been alone in the world, another possible Were- she'd been the first he'd come across since his own curse took hold back in February. A frame stood at about 5'10, a bit scraggly, but as best kept as one can be given his predicament. Accent clarified he was a foreigner, but that was up to her knowledge if she could pinpoint origin.

"Aww, come on luv, I'm just talking to ya. I think you and I have something in common." It didn't matter if she pushed him away figuratively with her words, ignored him or physically resisted, the drifter would be very persistent, to the extent of nagging. Did she pick up he was something alike too? She had to of, right? The need to connect to another of his own kind put him in a awkward situation, he'd even follow her out like a lost puppy.

[theweredrifter]

@huntrcsss asked:

🔁 (for verse one!)

Song landed:

Gabriel was standing outside a homeless shelter having a cigarette break when a young woman approaches him, seemingly with questions. It almost felt like an interview, he glances over at away in the midst of the conversation with an almost vacant gaze. What did some clean, decent looking woman want with homeless people?

Still, she named herself and gave a quiet, and very patient ear which.. with all the pain Gabriel was holding onto, made it easy for him to trauma dump share tidbits of his life. Eventually, he's trailing off topic from the targeted questions, mentioning his loneliness within said predicament. "It's hard to believe that there's nobody out there, to believe that I'm all alone. At least I have her love though- the city, she loves me- lonely as I am." Was it the information she needed to locate a monster? No, but did she now have too much information from a lonely homeless man? Yes.

[theweredrifter]

@unapxlogeticme asked:

🔁 - emery & gabe

Song landed:

Gabriel is chain smoking on the bed, laying back with a full ashtray at his feet and phone beside him. Emerson had come to check in since he wasn't answering his phone, and normally there's a text, or a phone call by now. Swinging the door open to a room upstairs in a place one could rightly assume was a drug house, the room is thick with smog from the repetitive smoking and mental spiraling.

When asked what was going on, the drifter tilts his head up to see a familiar shape. A tiresome exhale sounds as the head drops back down onto the bed. "I drank too much last night, my head just feels in pain, I missed the bus and there'll be hell today. I'll be late for work again.." A pause to take in a drag. "nd even if I'm there, they'll all imply that I might not last the day." A long exhale airs as the smoke procures from dry lips. "But I want to thank you, you know, for stopping by babe."

[theweredrifter]

@desirespeaks liked for a one liner from drunk Gabriel!

Sitting on the farthest curb outside a local Walmart somewhere in the states, it's about 9:37 pm and he has had so much alcohol he's.. incapacitated. "...."

[theweredrifter]

@godstrayed asked: “I just don’t want them change me.“ / Angel

Roped along everywhere his captors went, the drifter never knew where he was going, or why. Had to care about making appearances in a different way; far more than just hygiene and perfectionist grooming. Presentable yet also present. At first it felt like a luxury, being allowed out in public and getting essentials while feeling protected from police, an eye over his own shoulder on his behalf. But the novelty of freedom wore thin, eventually running out of money to give, to be protected and he'd become a liability.

A naive civilian turned fugitive over a disease that shouldn't exist to begin with, the choice to find shelter among the mafia had not been the wisest option- then again, who would so blatantly refuse authorities beyond a common thug? From protected to victim, the issue with his choice quickly overwhelmed, and now he was in over his head.

A tool, some semblance of use to the syndicate. More than enough ammunition not only to shoot him down, but also to hand over to the police on a silver platter with his pants down if any resistance was shown or to be deemed without use, whatsoever. These high profile criminals didn't mess around, and that comfort became a source of fear.

Another meeting to attend, the 5'10 drifter is pushed out into the pouring rain around 8 o'clock at night while being crowded by two others and a third who drove an unmarked inconspicuous beige vehicle. Having no means of shelter, no choice is given, cold water pelts the body and face while awaiting orders, often in silence with a forceful gesture.

However, something isn't right. There's no longer a push for him to get into the vehicle, and the heavy rainfall masks any noise or bypass of wind from movement. The driver was waiting, but the drifter.. stood there.. moments ticked passed, and eventually, had courage to peer over his shoulder.

His captors were on the ground a few feet away, face down. A tall, slim unknown figure knelt down over one of the bodies. The sight alone was so unexpected, he froze. He didn't hear anything, not a cry out or a grunt, let alone a scuffle. Complete silence.

'Hey, what's taking so long? Let's go!'

Whipping around toward the driver's voice who was aware of the situation at hand, the drifter found himself in an unusual predicament. Does he get into the vehicle, or does the figure who removed his captors be his key out of this mess? Turning back to the estranged individual, something is heard, uttered but it can't be made out, something about change. Unsure of what to do, hands are lifted to be non-threatening, naive enough to assume he could possibly be next without making the connection that if he had been a target, there would have been no more time to react than his captors had.

[theweredrifter]

Closed starter for @hellfireheroes

The Camaro rolls to a slow stop over the forest floor around 7:45 pm, the gas gauge tittering over E. Tired eyes look from the dash out through the windshield with the silhouettes of tall trees stretching out and as far as the eye could see through the remainder of a setting sun. "As good a place as any." The drifter couldn't leave the vehicle out in public, it would be towed by the end of the day. The 1979 Chevrolet Camaro Z28 was an eye sore in modern day, not to mention his father had reported it stolen- so here he was pulling to a stop in the wilderness to give a form of cover until he could find some means to refill the tank. A poor choice on his end to have taken a vintage muscle car to the streets, having been stopped more times than he cared to admit, but ditching his father's prized possession felt a bit.. cruel.

The engine idles for what would likely be the last time in the foreseeable future, with Billy Idol's Rebel Yell playing on the radio. A left hand rubs a first and second finger over the brow while enjoying the music. When the song came to an end, the radio and vehicle were shut off. The engine quieting to a soft ticking while the reality sunk in he'd have to start traveling by foot. There was no way the drifter could take everything that had been brought with him in the backseat or trunk, so he'd need to come up with a game plan if he's to completely move on from the camaro. The door swings open with an exasperated sigh, pulling the key from the ignition and stuffing it into a front right pocket.

Silence, minus the crickets and his own movements. A frown is pasted on his expression while closing the door, making a point to walk deeper into the forest rather than back toward civilization, not like the public could help anyway. With arms pressed close to the body, he turns around to reopen the door and lean into the back for some extra layers of clothing to put on. Amply prepared, the doors are locked and closed. The echo from stepping on leaves and branches fades further and further from the car in search for a place to move his belongings and set up camp.

45 minutes to a presumed hour later..

A small cabin comes into view, and in excitement, feet tread all the faster to see if the space had a solid roof or if it was compromised from wildlife or weather damages. Upon approach, the familiar smell of blood reaches the nose, the mouth salivates, could it be a hunter's cabin? If food was inside, the drifter could sate his beast, and sleep like a rock. A hand tries for the door but it doesn't budge. "...." The handle jostles, but it's clearly locked. Could it be occupied? Moving away from the door, the windows are attempted, but they are blocked out by boards, and what could be seen was naught but pitch black darkness.

Not halted by fear if someone was inside, an iPhone 11 is pulled from the inner jacket pocket and the flash light feature is turned on to try to get a better visual and the insides looked.. empty, unoccupied. Returning to the door, small, handheld items are fetched from the front left pocket, and after a full minute of jingling and clinking with the weather worn lock..

Click!

Without thought the door swings wide, the joy that shot through the body from his victorious effort was immediately dampened. There's enough light left outside to see something hanging from the ceiling thanks to the door having been thrown open, strands of what looked like hair caught his attention and garnered a fearful gaze further upward. At first, the drifter's thought was someone had been murdered and was hung upside down on a meat hook, but the smell of human blood was not present, he'd know that distinct odor, but the more the eyes settled into the darkness, large wings, overtly large appeared to cover this large creature -and talon like feet? Was it a bat? In a span of seconds, the decision is made to abandon what ever he'd just discovered and book it.

If things couldn't get worse, it was beginning to move, likely from all the ruckus of trying to open the door. !! Stumbling backward in an attempt to adjust his footing, the stomach twists into a tight knot while fear washed over him and stifled any attempt at screaming. That was far too big to be a bat, the drifter struggles to breathe, but scrambles to collect himself, throwing the body forward and onto his feet to run, leaving the door ajar.