Vignette: No Good

Participants:

Max.jpg

Date: 2010.07.21
Location: Beast Manager's Office
Synopsis: Max returns to the beast caverns after having delivered the goldrider to the healers and sets about drowning his self loathing in a very deep bottle, or two, or three. Seether - Eyes Of The Devil
Rating: Some language
Logger: Max


Boots scraped along the rock face as Lomaxin returned. Hands to pockets, shirt stained with both his blood and Randi’s where the goldrider had laid her head against his shoulder as he’d carried her. The healers had tried forcing healing salves on him for his cut lip but he’d refused the help. He wanted the dull ache in his jaw. Needed it, even.

Walking down the aisle of stalls usually brought with it a sense of pride for the work and animals entrusted into his care but not this night. Instead it left him cold and offered little comfort for what he’d almost done.

A long sigh dragged out of him as reached his office stall and sank into the chair. Immediately his hand went to the drawer that held his private collection of booze and snagged a full bottle of whiskey out of it. Pulling the cork out with his teeth, he threw almost a third of the bottle down his throat before coming up for air. Savouring the burn that spread through his chest, stole his breath and had his eyes watering.

Setting it down on the desk top with an audible thunk, Max bent forward and tugged his boots off. Anger with himself saw them being tossed viciously across the room. Next he ripped the bloodied shirt off and balling it up sent it after the boots. What the fuck had he been thinking? The minute her fist had hit his jaw, he’d just lost it! A black rage, long last seen, had just descended over him like a fog, driving all reason from his brain.

Flashing blue eyes, and low taunting laughter whispered through the air, stroking soft touches across his skin. The beast manager’s fingers gripped white knuckled around the neck of the bottle, as if he could strangle life out of ghosts past. A low snarl broke free, splitting the cut on his lip open, fresh blood starting to seep out once again. With jerky movement he lifted the bottle to his broken mouth and sucked the contents down as a drowning man does air.

As the hours past, the first bottle slipped from numb fingers and dropped to the floor, another was reached for, uncorked and the contents sent the same way as Max strove to drown his demons. Dawn starting to break free from the chains of night, saw the young beast manager sprawled unconscious in his chair, the last thing fleeting through his alcohol bleached mind was the hazy form of a young toddler, giggling and punctuating the air with chubby fists.

He was no good, and he knew it.



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