ˢᵖˡᵃᵗᵗᵉʳᵉᵈ

blood.  diluted,  but  still  blood.  water—  freshwater,  and  something  similar  to  the  humidity  before  it  rains.  and  ..  candy.  did  you  just  eat  candy?  

@blackcqt- ,
            
            all the time.  although,  i always wonder what other people smell.  how they describe it.  what are you smelling? 

mhm,  figured.  are  you  aware  you  smell  odd? 

i guess.. i /don't/ know that you're not luring me into a trap. 

@ilokind ,
            
            among others.  so i’ve made it easy.  how do you know i wasn’t luring you into some ominous trap? 

i've been tracking you, and you made it easy. is this really your finest scent? 

i'm looking for a drink. know of any good taverns around here?

@movelikethemist ,
            
            thanks.  *  silence followed.  cole was not one to accept gratitude from strangers with true admiration.  he finally lowered his head to look at him,  *  what are you doing here?  

* thorn was looking at the expression on the younger man's face while he listened to him talk. thorn's blue eyes then looked back at the art. *   
            yes, i've had that happen before. this, though... this is something i can't see myself having the abilities to make. you have an eye for art.

i will be unhappy. 
              * was his simple response as his features softened and he looked towards a nearby waterlogged book on the floor. *

@movelikethemist ,
            
            oh,  *  a sly grin formed,  his arms crossing over his chest where a new tear had formed across his shirt,  *  and if i don’t? 

* his eyelids closed very slightly, narrowing his eyes, so that he was casting a look of disapproval towards cole. he merely stared with an annoyed frown on his face for a moment before speaking, *   you must.

@sparkingbolts ,
            
            good ol’ old hideout brick.  *  he nods in approval at the piece of masonry,  *  was the guy paranoid?  maybe he died from paranoia.  that’s a thing.  where’s the writing?  

sounds like a plan.   i even brought one of the bricks from our old place—   [ frankie pulls it out of her bag with ease,   placing it down on nearby stool. ]   some guy built this fallout bunker back in the 60s.   i found some of his writing,   but i didn’t get through most of it yet.   he wrote /a lot/.   must’ve died of old age by now.

@sparkingbolts ,
            
            so long as nobody things about touching it  …  it’s ours.  *  he holds up a hand for a high-five,  thinks better of it,  then sticks a thumb up,  *  sweet find,  shocky.  i’ll get all my band posters and hang ‘em up to make it feel all homey. 

; !!

/ curious or maybe a hostile like intro maybe?

//;  curious intro maybe ?? Pls and ty!

/  soo i was supposed to have his revamped backstory down but kinda got procrastinafied  ):  anyways,  he’s how he usually is; 
            - lives all over the place (especially in his happy little abandoned penthouse which is just the top floor of an abandoned derelict apartment that may or may not be flooded from the first floor up
            - finding a way to live with a scary entity inside of him that wants drowned souls for feasting
            - he doesn’t drip black water as often,  instead is considered “moist” to the touch,  clothing damp if not dry
            - graffiti artist,  grungy fashion icon
            - often longs for being normal and 100% alive again,  sometimes has “normal days” where he overpowers the evil and tries to exist as a dry guy living a normal lifestyle. 

is heeeeeere   —      in my aaaaarmssss..