Asemir
Null Prime
The whiskey swirled its copper form in the glass. The liquid oozed around the cubes of ice, and Asemir found himself entranced by the way the light glimmered off the amber. He tilted the glass, watched as gravity guided the spirits towards the edge. The alcohol gathered, the hydrogen bonds fighting the pull of gravity.
After a moment, he brought the glass to his lips and felt that smooth burning as the whiskey travelled down his throat.
The bar was nice, the atmosphere nice. He found himself more and more in these establishments, even more so now than in his youth. At least back then, he had others to blame, others to drag him to places he didn't really want to go. But now, it was all his own volition.
Asemir sighed and set the glass down gently against the lacquered bar. He often wondered why he even bothered with alcohol. Perhaps he had grown to like the taste. Maybe. But it certainly wasn't for the chemical effects of the ethanol. It was all reflex and instinct now, for his body to begin that automatic filtering if poisons. Sometimes, he regretted his training. It was too strong and instinctive. It just wasn't possible for him to get drunk.
Not that he even wanted to feel the numbness and fog that came from consuming too much R-OH. It would be distracting and he'd learned long ago that distraction equated to death.
He'd always wondered why he wasn't drawn to the escape alcohol brought, unlike many in his profession. He had many regrets and sorrows and horrid memories, but they never seemed to overtly bother him. Sure, he'd the flashbacks, the sudden fugue moments, but who hadn't? It was nothing he'd call post-traumatic stress. Long ago, he'd learned to accept who he was, and that was that.
Still, he was tired. Exhausted. Directionless. Unsure where his future lay. Did he have a future? If he did, it would be a lonely one he realized for the umpteenth time. And not without a little regret.
Two chances. Two wonderful women. And they were gone now. Dead for years.
Sad.
Asemir glanced around the bar, seeing the other patrons. Some laughed, some talked. All had mirth. It was envious. Sort of.
The Forgotten shrugged and took another sip. It was life, and he'd go on. He'd train his apprentice, mold her into an unstoppable killing machine. Just kidding. He'd teach her and help her find herself. No killing involved.
But then what? He didn't know. Maybe he'd go looking for a companion?
That thought brought a chuckle. Amusing.
Asemir Lor'kora smiled and turned his attention back to the whiskey.
Yes, it was the taste. That was why he drank this stuff.
[member="Lady Kay"]
[member="Trenchcoat Man"]
After a moment, he brought the glass to his lips and felt that smooth burning as the whiskey travelled down his throat.
The bar was nice, the atmosphere nice. He found himself more and more in these establishments, even more so now than in his youth. At least back then, he had others to blame, others to drag him to places he didn't really want to go. But now, it was all his own volition.
Asemir sighed and set the glass down gently against the lacquered bar. He often wondered why he even bothered with alcohol. Perhaps he had grown to like the taste. Maybe. But it certainly wasn't for the chemical effects of the ethanol. It was all reflex and instinct now, for his body to begin that automatic filtering if poisons. Sometimes, he regretted his training. It was too strong and instinctive. It just wasn't possible for him to get drunk.
Not that he even wanted to feel the numbness and fog that came from consuming too much R-OH. It would be distracting and he'd learned long ago that distraction equated to death.
He'd always wondered why he wasn't drawn to the escape alcohol brought, unlike many in his profession. He had many regrets and sorrows and horrid memories, but they never seemed to overtly bother him. Sure, he'd the flashbacks, the sudden fugue moments, but who hadn't? It was nothing he'd call post-traumatic stress. Long ago, he'd learned to accept who he was, and that was that.
Still, he was tired. Exhausted. Directionless. Unsure where his future lay. Did he have a future? If he did, it would be a lonely one he realized for the umpteenth time. And not without a little regret.
Two chances. Two wonderful women. And they were gone now. Dead for years.
Sad.
Asemir glanced around the bar, seeing the other patrons. Some laughed, some talked. All had mirth. It was envious. Sort of.
The Forgotten shrugged and took another sip. It was life, and he'd go on. He'd train his apprentice, mold her into an unstoppable killing machine. Just kidding. He'd teach her and help her find herself. No killing involved.
But then what? He didn't know. Maybe he'd go looking for a companion?
That thought brought a chuckle. Amusing.
Asemir Lor'kora smiled and turned his attention back to the whiskey.
Yes, it was the taste. That was why he drank this stuff.
[member="Lady Kay"]
[member="Trenchcoat Man"]