vampires aren't real trevor

[reposing]

[So it's been one hell of a year, to put it mildly.

The Church was always a bit of an impending concern, but it never really occurred to either him or his mother that would one day bang down on their door and drag them away to be executed as witches. It's ignorant and frustrating, but he's lived past that. A miracle some would call it; proof he was Satan's spawn, the Church howled at him; there had to be a perfectly valid reason why he managed to escape the flames, so he didn't think much of it and the Church's superstitions.

It didn't matter anyway. They'd killed his mother, a man with a beard and strange red eyes had been furious when he said he didn't want revenge, and he managed to survive that encounter too.

So the rest of the year has been spent wandering the countryside, stopping to tend to the occasional ill or wounded. It helps him get by, and he does prefer to help those who truly need it. Some days are harder to deal with than others, but at the end of it all, he knows what he'd rather be doing.

It's night, wet and muddy out, making it harder to breathe. He'd survived the bearded man, but his chest still acts up sometimes. He coughs quietly into his hand, wincing to himself before it clears up. Though he starts to make his approach to the pub, he pauses watching a man stumble out from the tavern with blood down his face.]

Are-- [The scruffy looking man vomits into the mud.] --you all right?

Comments

[miraclewhip]

[ Actually, buddy, he still has yelling to do. Thanks.

Or he would, if Adrian weren't bizarrely good at dragging people around. It barely feels like he's trying at all, and yet Trevor's pulled along like he weights nothing. Fucking beer, probably. Or maybe the blows to the head. One of those always makes him dizzy before it makes him decent company for himself. ]

No water left for the bath when they've used it all to water down their damn goat piss.

[ Yes, he's still yelling. In the vague direction of the tavern now, because he doesn't quite remember where it used to be before he was here. He stares at the damp rag and then snorts out the worst of the blood into it. Then wipes his face with it. Then realises the mistake and folds it over on itself before using the cleanish reverse side to wipe up the mess from doing that. Then puts it in his pocket, still damp and bloody. His now. ]

Shit, shit. Need another to sleep.

[reposing]

[well that's fucking nasty. why are people like this. it's so unsanity. he wants to scream, but instead adrian just keeps it bottled up inside because what else can you do when a man blows his bloody snot into your rag, wipes off the remaining blood, and shoves it into his pocket.]

I've a waterskin. Have a bit from it? After all of that vomiting I imagine you could use it. Then we'll worry about you getting some sleep.

[And he holds up said waterskin helpfully. God he hopes this man doesn't do something gross with it.]

[miraclewhip]

[ Thankfully, he does in fact successfully drink from the waterskin. Then holds it up, gllares at it, and shoves it back into Adrian's hands. ]

Fucking thing's full of water.

[ What do you mean this waterskin has water in it. Where are the alcoholskins. ]

[reposing]

Yes. The waterskin I mentioned. Which generally contains water.

You should really have the whole thing.