09-26-2013, 08:15 PM
Tony was fucking exhausted.
He had trudged around the Undercity, up to his neck in filth and bad memories. It was a wonder he had survived for so long in the wretched underbelly of Moscow. Stranger yet was the way he felt at home amongst the rejected and outcast of society.
Needless to say, his mood was decidedly sour. Without the power filling him, the gnawing void returned in force, and he felt once again the craving for vodka.
All of the bars around were dead, the owners preparing for another day of drunken misers or revellers. However, Tony spotted a quaint little place - he did not bother to even check the name - where a lone man sat hunched over a shot glass, the barman giving him a sour look.
Tony smiled and entered. He did not have any idea who the man was, or why he was in a bar at this fucking hour, but it suited his mood fine. Michael would have called him a fool, but Tony was only a man. "A shot of your best vodka," he called to the barman, wandering over to sit next to the sullen patron.
He looked miserable. His face lined by stress and marked with a brooding intensity. Perfect. "A long night, friend?"
he asked with weary sympathy, Tony felt he could relate to the struggle he saw in the man's eyes. "Our demons are strongest in the early hours, eh?"
He had trudged around the Undercity, up to his neck in filth and bad memories. It was a wonder he had survived for so long in the wretched underbelly of Moscow. Stranger yet was the way he felt at home amongst the rejected and outcast of society.
Needless to say, his mood was decidedly sour. Without the power filling him, the gnawing void returned in force, and he felt once again the craving for vodka.
All of the bars around were dead, the owners preparing for another day of drunken misers or revellers. However, Tony spotted a quaint little place - he did not bother to even check the name - where a lone man sat hunched over a shot glass, the barman giving him a sour look.
Tony smiled and entered. He did not have any idea who the man was, or why he was in a bar at this fucking hour, but it suited his mood fine. Michael would have called him a fool, but Tony was only a man. "A shot of your best vodka," he called to the barman, wandering over to sit next to the sullen patron.
He looked miserable. His face lined by stress and marked with a brooding intensity. Perfect. "A long night, friend?"
he asked with weary sympathy, Tony felt he could relate to the struggle he saw in the man's eyes. "Our demons are strongest in the early hours, eh?"