Kiss with a Fist

Ruth gave an exaggerated roll of his one eye, bored with the repeating answer of remaining a tightarse. Your loss then, and that would be all he’d comment further, the conversation long waned.

Perhaps his ranting of love and betrayal would spark a different reaction than Ruth’s own lack of control. He scowled at the apologies, scoffed at what he perceived as hollow advice. I don’t need you to feel sorry for me. And she doesn’t affect me, no what she did, was that she only proved what I already thought. He should have listened to the little voice of doubt, but no, everyone had been encouraging and look where that had got him? Nowhere.

Him? Me? Talk? At that, Ruth’s laugh loudly rumbled out of his chest. Oh that would be something to behold. I don’t even think we spoke much when my mother was alive, I’m certain he communicated mostly in grunts and glares of disappointment which only deepened with every day I breathed. No, his father wasn’t here to reconcile with him, merely doing what was expected of him, as a Keeper, a leader for his clan to follow and trust in. Ruth never understood why he wasn’t afforded the same luxury. Families are usually better being those you choose to be anyway, and I can count maybe two people on that list. He was still debating on Nairn after this whole fake death cop-out.

Still, Ruth wasn’t too far in his cups to not catch the sense of something crossing the man's face during their discussion of family. Ah, so there was a tortured backstory, just too close to the surface for the man to share… Ruth frowned at the similarities, even if slight. Doubling down on the notion that they were nothing alike. Not all monsters wield such magic, and for some wounds, no amount of time can heal them he quoted, some philosopher whose name he couldn’t recall at the moment.

Fortunately his mouth rescued the mood, Revas’s further prodding only fueling his turning mind over onto his often adventurous nights. There is a whore near Kirkwall. Willie. The elf smirked remembering their first night. She’d show you a good time, Gramps, no word of a lie, but I’m not interested in a shackle, I’m interested in a good fucking time. And this was by far, one of the worst soberings he’d had in a while. Life is a game, the only rule is to not let it fuck you over too early you miss out on it all.