Tight? "yeah," He Answered With A Lazy Chuckle. "i Don't Do Mornings Well, Clearly." Was That A Compliment

tight? "yeah," he answered with a lazy chuckle. "i don't do mornings well, clearly." was that a compliment or an insult? or was the other genuinely just trying to be playful and tease him. keagan really struggled with mornings and unfortunately the coffee(s) had yet to clear the fog in his head.

"i might have some sugar, and milk in the fridge, but honestly? i don't normally add anything to my coffee so i might not have anything on hand. worst case scenario i can try and charm it for you to make it taste sweeter, or whatever flavor you want... if you need." keagan mumbled as he pushed himself up from his seat. despite being relatively young, and in good shape, he hobbled over to the coffee pot on his counter as if he were an ancient old man with decrepit bones and aching joints.

fucking mornings.

"no, yeah, last night was incredible and i'm not just saying that. you're a lot of fun." gods did he really just say that. looking over his shoulder back at rory, he scrunched his face into a knot of embarrassment for his lack of eloquence in the moment. "clearly i'm a bit shit at this part but basically i'm trying to say i'd really like to do this again sometime... or just hang out in general because we don't have to, well, you know..." fuck. just say it. fuck. "-- and you don't have to return the favor, don't feel obligated. that was just a heat of the moment thing... i got a bit carried away last night but, yeah, it was a lot of fun and you more than returned the favor already."

˙ ˖ ✶ Keagan

"No you're absolutely fine," Rory spoke up, stretching out with a yawn that seemed longer than necessary. He'd actually been dreading waking up, not fully knowing how to handle doing something he'd thought about for years but had never actually gone through until last night. "Looks pretty tight on you, all things considered," he teased slightly as he craned his neck, noting the difference in their frames.

"Coffee sounds great, and last night was definitely fun..." and there it was, the realization of whether or not he should admit he truly enjoyed it and would wish to keep doing this sort of thing. Or fully say it was a one time thing. "Um...hope you liked it as much as I did, cause I was fully hoping to return the favor you did for me in the bathroom."

LEO SUTER for Men’s Health: Train Like

bonus:

a visible wave of relief washed over the were as the door opened. it was still chained shut so he couldn't see casey fully but he was answering him and that was enough. all those undermining voices in the back of his head telling him the man wasn't going to see him were rightfully silenced. taking a deep breath, his posture softening and loosening to show that he was already comfortable around the other, the features of his face betrayed him and tightened as alston realized this was the first time he'd ever come around without a wounded animal in his arms; without needing help of some kind.

"everything's fine," he blurted out quickly, the words feeling rushed and uncertain as his lips pulled into a forced and uncomfortable smile. "well, i didn't bring anyone with me at least." things were hardly fine. his home had burned, so many had been lost, and he was on the run... but that was hardly a conversation to have on someone's doorstep after not seeing them for-- what had it been now, months? a year? why was it so hard for him to keep track of time.

"beer." alston stated plainly as he held up the six pack in his hand, followed by lifting the bottle of whiskey to show them to casey as if the man couldn't clearly see him holding them. "i came to offer you some beer, or some whiskey? i wasn't sure what you liked..."

"oh, and to let you know that i've relocated to live here in alexandria and say hello... so... hello?"

yeah. you're killing it alston. definitely not awkward at all.

As a chronic misanthrope, Casey lives on his own on the edge of town, away from the bustle and hustle. Some peace and quiet, that is all he wants in life, really. Though compared to other nigh-immortal creatures his kind doesn't live that long but still, Casey feels like he has lived long enough to act like a grumpy old man. And he doesn't need parties or going out so this place suits him.

Naturally, it's quite unusual someone knocks on his door. It is clearly stated on his 'no soliciting' sign at the gate... But Casey is unfortunately not callous and impolite enough to simply not answer the door. What if someone's car broke down or has medical emergency? Grumbling, he drags himself to the door. Instead of fully opening the door, he cracks it open with the chain on and checks outside. "...Alston?"

He hasn't seen the werebear in... how many years, or months? He can't even remember (his sense of time is all over the place, sort of). He closes the door to unchain, and greets his old... client? Acquaintance? Friend? He is not sure. "Hey, it's been a while. So where's the patient?" Out of habit his eyes turn to Alston's hands. Usually, Alston brings injured animals. Not seeing any blood, fur or feathers, he looks back up at the other's face. "Everything okay?"

eoghan had only been here for a month but he was already in love with alexandria. he didn't have to hide or look over his shoulder to make sure some scorned woman wasn't chasing after him for seducing her husband or to make sure some misguided hunter wasn't trying to make a trophy of his head. alexandria was paradise. it was his metaphorical eden.

with everything alexandria had to offer the last thing he expected to come across was an old friend of his-- an old haunt that used to keep his bed warm on occasion. wolfram was a damn good lay and immensely fun to party with, and destroy relationships with. he should have been in a big city somewhere breaking hearts and ruining lives, not panhandling here in this little corner of sanctuary.

"alexandria must be too peaceful if the fates thought it would be a good idea to put us both here at the same time," he teased as he stretched out his arms to pull wolfram into a hug; his arms tightening around the man for a moment, constricting him, before releasing him again. "it's been too long. i found my way here about a month ago; angered one too many witches and, well, needed a place to lay low for awhile. what about you? why are you here? run out of homes to wreck?"

LOCATION: Streets MUSE: Wolfram Wagner STATUS: Closed | @unveiledvagabonds

Wolfram isn't busy these days. He has enough money in his offshore account so he doesn't need to do an honest day's work for the rest of his life. But he needs work to keep himself from going crazy. And there's only so many meaningless sex he can have to distract himself.

So lately, Wolf has been just prowling the streets of Alexandria with his fiddle. He'd make random stops, play a tune and move on. Sometimes people would listen, film it with their phones, toss a coin or whatever. Most just gives passing glances and ignores but Wolf doesn't mind. It's been pretty entertaining, and relaxing? This is the laziest he has been in decades so he is making the most of it.

He finishes his current piece, and notices someone stopping in front of him. He was going to ask for tips, but instead a name blurts out of him. "Eoghan?" He lowers his violin and grins, "small world! Didn't know you were in this town. How you been?"

squeaking and hissing as he was unceremoniously grabbed by the scruff of his neck and pulled from the pile of scraps his snacking had left behind, the familiar's body stretched out as if the cat were made of putty as some man-- most likely the one that owned this garden-- hoisted him into the air to berate him.

cocking his head to the side, the orange cat stared at the man's face with deep, wide eyes as he seemed to be so angry he couldn't even think of what to call him; he couldn't even think of what he was. cat. the answer should have been obvious. were his vegetables some prized possession of his? had thomas unwittingly devoured, and destroyed, his life's work? is that why he couldn't think straight enough to call the familiar what he was?

meowing in protest as the man threatened to eat him-- which thomas hoped was a joke-- the cat squirmed a bit in the man's hold in an attempt to get away; but the stranger had a decent grip on him. he could have clawed him in the face, or reached up and clawed at his arm, to make the man drop him but he'd already done enough damage so instead he stretched out his right paw and gently let the pads of it press against the man's noise as he began meowing sweetly; softly.

if the man would just put him down he could explain.

Every day, Ed wakes up early in the morning, laments the fact that this body he is stuck in requires periodic sleep, makes breakfast for his kid and goes for jogging. Not that mere running counts as actual exercise for a hellhound, but that's just what humans do... he thinks. After the run, he tends to the garden and greenhouse. Ed tells himself he doesn't enjoy gardening– it's a means to an end, a human disguise because humans need to work, or something along that line– but there is something comforting about being in the garden. Growing your own food, that was a foreign concept to him once. But now, it's quite fulfilling. Not that he'd openly admit that.

Today when he walks into the backyard of the shop, however, Ed finds a scene of massacre. Eggplants, whatever the red round fruit thingies, root vegetables... dug up and eaten. If he was capable of emoting, he would've fallen to his knees and screamed 'NOOOO' to the sky (Ed once saw a 'movie' where a man does that). No, he simply stews in his white hot rage, almost snapping a broom unfortunate enough to be in his hands right now.

Ed sniffs at the air, searching for the sign of intruders. Picking up a scent but not seeing anyone in the garden, he strides toward the source of the smell. And then he finds it, one of those little creatures that like to purr. "You." He calls out, and in one fell swoop, he grabs it by the scruff of the neck and picks it up. He can smell the vegetables on it...

Holding it up to his face, Ed narrows his eyes and snarls. "Thieving little... what are your kind called? You... furry soft animal." He can't remember the name for these creatures. Something with a kh sound? "You ate my plants. Maybe I should eat you for lunch." He wonders for a moment if it's edible, or more importantly, if it's edible or digestible for humans. How is he supposed to cook this anyway?