If there's one thing that's the same pretty much everywhere, as far as he can tell, it's getting completely, stupidly drunk. And hey, it's not like he doesn't have practice at that, both the drunk and the stupid. So every time the booze goes round, Baphomet's right there, making sure he's taking a swig. It reminds him of university, although that's a bitter enough memory he doesn't go too far into the comparison.
The alcohol is sweeter than he'd like, worse than the time someone showed up with Skittles vodka, but it's strong enough to start getting him drunk almost immediately. Looking round, more cheerful than he's been ever since he got dragged here, he holds the bottle up for the next person, a little over-familiar as he nudges them.
"Here, you look like you could use this," he says, smirking. His canines really are very sharp, when he does.
Barrayan Camp - Next Day
He might well be the reincarnation of a god of war (and disease and death, all very valid things to be a god of out here in the middle of nowhere), but one, they took most of that away from him when they dragged him here except a few cosmetic differences, and two, he's hungover to shit. Besides, he's a god, he can get some slack on the whole camp chores thing, right?
At least, he's trying, hiding out round the back of the stables, leant against the wall. His head is pounding, and he's trying not to feel too ill. The instant he hears someone coming, he stands up a little too fast trying to look normal, only to groan and swear when it makes him feel worse.
Recon
He's not the sneakiest of people, but he's at least capable of looking after himself. And, if he's being honest, which he never is, he doesn't exactly work well with others, which as far as he's concerned isn't his problem. Plus he's not actually that useful anywhere else, given his lack of applicable skills anywhere except hitting people with a big stick, and he can't even make that flame like he used to.
And he doesn't want to die, so he pretty much makes sure he's away from any actual battlefields as much as possible.
So he's out here, in the middle of the snow, freezing his ass off to see how well the other side is dealing with repairs after the raids. He's also bored. He half-turns, still watching the camp with one eye, face half-hidden behind his shades, keeping his tone as uninterested as possible.
"So, my bet's on this being some kind of punishment for something I did. You?"
"Baphomet" | Wicked + Divine
If there's one thing that's the same pretty much everywhere, as far as he can tell, it's getting completely, stupidly drunk. And hey, it's not like he doesn't have practice at that, both the drunk and the stupid. So every time the booze goes round, Baphomet's right there, making sure he's taking a swig. It reminds him of university, although that's a bitter enough memory he doesn't go too far into the comparison.
The alcohol is sweeter than he'd like, worse than the time someone showed up with Skittles vodka, but it's strong enough to start getting him drunk almost immediately. Looking round, more cheerful than he's been ever since he got dragged here, he holds the bottle up for the next person, a little over-familiar as he nudges them.
"Here, you look like you could use this," he says, smirking. His canines really are very sharp, when he does.
Barrayan Camp - Next Day
He might well be the reincarnation of a god of war (and disease and death, all very valid things to be a god of out here in the middle of nowhere), but one, they took most of that away from him when they dragged him here except a few cosmetic differences, and two, he's hungover to shit. Besides, he's a god, he can get some slack on the whole camp chores thing, right?
At least, he's trying, hiding out round the back of the stables, leant against the wall. His head is pounding, and he's trying not to feel too ill. The instant he hears someone coming, he stands up a little too fast trying to look normal, only to groan and swear when it makes him feel worse.
Recon
He's not the sneakiest of people, but he's at least capable of looking after himself. And, if he's being honest, which he never is, he doesn't exactly work well with others, which as far as he's concerned isn't his problem. Plus he's not actually that useful anywhere else, given his lack of applicable skills anywhere except hitting people with a big stick, and he can't even make that flame like he used to.
And he doesn't want to die, so he pretty much makes sure he's away from any actual battlefields as much as possible.
So he's out here, in the middle of the snow, freezing his ass off to see how well the other side is dealing with repairs after the raids. He's also bored. He half-turns, still watching the camp with one eye, face half-hidden behind his shades, keeping his tone as uninterested as possible.
"So, my bet's on this being some kind of punishment for something I did. You?"
Just small talk, no deeper meaning here...