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asher_talos
28 September 2008 @ 12:59 am
While Asher was still adjusting to the idea of Del being pregnant with his hell spawn, it was a lot harder to do whenever he was back in that dorm room. It was one of those two tiny steps forward, one giant step back kind of deals and, in all honesty, he wondered if he’d just be better off rooming elsewhere. What he didn’t need was a constant reminder of how badly this could all end, but it was hard to shake the feeling when this place thought it would have been fun to leave dead bodies in his bed last Halloween.
Of all the corpses he’d dealt with over the span of five-hundred years, the Island sure knew how to pick the pair that would pack the most punch. Going for the heart; it was something he probably would have found commendable, under normal circumstances. When it wasn’t his heart.
If they could just skip right over October this year, that would’ve been great.
Perched on top of the dresser with an apple clamped between his fangs, Asher just stared at his bed. He’d gotten back into the habit of avoided sitting or lying on it unless he knew he’d fall asleep as soon as his head hit his pillow. And, frankly, he just wasn’t that tired yet.
Of all the corpses he’d dealt with over the span of five-hundred years, the Island sure knew how to pick the pair that would pack the most punch. Going for the heart; it was something he probably would have found commendable, under normal circumstances. When it wasn’t his heart.
If they could just skip right over October this year, that would’ve been great.
Perched on top of the dresser with an apple clamped between his fangs, Asher just stared at his bed. He’d gotten back into the habit of avoided sitting or lying on it unless he knew he’d fall asleep as soon as his head hit his pillow. And, frankly, he just wasn’t that tired yet.
Current Mood: 
numb
numb16 September 2008 @ 04:22 pm
[dated to the 18th]
Today, like most days, the bookshelf was doing what it did best: annoying the shit out of him. It was back on the vampire novel kick and it seemed particularly keen on The Southern Vampire Mysteries books this time around. Now, as darling as she was, in all her Southern glory, Asher wasn't that interested in reading up on the Life and Times of little Miss Sookie Stackhouse and her wacky adventures. And, really, who could blame him?
Accepting defeat, Asher tried to convince himself that reading was stupid anyway, flopping down heavily against the length of one of the couches. Onyx almost mimicked the action for himself on the floor just beside him, topping it all off with a heavy sigh. Asher peered down at him curiously. "Over worked and under paid, huh?" Under stimulated, more like.
Asher knew that feeling all too well.
Today, like most days, the bookshelf was doing what it did best: annoying the shit out of him. It was back on the vampire novel kick and it seemed particularly keen on The Southern Vampire Mysteries books this time around. Now, as darling as she was, in all her Southern glory, Asher wasn't that interested in reading up on the Life and Times of little Miss Sookie Stackhouse and her wacky adventures. And, really, who could blame him?
Accepting defeat, Asher tried to convince himself that reading was stupid anyway, flopping down heavily against the length of one of the couches. Onyx almost mimicked the action for himself on the floor just beside him, topping it all off with a heavy sigh. Asher peered down at him curiously. "Over worked and under paid, huh?" Under stimulated, more like.
Asher knew that feeling all too well.
Current Mood: 
recumbent
recumbent12 July 2008 @ 02:55 am
[Dated to July 12]
It sort of figured, really. Not even a full twenty-four hours after he’d hit the one year mark on the Island and the place decided to fuck with him. Royally.
It was like he’d been the victim of a visit from the fucking tooth fairy, but in reverse.
He’d woken up with the taste of blood in his mouth, a sharp familiar zing that started in faint, but intensified as he blinked the final holds of sleep away. A crimson stripe was left on the pale skin of back of his hand after wiping it across his lips, and pushing his tongue to the front of his mouth had revealed the reason why.
Those certainly hadn't been there before... Or, they had, but not for a full year now.
He remembered the drill, how awkward and clumsy he'd been with them the first time around; they took time to get used to, not that he thought he'd have that time this go 'round.
Why were they even there for a second time around? The first set had been confiscated at the door by the Island's inviso-bouncer system. A fully loaded gun and half a mind to use it made it right on through, but modified canines were a no-no. Maybe his task had been to prove he could have the gun on his person for an extended period of time without killing anyone before getting his teeth back... Asher had though it a bit more likely that this was just another nuisances that came with living on the island.
The fangs were a startling discovery to say the least, and when he got ready for the day – poking and prodding at the sharp canines with his tongue the entire time – he had kept telling himself that they weren’t permanent; they were just another one of those temporary mindfucks the Island liked to pull.
He wasn’t sure if knowing that made matters better or worse, but he did know that he didn’t want to take any chances. Avoiding people as much as possible, until the Island was finished dicking him around, seemed like the safest course of action.
Maybe he’d sit in the sun all day, popping garlic cloves like potato chips, just in case this turn of events went deeper than a simple cosmetic change.
[part the second]
It sort of figured, really. Not even a full twenty-four hours after he’d hit the one year mark on the Island and the place decided to fuck with him. Royally.
It was like he’d been the victim of a visit from the fucking tooth fairy, but in reverse.
He’d woken up with the taste of blood in his mouth, a sharp familiar zing that started in faint, but intensified as he blinked the final holds of sleep away. A crimson stripe was left on the pale skin of back of his hand after wiping it across his lips, and pushing his tongue to the front of his mouth had revealed the reason why.
Those certainly hadn't been there before... Or, they had, but not for a full year now.
He remembered the drill, how awkward and clumsy he'd been with them the first time around; they took time to get used to, not that he thought he'd have that time this go 'round.
Why were they even there for a second time around? The first set had been confiscated at the door by the Island's inviso-bouncer system. A fully loaded gun and half a mind to use it made it right on through, but modified canines were a no-no. Maybe his task had been to prove he could have the gun on his person for an extended period of time without killing anyone before getting his teeth back... Asher had though it a bit more likely that this was just another nuisances that came with living on the island.
The fangs were a startling discovery to say the least, and when he got ready for the day – poking and prodding at the sharp canines with his tongue the entire time – he had kept telling himself that they weren’t permanent; they were just another one of those temporary mindfucks the Island liked to pull.
He wasn’t sure if knowing that made matters better or worse, but he did know that he didn’t want to take any chances. Avoiding people as much as possible, until the Island was finished dicking him around, seemed like the safest course of action.
Maybe he’d sit in the sun all day, popping garlic cloves like potato chips, just in case this turn of events went deeper than a simple cosmetic change.
[part the second]
Current Mood: worried
worried29 June 2008 @ 11:03 pm
[Dated to July 14]
Three days and they were still there. They didn’t feel as foreign as they had when he’d first woken up with them; he’d stopped accidentally clamping down on his bottom lip and tongue, forgetting they were there. They almost felt as normal as ever; natural. Right.
Asher decided it was probably best not to think about how right, though. They were just teeth. Everything that had come with them before didn’t seem to affect him now. No allergic reaction to the sun, no superhuman senses, he’d even checked out as ‘normal’ according to the whitecoats at the clinic: normal temperature, normal pulse, all vitals were decidedly human.
Everything else was just in his head... but he was still afraid of snapping, genuinely worried that he'd cross paths with the wrong person who'd say or do something and flip some switch, setting him off. He didn't want to kill anyone, at least he didn't think he did. Maybe a maiming at the most... Or maybe he just didn't want to deal with the consequences of killing someone. There really wasn't much in the way of consequences back home.
This wasn't home, though.
He'd avoided staying in the Compound for too long for the past few days, but he'd begun to miss his bed. He might have even missed waking up with Chloe's nose in his ear, not that he'd admit it.
After showering and braving the clothing box (which seemed to have taken pity on him today), Asher made his way to the dorm room, buttoning up his shirt then sitting down heavily on his bed. Ruffling his damp hair, he flopped back on the mattress, then grabbed a pillow, placing it over his face.
Three days and they were still there. They didn’t feel as foreign as they had when he’d first woken up with them; he’d stopped accidentally clamping down on his bottom lip and tongue, forgetting they were there. They almost felt as normal as ever; natural. Right.
Asher decided it was probably best not to think about how right, though. They were just teeth. Everything that had come with them before didn’t seem to affect him now. No allergic reaction to the sun, no superhuman senses, he’d even checked out as ‘normal’ according to the whitecoats at the clinic: normal temperature, normal pulse, all vitals were decidedly human.
Everything else was just in his head... but he was still afraid of snapping, genuinely worried that he'd cross paths with the wrong person who'd say or do something and flip some switch, setting him off. He didn't want to kill anyone, at least he didn't think he did. Maybe a maiming at the most... Or maybe he just didn't want to deal with the consequences of killing someone. There really wasn't much in the way of consequences back home.
This wasn't home, though.
He'd avoided staying in the Compound for too long for the past few days, but he'd begun to miss his bed. He might have even missed waking up with Chloe's nose in his ear, not that he'd admit it.
After showering and braving the clothing box (which seemed to have taken pity on him today), Asher made his way to the dorm room, buttoning up his shirt then sitting down heavily on his bed. Ruffling his damp hair, he flopped back on the mattress, then grabbed a pillow, placing it over his face.
[continued from here]
"Doubt it thinks the same," Asher said, and it's still a little odd to consider a godforsaken spit of land capable of thought, but not doing so would likely just enrage it...
He watched as Stephen continued to sulk -- was that what he looked like when he did it? -- drowning his sorrows. He's been there long enough to know it didn't help. Nothing really did. It did dumb it down a bit, though, and that was enough incentive to do it. Unfortunately, he was tapped out.
Adjusting his cap, Asher presumed to crawl his way on top of Stephen, straddling him at the waist and helping himself to the man's drink, downing what was left and simply tossing the cup over his shoulder once he'd finished. "I don't have a mat either," he said, managing to sound completely casual despite the situation.
"Doubt it thinks the same," Asher said, and it's still a little odd to consider a godforsaken spit of land capable of thought, but not doing so would likely just enrage it...
He watched as Stephen continued to sulk -- was that what he looked like when he did it? -- drowning his sorrows. He's been there long enough to know it didn't help. Nothing really did. It did dumb it down a bit, though, and that was enough incentive to do it. Unfortunately, he was tapped out.
Adjusting his cap, Asher presumed to crawl his way on top of Stephen, straddling him at the waist and helping himself to the man's drink, downing what was left and simply tossing the cup over his shoulder once he'd finished. "I don't have a mat either," he said, managing to sound completely casual despite the situation.
Current Mood: numb
numb13 March 2008 @ 07:48 pm
[dated to March 16th]
All Asher had really wanted to do was curl up and die that morning, but, as it turned out, his luck had only proven shitty enough to make him wish he were dead, and not actually bad enough to grant that wish.
That just fucking figured.
He had every intention of staying in bed that day -- how bad could things go if he didn’t move? -- but that hadn’t gone as planned. His bed frame had collapsed, which only got him out of his own bed and into the empty one on the far end of the room, that fucking tiki thing grinning at him from the nightstand.
That bed had collapsed in on itself, too.
For some reason or another, he hadn’t wanted to risk anyone else’s bed -- even if Jamie was a dick and deserved a broken bed, but Asher didn’t want to hear any shit from him -- and instead risked leaving the confines of the dorm room.
The clothing box had still insisted on giving him jeans for the second day in the row, much to his disdain, and the shirt it gave him hadn’t helped either. But a blazer hid a multitude of sins, such as that shirt, even if it made it completely likely that he’d suffer a heat stroke out in the humidity of the day. Of course, that hadn’t sound too terrible to him. Being unconscious was the next best thing to being dead.
After stumbling over Onyx, being whacked in the face by a door and tripping down the stairs out of the Compound, Asher made his way… well, he wasn’t sure where the fuck he was going, but when he found it, he’d know.
And he had.
It wasn’t any place special, just beneath a (harmless enough looking) tree. He just hoped the tree wasn’t intent on falling over on him while he sat or something. Pulling out a cigarette and his lighter, he tried to light the thing over and over again, but didn’t even manage so much as a spark. Asher kept at it for a bit, gritting his teeth and growling quietly before he threw the lighter with an aggravated grunt, only to have it ricochet off another tree trunk and hit him in the head.
"Mother fuck--" And there it was again, that same taunting grin, the fucking tiki idol nestled in the grass by the roots of the tree beside him as he reached for his lighter. But rather than yell or kick and scream or set the thing on fucking fire (again), Asher just sat there beside it quietly, looking thoroughly defeated.
Why was this his fucking life?
All Asher had really wanted to do was curl up and die that morning, but, as it turned out, his luck had only proven shitty enough to make him wish he were dead, and not actually bad enough to grant that wish.
That just fucking figured.
He had every intention of staying in bed that day -- how bad could things go if he didn’t move? -- but that hadn’t gone as planned. His bed frame had collapsed, which only got him out of his own bed and into the empty one on the far end of the room, that fucking tiki thing grinning at him from the nightstand.
That bed had collapsed in on itself, too.
For some reason or another, he hadn’t wanted to risk anyone else’s bed -- even if Jamie was a dick and deserved a broken bed, but Asher didn’t want to hear any shit from him -- and instead risked leaving the confines of the dorm room.
The clothing box had still insisted on giving him jeans for the second day in the row, much to his disdain, and the shirt it gave him hadn’t helped either. But a blazer hid a multitude of sins, such as that shirt, even if it made it completely likely that he’d suffer a heat stroke out in the humidity of the day. Of course, that hadn’t sound too terrible to him. Being unconscious was the next best thing to being dead.
After stumbling over Onyx, being whacked in the face by a door and tripping down the stairs out of the Compound, Asher made his way… well, he wasn’t sure where the fuck he was going, but when he found it, he’d know.
And he had.
It wasn’t any place special, just beneath a (harmless enough looking) tree. He just hoped the tree wasn’t intent on falling over on him while he sat or something. Pulling out a cigarette and his lighter, he tried to light the thing over and over again, but didn’t even manage so much as a spark. Asher kept at it for a bit, gritting his teeth and growling quietly before he threw the lighter with an aggravated grunt, only to have it ricochet off another tree trunk and hit him in the head.
"Mother fuck--" And there it was again, that same taunting grin, the fucking tiki idol nestled in the grass by the roots of the tree beside him as he reached for his lighter. But rather than yell or kick and scream or set the thing on fucking fire (again), Asher just sat there beside it quietly, looking thoroughly defeated.
Why was this his fucking life?
Current Mood: gloomy
gloomy09 December 2000 @ 11:38 am
Please to be leaving mail for Asher here.
He may or may not be inclined to sing and dance to the Mail Time song From Blue's Clues, complete with the tail wag, if you do. Knowledge of this should not be abused, lest he slap a bitch.
He may or may not be inclined to sing and dance to the Mail Time song From Blue's Clues, complete with the tail wag, if you do. Knowledge of this should not be abused, lest he slap a bitch.