"We tried to be better, but we aren't. I don't think anyone could last more than a week here if they weren't willing to do bad things." - Alba Reyes

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RedAstaire
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grim wolf wannabe
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Johnny gave him a cig. Johnny was good. Be like Johnny.

"Sure, sure. Menthol, ethanol, methanol. I'll take it all."

Dariush took one cig and digged into his pocket to pull out a lighter. Trying to ignite the cig, he covered it with his hand so no wind would blow out the fire. But, he shall not burn his fingers. He needed his fingers, damnit. They were his golden tool. In gaming, in drawing, in writing exams. His claws are holy. But, luckily, everything was fine and he could put his lighter back to his pocket and the minty cig into his mouth.

Darius turned his back to Johnny to watch Maria and Junko gossiping about him. False information, mostly. He needed to comment on it, point out the lies.

"A) I did not try, I succeeded and B) my singin' was wonderful. I can sing again, will sing again. Jesus, Junko, have I not told you, when I invited you here, that you should bring a guitar? Campfires without guitars suck."

And with that he bend, to take a beer and open it.
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I Know What My Fortune Is · After the Dance