Devontaine v.1 // Spring Fling

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Staff {Admin} Theo	Welcome. Devontaine, or "DT" as it is referred to affectionately by its townsfolk, is on a prestigious plot of countryside in the southeast of England, and only a few hours from the shore. The city is isolated by thousands of rolling acres and the immense English manors that govern over them. The town itself is small and antique, very quaint and old-fashioned, but with all the comforts of a modern society. Even though it is such a beautiful place, there are hardly any tourists around. The city keeps a high stake on remaining incognito... More here. Season is Spring!	Name here. COTW will be chosen 4/14 by a vote. The candidates selected are the top 5 posters.
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Devontaine v.1 // Spring Fling :: The City of Devontaine :: The Black Pony :: kissing a {fool}

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Topic: kissing a {fool} (Read 107 times)

Clive Trelawney
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Joined: Apr 2007
Posts: 22

kissing a {fool}
« Thread Started on Apr 9, 2007, 7:55pm »

strange that I was wrong enough
to think you'd love me too;
you must have been kissing a fool

Clive was irrevocably despondent. Not exactly the throw-it-to-the-wind, suicidal type of despondency, but more along the lines of the I-want-to-get-hammered-and-fast type. And Clive would’ve been well on his way at that very moment, save for one small problem. The fact that he only had five bucks in his pocket was a direct hindrance to the amount of liquor he could feasibly consume. What could he get? One and a half beers? Maybe a shot? This last little straw was what pushed him clear past anger and into the dangerous realm of desperation.

From his position on a barstool he watched a young blonde starlet "cleavage" her way into getting a drink free of charge from a strapping young lad whose pants may have well cost the amount that Clive made in two weeks. "What the hell is up with that?" Clive thought to himself, quite bitterly. How people could buy such things when there are orphaned children in Africa and starving writers! But Clive's aggression was fueled by jealousy rather than humanitarian zeal. Maybe if he could trade in his penis for a decent rack then he could get a drink around here.

"I want an ale; now," Clive informed the bartender, sounding about as desperate as if he was interrogating a murder suspect, and slapped his $5 on the counter. The husky old bartender raised an eyebrow and put down the rag he was cleaning with to grab a glass and fill it with amber brown liquid. Clive's hazel eyes watched hungrily. The foamy top overflowed, bringing an orgasmic joy to Clive who was glad that the bartender wasn't a total cheap bastard.

Clive grasped the glass in both hands and drank from it fervently before slowing down slightly. He had to make this one last. "One mississippi... Ok, drink!" It was most peculiar, but it gave Clive some sort of satisfaction. He was feeling faintly better - but not quite enough. Not enough in this one mere glass! The more Clive wanted to get drunk the less he wanted to reach the bottom. There! Yet another reason why he should give up writing and go back to his desk job - it would, without fail, cause him to become an alcoholic in due time.

Clive quickly pulled out a pad and pencil from his back pocket, turned a few pages, and on a t-chart scribbled "alcoholism" down in the section labeled "cons". He stopped and thought a moment before putting down "starvation", but then had to scratch it out because he had already written it further up. He decided on "dehydration" instead, just so it could make the cons side one larger. Clive grinned wildly at this, placing the pad and pencil down on the counter before returning to his drink.

Desk job was winning - it was winning! It was winning against joy, happiness, beauty, strength, and love among others. Who gave a damn about books today anyways? Or plays for that matter... People wanted action! Who gave a damn about thought or meaning? Clive coughed a few times, the drink finding its way down the wrong pipe on its fervent journey. His hand found its way to the pencil: "drowning".

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clive trelawney x 25 x single
the pennyless writer