A LITTLE LESS CONVERSATION — open

This is an archived version of FeralFront. While you can surf through all the content that was ever created on FeralFront, no new content can be created.
If you'd like some free FeralFront memorabilia to look back on fondly, see this thread from Dynamo (if this message is still here, we still have memorabilia): https://feralfront.com/thread/2669184-free-feralfront-memorabilia/.

    ミTAGS && she pulls up onto sanctuarian territory in the late hours of the afternoon, tones of reds, purples, and oranges dancing behind her in a vivid display. too bad she's too hungover to care. a wave of nausea crashes over her just then, and the caracal's pretty features blanch briefly, as long legs stumble and carry her clumsily through the underbrush. her head positively aches, a feeling akin to a nail being hammered into her skin flooding her brain. at first she attempted to shrug the pangs off as a minor head ache but by now, the seasoned drinker has no doubt that she's suffering from the effects of over-indulging herself on the bottle. last night chica felt adventurous enough to take her affairs elsewhere and just look at what it got her; a nasty migraine and the knowing smell of bad decisions. oh, she may or may not have picked up someone during her little rendezvous— chicago isn't the type to screw and tell. nevermind that though, her head is fucking killing her, blurred eyes twitching up toward the sky in distaste. "fuck.." she mutters softly, feminine vocals laced with irritation as a shot of pain rakes its way up the back of her skull for the umpteenth time, "who asked the sun ta be so god damn bright today?" her tone curtails into a little whine as she desperately tries to avoid any breaks in the canopies above her head, pushing her wobbly legs towards the direction of the village— or, what direction she believes is the village. she doesnt know, it's too early for this shit.. or too late, whichever one.

    /whoooooooooooooops

    //mommy no


    alcohol was not something that tequila ever wanted to be associated with--though her name begged to differ--but when the scent of the poisonous liquid surrounded her mother, she knew she needed to step in. "ma?" the inquiry was quiet, innocent and riddled with worry. the ragdoll cautiously stepped towards her now hungover mother, ears pinned back with discomfort. this was such a nasty situation for the young adult; she didn't want to see her only parent in such a state for fear that it may be an example of her own future. alcoholism was genetic, wasn't it? "you okay?"


    tags "speech"


    TAGS ♑ —

    Fish was indifferent towards alcohol. He'd grown up around alcoholics, came across his fair share of booze induced knockouts, and knew firsthand how entertaining messing with drunks could be. So when he spotted Chica looking hungover as hell stumbling around and whining about the sun, he didn't bat an eye. "Someone's looking busted..." he comments under his breath. When someone came to her aid, he barely acknowledged them-- at least not until they were calling her "ma". His tall ears perked up when he overheard the kid's worried tone. Familial drama, anyone? Like a moth to a flame he approaches the pair, slowly sizing up the caracal as he strolls over. What a hot mess. "Busy night?" He would ask while falling in next to Chica. Faking a sympathetic smile, he adds "I could help you get rid of that nasty hangover if you'd like." His offer would come off genuine enough, though he was only making it since she was most likely going to reject. Their last interaction had made it seem like she wasn't a fan of him, after all.

    The post was edited 1 time, last by seance ().