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[MICHAEL ENGLE]

"my love, it was darker even than the day you were lost" ☒ @tagged ✐ 418 ✉ caves scare the fucking horse shit out of me and yet they're so frickin' awesome MADE BY ★MEULK OF GS

Pitch black. It was pitch black, a deeper darkness than Engle had ever known. Such was the abyss all around him that he momentarily forgot where he was. Blinking did nothing to clear the absolute emptiness. In an attempt to retrieve his vision, the blonde smacked his flashlight repeatedly, but the batteries were completely dead. Alright, plan B. Opening his mouth, the policeman released a small breath of flame that temporarily illuminated the cavern. He could make out shadows dancing along the cracked walls, but then everything was black once more as he ran out of breath and the light flickered out. "Shit," he muttered, waving his arms around in the hopes of somehow navigating towards one of the walls. Although Engle was not easily scared, there was something deeply upsetting about being lost in the blackness. An instinctive terror began to rise in his chest, threatening to overwhelm all sense of rationality. Calm down, take a deep breath and you'll be fine. He inhaled through his nostrils even as his hands began to grow clammy with the condensed air in the cave. Or maybe it was sweat. Was he sweating? "Skipper?" He called out, knowing he must resume his search for the mudkip even if it meant fumbling around in the dark. The water-type was the whole reason he was down here in the first place. If Skipper hadn't run off after the suspect, Engle wouldn't be fumbling around in the dark like an idiot. Suddenly, the realization that the potential-murderer could be standing right behind him sent a shock of fear through his system. His hand instantly went for his gun, heart rate picking up considerably. Shitshitshit. A better idea crossed his mind, and after a moment, in the human's place stood a large, weasel-like pokemon with a blue back and a yellow underbelly. It took a deep breath, and then an array of fire erupted from its back, a brilliant flame that blazed and chased the darkness away like a tornado sweeping through a storm. Wondering why he hadn't done this sooner, the typhlosion continued deeper into the caves, eyes flicking to and fro in search of the blue pokemon and the suspect it had been chasing. "SKIPPER!" He roared, accidentally sending out a breath of embers as he did so. Right. This was why he hadn't done this sooner. If it was hard enough to control himself as a human, it was ten times worse in the body of a super-powered, fire-breathing, four-legged monster.

[Lance Mallory]

Lance wasn't himself. He knew he wasn't himself. He could feel it in the way his head swam, his throat choked up, his ears felt stuffed full of cotton. A small part of him, isolated from the events going on around him, observed that he was completely and totally smashed, smashed and spiralling. A much larger part of himself told that smaller part to shut up and enjoy the ride. Whatever ride there was to be had at any rate; it was more of a plummet, like after a roller coaster had crested that very first hill and then proceeded down it at full speed. Only there wasn't a bottom to this hill. Not one that ended happily at any rate. His sister and brother were going to kill him when he stumbled back in. Not Morgan or Gawain or Lionel, of course. They couldn't care less about him and his new relationship with the bottle. He barely resisted the urge to snicker immaturely at that. Relationship with the bottle. Hehe. He was in a relationship with the bottle. But it wasn't one that Guinevere or Percival liked. Oh no. Whenever he'd stumble home, Guinevere would just give him this look, like he was nothing more than some gutter rat that she pitied, and then she would yell and scream until finally Percival took pity on him and came to rescue him. And then he'd lie there in bed, pale eyelids sometimes fluttering open to let glazed crimson eyes gaze up at the ceiling, a steady stream of whispered words coming at him from his side. And then when he was sober again and his head was pounding, his sister would hide the painkillers and say that it was his own fault for getting so drunk in the first place. He disagreed. Being tipsy was more tolerable. It blocked out things that he'd rather forget. Of course, the flip side of that was that he would get unpredictable when he was drunk. He had been in a bar, perfectly content to drink himself into oblivion, and then someone had tried to cop a feel on him. He'd lit up faster than a light, his knife in his hand before he even had to think about it, and he'd slashed out. It had just been his luck that he'd snapped when a police officer was in the bar too, and then he'd been chased out. It was a shame to waste all that perfectly good vodka. It wasn't as if he had killed anyone. He had drawn blood, yes... but nothing that could kill. He had seen what caused death. But he wasn't going to think about that. Instead, he was going to run faster. If someone asked him, he wouldn't have been able to justify to himself why he had run into a cave. He figured that it was his instincts talking. It was dark and quiet, far away from people. He'd be able to remain there and just... linger. Nurse his wounds like the animal that he was. Instead, the stupid Mudkip had followed him in, and it kept trying to lunge for his ankles. Had he been fully sober, he might have just transformed to his other form, that of the large Ghost-type, but instead, the thought remained just out of his reach, something that was turning over in his mind but not fully realized. In all honesty, he was almost surprised that he'd made it this far without incident; he'd downed easily half of a bottle of liquor before he'd had to beat it out of the tavern. His alcohol tolerance was obviously through the roof if he had taken in that much and he wasn't stumbling all over the place. He would've been more concerned about it, and his liver, if he was in a state to. But he wasn't. And then jaws closed around his ankle, and he yelped, going down, turning hazy red eyes down onto the creature. "Nghhhh," he groaned, thinking to say something, but instead he was throwing up, the majority of what came out being little less than pure vodka. Shivering, he groaned, pushing himself away from the mess and curling up into a slight ball on the ground, a pitiful sight to behold. Oh how the mighty had fallen.

[attr="class","lancelefticon"] Words: 719 Tags: Michael Engle And others Template by Kuroya. [attr="class","lanceleftmon"] Active: - Name - Name - Name

Notes:

I apologize for the random Lance. I just tried to write the post to try to capture some of his disjointedness with the alcohol and the grief messing with him. Also the post was inspired by the song "Hello" by Evanescence, along with "Tourniquet" and "Whisper" by the same band. Post will go in template when I get home. I just thought it might be fun having drunk!Lance around earlier :3

Also I got lazy and changed Lydi's template to fit Lance. Don't judge me.

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