by Meno_ » Mon Nov 06, 2017 4:37 pm
And Igor, who by now had become limp with existential exhaustion, has it not been for hisntolerance to alcohol after Dracula's genes had permeates his with incredible resiliency,
sighed, said this to them:
True loosing everything is almost totally devastating, recovery is almost nil, still there is something to say for the validity of survival and its modicum of benefits.
That such casualness he is purporting to exhibit, displays remarkable gumption.
I will never give up, he announces dramatically, until a breath of air remains in my breast.
With that, he directs the two guys to pay his barbill, which, for being goodfellas they oblige to do, albeit reluctantly.
The dawn reveals the beginning of an orange hue bleeding into the edges of the horizon..and the shadow of a beguiling shrouded woman cast an eery shadow on the tavern bar, reminiscent of noir of the late forties. He fled under a hidden arch, thinking back, going through a list of people he may have tangled with.
The two guys who paid for his drink, shouted over, Next time you pay for Your own drinks bud, or ask Terry to tell the boss to extend credit, he says you've been hanging around the waterfront bars long enough. And as they exclaimed this. Igor leered and turned where the mysterious appearance of the shrouded woman became the focal point of something bizarre and terrifying going on.