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Server time: 2018-06-18, 03:54

William Ashby

Jim Lahey
Character information
  1. Mental
    Surprisingly sane.
  2. Morale
    Slowly sinking.
  3. Date of birth
    1992-04-12 (26 years old)
  4. Place of birth
  5. Nationality
  6. Languages
    Norwegian, English, and he can count to seven in Spanish.
  7. Relationship
  8. Family
    No surviving family, as far as he knows.
  9. Religion


  1. Height
    176 cm
  2. Weight
    74 kg
  3. Hair
    Short, brown, and filthy.
  4. Eyes
  5. Alignment
    True Neutral
  6. Features
    - Tattoo on his upper right arm. https://i.imgur.com/SOhPpv1.png
    - Scar from a bullet wound on his upper left arm.
  7. Equipment
    Whatever he finds useful.
  8. Occupation
  9. Affiliation
  10. Role


I looked down at my glass as the whiskey poured down and filled it to the brim. Some real old-school Led Zeppelin was playing over the speakers, in a bar that would've looked abandoned if it hadn't been for the two of us sitting there on opposite sides of the counter. I gave the other man a nod as I grabbed the glass, chugged nearly half of it, and almost puked right there in front of the man that had been kind enough to offer me the free drink. 

I coughed as I picked myself back up again, lit up a cigarette to even out the taste, and grinned at him. "Even when I drink every chance I get, I still can't get comfortable with the taste. Besides, I'm really more of a rum and coke kind of guy."

He laughed as he poured one for himself, which he got down with relative ease before filling his glass again. I looked at the bottle as he placed it back on the bar.  I didn't recognize the label, but I know the word "whisky" when I see it. I forced myself to have another sip before I put the glass down.

"I know what you mean. But, believe me; the taste is nothing compared to the hangover you will have tomorrow." he said as he raised his glass to have another sip, probably to prove a point. 

"Every day starts with a hangover now, if I can help it. I don't exactly feel like living sober these days."

He frowned as he put his glass down, and looked at me as if I was a child who didn't know jack shit about anything. "You foreigners, always complaining and whining about everything. You have a drink in your hand, do you not? You are sitting here, still alive, are you not? Stop crying about it. It is not so bad."

"Is this really enough for you?" I looked back at him as I grabbed my glass and forced down some more of the whiskey.

"Enough? My friend .." he said as he leaned across the counter, his mouth widening with a grin, showing off a row of rotten teeth. "We live in a world where everything is free. Anything we want is ours for the taking, and you sit here feeling sorry for yourself? Good God, man, take a closer look around. The sun is shining bright in the sky, and you are enjoying a nice drink along with some decent music. Now, shut the hell up already, and finish up your-"

I instinctively jolted back as he lunged at me, snarling and biting at the air where I had been just a moment ago. My glass hit the floor just about the same time the back of my head did, shattering into a thousand pieces, and for a few seconds the only coherent thought in my head was "what a waste of perfectly good liquor".

Eventually I came to my senses, and clumsily got back on my feet. The music was gone. Was it ever there? Ignoring my other thoughts, I turned my attention back on the infected man. Seemingly stuck to something behind the counter, he helplessly stretched his arms out towards me in an attempt to get an easy meal. The fact that we were a good two meters apart didn't seem to discourage him.

"Fuck, man, was that really necessary? I thought we were bonding, here."

I grabbed the leg of the now broken chair I'd been sitting on, and pushed him back so I could grab my cigarette from the ashtray. I saw no point in leaving behind the remaining whiskey either, so I grabbed the bottle as well and shoved it into my coat pocket. As I stepped back and dropped the piece of broken furniture, he leaned across the counter again and made a series of strange gargling noises.

"Don't take that tone with me. This isn't my fucking fault." I spat at him, and for some stupid reason it made me feel better. "Prick .." 

He replied with a series of noises I'm not entirely sure how to describe with words.

"Alright, alright, if you insist ... I'll clean it up." I took my knife out of my pocket, took a step closer, and with one swift movement I ended his miserable life right there.

"Thanks for the drink." I said as I pulled my knife out from his head, and made my way out the door.


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