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[open] a cat's the only cat that knows how to swing
WHO: Daan (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
limbical) & YOU!
WHAT: July catch-all. Event, non-event prompts, you know.
WHERE: A bank! A restaurant! Maybe the clinic!
WHEN: J-July
WARNINGS: Severe depression, alcoholism. CSA mention in the thread with Midnight, marked.
A. IN THE VAULT [event]
[With the possibility of a new place to explore reveals itself, it's only natural for the floodgates to open; there are plenty of people here, and Daan is but one of them, nosily investigating for any clues. Though typical as ever, there is nothing to reveal whatever secrets the city holds, or whoever their captors might be. No useful files, no names, nothing.
Then there are the keys.
Sorting through them is interesting at first, as he recognizes some of the names that they go to. They're names to people currently in the city. Which also means...
Yes. There is one for him too. Daan | Daniël is embossed on the tag, clearly indicating him. It's bothersome enough that the name he goes by mostly is there, but the other...
He scowls, plucks his key free without a word, and marches into the vault to find where it belongs. There are rows of safety deposit boxes, but finding the corresponding one isn't much effort at least. He opens it, and inside is a note. Something or other about sharing, which he pockets for now in case it does end up important. But the item inside...
How could he forget?
A little box is inside, which Daan delicately pulls out, his eye wide. His shoulders bunch, and he swiftly walks to a corner, as if he could steal the semblance of privacy. Lips quiver as he opens the box, revealing inside polished tools for sewing.
The sight of it almost seems to bring Daan pain and he shuts the box swiftly before he presses his forehead against the wall, shaking his head to himself. He always tries to keep his mind even and cool, even if it is a pretense, but it seems that this has successfully shaken him to his core. Absently, he whispers to himself:]
How the hell did they get this?
[And then the vault door slams shut, jolting him out of his thoughts.]
B. DRINKS ARE ON ME [post-vault]
[He couldn't rightfully call these his worst days. After all, Daan has lived through those; he's remarked that his time in this city so far has been more like a vacation in comparison, and frankly that is still true. However, that doesn't mean he isn't still miserable.
The weight of the little wooden box in his pocket indicates as such.
In one of the restaurants, Daan is behind the bar, mixing a drink for himself. By how much the whiskey bottle has been emptied certainly indicates how many he's had, but he isn't in the mood to stop. The bank and the dreams he's been cursed with both haunt him alike, along with everything else he's ever put up with, and he's had enough.
He almost misses the Pocketcat's ever closing in steps and rotten promises.
When you enter, he forms a smile that looks too sharp, almost cruel as he lifts a glass in some toast that only he knows.]
Shall I pour one for you? [And then he proceeds to drain his glass.]
C. WILDCARD [choose your own adventure]
[If you'd like a specific prompt, hit me up and I'll make it happen!]
limbical) & YOU!WHAT: July catch-all. Event, non-event prompts, you know.
WHERE: A bank! A restaurant! Maybe the clinic!
WHEN: J-July
WARNINGS: Severe depression, alcoholism. CSA mention in the thread with Midnight, marked.
A. IN THE VAULT [event]
[With the possibility of a new place to explore reveals itself, it's only natural for the floodgates to open; there are plenty of people here, and Daan is but one of them, nosily investigating for any clues. Though typical as ever, there is nothing to reveal whatever secrets the city holds, or whoever their captors might be. No useful files, no names, nothing.
Then there are the keys.
Sorting through them is interesting at first, as he recognizes some of the names that they go to. They're names to people currently in the city. Which also means...
Yes. There is one for him too. Daan | Daniël is embossed on the tag, clearly indicating him. It's bothersome enough that the name he goes by mostly is there, but the other...
He scowls, plucks his key free without a word, and marches into the vault to find where it belongs. There are rows of safety deposit boxes, but finding the corresponding one isn't much effort at least. He opens it, and inside is a note. Something or other about sharing, which he pockets for now in case it does end up important. But the item inside...
How could he forget?
A little box is inside, which Daan delicately pulls out, his eye wide. His shoulders bunch, and he swiftly walks to a corner, as if he could steal the semblance of privacy. Lips quiver as he opens the box, revealing inside polished tools for sewing.
The sight of it almost seems to bring Daan pain and he shuts the box swiftly before he presses his forehead against the wall, shaking his head to himself. He always tries to keep his mind even and cool, even if it is a pretense, but it seems that this has successfully shaken him to his core. Absently, he whispers to himself:]
How the hell did they get this?
[And then the vault door slams shut, jolting him out of his thoughts.]
B. DRINKS ARE ON ME [post-vault]
[He couldn't rightfully call these his worst days. After all, Daan has lived through those; he's remarked that his time in this city so far has been more like a vacation in comparison, and frankly that is still true. However, that doesn't mean he isn't still miserable.
The weight of the little wooden box in his pocket indicates as such.
In one of the restaurants, Daan is behind the bar, mixing a drink for himself. By how much the whiskey bottle has been emptied certainly indicates how many he's had, but he isn't in the mood to stop. The bank and the dreams he's been cursed with both haunt him alike, along with everything else he's ever put up with, and he's had enough.
He almost misses the Pocketcat's ever closing in steps and rotten promises.
When you enter, he forms a smile that looks too sharp, almost cruel as he lifts a glass in some toast that only he knows.]
Shall I pour one for you? [And then he proceeds to drain his glass.]
C. WILDCARD [choose your own adventure]
[If you'd like a specific prompt, hit me up and I'll make it happen!]
no subject
Okay! So that means I can definitely trust you!
[ Well, she sure decided that quickly. ]