Post by Brent Yaxley on Apr 13, 2014 22:33:20 GMT
Brent was still sick both physically and mentally, though, his mental state had always been a little diverse. Physically he was still hurting, badly. He'd even stooped to begging Ophelia to ask Luke to get his cousin to help him, but that'd fallen on silent ears, with her simply sneering she'd rather dance on his grave and nobody else really had contact with Court Marwick, not even his brother-in-law (Brandons father) so Brent was stuck, his ribs pointed weirdly and he was out of action until he could 'fix himself', Voldermort knowing full well that if he sent him on a mission he'd probably pop a lung with a shard of rib, and he wasn't really willing to allow that to happen, with Brent having the purest of blood and his father being one of his 'right hand men', no, it was in everyones best interest to keep Brent alive and fix him when they found someone with skill and not connected somehow to the ministry or some kind of law.
Brent was spending his days propping up the bar in some dingy Knockturn alley bar, his blood probably had more alcohol in it that it did blood cells and nobody could reason with him. He just spent days in there, and then apparated straight to bed. Not really the fulfilling life the 21 year old had planned.
Today, he'd owled Tiff, deciding that he should probably show his face, prove to his fiancee that he was still alive. And as normal, he propped up the corner of the bar, his head in his hand. The stubble on his face was growing longer, giving him a rugged beard, his face had consistant bruising and dark circles around his eyes. He was no longer as bulky as he had been either, his arms feeling less stiff when he tensed.
As Tiff turned up outside, Brents sister was walking out of the bar, her face tear stained as she'd attempted to reason with her brother. Attempting to get him to try find help in different ways, but he'd refused, saying that he needed Court (Luke & Brandons uncle) - knowing that he could probably fix him easily, he knew him, he knew he was clever and he'd know what to do, coming top of his classes and getting through medical school faster than most. Loretta picked up speed as she rushed down the steps outside the bar, the hood of her cape up. Bumping in to Tiff at the bottom of the stairs she croaked a weak "m'sorry" before wiping at her eyes with her sleeve and attempting to rush past.
ooc. this is shit what even, i cant write anymore but i'm sure i'll get into the swing of thingsss.....
Brent was spending his days propping up the bar in some dingy Knockturn alley bar, his blood probably had more alcohol in it that it did blood cells and nobody could reason with him. He just spent days in there, and then apparated straight to bed. Not really the fulfilling life the 21 year old had planned.
Today, he'd owled Tiff, deciding that he should probably show his face, prove to his fiancee that he was still alive. And as normal, he propped up the corner of the bar, his head in his hand. The stubble on his face was growing longer, giving him a rugged beard, his face had consistant bruising and dark circles around his eyes. He was no longer as bulky as he had been either, his arms feeling less stiff when he tensed.
As Tiff turned up outside, Brents sister was walking out of the bar, her face tear stained as she'd attempted to reason with her brother. Attempting to get him to try find help in different ways, but he'd refused, saying that he needed Court (Luke & Brandons uncle) - knowing that he could probably fix him easily, he knew him, he knew he was clever and he'd know what to do, coming top of his classes and getting through medical school faster than most. Loretta picked up speed as she rushed down the steps outside the bar, the hood of her cape up. Bumping in to Tiff at the bottom of the stairs she croaked a weak "m'sorry" before wiping at her eyes with her sleeve and attempting to rush past.
ooc. this is shit what even, i cant write anymore but i'm sure i'll get into the swing of thingsss.....
