To believe

It was not like Leviathan to lie low. Nothing about the man was timid or quaint. He was a boisterous character, a large, foreboding man; his markings were distinct, his scars even more so. And of course, his eyes-oh so piercing, said to intimidate the weaker mind. Swoon those that found him oh so alluring.

And yet when he walked into the tavern, all he got were heckles, laughs and snorts.
The Pirate that got caught.

Some Captain.

It were as if his own insecurities were shouted out loud, whispers became shouts within his mind, yet he was no weakling. No dainty fae, no, he was a man of principle. Proud, strong. He would not be beaten by his own daemons, nor other slander. So he tilted his head upwards, forcing a grin. He knew better. He was above them. They did not effect him.

And buried the woes deep within. Behind the mask of indifference, behind the wall of ice.

Icy eyes sought the nearest barkeep and made a beeline, gesturing for the immediate consumption of alcohol. Anything to drown out the glares that rose the hairs upon the back of his nape, and the turmoil that wired his brain.

The fermented berries seemed to burn his tongue, but he did not mind, he focused upon the taste, heaving a sigh. Now all he wanted was Nicharion... where had his oh so loving Husband slithered off to now?

S

eedy pubs were like home to him, a place that smelled of spilled alcohol and body odor, of brutes and scalawags, of a good fight ripe for the staring. He was here, though he rarely drowned himself in whiskey and ale as many of the patrons did. He would often sit with a shell of wine, something to keep his palate entertained as listened; if he wanted a tip or a bit of information, all he had to do was keep his ears cupped.

Then, someone he expected, perhaps not at this exact moment, stepped through the doors. He sat quietly, hearing the jeers of the crowd, whispers of the man who was caught—but, most importantly, he was released. That was all that mattered. Leviathan could have been slain that day.

“By whatever luck ye live by, lad, ‘tis doin’ ye a favor,” Pan said as he lapped at his wine. Leviathan was strong. Perhaps he did not require fortune, but a little luck never hurt anyone. “What do ye plan on doin’ now? Ye got plans for the king and his parliament, aye?”

@Leviathan

art and code by Yahtzee-Penguiduck

The incline of his head was quick and sharp, thankful for the wine that sloshed a bloody red within the weathered shell. "Muchly appreciated." The mumble was through gritted teeth. Biting the urge to snarl at the whispers that seemed to grow louder with every passing second.

He savoured the burn of the alcohol that shot down his throat.

“By whatever luck ye live by, lad, ‘tis doin’ ye a favor,” A click of his pale salmon tone was the first response given; his body slowly relaxing as the wine began to take its hold. A deep breath turned into a veryloud sigh. Though he was grateful for the company, he would have preferred the silent kind. That only provided him with pleasure. Not pain..."Luck had nothing to do with it." He was wallowing, oh so pittifully.

“What do ye plan on doin’ now? Ye got plans for the king and his parliament, aye?” Icy eyes snapped to the familiar, scarred face that greeted him. "It was not my plan to begin with." He hissed through clenched jaws. Oh... he was in a glorious mood today. "No matter. It is no longer our concern." He took another large gulp, finishing the shell given. He gestured for another with a wave of his large, dark paw. "What is our concern now, is how we find the others... It is time for our flag to fly high once more, Cousin. For we have sulked in the shadows for far too long" His patience wore thin, thin as the ice that cracked upon his facade. "Your payment will come soon." He added to the barkeep with an almost sadistic smile. "More than this wines worth if you keep it flowing." He had every intention of letting off steam this 'eve.