Kratzer began to sing at a progressively higher volume, his words slurred and lagging behind but still mostly halfway on-key. Impressive for a drunken man, but still very, very painful to listen to.
"All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost."
Damascus' eyes widened as he saw James' eyes get shiny. He frantically thought about what he had said- had he seriously threatened little more than assault if James didn't comply with his whim?
"N- nnooo!" He started to hold out his hands at this before quickly sticking them behind his back. With a groan of frustration, he smacked his forehead softly onto the table.
"Tha's not what I wash trynna... aughh, I'm such an idjut. I wash ju' trynna get ya tah shtop drinkingh, caushe I wash worriehed. I jush happenh to be hu... orrible at talkin tah pehople."
Struggling not to cry at how terrible he felt by causing James' reaction, he turned his head to look up at the man.
"'M not gon' touch youh, I shwear. Nah efen fuh a hug. An' no mor conshpirachies... jusht, pleash, tay care of yourshelf. An' if ya feel liihke it, I will lishen more tah whateversh weighihng on your cshest."
James blinked rapidly, trying to blink away the tears before they could come out, but clearly, that logic was faulty. Instead, the little tears fell down his cheeks. But at least it wasn't sobbing like before. They were just quiet tears.
He didn't know Damascus was trying to look out for him. That was certainly not what he had expected from the drunken man, but he found himself looking at his now half-empty bottle of vodquila with an ounce of regret. He pushed it away, meaning to push it out of his reach, but he ended up pushing it off the table. Wilson just happened to catch it before it hit the ground, quietly grabbing it before she went back behind the bar again.
James fumbled with syllables as he tried to form words before any actually came to his mind.
"No I drankh to forghetsh. I'm done tahlking about it. But... th-thanksh for your conshern." He looked down. "I guess."
Damascus let out a shaky sigh and nodded. He thought for a moment from his place on the the table, trying to choose his words carefully now.
"Y'know... there wash a ritchual from.. ah, where I liveved, to fuhget shorrowsh an heal. Ith wash a lehttle liek mushic, onleh-" he let out a short laugh, the expression on his face both bitter and reminiscent, "mucsh less pleashehnt to lishen to."
The truth was, he still often kreened the patterns softly to himself when he was alone and drowning in his pain. It gave him a warmth of comfort. Though he still didn't think of the Underworld as home, he couldn't seem to cut all ties completely with the life he had lived there.
He raised his empty glass in reply. "Danke, Frau Wilson!" he replied, standing and nearly tripping over himself as he answered and stumbled over to the bar to remedy the fact that his bottle was dry.
"All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost."
"'S fair, I'm not prohne to shinging mahyshelf. I certinlay could if I wanted to. I've been tol' I'm not terrible," James replied. "Only thing I can play ish a harmonica though. Ne'er had many opp'rtunites to pick up aneythin' else."
"Ooh! You musht pleh me shomethin'... shomtime." Damascus' eyes lit up, though he realized the fact that they might would probably not cross paths again after this. "Tha onleh mushical thithng I cen do ith k- kulnin'. I woul' sthow ya, bu' it woul' probbly bother pehople."
Damascus looked around groggily, nibbling on his lip. "I guess I cen shrow yeh."
Sitting up straighter, he sucked in a deep breath and let out a low, echoing belt, interrupted by a few yips. Though he tried his best to stifle it, it carried and reverberated in the bar. He quickly pressed a hand to his mouth, finishing the round of kulning behind it.
Any other night, I almost certainly would have left this young fellow to his own devices. But the pervasive, persistent seed of goodness had been planted firmly in my unwitting heart, and I intended to indulge it before it passed.
So I put all my focus and strength into traversing the perilous, dizzying journey that was the three feet 'tween the chair I currently resided on, and the bar.
It was a harrowing task, but I would make it- Good bloody Christ, what in the hell was that beastly cry? It frightened the daylights out of me, but I held fast to a nearby chair, and in time, it wore out.
Despite the disorientation, distraction, and unholy caterwauling, I reached the bar unharmed, and promptly sat myself down by the youths.
"Tolerance, it getsh better with time, never fear." I told the young woman.
I downed the remainder of the gin. There was, er, a bit more in there than I remembered. That marked the end of my extreme athletic escapades for the remainder of the night.
"Borish Dietrich. Do you require any help, or sagely advice? Becaush if you don't.... I'm afraid you might be stuck with me. I won't be eshk, eshcaping from this barshtool anytime, anytime shoon."
Last edited by SirenCymbaline on Sat Sep 15, 2018 4:10 am, edited 1 time in total.
Bad souls have born better sons, better souls born worse ones -St Vincent
James regretted asking. Damascus's voice roared through his ears and James stared at Damascus in overwhelmed shock at the sudden burst of increased volume. His eyelids fluttered.
"Oh, wow," he said weakly. "That'sh uh, wow. Loud."
Wilson meanwhile, boosted the music. This time playing a generic pop song.
"Showwy." Damascus shrugged and shot James a sheepish grin. It didn't take long for him to be distracted by the strange, new type of music playing through the speakers, which proved to be very different from the selections he had head before.
"What ish dis? Ish vereh... enerjetik." he heard a clanging noise, and realized that his leg was jiggling aggressively under the table in time with the rythm. With a frown, he put a hand on his leg to stop it.
"Ish liek... da shound of sugah." this was mumbled to himself, wide-eyed and staring off into the distance. His head slowly bobbed, and combined with his spacey expression, he appeared to be in some sort of trance.
James wasn't sure if he could call what he was hearing music. It was entirely different than anything he'd ever heard before. It sounded... harsh, and inorganic. It wasn't necessarily unpleasant, just completely and utterly foreign.
"Whatsh are you doing," he said, giving Damascus an odd look. "Are you okay?"
