[center][b]Hamel Della Astrologia
Edge of Shinto Town, Pelion's Pub[/b][/center]

Fingers traced mesmerizing patterns upon the counter top, mindlessly following the grain and occasionally brushing upon the myriad of glasses that scattered the bar haphazardly. Perhaps, on a better, less inebriated day, the Astrologia scion could have identified the specific type of wood it originated from.

It was, of course, obviously not that day. 

Nursing a glass of whiskey, Hamel blubbered on incoherently, tears having long since dried, eyes shallow and red. It was unsightly, especially for someone of his stature. Yet if anyone listened to his tale, one would be hard pressed to fault him for his current status.

Recollecting his experiences in the first day of the war, of the horrifying sights he was subject to, of the sheer illogical nature of Lancer, of his final rational thought, and the actions he had taken afterwards.

"And then they began to play tag," he choked out, "and I just, I just couldn't anymore. I just--"

A coughing fit interrupted his dramatic retelling of his trials, a fresh sob and tear escaping his body and wetting the trail of tears that were the remnants of his previous breakdown.

Dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief, he raised his reddened face up from his arms.

"So then I left with Lancer, and then we came here, and then, and then I got something to drink because of the things I saw and now I'm drunk."

With a sense of finality and excessive punctuation on the last word, Hamel Della Astrologia's heavy head slammed forward again into the cushioning embrace of his arms after he downed his glass.

"Another."

He yells out, voice muffled by his arms, arm raised towards the bartender.

[@Sageage] [@Froppy] [@Paradox Witch]