Seventeen more will bury me [Thoth]

The Rusted Anchor

Lochlann never thought of anything as being his before.

He spent a lot of time moving around. He understood that places were temporary and that a bedroom was only his in the sense that his body occupied it for a short while. He understood rooms and homes to be places of shelter.

So he wasn't necessarily irked to find someone else in his room. Or former room. He wasn't sure what the situation was, and the landlord wasn't too clear on it either. He seemed rather surprised Lochlann was even alive--after all, he'd been in the room when the tsunami struck and disappeared along with the broken glass. The place probably hadn't been cleaned since the tsunami, but even all the filth and water couldn't cover up the smell of bar peanuts and cheap booze.

The last time Lochlann had been here he was as wasted as the man in here was, judging by the appearance.

Lochlann wasn't keeping track of the days, but he'd been sober for a while now.

He crossed his arms, leaned against the doorframe and then cleared his throat.

Loudly.

"Excuse me," he said. "You're lying on my pants."

"Yes," Lochlann said, perhaps a bit dryly. "Pants."

He was hesitant to approach the man lying in the room. Though he was stronger than the average human and definitely faster, his physical prowess was relatively mundane compared that of most of the other supernatural population. Lochlann was a threat in water, but the bar flat was a far cry from the ocean. Besides--he preferred to let people think he was human.

After a moment's hesitation, Lochlann took a few tentative steps towards the man. When he came closer, the smell that hit him was booze.

His sister used to think Lochlann was wearing a very strong human cologne, something to blend in with, until she found out he reeked that way from drinking so much.

The smell wasn't exactly mouth watering, but Lochlann did feel a twinge somewhere in his throat. That smell always meant safety to him. Alcohol numbed the senses and made his reflexes worse. Right now, there was little stopping him from being an effective killer.

That was usually what scared him. Right now, it was reassuring.

Lochlann decided not to ask for the pants quite yet.

"What's your poison?" he asked instead.

He was of the firm belief that what a person drank was far more important than how much they drank.

"A man after my own heart," Lochlann said.

His voice was low and wry, though Lochlann didn't realize he was keeping it low. He was sensitive to noises during the best of times; a loud noise and a rainstorm where enough to give him a migraine that would fill his vision with spots. But it was so much worse after a night of drinking.

Lochlann leaned down to take his pants and the uniform jacket with a murmured thank you.

It was then that he put two and two together.

Man, sleeping in Lochlann's old flat, in the bar, liked cheap booze.

Lochlann drew a parallel between this man and himself a year ago.

"Oh, oh god," Lochlann said. "You drank Donny's special?"

Donny's special was a name of a ridiculous cheap and potent drink the Rusty Anchor specialized in. It was probably illegal to serve it because it was made by dumping failed drink mixes into a bucket and stirring it up. Sometimes, just for shits and giggles, they'd put whip cream on top.

Yeah, Lochlann was surprised a place like the Rusty Anchor had whip cream, too.

Lochlann crouched down onto his heels to look at the man before him. He frowned.

"Do you need some water?" he offered. Then, he said, "No, actually, I insist. Let me get you some water."

He returned with a cold bottle from the kitchen a few minutes later.

He wasn't exactly sure why.

Maybe it was a sense of familiarity for the place or the novelty of being the one standing and not the one slouched against the wall.

Lochlann came forward and crouched with his butt resting on his heels, ready to make a sudden spring back should the man appear violent. Lochlann would not put it past Donny to do this in revenge for Lochlann disappearing on his rent.

"Here," Lochlann said, and he held out the bottle of water to the man.

He wondered if he was going to puke next. That would be Lochlann's next course of action, or it would have in the beginning. Near the end, he'd been far past the point of puking. The headache never got better.

Lochlann would still rarely blame the alcohol. He often felt like shit. It was a product of trying to stay in one body for too long.

"Hey man, uhh," Lochlann said. "Are you going to be alright?"

Most people who slept at the Rusty Anchor weren't. Lochlann wasn't. This man, though, seemed like he'd topple back onto the floor if Lochlan poked him too hard.

Part of him really wanted to.

"You don't owe me anything for the water," Lochlann said.

He was still squatting down next to the man and frowning. He peered at his face and Lochlann wasn't sure what he expected to see there.

This man was a complete stranger. Lochlann owed him nothing. This man owed Lochlann nothing.

Despite popular belief, Lochlann didn't just eat his girlfriends. There was a period before he was hungry for girls in more way than one that Lochlann developed a particular talent for getting a meal. He had a little bit of a mental nudge he could use, but only to get people to do something within their nature.

For men like this?

Lochlann would convince them to drive their cars off of a bridge. It was easy to eat them after that, and the accident was easy to explain. Drank too much or struggling with depression or too much pressure at work.

Lochlann could have been his own victim if it was possible to drown himself.

"Listen man," Lochlann said. "I think we should get you to the doctor's. You look like hell. It'd be really fucking awkward for their to be a dead guy in my former apartment, so let me take you there. Is that alright?"

Lochlann did not know for certain, but this man did not seem like he could drink as much as Lochlann without their being serious consequences. He was big, but Lochlann doubted he actually weighed close to a ton.

he reached out to touch the man on the shoulder.