Drown Your Troubles

[daniel_stacy]

The sharp end of a dart whizzed through the air until it sunk solidly into cork. The quill vibrated in place. "Bullseye!" proclaimed its drunken thrower as he threw his hands in the air. Victory was his, assuming that darts were meant to hit a 'For Sale or Rent' board posted two feet from the game board. Daniel lumbered over and pulled the point from an ad for a 1976 Chevrolet with 40,000 miles on the odometer.

Hey... not a bad looking car.

Blindly, he moved to stab it into the correct spot. The air alongside his ear whistled. Thud. There was stinging pain in his right hand. "Ah! Son of a bitch!" He pulled the dart from the soft flesh between his knuckles. "You meant ta do that!" he accused an unknown assailant.


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[daniel_stacy]

"Maybe you're supposed to do somethin' else, too," Daniel said, punctuating with a jab to Whistler's arm. "Besides. Who needs to see the future to... maintain the balance?"

What the hell did that mean?

"There's gotta be other ways t' throw your weight around. Oh. Heh heh." He lifted his glass. "Weight, balance. See what I did there?" He sipped at the brew.

[whistlersmum]

"Put it that way... just 'cuz yer a vampire doesn't mean ya gotta be Dracula, amiright?" Whistler puffed on his cancer stick, blowing smoking rings. "If I can change -- and I'm a lot older than you -- what's to say you can't?"