He's not exactly new for the new year, but Gregor certainly wasn't here yesterday. It also wasn't December yesterday, but that seems like a minor issue all things considered, especially since he can barely feel the cold.
He didn't remember this place while he was away, but now it's looking awfully familiar. He wonders vaguely if he comes here every time. Strange thought, that the people here might know more about him than he knows about them. But there is one thing that he vividly remembers, and that's the ludicrously tall guy with the cartons of cigarettes. One of which he could very much use right now.
Rosinante is harder to find than one might think, until Gregor explains to someone who he's looking for and is immediately pointed to a boat party. Is the boat new? He thinks the boat's new. The light's new, too, and the occasional animal scampering about. Good for them, he supposes, at least they're positive changes. The only changes he's had were all less than ideal— a new set of scars. Instead of the usual gray-green, his left eye is a pale blue and slightly clouded. A patch of hair above his temple grows in white instead of black.
He's still recognizable, though, or at least he hopes, when he approaches to ask for a smoke. And instead gets immediately sidetracked by asking about whatever ritual Rosinante is hosting.
"Is it supposed to give them to the gods, or the universe, or something like that?"
I always talked about bringing him back so! Dec. 31!
He didn't remember this place while he was away, but now it's looking awfully familiar. He wonders vaguely if he comes here every time. Strange thought, that the people here might know more about him than he knows about them. But there is one thing that he vividly remembers, and that's the ludicrously tall guy with the cartons of cigarettes. One of which he could very much use right now.
Rosinante is harder to find than one might think, until Gregor explains to someone who he's looking for and is immediately pointed to a boat party. Is the boat new? He thinks the boat's new. The light's new, too, and the occasional animal scampering about. Good for them, he supposes, at least they're positive changes. The only changes he's had were all less than ideal— a new set of scars. Instead of the usual gray-green, his left eye is a pale blue and slightly clouded. A patch of hair above his temple grows in white instead of black.
He's still recognizable, though, or at least he hopes, when he approaches to ask for a smoke. And instead gets immediately sidetracked by asking about whatever ritual Rosinante is hosting.
"Is it supposed to give them to the gods, or the universe, or something like that?"