Joscelin is standing near the temple with his hands jammed in his pockets and an expression that could curdle milk. The whole time he'd been suffering through that stupid interview, feeling the death glares on him, while he gave the shortest, curtest possible answers he possibly could. And yet, despite the time on his phone telling him that very little time had passed, it felt like an eternity.
He feels fidgety, anxious. These fucking people. He turns and punches a wall, unsurprised when it leaves a dent in the plaster. He's always been strong, hasn't he? Since the moment he came here, he's always been strong. And fast. Moreso than he ought to be.
Physical Training
Joss stands outside the dojo, watching teams of gods and shinki go at it. He's jealous. He's never fought as a team with anyone--he doesn't think he'd be particularly good at it--but even after months, he doesn't feel he knows Hakkai's other shinki to even approach them about working together like this. And with Hakkai currently out of commission, its not like he can do it now.
He turns to the first person he sees.
"This looks rather fun. I wonder if I could get a god to make me a nora so I can have a go."
Rest and Refreshments
The old gods are obnoxious.
Joscelin's bad mood has been building all day. First he is stuck in a room with a white robe and asked inane questions, then he's sidelined right in the middle of an interesting fight, and now he has to listen to longwinded braggarts spew hot air. It's no wonder that he's stolen a couple of bottles of alcohol to make the night more interesting. He's small and fast and there's so many people around that the bottles don't seem to be missed.
The first bottle, of sour apple schnapps, is an interesting shade of arsenic green. It looks promising, but he'll hold off on it for a moment yet. The other is the nectar of his homeland: simple English ale. There's something very comforting and familiar about its taste, he thinks as he takes another swig. Maybe he ought to find Romeo and have him take a drink, since the other boy seems so interested in other countries lately.
OTA
Joscelin is standing near the temple with his hands jammed in his pockets and an expression that could curdle milk. The whole time he'd been suffering through that stupid interview, feeling the death glares on him, while he gave the shortest, curtest possible answers he possibly could. And yet, despite the time on his phone telling him that very little time had passed, it felt like an eternity.
He feels fidgety, anxious. These fucking people. He turns and punches a wall, unsurprised when it leaves a dent in the plaster. He's always been strong, hasn't he? Since the moment he came here, he's always been strong. And fast. Moreso than he ought to be.
Physical Training
Joss stands outside the dojo, watching teams of gods and shinki go at it. He's jealous. He's never fought as a team with anyone--he doesn't think he'd be particularly good at it--but even after months, he doesn't feel he knows Hakkai's other shinki to even approach them about working together like this. And with Hakkai currently out of commission, its not like he can do it now.
He turns to the first person he sees.
"This looks rather fun. I wonder if I could get a god to make me a nora so I can have a go."
Rest and Refreshments
The old gods are obnoxious.
Joscelin's bad mood has been building all day. First he is stuck in a room with a white robe and asked inane questions, then he's sidelined right in the middle of an interesting fight, and now he has to listen to longwinded braggarts spew hot air. It's no wonder that he's stolen a couple of bottles of alcohol to make the night more interesting. He's small and fast and there's so many people around that the bottles don't seem to be missed.
The first bottle, of sour apple schnapps, is an interesting shade of arsenic green. It looks promising, but he'll hold off on it for a moment yet. The other is the nectar of his homeland: simple English ale. There's something very comforting and familiar about its taste, he thinks as he takes another swig. Maybe he ought to find Romeo and have him take a drink, since the other boy seems so interested in other countries lately.