A B E L
Abel flung open the front door and sauntered inside, not making any effort to quiet the wooden thing from slamming against its own frame. A trail of smoke chugged from behind him as he entered without any pretenses or explanations. "Honey, I'm home!" he called out to no one in particular, trudging over to his room to peel off his sweaty shirt and yank on a new one. He realized as he was tugging off the first shirt that he still had the nasty cancer stick smokin' in his mouth and readily crushed it on the sole of his boot. "'Hope nobody notices I forgot to put it out 'fore I came inside..." he muttered. Technically, he was supposed to be quitting (it cost way too much money) but he didn't think anyone actually expected it out of him. It's not like he bought the things, anyway. Well, not usually. Today he was offered it by a chick he'd been talking to. How the hell is he supposed to say, "No, thanks." when an addiction is staring him in the face for free? He made a distinct "tch" sound as he tucked the half smoked cigarette into his wallet where he'd resume smoking it later. He was a frugal guy, after all.
He hadn't slept a wink last night, though he tried. It had been one of his only free nights and he'd set a full seven hours aside for him to catch some Z's but, of course, insomnia doesn't let up just 'cause you tell it to, so after a good two and a half hours of laying awake as everyone else in the house slept like lambs, he'd hopped out of bed and gone exploring. Strolling the streets had lead to coming across a mugging had lead to beating some chumps near death had lead to chatting with the little lady he'd helped had lead to going back to her place and chilling with her room mates and playing beer pong under the pretense that he was 21. It'd been a pretty social day for him, to say the least. His head was just killing him, though. No hang over could push aside his appetite, however, as his stomach growled loudly in complaint. "Yeah, yeah." he mumbled, rubbing his abdomen lazily as he headed to the bathroom to wash his face. He opened the door mid-yawn, stretching his back so that his shoulder blades nearly touc-
"Meow~"
He stopped his lackadaisical warm up to curiously peer at the small furry creature that sat on the toilet seat. He raised his eyebrows and shrugged before turning on the water and spritzing his face. He gazed in the mirror only to confirm that he, indeed, looked like shit. Bags lay heavy under his eyes. He sighed and made his way to the kitchen where he heard the rest of 'em. "Oi, you guys know there's a cat in the loo?" he asked chirpily as he entered, a cheap imitation of a greeting. He ran a calloused hand through his black mane before hopping up on the counter next to Kaze. "Please tell me there's some food left for me." he added, less perkily. There was something about the desperation in his voice that carried the sincerety he felt in that. His stomach growled again.