Amos couldn't say how many days it's been since he got back to Achamoth, or, hell, since he left Venera to begin with. Days of miserable walking across the countryside would've done their number on him alone, but combine that with all the time he'd had to think along the way — about how he'd left Misa, first and foremost, kicking himself after over the fact that he had made it clear he would have hurt her so soon after her having seen him kill people with his bare hands; later, tracing back all of his actions, how he'd purposefully infected Gen, refusing to leave his side until he knew he'd gotten as much Innocence in him as possible — and it's not been great.
At first, he'd just known he'd needed to get out of Venera, away from all of that and what it was doing to him. But with every single thing he'd done reanalyzed with a sober mind, by the time he'd made it back to Achamoth, all he'd wanted to do was drown it out. Not like it happens all that often, but it also isn't the first time Amos has had to do something like this, and he'd fallen back into the rhythm spectacularly. It's done its job, at least.
He knows he's somewhere along the first half of the day part of his cycle, having slept off the worst of the previous day in a brothel, only getting back up once the bars started opening again. The last place, he'd gotten some greasy food in him; here, it's alcohol only. His hair is thoroughly dishevelled and there are scratches and bruises visible on his neck — and elsewhere, were it not covered up by clothing, not because he cares to hide it but because it just so happens to be there.
He's been showing his shard to people throughout Achamoth over the past several days since he can't actually pay for anything; he's thoroughly out of fucks to give regarding what people see about him.
It's also clear that Amos is exhausted and hungover, even as he gets a new drink before him, hand loosely wrapped around the glass and just kind of staring blankly at it. He's on autopilot now. Will probably work himself back up into something more active later in the day, getting himself ready to complete another round of whatever the hell this is.
After all the shit he'd pulled, it's better than being himself.
So it takes him a few moments to recognize that blonde head from his peripheral vision, reaction time delayed as he actually turns to look out into the rest of the bar from the corner he's holed himself up in, confirm that it's Misa. Well, shit.
And then he looks past her, sees Gen. For a moment, it's just the familiar exhaustion in his expression, but then he blinks. Registers the white in Gen's hair. And Amos freezes up, eyes widening slightly as his face blanches. The exhaustion's gone, replaced by an attempt at blankness, but he can't exactly wipe away the horror and self-loathing he feels.
Amos' grip around his drink tightens as he downs the entire glass' contents in one go, already lifting his arm back up to signal the bartender for another one. He can't fucking deal with this right now. ]
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Amos couldn't say how many days it's been since he got back to Achamoth, or, hell, since he left Venera to begin with. Days of miserable walking across the countryside would've done their number on him alone, but combine that with all the time he'd had to think along the way — about how he'd left Misa, first and foremost, kicking himself after over the fact that he had made it clear he would have hurt her so soon after her having seen him kill people with his bare hands; later, tracing back all of his actions, how he'd purposefully infected Gen, refusing to leave his side until he knew he'd gotten as much Innocence in him as possible — and it's not been great.
At first, he'd just known he'd needed to get out of Venera, away from all of that and what it was doing to him. But with every single thing he'd done reanalyzed with a sober mind, by the time he'd made it back to Achamoth, all he'd wanted to do was drown it out. Not like it happens all that often, but it also isn't the first time Amos has had to do something like this, and he'd fallen back into the rhythm spectacularly. It's done its job, at least.
He knows he's somewhere along the first half of the day part of his cycle, having slept off the worst of the previous day in a brothel, only getting back up once the bars started opening again. The last place, he'd gotten some greasy food in him; here, it's alcohol only. His hair is thoroughly dishevelled and there are scratches and bruises visible on his neck — and elsewhere, were it not covered up by clothing, not because he cares to hide it but because it just so happens to be there.
He's been showing his shard to people throughout Achamoth over the past several days since he can't actually pay for anything; he's thoroughly out of fucks to give regarding what people see about him.
It's also clear that Amos is exhausted and hungover, even as he gets a new drink before him, hand loosely wrapped around the glass and just kind of staring blankly at it. He's on autopilot now. Will probably work himself back up into something more active later in the day, getting himself ready to complete another round of whatever the hell this is.
After all the shit he'd pulled, it's better than being himself.
So it takes him a few moments to recognize that blonde head from his peripheral vision, reaction time delayed as he actually turns to look out into the rest of the bar from the corner he's holed himself up in, confirm that it's Misa. Well, shit.
And then he looks past her, sees Gen. For a moment, it's just the familiar exhaustion in his expression, but then he blinks. Registers the white in Gen's hair. And Amos freezes up, eyes widening slightly as his face blanches. The exhaustion's gone, replaced by an attempt at blankness, but he can't exactly wipe away the horror and self-loathing he feels.
Amos' grip around his drink tightens as he downs the entire glass' contents in one go, already lifting his arm back up to signal the bartender for another one. He can't fucking deal with this right now. ]