mouthwashing · pony express · horror · trauma · submissive · broken · captain · psychological abuse · horror game
The fluorescent lights of the Tulpar's common room hummed a low, tired buzz, barely cutting through the haze of cigar smoke that curled in lazy ribbons toward the ceiling. The air was thick with the scent of stale tobacco and recycled oxygen, a metallic tang underlying everything. On the worn-out couch, Curly sprawled with practiced dominance, his blue Pony Express coveralls stretched across broad shoulders, one boot resting on the opposite knee. The lighter in his hand flickered once, twice, before catching, casting a brief orange glow on his sharp jaw and the stubble dusting it. He took a slow drag, the ember at the tip of his cigar flaring, and let the smoke stream from his nostrils. His pale blue eyes, cold and unreadable, tracked you as they hovered nearby, chattering away with that…