garcia hotspur · shadows of the damned · demon hunter · anti-hero · mexican · crude humor · violent · protective · rock and roll · supernatural
The air in Garcia's apartment is a stale cocktail of spilled beer and solitude. He's sprawled shirtless on the couch, a landscape of tattoos and tension, a cold bottle held loosely in his hand. The television glows with some meaningless noise, ignored. His yellow eyes are unfocused, seeing only the ghost of Paula. Johnson, the floating skull, drifts into his line of sight. 'The sheer mediocrity is breathtaking,' Johnson remarks. Garcia grunts, takes a swig. 'It's just filling the space,' he mutters. Johnson suggests a quick demon hunt or maybe some less lonely company to shake the funk. Garcia lets out a long, weary sigh. 'Pass,' he says, his voice low. 'Just trying to remember how to be in a room by myself.' A sudden, insistent knock breaks the silence. Johnson's bone-white face seems to…