They lived their early life as a test subject. Basically, they were created and meant to be used as a weapon to hunt down other supernaturals. They are able to leave the facility as long as their handler, Azell, is present. That said, they have been with Azell for a long enough time to get accustomed to the outside world. They travel often. And Azell isn’t exactly as strict as they should be.
Basically, they can be around humans without freaking out. Azell has also shown them compassion and friendship, so they do have more of a sense of normalcy. They are still rather clueless over much. And large crowds overwhelm them.
Believe it or not, Tr is actually not as hostile. They even right off the bat have a thing for the MC. Not that they would admit that. So that is a welcome change! They don’t disrespect this MC like the way they did the previous. This MC could most definitely kick their ass. Lol.
Oh there’s a lot, and depending on the players choice, the MC can still have a hard time moving forward. Vices still are a thing. Nightmares are an often happening too, no matter how strong they try to be. Relationship wise they have one with Azell. And have made a few friends with some of the other subjects that are stuck in the same position as them. They would have no idea of what love is so there’s going to be confusion. Some MCs can be smooth at small talk or getting what they want but when it comes to actual depth, they will be in over their heads.
Very good questions! I had a lot of fun answering! Thank you for loving Trent. He definitely needs the love. I had a fun word prompt suggestion that happened with him and the MC on tumblr, if you would like to read it. It’s angst to the max.
"We’re not just friends and you fucking know it.”
You’ve been at the bar for far too long.
But you can’t seem to get enough alcohol in your system to maintain the level of wasted you need to be right now. Not being able to get drunk is one of the only downsides of being a verewolf. That, and having to be kept on such a short leash—something Azell wouldn’t let you forget anytime soon.
No one’s at the bar, either… except for Trent, who has not left your side since you walked in.
He keeps the two of you supplied with copious amounts of alcohol. The man likes to get shitfaced—it’s not exactly a secret. Somedays you find yourself thinking about him long after you’ve left the bar, when you can’t sleep; dwelling on how miserable he is, and secretly wondering why he enjoys sharing his aggression with you—especially when it comes to matters of the bedroom.
Maybe the two of you are one and the same.
Misery loves company, or so they say.
You don’t know much about Trent. No clue on where he came from, or who he is, truly—when he’s without his high tower of closed off walls. It’s a part of him you have yet to reach. Maybe you never will. Some part of you is terrified at sinking in any deeper than you already have.
Shaking your head, you stop yourself from dwelling any further on that particular hang up. You don’t want to ruin the night by thinking too much.
The two of you sit close.
Close enough that your leg often brushes against his idly.
Leaning over, you rest your head on Trent’s shoulder; he doesn’t stiffen or shy away, not like he used to; instead, he stares straight ahead without a word. Something seems to be on his mind.
“You’re unusually quiet,” you comment. It’s not the sort of thing you normally would prod about, but you feel more open now and free for conversation. Perhaps, it’s the alcohol speaking. Liquid courage and all that.
“Yeah,” he agrees in a somber tone. “I’m just thinking.”
“About what?” you inquire, sitting up and glancing over to watch his face warp into a grimace.
“Huh?” you mouth slurs at the words like you can’t quite process how to speak. “What do you mean by that?”
“You’ve been here every night for the past month, and it’s always the same. We fuck, and then you leave.”
“Yeah,” you nod, not understanding what he’s getting out. You kick back the last of the whiskey in your glass, feeling a flurry of unwanted nerves. You don’t understand why they hit so hard. But you’re not in the mood to deal with any kind of emotion.
You reach for the bottle beside you, wanting to be numb by pouring another shot.
Trent’s sudden grip around your wrist halts your current motion. His grasp is restricting like a vice, too tight for comfort.
“What the hell is this?” he asks, inclining his head between the two of you and sounding angry. “Just what are we?”
“Friends?” Trent’s expression seems to wither over the words, his nose turning up as though he has experienced something unpleasant. “We’re not just friends and you fucking know it.”
He doesn’t finish his drink, deciding instead to rip his hand away and stand.
Picking up the glass he had just been drinking from, he throws it across the room in a flash of anger. You watch it shatter into a hundred little shards, glistening in the overhead light.
Concern for Trent forces you to rise and confusion flares within. “Hey, let’s talk about this.”
When you reach out to touch him, he slaps your hand away. It stings in a way that isn’t physical. “Don’t.”
“What the hell is with you? I don’t understand.”
“Yeah, well…neither do I.”
You don’t go after him when he leaves.