Ronald ☼ Knox (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hardknoxlife) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
towerofanimus2012-05-15 01:29 pm
hardknoxlife) wrote in towerofanimus2012-05-15 01:29 pm
Entry tags:
(no subject)
Characters: Ronald and his tower Homies
Setting: Floor 13
Format: Starting in prose but following you!
Summary: After reawakening from his punishment and first death, a rather guilt stricken puppy goes to lick his wounds after hiding away for a few days.
Warnings: Feelers, possibly... and references back to his punishment which involves dead bodies, blood and mutilation.
The first punishments were always the hardest, maybe. He wasn't certain as he had no idea who was new and who wasn't. But that dream was too vivd, far too vivid to be just a mere dream. What if it was real? What if it was what happened before he was brought here? For all he knew, it could have been the reason he was brought here. When he closed his eyes, his mind's eye supplied the pictures which came in just as clear as the nightmare itself had.
He'd seen them with those lifeless eyes trained toward him in accusation. He'd seen the blood he never thought would ever be spilled scattered about over the ground. His fault. He could have stopped it. And yet he was alive through it all. Of course, logic said it was a dream but there was still another part of him that nagged. Nagged at his mind and told him it could be possible. It could have been the reason why he was brought here first. What if it was all true? What if he DID do it and neither one of them remembered? After all, William wasn't around. What if he was dead? What if it was all his fault?
So he'd been skulking around, trying to find a place that didn't kill him just to think. Sit and think. There were too many people in the dorms, even more in the cafeteria and still a bunch more in the lounge. But then he found the thirteenth floor where things seemed secluded enough for him to find some measure of solace. Ironically enough, it was a cathedral. The younger reaper had never been devout -- not that he remembered, at least, but there were those in their dying breaths who had prayed to some god or another. He'd heard what prayer could do for a troubled heart.
Irony indeed.
But he wasn't here to pray. He just needed to think.
He'd brought his hat with him, his favorite black fedora which he didn't find in his trunk but had appeared by his bedside after the entire ordeal in the Labyrinth. This he held to his chest as he entered, eyes scanning the entire area around him. There was something calming about the stained glass and the pews to say the least. The mumbing didn't bother him. The thought of ghosts didn't, really. He was a reaper. What was there to fear?
Wordlessly, he slipped himself onto one of the back pews and pulled his legs to his chest. His head rested on his arms which he folded over one knee with a deep sigh before burying his face against it again. That dream. Even when he closed his eyes he could still see their torn flesh and hear their accusatory voices. He couldn't face them. Either one of them. He knew he couldn't look Grell in the eye, not after this, not when the possibility loomed so close...
So it was with a groan that he pulled his legs closer against his chest and tried to curl himself into a tighter ball than was possible.
Maybe if he curled in tight enough, he could disappear.
Setting: Floor 13
Format: Starting in prose but following you!
Summary: After reawakening from his punishment and first death, a rather guilt stricken puppy goes to lick his wounds after hiding away for a few days.
Warnings: Feelers, possibly... and references back to his punishment which involves dead bodies, blood and mutilation.
The first punishments were always the hardest, maybe. He wasn't certain as he had no idea who was new and who wasn't. But that dream was too vivd, far too vivid to be just a mere dream. What if it was real? What if it was what happened before he was brought here? For all he knew, it could have been the reason he was brought here. When he closed his eyes, his mind's eye supplied the pictures which came in just as clear as the nightmare itself had.
He'd seen them with those lifeless eyes trained toward him in accusation. He'd seen the blood he never thought would ever be spilled scattered about over the ground. His fault. He could have stopped it. And yet he was alive through it all. Of course, logic said it was a dream but there was still another part of him that nagged. Nagged at his mind and told him it could be possible. It could have been the reason why he was brought here first. What if it was all true? What if he DID do it and neither one of them remembered? After all, William wasn't around. What if he was dead? What if it was all his fault?
So he'd been skulking around, trying to find a place that didn't kill him just to think. Sit and think. There were too many people in the dorms, even more in the cafeteria and still a bunch more in the lounge. But then he found the thirteenth floor where things seemed secluded enough for him to find some measure of solace. Ironically enough, it was a cathedral. The younger reaper had never been devout -- not that he remembered, at least, but there were those in their dying breaths who had prayed to some god or another. He'd heard what prayer could do for a troubled heart.
Irony indeed.
But he wasn't here to pray. He just needed to think.
He'd brought his hat with him, his favorite black fedora which he didn't find in his trunk but had appeared by his bedside after the entire ordeal in the Labyrinth. This he held to his chest as he entered, eyes scanning the entire area around him. There was something calming about the stained glass and the pews to say the least. The mumbing didn't bother him. The thought of ghosts didn't, really. He was a reaper. What was there to fear?
Wordlessly, he slipped himself onto one of the back pews and pulled his legs to his chest. His head rested on his arms which he folded over one knee with a deep sigh before burying his face against it again. That dream. Even when he closed his eyes he could still see their torn flesh and hear their accusatory voices. He couldn't face them. Either one of them. He knew he couldn't look Grell in the eye, not after this, not when the possibility loomed so close...
So it was with a groan that he pulled his legs closer against his chest and tried to curl himself into a tighter ball than was possible.
Maybe if he curled in tight enough, he could disappear.
no subject
[ And reaching for his hat which was left on the pew before trotting back up beside him. Ronald had to admit, there was a certain sense of... normalcy to all this. Maybe it was the fact that he didn't have anything to worry about anymore.
William was here and surely he knew what to do.
Right? ]
...Sebastian's here too, sir. Thought you'd like to know so... if I know Mister Sutcliffe, he's prolly hanging off that demon's arm.