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towerofanimus2011-10-12 08:33 pm
dualscars.livejournal.com) wrote in towerofanimus2011-10-12 08:33 pm
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dualscars and whoever wants to pester him.
Setting: Floor 10.
Format: Starting off with brackets, but I'll match.
Summary: Dualscar copes with the Condesce's decision of equality. Poorly.
Warnings: R for Raging Douche.
Scenario A ⇨
["equality."
for anyone else, the situation that had arisen wouldn't cause as much distress as this. but this is dualscar: so naturally, it affected him ten times worse than was called for. even if many of his theatrics were intentional, a lot of them... were not.
it wasn't the fact that he was, the signless, but more the fact of how. what did the mutant -- no, monstrosity, the mutation was not favorble to his survival in the least -- think he doing in addressing the empress so forwardly?
but then she'd agreed. put him on the same level, thrown away the heirachy completely, and everything that made him better than the other with what he assumed to be a single syllable. he couldn't fathom that they were to be equals in that regard. he didn't want him to be even within the same room as her, building, land, let alone speaking freely to her, and her seemingly not minding it--
it made him sick. a feeling no amount of slaughter could alleviate, no matter the size of the enemy or the viciousness of it or just how slowly he dictated the creatures' demise, it wouldn't let up. the guns aches his shoulder now, the friction of the cutlass in hand rubbing his hand raw. the water feels heavy, not soothing as he'd hoped it would. he swims on, searching for a new target.
but red.
they all bleed fucking red.]
Scenario B ⇨
[ahab's crosshairs leans against the bench, the sword lies bloodied scarlet upon the floor. it spreads slowly across it, intermingling with the spilled salt water, and there is not only red, but drips of rich violet hues as well.
the orphaner sits at the same bench, hunched over with his elbows on his knees. presumably in rest, his bare chest heaving as he catches his breath, tiny rivulets of seawater running down his scarred face, neck, shoulders, swimshorts, legs-- finally to the floor as well.
but there are a few new gashes that momentarily halt him in his brutal excursions. scratches here and there that look to be more of an irritation than anything, but then the most noticable one along the side of his torso. from below his shoulder blade to just barely missing where his gills begin it runs; the wound itself ideep and jagged, swelling with a little more blood everytime he inhales.
not that it's of any more concern to him than any of his other wounds are; this one just bleeding heavily enough so as to need it to stop before he immersed himself in the water again. no need to attract hoards of the unwelcome, after all.]
dualscars and whoever wants to pester him.Setting: Floor 10.
Format: Starting off with brackets, but I'll match.
Summary: Dualscar copes with the Condesce's decision of equality. Poorly.
Warnings: R for Raging Douche.
Scenario A ⇨
["equality."
for anyone else, the situation that had arisen wouldn't cause as much distress as this. but this is dualscar: so naturally, it affected him ten times worse than was called for. even if many of his theatrics were intentional, a lot of them... were not.
it wasn't the fact that he was, the signless, but more the fact of how. what did the mutant -- no, monstrosity, the mutation was not favorble to his survival in the least -- think he doing in addressing the empress so forwardly?
but then she'd agreed. put him on the same level, thrown away the heirachy completely, and everything that made him better than the other with what he assumed to be a single syllable. he couldn't fathom that they were to be equals in that regard. he didn't want him to be even within the same room as her, building, land, let alone speaking freely to her, and her seemingly not minding it--
it made him sick. a feeling no amount of slaughter could alleviate, no matter the size of the enemy or the viciousness of it or just how slowly he dictated the creatures' demise, it wouldn't let up. the guns aches his shoulder now, the friction of the cutlass in hand rubbing his hand raw. the water feels heavy, not soothing as he'd hoped it would. he swims on, searching for a new target.
but red.
they all bleed fucking red.]
Scenario B ⇨
[ahab's crosshairs leans against the bench, the sword lies bloodied scarlet upon the floor. it spreads slowly across it, intermingling with the spilled salt water, and there is not only red, but drips of rich violet hues as well.
the orphaner sits at the same bench, hunched over with his elbows on his knees. presumably in rest, his bare chest heaving as he catches his breath, tiny rivulets of seawater running down his scarred face, neck, shoulders, swimshorts, legs-- finally to the floor as well.
but there are a few new gashes that momentarily halt him in his brutal excursions. scratches here and there that look to be more of an irritation than anything, but then the most noticable one along the side of his torso. from below his shoulder blade to just barely missing where his gills begin it runs; the wound itself ideep and jagged, swelling with a little more blood everytime he inhales.
not that it's of any more concern to him than any of his other wounds are; this one just bleeding heavily enough so as to need it to stop before he immersed himself in the water again. no need to attract hoards of the unwelcome, after all.]
no subject
Although the albino isn't afraid, merely gives Dualscar a cocky come-at-me-bro grin. Even though he's at a disadvantage he knows he's barely half a foot in from the edge of the glass-less tank for if he needs to dodge out and get air. Swimming backward his hand breaks out of the tank, the six inch boot knife still being held at the ready in case of an attack.]
no subject
but not in the water. if the (apparent) human did have any fighting skill on land, then he doubtful as to how well if would transfer in water. the troll is in his natural habitat: the country? presumably not.
thus he chooses to make himself more clear: he tilts the barrel of the gun away from his former target and then pulls the trigger. the corresponding beam is certainly quite something to behold, if it was the individual's first time in doing so. it shoots straight clear out of the tank, obliterating all life in its way, until it hits a wall a kilometer later and is consequently absorbed.]
no subject
no subject
he begins to aim the beam toward prussia-- with a deliberate slowness.]
no subject
Look buddy you're not scaring me in the slightest. If you're looking for a fight get out of the tank.