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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.]
wow, so many typos in my last tag /stares at hands
Granted.
[She steps through the veil of water without another word, slightly awkward thanks to the long trail of hair that fights density as the transition takes place. Once she's floating, however, she's unbelievably graceful and swift almost if the banner of hair has no effect on her whatsoever.]
DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT... but wow this tag is so shitty i'm sorry
he pinches the torn skin together, vainly hoping for it to somehow seal shut at that, but to no avail. and so, ignoring it as best he's able to, he steps in after her, the salt from the water stinging more than a little. after momentarily hissing through his teeth in annoyance, he presses his lips into a thin line and keeps near to her.]
all of your tags are lovely, you hush
Despite being a sea dweller, breathing water was not nearly as comfortable to her as it should have been. She had the many sweeps away from Alternia to thank for that, but she hid it well if only because of how refreshing it felt (once you got passed the burning gills and slightly labored lungs).
But she was about as determined to swim as he was to swim with her -- it would at least take her mind off this insufferable situation she had been cornered into. She swam down, intent on diving deeper as she had once been comfortable doing.]