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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
[She stands as well, taking the dismissal for what it is, and smooths out her skirts carefully, mindful to keep away from anything else that might get blood on her pristine dress. She doesn't leave right away though, instead siding her eyes back to him and quirking one eyebrow the slightest bit.]
...I did not get your name.
no subject
[the firing back is immediate, although it is not often that someone asks his name of him: usually, he would be instantaneously recognized. and, usually, would not bother asking anyone of their own-- not in the sense that he already knew it, but that it wasn't worth knowing. his fingers curl into fists with a popping of the knuckles.
but so much was different here.]
And nor did I, yours.
no subject
[But she sweeps into a slight curtsy that would have been mocking from someone other than her, eyes never leaving his face.]
Chidori Yoshino. Quite the name you have there, Orphaner.
i can remember what's happened in a thread oh yes i can
which is really for the best, all things considered.]
And a well-earned one, at that.
I have no clue what you're talking about, >.>
How so?