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towerofanimus2013-07-05 11:43 am
destructiveprinciple) wrote in towerofanimus2013-07-05 11:43 am
☠ 004 | all sufferings, all pleasures, all good and evil
Characters: Avenger and OPEN to all.
Setting: Dormitory levels, elsewhere and then the first floor, the seventy-fifth floor, and the twenty-fifth floor.
Format: Action spam to start with.
Summary: A typical open log for this month.
Warnings: All the Evils' in The World is present in this post which is a warning by itself, along with grossness/gore and blood in the first prompt? Also the expected fare for the Tower of Animus.
[ SCENARIO A || FLOOR 75: OUTSIDE ]
[ Seated on the grass warmed by the clear weather on this floor outside the twenty-story tower, the Servant is busily pulling the slowily-cooling intestines out of a dead monster, its stomach slit wide open. Its throat is a ravaged mess. A few other organs laid spattered bloodily on the ground next to Avenger; two hearts (who knew some of them had extra hearts?), what looks to be the liver, maybe a section of the stomach? It could be an alien-looking kidney. It's hard to identify them correctly. His arms are bright red up to the elbows.
What he couldn't dig out with his hands and strength, he used his short swords to cut them up further and make the task easier to complete.
One or two lumps of maimed tendons and meat that might have once resembled the regular monsters themselves, are left nearby as well, given a similarly careless treatment.
Boredom is a strange thing, when paired with constant murderous urges that Angra is attempting to redirect away from fellow residents. At least he decided to do this in a corner of this floor far away from the stairs? Not that he's making any attempt to conceal this from prying eyes. He just likes the quiet between hunting down the Tower-generated creatures. ]
[ SCENARIO B || FLOOR 25: THE MEADOW ]
[ His eyes are closed and he's flopped over onto his side onto the soft grass with one side of his face pressed against the ground, under the cool, dark shade of one of the trees in the meadow. His thin shoulders rise and fall in sync with his even, slow breathing. Taking a nap in the evening was pointless; it wasn't like he required sleep or even food or housing. But he felt the desire to pretend at it, and since he had no reason other than his instinctive paranoia to not to leave himself open in any manner, he went along with it. Angra had never quite regained the knack to true semblance of slumber after his first life, only managing a light doze or total dreamless unconsciousness at the best.
His sleep was restless and shallow.At least he doesn't snore.
So when somebody's feet unexpectedly impacts with the embodiment of all evils' ribs and there's a sudden, unwanted weight tripping over him, it roused him easily. Wheezing at the knee that comes down into his stomach, he rolls over, hurriedly trying to push them off of his body and sputters in confusion. ]
—!!? Wha, wh—
[ Disoriented and groggy, Avenger still snaps to wakefulness speedily in a few moments with an irritated snarl of fury as he realizes what happened. ]
—Watching where you're fuckin' going... [ He spat out, a tick mark show showing on his forehead; ] is way too much trouble, huh! Idiot!
[ VERY RUDE. ]
[ SCENARIO C || DORMITORY LEVELS: POST-SPARRING ]
[ There was a line of old scrapes and redness along his knuckles where Saber whacked him if he'd gotten careless for even an instance while fighting her, a newer bruise on one cheekbone and what felt like a swollen knot blooming on the top of his head from a blow to the skull. Generally, he looked like he'd gone biking on a deserted road, collided head-on with a small truck and come out the worse off.
Of course, that was usually the normal result of his sparring matches with Arturia: 'Shirou' getting beaten up repeatedly and mercilessly for one or two hours, stop for the day, do it again later, rinse, wash, repeat. He'd improved, yes, to the point where he could block her attacks occasionally and even deflect them, but he couldn't avoid getting knocked out. In today's session, he tried going on the offensive for a short time before changing his mind and deciding the price paid in the strength of her blows was too much, and playing it defensively in a battle against the Servant would probably work best.
His body burned with pain. 'Shirou' , ignoring his body's complaints of fresh soreness, wipes the lingering sweat off his forehead with his arm, calming his breathing down. The discomfort he was currently in would fade soon enough. As if to spite him until then, a knife of minor pain stabbed abruptly him in the side. ]
... Ow—ouch, owch...
[ He winced and dropped his arm back down to his side. ]
[ SCENARIO D || ANYWHERE IN THE TOWER: YOUR PICK ]
[ Generally, Angra wanders through an assortment of floors at night and shows little concern for which ones he ends up on as long as they are neither overly threatening or extreme.
He's not a picky sort of guy.
It's possible to find him sitting on tombstones in the cemetery staring at the fabrication of the skies on one floor, not mourning the dead just looking at the view, slinking through the sandy caverns on another floor, or walking over the farmland on one of the lower floors.
'Shirou' is much more easy to run into during the day, tinkering with dented toasters in the workshop, hanging out in the media room, or obsessively patrolling the hallways and floors of the Towers as normal, bruises or no bruises. Business as usual here! ]
Setting: Dormitory levels, elsewhere and then the first floor, the seventy-fifth floor, and the twenty-fifth floor.
Format: Action spam to start with.
Summary: A typical open log for this month.
Warnings: All the Evils' in The World is present in this post which is a warning by itself, along with grossness/gore and blood in the first prompt? Also the expected fare for the Tower of Animus.
[ SCENARIO A || FLOOR 75: OUTSIDE ]
[ Seated on the grass warmed by the clear weather on this floor outside the twenty-story tower, the Servant is busily pulling the slowily-cooling intestines out of a dead monster, its stomach slit wide open. Its throat is a ravaged mess. A few other organs laid spattered bloodily on the ground next to Avenger; two hearts (who knew some of them had extra hearts?), what looks to be the liver, maybe a section of the stomach? It could be an alien-looking kidney. It's hard to identify them correctly. His arms are bright red up to the elbows.
What he couldn't dig out with his hands and strength, he used his short swords to cut them up further and make the task easier to complete.
One or two lumps of maimed tendons and meat that might have once resembled the regular monsters themselves, are left nearby as well, given a similarly careless treatment.
Boredom is a strange thing, when paired with constant murderous urges that Angra is attempting to redirect away from fellow residents. At least he decided to do this in a corner of this floor far away from the stairs? Not that he's making any attempt to conceal this from prying eyes. He just likes the quiet between hunting down the Tower-generated creatures. ]
[ SCENARIO B || FLOOR 25: THE MEADOW ]
[ His eyes are closed and he's flopped over onto his side onto the soft grass with one side of his face pressed against the ground, under the cool, dark shade of one of the trees in the meadow. His thin shoulders rise and fall in sync with his even, slow breathing. Taking a nap in the evening was pointless; it wasn't like he required sleep or even food or housing. But he felt the desire to pretend at it, and since he had no reason other than his instinctive paranoia to not to leave himself open in any manner, he went along with it. Angra had never quite regained the knack to true semblance of slumber after his first life, only managing a light doze or total dreamless unconsciousness at the best.
His sleep was restless and shallow.
So when somebody's feet unexpectedly impacts with the embodiment of all evils' ribs and there's a sudden, unwanted weight tripping over him, it roused him easily. Wheezing at the knee that comes down into his stomach, he rolls over, hurriedly trying to push them off of his body and sputters in confusion. ]
—!!? Wha, wh—
[ Disoriented and groggy, Avenger still snaps to wakefulness speedily in a few moments with an irritated snarl of fury as he realizes what happened. ]
—Watching where you're fuckin' going... [ He spat out, a tick mark show showing on his forehead; ] is way too much trouble, huh! Idiot!
[ VERY RUDE. ]
[ SCENARIO C || DORMITORY LEVELS: POST-SPARRING ]
[ There was a line of old scrapes and redness along his knuckles where Saber whacked him if he'd gotten careless for even an instance while fighting her, a newer bruise on one cheekbone and what felt like a swollen knot blooming on the top of his head from a blow to the skull. Generally, he looked like he'd gone biking on a deserted road, collided head-on with a small truck and come out the worse off.
Of course, that was usually the normal result of his sparring matches with Arturia: 'Shirou' getting beaten up repeatedly and mercilessly for one or two hours, stop for the day, do it again later, rinse, wash, repeat. He'd improved, yes, to the point where he could block her attacks occasionally and even deflect them, but he couldn't avoid getting knocked out. In today's session, he tried going on the offensive for a short time before changing his mind and deciding the price paid in the strength of her blows was too much, and playing it defensively in a battle against the Servant would probably work best.
His body burned with pain. 'Shirou' , ignoring his body's complaints of fresh soreness, wipes the lingering sweat off his forehead with his arm, calming his breathing down. The discomfort he was currently in would fade soon enough. As if to spite him until then, a knife of minor pain stabbed abruptly him in the side. ]
... Ow—ouch, owch...
[ He winced and dropped his arm back down to his side. ]
[ SCENARIO D || ANYWHERE IN THE TOWER: YOUR PICK ]
[ Generally, Angra wanders through an assortment of floors at night and shows little concern for which ones he ends up on as long as they are neither overly threatening or extreme.
He's not a picky sort of guy.
It's possible to find him sitting on tombstones in the cemetery staring at the fabrication of the skies on one floor, not mourning the dead just looking at the view, slinking through the sandy caverns on another floor, or walking over the farmland on one of the lower floors.
'Shirou' is much more easy to run into during the day, tinkering with dented toasters in the workshop, hanging out in the media room, or obsessively patrolling the hallways and floors of the Towers as normal, bruises or no bruises. Business as usual here! ]
no subject
The Servant wasn't exactly sure what he was supposed to do with this... apology. Honestly, the monster attack had been such a minor detail to him that he'd barely thought about it after filling his Master in on what information he'd gathered from it. Being attacked with murderous intentions was nothing new.
"That bite," Avenger mused, connecting the dots. Tch, that was what was responsible for his slip in restraint? "Well, whatever. I can't say I care about your guilt over it."
no subject
His voice is almost steady, though a tremour betrays him as not really calm.
no subject
"What's got ya' riled up?"
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
Avenger sighed, then turned to continue on his way through the morgue since the man seemed to have said his piece and been done with it.
no subject
After all there was nothing more he could do, nothing could make up for what he had become.