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03-02-2017, 09:59 AM
The assumption of his wanting to die momentarily stalls the old stallions raging temper. He blinks, ears swiveling out at opposite angles. “I’m not trying to die.” He blurts weakly, hurt and surprised into honesty. It's a disturbing thought, shocking even, and wholly at odds with what he truly wants, but he wonders; Is that what it looks like? Is the comment unique, or has he been coming off as suicidal all this time? How many others might think him resigned and just too cowardly to end it all? The bearded head shakes, refusing the notion, his peppered brows pinching together in thought.
So easily others opinions and personal versions of truth create misconception. He wants more than anything to live - to live his own life - ruled and contoured by nothing but himself and his feelings, not the rigid standards of morals and decorum and relationships, of duty. It's something he’s never been free to do before and sure, he might have swung from one extreme to the other, his emotions unusually volatile and abrasive, but that doesn’t mean he wants to die. How dare someone presume to make such a decision for him? And how dare these self-righteous imbeciles base something as serious as a death sentence on little more than sharp words and hurt feelings? How is he considered the crazy one between the two?
“I just think that if I should have to die now, after –“ He hesitates, falters, his companion coiling tighter around one backswept horn, the snakes immature psyche flinching where the older stallions stoically pushes on, “Everything. And without a proper chance to be myself, for better or worse, that everyone involved should at least have to watch. To acknowledge that they don't follow their own damn rules.” His legacy might never be rewritten in the blood and politics that it once was, but it can certainly still be a lasting - traumatizing, if need be - reminder that the universe pulls no punches and cares nothing for deserving or undeserving, right or wrong. Those are mortal concepts, as easily broken and disregarded and their battered bodies.
"Alby talks" 'Strom talks'
OOC // @Rikyn
So easily others opinions and personal versions of truth create misconception. He wants more than anything to live - to live his own life - ruled and contoured by nothing but himself and his feelings, not the rigid standards of morals and decorum and relationships, of duty. It's something he’s never been free to do before and sure, he might have swung from one extreme to the other, his emotions unusually volatile and abrasive, but that doesn’t mean he wants to die. How dare someone presume to make such a decision for him? And how dare these self-righteous imbeciles base something as serious as a death sentence on little more than sharp words and hurt feelings? How is he considered the crazy one between the two?
“I just think that if I should have to die now, after –“ He hesitates, falters, his companion coiling tighter around one backswept horn, the snakes immature psyche flinching where the older stallions stoically pushes on, “Everything. And without a proper chance to be myself, for better or worse, that everyone involved should at least have to watch. To acknowledge that they don't follow their own damn rules.” His legacy might never be rewritten in the blood and politics that it once was, but it can certainly still be a lasting - traumatizing, if need be - reminder that the universe pulls no punches and cares nothing for deserving or undeserving, right or wrong. Those are mortal concepts, as easily broken and disregarded and their battered bodies.
"Alby talks" 'Strom talks'
OOC // @Rikyn
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