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03-25-2015, 06:36 AM
i am the vanguard of your destruction
[ Sorry for not getting to this sooner :3 ]
Or maybe, his parents were missing and he was just a fucked-up kid in this world, staring with fascination as another fucked-up kid tore a dying mare asunder and sort of mentally rolled in it like a dog having found an exquisite heap of offal. Gods, such mindless fascination with destruction, uuuuuuuuuuuuurgh...
It sickened him. The memory sickened him, not only for the snap of fire connecting with his back and letting him know that, hello, fighting dragons is a stupid idea! Like, who knew.
Not you. Certainly not you, because that totally wasn't the, what, fourth of fifth time you were set on fire?
To make a long story short, Quinn's death had repulsed and disgusted him so much that just seeing the one who wasn't to blame was enough to ignite a fire-storm of rage and loathing in his mind. His breath felt hot and hungry behind his teeth, jaw muscles clamped tight and an itch in him—and itch to bite, to punish, to correct their behavior, to take on the mantle none were worthy to bear (not even him) and be the world's judge.
He wanted to howl in rage and storm the colt and hound him towards the Field's edges and watch him spiral to the ground, a rag-doll in the wind, falling to a certain death so the world could be a better place.
But he didn't.
You have no right.
So he just stood there, where he'd ended up standing the moment he caught sight of the colt—whatever he'd been doing up here forgotten, the splendor of the sun turning the color of blood forgotten, everything forgotten because his fury had burned it to cinders.
He stood there, because if he went any closer, shit would burn and he wasn't ready for that.
And oh, look, a mare! A foolish mare! And look it's a fucking pissing contest with magic isn't it, and he could still feel it in his soul, fire-borne bodies wanting out and the cold darkness slipping through his veins and whispering death—
"How impressive," he rumbled acerbically, voice silent; he was too far way, they would never hear, never know, and in his mind's eye the earth would buck and the silly child would fall and I don't know, man, maybe the foolish mare could show him who was top dog by shooting him instead of the innocent earth?
I'm surrounded by idiots.
Circling over the two equines, the owls laughed, and he felt a small smile curve his own lips.
[ @[Volterra], @[Colt] ]
Or maybe, his parents were missing and he was just a fucked-up kid in this world, staring with fascination as another fucked-up kid tore a dying mare asunder and sort of mentally rolled in it like a dog having found an exquisite heap of offal. Gods, such mindless fascination with destruction, uuuuuuuuuuuuurgh...
It sickened him. The memory sickened him, not only for the snap of fire connecting with his back and letting him know that, hello, fighting dragons is a stupid idea! Like, who knew.
Not you. Certainly not you, because that totally wasn't the, what, fourth of fifth time you were set on fire?
To make a long story short, Quinn's death had repulsed and disgusted him so much that just seeing the one who wasn't to blame was enough to ignite a fire-storm of rage and loathing in his mind. His breath felt hot and hungry behind his teeth, jaw muscles clamped tight and an itch in him—and itch to bite, to punish, to correct their behavior, to take on the mantle none were worthy to bear (not even him) and be the world's judge.
He wanted to howl in rage and storm the colt and hound him towards the Field's edges and watch him spiral to the ground, a rag-doll in the wind, falling to a certain death so the world could be a better place.
But he didn't.
You have no right.
So he just stood there, where he'd ended up standing the moment he caught sight of the colt—whatever he'd been doing up here forgotten, the splendor of the sun turning the color of blood forgotten, everything forgotten because his fury had burned it to cinders.
He stood there, because if he went any closer, shit would burn and he wasn't ready for that.
And oh, look, a mare! A foolish mare! And look it's a fucking pissing contest with magic isn't it, and he could still feel it in his soul, fire-borne bodies wanting out and the cold darkness slipping through his veins and whispering death—
"How impressive," he rumbled acerbically, voice silent; he was too far way, they would never hear, never know, and in his mind's eye the earth would buck and the silly child would fall and I don't know, man, maybe the foolish mare could show him who was top dog by shooting him instead of the innocent earth?
I'm surrounded by idiots.
Circling over the two equines, the owls laughed, and he felt a small smile curve his own lips.
[ @[Volterra], @[Colt] ]
