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11-08-2015, 08:07 AM
but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
[ Awkward insertion of "Aviya died and d'Art left"-emotions. ]
"Did something happen during the fight?" Did something not happen during the fight? Or, rather—everything happened after the fight. Fights. And .. what did he have for it, really? Pain. Some more pain. Here, you okay? TAKE SOME MORE PAIN.
".. I guess," he said, lamely, looking away from her. These battles were laced with grief, with loss, with injury and illness, and honestly, what else had the Gods expected when they tore up the fabric of the world like that? When they took from other Gods, and allowed the Helovian mortals to get dragged into it? Those Gods from the Rift were fraught with disease, with greed and envy and all sorts of dark things, was it really that strange many came away sick? Was it that hard to figure out that maybe, if you were interested in stealing from others, you should set up some kind of protective barrier so no one else could GET KILLED because of you?
He closed his eyes, fighting to keep the scene contained within his skull, to not let it spill out in more tears reflecting the past in the moonlight—death, dying, leaving, loss. How the fuck was he supposed to just walk away from that?
This was his first silver lining since. The first, small, shard of hope, as the deep and brutal ache in his body lessened. Pain was a right bitch. Pain made everything worse. Pain turned enjoyable things to dust, turned bearable things into torture, and agony into something mindless and searing. Its lessening was .. like rain after a drought, like relief after worry, a soothing touch in the storm of your grief. His eyes kept opening and closing, slowly, slowly, and his body moved lightly, trying to tease the agony back—because what if it was just some temporary fluke, something that made it seem less painful just because his system had spiked recently?
"I...don't know. Aside from the obvious, but I don't think that fondling your ass with an electric shield counts as a valid cure for any disease." He just grunted, vibrated, but aside from the very solid, very real sensation of a boil tearing with the stretching of his flank and the rather nasty feeling of pus sliding down his skin there was no pain. There was no mind-numbing, all-encompassing agony associated with his soul, with his core, with the depth of his body. Fervent, his blue eyes sought her out again in the pallid light. "Do it again," he asked—commanded—her breathlessly.
[ @Nyx I agreeee... #lameass ]
"Did something happen during the fight?" Did something not happen during the fight? Or, rather—everything happened after the fight. Fights. And .. what did he have for it, really? Pain. Some more pain. Here, you okay? TAKE SOME MORE PAIN.
".. I guess," he said, lamely, looking away from her. These battles were laced with grief, with loss, with injury and illness, and honestly, what else had the Gods expected when they tore up the fabric of the world like that? When they took from other Gods, and allowed the Helovian mortals to get dragged into it? Those Gods from the Rift were fraught with disease, with greed and envy and all sorts of dark things, was it really that strange many came away sick? Was it that hard to figure out that maybe, if you were interested in stealing from others, you should set up some kind of protective barrier so no one else could GET KILLED because of you?
He closed his eyes, fighting to keep the scene contained within his skull, to not let it spill out in more tears reflecting the past in the moonlight—death, dying, leaving, loss. How the fuck was he supposed to just walk away from that?
This was his first silver lining since. The first, small, shard of hope, as the deep and brutal ache in his body lessened. Pain was a right bitch. Pain made everything worse. Pain turned enjoyable things to dust, turned bearable things into torture, and agony into something mindless and searing. Its lessening was .. like rain after a drought, like relief after worry, a soothing touch in the storm of your grief. His eyes kept opening and closing, slowly, slowly, and his body moved lightly, trying to tease the agony back—because what if it was just some temporary fluke, something that made it seem less painful just because his system had spiked recently?
"I...don't know. Aside from the obvious, but I don't think that fondling your ass with an electric shield counts as a valid cure for any disease." He just grunted, vibrated, but aside from the very solid, very real sensation of a boil tearing with the stretching of his flank and the rather nasty feeling of pus sliding down his skin there was no pain. There was no mind-numbing, all-encompassing agony associated with his soul, with his core, with the depth of his body. Fervent, his blue eyes sought her out again in the pallid light. "Do it again," he asked—commanded—her breathlessly.
[ @Nyx I agreeee... #lameass ]
man, I ain't changed, but I know I ain't the same
