( blood in the water | vaas ) - Printable Version

GOTTA TAKE SOME TIME TO REALIZE

THAT MY FRIENDS THEY COME

AND THE LINES THEY GO BY

The boss.

Such moniker often drew forth a rather particular image, falsified fantasy bolstered by stories thriving on exploitation and grandeur. Pleasant rarity the instances life may intertwine with reality, yet distinct the ease one may pinpoint downfall. Overly done the flair, dramatics sought and thus overplayed, callous cruelty pushed to edges the tantalising appeal was ash on the tongue, or they were simply too safe, followed set out route until other options grew more appetising. Different this man who had grappled with the bull, took those that life had spat upon with undue hatred and squeezed with a fidt of iron, demanding but suited, appealing in his methods.

Vaas.

Disjointed that collected in short time among his people, instances spaced and staged in such manner fickle bystander briefly visiting upon their land was all he may seem. Yet, more apt may it be, to deem him a spectre. Slow the rise of paw, among pale ruff slipped, jagged tips scraping along skin. Heat prickled and burrowed, chewed along taunt muscle, poor the craftsmanship behind tended wound.

Upward did attention drift, observed the crumbling facade warehouse boasted, though sure was he in the notion interior bore a more well tended quality. Numerous the wrong turns he had taken, only so far assisting experience gathered over course of a year when small his own chosen placement, never wanting and thus no need seen in extended exploration. Exasperated some he had spoken to, as though known the location by all beneath control Vaas enforced, others more curious for similarity may be found if not in the hue of his coat.

Abandoned his attempt to quell the growing sensation that dug needles into his skin, bandaged the limb that rapt against door. All too long ago should have been conducted this introduction, though not of those beneath him the manner Vaas had conducted himself enough hint it was within his best interest to keep upon his good side, the appearance of long since abandoned brother aside.

code by Reggan

Vaas was the kind of leader that rarely ever led. A group of rouges, the bunch of them; clustered together sharing- protecting the same territory. Some were exiles from others, outcasts; some were born to the boardwalk and Vaas respected them and their bow to respect- power and claim Vaas had stolen from them all; it was only afterwards that Vaas really understood the reason why.

Under a group, under a single figurehead: everyone started to seek him out. For favors, to settle disputes, to direct. Some of them – most of them; knew what they were doing. Vass grew acquainted with the few that got their own shit done and put them in charge of eachother. Told them to lead patrols, to start hunting for the rest of the weaker ones: He got shit down, and it was the only reason that he kept such a claim- a title. Was because this group flowed, and moved with ease of function with him as the figurehead.

Yet, Vaas was not meant to be a leader; he was trained for violence. To kneel deep in blood and lay down on the wire for his sister and mother; he was the wolf they painted a sheep to sacrifice. He was meant for war, to die in battle and it dragged at him, leading. It made him snappish, aggressive; wanting to make an example of a few strangers- and he had. Anyone with a hint of hostility towards the boardwalk was taken to his throne- the concrete whearhouse he had claimed and their blood splattered along the walls of his home. It was an example; and he was ruthless- prideful about it. Anyone who fucked with his group would die.

Honestly, how it devolved from there, he had no such clue.

Vaas could hear the pawsteps of one feline near the entrance of his ‘home’. Stacked cargo and crates; cages with opened doors and some locked tightly. The slow bordome that creeped along vaas’ attention was wisked away, he cocked his head at the entrance- two rusted doors that gave way to a well… ‘furnished’ interior- waiting for a moment before a low growl cut through the Tiger’s throat “what do you ask of me, [abrr=brother]hermano[/abbr]” the costomary greeting from the Boss towards anyone who needed something; a low snear along his maw as he jumped down from his perch atop crates, steadily making his way towards the enterance and knocking open one of the doors to welcome Toadwhisker inside.

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"take me into your heart , accept me as your savior nail me to the fucking cross and let me be reborn" — an antagonist with a silver tongue , a pirate with nothing to loose and everything to gain . vaas montenegro ; he who lives to fight demons should be weary he himself does not become one ." it's not like i am fucking crazy — "

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