07-15-2018, 06:53 PM
[align=center][div style="borderwidth=0px; width: 55%; line-height:115%; text-align: justify;font-family: calibri;"]Chain knew exactly what it meant to escape who you were once were, to become something... else. One name eventually turned into another, who he had been fading into obscurity, until nights spent by himself made him question who he was, exactly. Some memories were so prominent that he felt them as strongly as if they had been made during his time as 'Chainsmoking' even though back then he had donned a different name.
You left behind parts of yourself when you wanted to survive, however. Gabriel was long gone, as was reaper. The innocent boy was quick to be replaced by a murderer, who was just as quick to change into the tired man he was today, who wanted nothing more than to dig himself into a grave and finally let peace overtake him. But there was always that voice, stuck in the back of his mind, whispering sweet nothings to him and telling him "no, not yet." It wasn't his time, not until he did something to make up for the wrong he had achieved in his life. That, or if he finally broke enough to find some sick pleasure in killing that he had yet to find. A reason, any at all, to either earn his place in heaven or finally work himself to the grave and end up in hell. Perhaps that was what kept him going, to find a purpose before he left this life so that it didn't hurt so much once he did. To do what Argus had done, but without having to literally die in the process. He wanted to return to Gabriel, to call himself that but to forget the weight of the memories that Gabriel carried with himself, and that was impossible.
The dogtags around his neck suddenly felt heavier, and he shifted on his paws slightly as the names seemed to seer into his skin, the echoes of his past still hanging around his neck like a noose waiting to finally off him before death actually could.
Even if he wanted to, it was hard to kill a man who was half dead to begin with. Just like with Argus, the cigarettes did very little for him anymore, as did the alcohol and drugs. None of it worked anymore, didn't do anything more than simply kill some of his cells and then speed up his regenerative process, but it was a habit that he couldn't break, and sometimes he hoped that it would still work anyways. What did he know of helping others? His paws were red, not unlike those of medics that brought people back to life but so much different in the end.
The only blood Chain ever had on his fur had been his own or one caused by death. He was no savior, no saint who warded off the reaper and gave new hope to the dying. He was that which they feared, a martyr and an angel of death. Where he went carnage soon followed, counted by the thrum of wardrums in his ears and each thump of a body hitting the dull ground. Counted by the sleepless nights, by the smell of death that clung to him like a cloak, by the whispers that surrounded him each day reminding him and accusing him and they would never shut up -
A breath. It did wonders to relax him, the fading remains of nicotine still stimulating his senses and providing a sense of calm with each inhale. The screams faded into the background once more, clawed hands receding into the shadows they came from. But despite it all, he had stood like a stone as his fears crept up on him in the dark, eyes unwavering from the darkness which sheltered the unknown. He hadn't spared the dead even a glance, ignoring them to cope. The smoke kept them at bay, gave him something to focus on instead. So he lit the second cigarette, a low flame igniting the darkness once more as chocolate eyes fazed out to stare into nothing once more.
A shuffle as a twig was displaced, the whisper of paws against ground; Chain's ears twitched upwards briefly, only to fall down a mere second after. Someone was coming. He felt the subtle shift in his form before even realizing he was getting ready for battle, muscles straining against his taught fur as a show of strength. He didn't move from his spot despite it all, staring calmly into the dark and waiting for it to birth that which hid inside of it. But whereas his eyes had been unfocused a mere minute before, no details escaped their sharp gaze any longer, the brown eyes now red and molten. He inhaled the nicotine, keeping it trapped inside of his jaws until his eyes started to sting, then releasing it with a long exhale.
From the smoke emerged a figure, and Chain watched it warily as it formed, still poised to kill if he had to. No recognition passed through his own features until the darkness made way for the female, although her presence did little to ease his strain. He said nothing as he watched Vandal walk over, simply took another drag of the cigarette and returned his gaze into the distance as she spoke, her own pressed against her teeth. Her words broke through the silence, earning her nothing more than an acknowledging rumble of his chest, and just as he was about to respond a beat later, a flash of white presented him with another creature that smelled of the same group as she did. So he was in the right place, then? They were all swooping around him like vultures now, carried by wings that made it easy to mistake them for angels if not for the sharpness in both of their eyes.
He subconsciously noted the sharp contrast that existed between him and the next creature to arrive, brow knitting together in mild discomfort and self-consciousness. their entire form flowed, beautifully held together by the effortless grace that seemed to be a very part of them. they walked like they had clouds below their feet, like one of the angels fell to earth and decided to walk upon it's damned paths. He envied their assets, the juxtaposition of his own flaws jutting out like a broken bone. His muscles were taught with the restlessness and stress of a man who knew war too well and had seen friends fall one too many times, they had deft form of someone who at least seemed to know their worth. He was a war-stricken man. A monster.
He closed his red eyes so as not to look at them, finding himself lost for a moment and yearning for the cigarette in his mouth to do something more. He didn't let the idea dwell, and as he felt himself relax he allowed himself to open his eyes just a sliver to stare back at Argus. He could offer nothing but a thin stretch of lips in retaliation. "I tend to wander," he responded, proud of the strength his voice carried despite his currently racing thoughts. "I did not really expect to find anyone out here, mostly just hoped."
He didn't expect to be remembered here, uncertain of his fate and whether or not he'd be able to stay for long. He wasn't someone who was remembered as an individual, a passing shadow, no more than a name and face that others could recognize. He didn't like letting himself be known, letting himself be tied down. There was more space for heartbreak, for betrayal. he had enough of those to last him a lifetime and more, and so many of those who he had loved had either found themselves under the barrel of a gun from one of his "friends..." or of his own. He was nothing but a curse in the taught form of a man, walking among men and waiting to take them.
His head lifted up as another approached, eyes locking onto Pincher's almost instantly only to fidget away with a slight furrow of his brow. Words failed the canine, paralyzed as if a snake was constricting his throat, finding it much easier to look at the woman who had approached him first, to try and ignore the gathering group around him. Instinct told him to run, or to fight, screamed at him that he was being surrounded and one wrong move would end up with all of them in the grave. All he could do was nod, still not meeting the man's gaze, instead turning it towards Vandal once more with a steadying breath as the second cigarette burned out into nothing.
A third one was quick to replace it, and it was obvious just where Chain decided to get his name from.
"Chain, no last name," the alias still felt foreign on his tongue, which wanted so desperately to go back to 'gabriel', or if not that then at least 'reaper.' But neither of them were him, something he had to keep reminding himself of. He was someone new, and he intended to keep it that way. "[b]I assumed this was The Typhoon but... I got restless and didn't want to wait, especially in the dead of night. You could say I'm looking to join."
You left behind parts of yourself when you wanted to survive, however. Gabriel was long gone, as was reaper. The innocent boy was quick to be replaced by a murderer, who was just as quick to change into the tired man he was today, who wanted nothing more than to dig himself into a grave and finally let peace overtake him. But there was always that voice, stuck in the back of his mind, whispering sweet nothings to him and telling him "no, not yet." It wasn't his time, not until he did something to make up for the wrong he had achieved in his life. That, or if he finally broke enough to find some sick pleasure in killing that he had yet to find. A reason, any at all, to either earn his place in heaven or finally work himself to the grave and end up in hell. Perhaps that was what kept him going, to find a purpose before he left this life so that it didn't hurt so much once he did. To do what Argus had done, but without having to literally die in the process. He wanted to return to Gabriel, to call himself that but to forget the weight of the memories that Gabriel carried with himself, and that was impossible.
The dogtags around his neck suddenly felt heavier, and he shifted on his paws slightly as the names seemed to seer into his skin, the echoes of his past still hanging around his neck like a noose waiting to finally off him before death actually could.
Even if he wanted to, it was hard to kill a man who was half dead to begin with. Just like with Argus, the cigarettes did very little for him anymore, as did the alcohol and drugs. None of it worked anymore, didn't do anything more than simply kill some of his cells and then speed up his regenerative process, but it was a habit that he couldn't break, and sometimes he hoped that it would still work anyways. What did he know of helping others? His paws were red, not unlike those of medics that brought people back to life but so much different in the end.
The only blood Chain ever had on his fur had been his own or one caused by death. He was no savior, no saint who warded off the reaper and gave new hope to the dying. He was that which they feared, a martyr and an angel of death. Where he went carnage soon followed, counted by the thrum of wardrums in his ears and each thump of a body hitting the dull ground. Counted by the sleepless nights, by the smell of death that clung to him like a cloak, by the whispers that surrounded him each day reminding him and accusing him and they would never shut up -
A breath. It did wonders to relax him, the fading remains of nicotine still stimulating his senses and providing a sense of calm with each inhale. The screams faded into the background once more, clawed hands receding into the shadows they came from. But despite it all, he had stood like a stone as his fears crept up on him in the dark, eyes unwavering from the darkness which sheltered the unknown. He hadn't spared the dead even a glance, ignoring them to cope. The smoke kept them at bay, gave him something to focus on instead. So he lit the second cigarette, a low flame igniting the darkness once more as chocolate eyes fazed out to stare into nothing once more.
A shuffle as a twig was displaced, the whisper of paws against ground; Chain's ears twitched upwards briefly, only to fall down a mere second after. Someone was coming. He felt the subtle shift in his form before even realizing he was getting ready for battle, muscles straining against his taught fur as a show of strength. He didn't move from his spot despite it all, staring calmly into the dark and waiting for it to birth that which hid inside of it. But whereas his eyes had been unfocused a mere minute before, no details escaped their sharp gaze any longer, the brown eyes now red and molten. He inhaled the nicotine, keeping it trapped inside of his jaws until his eyes started to sting, then releasing it with a long exhale.
From the smoke emerged a figure, and Chain watched it warily as it formed, still poised to kill if he had to. No recognition passed through his own features until the darkness made way for the female, although her presence did little to ease his strain. He said nothing as he watched Vandal walk over, simply took another drag of the cigarette and returned his gaze into the distance as she spoke, her own pressed against her teeth. Her words broke through the silence, earning her nothing more than an acknowledging rumble of his chest, and just as he was about to respond a beat later, a flash of white presented him with another creature that smelled of the same group as she did. So he was in the right place, then? They were all swooping around him like vultures now, carried by wings that made it easy to mistake them for angels if not for the sharpness in both of their eyes.
He subconsciously noted the sharp contrast that existed between him and the next creature to arrive, brow knitting together in mild discomfort and self-consciousness. their entire form flowed, beautifully held together by the effortless grace that seemed to be a very part of them. they walked like they had clouds below their feet, like one of the angels fell to earth and decided to walk upon it's damned paths. He envied their assets, the juxtaposition of his own flaws jutting out like a broken bone. His muscles were taught with the restlessness and stress of a man who knew war too well and had seen friends fall one too many times, they had deft form of someone who at least seemed to know their worth. He was a war-stricken man. A monster.
He closed his red eyes so as not to look at them, finding himself lost for a moment and yearning for the cigarette in his mouth to do something more. He didn't let the idea dwell, and as he felt himself relax he allowed himself to open his eyes just a sliver to stare back at Argus. He could offer nothing but a thin stretch of lips in retaliation. "I tend to wander," he responded, proud of the strength his voice carried despite his currently racing thoughts. "I did not really expect to find anyone out here, mostly just hoped."
He didn't expect to be remembered here, uncertain of his fate and whether or not he'd be able to stay for long. He wasn't someone who was remembered as an individual, a passing shadow, no more than a name and face that others could recognize. He didn't like letting himself be known, letting himself be tied down. There was more space for heartbreak, for betrayal. he had enough of those to last him a lifetime and more, and so many of those who he had loved had either found themselves under the barrel of a gun from one of his "friends..." or of his own. He was nothing but a curse in the taught form of a man, walking among men and waiting to take them.
His head lifted up as another approached, eyes locking onto Pincher's almost instantly only to fidget away with a slight furrow of his brow. Words failed the canine, paralyzed as if a snake was constricting his throat, finding it much easier to look at the woman who had approached him first, to try and ignore the gathering group around him. Instinct told him to run, or to fight, screamed at him that he was being surrounded and one wrong move would end up with all of them in the grave. All he could do was nod, still not meeting the man's gaze, instead turning it towards Vandal once more with a steadying breath as the second cigarette burned out into nothing.
A third one was quick to replace it, and it was obvious just where Chain decided to get his name from.
"Chain, no last name," the alias still felt foreign on his tongue, which wanted so desperately to go back to 'gabriel', or if not that then at least 'reaper.' But neither of them were him, something he had to keep reminding himself of. He was someone new, and he intended to keep it that way. "[b]I assumed this was The Typhoon but... I got restless and didn't want to wait, especially in the dead of night. You could say I'm looking to join."
♔ — I want brimstone in my garden