07-16-2018, 06:53 PM
[align=center][div style="width: 420px; font-family: Verdana; color: black; font-size: 10px; text-align: justify; padding-left: 10px; padding-right: 10px; line-height: 110%; "]They knew all too well the smell of blood, coppery and dark, lingering upon the back of the throat, sticking there are though the liquid were present, had tasted it upon their tongue enough to know what it was. Yet it seemed different now, something richer and deeper, missing some vital part which seemed to mark it as something living, their mind struggled to comprehend what it was. Something deep within them, a twisting, squirming mass invading their stomach, curling tight until it seemed almost alive, forced them to move, abandoning their spot within the shade of a tree.
A monster. They were as such though no supernatural attributes were given to them, nothing beyond the ordinary though some deemed the way they moved, the frenzy in which their mind had once sank something more, a beast, untamed and wild, driven to blood lust. It had become faded, that sense they were something dark though still they felt the blood, stickly and wet still as it came to stain they paws, enough to make them sick, to allow hatred to harden their heart. They had thought their actions good once and now, looking upon hazy memory, it had all come crashing down, nothing more than a sugar they had sprinkled upon bitter medicine.
“Margaery...” They spoke quietly, murmured under the breath, as they spotted the collapsed figure, one of the few they had come to like, growing to enjoy her company, within such a precarious position. Robotic and stiff, seeming unresponsive as they forced themself to move closer, they could only look upon her for a time, seemingly unaware of Thea's presence. Black, her blood was black. Faintly they recalled someone had spoken of the vampiric nature of the Cosmic General, a being they had come across many times yet it had been death they had dealt, not healing.
“Hold on, please hold on,” speaking quickly they made a move to press against the gash, trying to stem some of the flow before turning to address Thea over their shoulder. “Get me some bandages, a lot of em, and uh...fuck what was it...” Gritting their teeth it became all too clear they were not suited to this, the worry which clouded their mind a buzzing static, overwhelming in its intensity. Art had no desire to see Margaery die and yet they could do little, a whimper escaping them as they struggled to think.
A monster. They were as such though no supernatural attributes were given to them, nothing beyond the ordinary though some deemed the way they moved, the frenzy in which their mind had once sank something more, a beast, untamed and wild, driven to blood lust. It had become faded, that sense they were something dark though still they felt the blood, stickly and wet still as it came to stain they paws, enough to make them sick, to allow hatred to harden their heart. They had thought their actions good once and now, looking upon hazy memory, it had all come crashing down, nothing more than a sugar they had sprinkled upon bitter medicine.
“Margaery...” They spoke quietly, murmured under the breath, as they spotted the collapsed figure, one of the few they had come to like, growing to enjoy her company, within such a precarious position. Robotic and stiff, seeming unresponsive as they forced themself to move closer, they could only look upon her for a time, seemingly unaware of Thea's presence. Black, her blood was black. Faintly they recalled someone had spoken of the vampiric nature of the Cosmic General, a being they had come across many times yet it had been death they had dealt, not healing.
“Hold on, please hold on,” speaking quickly they made a move to press against the gash, trying to stem some of the flow before turning to address Thea over their shoulder. “Get me some bandages, a lot of em, and uh...fuck what was it...” Gritting their teeth it became all too clear they were not suited to this, the worry which clouded their mind a buzzing static, overwhelming in its intensity. Art had no desire to see Margaery die and yet they could do little, a whimper escaping them as they struggled to think.