08-13-2018, 03:07 AM
[table][tr][td]
[td]
[/td]
[td]
Give yourself fifty years, and already towards the latter end it felt that the hourglass was speeding up; getting impatient, starting to shake itself spontaneously, starting to blur. There were people Rialto knew that had lived for hundreds, but knowing was incomplete; one didn’t confront the frailty of their own identity until they themselves had too many things to pack into memory, a life of experience bursting at the seams, as many moments lost as were gripped, steadfast. Things you’d swear that you could never forget any detail of - things, beyond conscious awareness, constantly rewritten, revised, shaved down.
People grew old, but there had to be something that kept them a breath from omniscient, something - a tether - that spun about their ankle and seized tighter. Gradually. A preventative measure against becoming something near oblivion, and often it was a thousand memories discarded for the sake of a single episode; somehow, it was to keep them human, naive. Still fumbling around like they didn’t know any better, centuries down the line.
Rialto couldn’t recreate the detail of both legs shattered cleanly at the knee, the numb shock of it before the agony, but it felt like he could. Or maybe that was him in his immortal arrogance.
Regret, loathing - those came a little closer to burning raw.
At least, you’d think that time goes faster, the more used you are to it passing; and yet there Rialto slouched, sauntering through the town like his whole life was ground at half the tempo. His arms stretched above his head, and Rialto’s neck practically creaked when he tilted it both ways with a wince; he was walking along the line of the coast, sandals kicking up wet sand and planting meandering footprints in a line maddeningly not at all straight. He could’ve kept at it for the whole night, and it wouldn’t have been the first that he had, drinking in the cold, sharp air, but that evening aside from salt and smoke was something else vampires were quite familiar with.
Rialto heard the cry from a long way away, and for a moment he hesitated. Longer than any good Samaritan should, because he wasn’t one, and he took a further, meandering few minutes to weigh the situation in some vain attempt at persuading himself to turn home. But then he steeled himself with one puff of breath and promptly threw himself into a sprint towards the smell of blood - subtly starting to suck in breaths more with his mouth, pushing down the instinctive thirst he didn't genuinely feel.
You know, maybe he was a good Samaritan. Would Cat be doing this? Except maybe Cat was just smarter.
The bottoms of his open shoes crunched on gravel when he rounded the corner, loud and audible, skidding to a stop as in all of three seconds he took time to compute the scene; red coated the concrete, a standing figure that looked uncomfortably large from a distance until one comprehended why. Still uncomfortably large, but for two reasons - the source of the blood was in their arms, and the blood no longer flowed as it did from fresh wounds, as well as a slimmer figure already at the scene; snap decisions happened to be encoded in Rialto's skillset of three.
"I can alleviate some of it," he said, steadier than he felt; voice, cooler than he was. "If I can make contact." Just that much at a loss, he finally showed it through the vague, sorely unneeded wiggle of fingers that he offered - visible only, at least, to the one person that wouldn't think worse of him for it.
notes alloy!! incorrect. its so goode
MMM this isn't good and i m so sorry abt it but ur lovely characters... hello
People grew old, but there had to be something that kept them a breath from omniscient, something - a tether - that spun about their ankle and seized tighter. Gradually. A preventative measure against becoming something near oblivion, and often it was a thousand memories discarded for the sake of a single episode; somehow, it was to keep them human, naive. Still fumbling around like they didn’t know any better, centuries down the line.
Rialto couldn’t recreate the detail of both legs shattered cleanly at the knee, the numb shock of it before the agony, but it felt like he could. Or maybe that was him in his immortal arrogance.
Regret, loathing - those came a little closer to burning raw.
At least, you’d think that time goes faster, the more used you are to it passing; and yet there Rialto slouched, sauntering through the town like his whole life was ground at half the tempo. His arms stretched above his head, and Rialto’s neck practically creaked when he tilted it both ways with a wince; he was walking along the line of the coast, sandals kicking up wet sand and planting meandering footprints in a line maddeningly not at all straight. He could’ve kept at it for the whole night, and it wouldn’t have been the first that he had, drinking in the cold, sharp air, but that evening aside from salt and smoke was something else vampires were quite familiar with.
Rialto heard the cry from a long way away, and for a moment he hesitated. Longer than any good Samaritan should, because he wasn’t one, and he took a further, meandering few minutes to weigh the situation in some vain attempt at persuading himself to turn home. But then he steeled himself with one puff of breath and promptly threw himself into a sprint towards the smell of blood - subtly starting to suck in breaths more with his mouth, pushing down the instinctive thirst he didn't genuinely feel.
You know, maybe he was a good Samaritan. Would Cat be doing this? Except maybe Cat was just smarter.
The bottoms of his open shoes crunched on gravel when he rounded the corner, loud and audible, skidding to a stop as in all of three seconds he took time to compute the scene; red coated the concrete, a standing figure that looked uncomfortably large from a distance until one comprehended why. Still uncomfortably large, but for two reasons - the source of the blood was in their arms, and the blood no longer flowed as it did from fresh wounds, as well as a slimmer figure already at the scene; snap decisions happened to be encoded in Rialto's skillset of three.
"I can alleviate some of it," he said, steadier than he felt; voice, cooler than he was. "If I can make contact." Just that much at a loss, he finally showed it through the vague, sorely unneeded wiggle of fingers that he offered - visible only, at least, to the one person that wouldn't think worse of him for it.
notes alloy!! incorrect. its so goode
MMM this isn't good and i m so sorry abt it but ur lovely characters... hello
© MADI
[/td][/tr][/table]