INSIDE I'M FEELING DIRTY // JOINING?

[SUZUME]

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-size: 9.4pt; line-height: 1.4;"]He never knew which was worse: that it was not his choice to take these lives, or that if it were, he would still choose to. "We put you back together. You owe us your life, and that of your brother's." Their ultimatum had gone without saying, and so he became little more than a weapon for them, aimed where they wanted, but it just so happened that sometimes, the targets were truly terrible people. Sparrow didn't have much of a moral standing, though he'd say he was at least a tier above a killer of children, so when he received those tasks, they were...enjoyable. He liked it, liked having murderers at his mercy, eyes as wide as their victims' must have been, liked the red of their blood on his steel. It gave him comfort that for all his pain, he could still make a man beg, but he knew he hadn't always been this way, that befriending people had once been preferable to killing them because that was a choice he'd had.

Deciding between freedom and his brother's life was no choice at all, and so he lost himself to it and the anger he'd sharpened into as fine a blade as his sword.

He hated it. Hated everything, even his brother some days. Always himself. Loathed how pleased he was when blood spilled onto the sand, how beneath his mask, he bared his teeth in a smile when the body fell. Greater still, he despised the disappointment at a lack of challenge, the target too exhausted from fleeing to have managed an adequate fight when Sparrow finally cornered her.

Exhaling through vents in his mask, ignoring the pulsating ache of his skin, the canine sat, awareness slowly returning. If his father had seen his sword discarded so carelessly in the sand, there would have been repercussions, but there was no one to care now. Sparrow doubted her death would leave many ripples, given only a few knew her, and as a killer to boot. Only a little worse than he was, so he couldn't help but wonder if, when they felt he'd paid his due, they'd send a chained bastard after him, to do as Sparrow was.

He wasn't certain he'd mind, and with another steady release of air, he commanded the sword to lift, blood slipping free as he returned the blade to lock into place at his back. As for the body- he'd never done anything with those. The canine doubted he'd ever start, so it remained crumpled, steadily soaking into the beach while he watched the red expand, inexplicably mesmerized.

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