10-24-2018, 10:45 AM
[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 1.4;letter-spacing:.1px"]Val, in comparison, doesn't find that having people die in front of you — no matter how important — would justify these sorts of acts. Maybe that makes him an outlier here, in a world where people keep collars on living beings like a child would do with a toy. That truly is how he sees everyone here: violent, chaotic, but ultimately childish. They obey their every desire like it was gospel, and maybe it's just because he's had a lifetime of not getting what he wants, but he's pretty sure it doesn't do them any good. Here, in The Pitt, anywhere else. Jerisidie is gonna fit right in if he thinks that senseless revenge is pleasurable. Everyone here is going straight to hell, in his eyes. It just so happens that Jerisidie came from there, too. So he's probably right about all of this.
Not to say that Val's all that normal. He's not the straight to hell sort of abnormal, but after watching his dad do his job for his whole childhood (it's not like he had another parent to watch him, and from what he knows of his mother, she was just as... doctory), Val had learned how to swallow down gut instinct and run towards the smell of blood. He rarely makes others bleed, except for a few tears at Butch's ears — he needed to help. Call it a learned habit. The smells surrounding this stranger remind him of a messy operating room or a murder scene, and when the German Shepherd's eyes fall on the body just in time for the last swipe to end the victim's life — yeah. Yeah, murder scene was pretty accurate. Golden eyes are stuck on the body for a minute that drags on far too long. The mark carved into this one's back, the deranged grin on the survivor's face. His immediate urge is to shrink back, but instead he just... stands there.
Eventually, he looks back up at Jerisidie, leaning his weight away from the monster and its prey. "Why?" he finally manages to ask, the word surprisingly steady.
Not to say that Val's all that normal. He's not the straight to hell sort of abnormal, but after watching his dad do his job for his whole childhood (it's not like he had another parent to watch him, and from what he knows of his mother, she was just as... doctory), Val had learned how to swallow down gut instinct and run towards the smell of blood. He rarely makes others bleed, except for a few tears at Butch's ears — he needed to help. Call it a learned habit. The smells surrounding this stranger remind him of a messy operating room or a murder scene, and when the German Shepherd's eyes fall on the body just in time for the last swipe to end the victim's life — yeah. Yeah, murder scene was pretty accurate. Golden eyes are stuck on the body for a minute that drags on far too long. The mark carved into this one's back, the deranged grin on the survivor's face. His immediate urge is to shrink back, but instead he just... stands there.
Eventually, he looks back up at Jerisidie, leaning his weight away from the monster and its prey. "Why?" he finally manages to ask, the word surprisingly steady.
[align=center][div style="font-size:15.7pt;line-height:.9;color:#000;font-family:impact;padding:8px;letter-spacing:.7px"]I TOLD MY FRIENDS THAT WE WOULD NEVER PART[div style="font-size:7pt;line-height:1.2;color:#000;font-family:arial;margin-top:2px;margin-bottom:5px;letter-spacing:0px;margin-left:0px;text-align:center;letter-spacing:.0px"]｢ THEY OFTEN SAID THAT YOU WOULD BREAK MY HEART | PINTEREST. INFO. PLAYLIST. ｣