12-18-2018, 07:02 PM
[align=center][div style="width: 51%; text-align: justify; font-size: 10pt; letter-spacing: -1px; font-family: georgia;"]//catch me trying to combine all the ooc prompts into one hhgh. feel free to reply
This was...less than ideal.
No, she wouldn't downplay things this time--this fucking sucked. She had refused to face reality for a while, deciding it was better to just ignore it all and delude herself, pretend like her brother was out there somewhere right now, doing whatever it was that he did. God, she barely even knew him, even though they were blood-related. But it seemed it was too late, he was gone. Gone.
It hit her like a freight train, a heavy weight settling on both her chest and her mind. When she woke up that morning, it felt like a hole had torn open inside her, that malevolent voice returning to taunt her once again. He's gone. He's dead. He's no more. Saying that she missed him--and their other brother--was a severe understatement.
She didn't miss him for quite the reason anyone else would, she missed the feeling he gave. His presence as family was comforting, made her feel safe and at peace. She didn't know him, not for who he was, but she did know him as a brother and at the time, that was all that mattered. She just wanted someone there, someone who could take that role her mother had, that care-taker role she had been yearning for.
She was weak, she just couldn't take care of herself like this.
But even when it was forcing itself towards the front of her brain, the grief heavy like a weight in her body, Cosette still refused to acknowledge it. It twisted and screamed for her attention but she ignored it. Instead she focused on other things--today was, apparently, wrapping presents.
She didn't know much about the holidays. Growing up, she and her family didn't partake in any of the practices, simply watching as others did. She never really understood them. Still, it was something to distract herself, so she would go with it.
Luckily the female was a quick learner, and after just a few minutes of watching others do it, she found herself able to join in with only slight mistakes here and there. All the presents she managed to wrap were slightly messy, but they did the job. She even found it quite fun, a soft smile edging onto her face as she focused on the task at hand.
But, as she continued, she found her mind drifting off, her paws working on their own accord. Her thoughts quickly returned to her sibling, their founder.
Yesman was dead.
A sudden surge of pain brings her back, quickly realizing what the source was, the scissors splashed with her blood. Her mind elsewhere, she had cut into her paw, a small but deep gash carved into the side. It had hurt initially, but as she watched the blood run, she became mesmerized by it, the red oozing and dropping onto the ground, mixing into her pale fur.
Then anger, like a hot knife cutting through her. It rose and bubbled inside her rib-cage, lips curling as she continued to stare down at her wound, thoughts she wouldn't have dared to think before swirling inside her brain in a blur of vengeance. She didn't care if Stryker or someone else had already gone and taken revenge for her brother's death, or how much blood they spilled.
She didn't care if she marched up there herself and dug into the murderer's skin, tasted their fluids on her tongue, watched their blood mingle with their pelt and soften the ground.
No amount of blood or gore could replace what they had taken from her. Nothing could atone for what they had done. Nothing, nothing, nothing--
The serval practically shook with the force of her anger, melting down into a blind rage. She would make them pay, whenever and however she could. They would be sorry.
"[glow=black,2,300]speech[/glow]"
This was...less than ideal.
No, she wouldn't downplay things this time--this fucking sucked. She had refused to face reality for a while, deciding it was better to just ignore it all and delude herself, pretend like her brother was out there somewhere right now, doing whatever it was that he did. God, she barely even knew him, even though they were blood-related. But it seemed it was too late, he was gone. Gone.
It hit her like a freight train, a heavy weight settling on both her chest and her mind. When she woke up that morning, it felt like a hole had torn open inside her, that malevolent voice returning to taunt her once again. He's gone. He's dead. He's no more. Saying that she missed him--and their other brother--was a severe understatement.
She didn't miss him for quite the reason anyone else would, she missed the feeling he gave. His presence as family was comforting, made her feel safe and at peace. She didn't know him, not for who he was, but she did know him as a brother and at the time, that was all that mattered. She just wanted someone there, someone who could take that role her mother had, that care-taker role she had been yearning for.
She was weak, she just couldn't take care of herself like this.
But even when it was forcing itself towards the front of her brain, the grief heavy like a weight in her body, Cosette still refused to acknowledge it. It twisted and screamed for her attention but she ignored it. Instead she focused on other things--today was, apparently, wrapping presents.
She didn't know much about the holidays. Growing up, she and her family didn't partake in any of the practices, simply watching as others did. She never really understood them. Still, it was something to distract herself, so she would go with it.
Luckily the female was a quick learner, and after just a few minutes of watching others do it, she found herself able to join in with only slight mistakes here and there. All the presents she managed to wrap were slightly messy, but they did the job. She even found it quite fun, a soft smile edging onto her face as she focused on the task at hand.
But, as she continued, she found her mind drifting off, her paws working on their own accord. Her thoughts quickly returned to her sibling, their founder.
Yesman was dead.
A sudden surge of pain brings her back, quickly realizing what the source was, the scissors splashed with her blood. Her mind elsewhere, she had cut into her paw, a small but deep gash carved into the side. It had hurt initially, but as she watched the blood run, she became mesmerized by it, the red oozing and dropping onto the ground, mixing into her pale fur.
Then anger, like a hot knife cutting through her. It rose and bubbled inside her rib-cage, lips curling as she continued to stare down at her wound, thoughts she wouldn't have dared to think before swirling inside her brain in a blur of vengeance. She didn't care if Stryker or someone else had already gone and taken revenge for her brother's death, or how much blood they spilled.
She didn't care if she marched up there herself and dug into the murderer's skin, tasted their fluids on her tongue, watched their blood mingle with their pelt and soften the ground.
No amount of blood or gore could replace what they had taken from her. Nothing could atone for what they had done. Nothing, nothing, nothing--
The serval practically shook with the force of her anger, melting down into a blind rage. She would make them pay, whenever and however she could. They would be sorry.
"[glow=black,2,300]speech[/glow]"