07-21-2018, 01:30 AM
[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 1.4;"]/ shitty joining because i need to make myself write again alskfh
+ because i didn't describe him, cain's about 6'1 and broad, very pale with light blond hair and brown eyes, and kinda looks like he's ready to kill someone but also like that'd be too much effort. he's dressed like a u.s. army combat medic because. he is one. or was one.
Seeing these conditions reminds Cain of why he joined the fucking army. The cold bites through his tactical vest and clothing, through his gloves, probably through his fucking skin. It's sort of funny, he'd spent so long training for everything, but not really the cold. It reminds him of childhood winters with snow up to his hips. Mama would bundle him up: snow boots, snow pants, gloves so thick he could hardly bend his fingers. And then he'd go and play. Roll around in the snow 'til his face got numb. Sometimes he'd make a snowman, and others he'd sneak out a bucket of water and make an ice slide in their backyard, which sloped down to a treeline and thin wire fence. Needless to say, he came inside with more than just chill-bitten checks a time or two. But she'd always been kind, if firm. Pulled him out of his snow clothes in the mud room, hustled him into the kitchen so he could sit in front of the oven with a mug of cocoa. Those had been the good days, but they were long gone now.
Nowadays he carries a service rifle and medic pack. Nowadays he's got starburst scars on his thighs and chest, a few lucky slashes across his chest. Nowadays, Cain Lucanus has been through absolute hell, again and again. And always, the medic is left standing. So there's no force on Earth that could knock him off track, not here. Not some memories, not the cold. He trudges on and up, following the line of the ski lift. He'd heard faintly of a group up here, though there was nothing more to the story than that. Whoever they were, and wherever they were  well, he just hopes they won't make him waste what little ammunition he has left.
+ because i didn't describe him, cain's about 6'1 and broad, very pale with light blond hair and brown eyes, and kinda looks like he's ready to kill someone but also like that'd be too much effort. he's dressed like a u.s. army combat medic because. he is one. or was one.
Seeing these conditions reminds Cain of why he joined the fucking army. The cold bites through his tactical vest and clothing, through his gloves, probably through his fucking skin. It's sort of funny, he'd spent so long training for everything, but not really the cold. It reminds him of childhood winters with snow up to his hips. Mama would bundle him up: snow boots, snow pants, gloves so thick he could hardly bend his fingers. And then he'd go and play. Roll around in the snow 'til his face got numb. Sometimes he'd make a snowman, and others he'd sneak out a bucket of water and make an ice slide in their backyard, which sloped down to a treeline and thin wire fence. Needless to say, he came inside with more than just chill-bitten checks a time or two. But she'd always been kind, if firm. Pulled him out of his snow clothes in the mud room, hustled him into the kitchen so he could sit in front of the oven with a mug of cocoa. Those had been the good days, but they were long gone now.
Nowadays he carries a service rifle and medic pack. Nowadays he's got starburst scars on his thighs and chest, a few lucky slashes across his chest. Nowadays, Cain Lucanus has been through absolute hell, again and again. And always, the medic is left standing. So there's no force on Earth that could knock him off track, not here. Not some memories, not the cold. He trudges on and up, following the line of the ski lift. He'd heard faintly of a group up here, though there was nothing more to the story than that. Whoever they were, and wherever they were  well, he just hopes they won't make him waste what little ammunition he has left.
[align=center]
—–— SAY IT OVER AND OVER UNTIL YOU ARE OUT OF BREATH:
[ I WILL NOT MAKE MYSELF SMALL ]
revelations#8754 ---//--- GONE, THANKS FOR HELPING ME GROW