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sheogorath
[b]and i say to myself, what a wonderful world ( tw for mentions of violence and lots of cussing )
On that day, he was feeling brave. On that day, he was feeling invincible. It had been awhile since Sheogorath had had an episode such as this. He had only had two over the past three months, but none had been quite so bad as what he was experiencing at that moment, though to Sheogorath, it could hardly be considered bad. After all, he felt as if he jumped off of the casino, he could grow wings and fly. The rational part of him told him that was stupid. He'd die. But he wasn't being rational in that moment. He was manic, and he was angry, and he was ready to fight, and ready to change, all at the same time. His adrenaline was rushing, pumping through heated veins, and amber eyes were feral and wild. That was why Sheogorath stood on the steps of the casino, his cane perched upon the concrete beside him, his chin lifted as he scanned the exterior. Just yesterday, he had gotten punched, and the black and blue bruise on his face, the brutal discoloration, was visible for all to see. It hurt, of course, but Sheogorath wasn't going to acknowledge it in his current state of mind. He had an announcement to make.
[b]"Ya know what, Mr Badlands? Oh Badlands my Badlands! What a great fucking place, am I right? People assaulted in the streets! People branded fer...fer a stupid lie. Visiting a group that we're now neutral with, by the way, to offer a simple apology? But then when someone like Mike punches a kid, and probably a whole host of other stuff, well he gets off real simple! This is a place where you can kick a man while he's down! Ah, breathe it in, world! I fucking love it here!" Sheogorath drew in a loud breath through his flaring nostrils. "But ya know what? YOU WANNA KNOW SOMETHING? I'm done. Done caring. About any of this...this shit. All of ya'll are shit, ya know? Well, except maybe a few of ya, but I'm not gunna sit here and name names." Sheogorath's voice was a firm mixture of mocking amusement, strange cheeriness, and rage. He might as well be shit faced drunk. He was acting like it, though he didn't stumble, his body was locked tight and rigid, he stood straight, his chin lifted.
"Now, I don't have any room in me cold heart fer hatred, mind you all. But really, it's tempting. Some of you lot are...real heathens. Bastards. But it's okay. It's FINE! Because from this point onward, I'm not going to give a single flying fuck. And anyways, why should I? I'm the PRINCE of MADNESS! And the KING of DOLPHINS! Oh, and I might as well be a THANE of BUTTERFLIES! Yeah that sounds good. So get ready, Badlands, because here comes the Sheogorath you always knew and loved. Cheers! CHEERS TO YA ALL! Let's all clink our glasses together in honor of me! Because I'm not just a worm, I'm a FUCKING worm, and ya know what? I don't care. I'm happy! And if any of ya want to try and stop me from being happy, well that's too damn bad, because I won't care! Not one. Single. Bit." Of course, that was a lie. Deep down, he'd always care. But outwardly, nobody would know. From that moment on, he'd walk the talk, just how he used to be, minus the murderous bits. He could hide his feelings. Hide his depression. Hide it all. And maybe, just maybe, if he acted like he was happy long enough, he'd actually become happy.
"I hope yer all happy with yerselves. 'Cause I'm happy with myself! Fuck you all, and good day!" It was the last thing he had to say. He was starting to get tired. Starting to wind down. Starting to realize what he was saying, and suddenly, he felt so very tired. Exhausted, really. Like coming down from an intense sugar rush. As the mania faded, so did his anger, his feeling of bravery, his sense of indestructibility. But fine, he could do it, act like he didn't care, hide the hurt deep inside where not even he could feel it. Where nobody would see it ever again. It was time to move on. It was time to make the world believe that he was moving on, anyways. And he would. Sheogorath leaned against his carved wooden cane, and narrowed his piercing amber gaze. He supposed now he just had to wait for a reaction from passers-byes. He doubted anyone would give a care about anything he had said. They'd probably look at his weirdly. Sheogorath lifted his left hand, and rubbed at his tired eyes. Damn was he exhausted.
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[color=transparent]thes code
and i see fire, blood in the breeze
[sup]AND I HOPE THAT YOU'LL REMEMBER ME
[align=center] [div style="borderwidth; width: 400px; padding: 1px; text-align: justify; color: #4B3E2D; line-height: 14px; font-size: 11pt; font-family:timesnewroman"] "speech" 'thought' text
tw: mentions alcohol, blood, profanity, violence, religion
Why Mike had decided to be anywhere near the casino today he didn't know, but he was. He sat in the shade of a tall building, lounging, a half braiding fishing line loosely grasped in one hand as he closed his eyes feet propped up against a crate. It was a lazy day, and he couldn't help but doze off.
However, he was quickly awakened, by what? By the yelling of Sheo. Squinting, he put a hand up to shade his eyes against the glare of the sun. What the fuck was the kid thinking? He was just asking to get his ass beaten by anyone, part of him wanted to just let the situation be, Sheo could take care of himself, he was an adult. But the other part of him realized that this situation was just asking to become worse.
He could probably make it much worse, but he didn't think that would be the best idea (granted, he rarely thought when he made shit worse for everyone). "The fuck are you on Sheo?" The former soldier asked the young man critically, his voice sharp, perhaps too sharp. "You look like shit," He added, his voice softer, he leaned against the nearest object, which happened to be a table, rickety as it was, he wasn't putting most of his weight on it so it was fine... for now.
"You need some rest lad." He added as an afterthought.
[align=center] MICHAEL FORD Michael Ford is a 45 year old, man, he's stubbornly loyal to whatever cause he chooses, protective of his family and friends, he's a member of the Badlands. Michael has issues controlling his anger in most situations. He is a difficult opponent and well trained, feel free to power play nonviolent interactions though.
[align=center][div style="background=transparent; borderwidth=0px; bordercolor=; width: auto; font-size: 9.2pt; font-family:arial; line-height: 125%; text-align:justify; width: 430px"]Sheogorath was back.
If it was not evident from the sight of the ruddy-haired man standing outside on the steps of the casino, then it was clear by the loud ramblings of the Worm. Gabriel had been within the same vicinity as Michael, though not close enough to officially acknowlege his presence. He instead watched with curious eyes as the former Officer went to confront Sheogorath.
The man made him... uneasy. He had heard ( and even witnessed ) the terrible things he had done, back when he was just a fresh face in the Badlands. He had even been threatened by him, and it was not something that he took lightly. The past few months had been relatively quiet when it came to the former Underboss, but it seemed that today was the day that he made his presence known again. This time, instead of lying low followng his branding, he was loudly proclaiming his feelings towards the group. Gabriel, although his opinion on Sheogorath still stood, could not help but feel a twinge of uncertainty arise within him. What would Catalyst do? Was he unafraid of any possible consequences?
Gabriel hung back against a nearby building, simply pretending to be eyeing a book while Mike confronted Sheogorath. He certainly wasn't planning on intervening.
[align=center] *･ﾟ✦ — close your eyes and taste the sun
Posts:2,414
All Accounts Posts: 2,465
[align=center][div style="width:500px;text-align:justify; line-height: 110%;"]Santos squatted down as he allowed Kyros to slither from his arm, moving into the grassy area nearby the forestry to find a meal. The man rose to his feet, stepping a pace or so away to allow the kingsnake to do what she was meant to do. He watched the dappled animal move slowly, admiring the shine that reflected from her scales, and enjoying the quiet peace that came with her own little hunt. Well- he had been, until the sound of shouting caught the man's attention. His first instinct was to reach for the gun holstered in his jeans, but upon articulation, the figure was simply a Badlander, standing upon the casino steps with little hint of actual danger, other than, of course, his language.
Santos listened from where he was- which was plenty close enough for the man. He wasn't about to approach a riled up bull. The man spoke of dissatisfaction, of injustices done unto him, of a lack of equality and fairness, and more. Sheo was clearly beaten up- just another Badlander that bore some injury, either done by fellow Badlanders or of a rival group. Branded? Someone punching a child? King of Dolphins? What the fuck kind of a group had Santos just joined? "Que Dios me ayude..." He murmured.
{ translation: "god help me".
[spoiler=TAGS / INFO] GENERAL — Biography
▪ Santos Castellano | Formerly called Castle by those he was close w/
▪ Cisgender male | He/him
▪ Twenty-nine y/o | Born Oct 30 | Scorpio
▪ Newbie of Badlands | Traveller
PHYSICAL —
— 6'4, 220 Lbs. Tall and broad build. Spanish descent.
— Dark wavy hair, full beard, warm complexion, freckled, angular face. Covered in scars and faded tattoos (small, stick and poke tattoos obviously done when he was younger) Tattoos range from his face to his feet. Scars along chest marking his kill count from previous gang involvement.
— Current Injuries: Old bruises and scars, healing left black eye
IMPORTANT NOTES —
▪ Haunted by the ghost of his former best friend/love interest, Ryder. Santos associates his death with guilt and unfullfillment, and often sees his spirit lingering in the background. Does not speak about this to anyone, though.
▪ Has a pet female California kingsnake named Kyros. ( Ref.) She is fairly friendly, though has a tendency to bite and not let go. (Non-venomous)
▪ Opinions, motivations and thoughts are always 100% in character and do not reflect the roleplayer's opinions
PERSONA — Lawful Evil
— Distant, detached, introverted, often quiet, defensive, protective, territorial when close w something/someone, proactive, cautious, observant, fairly close minded, capable of apathy, easily stirred/angered, likes to think he’s driven by logic but when vulnerable very much driven by strong emotion, etc.
— Easy to approach, but hard to converse with. Very distant and walled off- does not trust easily.
— Easy to aggravate. More defensive than offense, but it takes very little to make him snap.
INTERACTION — Plotting Thread
— Physical Difficulty: 9/10 | Mental Difficulty: 5/10
— Learned most weapon combat from street gang days // Self-taught in hand to hand
— Currently equipped with an assault rifle (low ammo) and a pistol (low ammo) as well as his weapon of choice, his wooden bat with barbed wire wrapped around it
— To attack, @ user & attack in italicized bold
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sheogorath
[b]and i say to myself, what a wonderful world Michael's voice snagged the red headed man's attention, and his skull shifted to allow for his sharp, flaming amber gaze to accommodate the other man's presence, the former soldier. The words of Mike shifted into awaiting ears, and Sheogorath frowned.
[b]"I'm not on anything." He spoke seriously, wondering why exactly his friend would ask such a thing. Well, he might have had an idea, after all, he had just gone off the deep end. It was clear Sheogorath was having a bit of a breakdown. He lifted his hand from his cane, letting the weapon lean against his leg, and wiped his tired eyes with slender fingers. "You look like shit. And I'm not tired." He responded sharply, the hint of exhaustion in his tone ringing with clarity. But whatever. His eyes shifted, and swept around the exterior of the structure, wondering who else had heard his rant. Gabriel was nearby, someone he hadn't seen in a while, and then a newcomer, Santos, speaking so quietly, Sheogorath couldn't really hear, but he saw his mouth moving. Sheogorath narrowed his eyes.
"What was that? Didn't quite hear ya." The red head spoke with evident challenge. Sheogorath didn't know if Santos was talking shit, but he certainly hoped not. In his current state, the tired man probably wouldn't tolerate much of it. He perched his hand upon the pale blue glass eye of his carved wooden cane, and blinked away his exhaustion from tired, fiery hued eyes.
[align=center]
[color=transparent]thes code
and i see fire, blood in the breeze
[sup]AND I HOPE THAT YOU'LL REMEMBER ME
Posts:2,414
All Accounts Posts: 2,465
[align=center][div style="width:500px;text-align:justify; line-height: 110%;"]Santos' gaze trailed back to his wandering snake, before again becoming distracted with Sheogorath. As the man addressed him, he turned to face the other, taking a step towards him, brows furrowing. Was he challenging him? "I said... que Dios me ayude," He stated, louder and slower, and just slightly condescending. "God help me," He translated. The words held no challenging matter- more so disrespectful towards the group's lack of stability rather than Sheo himself. It seemed the man had joined at one of the most unfortunate times. Perhaps he could've easily explained that, but the tone in which the red head addressed him made Santos prickle up. He was not looking for a fight, but he was not known for being 'the bigger person'. "Lose the tone. I'm not your enemy." His own tone was calm, but held a clear warning in it. If the other wanted a fight, Santos would give it to him. Sheo had just spoken of this being a place where you could kick a man while he was down, but Santos had no wish to.
[spoiler=TAGS / INFO] GENERAL — Biography
▪ Santos Castellano | Formerly called Castle by those he was close w/
▪ Cisgender male | He/him
▪ Twenty-nine y/o | Born Oct 30 | Scorpio
▪ Newbie of Badlands | Traveller
PHYSICAL —
— 6'4, 220 Lbs. Tall and broad build. Spanish descent.
— Dark wavy hair, full beard, warm complexion, freckled, angular face. Covered in scars and faded tattoos (small, stick and poke tattoos obviously done when he was younger) Tattoos range from his face to his feet. Scars along chest marking his kill count from previous gang involvement.
— Current Injuries: Old bruises and scars, healing left black eye
IMPORTANT NOTES —
▪ Haunted by the ghost of his former best friend/love interest, Ryder. Santos associates his death with guilt and unfullfillment, and often sees his spirit lingering in the background. Does not speak about this to anyone, though.
▪ Has a pet female California kingsnake named Kyros. ( Ref.) She is fairly friendly, though has a tendency to bite and not let go. (Non-venomous)
▪ Opinions, motivations and thoughts are always 100% in character and do not reflect the roleplayer's opinions
PERSONA — Lawful Evil
— Distant, detached, introverted, often quiet, defensive, protective, territorial when close w something/someone, proactive, cautious, observant, fairly close minded, capable of apathy, easily stirred/angered, likes to think he’s driven by logic but when vulnerable very much driven by strong emotion, etc.
— Easy to approach, but hard to converse with. Very distant and walled off- does not trust easily.
— Easy to aggravate. More defensive than offense, but it takes very little to make him snap.
INTERACTION — Plotting Thread
— Physical Difficulty: 9/10 | Mental Difficulty: 5/10
— Learned most weapon combat from street gang days // Self-taught in hand to hand
— Currently equipped with an assault rifle (low ammo) and a pistol (low ammo) as well as his weapon of choice, his wooden bat with barbed wire wrapped around it
— To attack, @ user & attack in italicized bold
[align=center][table] â€â€Ã¢â‚¬â€[abbr=Lost Innocence]⊡[/abbr]â€â€Ã¢â‚¬â€ |
â€â€Ã¢â‚¬â€[abbr=Learned Brutality]⊡[/abbr]â€â€Ã¢â‚¬â€ |
â€â€Ã¢â‚¬â€[abbr=Forced Distance]⊡[/abbr]â€â€Ã¢â‚¬â€ |
â€â€Ã¢â‚¬â€[abbr=Innate Ruthlessness]⊡[/abbr]â€â€Ã¢â‚¬â€ |
â€â€Ã¢â‚¬â€[abbr=Newfound Connection]⊡[/abbr]â€â€Ã¢â‚¬â€ | [/table]
Cat had been inside the casino when they heard the shouting, and after a moment of it continuing they dragged themself to their feet and headed out. The temptation to point out that Sheo was off his meds was strong, but they refrained. "You done?" They asked, leaning against the doorframe. Surprisingly, they weren't mad at the ranting, despite the ample reason they had. "Or are you actually going to make me do something about this little shit show?"
//this is bad. like really bad
[spoiler=IF YOU DONT KNOW NOW YOU KNOW && INFO && 04/12/19] GENERAL welcome to the end of eras, ice has melted back to life
⇥ Given name is Scott Mathew Darrow ⇥ Goes only by Catalyst or Cat
⇥ Assigned male at birth ⇥ Agender ⇥ They/Them pronouns only
⇥ Twenty-one ⇥ Born 11/27/17 ⇥ Sagittarius ⇥ Real time aging
⇥ Boss (leader) of the Badlands ⇥ Ex prisoner of the Badlands
⇥ Ex cultist (Mourningstar) ⇥ Ex member of the Young Rogues
RECENT EVENTS done my time and served my sentence
⇥ 04/08/39 ⇥ Had a huge fight with Molly
⇥ 04/06/39 ⇥ Returned to the Badlands badly injured
⇥ 04/03/39 ⇥ Temporarily left with Creed to try to find her brother
⇥ 03/24/39 ⇥ Met their cousin Dallas and her half brother Michael
APPEARANCE dress me up and watch me die
⇥ Catalyst is 6'2" tall; they possess a lean and muscular body, one that has a variety of old scars adorning it. They have two piercings, one in their tongue and the other in the cartilage of their left ear. They typically dress in dark colors (favoring jackets with some sort of writing on the back), and their hair is black. They're not all dark, however, as they have pale blue eyes that peer out from beneath medium-sized eyebrows.
PERSONALITY if it feels good, tastes good, it must be mine
⇥ Catalyst is ambitious, with the cunning and ruthlessness to reach their goals by any means necessary. They can be brutal when they feel it is needed, however when it's not they won't bother. They tend to be rather aloof and apathetic to most things and people, with some very rare exceptions. Provided those around them don't cross a few specific lines, they're content to leave them be, though they've been known to take an interest in some people, which seldom has a positive end for whoever their interest is in. They can be manipulative, and will often encourage people to make bad decisions. Those that stick by them will be rewarded, but those that do not will be cast out, as they've been outcast for their entire life and have learned to appreciate loyalty wherever they can find it. Even during the most stressful of situations, they usually keep a firm grip on their temper and keep their calm, though when they do snap and lose their temper, it is uncontrollable. They're remarkably observant, often able to deign much from subtle clues in what people say, how they say it and how they act.
RELATIONS dynasty decapitated, you just might see a ghost tonight
⇥ Molly Darrow x Austin Darrow ⇥ No siblings
⇥ Adopted parent of Molly Valentina Darrow-Lupei (Mo)
⇥ Pansexual/Panromantic ⇥ Very much taken ⇥ One Crush
⇥ Not looking but it happened ⇥ Rarely forms romantic attachment
⇥ Holds most people at arms length and doesn't get close
INTERACTION i'm taking back the c r o w n
⇥ Hard physically ⇥ Hard mentally ⇥ Doesn't let their guard down
⇥ Is most comfortable with close ranged-weapons ⇥ Dislikes guns
⇥ Brass knuckles ⇥ A variety of knives ⇥ Blunt objects like bats
⇥ Will kill/capture/maim in certain circumstances
⇥ Will leave things be in others ⇥ Will start & finish fights
⇥ No kill/capture/maim without permission
⇥ Peaceful powerplay allowed but they may react negatively
⇥ Dislikes almost any sort of touch unless they initiate or agree to it
[/spoiler]
I HAD THIS FEELING THAT YOU'D BETRAY ME ——————
IF I GAVE TOO MUCH AND YOU TOOK TOO MUCH ——————
there's blood on the leaves / there's blood on the sands I ——————
FEEL HIS GRACE S L O W L Y RUNNING OUT ——————
GIVE ME TRUTH GIVE ME A WAY OUT (I GOT A BONE TO PICK) ——————
[align=center] SOMEBODY [I]SHOWED YOU ALL OF THE HORRORS YOU WEREN'T BORN WITH IT ——————
[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-size: 8pt; line-height: 1.35; padding: 4px;"]Sheogorath had gone stark-raving mad.
Maybe he'd always been like this  his words indicated less of a development so much as a regression. Link had never been particularly keen on confrontation; if it was avoidable, he'd avoid it and if it wasn't, he'd... find a way regardless. For him, conflict was less a form of entertainment and more a drain on the soul  there were better, more constructive ways of occupying oneself, and fighting only served to interrupt his train of thought. It was hard to focus with screaming around and Sheogorath was... very loud. Even once he'd quietened, his presence was a chaotic, thunderous thing, looming over the area relentlessly. Had he any less patience  or more apathy  he'd have scooted himself away. Instead, he found himself moving closer, lingering at Santos' side, expression exasperated.
What happened to good, old-fashioned emotional repression? Did they not teach it in the Badlands? Link had learned, over time, to swallow his feelings, put a cork in it and pretend things didn't matter  evidently, Sheogorath hadn't gotten the memo. "Hey," he said to Santos, quiet and blank, hand hovering over the man's arm. He'd've addressed Sheo, but he doubted the madman wanted his input. He settled for a wordless, searching glance instead, deadpan and barely unimpressed. He'd be worried later.
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