04-10-2019, 02:38 PM
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“I got a new disease in me, I got a friend that’s losing sleep.â€Â
The music played gently into the ears of a red headed man, the source of which a solar powered ipod. It was peaceful, the day, sunlit warmth showering the exposed skin of pale arms. Dark leather boots pressed into the grit of the beach, crunching into the pearly granules to leave deep prints amidst the sand.
“I take it hard, it's hard to take, I'm wide awake, I'm wide awake.â€Â
A seagull flew overhead, broad white wings unfurled, it’s shadow passing over the frame of Sheogorath as it shot through the golden atmosphere above. The day was a good one, he could tell, or at least, it was going to be. He felt good, somewhat anyways. He wasn't’ angry. He wasn’t all that sad. In fact, he was in a firmly neutral position on that day, not quite happy, of course, he hadn’t been happy all year, but it was close enough for his liking.
“I never needed a reason for keeping secrets from myself.â€Â
Something shattered the serene air, something harsh and biting that seeped through the sound of the music in his earbuds, a bullet, the sound of a gun from the shadowed woods nearby. A flock of crows shot up from the trembling branches, their cawing cast across the beach as the sleek black avians ascended in the form of an ebony cloud. Sheogorath didn’t quite like the sound of what he had just heard, who would? But perhaps it was just someone practicing their shooting. With the potential for war, it was only natural that someone would want to train, but with the Insurrection about...well, what if it was them? What if they were attacking a Badlander? Sheogorath shouldn’t care, but he thought to himself, what if it was Link? Mike?
“I’ll wreck this if I have to, tell me what good would that do?â€Â
Legs that had grown steadily muscular from consistent training swept into a blur as slender limbs carried Sheogorath across the sand at the pace of an uneven sprint, his limp slowing his progress, but he managed, digging his cane into the grit to drag himself along, his feet spraying sand with every rough step. Then, he was in the woods, beneath the shadow of the tree canopy, where sunlight rarely struck the dead, crunchy leaves.
“You get separated, somebody’s gone.â€Â
The thought that a friend of his might have just been shot propelled Sheogorath deeper into the woodland, and without a thought, he snatched his handgun from it’s holster at his right side. Just in case, of course, as he crashed through the woods, he would no doubt be gathering attention from whatever waited for him in the sunlit shadows ahead. A twist around a particularly grand oak tree, and he was there. It took him only a brief moment to register what was happening. Mike had been shot, he was bleeding from the thigh, thick, hot, crimson blood that carried a coppery scent. Two men with guns stood over Michael, and they didn’t look all that friendly. Without hesitation, Sheogorath lifted his pistol, and fired.
“And I don’t know how this is wrong.â€Â
The bullet struck the man in the face. He had been aiming for the chest. A lucky shot, he supposed, but he never had been any good with a gun. His enemy crumbled, missing their features, nothing but a bloody hole where their right eye should be. The second man lifted his own weapon, but he didn’t have much time to fire before Sheogorath threw himself at him, tossing his pistol to the grass. Something about the scene just made him so angry, angry at the world once more, angry at these people for shooting his friend, and that red hot, fiery rage shot through his heated veins in the form of pulsating adrenaline.
“There’s a difference from me to them.â€Â
When Sheogorath struck, he was quick the knock the gun away with his cane, before dropping the carved wooden weapon and instead choosing a more personal approach. It wasn’t a thought he had considered, wrapping his hands uround the man’s throat as he thrust him to the ground, but he did it, and he squeezed. He felt his fingers dig into flesh as the man beneath him struggled, but Sheogorath had been training, sparring, growing stronger, and his grip was rock iron and harsh. A fist slammed into his ribs, again and again, and the effort rocked Sheogorath, but he didn’t let go. He just kept squeezing, and squeezing, tighter and tighter, until the struggles grew weak, and the man’s eyes bulged as he gasped in desperation before finally falling still.
“It’s getting better in the worst way. It’s getting better in the worst way.â€Â
He didn’t know how to feel. Angry. That was at the forefront of him mind. Angry at these two men for attacking Mike. Angry at Mike for putting himself in the situation unarmed. Angry at Catalyst for causing all of this with the Insurrection in the first place. Angry at himself...angry at himself because...because he had just murdered two people, and because, deep down, no, perhaps not so deep, he had enjoyed it. Sheogorath unlocked his hands, and rose from the body on the ground, a bit shaky at first, before clenching his fist in rage until his knuckles turned white and his body shook. This was him. It would always be him. He couldn’t escape from it. He should have known.
“I like to push it and push it until my luck is over.â€Â
Sheogorath turned to Michael, and there was a brimming hellfire exploding within his blazing amber eyes. They narrowed into dangerous daggers, flickering with tongues of furious flame. But he said nothing. All he did was breathe, chest rising and falling, in and out, in and out, that was his thought process. He hardly remembered that he had his music in until the beat of loud vocals dragged him back to reality. He ripped the earbuds from his ears, silencing the song, still trying to smooth his nerves.
[align=center][color=transparent]thes code
thes code
a
a
[b]sheogorath
[b]and i say to myself, what a wonderful world
( tw for violence and death ) “I got a new disease in me, I got a friend that’s losing sleep.â€Â
The music played gently into the ears of a red headed man, the source of which a solar powered ipod. It was peaceful, the day, sunlit warmth showering the exposed skin of pale arms. Dark leather boots pressed into the grit of the beach, crunching into the pearly granules to leave deep prints amidst the sand.
“I take it hard, it's hard to take, I'm wide awake, I'm wide awake.â€Â
A seagull flew overhead, broad white wings unfurled, it’s shadow passing over the frame of Sheogorath as it shot through the golden atmosphere above. The day was a good one, he could tell, or at least, it was going to be. He felt good, somewhat anyways. He wasn't’ angry. He wasn’t all that sad. In fact, he was in a firmly neutral position on that day, not quite happy, of course, he hadn’t been happy all year, but it was close enough for his liking.
“I never needed a reason for keeping secrets from myself.â€Â
Something shattered the serene air, something harsh and biting that seeped through the sound of the music in his earbuds, a bullet, the sound of a gun from the shadowed woods nearby. A flock of crows shot up from the trembling branches, their cawing cast across the beach as the sleek black avians ascended in the form of an ebony cloud. Sheogorath didn’t quite like the sound of what he had just heard, who would? But perhaps it was just someone practicing their shooting. With the potential for war, it was only natural that someone would want to train, but with the Insurrection about...well, what if it was them? What if they were attacking a Badlander? Sheogorath shouldn’t care, but he thought to himself, what if it was Link? Mike?
“I’ll wreck this if I have to, tell me what good would that do?â€Â
Legs that had grown steadily muscular from consistent training swept into a blur as slender limbs carried Sheogorath across the sand at the pace of an uneven sprint, his limp slowing his progress, but he managed, digging his cane into the grit to drag himself along, his feet spraying sand with every rough step. Then, he was in the woods, beneath the shadow of the tree canopy, where sunlight rarely struck the dead, crunchy leaves.
“You get separated, somebody’s gone.â€Â
The thought that a friend of his might have just been shot propelled Sheogorath deeper into the woodland, and without a thought, he snatched his handgun from it’s holster at his right side. Just in case, of course, as he crashed through the woods, he would no doubt be gathering attention from whatever waited for him in the sunlit shadows ahead. A twist around a particularly grand oak tree, and he was there. It took him only a brief moment to register what was happening. Mike had been shot, he was bleeding from the thigh, thick, hot, crimson blood that carried a coppery scent. Two men with guns stood over Michael, and they didn’t look all that friendly. Without hesitation, Sheogorath lifted his pistol, and fired.
“And I don’t know how this is wrong.â€Â
The bullet struck the man in the face. He had been aiming for the chest. A lucky shot, he supposed, but he never had been any good with a gun. His enemy crumbled, missing their features, nothing but a bloody hole where their right eye should be. The second man lifted his own weapon, but he didn’t have much time to fire before Sheogorath threw himself at him, tossing his pistol to the grass. Something about the scene just made him so angry, angry at the world once more, angry at these people for shooting his friend, and that red hot, fiery rage shot through his heated veins in the form of pulsating adrenaline.
“There’s a difference from me to them.â€Â
When Sheogorath struck, he was quick the knock the gun away with his cane, before dropping the carved wooden weapon and instead choosing a more personal approach. It wasn’t a thought he had considered, wrapping his hands uround the man’s throat as he thrust him to the ground, but he did it, and he squeezed. He felt his fingers dig into flesh as the man beneath him struggled, but Sheogorath had been training, sparring, growing stronger, and his grip was rock iron and harsh. A fist slammed into his ribs, again and again, and the effort rocked Sheogorath, but he didn’t let go. He just kept squeezing, and squeezing, tighter and tighter, until the struggles grew weak, and the man’s eyes bulged as he gasped in desperation before finally falling still.
“It’s getting better in the worst way. It’s getting better in the worst way.â€Â
He didn’t know how to feel. Angry. That was at the forefront of him mind. Angry at these two men for attacking Mike. Angry at Mike for putting himself in the situation unarmed. Angry at Catalyst for causing all of this with the Insurrection in the first place. Angry at himself...angry at himself because...because he had just murdered two people, and because, deep down, no, perhaps not so deep, he had enjoyed it. Sheogorath unlocked his hands, and rose from the body on the ground, a bit shaky at first, before clenching his fist in rage until his knuckles turned white and his body shook. This was him. It would always be him. He couldn’t escape from it. He should have known.
“I like to push it and push it until my luck is over.â€Â
Sheogorath turned to Michael, and there was a brimming hellfire exploding within his blazing amber eyes. They narrowed into dangerous daggers, flickering with tongues of furious flame. But he said nothing. All he did was breathe, chest rising and falling, in and out, in and out, that was his thought process. He hardly remembered that he had his music in until the beat of loud vocals dragged him back to reality. He ripped the earbuds from his ears, silencing the song, still trying to smooth his nerves.
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and i see fire, blood in the breeze
[sup]AND I HOPE THAT YOU'LL REMEMBER ME