07-09-2019, 06:24 PM
[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: calibri; font-size: 9.2pt; line-height: 1.4;"]Animals weren't all that good at "supposed to". They did whatever the fuck they wanted  he's pretty sure dogs looking guilty is just a damn manipulation tactic. They didn't give a shit about supposed to and should have and needs to. He may not like 'em, but he felt that. It was easier to be wild and real than a human being. Maybe these creatures are just that  humans without the human being. Human-shaped with the instincts of something feral. It's cruel to think that he'll enjoy this, but god will he ever. Something new to fight and feel.
He follows Caustic's name when Bane calls it, nosy as ever. Something in the boss's voice puts him on edge in a fiery way. Electric adrenaline and a racing heartbeat. He's curious, standing off to the side and watching the antsy dog with unblinking eyes as the straggler approaches their city's borders. His home's borders, as reluctant as he was to ever say the words. They keep this hellhole safe, 'cause it was their hellhole. However often he gets that urge to tear up C in some patch of dirt or fight with Bane until they were both bloody, it's a strange sort of respect from someone with the heart of a wild animal. They've got his loyalty, both of 'em. All of the fuckers here, though perhaps to a lesser extent. They took him in when no one else would.
They took in almost everyone, so from this distance, Volatile is willing to give this shambling fucking stranger a chance too. Weird but not all that bad, maybe. Might have some mobility issues. Whatever, even the weak-ass idiots that find their way here get protection. He walks a little closer, fingers twitching to touch his palms. C's on edge now. He's close enough that he can see the recoil, the aim of his knife. His eyes flash with satisfaction  it's always fun watching those knives tear people apart. Likes seeing those last few seconds of sheer terror as they go.
But he doesn't fall to his knees. Doesn't touch his chest. Just keeps going like some kind of  some kind of machine. "You losing your touch, C?" He shouts, grin wild but eyes sharp, concerned. He looks down at this slow, shambling creature, leaking black out of its chest and its fucking head, and for some awful reason there's a thrill. Excitement. He drops to his knees and puts a hand in this thing's hair, clumps of it coming loose between his fingers, and drags the claws adorning the other hand across its neck. It leaves it in ribbons, that unearthly sound dying out to gurgles and then silence. But its hand thumps on the dirt, and its clouded, foggy eyes roll up to look at him, and, "What the fuck?"
He follows Caustic's name when Bane calls it, nosy as ever. Something in the boss's voice puts him on edge in a fiery way. Electric adrenaline and a racing heartbeat. He's curious, standing off to the side and watching the antsy dog with unblinking eyes as the straggler approaches their city's borders. His home's borders, as reluctant as he was to ever say the words. They keep this hellhole safe, 'cause it was their hellhole. However often he gets that urge to tear up C in some patch of dirt or fight with Bane until they were both bloody, it's a strange sort of respect from someone with the heart of a wild animal. They've got his loyalty, both of 'em. All of the fuckers here, though perhaps to a lesser extent. They took him in when no one else would.
They took in almost everyone, so from this distance, Volatile is willing to give this shambling fucking stranger a chance too. Weird but not all that bad, maybe. Might have some mobility issues. Whatever, even the weak-ass idiots that find their way here get protection. He walks a little closer, fingers twitching to touch his palms. C's on edge now. He's close enough that he can see the recoil, the aim of his knife. His eyes flash with satisfaction  it's always fun watching those knives tear people apart. Likes seeing those last few seconds of sheer terror as they go.
But he doesn't fall to his knees. Doesn't touch his chest. Just keeps going like some kind of  some kind of machine. "You losing your touch, C?" He shouts, grin wild but eyes sharp, concerned. He looks down at this slow, shambling creature, leaking black out of its chest and its fucking head, and for some awful reason there's a thrill. Excitement. He drops to his knees and puts a hand in this thing's hair, clumps of it coming loose between his fingers, and drags the claws adorning the other hand across its neck. It leaves it in ribbons, that unearthly sound dying out to gurgles and then silence. But its hand thumps on the dirt, and its clouded, foggy eyes roll up to look at him, and, "What the fuck?"
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