02-17-2020, 03:00 AM
[align=center][div style="width: 450px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9pt;"]tw mention of drugs.
Wasn't they all puppets?
Enthralled in some misfortune, controlled by something far bigger than themselves? Life wasn't some fairytail, that was for sure. More often than not— it was dark. Really dark. Literally and figuratively. Even Jagger had traumas he wouldn't 'ought to want to revisit, but if one asked him he'd relive them again. Why? Because it made him stronger[I]! Even on his reigns, Jagger managed to take control. An devoted man, whose peers faced far less and still doubted they faith, but he never did! He'd been born with a legacy and he sure as Hell planned on dyin' with one. Abaddon was worth it, after all.
Jagger was never much of a fan of those who wasn't cult born. While Kai saw them as someone he could save, Jagger saw them as someone who was already corrupted by the Outside. Silas proved that, took two years of they time away from them. Kai got more cautious, sure, but he never denied someone they rights. Alma was no different. He ain't know much of Alma, though, ain't ever really care to. Those who mostly kept to themselves and did what they was supposed to were often able to go undetected. Those who were above average, vulnerable, or fake is what often grappled his attention.
And no doubt, was Alma vulnerable. For the first time, he notices her. Drinkin' alone, seemingly lost in her own head. It's been awfully quiet around here since last Mass, and it's somethin' that leaves Jagger evidently uncomfortable. He thrived off the company he kept — both friends and foes — and instead of bein' here, they was mourning elsewhere. It seemed as if everyone was, except for her. He makes his movements subtle as he strolls and placing his back against the wall, he sinks. For a moment, he's immerses himself in the silence, bloodshot eyes focusing heavily on a rubber piece of band that laid on the floor beside him. Was he high? Yes. Did he consume peyote while tending to the crops? Also yes.
He doubts under Isaac's lockdown, anyone was bound to notice.
"This your way of mournin' our dear Messiah's death?" His voice holds halfhearted sarcasm. He doesn't turn to her, only continues to hyper focus on the rubber bands. Since when was they so entertaining?
Wasn't they all puppets?
Enthralled in some misfortune, controlled by something far bigger than themselves? Life wasn't some fairytail, that was for sure. More often than not— it was dark. Really dark. Literally and figuratively. Even Jagger had traumas he wouldn't 'ought to want to revisit, but if one asked him he'd relive them again. Why? Because it made him stronger[I]! Even on his reigns, Jagger managed to take control. An devoted man, whose peers faced far less and still doubted they faith, but he never did! He'd been born with a legacy and he sure as Hell planned on dyin' with one. Abaddon was worth it, after all.
Jagger was never much of a fan of those who wasn't cult born. While Kai saw them as someone he could save, Jagger saw them as someone who was already corrupted by the Outside. Silas proved that, took two years of they time away from them. Kai got more cautious, sure, but he never denied someone they rights. Alma was no different. He ain't know much of Alma, though, ain't ever really care to. Those who mostly kept to themselves and did what they was supposed to were often able to go undetected. Those who were above average, vulnerable, or fake is what often grappled his attention.
And no doubt, was Alma vulnerable. For the first time, he notices her. Drinkin' alone, seemingly lost in her own head. It's been awfully quiet around here since last Mass, and it's somethin' that leaves Jagger evidently uncomfortable. He thrived off the company he kept — both friends and foes — and instead of bein' here, they was mourning elsewhere. It seemed as if everyone was, except for her. He makes his movements subtle as he strolls and placing his back against the wall, he sinks. For a moment, he's immerses himself in the silence, bloodshot eyes focusing heavily on a rubber piece of band that laid on the floor beside him. Was he high? Yes. Did he consume peyote while tending to the crops? Also yes.
He doubts under Isaac's lockdown, anyone was bound to notice.
"This your way of mournin' our dear Messiah's death?" His voice holds halfhearted sarcasm. He doesn't turn to her, only continues to hyper focus on the rubber bands. Since when was they so entertaining?
[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: center; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 1.4;"]I'M [I]HIGH AS A PRIVATE JET. â€â€