11-11-2021, 12:21 AM
[align=center][div style="width: 470px; text-align: justify; font-family: andale mono; font-size: 7pt; letter-spacing: 2.5px; word-spacing: 1px; line-height: 14px;"]Wherever you go, I go…
It had been a phrase so often uttered in hushed voices, a quiet plea so well designed that it perfectly mimicked what seemed to be a pledge of loyalty. Of course it had always been, but it was more than just a promise. It had been a cry for help all this time, two people so torn apart from a life that had dedicated itself to finding them nothing but loss and pain. If it couldn’t find misery, then it would create it. Years had come and gone and Marcus and Ramona soon came to the realisation that their bond was indeed for life. Marcus had been the steadfast and sincere, albeit rough around the edges, mentor that Ramona was in dire need of in her life when the two had first met. An ornery teenager who had initially joined Six Hounds against her will, but she soon found that perhaps it was the only place she could truly capitalise on her anger and grief.
Marcus took her under his wing — it was his job as a medically trained professional to nurture those around him — and he saw her thrive, almost as if she were the daughter that he and his husband would never be able to have after the world crumbled around them. Pascal would have adored Ramona the very same way that Marcus did; that is if he had not died the slow and agonising death he was forced to endure. A death that nearly killed Marcus to have to watch. The disease tangled up within Pascal and all Marcus could do was watch for five horrifying months. He could have saved him, if only he had the resources. And he almost had it, he almost had it all. If only he had more time.
Nowadays, Pascal was rarely a name that passed Marcus’ lips, but he thought about his late husband often. Ramona would have loved him too, perhaps loved him even more than she did Marcus. She could not claim to have understood what it felt like to have a guardian until her angel, Marcus, joined Six Hounds. The group had raided her childhood commune, slaying all resistance and taking away their children to raise as their own. Ramona had watched through her trembling fingers as her parents were savaged to death before their killers whisked her away onto a wagon to be taken to their own base. Mercenaries, she’d come to learn of their profession. Killing was simply what they did and, whilst she’d protest for some gruelling few months, eventually she began to see through the trauma of what she’d faced and come to learn of what they had to offer for her.
She truly believed that they could shape her into a survivor. A woman who would survive this new world because that would have made her parents proud, right? Instead of biting the hand that fed her, she’d will herself to appreciate its twistedness. That was at least until Marcus could snap her out of her dark reverie. Trained as a monster, she no longer had to do so at the command of the people who had betrayed her before they had even learned of her name. Ramona had learned through Marcus that never again did they need to yield to a group so barbaric, a group that was not based upon loyalty but was built upon their fear.
She was only a child.
Whilst she wanted to clock Magnus in the jaw at the best of times, she knew that he would be the most capable of leaders. After all, he was more like her than she was willing to ever admit. He would look out for her in the same way as he would look out for Marcus. In the same way Marcus looked out for her, and in the same way Ramona would look out for Magnus. Together, wherever one went, the rest would follow. And it proved the fruit of their labours was as enjoyable as she had hoped. The life she led was so liberating, even whilst she still surrendered to an iron fist. She supposed old habits die hard, but Magnus’ reign sure beat their old life with Six Hounds. Here, at least she felt as if her thoughts would be acknowledged by Magnus. A friend, not just a leader to serve.
At the market, Ramona idly flicked through a couple of fabrics, seemingly recycled to be used as blankets, or perhaps a shawl. Nothing particularly caught her eye — in fact, she was not on the hunt for anything in particular as it was. This was solely an opportunity to creep into the more civilised side of Vice World, admire the treasure of a place that Magnus had taken a hold of. A woman at the stall gave Ramona a sweet smile, Ramona returning with a somewhat insincere quirk of her lips, nose crinkling ever-so-slightly before her eyes diverted back to the fabrics that she was toying with on the table. She dreamed of massacres and red, not whatever pretty colour was in vogue for the season. Sucking air through her teeth, Ramona looked away, her gaze instead landing on Magnus as he made his entrance into the market area. It was not difficult for him to catch people’s attention, the way crowds stilled somewhat, as if they were eager — or scared — in anticipation for his next words.
❝ Never saw you the kind of man to enjoy a shopping spree. ❞ Ramona provoked playfully with a deadpan quirk of the brow, approaching with slow, carefree steps. Perhaps there were people out there treading on eggshells around Magnus, anticipating that one day he would erupt and that would be the end of them, but Ramona was brazen. Cocky. Like brother and sister, they’d squabble, but at the end of the day Ramona trusted Magnus in the same way she trusted Marcus. Indefinitely, undyingly. A very exclusive kind of trust that she seldom shared with anyone else. Only the survivors of Six Hounds.
It had been a phrase so often uttered in hushed voices, a quiet plea so well designed that it perfectly mimicked what seemed to be a pledge of loyalty. Of course it had always been, but it was more than just a promise. It had been a cry for help all this time, two people so torn apart from a life that had dedicated itself to finding them nothing but loss and pain. If it couldn’t find misery, then it would create it. Years had come and gone and Marcus and Ramona soon came to the realisation that their bond was indeed for life. Marcus had been the steadfast and sincere, albeit rough around the edges, mentor that Ramona was in dire need of in her life when the two had first met. An ornery teenager who had initially joined Six Hounds against her will, but she soon found that perhaps it was the only place she could truly capitalise on her anger and grief.
Marcus took her under his wing — it was his job as a medically trained professional to nurture those around him — and he saw her thrive, almost as if she were the daughter that he and his husband would never be able to have after the world crumbled around them. Pascal would have adored Ramona the very same way that Marcus did; that is if he had not died the slow and agonising death he was forced to endure. A death that nearly killed Marcus to have to watch. The disease tangled up within Pascal and all Marcus could do was watch for five horrifying months. He could have saved him, if only he had the resources. And he almost had it, he almost had it all. If only he had more time.
Nowadays, Pascal was rarely a name that passed Marcus’ lips, but he thought about his late husband often. Ramona would have loved him too, perhaps loved him even more than she did Marcus. She could not claim to have understood what it felt like to have a guardian until her angel, Marcus, joined Six Hounds. The group had raided her childhood commune, slaying all resistance and taking away their children to raise as their own. Ramona had watched through her trembling fingers as her parents were savaged to death before their killers whisked her away onto a wagon to be taken to their own base. Mercenaries, she’d come to learn of their profession. Killing was simply what they did and, whilst she’d protest for some gruelling few months, eventually she began to see through the trauma of what she’d faced and come to learn of what they had to offer for her.
She truly believed that they could shape her into a survivor. A woman who would survive this new world because that would have made her parents proud, right? Instead of biting the hand that fed her, she’d will herself to appreciate its twistedness. That was at least until Marcus could snap her out of her dark reverie. Trained as a monster, she no longer had to do so at the command of the people who had betrayed her before they had even learned of her name. Ramona had learned through Marcus that never again did they need to yield to a group so barbaric, a group that was not based upon loyalty but was built upon their fear.
She was only a child.
Whilst she wanted to clock Magnus in the jaw at the best of times, she knew that he would be the most capable of leaders. After all, he was more like her than she was willing to ever admit. He would look out for her in the same way as he would look out for Marcus. In the same way Marcus looked out for her, and in the same way Ramona would look out for Magnus. Together, wherever one went, the rest would follow. And it proved the fruit of their labours was as enjoyable as she had hoped. The life she led was so liberating, even whilst she still surrendered to an iron fist. She supposed old habits die hard, but Magnus’ reign sure beat their old life with Six Hounds. Here, at least she felt as if her thoughts would be acknowledged by Magnus. A friend, not just a leader to serve.
At the market, Ramona idly flicked through a couple of fabrics, seemingly recycled to be used as blankets, or perhaps a shawl. Nothing particularly caught her eye — in fact, she was not on the hunt for anything in particular as it was. This was solely an opportunity to creep into the more civilised side of Vice World, admire the treasure of a place that Magnus had taken a hold of. A woman at the stall gave Ramona a sweet smile, Ramona returning with a somewhat insincere quirk of her lips, nose crinkling ever-so-slightly before her eyes diverted back to the fabrics that she was toying with on the table. She dreamed of massacres and red, not whatever pretty colour was in vogue for the season. Sucking air through her teeth, Ramona looked away, her gaze instead landing on Magnus as he made his entrance into the market area. It was not difficult for him to catch people’s attention, the way crowds stilled somewhat, as if they were eager — or scared — in anticipation for his next words.
❝ Never saw you the kind of man to enjoy a shopping spree. ❞ Ramona provoked playfully with a deadpan quirk of the brow, approaching with slow, carefree steps. Perhaps there were people out there treading on eggshells around Magnus, anticipating that one day he would erupt and that would be the end of them, but Ramona was brazen. Cocky. Like brother and sister, they’d squabble, but at the end of the day Ramona trusted Magnus in the same way she trusted Marcus. Indefinitely, undyingly. A very exclusive kind of trust that she seldom shared with anyone else. Only the survivors of Six Hounds.
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I'M BURNING BRIDGES, I DESTROY THE MIRAGE
[div style="width: 400px; font-family: georgia; text-align: center; font-size: 5pt; line-height: 1; letter-spacing: 2.6px; word-spacing: 1.9px; margin-bottom: 5px;"]ALL VISIONS OF COLLISIONS, FUCKING BON VOYAGE — truce.#1303
《 WRITING &. PINTEREST &. SPOTIFY 》
[div style="width: 400px; font-family: georgia; text-align: center; font-size: 5pt; line-height: 1; letter-spacing: 2.6px; word-spacing: 1.9px; margin-bottom: 5px;"]ALL VISIONS OF COLLISIONS, FUCKING BON VOYAGE — truce.#1303
《 WRITING &. PINTEREST &. SPOTIFY 》