02-09-2017, 12:29 PM
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He hated when he got like this.
No, that wasn't quite right- he hated what getting like this did to Percy, which was still a somewhat relatively new concept to Marauder. Before he picked him off the street -waiting for his parents and pulling every single heartstring Marauder didn't know he had left- he wouldn't have hesitated to disappear into the night and reappear in the morning, covered in blood that was and wasn't his. Now he had more of a reason to come back, and more of a reason to try and resist it in the first place, but Marauder knew from past experiences that it couldn't be ignored forever. It won. The violence always won, and it terrified him, more so when there was someone depending on Marauder. Perseus' current caretaker was a fucked up mess and the last person anyone should want around their kid, except he was a little too invested and a little too selfish to let anyone else try taking his place. He tried to hold it off for a while longer on behalf of that slim-boned sunshine, tried to forget the way he couldn't sit still, the way his skin had an itch that wanted to be scratched until he bled, until he embraced the old familiar friend who always arrived in bruises and lacerations and split knuckles, but it never worked. Of the many things he could do for Percy, resisting the inevitable urge to tear himself apart was the only one he couldn't do. Fuck, he'd probably find it easier to destroy his body for him rather than save it, though he hoped- he hoped it wouldn't always be the case.
Marauder started because he'd been deteriorating already, to match inside and out, but when he managed to take Perc along with him, it was water for a throat so parched it'd forgotten it still needed to drink; it was a flood of color to a dull world, and he couldn't just fucking stop himself so he wouldn't return to find that fluttery concern of Perseus'. The kid was stronger than what most people gave him credit for, but where Marauder stood- he was in too close of a position. He didn't want to call himself his parent, because Perseus had parents and he couldn't replace them, but damn it, that was his kid. He couldn't push the corrosive acid out of his head, and it was another of the many things on his list he punished himself for when he went out to speak with curled fingers and black eyes. So, like always, he vanished long after Perseus fell asleep, replacing himself with a pillow, which wouldn't be enough to last as long as he would be gone. Percy deserved better- Marauder wouldn't argue that.
He still wasn't willing to give him up.
There wasn't a shortage of people for Marauder to simultaneously lose and find himself with. It was easier to do fucked up shit and call it survival when that was the game everyone played, but certain individuals went too far, did too much. Finding them only required a bit of asking around, and apologizing for how late it was; before the night was even a quarter through Marauder tasted his first busted lip and slammed three other faces into the dirt. It wasn't enough. It wouldn't be enough until he had to nearly drag himself back, and that was always the goal; it wasn't a conventional one. Most people wanted to leave fights unscathed, instead of bloodied and beaten, but for Marauder it was like sliding into an old, baggy shirt that was worn from use. Maybe it wasn't the best analogy, with all things considered, such as his dislocated shoulder halfway through the night, and the bright hot burst when he shoved it back in place, along with the heat searing along bruised ribs after neglecting to dodge a few kicks.
It didn't get better from there. Someone managed to pull a knife on him later, and honestly, he could have disarmed them far earlier but it had been so long since he'd done this and he needed. It caught him high on his back when he'd whirled, not too deep, though enough of a sting that he slid one of his own across his opponent's forearm in retaliation. After that, everything...got blurry. Marauder couldn't say how many people he found, whether it was one or two or five, but by the time he was dragging himself through the snow and the cold, he was leaving a steady trail of ruby behind him, and he had some major maintenance work to do on his hoodie. Not that it was his hoodie he was most worried about. Slowly trudging toward the lodge, the sun just in the sky, he'd hauled enough of his mind out of the haze that Percy was there again, and he bit his bloody lip.
Cupping the wounds he could reach, he slipped inside quietly, limping slightly from a blow to his knee. He managed not to drip too much on the floor, but he would definitely be cleaning that later. Fuck, he disgusted himself, crawling back in like this where anyone could come by and find him bleeding where everyone lived. Marauder didn't run into anyone immediately though, so he headed to the room he shared with Percy, who...wasn't in bed when he entered. He blew out a breath, wincing faintly when his ribs protested even more movement, and then he was gingerly pulling the personal first aid kit out from under the bed. Marauder didn't sit on the bed- he didn't want to get blood on the sheets. Instead, he worked on peeling his layers off, his hoodie going first, then the sweater he'd worn underneath, and the shirt beneath that. It burned, because not only were his ribs again hating that he was moving so much, but the fabric stuck to certain parts of his skin around the wounds, and pulling it away was a sharp flame alongside the sting.
He didn't even know how he looked, but he didn't need a mirror to know he probably looked half-dead, despite feeling more real.
/his injuries are bruised ribs, about six mostly minor knife cuts, split knuckles and lip, recently relocated shoulder, busted skin above his brows, and heavy bruising in general
[spoiler=info (1/28)]GENERAL
-Marauder | Real name: Francis Maddox (never revealed) | 22 years old | Flintlock Lodge
-Pansexual | Single; is not interested in mingling | ½ Mars (famtp w/ Perseus)
PHYSICALITY
-Hair is styled like this and dyed black; originally ginger | Faint freckles line his cheekbones
-Very broad-shouldered and well-built | Heavily scarred; lashes on back are most prominent
-Dark, deep blue eyes | Wears a worn leather jacket that has been mended several times
-May switch leather out for a red hoodie | Wears a red, black, and white friendship bracelet
-Strapped with a variety of knives (Karambit, BW-ACK, M-9 Bayonet[one on each leg])
-Stands at around 6'1 | Will use his height to his advantage if possible for intimidation
PERSONALITY
-Will do anything for Perseus; is generally a pushover and incredibly gentle with him
-Kind of a dick ("kind of") | Has an aggressive temperament and a hair-trigger temper
-Viciously loyal to those he cares for | Typically difficult to befriend due to standoffishness
-Highly self-loathing and prone to self-sabotage | Experiences every emotion very deeply
-Dealing with possible abandonment issues | Always toeing the line between right and wrong
He hated when he got like this.
No, that wasn't quite right- he hated what getting like this did to Percy, which was still a somewhat relatively new concept to Marauder. Before he picked him off the street -waiting for his parents and pulling every single heartstring Marauder didn't know he had left- he wouldn't have hesitated to disappear into the night and reappear in the morning, covered in blood that was and wasn't his. Now he had more of a reason to come back, and more of a reason to try and resist it in the first place, but Marauder knew from past experiences that it couldn't be ignored forever. It won. The violence always won, and it terrified him, more so when there was someone depending on Marauder. Perseus' current caretaker was a fucked up mess and the last person anyone should want around their kid, except he was a little too invested and a little too selfish to let anyone else try taking his place. He tried to hold it off for a while longer on behalf of that slim-boned sunshine, tried to forget the way he couldn't sit still, the way his skin had an itch that wanted to be scratched until he bled, until he embraced the old familiar friend who always arrived in bruises and lacerations and split knuckles, but it never worked. Of the many things he could do for Percy, resisting the inevitable urge to tear himself apart was the only one he couldn't do. Fuck, he'd probably find it easier to destroy his body for him rather than save it, though he hoped- he hoped it wouldn't always be the case.
Marauder started because he'd been deteriorating already, to match inside and out, but when he managed to take Perc along with him, it was water for a throat so parched it'd forgotten it still needed to drink; it was a flood of color to a dull world, and he couldn't just fucking stop himself so he wouldn't return to find that fluttery concern of Perseus'. The kid was stronger than what most people gave him credit for, but where Marauder stood- he was in too close of a position. He didn't want to call himself his parent, because Perseus had parents and he couldn't replace them, but damn it, that was his kid. He couldn't push the corrosive acid out of his head, and it was another of the many things on his list he punished himself for when he went out to speak with curled fingers and black eyes. So, like always, he vanished long after Perseus fell asleep, replacing himself with a pillow, which wouldn't be enough to last as long as he would be gone. Percy deserved better- Marauder wouldn't argue that.
He still wasn't willing to give him up.
There wasn't a shortage of people for Marauder to simultaneously lose and find himself with. It was easier to do fucked up shit and call it survival when that was the game everyone played, but certain individuals went too far, did too much. Finding them only required a bit of asking around, and apologizing for how late it was; before the night was even a quarter through Marauder tasted his first busted lip and slammed three other faces into the dirt. It wasn't enough. It wouldn't be enough until he had to nearly drag himself back, and that was always the goal; it wasn't a conventional one. Most people wanted to leave fights unscathed, instead of bloodied and beaten, but for Marauder it was like sliding into an old, baggy shirt that was worn from use. Maybe it wasn't the best analogy, with all things considered, such as his dislocated shoulder halfway through the night, and the bright hot burst when he shoved it back in place, along with the heat searing along bruised ribs after neglecting to dodge a few kicks.
It didn't get better from there. Someone managed to pull a knife on him later, and honestly, he could have disarmed them far earlier but it had been so long since he'd done this and he needed. It caught him high on his back when he'd whirled, not too deep, though enough of a sting that he slid one of his own across his opponent's forearm in retaliation. After that, everything...got blurry. Marauder couldn't say how many people he found, whether it was one or two or five, but by the time he was dragging himself through the snow and the cold, he was leaving a steady trail of ruby behind him, and he had some major maintenance work to do on his hoodie. Not that it was his hoodie he was most worried about. Slowly trudging toward the lodge, the sun just in the sky, he'd hauled enough of his mind out of the haze that Percy was there again, and he bit his bloody lip.
Cupping the wounds he could reach, he slipped inside quietly, limping slightly from a blow to his knee. He managed not to drip too much on the floor, but he would definitely be cleaning that later. Fuck, he disgusted himself, crawling back in like this where anyone could come by and find him bleeding where everyone lived. Marauder didn't run into anyone immediately though, so he headed to the room he shared with Percy, who...wasn't in bed when he entered. He blew out a breath, wincing faintly when his ribs protested even more movement, and then he was gingerly pulling the personal first aid kit out from under the bed. Marauder didn't sit on the bed- he didn't want to get blood on the sheets. Instead, he worked on peeling his layers off, his hoodie going first, then the sweater he'd worn underneath, and the shirt beneath that. It burned, because not only were his ribs again hating that he was moving so much, but the fabric stuck to certain parts of his skin around the wounds, and pulling it away was a sharp flame alongside the sting.
He didn't even know how he looked, but he didn't need a mirror to know he probably looked half-dead, despite feeling more real.
/his injuries are bruised ribs, about six mostly minor knife cuts, split knuckles and lip, recently relocated shoulder, busted skin above his brows, and heavy bruising in general
[spoiler=info (1/28)]GENERAL
-Marauder | Real name: Francis Maddox (never revealed) | 22 years old | Flintlock Lodge
-Pansexual | Single; is not interested in mingling | ½ Mars (famtp w/ Perseus)
PHYSICALITY
-Hair is styled like this and dyed black; originally ginger | Faint freckles line his cheekbones
-Very broad-shouldered and well-built | Heavily scarred; lashes on back are most prominent
-Dark, deep blue eyes | Wears a worn leather jacket that has been mended several times
-May switch leather out for a red hoodie | Wears a red, black, and white friendship bracelet
-Strapped with a variety of knives (Karambit, BW-ACK, M-9 Bayonet[one on each leg])
-Stands at around 6'1 | Will use his height to his advantage if possible for intimidation
PERSONALITY
-Will do anything for Perseus; is generally a pushover and incredibly gentle with him
-Kind of a dick ("kind of") | Has an aggressive temperament and a hair-trigger temper
-Viciously loyal to those he cares for | Typically difficult to befriend due to standoffishness
-Highly self-loathing and prone to self-sabotage | Experiences every emotion very deeply
-Dealing with possible abandonment issues | Always toeing the line between right and wrong
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