Hart's past, a glimpse

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roleplaysbyjake
Posts: 20
Joined: Tue Jun 12, 2018 4:49 pm

Hart's past, a glimpse

Post by roleplaysbyjake » Sat Sep 15, 2018 8:10 am

There was nothing more dreadful than dinnertime for him. In a family that remarried, with the original mother dead from childbirth, every crimson stain and blood was repaid in full upon the seemingly harmless cutlery. Jake paid close attention to his movements, and made sure to carefully slice around the meat that seemed rather soft beneath knives with dull jagged teeth edges. Only when this was done, did he chance to glance over to his Stepmother, keeping his gaze plastered on her face, and then his gaze switched to his father, an aging man but still with some vitality and youth upon them. Beside them was his brother, sitting closeby, and the moment their eyes met, there was only a smirk to be seen. His vision blackened, splatters of blood lining behind closed eyelids. Some food had been flung at his face, and the chair he had been sitting on reacted visibly, spiking up very slowly. It was sharp, like the edge of the blade, sinking just shallowly into the skin, likely leaving scars that would be taken cared of by the family physician. Mashed potatoes clung to the side of his face, and his hand raised to pick up a handkerchief, dabbing at the side of it away.

"I thank you for helping me get rid of that, brother dearest."

It was easy to see red in that moment, for Jayce was always so well behaved at the dinner table.

"You're very welcome," Jake responded, swallowing back his reaction of having to drink his own blood that had literally been stabbed out of him. Salty, the taste of blood already accompanied by the feel of fire streaking through the back of his spine. He pressed the hankerchief gently to his lips several times. Inwardly cursing, outwardly he had moves as practiced as a doll.

" -- passed class again today, again. Lecture was rather boring as usual."

"Jake, look at your brother when he's speaking." A calm smile, and with a flick of a hand another spike drove into his body, knives, literally growing from the back of the chair to run itself into an area still sensitive.

"Is something wrong, darling?" Asked his Stepmother with a concerned tilt of her head.

While looking her in the eyes, he shook his head quietly. "Nothing at all," he lied.

roleplaysbyjake
Posts: 20
Joined: Tue Jun 12, 2018 4:49 pm

Re: Hart's past, a glimpse

Post by roleplaysbyjake » Sat Jan 05, 2019 8:37 am

It was a lost fight on their side. He reached forward in his haste, pushing aside a vase of flowers and letting it shatter on the floor as he rushed out. The door was shut swiftly, slamming a bit of dust as he quickly sped down the street. Their temporary office was abandoned, as was the letter that had been sent to him swiftly by hin. "What does he mean that they lost? This is rubbish." His teeth gritted as he stalked down the alleyway. The streets were dirty and gritty in this area, cloaked in shadows and splatters of blood. He narrowed his gaze and walked past what looked like the remains of companions. There was one guy there he could hardly remember the name of, their neck swiftly snapped, likely to complain to him all day when they came back, when their god and whoever they believed in chose to sustain their miserable existence. He stepped firmly on their shoulder, and walked past another body, then kicked one to the side, to kneel over and fish out a gun from their pocket. He checked that it was loaded, cocking it with a soft click and turned swiftly back to the shadows.

"Bloody idiots," he said to himself. It was not his job to oversee their progress, but he did have to clean up after their mess. The moon was out, shining and crowned with the jewels of stars in the distance, glinting with the same fervency of red eyes, bloody as it seemed to him because he was seeing scarlet.

Around the scene of the crime, there seemed to have been a smokey explosion. Chunks of broken sides of walls stuck out from the houses, jutting out in his line of vision as he finally pointed his gun, turned in one single motion and trained it on a figure that was sitting on the crate. A stranger with matted brown hair, and ragged clothing, a peasant's suit, and a trench coat style outfit that had bloody holes in him, as if he had been stabbed a few times in the scuffle.

Without thinking, he pressed on the trigger, just as their eyes opened and they.. stared.

Haunting blue gaze and their face turned out to be angular, but with a fine pointed edge to the chin. Their lips pulled into a snarl as they held their shoulder. Not a shout, barely even a scream was made. Then fingers dug straight into the skin and next thing he noticed, the red streak of blood was flung upon his face from the shot wound. He dropped his gun, as the person murmured a few words. Burst of magic flared out of their hand and launched at his frame. He cursed, having been frozen in shock as his vision was blinded. He reached into his own pockets blindly as he dropped his gun and pulled out a dagger coated in poison. Swerving to the side as he murmured a quick prayer. "Loviatar..."

Feeling for one of the walls, his vision faded back into view and he turned only to have his wrist grabbed. It had been too late to stab. The man behind him had moved quick as lightning when he was dazed, and now held upon him. Another murmur of words and a stun spell was shot from their fingertips.

The knife felt weak in his fingers and clattered to the floor. "I've found you..." said the man finally. "Jake.. is that really you?"

In his mind's eye somewhere deep in his memory something flickered. There was a vision of strapped wrists, restrained in metal cuffs. The straining of muscles as a vision so wild with fear darted around. Beside him, many cages had rattled that night, the whips and utensils and injections lying spent and thoroughly used upon the table. And then his acquaintances lying passed out on some of the chairs. He remembered the breathing of the man, the same ragged sound in that instance as it was now. He had entered that room that night, as training had commenced, and forcefed the man some water. It was the last night they had met. The then-prisoner's fever had broken as daylight came, and eventually it had escaped.

If his lips could move they would have said something snarky at that point. But before it did, the man's eyes widened and he suddenly flung himself around his frame. His eyes widened, as the sound of another gunshot rang into the air. The figure had been shot again, and Jake saw from the corner of his vision, a new recruit with a shaky grip, still blinded and with bad aim, standing a few feet away. His waist was bloody as the figure that was shot had slumped forward, unconscious and had slid downwards from him, clinging on in a light hug even as they were unconscious, as if scared to let go.

Reaching down, he touched the stain of blood on his suit..as he had felt the bullet run straight into the man's flesh and get lodged into their spine before they had likely died.

"Idiot..." he sighed. "He couldn't have used a hin, could he?"

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When he tells me he loved me,

I could only stare.

Three words were so simple, and

yet it clung to my subconciousness.

This guilt.

Why couldn't I say it myself?

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