08-19-2013, 01:56 AM
[[Yeeah. So with wound penalties his diff is, ah, 2. So there you have it!]]
He tried, our William. He tried everything that he could to get away, to end it. He fought, and he played unconscious underneath a pile of dead people, and he leapt from a car and crawled by inches toward safety. But it wasn't enough. Because while William thought he was a monster for his past, he didn't know monsters. Even when he encountered Mercy and she beat him senseless, he thought he knew monsters. But looking at this strange, delicately-shaped but bloody creature who promises him pain like he can't even comprehend, he knows that now, finally, he knows monsters.
He jerks back when those long fingers snake forward to brush his hair back. William is truly lost, alone and afraid. Alone here, even with a drive-through girl just half a parking lot away, purposefully ignoring whatever strangeness is going on just beyond the lights of the parking lot street lamps, he's completely alone with a monster. He jerks back once, but that's all he has the strength to do. He's paralyzed, like a mouse in a cobra's gaze.
He really doesn't understand every word Vee says. He knows each of them, knows their meaning. But when everything hurts and you're alone and afraid and lost in the darkness, you don't catch the whole of a conversation. But he gets the gist. He knows what the vampire in front of him is saying.
If he were a little less afraid, he'd probably cry. He's not a sensitive '90s New Age kinda guy; crying isn't something he does. Hasn't done since the early days in prison. But he would cry now. When you have nothing left...it's what happens. But he's too afraid for that. So he looks up at this beautiful, bloody monster and then, slowly, he turns. Inch by inch, he crawls back to the car. He climbs up into the open passenger door and he sits. He doesn't have to try and ignore the corpses next to him; they may as well not exist. He's in his own world, trapped inside his own mind where horrors unknown await him.
The car door shuts. And he slumps against it, staring out the window at the flourescent lights of freedom that were close but impossibly far.
He tried, our William. He tried everything that he could to get away, to end it. He fought, and he played unconscious underneath a pile of dead people, and he leapt from a car and crawled by inches toward safety. But it wasn't enough. Because while William thought he was a monster for his past, he didn't know monsters. Even when he encountered Mercy and she beat him senseless, he thought he knew monsters. But looking at this strange, delicately-shaped but bloody creature who promises him pain like he can't even comprehend, he knows that now, finally, he knows monsters.
He jerks back when those long fingers snake forward to brush his hair back. William is truly lost, alone and afraid. Alone here, even with a drive-through girl just half a parking lot away, purposefully ignoring whatever strangeness is going on just beyond the lights of the parking lot street lamps, he's completely alone with a monster. He jerks back once, but that's all he has the strength to do. He's paralyzed, like a mouse in a cobra's gaze.
He really doesn't understand every word Vee says. He knows each of them, knows their meaning. But when everything hurts and you're alone and afraid and lost in the darkness, you don't catch the whole of a conversation. But he gets the gist. He knows what the vampire in front of him is saying.
If he were a little less afraid, he'd probably cry. He's not a sensitive '90s New Age kinda guy; crying isn't something he does. Hasn't done since the early days in prison. But he would cry now. When you have nothing left...it's what happens. But he's too afraid for that. So he looks up at this beautiful, bloody monster and then, slowly, he turns. Inch by inch, he crawls back to the car. He climbs up into the open passenger door and he sits. He doesn't have to try and ignore the corpses next to him; they may as well not exist. He's in his own world, trapped inside his own mind where horrors unknown await him.
The car door shuts. And he slumps against it, staring out the window at the flourescent lights of freedom that were close but impossibly far.
"The anger of a good man is not a problem. Good men have too many rules."
"Good men don't need rules. And today's not the day to find out why I have so many."
"Good men don't need rules. And today's not the day to find out why I have so many."