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The Warlord's Monologue [Mar. 6th, 2009|06:30 pm]
Edward Mathis


The blood cools, thick and heavy, upon my axe as I take a moment to look out over the battlefield. At my feet, the heat of his blood steaming against the boreal chill, a human boy no older than my own son lay freshly slain. While they have never put much stock in our craftsmanship, there are few humans who would fault the brutality of an orcish weapon, forged and swung. He offered me little challenge, his scale, little resistance, but he died a warriors death, a death of value and merit, fighting for his life, his love, his cause. I like to believe, in some way, he thanks me in the other life, as I would thank him, had he managed to best me.

Out across the snowline, similar battles take place, with numbers dropping on both sides. This is a border skirmish really, nothing more than a precursor to the true conflict that will begin. In this my troops, my men, my children, will whet their appetites, and their blades, or fall before a superior foe. I hold no ill towards our opponents; rather I love them as kin. Conflict is life for creatures such as us. War drums are our heartbeat, molten iron our blood, torn earth our flesh, and weapon haft our bones. Without a foe, we would fall upon each other like rapid mongrels, and surely we would decimate ourselves unto extinction.

These people, these human men and women, fight with a ferocity that matches ours, and a strength of will that more than surpasses the frailty of their arm. With every life they take, their fervour grows; with every life we end, our rage enflames. Truly, truly we are as brothers, though I know few would agree with me.

These thoughts, after all, are my own, and quite private. I know how my forces see me, and I would be a fool to contradict them. To them, I am a small god; my words echo with the intensity of a fallen star, my arm is more destructive than the most violent of blizzards, my will as unshakeable as the heaviest snow capped peaks. They would kill themselves a thousand times over for me, as they know I would do no less for them.

My seers inform me the human kingdom would demonize me to embolden their people, and I glory in such infamy from a worthy foe. To them, I am a soulless force; my words sound of destruction and hate, my weapon would find respite in their daughters and sons, and my will has given way to violent insanity. This fear, this hate, serves to ignite the warrior spirit in those who hear it, seeking to face me in battle and expunge me from this world. Such is the soil from which a crop of worthy foes grows.

I am charging now, heavy, muscled legs carrying me towards the front line. My armour glistens with frost and blood, and yet I am not cold. Indeed, I would strip all manner of garb from me and fight in the nude to try and cool my flesh. But to do so would surely invite my demise, which would be an insult to my family on both sides of the battle line.

The double-axe spins a wide arc in my hand, twisting end over end before coming to rest in the fallen torso of a cavalier. His horse, headless now, collapses against me, and its weight is enough to drive me to a knee. The beast was raised for war, fed on war, killed by war, I pray for a moment that its reward is even half as glorious as its demise.
The rider's legs are splayed out beside us with the animal's head, the axe having hewn both from their owners, and despite being divided, the man still lives, for the time at least. He splits blood upon my face and presumably a curse as well. I smile inwardly even though I bark, furious and harsh at him. Shifting my weight, I send the horse-corpse sprawling, crashing down somewhere to my right and I bring my foot down hard upon his chest remains. Still the look of hate burns in his eyes, and my pride in him grows. Truly, truly a worthy opponent, one whom I will praise once this battle is complete. With that, my free hand clamps upon his head and I tear it free from his shoulders before skewering it upon one of the smaller spikes which adorn me. He will see this battle to the end, or at least my end in it, whichever comes to pass.

Finally though, my true challenge arrives, the human champion called Garig Laddin. His once silver armor is now as thick with frost and stain as mine. The one-half blade he sweeps through my men is so hardened with gore as to be more like a butcher's cleaver than a warrior's sword. He spies me through the breech and for one brief, eternal instant, the world goes silent. There are no soldiers, no family warring about us, there is just us, two men, poised upon the edge of destruction. Our hearts beat as one, our flesh warmed by the same blood, cooled by the same frigid air, we are two sides of the same weapon.

We each other bellow the others name, our words combining to drown out the conflict, and then we charge, head long and reckless, at each other.

Truly, truly this is what it means to live.

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Shadow Players Guide - ww 6013 pt. 2 [Aug. 9th, 2007|06:12 pm]
Edward Mathis
[Current Location |Work]
[Passion: |depresseddepressed]
[Keening: |That Nephwrack bastards endless laughter.]

IdunnoIdunnoIdunno. This place is a fucking poison of the mind. Goddamned gambling whore with you fucking tickets. You'll die on that stool poor and alone, and I'll probably still be here, clawing my fucking brains out.
Fucking phone! No we're not next to the Peter Pan, that's the fucking Royalty. How retarded are you?
FUCK OFF! Toxic demon ringing device. Fester pox on my existence. Worst than the guests until they're here, blaming me for things I can't control. But James, they say, it's all your fault. The dining room, the pool, the AC, all of it. And it's not so important to bring up except when we want a discount, because we're cheap bastards and we know you aren't allowed to respond in kind no matter how vicious we get. You just choke it down and get quiet, because that's what you have to do. Just curl up into a little ball like the grade school beatings and wait for the bullies to leave. Don't fight back, that'll just make it worse, you'll lose your job, and then you'll be seriously fucked. Nope, nope, so swallow that vile little pill and accept our abuse. And the others wonder why we can't differentiate between masks anymore. Smile James, be happy James, no one likes someone who's angry James, gotta make the guest happy James, no one
cares that you sacrificed fuck near everything (sanity, health, social skills) that you're collapsing into an acidic, burnt out husk of a corpse, so long as they get to stay in their shitty ass rooms and think they're important. Of course we can't determine who we are anymore, the only us we ever knew was trying to come to terms with his own paranoia and molestation, only to be shackled into this cyclical Hell. But we're being presumptuous again, trying to place all our problems on something that happened 14 years ago. No, no, we're the fuck out, the sole cause behind all of this, because we don't like to take risks. We'd rather stay in this deadend hellish nightmare of an existence than risk losing it for something far worse, or possibly better. But we're not stupid, for all our pain and suffering, we know it doesn't get better, just different shades of bad. We ramble, cycle, gibber and die, a nightmares eternal dance. Round and round we spin. Of course we think in abstract terms, linear reasoning is far too simplistic. Of course we slack off, we know we're good enough to succeed in the end.
Of course we're a coward, our successes only bring more failure. We want a girlfriend but we don't meet our own personal requirements, nor do we want to risk the friendship it might cost, nor are we willing to hurt someone like that, not after Liz. Oh, but we did hurt her didn't we? A tormentors guide if ever their was one. And we're never going to let you forget that, no sir. No matter what, when, or how, we'll remind you of the pain you bring to her, have brought to others, and will bring once again. We'll always remember you yelling at a 9 month old, we'll always remember you dishonoring your sensei by putting your fist through the door in anger,
we'll always remember every negative act, monstrous deed and transgression, and we'll bring them up when you need to be hurt the most. But we won't end you, nor will we let you end, because, in the end, we're the only ones left who can truly love you, and that's the most painful observation of all. You turned yourself into a toxic monstrosity to protect those you love, to drive them away so we couldn't them, so you couldn't hurt them either
but in the end they didn't turn away, they wouldn't THEY WON'T! And you can't explain why. You've poisoned yourself to the extent you know your mother is right, you'll be dead from a heart attack at 30. You don't sleep, you barely eat, you do nothing to relieve the stress, what food you do consume puts more of a tax on your body than eating powdered glass I bet, and still, still, despite
all that, all you've done is hurt yourself. You'd think, bein' the smart guy you are, you'd stop. But that's the funny thing, for all your brains, we're smarter than you. We know you inside and out, what's good, what's bad, and what really happened every time. Plus, you trust us way more than you should, so we can change shit around and you and leave you more lost than someone trapped in a living maze. So, you don't stop 'cause you don't know how, and anyone who does know, we try to keep away. Sure, there's someone who could, but we're smarter
Fucking insufferable cuntrag, of course you didn't want the room, your kind never wants the room. You want a room crafted of the purest platinum, inlayed with r
I know it's right you bloated sack of human waste, I fucking counted it. I can count. Funny that, someone to do capable of basic fucking math. And you don't need a comb, no one cares about your hair. Or your appearance. Or you for that matter. Fucking worthless trashheap of a person. You'll die on that stool, mark my words. rubies and diamonds, while being waited on hand and foot by $10,000 an hour hookers for the low low cost of free. Of course that's what you wanted, and that's not what we off, so you treat me like I shit on your granddaughter during her first grade Christmas play and fuck off. because we know we've made you so paranoid at this point that you won't take their advice no matter how good it is. The pain, the suffering, the toxicity of your existence has become so familiar, so standard and stock that you honestly don't know how to exist without it.
That's why you won't even allow yourself to cry anymore. We've so convinced you that it's a waste of time and energy that even that natural release has become anathema. We've left you with nothing, nothing at all, save for your fists, and everytime you use them you just feel worse because you see it as a loss of self control. Honestly, if you were more like us you'd be astounded at exactly how great a job we've done destroying you. But yes, back to those precious masks of yours, those ghouls, garish devices you so wantonly dawn to avoid external threats while we fester and blight inside you. They really are quite impressive, so much so the others never really get it. I mean, they say they understand, but they don't, that's why it bothers you so much. Hell, that's part of the reason you're smiling right now but you wanna ball your eyes out, because you're starting to wear us in the hopes that this'll be easier. You never have been any good at train of thought. This is where you'll note to anyone reading (as if anyone would) that every "paragraph" so far has in fact been an interruption, some real world event that's pulled you from this page to pretend to be something. Each stop is the dawning of a perfect mask, so much so that unless a person really knows you, like your mom, or maybe Liz, they'd never be able to tell there's anything the least bit wrong with you tonight. But the others do get hints every now and again, glimpses and glimmers of the false faces when you shift between them. Don't believe folks
then just ask him for the toll free number. He'll give it to you, always does, usually doesn't mind a call in the wee hours. But you can hear it when his voice changes from the paper introduction to his more standard tone. I mean, they're both masks, don't get me wrong, but the difference lay in how real they are. The paper one is totally fake, built and bent by his job because it's necessary. The flesh one is also totally fake, it's just crafted by who you are in relation to him. That's all it is, that's all it ever is.
Well, he's, we's, we're starting to feel very tired and more than a little bit depressed folks. It's unpleasant to really consider that every flaw in your life is your own fault, and if you were more of a man, your life wouldn't've gone this far
down the shitter. But hey, at least you're not actively thinking about it all the time, right James?
Just remember the important parts: no one'll ever love (least that's what people keep sayin'
right? I mean, that is how he's taking it when you say "You can't love anyone until you love yourself"
I gave you FUCKING keys so you could go down and have a FUCKING look you grizzled old bastard. What the fuck did you do, go look at the door and decide "yeah, this is good." Fuckin' shittard.
that he'll never be loved, because he can't bring himself to love, or even care about, the twitching corpse he's made himself. Don't you get it, everytime you say shit like that, you're just playing into our hands, because he can't love himself as long as we're here, and he can't BE himself if we're gone. So really, in this respect, to his friends who've made that or similar observations, we tip our collective hats. So nice to have a helping hand from the audience), you're going to die alone, insane, and probably from the stress, and in the end, you'll never be free of this shitty hell hole because we won't let you muster up the energy to fight us. Sure, get mad, twist and writhe against the bonds, but you'll never break them, because to break them, you'd have to outsmart an enemy you created and designed to be better than you. You wanted an opponent, a bad guy, a villain, and you made sure to have the best one of all, one without humanity. So, go ahead James, poor out that acidic, maggot ridden waste you call a heart. It won't make the pain go away for long, if at all, and we'll always be waiting here when you come back. Oh, that victorious, villainous laughter, how I love it so.
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It won't get out of my head, so for some reason I felt the need to put it here. [Mar. 14th, 2007|05:29 am]
Edward Mathis
[Current Location |My room]
[Passion: |restlessrestless]
[Keening: |None]

I sat , drifting through the tale of scientists, and the Antarctic, and the horrors that dwell beneath its millennial frost. An exquisite tale, meant to be fearful, told by a Rhode Island man of the Early 20th century. Captivating and evocative, one could well feel the harsh climate, as well the near maddened intensity the characters brought to bear. It was while within the pages confines, that I heard a voice, one so sweet with life and purity that even the most appealing of fruits could not seek to match it. This voice ripped me back to reality with the same guttural ferocity and bloodied violence normally reserved for those at the end of labour.
"Excuse me," came this voice, borne of sunlight and meadowlarks "Can I ask you a question?"
I momentarily closed my eyes, the blistering wastes of a far flung continent receding from my sight, as I opened them again, to the moderately lit booth I occupied within this Toronto bar.
Looking up towards her, I smiled, intentionally shielding my mangled teeth behind slightly cracked lips, and responded "Of course, miss, what can I do for you?"
"Well, some friends and I were wondering... why are you here?"
"Do you mean in a factual sense, or a philosophical one?"
She looked momentarily confused, as though, somehow, either one was the likely option. "I'll take factual for now."
She leaned oddly over the table, strands of blonde hair falling down in front of her chest like photon and liquid platinum. My eyes wandered, much to my own irritation, before shifting to her wickedly azure eyes.
"Have a seat for a sec, and I'll tell you."
She smiled warmly and slid into the booth opposite me, pushing the coats out of the way. Turning, I pointed towards the dance floor. "You see the brown haired woman there, dressed in a truly beautiful manner, exuding sexuality the way a candle might give off heat? "
She nodded. "Your girlfriend?"
I smiled again and shook my head "Would that your words and my wishes could make that a reality. No, I lack the skills necessary to court a lady, her or any other for that matter. Instead, I'm here so she, as well as my other traveling companions, can have some fun."
"Others?" She quested, and I proceeded to point them out: the brown gentleman, bearing a garment as white as the ice upon which my mind had tread. The skittish blonde lad, nary a few years my younger, but both more nervous and more trusting, than I could hope to be. The pale brunette, whose flesh was fit, despite being only a few shades warmer than my own. And finally, the smiling dark haired gent, who seemed as much thrilled to be dancing, as to be here or anywhere else.
"So you came, for them, or with them?"
"Both, in a fashion." I responded as I took a rather extended sip from my glass of stout. "Should they need me, I am here for them. Otherwise, I am merely here with them."
"Then why consign yourself to a booth, rather than be out on the floor with them?"
I restrained a chuckle "Because madame, I don't dance. I'm perfectly content to sit here, drink my Guinness, and read my book. Now, might I ask you a question?"
She smiled again, a look that served only to accent the exalted nature of her voice "You may."
"Why did you so choose to come and ask me about my presence here?"
She smiled and rose from the booth. "It's rare to see a man here. And it's even rarer to see one more intent upon a book, than the women around him."
This time, I did chuckle as I lifted my book "We all have our peculiarities miss, mine just so happens to be restraint. Would you rather I be fawning and panting over every woman that sees fit to walk by my table?"
"No, no I suppose not."
"I thought not. As it is, enjoy your time here, and have a good night there after."
"You too mister...?"
"James." I responded as I held out my hand.
"Angela." She said as she took mine in hers and we shook.
"Thank you Angela. I shall."
With that, she returned to the crowd with spawned her, and I to the words that kept me.
Nothin' like insomnia, oversleeping, and Chambers to truly convolute a man's thoughts. As it stands, I wonder inwardly why I chose to reference At the Mountains of Madness rather than The King in Yellow. Perhaps fair Carcosas vistas have yet to be opened to my minds waiting eye.
Night folks, hope you enjoyed this meandering excerpt of dementia, and hopefully I'll get some damn sleep.

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I agreed to post this, simple as that. [Jan. 14th, 2007|06:56 am]
Edward Mathis
1. Can you cook?
2. What would you do if you were stuck in an elevator?
3. What talent do you wish you had?
4. Favorite place?
5. Favorite vegetable?
6. What was the last book you read?
7. Are you Dirty or Clean?
8. Any Tattoos and/or Piercings?
9. Worst Habit?

1. How did we meet?
2. What's your philosophy on life?
3. Negative or Optimistic?
4. What was your dream growing up?
5. Worst thing to ever happen to you?
6. What was your first impression of me?
7. Tell me one weird fact about you:
8. Whats your favorite memory of us?
10. Have you ever kept anything from me?
11. What do you think of me as a Person?
12. Do you think I'm sane or insane?
13. Would you cry for me if I died?
14. Would you be my crime partner or my conscience?
15. If you could change anything about me, would you?
16. How do you fall asleep?
17. Ever gotten angry with me?
18. Would you go on a blind date if I set you up?
19. If you had one day to live, what would you do?
20. A million bucks.. what would you do with it?
21. What is your worst fear?
22. Favorite thing to do in your spare time?
23. Can you sing or dance?
24. In one word, how would you describe me? Be honest....
25. Will you repost this so I can fill it out?
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Sea of Shadows WW 06006 [Oct. 9th, 2006|07:42 pm]
Edward Mathis
[Current Location |Mom's]
[Passion: |Taxed]
[Keening: |Skill from SRW]

I'm sitting here, listening to music from Super Robot Wars, and it's the damnedest thing; I can feel hope. I do honestly feel taxed, like I've been pulled backwards through a woodchipper, but there's just somethin' about this track. Maybe I should make the point of listening to this when I'm feeling low, as Victory just heats my blood.
I don't really know what I should be putting here, suffice it to say I simply feel like I should. Maybe it's a faulted attempt at catharsis, I don't know.
As always, I'm starin' down the barrel of change, and I know the hammer's already been pulled back. Liz is movin' out in December, which leaves me in something of a bad position, but not entirely. I can, theoretically, take the apartment for myself and afford it, it'll just be expensive which means reevaluating my finances. I could always move in with Allan and them in January, but to be truthful, I hate Brown's Court. Give it a new name, a new coat of paint, and some security cameras, and it's still a place I don't want to live again. Houses in a fuckin' box, what a retarded concept. Plus, the rent's just too damned high.
Beyond the obvious living arrangement issues, there's the problem of regret. I regret alot of the stuff I've done to Liz over the years. I've hurt her so many different ways it's not funny, all for the state of malice. I personally can't accept the idea of someone loving me, and when I'm forced to face it, I try my damnedest to make them realize the error of their ways, including making myself into a greater monster than even I am. The arguement could be made that, if it really hurt her that much, she could've fought back or walked away, but that's bullshit and we all know it. Love is blind and stupid; loving a horror will get your eyes burst and your brain rent open. I've rationalized it, I've justified it, changed my own memories or candy-coated it so everything seems fine, but in the end, when all is said and done, I hurt Liz strictly because she loved me, and that makes me more of a bastard than any absent father could.
Now, I don't know if she loves me anymore, and as with all things, we're of at least two minds about it. On the one hand, if she does, than it means I haven't hurt her so deeply she won't love anyone ever again, which is good. But it also means she's still in love with me, which is bad. If she doesn't, it'll make the ending easier, but I'll know that it was a love I killed with my own hatred, and that's not right either. Blame it on that "good" ideal I try to abscribe to every now and again, but killing love is hardly something to brag about.
And yes, I do mean "ending," as I've been on this particular stage before. Sure, the set is slightly different and the musical cues are off, but the plot is basically the same: Liz'll move, and that's pretty much the last we'll see of each other. There'll be the occaisional chat online, or bumpin' into each other at a store or somethin', but that's about it.
As if to add another cut to this one, Sheila's dying. And not in that simple "she's old and fading." No, my kitty is coughing up yellow crap, she's barely eating, and she sleeps constantly. My inaction two years ago cost Max her life, as I should've found a better solution than having her put down. But now, now I can feel the reaper closing in, and he knows it too; she's gonna die very soon and there's not a damned thing I can do to stop it. Pisses me right off. I know it's the natural process of life, I also know I don't give a shit about my own death, but this isn't me, this is someone I care about. I've had Sheila since I was 9, and soon, all I'm gonna have are memories. Memories are bullshit anyway, as I can just change them as I see fit.
Beyond all that, work is ass. Same shitty job, same shitty hours, same shitty pay. Nightfall, PSU, and Marvel UA all come out within 3 days of each other, which is hell on my pay. The PS3 and Wii come out in November, and I simply won't have the cash. Also, I need to replace my compy, as it's 5 years old and cookin' in its own right. I need to start payin' off the university, I want to visit Rian and them at year end but I don't know if it'll happen.
All and all, I'm lookin' to the future only to see pure uncertainty, and I'm lookin' to the past only to find regret, and I wish I could say either was different from normal. Ah well, I'm feelin' tired still, think I'll listen to Skill again and see if I can't get some of that hope back.
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Scene 2 [Oct. 15th, 2005|06:38 pm]
Edward Mathis
“But avoid the edge of the map my son.” There came a violent hiss as the back tire spun in place.
“For here, there be dragons. Here there be dragons!” he bellowed as he took off at full speed.
“Fire! Fire! Fiiire!!!” came bellowing through the speakers as both weapons began spitting a withering hail of bullets. The pavement skipped and shattered as bullets smashed into it, while he curved the bike along the wall of the tunnel. As the front wheel spun slightly in the open air, a flare of light came from the rear exhaust and the bike launched out into the space between both AVs. It tore through the air like a razorblade through a curtain, leaving a faint ripple behind it as he pulled back hard on the handlebars. Spiraling end over end, the wheels impacted hard on the still firing weapons, which managed to find some purchase in his back, shredding the coat and armor he wore, leaving a wild bloody gash. Both weapons twisted hard inwards, their deadly payload shredding the underside of the AVs. As the spin drew to an end he landed on the other side of gulf and tore for a reinforced steel wall. Both AVs sputtered and floundered behind him before regaining enough control to give chase. As they came about, they noticed he was gone, without so much as a trace.
He glanced back once at the flickering hologram he’d driven through, as the actual steel wall slid into place. He rocketed down the nearly sheer drop, the tires barely touching the surface, with service lights guiding him. The grim look on his face began to color with rage, as the distant light in front of him began to shrink.
Grabbing his helmet, he slapped it on and forced the engine again, dragging the bike hard against the wall and down. “Slide the veil.” He said again, and again the screen displayed “Ether accessed.”
“Dragon, what’s the loop?” Heaven responded, her calm, business-like tone a direct contrast to the near berserk look plastered on his face.
“I don’t really care how tapped this node is supposed to be, who the hell authorized the second seal closure.”
“Someone who clearly does not value their existence.”
“Yeah, clearly.”
“Just a sec, I’ll find out.”
“Good stuff, ‘cause if that gate is up when I get to it, we’re gonna have a problem.”
“I’ve no doubt.”
A slight flicker of light played across her face and he could vaguely hear the other participant in that conversation.
“What do you mean, ‘you authorized it’? You don’t have that authority at all.”
The arrogant, narcissistic tone, which responded, left him no doubt that Fang was to blame.
“In a situation like this, I can’t sync in every little thing Heaven, and you know that.”
“Fang, that’s Dragon in that line, so undo the seal. Now.” Her tone was notably point and would not accept opposition.
“Or really? It’s Dragon is it? Well lah dee dah. He’s likely got half the cobalt devils on him right now. It’s better this way Heaven, trust me.”
That last sentence he heard, not through the helmet, but through his own ears.
“Heaven, tell him to start praying.”
“Because unless a god intercedes he’s gonna learn what it means to enrage a wyrm. Fadin’ through the veil.” He tore the helmet off and triggered the flare once more. The air bent around him as he sped for the shrinking opening, pure rage upon his face.
“Pray?” Fang repeated as he pushed down on the seal clasp once more. “What does he mean by-”
His question was cut off a massive detonation came echoing from the tunnel. He barely had time to see Dragon sailing through the air, hands out stretched, mouth open like some hungry carnivore, the bike, smashed and battered spinning over itself behind him, before the hands crunched on his head, and the knee struck him in the face. He flipped completely over and landed on his face, blood fanning out in the air before splashing down. Dazed, he barely had time to realize he’d been attacked when he was lifted by the back of his head.
“You almost got me killed you self-indulgent shit!” Dragon spit vitriole has he punched him hard in the face, the cheekbones giving slightly.
“Then you lied about the damage to line access. I cleared that tunnel easily.” Another vicious punch and teeth fell to the floor from his knuckles.
“And then you try to seal my lines to keep me out. My lines! Mine is narcissistic piss-ant!” Now a headbutt that deeply cracked Fang’s forehead.
“I built these tunnels! Give me one good reason I don’t you break into pieces and leave you for the worms.” His hand slid around and tightly gripped Fangs bloodied throat, squeezing tightly.
“I’ll give you one,” a calm voice cut through the bloodlust and hate which filled his vision, as a gentle hand closed on his shoulder and turned him about. Heaven stood there, the glow from spiritshift still playing about her, giving her an almost inhuman quality. “that’s merely the chemicals talking because that’s not who you are.”
As he looked at her, the red and black spots which peppered his eyes and skin bled away, and his grip slackened until finally Fang fell to the ground.
“I...I.. um… I need to get some rest.”
“You should probably go to the medical bay first.”
“Nah… nah that’s cool. The genetech’ll take care of that and it’s not like the bones are broken. I just need so sleep. It’s been a long day… so very… very… long.”
“Alright then.” She said, lightly stroking his back as he walked past her to the spiritshift. “Wake up when you do, I’ll make sure no one disturbs you.”
“Yeah, thanks.” He seemed barely conscious of either her words or his surroundings. It was as though all life and energy had been drained from him, and he was but a husk which walked upright.
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Agreed to do this via the point in #8. [Jun. 27th, 2005|01:10 pm]
Edward Mathis
1. Reply with your name and I will write something about you.
2. I will then tell you what song/movie/game reminds me of you.
3. If I were to apply an o'clock to you, it would be ...
4. I will try to name a single word that best describes you.
5. I'll tell you the most memorable moment I've had with you.
6. I will tell you what animal you remind me of.
7. I'll then tell you something that I've always wondered about you.
8. Put this in your journal.
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(no subject) [Mar. 4th, 2005|05:02 pm]
Edward Mathis
For once in a blue moon I'll actually do one of these things. Gotta love work related boredom and the fact I'm obligated to.
[01] Reply with your name and I will write something about you.
[02] I will then tell what song(s) remind me of you.
[03] Next, I will tell you who you remind me of, celebrity/animated or otherwise.
[04] Last, I will try to name a single word that best describes you.
[05] Put this in your journal
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