rampage WITHOUT reason
Who: Namae [ feverhound ] & OPEN
What: Smashing shit up.
Where: An empty building a short distance away from the fountain.
When: Early evening.
Listen hard, look towards the streets, and what heralds a bystander is this: the glimmer of glass shards on the streets, strewn in a beautiful mess, peppered with a haphazard collection of trash that cast harsh shadows across the pavement. A moment of silence, before there was a vicious snarl from within the empty building -- and half a table came flying out the remaining unbroken window. The crash of glass shattering, then the clatter-thump as the broken furniture hit the ground and skidded for a foot before coming to a creaking halt.
Inside the house, the remaining half of the table sagged into the ground, lacking the balance to support itself -- like half of the furnishings now were. Carpeting torn up, anything glass or ceramic lying in fragments on the floor, and all windows broken -- a veritable mess. And its perpetrator -- making his way from room to room, destroying everything in sight with a reckless sort of temper, the swing of heavy lead-pipe quick to break through whatever was in the way.
And the reason for it?
Absolutely nothing.
There was a soft growl, heralding a hoarse laugh as Namae left a jagged tear in the plaster of the nearest wall with a well-placed swing of the pipe -- the backswing shattered a nearby chair and sent one of its legs skittering out the empty frame of the window and sliding across the pavement outside. Quite a show for whoever was passing by -- and maybe that's what he wanted.
This place, this silence, this fucking city filled with nothing but happy-go-lucky people -- this hull of a dystopia without order, without establishment, without an enemy. It was an odd thing, to be suddenly devoid of a goal -- he'd spent so much of the past few years of his life obsessing over destroying just one entity that he was almost lost without it. (That missing arm of his was a constant reminder. Kill them. Kill every fucking one of them.) -- just the thought, just that realization, it sent him back into a rage, and he gave a snarl, demolishing a standing lamp with the spectacular crash of glass and steel.
Destruction and rage -- it was all that he was good for, really. And without his usual target, he ran rampant -- searching for nothing and finding everything.
What: Smashing shit up.
Where: An empty building a short distance away from the fountain.
When: Early evening.
Listen hard, look towards the streets, and what heralds a bystander is this: the glimmer of glass shards on the streets, strewn in a beautiful mess, peppered with a haphazard collection of trash that cast harsh shadows across the pavement. A moment of silence, before there was a vicious snarl from within the empty building -- and half a table came flying out the remaining unbroken window. The crash of glass shattering, then the clatter-thump as the broken furniture hit the ground and skidded for a foot before coming to a creaking halt.
Inside the house, the remaining half of the table sagged into the ground, lacking the balance to support itself -- like half of the furnishings now were. Carpeting torn up, anything glass or ceramic lying in fragments on the floor, and all windows broken -- a veritable mess. And its perpetrator -- making his way from room to room, destroying everything in sight with a reckless sort of temper, the swing of heavy lead-pipe quick to break through whatever was in the way.
And the reason for it?
Absolutely nothing.
There was a soft growl, heralding a hoarse laugh as Namae left a jagged tear in the plaster of the nearest wall with a well-placed swing of the pipe -- the backswing shattered a nearby chair and sent one of its legs skittering out the empty frame of the window and sliding across the pavement outside. Quite a show for whoever was passing by -- and maybe that's what he wanted.
This place, this silence, this fucking city filled with nothing but happy-go-lucky people -- this hull of a dystopia without order, without establishment, without an enemy. It was an odd thing, to be suddenly devoid of a goal -- he'd spent so much of the past few years of his life obsessing over destroying just one entity that he was almost lost without it. (That missing arm of his was a constant reminder. Kill them. Kill every fucking one of them.) -- just the thought, just that realization, it sent him back into a rage, and he gave a snarl, demolishing a standing lamp with the spectacular crash of glass and steel.
Destruction and rage -- it was all that he was good for, really. And without his usual target, he ran rampant -- searching for nothing and finding everything.