(no subject)
Who: Genkaku [ thanatolatry ] & Namae [ feverhound ]
What: Heads, it's the start of an alliance of madmen. Tails, it's a one-on-one bloodbath in the making. We'll see how the coin lands.
Where: Backalleys streets, in the quieter district of Nuadoria.
When: Early evening.
Glass has a very distinctive and rather pretty noise it makes when it shatters -- sort of an impromptu solo to light the air. Namae enjoyed that noise that tore through the silence when he smashed the windowpane to bits with the end of his lead pipe, letting the broken glass rain down to the floor and kicking in the remaining fragments with his boot, before climbing through the now-empty frame and sliding into the empty house. Full of dusty furniture, a nice collection of porcelain in the back shelf, some fragile decorations standing in the corner. Bouncing his lead pipe on his shoulder, Namae grinned as he surveyed the interior of the house. It was rather lovely, really.
And he started with the coffee-table to his right -- swinging his pipe in a sharp downward arc, breaking clean through its center, splitting the thing in two. The burn scars and gunshot wounds and half-healed lacerations across his chest and back and shoulders and side stretched, the new skin tingling with every movement, but it was a nice sort of feeling -- a sign that he was getting back in top condition, with his injuries slowly fading into scars. And Namae grinmed, kicking the shattered coffee table out the empty window pane and starting on a bookshelf, demolishing it with almost methodical precision, smashing through the wood until it's reduced to a pile of firewood.
Destruction. There was something rather cathartic about breaking things, and by the time he got started on the shelf of ceramic jars in the corner, the crashing-shatter of glass and porcelain playing an impromptu melody in the air, he was almost in a good mood.
What: Heads, it's the start of an alliance of madmen. Tails, it's a one-on-one bloodbath in the making. We'll see how the coin lands.
Where: Backalleys streets, in the quieter district of Nuadoria.
When: Early evening.
Glass has a very distinctive and rather pretty noise it makes when it shatters -- sort of an impromptu solo to light the air. Namae enjoyed that noise that tore through the silence when he smashed the windowpane to bits with the end of his lead pipe, letting the broken glass rain down to the floor and kicking in the remaining fragments with his boot, before climbing through the now-empty frame and sliding into the empty house. Full of dusty furniture, a nice collection of porcelain in the back shelf, some fragile decorations standing in the corner. Bouncing his lead pipe on his shoulder, Namae grinned as he surveyed the interior of the house. It was rather lovely, really.
And he started with the coffee-table to his right -- swinging his pipe in a sharp downward arc, breaking clean through its center, splitting the thing in two. The burn scars and gunshot wounds and half-healed lacerations across his chest and back and shoulders and side stretched, the new skin tingling with every movement, but it was a nice sort of feeling -- a sign that he was getting back in top condition, with his injuries slowly fading into scars. And Namae grinmed, kicking the shattered coffee table out the empty window pane and starting on a bookshelf, demolishing it with almost methodical precision, smashing through the wood until it's reduced to a pile of firewood.
Destruction. There was something rather cathartic about breaking things, and by the time he got started on the shelf of ceramic jars in the corner, the crashing-shatter of glass and porcelain playing an impromptu melody in the air, he was almost in a good mood.