Night 48: Chapel
[Running in screaming from here]
The first desperate step out of that nightmare and into the chapel turned into clumsy trip, forcing the normally graceful assassin to hit the floor hard. It was easy enough to say he would be fine- that he was fine-, but the loud crunch reverberating through the empty chapel said...
"Shit..." He normally didn't swear (swearing meant being emotionally incapable of handling stress any other way and he dealt with stress every day. He could handle it fine, damn it), but it slipped out none the less, fingers digging through the pillowcase for the broken shards of plastic that used to be a syringe or two. In the very least, the needles stayed safe in their glass container.
...It didn't take long for his attention to turn upward, though. The fountain... It looked like Edward's source wasn't lying. On the one hand, that meant Edward would be able to complete his objectives without having to lose control of himself. On the other hand was the pounding in the assassin's head and the sickness from earlier threatening to come up again. Venom had no idea whether to be thankful or track said source down and make their life pain for informing the vampire of its existence, but he wasn't going to have made his way here to lose sight of the mission now.
He tried to breathe, to calm himself down, as he watched the blood slowly fill up the empty containers, but somehow he managed to be too shaky for even proper meditation. This was pathetic... This was pathetic! He didn't know if it was his frayed nerves, actual amusement, or a combination of both that caused a short bout of disturbed laughter to leave his throat, but it didn't exactly matter, did it? His eyes glazed over, hands mindlessly filling out the task and blissfully ignoring the blood now staining his gloves.
It was better than getting sick.
Once the job was over and the now-filled containers were back inside the pillowcase, the only thing left was to ensure the bottles' safe keeping. He didn't want to go back out there, but there were a lot of things he didn't want to do. The fear, the disgust; all of it was pushed back in favor of boiling rage. Whatever was out there was not going to beat him. He wasn't going to let it.
[Aaaand going back here.]
The first desperate step out of that nightmare and into the chapel turned into clumsy trip, forcing the normally graceful assassin to hit the floor hard. It was easy enough to say he would be fine- that he was fine-, but the loud crunch reverberating through the empty chapel said...
"Shit..." He normally didn't swear (swearing meant being emotionally incapable of handling stress any other way and he dealt with stress every day. He could handle it fine, damn it), but it slipped out none the less, fingers digging through the pillowcase for the broken shards of plastic that used to be a syringe or two. In the very least, the needles stayed safe in their glass container.
...It didn't take long for his attention to turn upward, though. The fountain... It looked like Edward's source wasn't lying. On the one hand, that meant Edward would be able to complete his objectives without having to lose control of himself. On the other hand was the pounding in the assassin's head and the sickness from earlier threatening to come up again. Venom had no idea whether to be thankful or track said source down and make their life pain for informing the vampire of its existence, but he wasn't going to have made his way here to lose sight of the mission now.
He tried to breathe, to calm himself down, as he watched the blood slowly fill up the empty containers, but somehow he managed to be too shaky for even proper meditation. This was pathetic... This was pathetic! He didn't know if it was his frayed nerves, actual amusement, or a combination of both that caused a short bout of disturbed laughter to leave his throat, but it didn't exactly matter, did it? His eyes glazed over, hands mindlessly filling out the task and blissfully ignoring the blood now staining his gloves.
It was better than getting sick.
Once the job was over and the now-filled containers were back inside the pillowcase, the only thing left was to ensure the bottles' safe keeping. He didn't want to go back out there, but there were a lot of things he didn't want to do. The fear, the disgust; all of it was pushed back in favor of boiling rage. Whatever was out there was not going to beat him. He wasn't going to let it.
[Aaaand going back here.]