[ftm] 9.3 - transformation
[private]
The name was ‘soldier’ when I was small. My pops was our general, and we were his little army in boot camp, getting ready for the day when we’d be called to the front to fight. We were eager, we were fucking ready.
I wanted to be there to make Pops proud. It killed me every day that I could never breathe or plow through the pain to take up my sword. I couldn’t even walk to school without keeling over. Pops never faulted me, but I saw the shame in his eyes. His namesake was a failure, a mistake.
When I got older, the name became ‘Hunter.’ I saw the light and learned the truth, understood just what my dad had turned me into. It made a mercenary out of me as I pulled myself out of illness and back into the world. I was learning a new set of rules and it was helping me.
But I still wanted to make my pops proud…so the heads started rolling.
I took the name ‘Watcher’ when the blood stopped running, but the last change didn’t come until later. It started then, when I let my own father die in front of me. I sheathed the blade, but I didn’t lay it down…I stood in the shadows, but I was just waiting to shed my skin for the last time. I see that now.
What I am, what I’ve become…it became perfectly clear to me last night when I was in the shower washing the blood off my hands and the pain out of my joints and muscles. It came to me when I rolled my shoulders and flexed my fingers just to feel the strength and ease of movement in them. When I stepped out into the moist, warm bathroom and wrapped a towel around my waist, walked to the mirror and wiped away the condensation I saw my true face right then.
Calm eyes full of blood and hate, a body built by violence and pain.
My name is ‘killer’ now…and the horror of it is that I can live with that.
[/private]
Muse: Mays Ryder
Fandom: Highlander (OC)
Words: 355
The name was ‘soldier’ when I was small. My pops was our general, and we were his little army in boot camp, getting ready for the day when we’d be called to the front to fight. We were eager, we were fucking ready.
I wanted to be there to make Pops proud. It killed me every day that I could never breathe or plow through the pain to take up my sword. I couldn’t even walk to school without keeling over. Pops never faulted me, but I saw the shame in his eyes. His namesake was a failure, a mistake.
When I got older, the name became ‘Hunter.’ I saw the light and learned the truth, understood just what my dad had turned me into. It made a mercenary out of me as I pulled myself out of illness and back into the world. I was learning a new set of rules and it was helping me.
But I still wanted to make my pops proud…so the heads started rolling.
I took the name ‘Watcher’ when the blood stopped running, but the last change didn’t come until later. It started then, when I let my own father die in front of me. I sheathed the blade, but I didn’t lay it down…I stood in the shadows, but I was just waiting to shed my skin for the last time. I see that now.
What I am, what I’ve become…it became perfectly clear to me last night when I was in the shower washing the blood off my hands and the pain out of my joints and muscles. It came to me when I rolled my shoulders and flexed my fingers just to feel the strength and ease of movement in them. When I stepped out into the moist, warm bathroom and wrapped a towel around my waist, walked to the mirror and wiped away the condensation I saw my true face right then.
Calm eyes full of blood and hate, a body built by violence and pain.
My name is ‘killer’ now…and the horror of it is that I can live with that.
[/private]
Muse: Mays Ryder
Fandom: Highlander (OC)
Words: 355