[open]
Who: Knuckle and whoever!
Where: Library
When: Night 004
What: Knuckle decides to make so that he knows he can't harm anyone again.
Warnings: Angst, self mutilation, possibly death.
After hours and hours of the content torment between being unsure of what was real and what wasn't Knuckle had finally cracked. How many times had he accidentally killed the images of Giotto, Lampo, Nina, Mary... innocent people that he cared for, only to discover it was just another hallucination. Then there was the ghost from his past constantly looming over him... playing on his guilt over and over.
In one of the fits of rage Knuckle had slammed his fist into the wall, and without the power of his ring enhancing the strength of his punches- there was a crack. He stumbled back to look at his hand wincing at the sudden pain that shot up his arm. A large black bruise covered the knuckles of his first three fingers, that now jutted at strange angles. Then it dawned on him. This was the answer. The was the way he could finally ensure that he wouldn't harm anyone else. He took a deep breath and once again slammed his fist against the wall, biting back a yelp as there was another crack. He continues until both hand were shattered and bleeding- but his arms... he could still throw a punch like this. With a few more hits against the corner of a bookshelf the priest's forearms looked much like his hands. Black, blue and broken. Luckily his sleeves concealed most of the damage.
He now just sat on the couch, utterly exhausted, his mangled broken arms resting on his lap. He had his eyes closed and was muttering a pair silently to himself. He was at peace for the first time in what felt like years. He could harm no one like this. He would gladly take all the pain for that simple relief.
Where: Library
When: Night 004
What: Knuckle decides to make so that he knows he can't harm anyone again.
Warnings: Angst, self mutilation, possibly death.
After hours and hours of the content torment between being unsure of what was real and what wasn't Knuckle had finally cracked. How many times had he accidentally killed the images of Giotto, Lampo, Nina, Mary... innocent people that he cared for, only to discover it was just another hallucination. Then there was the ghost from his past constantly looming over him... playing on his guilt over and over.
In one of the fits of rage Knuckle had slammed his fist into the wall, and without the power of his ring enhancing the strength of his punches- there was a crack. He stumbled back to look at his hand wincing at the sudden pain that shot up his arm. A large black bruise covered the knuckles of his first three fingers, that now jutted at strange angles. Then it dawned on him. This was the answer. The was the way he could finally ensure that he wouldn't harm anyone else. He took a deep breath and once again slammed his fist against the wall, biting back a yelp as there was another crack. He continues until both hand were shattered and bleeding- but his arms... he could still throw a punch like this. With a few more hits against the corner of a bookshelf the priest's forearms looked much like his hands. Black, blue and broken. Luckily his sleeves concealed most of the damage.
He now just sat on the couch, utterly exhausted, his mangled broken arms resting on his lap. He had his eyes closed and was muttering a pair silently to himself. He was at peace for the first time in what felt like years. He could harm no one like this. He would gladly take all the pain for that simple relief.