(no subject)
After meeting the Royal Wizard to the King of Ingary Harry finishes off his bottle of bourbon and another after that. The walk up to his room is long and uncertain, and his feet are finding the steps hard to navigate. He manages to trudge his way up as if the bar itself wasn't even there. The pounding of his feet drowns out the anemic pulse of his over-taxed heart, and gives cadence to the marching band of images parading through his skull.
The first brings him to attention, quickening his pace up the steps. His fiance, Sherry, in that pink satin negligee sitting on the bed, her eyes fixed on him. Her lips move but there is no sound, just a suggestion that sends a message right where it belongs.
Thud thud thud thud...
Brandon ruins the moment by walking in the room and Sherry is gone altogether. Brandon pulls his pistols and fires both at Harry before he can react. Little white flags with the word 'BANG!' on them come out.
Thud thud thud...
His steps are heavy and loud in his ears still buzzing from the countless conversations in bar. Little bees dipping in ears and vibrating until the membranes break and bleed down his face. No need to sting the damage is done by listening alone. Brandon is gone his silent laughter lost in the flow of bourbon.
Thud, thud.
Vincent Valentine spins, his movements a blur of red and gold. His hand cannon rests calmly in its holster, its voice a silent echo. Wordlessly, Valentine disappears leaving in his wake Harry bleeding from two massive wounds in his chest.
Bam.
The steps seem higher and harder to get his feet over, so he takes a short break. His upper body doesn't listen to the halt order though and his view of the step gets up close and personal.
Brandon's right eye looks right through him. Why not the left?
Because your gun is in it
The ceiling is made of wood. So are the steps. So is the ceiling. There is a crunch and loud thud as the left side of Harry's face and left elbow slam into the wall on the landing below. His heart is beating so fast it threatens to just give up. His breath sounds like and old lady sucking tapioca through a straw. There is a brown stain of blood in the shape of a dove on his suit jacket. His left eye is swollen shut and feeling like someone is punching him over and over. A wave of nausea cannot be suppressed and he lurches forward. He tries to steady himself with his left hand but it doesn't respond at all. Blood and vomit spurt out of Harry's nose and mouth followed by his pictures and cigarettes and a white sheet and a bullet and Sherry's face...
Harry can see the hazy form of a rat from the edge of the table, trying to pry the cup out his hand.
When it notices Harry is awake it scurries off. leaving him to face the awful crick in his neck, the bruise on his face from where it hit the table, and the screaming klaxon in his skull from the bourbon. He relinquishes the cup and calls the skittish creature over. His voice is hoarse and breath no doubt pungent.
"A shot of bourbon, a glass of milk, steak and eggs, matches and another pack of smokes. Please."
He slowly raises his body from its semi-recumbent posture and smiles into the room, aware his state of disheveled is probably at a whole new level. He is smiling though, and broadly at that.
The first brings him to attention, quickening his pace up the steps. His fiance, Sherry, in that pink satin negligee sitting on the bed, her eyes fixed on him. Her lips move but there is no sound, just a suggestion that sends a message right where it belongs.
Thud thud thud thud...
Brandon ruins the moment by walking in the room and Sherry is gone altogether. Brandon pulls his pistols and fires both at Harry before he can react. Little white flags with the word 'BANG!' on them come out.
Thud thud thud...
His steps are heavy and loud in his ears still buzzing from the countless conversations in bar. Little bees dipping in ears and vibrating until the membranes break and bleed down his face. No need to sting the damage is done by listening alone. Brandon is gone his silent laughter lost in the flow of bourbon.
Thud, thud.
Vincent Valentine spins, his movements a blur of red and gold. His hand cannon rests calmly in its holster, its voice a silent echo. Wordlessly, Valentine disappears leaving in his wake Harry bleeding from two massive wounds in his chest.
Bam.
The steps seem higher and harder to get his feet over, so he takes a short break. His upper body doesn't listen to the halt order though and his view of the step gets up close and personal.
Brandon's right eye looks right through him. Why not the left?
Because your gun is in it
The ceiling is made of wood. So are the steps. So is the ceiling. There is a crunch and loud thud as the left side of Harry's face and left elbow slam into the wall on the landing below. His heart is beating so fast it threatens to just give up. His breath sounds like and old lady sucking tapioca through a straw. There is a brown stain of blood in the shape of a dove on his suit jacket. His left eye is swollen shut and feeling like someone is punching him over and over. A wave of nausea cannot be suppressed and he lurches forward. He tries to steady himself with his left hand but it doesn't respond at all. Blood and vomit spurt out of Harry's nose and mouth followed by his pictures and cigarettes and a white sheet and a bullet and Sherry's face...
Harry can see the hazy form of a rat from the edge of the table, trying to pry the cup out his hand.
When it notices Harry is awake it scurries off. leaving him to face the awful crick in his neck, the bruise on his face from where it hit the table, and the screaming klaxon in his skull from the bourbon. He relinquishes the cup and calls the skittish creature over. His voice is hoarse and breath no doubt pungent.
"A shot of bourbon, a glass of milk, steak and eggs, matches and another pack of smokes. Please."
He slowly raises his body from its semi-recumbent posture and smiles into the room, aware his state of disheveled is probably at a whole new level. He is smiling though, and broadly at that.