| closed / incomplete |
CHARACTERS: Death (nonespared), Famine (eatasam), Pestilence (yourbane) & War (valoured)
DATE/TIME: Friday, around 3pm
LOCATION: New York Presbyterian Hospital
RATING: R
WARNINGS: Horsemen, which means violence and swearing.
SUMMARY: Finally all back together, it's time for a group meeting.
The Black Horseman hadn't said much in days.
Words were hardly spared for the nurses, who would pop into the room to check on him every half hour. Being on suicide watch meant that his room had been stripped of all potential weapons, and that privacy was no longer privacy. The time that Famine was allowed was quiet and devoid of thought. Had the equipment been taken away, he might've thought he'd been locked away inside of a mental hospital.
And that seemed to be the path he was already steadily heading along.
What had broken him wasn't just the snuffing of his life. That was another issue on its own. It was the true awakening of the Horseman inside, the chaos bringer, one of four released onto the world to deprive it of life. He'd felt safe then. Right. Every fire set, every window smashed -- all of it was what he was meant to do. But the need to burn had remained even following death.
Seeing New York in its natural state had been unsettling, and so there had been that continuous desire to set it alight. And as the weeks went on, Famine's mental, and well as physical, health had begun to decline. The need to burn turned into a need to see all things go up in flames. That hollow feeling inside was treated with self-inflicted burns, from lighter and cigarettes alike, and not once had it given him peace.
He felt like a discarded toy, ripped at the seams with all the buttons hanging from a thread.
Famine had felt indescribably hollow as he'd sunk that knife into the wound that once killed him. Logic and all rational thought had been left outside that bathroom door, and when it had finally been forced open, the steady drip of the blood off his fingers onto the floor interrupted, he was sure his siblings had felt the same way. Very little had been said to them over the week. No explanations, no excuses.
No apologies.
Propped up in the bed with his legs tucked under him and feeling emptier than he had in months, the slender Horseman vaguely began to wonder if he'd just die of boredom before ever leaving his hospital room.
DATE/TIME: Friday, around 3pm
LOCATION: New York Presbyterian Hospital
RATING: R
WARNINGS: Horsemen, which means violence and swearing.
SUMMARY: Finally all back together, it's time for a group meeting.
The Black Horseman hadn't said much in days.
Words were hardly spared for the nurses, who would pop into the room to check on him every half hour. Being on suicide watch meant that his room had been stripped of all potential weapons, and that privacy was no longer privacy. The time that Famine was allowed was quiet and devoid of thought. Had the equipment been taken away, he might've thought he'd been locked away inside of a mental hospital.
And that seemed to be the path he was already steadily heading along.
What had broken him wasn't just the snuffing of his life. That was another issue on its own. It was the true awakening of the Horseman inside, the chaos bringer, one of four released onto the world to deprive it of life. He'd felt safe then. Right. Every fire set, every window smashed -- all of it was what he was meant to do. But the need to burn had remained even following death.
Seeing New York in its natural state had been unsettling, and so there had been that continuous desire to set it alight. And as the weeks went on, Famine's mental, and well as physical, health had begun to decline. The need to burn turned into a need to see all things go up in flames. That hollow feeling inside was treated with self-inflicted burns, from lighter and cigarettes alike, and not once had it given him peace.
He felt like a discarded toy, ripped at the seams with all the buttons hanging from a thread.
Famine had felt indescribably hollow as he'd sunk that knife into the wound that once killed him. Logic and all rational thought had been left outside that bathroom door, and when it had finally been forced open, the steady drip of the blood off his fingers onto the floor interrupted, he was sure his siblings had felt the same way. Very little had been said to them over the week. No explanations, no excuses.
No apologies.
Propped up in the bed with his legs tucked under him and feeling emptier than he had in months, the slender Horseman vaguely began to wonder if he'd just die of boredom before ever leaving his hospital room.