25. The few, the proud, the Mayfieldians
[Oh, sure, Tybalt notices the smell this morning. At breakfast the drone daughter that was once Haruhi, who has been eerily metamorphosing into Mayfield's idea of a perfect teenage girl- her hair has recently become long enough to put in irritating curls- asked him if he had any interest in increasing her allowance.
Normally, Tybalt would have just vaguely grunted and ignored her, but today the answer slipped out automatically:
"No. You're not real."
Normally not the quickest on the uptake, the sheer abnormality of his even speaking to her as if compelled, combined with the smell, is enough to make him realize that they are fucking with his head again.
Already.
Still.
Continued.
He's also noticed that his two immediate superiors in the army have been droned, Olivier and Prussia both.
This is it.
Tybalt has always been the consummate follower, with all the loyalty of a trained attack dog (and with his teeth bared about as frequently. First it was his uncle, then his superiors in the Mayfield militia. If he lead, it was only ever his little pack of servants and hangers-on, men he endured because they occasionally provided decent backup in a brawl. But this time...
Well, this is it. He's had it. They take your leaders away, you have to learn to lead yourself. Fuck Mayfield, fuck them for getting in his and everybody else's heads, fuck Lucy or Zemeckis or whoever, he doesn't care who it is anymore. Whoever it is, he refuses to be their- no, everyone's Goddamned eternal victim anymore.]
[Phone]
If anyone can hear this, I think they're already getting in our minds again.
If there's anyone else who's as- as sick of this as I am-
The park. Tomorrow morning. We're training. Anyone who gives a damn had better show up and prepare to go to bed aching without complaint.
[OOC: Level One. Probably only letting him get to Level Two because frankly I'm tired of him turning into a pile of head-grabbing GAH, etc during events too, haha.]
Normally, Tybalt would have just vaguely grunted and ignored her, but today the answer slipped out automatically:
"No. You're not real."
Normally not the quickest on the uptake, the sheer abnormality of his even speaking to her as if compelled, combined with the smell, is enough to make him realize that they are fucking with his head again.
Already.
Still.
Continued.
He's also noticed that his two immediate superiors in the army have been droned, Olivier and Prussia both.
This is it.
Tybalt has always been the consummate follower, with all the loyalty of a trained attack dog (and with his teeth bared about as frequently. First it was his uncle, then his superiors in the Mayfield militia. If he lead, it was only ever his little pack of servants and hangers-on, men he endured because they occasionally provided decent backup in a brawl. But this time...
Well, this is it. He's had it. They take your leaders away, you have to learn to lead yourself. Fuck Mayfield, fuck them for getting in his and everybody else's heads, fuck Lucy or Zemeckis or whoever, he doesn't care who it is anymore. Whoever it is, he refuses to be their- no, everyone's Goddamned eternal victim anymore.]
[Phone]
If anyone can hear this, I think they're already getting in our minds again.
If there's anyone else who's as- as sick of this as I am-
The park. Tomorrow morning. We're training. Anyone who gives a damn had better show up and prepare to go to bed aching without complaint.
[OOC: Level One. Probably only letting him get to Level Two because frankly I'm tired of him turning into a pile of head-grabbing GAH, etc during events too, haha.]