Written (Hylian/Common), Open Commentlog [Backdated to Tuesday night]
[It's a very, VERY poorly written post, and the contents may give away why.]
simba is dead.//
i cnan't movet him on my own. i need help.,
[And he will proceed to sit and wait beside the less than beautiful corpse, staring at the wall ahead where there's nothing bloody and horrible to see. He's not going to move for a long time.
Even though he can't really bring himself to believe that anyone will show up, he just doesn't want to leave him there. It's not right. It's the only thing he can do, because he wasn't there when Simba actually needed more than just a nicer place to be dead besides an abandoned hallway covered in gore.
He wonders dimly if Simba cried for somebody to help him, while he was lounging on his bed and trying to sleep on an empty stomach an hour ago. How could he have been worrying about food? The idea of it sickens him. He's not a hero at all here; what has he done to help anyone besides the enemy? He's totally useless like this, stripped of weapons and any sense of knowing how to protect at least the people that he's grown to love.
So he waits, with his knees hugged to his chest. He tries as hard as he can not to be too loud, in fear that whatever did this might some back again, as he gives in to weakness and begins to cry.]
simba is dead.//
i cnan't movet him on my own. i need help.,
[And he will proceed to sit and wait beside the less than beautiful corpse, staring at the wall ahead where there's nothing bloody and horrible to see. He's not going to move for a long time.
Even though he can't really bring himself to believe that anyone will show up, he just doesn't want to leave him there. It's not right. It's the only thing he can do, because he wasn't there when Simba actually needed more than just a nicer place to be dead besides an abandoned hallway covered in gore.
He wonders dimly if Simba cried for somebody to help him, while he was lounging on his bed and trying to sleep on an empty stomach an hour ago. How could he have been worrying about food? The idea of it sickens him. He's not a hero at all here; what has he done to help anyone besides the enemy? He's totally useless like this, stripped of weapons and any sense of knowing how to protect at least the people that he's grown to love.
So he waits, with his knees hugged to his chest. He tries as hard as he can not to be too loud, in fear that whatever did this might some back again, as he gives in to weakness and begins to cry.]