Post by Swith on Jan 31, 2017 19:04:59 GMT -4
NOMINATION 2: Futility
Nominated by: Cerillium
Notes by Cerillium: "Marcus has lived in the setting most of his life. He clings to whatever normalcy he can find. In one fell swoop, Fate slaughtered his girlfriend, stole away his biological parents, crushed the hearts of his friends thus leaving no one to comfort him, and flayed his soul raw. Normally composed and thoughtful, the young "techpriest" teeters on the brink of insanity."
You ask me to talk about something that's important to me, and then you tack on that you don't have time to listen, and I'm stuck doing shit on my own alone. The hell, man? Do you know what's important to me? My Giovenith. Remember her? The godling with the prismatic hair and a laugh so silvery that angels smile every time it touches heaven? Yeah, that godling. She's gone. I'm alone. Fuck you all.
The coffee cup splintered into cheap porcelain shards as it slammed against the wall. The sound was somewhat pleasing to Marcus, but this dance had been going on most of the night. The young priest lifted his head to take in his dismantled apartment. Books were strewn everywhere, most of them missing their pages. The loose sheaves were snow that blanketed the floor and the cushions on Naomi's old couch. He tore them because they were paper, and because paper reminded him of her.
I tore them because I have no other means to lash out. I have nothing. I want to feel nothing. A swipe of his mechanical arm sent the coffee canister flying. It spewed grounds across the carpet to mark its path. He didn't care.
Paper rustled in protest as his boots carried him around the counter and into the kitchen, though he wasn't in any mood to eat. He was simply going through the motions, from bedroom to kitchen and back again, in the futile attempt to recapture some normalcy. But there wasn't any. There isn't any fucking normalcy in my fucking life. Fuck this!
The air whistled around exposed joints as his cybernetic fist connected with the wall. He tore it away, taking drywall with it, and stared into the hole. This Building took her from me. This piece of shit place in the middle of Buttfuckery Nowhere. I hate it as surely as I hate my own existence. He retracted his fist and struck again, and new holes joined the ones made yesterday and the day before.
Marcus sighed as he cast his eyes downwards and caught sight of the plaster dust on his boots. He'd spent all morning polishing them up only to once again coat them. He had no one to blame, of course. He did it. It was his hand that drove holes through Naomi's apple-festooned wallpaper.
"I'm sorry, Mama," he breathed but regretted speaking the words a heartbeat after. She had been a mother to him, true, but his birth mother... was gone. Fucking gone, just like that, and with his birth father in tow. And frankly, his birth father seemed a fuckton more nice than his foster father, Thaddeus.
Thinking of the old cyborg caused even more regret. He'd treated the old man like shit for so many years. He balked at the man's suggestions. He threw fits when told he wasn't allowed to do something. Marcus honestly didn't know why Thaddeus put up with him, though he had always assumed it was because he was the old man's flesh and blood. Somehow the knowledge that the man raised him out of unrequited love for his birth mother made things all the more depressing. Guilt wrapped itself around his heart once more. Deflated, with shoulders slowly drooping to match the burdens pressing his spirit into the dirt, Marcus could only stare at the hole.
The hot sting of salty tears brought him a newfound sense of loss. His step mother, his natural parents, and his girlfriend... his beautiful goddess with her funny outfit and vibrant hair, and a smile that took his breath away... gone. All gone. Forever, perhaps. At least, Giovenith was probably forever. If Klaus hadn't survived that blast, there was no fucking way in hell that she had. Klaus was an experienced god. Hell, if life were a role play then Klaus was the Gary Stu son of a bitch that always turned up unscathed due to being so mother fucking overpowered. But this wasn't a game. This was real, and that reality gnawed on what was left of his decrepit spirit.
He hiked a leg and kicked out, flipping the table and all his creations to the tiles. They weren't for him anyway. He'd been working on them for her. But why bother now? He doubted she even got the last one, the tiny candle with its intricate mechanisms. He'd left it hanging in gift bag on her apartment doorknob, but that was right before all fucking hell broke loose. He'd forgotten to ask her if she even liked it.
Organic fingertips swept through disheveled hair. It had grown out a bit, but Naomi wasn't around to trim it into a priest's customary buzz cut. He refused to seek her out. She was probably busy comforting Minerva. And he? He hadn't even bothered to seek his own reflection in the mirror for several days. All he saw reflected back at him was the traitor fool that hesitated instead of following Giovenith onto the hospital floor. He could have refused to ferry shit up the stairs for Thaddeus. Maybe if he had... maybe he would have died, too, but his death would have been his last labor of love. He would have shielded her from as much of the blast as he could. Let his body flame into ash, if it meant one last embrace.
"Omnissiah! Way'd you take my Giovenith?" The hand trembled as he lowered it, and then the fist balled. The wall was spared, however. He'd bled the last of his anger from his system and only apathy remained. "I'm so sorry, Giovenith. I'm so sorry. If you can hear me, I'm so sorry."
Did dead gods hear murmured prayers? Probably not. Dead is dead, and permadeath was the bitch whore that throttled every man's fantasy of bright futures filled with laughing wives, silly children, and a happy retirement. "We were gonna sit in that room. The tent lied. It lied, Giovenith. And all your dragons..."
The memory of the vision drew a staggered breath from him.
He had to get out for a while. He had to step away from the chaos inside the apartment. But where to go? He began to pace, unknowingly acting out a trait so habitual for his birth father during times of crisis. His first inclination was to seek Professor Bela out. He didn't know why other than perhaps the man, being a healer, could balm his heart for a bit. But the Prof was undoubtedly busy. He had a wife, and a purpose, and thus all the things that Marcus now coveted. Thaddeus was out of the question. The man's response to every pain was to bury himself in more work. Keep busy. Don't think about shit.
"Tora, where are you?" But she was absent from the halls these days. She was probably grieving as well. Marcus would respect that. He had to. She didn't need his burden on top of her own.
A soft scuffling at the front door drew him from his sad thoughts. He brushed the drywall dust from his robes and mustered his resolve. It was probably a cultist, or maybe Kale. Fuck, he wasn't in the mood for crazy antics or silly plant girls.
The door cracked open to reveal the one creature he hadn't expected to find - Turtleboss. The oversized waterbear gurgled as it waddled forward. And then it extended its mouth parts and chomped down on his leg.
"Fuck! You bastard!"
Though it was impossible for the waterbear to actually bite through the metal casing, it set off the sensors meshed with his nerves and registered as pain nonetheless. The waterbear lurched and bit the opposite leg, then squatted to tinkle a puddle on the doormat.
"Turtleboss, you shithead!" Resolved to stomp the thing into oblivion even though it was his dead girlfriend's pet, he stormed into the hall.
Turtleboss beat a hasty retreat to the far end of the hall. Fat legs and sharp claws splayed. He growled in challenge, and Marcus responded with an angry scream. "I'll fucking kick you into oblivion, you bastard!"
The waterbear growled again and then, not wanting to be at the receiving end of the priest's wrath, skittered towards the stairs and took flight. For a waterbear, he moved like the wind. Marcus slammed his apartment door with enough force to knock a picture off the wall inside the apartment, then tore after him.
He remained oblivious to the angry shouts from Residents and the pair raced down halls and up stairs. It wasn't until Marcus was nearly winded that the creature slowed at all. The waterbear squealed and pivoted, and then crashed through the bottom portion of an apartment door. Marcus paused in shock - mostly due to the sudden bill for damages that landed atop his head. He snatched it and crumpled it, then forced his way into the unknown apartment via a powerful slam of his shoulder and side. The door opened without any resistance, and he stumbled into the room in time to hear-
"What do you need help with, Sir?"
"Er-" Marcus hadn't thought things through far enough to consider someone could be on the other side of the door. His tear-redden eye and dusty optic latched onto Tora, and then traveled to take in Cuisine the Chef. The damaged door became the manifestation of all his failures. "I'm sorry," he stammered, echoing his grief from earlier. "I'm so sorry. I'll... I'll pay for the door, Cuisine. I'm... s-sorry. I'll go... sorry."
Turtleboss crooned. Mission almost accomplished. He waddled towards the equipment. A soft thud caught Marcus' attention. Was he supposed to help? Was this like a sign or something? The waterbear had brought him to the two people that could best ease his pain - the plucky girl who made him laugh, and the crazy chef that never turned up unless someone was in great need. Turtleboss drew a sigh from him as the waterbear slapped his face against the equipment again.
"Alright. I understand," Marcus, humbled, set his vision upon his dusty boots once more. "I take back what I said, Turtleboss." And then he pushed aside some of his self-loathing and hoped to Omnissiah that the chef had a sense of humor about the damage. "I- do you want help, Cuisine?"
Nominated by: Cerillium
Notes by Cerillium: "Marcus has lived in the setting most of his life. He clings to whatever normalcy he can find. In one fell swoop, Fate slaughtered his girlfriend, stole away his biological parents, crushed the hearts of his friends thus leaving no one to comfort him, and flayed his soul raw. Normally composed and thoughtful, the young "techpriest" teeters on the brink of insanity."
ENTRY BEST HEARTWARMING/TEARJERKER SINGLE POST
You ask me to talk about something that's important to me, and then you tack on that you don't have time to listen, and I'm stuck doing shit on my own alone. The hell, man? Do you know what's important to me? My Giovenith. Remember her? The godling with the prismatic hair and a laugh so silvery that angels smile every time it touches heaven? Yeah, that godling. She's gone. I'm alone. Fuck you all.
The coffee cup splintered into cheap porcelain shards as it slammed against the wall. The sound was somewhat pleasing to Marcus, but this dance had been going on most of the night. The young priest lifted his head to take in his dismantled apartment. Books were strewn everywhere, most of them missing their pages. The loose sheaves were snow that blanketed the floor and the cushions on Naomi's old couch. He tore them because they were paper, and because paper reminded him of her.
I tore them because I have no other means to lash out. I have nothing. I want to feel nothing. A swipe of his mechanical arm sent the coffee canister flying. It spewed grounds across the carpet to mark its path. He didn't care.
Paper rustled in protest as his boots carried him around the counter and into the kitchen, though he wasn't in any mood to eat. He was simply going through the motions, from bedroom to kitchen and back again, in the futile attempt to recapture some normalcy. But there wasn't any. There isn't any fucking normalcy in my fucking life. Fuck this!
The air whistled around exposed joints as his cybernetic fist connected with the wall. He tore it away, taking drywall with it, and stared into the hole. This Building took her from me. This piece of shit place in the middle of Buttfuckery Nowhere. I hate it as surely as I hate my own existence. He retracted his fist and struck again, and new holes joined the ones made yesterday and the day before.
Marcus sighed as he cast his eyes downwards and caught sight of the plaster dust on his boots. He'd spent all morning polishing them up only to once again coat them. He had no one to blame, of course. He did it. It was his hand that drove holes through Naomi's apple-festooned wallpaper.
"I'm sorry, Mama," he breathed but regretted speaking the words a heartbeat after. She had been a mother to him, true, but his birth mother... was gone. Fucking gone, just like that, and with his birth father in tow. And frankly, his birth father seemed a fuckton more nice than his foster father, Thaddeus.
Thinking of the old cyborg caused even more regret. He'd treated the old man like shit for so many years. He balked at the man's suggestions. He threw fits when told he wasn't allowed to do something. Marcus honestly didn't know why Thaddeus put up with him, though he had always assumed it was because he was the old man's flesh and blood. Somehow the knowledge that the man raised him out of unrequited love for his birth mother made things all the more depressing. Guilt wrapped itself around his heart once more. Deflated, with shoulders slowly drooping to match the burdens pressing his spirit into the dirt, Marcus could only stare at the hole.
The hot sting of salty tears brought him a newfound sense of loss. His step mother, his natural parents, and his girlfriend... his beautiful goddess with her funny outfit and vibrant hair, and a smile that took his breath away... gone. All gone. Forever, perhaps. At least, Giovenith was probably forever. If Klaus hadn't survived that blast, there was no fucking way in hell that she had. Klaus was an experienced god. Hell, if life were a role play then Klaus was the Gary Stu son of a bitch that always turned up unscathed due to being so mother fucking overpowered. But this wasn't a game. This was real, and that reality gnawed on what was left of his decrepit spirit.
He hiked a leg and kicked out, flipping the table and all his creations to the tiles. They weren't for him anyway. He'd been working on them for her. But why bother now? He doubted she even got the last one, the tiny candle with its intricate mechanisms. He'd left it hanging in gift bag on her apartment doorknob, but that was right before all fucking hell broke loose. He'd forgotten to ask her if she even liked it.
Organic fingertips swept through disheveled hair. It had grown out a bit, but Naomi wasn't around to trim it into a priest's customary buzz cut. He refused to seek her out. She was probably busy comforting Minerva. And he? He hadn't even bothered to seek his own reflection in the mirror for several days. All he saw reflected back at him was the traitor fool that hesitated instead of following Giovenith onto the hospital floor. He could have refused to ferry shit up the stairs for Thaddeus. Maybe if he had... maybe he would have died, too, but his death would have been his last labor of love. He would have shielded her from as much of the blast as he could. Let his body flame into ash, if it meant one last embrace.
"Omnissiah! Way'd you take my Giovenith?" The hand trembled as he lowered it, and then the fist balled. The wall was spared, however. He'd bled the last of his anger from his system and only apathy remained. "I'm so sorry, Giovenith. I'm so sorry. If you can hear me, I'm so sorry."
Did dead gods hear murmured prayers? Probably not. Dead is dead, and permadeath was the bitch whore that throttled every man's fantasy of bright futures filled with laughing wives, silly children, and a happy retirement. "We were gonna sit in that room. The tent lied. It lied, Giovenith. And all your dragons..."
The memory of the vision drew a staggered breath from him.
He had to get out for a while. He had to step away from the chaos inside the apartment. But where to go? He began to pace, unknowingly acting out a trait so habitual for his birth father during times of crisis. His first inclination was to seek Professor Bela out. He didn't know why other than perhaps the man, being a healer, could balm his heart for a bit. But the Prof was undoubtedly busy. He had a wife, and a purpose, and thus all the things that Marcus now coveted. Thaddeus was out of the question. The man's response to every pain was to bury himself in more work. Keep busy. Don't think about shit.
"Tora, where are you?" But she was absent from the halls these days. She was probably grieving as well. Marcus would respect that. He had to. She didn't need his burden on top of her own.
A soft scuffling at the front door drew him from his sad thoughts. He brushed the drywall dust from his robes and mustered his resolve. It was probably a cultist, or maybe Kale. Fuck, he wasn't in the mood for crazy antics or silly plant girls.
The door cracked open to reveal the one creature he hadn't expected to find - Turtleboss. The oversized waterbear gurgled as it waddled forward. And then it extended its mouth parts and chomped down on his leg.
"Fuck! You bastard!"
Though it was impossible for the waterbear to actually bite through the metal casing, it set off the sensors meshed with his nerves and registered as pain nonetheless. The waterbear lurched and bit the opposite leg, then squatted to tinkle a puddle on the doormat.
"Turtleboss, you shithead!" Resolved to stomp the thing into oblivion even though it was his dead girlfriend's pet, he stormed into the hall.
Turtleboss beat a hasty retreat to the far end of the hall. Fat legs and sharp claws splayed. He growled in challenge, and Marcus responded with an angry scream. "I'll fucking kick you into oblivion, you bastard!"
The waterbear growled again and then, not wanting to be at the receiving end of the priest's wrath, skittered towards the stairs and took flight. For a waterbear, he moved like the wind. Marcus slammed his apartment door with enough force to knock a picture off the wall inside the apartment, then tore after him.
He remained oblivious to the angry shouts from Residents and the pair raced down halls and up stairs. It wasn't until Marcus was nearly winded that the creature slowed at all. The waterbear squealed and pivoted, and then crashed through the bottom portion of an apartment door. Marcus paused in shock - mostly due to the sudden bill for damages that landed atop his head. He snatched it and crumpled it, then forced his way into the unknown apartment via a powerful slam of his shoulder and side. The door opened without any resistance, and he stumbled into the room in time to hear-
"What do you need help with, Sir?"
"Er-" Marcus hadn't thought things through far enough to consider someone could be on the other side of the door. His tear-redden eye and dusty optic latched onto Tora, and then traveled to take in Cuisine the Chef. The damaged door became the manifestation of all his failures. "I'm sorry," he stammered, echoing his grief from earlier. "I'm so sorry. I'll... I'll pay for the door, Cuisine. I'm... s-sorry. I'll go... sorry."
Turtleboss crooned. Mission almost accomplished. He waddled towards the equipment. A soft thud caught Marcus' attention. Was he supposed to help? Was this like a sign or something? The waterbear had brought him to the two people that could best ease his pain - the plucky girl who made him laugh, and the crazy chef that never turned up unless someone was in great need. Turtleboss drew a sigh from him as the waterbear slapped his face against the equipment again.
"Alright. I understand," Marcus, humbled, set his vision upon his dusty boots once more. "I take back what I said, Turtleboss." And then he pushed aside some of his self-loathing and hoped to Omnissiah that the chef had a sense of humor about the damage. "I- do you want help, Cuisine?"
