The beast is back baby!
Feb. 21st, 2009 05:52 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
flamma-lupus.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
zg_shadowsNot that I'm all inspired or anything..
[Timescale: roughly 1 week after the ratkin attacks start]
When I come back, it doesn’t feel the same. There is no peaceful respite, no floating in a sea of calm, no bright lights or tunnels for me. Last thing *I* remember is pain, oh dear god the pain, bits of me going everywhere. But maybe there was more than that, there’s a foggy recollection of a conversation, something about payback, something about a deal… but that’s not important as the final gasp of the scream of pain leaves my lips.
The first thing I notice, is that Akenheru isn’t stood over me looking disapprovingly at me and lecturing me about taking up his time. In fact I can’t even see him, or hear him chanting his mystical mumbo jumbo. The second thing I notice is…me.
It all makes sense now, do what I’ve always done, what I’ll always do…and somewhere within me, beyond the knowledge that I’ll always strive to do it, blinding that fact out with its pure brilliance, is the knowledge that now, maybe better than ever before.. I can.
I sink through the floor of the bland concrete room, and get on with what I should have been doing since last week. It’s not about the frantic phonecalls any more. It’s not about desperately trying to keep group a out of the way of the attack group b are running from. It’s about being out there, in my city, with my people, making sure they survive.
It doesn’t take me long to get where I’m going, and I’m not going anywhere special, it’s just a cellar, but you can’t get to it from upstairs any more thanks to renovation work. In the box, under the old musty carpet (make sure you lift the right one or the old landmine might go off), next to the collapsed bookcase full of some old inhabitants LP collection and back issues of radio times, I find what I’m looking for.
As I shift the weight of the axe back and forth in my hand, I note I’d ask more questions if I was sensible, if I wanted to be sure this wasn’t going to turn round and bite me in the ass at some later date… but then if it IS, better I make the most of it now, do what I need to do, that’s whats most important, and if the consequences come after me then so be it, at least it did some good.
I look down at the mask, not something I ever thought I’d really need again, kept more as memorabilia or a keepsake than any practical use. Maybe it’s a bit of ego showing through, maybe it’s because everybody enjoys the occasional flare of the dramatic, but when I pull it on over my head, and I pull the hood of my jumper up over it, feeling the enclosed feeling, the coolness against my flesh, crack my jaw and run my tongue over those much missed points in my mouth, seeing my world shrink down to what I can see through those two perfectly placed holes… it feels like home.
My moment of sentimentality over, I have work to do, and I’d lie if I said I wasn’t going to enjoy it.
The sabbat, they can have their fight for freedom through philosophy.
The camarilla, they can have their fight for hearts and minds.
My fight is here, on the streets, in the gutters, in the warehouses, I’ll fight it how I know best, and if I step on their toes to do it they should feel lucky I left them a foot.
I don’t care how many times I’m seen that night, how many other masked psychopaths are out there with masks on, I make sure I never do anything outrageous enough to draw unwanted attention to myself, but with the screaming hysteria going on all around I could have a marching band and neon signs and most wouldn’t notice. I’m damn sure the ratkin notice but that’s kind of the point, it’s hard to ignore your head being caved in with a fist.
I pull my people together, and finally we pick our point to make a stand, the nearby hospital, already overrun with patients and not in a position to properly defend itself if attacked. I split them into three groups, one to rest, one to fight, and one to hide in a corner and stay the hell out of the way. This is where we’ll make our stand, and when the sun rises I will remain, the teams may change over, but I’ll not move. People who need treatment will be treated, those that come here seeking sanctuary will find it, and anything that tries to endanger that, will answer to me and pay in the one currency I’m dealing in till this matter is resolved.
Blood.
[Timescale: roughly 1 week after the ratkin attacks start]
When I come back, it doesn’t feel the same. There is no peaceful respite, no floating in a sea of calm, no bright lights or tunnels for me. Last thing *I* remember is pain, oh dear god the pain, bits of me going everywhere. But maybe there was more than that, there’s a foggy recollection of a conversation, something about payback, something about a deal… but that’s not important as the final gasp of the scream of pain leaves my lips.
The first thing I notice, is that Akenheru isn’t stood over me looking disapprovingly at me and lecturing me about taking up his time. In fact I can’t even see him, or hear him chanting his mystical mumbo jumbo. The second thing I notice is…me.
It all makes sense now, do what I’ve always done, what I’ll always do…and somewhere within me, beyond the knowledge that I’ll always strive to do it, blinding that fact out with its pure brilliance, is the knowledge that now, maybe better than ever before.. I can.
I sink through the floor of the bland concrete room, and get on with what I should have been doing since last week. It’s not about the frantic phonecalls any more. It’s not about desperately trying to keep group a out of the way of the attack group b are running from. It’s about being out there, in my city, with my people, making sure they survive.
It doesn’t take me long to get where I’m going, and I’m not going anywhere special, it’s just a cellar, but you can’t get to it from upstairs any more thanks to renovation work. In the box, under the old musty carpet (make sure you lift the right one or the old landmine might go off), next to the collapsed bookcase full of some old inhabitants LP collection and back issues of radio times, I find what I’m looking for.
As I shift the weight of the axe back and forth in my hand, I note I’d ask more questions if I was sensible, if I wanted to be sure this wasn’t going to turn round and bite me in the ass at some later date… but then if it IS, better I make the most of it now, do what I need to do, that’s whats most important, and if the consequences come after me then so be it, at least it did some good.
I look down at the mask, not something I ever thought I’d really need again, kept more as memorabilia or a keepsake than any practical use. Maybe it’s a bit of ego showing through, maybe it’s because everybody enjoys the occasional flare of the dramatic, but when I pull it on over my head, and I pull the hood of my jumper up over it, feeling the enclosed feeling, the coolness against my flesh, crack my jaw and run my tongue over those much missed points in my mouth, seeing my world shrink down to what I can see through those two perfectly placed holes… it feels like home.
My moment of sentimentality over, I have work to do, and I’d lie if I said I wasn’t going to enjoy it.
The sabbat, they can have their fight for freedom through philosophy.
The camarilla, they can have their fight for hearts and minds.
My fight is here, on the streets, in the gutters, in the warehouses, I’ll fight it how I know best, and if I step on their toes to do it they should feel lucky I left them a foot.
I don’t care how many times I’m seen that night, how many other masked psychopaths are out there with masks on, I make sure I never do anything outrageous enough to draw unwanted attention to myself, but with the screaming hysteria going on all around I could have a marching band and neon signs and most wouldn’t notice. I’m damn sure the ratkin notice but that’s kind of the point, it’s hard to ignore your head being caved in with a fist.
I pull my people together, and finally we pick our point to make a stand, the nearby hospital, already overrun with patients and not in a position to properly defend itself if attacked. I split them into three groups, one to rest, one to fight, and one to hide in a corner and stay the hell out of the way. This is where we’ll make our stand, and when the sun rises I will remain, the teams may change over, but I’ll not move. People who need treatment will be treated, those that come here seeking sanctuary will find it, and anything that tries to endanger that, will answer to me and pay in the one currency I’m dealing in till this matter is resolved.
Blood.
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