[ Unwell ] - a one shot
Jun 5, 2017 3:30:52 GMT -5
» ѕнαdσω ⚔️, mintedstar/fur, and 1 more like this
Post by Dingoleap on Jun 5, 2017 3:30:52 GMT -5
But I'm not crazy, I'm just a little unwell
I know right now you can't tell
But stay awhile and maybe then you'll see
A different side of me
I'm not crazy, I'm just a little impaired
I know right now you don't care
But soon enough you're gonna think of me
And how I used to be, me
They call him the unblessed child in a pitiful effort to understand. They think his upbringing has something to do with it, but really, it’s just a way of understanding why he hisses and spits like a feral animal whenever they come too close.
They are unsure of how to react to his sudden storm-presence. They stare, wide eyed, and sidle up to him when they aren’t alone, because there’s something in them that warns that he his sick. They worry he is contagious. He’s not. The sickness that plagues him is something else entirely – it lurks in the darkest recesses of his brain and manifests in a single word; survive.
And survive he does.
Four years on the streets means he grew fast. He is as suspicious of the high ceilings, the sheltered walls, as he is of their kindness. It is something foreign to him – he has learnt all too quickly that strangers offer only pain, and it is a hard lesson to unlearn.
Slowly, the hardness of his gaze softens, the tension in his muscles relaxes. The ice in his veins defrosts, warmed by their kindness. It is a strange and wonderful thing, to have friends for the first time.
It cannot be hidden, however, and it does not take long for the boss to learn of his infection. Jericho Smoke is clever – he has to be, to have clawed his way to the top – but his arsenal needs stocking. He quickly becomes the favourite, because the fire in his blood has yet to be extinguished. He must learn, and learn quickly, to wield that fire as a weapon.
His determination to survive is a cancer; it is not so easily removed, but it lingers, dormant, until it is called to life. His early years are spent in limbo, each moment a test. It would kill someone lesser, but he is furiously stubborn, and his body does not give in easily.
He wears his scars proudly, as warpaint. He hides the emotional ones better.
The training grows harder, until Smoke is satisfied, until the sickness of survival becomes a weaponised second nature. It is biological, emotional warfare.
He is feared, because he can do horrific things in the name of survival.
He is feared, because he does horrific things in the name of another.
Smoke’s empire thrives, built on the suffering of others. They deal in death and retribution. Survival is the ultimate prize, and he will do anything to claim it. He can’t help feeling that everything he should have stood for is gone, washed away by the blood he’s spilled.
He draws a line in the sand and vows not to cross it.
---
He walks a fine line between normal and monstrous.
They avoid him like the plague. He understands; he has drawn a clean line between them. He has deceived them for years, but in revealing the truth he has distanced himself, and the gap is already far too wide to close.
There is real fear in their eyes now.
Before, the sickness of his savagery had been a rumour, flamed by the troubled ways of his childhood and the ruthlessness of his movements. They were blessed – they had not yet witnessed true and desperate savagery until this morning.
They try not to treat him differently, but he can still taste the blood in his mouth.
It will take a long time to earn their trust back. They have stopped seeing him as him. He is no longer their childhood playmate, their designated storyteller. Instead, they see the truth, his diseased soul laid bare before them.
---
He is good at what he does. He stitches the fractured pieces of his mind back together and pretends to be ok. He is a weapon, and nothing more. He carries the weight of Smoke’s bloody empire on his back.
He is a live wire.
The enemies he makes do their best to extinguish the fire in his blood. They come, dark shadows in a dark night, armed to the teeth. He doesn’t think. He just reacts, turns fear into aggression, in a desperate bid to keep his heart beating. When he can no longer stand, when he can no longer rely on the years of training and disciple, he gives in to that savage second nature and resorts to biting, clawing, mauling. Claws and teeth are primitive and devastating weapons.
He never looses a fight. Even outnumbered, he emerges victorious. After a while, he stops feeling the pain.
Most days, he can live with the side effects.
Some days, however, he can barely keep himself together. Privately, he wonders if he’s going mad. He self-medicates, and tries to drown his sorrows in the darkness of the night.
He doesn’t sleep.
Not anymore.
---
By the time he is fully gown, they have accepted that he is sick; sick with something they can’t explain or cure. It’s an obsession. He lives in fear of himself, desperately trying to keep his temper in check. The others learn the hard way to respect it. The fear, at least, has left them. Instead, they cope.
Rahni matches his spite, almost word for word. Their verbal sparring matches are legendary; it’s a dance, and she keeps pace flawlessly. They are not quite the same, but are similar enough to share the same dark sense of humour. She competes for everything he’s ever wanted, but likes him enough to press her ginger fur against his whenever she feels the pain has become unbearable. Rahni, with her crooked tail and cobalt eyes, is both a small mercy and a friend.
Kosovo tells him he needs to talk, that it’s unhealthy to keep the storm of feelings inside. His thoughts are too chaotic, too violent, for him to ever share.
They try to understand, but they don’t. Not really. They may be killers, but they aren’t sick. They don’t resort to savage brutality just to tear their enemies apart.
---
Deshoree Smoke has fire in her blood. They are similar, but not the same. She knows the truth behind his wild and reckless ways – she knows that he bleeds just to know that he’s alive - and it should frighten her, but it doesn’t, because she’s deadly and graceful and brutal in a way he will never be.
“The problem with you, Otto McAlpine, is that you think that nobody else could have had it worse than you did.” Her voice is icy. Some days, she seems disgusted with his misery. “You think nobody else could possibly survive anything like what you did, but newsflash, Otto – I did, so pull yourself together. Do something about it for once.”
If she is sick, she hides it well.
He knows the rumours surrounding her upbringing, knows just what she has sacrificed in order to keep her father’s favour. He admires the strength of her conviction.
---
He copes.
Barely, but he copes.
He continues to move forward, because it is the once thing he excels at. The nights are hard, especially now that he’s alone, with no-one to help chase the demons away. Survival has never seemed more like a disease. It mightn’t be contagious, but it is incurable.
It is his own fault; it was only a matter of time before he snapped, but this time he has lashed out at the only friends he has ever had. It leaves behind a distinct sense of nothingness. He can no longer tell what lies within his heart. That in itself is unsettling – he can vaguely recall that once, he pretended to stand for something. His complicated moral code spilled out in a series harsh truths and a promise not to cross the ones he cares about, but morality is brittle.
It is easily broken.
---
Nefertiti Aketo has lightning in her heart. The emptiness in her gaze is well-hidden, but he can sense it, lurking just below the surface. She understands that she is offering him more than just a job – it is a chance at redemption, a precious second chance – but he is hesitant to take it.
The moral code that once meant everything is trampled to dust beneath his paws, and without it, he barely trusts himself.
There is a ferocity in her gaze that he can’t quite recognise, and he shadows beneath her eyes are hauntingly familiar. She is haunted, plagued by what she has seen, and she has witnessed truly terrible things.
There is something fierce and determined within her mortal body, and it keeps her alive. She, too, is sick, and it leaks out when she thinks they aren’t watching. It consumes her so completely that he can’t understand how she continues to move forward. There is something unholy within her blood. He can sense it.
He copes.
She doesn’t.
Despite her façade, he can sense that she is crumbling, falling apart under the weight of the burden she carries. Some long-forgotten remnant of selflessness flickers to live in his chest. She is too young, far too young, to be forced to live with the sickness that plagues him.
She reminds him too much of himself.
“Are you coming?” There is no doubt in her voice. She already knows his answer, because she can see her own desperation reflected in his gaze. He needs this, craves it in a way she never will.
“Yeah, I reckon so.”
“Well, ok then.”
Originally I was going to write about Nefertiti, since she hasn't had anything written about her yet, but that story didn't quite go as planned, so you all have to deal with my angsty problem child again. The prompt for this week's Tuesday Challenge was about sickness. I interpreted the in an almost metaphorical way - here, obsession is the sickness. It is most prominent in Otto, whose obsession with survival means he goes to some pretty extreme lengths to keep himself alive. It has a lot to do with his upbringing, and a lot to do with the fact that you can't be an assassin without loosing some part of yourself along the way. Then, of course, comes the obsession with redeeming himself morally, which in the end, is pretty much his sole motive for joining Nefertiti on her impossible quest. In reality, Otto is a very broken character, but he hides that behind anger and dark humour. Nefertiti, however, is not as good at hiding the fact that she, too, is incredibly broken. the difference between them, however, is that Nef lets her obsession consume her. Otto, at least finds a way to move forward.
The lyrics are from 'Unwell' by Matchbox 20, which is a great song. I suggest you give it a listen c:
