08-16-2008, 06:45 PM
[html]mall-caps;color:#660000;">there's no one here to tuck me in, so the shotgun will instead
Decay. It had been hours since he'd moved, and already the flies were buzzing around his still breathing corpse. Was it the blood soaked into his coat that he'd been too lazy to remove that caused them to believe he was deceased? Or the prone nature of his form, eyes staring wide and glazed over not with death, but distraction. It was too empty back in the cave in Inferni, and Samael could no longer take it. He had to get away. And to the city he found himself. Inferni's war would rage without him, and he'd kill and destroy pointlessly on the wayside, just spilling blood for the sheer purpose of spilling blood. The creaking of a door and the sound of a presence alerted his senses and Samael's head rose, ears lifting atop his head to scoop up any and all sounds.
Someone had entered the house, and he rose to his feet, shifting as he did so. Limbs elogated and cracked, muscles stretched and shape changed, allowing him to completely rise as he moved toward the stairs. There was someone downstairs. Foot rested on the first stair, nose breathing in the stale scents of the dead, trapped air. There was something familiar. He almost started, as though slapped across the face when he realized what it was, or what he thought it was. Perhaps he was simply mad, deluded by inactivity, or perhaps it was exactly who he thought it was. "Rachias? he tested on the air, descending a few more steps to see what he could see on the landing below.
Decay. It had been hours since he'd moved, and already the flies were buzzing around his still breathing corpse. Was it the blood soaked into his coat that he'd been too lazy to remove that caused them to believe he was deceased? Or the prone nature of his form, eyes staring wide and glazed over not with death, but distraction. It was too empty back in the cave in Inferni, and Samael could no longer take it. He had to get away. And to the city he found himself. Inferni's war would rage without him, and he'd kill and destroy pointlessly on the wayside, just spilling blood for the sheer purpose of spilling blood. The creaking of a door and the sound of a presence alerted his senses and Samael's head rose, ears lifting atop his head to scoop up any and all sounds.
Someone had entered the house, and he rose to his feet, shifting as he did so. Limbs elogated and cracked, muscles stretched and shape changed, allowing him to completely rise as he moved toward the stairs. There was someone downstairs. Foot rested on the first stair, nose breathing in the stale scents of the dead, trapped air. There was something familiar. He almost started, as though slapped across the face when he realized what it was, or what he thought it was. Perhaps he was simply mad, deluded by inactivity, or perhaps it was exactly who he thought it was. "Rachias? he tested on the air, descending a few more steps to see what he could see on the landing below.