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[all you need is a gun and a silhouette]
Jul. 17th, 2010 10:22 pmInspired by TF2:
There was something about glass that instilled such a rush in him. He loves it, loves seeing it break, break and crack and splinter as he swings the bat and the beautiful patterns start to form, spreading out, in delicate spiderwebs and brittle shards.
That split second of euphoria when he hears the ear-splitting CR-AACK of the glass giving way to the swing of his bat, the pieces flying everywhere. the only reason he ever bothered to go to church was to stare lovingly at the stained glass, imagining how it would look, all over the floor, the different angles and colours winking up at him. That alone was worth worshiping.
**
He grimaces, swiping a hand over his face, smearing the blood dripping from the sides of his mouth across his cheek. He laughs, straightens up, albeit slightly awkwardly as he sways, trying to find his balance. He averts his eyes away from the man in front him, and clutches at his side, his bandages and shirt now stained red as well. "Like what you see?" he prompts, unable to keep the cocky tone in his voice to a minimum. In retrospect, he never should've opened his mouth; a bat collides with the back of his head, and he's curled up on the pavement once more, spitting up curses and blood.
**
Resume, reload, relock the crosshairs, you're not allowed to miss. you can't miss that fucking head, anyways. Impossible to miss that ridiculous helmet.
**
You want to melt into him. not like snuggle or some shit, you literally, honestly want to meld into him, conjoined, or even simply live inside him, carve him up and gut him, carefully taking out his intestines so you can lie inside his ribcage, safe as you'll ever be. And it'll be lovely, dark, and warm. On the other hand, it might get slightly damp, but you're armed with a hairdryer and some towels.
You'll manage.
There was something about glass that instilled such a rush in him. He loves it, loves seeing it break, break and crack and splinter as he swings the bat and the beautiful patterns start to form, spreading out, in delicate spiderwebs and brittle shards.
That split second of euphoria when he hears the ear-splitting CR-AACK of the glass giving way to the swing of his bat, the pieces flying everywhere. the only reason he ever bothered to go to church was to stare lovingly at the stained glass, imagining how it would look, all over the floor, the different angles and colours winking up at him. That alone was worth worshiping.
**
He grimaces, swiping a hand over his face, smearing the blood dripping from the sides of his mouth across his cheek. He laughs, straightens up, albeit slightly awkwardly as he sways, trying to find his balance. He averts his eyes away from the man in front him, and clutches at his side, his bandages and shirt now stained red as well. "Like what you see?" he prompts, unable to keep the cocky tone in his voice to a minimum. In retrospect, he never should've opened his mouth; a bat collides with the back of his head, and he's curled up on the pavement once more, spitting up curses and blood.
**
Resume, reload, relock the crosshairs, you're not allowed to miss. you can't miss that fucking head, anyways. Impossible to miss that ridiculous helmet.
**
You want to melt into him. not like snuggle or some shit, you literally, honestly want to meld into him, conjoined, or even simply live inside him, carve him up and gut him, carefully taking out his intestines so you can lie inside his ribcage, safe as you'll ever be. And it'll be lovely, dark, and warm. On the other hand, it might get slightly damp, but you're armed with a hairdryer and some towels.
You'll manage.
