this old mansion of bones. [ day four ]

The cannon signified that Saummerand Demheaux was not only an olympian, but he was a murderer too. In most situations that the male thought he'd face the act, he would be upset. He'd be cyring and pleading for whatever gods there were to resurrect him and take him as the fallen instead. But this was not what he imagined, a small, victorious grin formed upon his face with the realization that he killed Marcus Fletcher.

It was an accomplishment to anyone that they overcame their own fears, who wouldn't feel accomplished when they got rid of the demon that ruined their hopes? Tried to make sure that whatever Saummerand knew was a lie, and Saummer was damn close to believing that. Good thing his parents always told him to keep following his own dreams, huh?

Marcus kept blaming him for all the things he was doing. Murder. Fighting. Defending. Protesting. There were so many things that Marcus blamed him for; but he was doing those crimes too. What makes him doing it so special compared to everyone else?

Oh, right, he's not a career. Because apparently careers were bred to kill. People from anywhere else make it okay to kill, because y'know, they didn't train for this shit. Because, y'know, every career ever dedicated their lives to weapons. Because, y'know, Saummer's the least informed person about plants.

All Saummerand took from the male was the gloves. Everything else he found personally useless, so he went on his way back to the greenroom, his typical home for every night in this hell of a home. He sat on the floor with his purple crayon in hand, drawing a set of throwing axes on the marble floor, his hands almost too stiff to put much of the cross design on it. As if there is a god here. On top of the cross sat a small dove, peace and hope. Because if there is any god, he knows that's what this home to twenty souls and millions more to come.

A white-grey type of crayon fell into his lap soon after, and Saummer figured they looked close to the color of bandages, so he created (technically drew) a roll of bandages for himself. Every warrior needs to know how to heal himself, and that's the only way that every warrior can heal himself in this small little battlefield.

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