there for you [carter&larceny]

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Tom
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there for you [carter&larceny] Jan 10, 2019 22:18:09 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Tom on Jan 10, 2019 22:18:09 GMT -5

Get out of your head
the voices don't know what is best for you
in the pouring rain
I head the devil call me out

The set up of screens is miserable.

The giant screen with a sound system that he can hear from one side, but he can hear it blasting from where he's sitting. Still a bit strange for him to get used to this silence that shouldn't be there. Almost as if he's drowning in his own terrors. An ocean of silence and muffled sounds that he can hear in his other ear. Drowning under his own selfish means, wishing to see Mitchell. Wishing to see Jack. Deserving neither of them. A silent hum from his throat as he remembers what it is like to lose a piece of family. Would Jack even care? Would Lars, Auto, and Max mourn for him? Or was he just another pawn in everyone else's game. A card to be played and disposed of later.

Nothing up his sleeve, except lies and tricks to muster his way through the arena, until the coyote and sloth took him down. Lars running away. Max's javelin through his chest. The card's hole of a reminder that he can stare at and stare at until it makes his chest hurt. The words of his father ringing in his ears trying to remind him that he deserves to live, but with everything else, Carter never believes them. He only believes himself.

He deserves to not suffer through this, but in another sense.

This was the trick that he deserved for all the trouble he put others through.

Fist balled up against his side as he watches Fiona and Carmen tear Larceny apart. Blood. Ache. Death. Worry. Carter's silent as he watches is happen, but they know he's breaking. Carter was supposed to have his back. Not leave him behind to face Fiona and Carmen. A silent hum of his own throat as he waits for the inevitable, ignoring their words for now as he hears people prepare in the medical wing and the sound of a cannon rings in his left ear.

Larceny Theft died that day.

It was all his fault.

Minutes stretch into hours in Glamour's Sex Dungeon. Nothing to do, except a simple game of solitaire with himself and the small blood spots covering the cards. Waiting for Larceny was the worst part of everything so far. The heaviness of his chest and the stress Carter pushes onto himself. Blame for leaving them too soon. At least, Auto and Lars will be united after all, no matter the outcome. A soft hum from his throat as he ignores the sounds of the medical team talking. The sound of work being done that no one in Twelve could do. Even the Mortuus' couldn't bring back the dead and he's sure they've tried to.

Raisa Mortuus couldn't even talk to the dead.

A new revelation that he's made.

After what feels like hours, the sounds of the medical team silence. The eerie silence of them makes him feel on edge, mostly because he didn't know what they were doing behind that damned curtain. Larceny. A deep sigh comes from his lips as he decides to move past them and to his ally. Different. Everything was different from how he remembered, though he had a bad memory anyways, but Larceny looks worse than he remembers, but it's not like he wasn't any better. A blank face sits on his face as he waits to speak to his friend, his ally, the boy who's back he was supposed to have in the arena.

"Welcome to Glamour's Sex Dungeon."

A small smile pulls on his face as he gives Lars a joking wink to lighten the room for just a moment.

I'm sorry.

Pain in his chest as he pushes himself closer to the resting spot of Larceny. Looking up his friend and ally before stopping and looking across the way to see no one is going to bother them. Privacy, or well as private as they'll ever get for awhile. A silence in his chest and in his ear. Drowning in his own self hatred for all the things he left behind. Guilty of giving everything up in order for them to live. In order for them to get to live one more day more. He should have followed them or they should have fought the last two together. Guilt in his throat as he frowns before giving the weakest smile yet.

"I-I'm.... Fuck. I'm sorry I wasn't there to get your back, Lars."

Fingers grip the side of the cot as he looks into his friend's eyes.

"I'm glad it's not over for us. Whatever they've got coming for us, I got your back, Lars."

I finally feel okay
in the pouring rain
you say 'leave from the fog
inside my head'

song: rain

Made by umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]

Arrows
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there for you [carter&larceny] Feb 6, 2019 4:46:31 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Arrows on Feb 6, 2019 4:46:31 GMT -5

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There's a flicker in the peripheries. There's a dimming in the fire. Fleeing into the hazy horizon of rebirth, emotions wither to smoldering segments of ash. Does a voice find song after it's chords have been cut? Do the legs of a dancer still leap once they have been broken? Does a porcelain doll stay glued together after it has been shattered? Is there a beginning in the end, or is it all just reminders and remnants of a fallen flame?

Does life really still swirl through the once eviscerated veins of my existence, or am I too another soulless shell?

There is pain in the kiss of consciousness, torture in the touch of reality. A broken boy sewn to the strings of a marionette played by the fingers of an unknown master. Inside this skin of constant experimentation is a cold and quiet watcher. The world which once denied him carries on in contempt. It kills his sister. It slaughters his friends. Yet he remains watching, persistent life plunged into him by the demands of external entities. He is not human, he is not happy or sad, he is just a boy beyond his expiration date.

He is me.

On a shadowy sea of sleep there is refuge from the world. Within a realm of mental manipulation, the stars and the sun hold no influence. Time is stagnant and the water silk. Wars waging within an arena are only tiny tremors on a constant surface of softness. They do not break the boat nor sink the ship. They simply steal a second then settle into the shade. Out of the sphere of mortality, the fires of feelings can still send embers dancing through the night. A sky speckled with the swirling spirit of living light. A sky welcoming to the weary and freeing from the sanctions of wrongfully revived.

The warden comes at dawn. The sea shrivels and the feathers of the fire wilt, a phoenix on its burning day. In the of breath of day I am returned to suspension. The strings pull, play, pierce but there is no meaning in the actions. Food is forcefully provided by hands still stained with the murder of Larceny Theft. The heartbeat they have restored in the chasm of my chest is no blessing, it is not mercy. The heart is black and bruised, a reminder of the strength of their grip. A reminder of the strings they can pull.

There is cruel, dark, knowledge in this gift of living. Within this man-made miracle the workings of hell turn its gears. The chill the clanking, churning metal makes sends shivers down my spine. In this display of self proclaimed grace, the underlying truth is toxic. They posses the power to save us, their tattered and torn treasures whose blood has soaked countless screens. They have the power that could have saved every soul who has perished in their games, a reminder that they control everything.

A new figure enters the frame. He is no experimenter or string master, but another puppet being pulled by a set of his own strings. I recall the promises that sent swords and claws through our skin. I remember the smiles that were shared under false starlit skies. I remember the trust forged in the brutality. But I feel nothing. I am still just an empty shell.

In death he shares his apologies, yet there is need for none. Even if my emotions lay only in the smallest tributaries of my eyes, the trust that rests with the name Carter Laws is eternally prevalent. In silence he waits for a move or a word, but what can one dead boy say to another? My eyes turn towards his and I realize the answer, anything.

"Fuck apologies. We lost you first anyways."

I shallow hard, the sensation still seemingly raw.

"I still have your back too," A trace of a smirk settles in the corners of my lips "as long as you don'y try anything weird in this... sex dungeon?"

Laughter isn't something I'm able to find just yet but, the humor is light enough. My feet find the floor for the first time and the weight of myself is foreign. A single step swiftly brings my hand to side of the cot. A once King of Thieves reduced to such weakness, its pitiful really.

"What's there to do in this hell hole?"

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