to each, their throne ♔ [ ss vs dg, day three ]
Mar 14, 2019 1:02:01 GMT -5
Post by napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on Mar 14, 2019 1:02:01 GMT -5
This time his knife isn’t a broken promise —
but rage and fury, channeled heavily into its bone. It lands true on his target and bites the metal of his armor off. The thud of the shattered armor on the ground twists the thin line of his mouth to a smile, a smile that is pleased with his own mayhem.
It’s a light smile one would discover on Jessica Braun’s face, knife-sharp and bulletproof, but not on Francisco Bloom’s, who reserves his smiles for wildflowers and sun-kissed meadows. It’s a smile made towards bloodshed, towards a loaded gun whose muzzle is pressed up against his forehead.
It’s a smile that says
‘I will be your ruin.’
One of the boys, the battered and wounded one, encroaches upon them. He’s brave, Francis notes. Brave and selfless and heroic. He would have respected him if they aren’t trying to steal each other’s lives, respected him for his valor and character. But, the close proximity of this boy unnerves him; delicate footsteps usher Francis back, back into the wall of sunflowers, back to the sea of yellow and citrine.
He watches, with satisfaction, the shoots rustling and fabricating another wall ahead of him, hiding him. For a second, Francis is enclosed only by pollen dust and the cool, whimsical shadows of the sunflowers. For a second, he is a ghost, a nymph, an ethereal presence, a mere spectator of this fight from the sidelines, watching Berlin’s spear cut weakly into Jessica’s calf and smiling at Nico for blocking the girl’s swing.
Then, he moves as if he is adrift, a sunflower with thin legs, a wind with a direction. At first, it was the boy circling Jessica and him, but the reversal is quick and instant. Francis’s movements mirror his ally’s, moving in lazy circles around his foe, as he unhooks another knife from his belt. Jessica’s words hit his own heart; he wonders if they would break this Career’s. “Heroes die young,” he starts. “So if you want to be one, do so.”
Francisco Bloom isn’t a hero.
He is an orchard of oleanders.
There is Death in his flowers.
but rage and fury, channeled heavily into its bone. It lands true on his target and bites the metal of his armor off. The thud of the shattered armor on the ground twists the thin line of his mouth to a smile, a smile that is pleased with his own mayhem.
It’s a light smile one would discover on Jessica Braun’s face, knife-sharp and bulletproof, but not on Francisco Bloom’s, who reserves his smiles for wildflowers and sun-kissed meadows. It’s a smile made towards bloodshed, towards a loaded gun whose muzzle is pressed up against his forehead.
It’s a smile that says
‘I will be your ruin.’
One of the boys, the battered and wounded one, encroaches upon them. He’s brave, Francis notes. Brave and selfless and heroic. He would have respected him if they aren’t trying to steal each other’s lives, respected him for his valor and character. But, the close proximity of this boy unnerves him; delicate footsteps usher Francis back, back into the wall of sunflowers, back to the sea of yellow and citrine.
He watches, with satisfaction, the shoots rustling and fabricating another wall ahead of him, hiding him. For a second, Francis is enclosed only by pollen dust and the cool, whimsical shadows of the sunflowers. For a second, he is a ghost, a nymph, an ethereal presence, a mere spectator of this fight from the sidelines, watching Berlin’s spear cut weakly into Jessica’s calf and smiling at Nico for blocking the girl’s swing.
Then, he moves as if he is adrift, a sunflower with thin legs, a wind with a direction. At first, it was the boy circling Jessica and him, but the reversal is quick and instant. Francis’s movements mirror his ally’s, moving in lazy circles around his foe, as he unhooks another knife from his belt. Jessica’s words hit his own heart; he wonders if they would break this Career’s. “Heroes die young,” he starts. “So if you want to be one, do so.”
Francisco Bloom isn’t a hero.
He is an orchard of oleanders.
There is Death in his flowers.
( Francis attacks Berlin Batalanto | Throwing Knife 3 )
f|nyQtR1rhthrowing knife
9188 -- Deep Gash on Chest -- 9.5 damage (Thrown Knife) + 1.0 damage (Target Practice)
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