Post by Salvius Macer on Aug 29, 2012 22:25:55 GMT -5
Thump, thump, thump. The rhythm of a heart beating, a pulse ticking away the passing seconds of a life that had yet to be fully lived. A century ago, it was a sound that the Turian whom it belonged to only heard during sprints and when any woman he liked happen to take interest in him. Now it was a sound that he was intimate with. That sound was the very licentiousness of his soul by this point, that fragile beating, the constant thump against his chest pounding away at him. Forcing unwanted life blood to race through his body, feeding the brain and the rest of it the oxygen that it needed to keep functioning, it was a twisted organ. Again, it would taunt him, thump, thump, thump, THUMP.
The bottle of Batarian ale by his side turned over, released the green liquid that its belly held and let it flow freely into the glass container by his side. Soon, the dim light filtering through the lower ward’s window from the passing of vehicles made a green shadow form across the table by his side. Carefully running a single finger across the lip of the cup, he began to speak casually to himself. “How long am I going to keep doing this to myself? How long will I keep searching for answers at the bottom of a glass and constantly stare myself in the eye through it?”
Even as he spoke, the Turian found himself doing just that; there was just enough light for the pale green liquid to provide a reflection. Inside of the tiny cup, he could see the eyes of a young, war-torn Turian; one mandible missing a small portion of its foremost tip. Cat-eye green eyes glanced up at him, disappoint running across the structure of his tough face; it had been a long time since he hadn’t gotten that way before taking a draft. Hefting one prolonged sigh, both of his mandibles part, sharp teeth exposing through the dark-grey of his complexion. Setting the drink back down, he folded both of his hands together, each three-fingered extension pressing against each other.
Almost numb, the thumping was all that played in his ears. Thump, thump, thump. It just grew faster the longer he sat still. Thump,thump,thump,thump,thump,thump. Finally, he was completely unable to tell the beats apart, the pounding echoing through his audio receptors while his features remained unreadable. His mind was elsewhere, lost in the storms of Invictus a planet that had robbed him of everything….a planet that he couldn’t escape and tugged at his heart-strings. Ignoring it wasn’t an option, forgetting it was impossible. Death, decay, ruin, entropy all of them were words that he immediately related to his own personal hell, Invictus.
Just outside, around the corner of the opening, was the Dark Star Lounge. Tonight it was different than normal, it was ‘Gentlemen’s night’ meaning the place for all intents and purposes had become a strip joint for the evening. It didn’t bother him, he was resigned to his little side room now, drowning out what sorrows he had as he tried to contemplate a rational way to rid himself of them. He’d fail after another hour of drinking, giving up and go outside to get a dance or two before returning to his home and falling into a heap on the bed. This routine had subconsciously been adapted for him as a coping mechanism. It didn’t work.
Grabbing his glass and drinking again, he stopped hearing his heart beating, the liquor pushing back into his throat and burning slowly before he laid the glass back down. Swallowing, he set it back down, enjoying the dull pain that was arising. Muttering for a moment, he spoke aloud knowing the music was too loud for anyone that wasn’t standing at the entrance or in the room to hear. “Lights, women and alcohol, a violate concoction that is only exasperated by the beat of synthesized music roaring out at almost triple the RBM of the human heart. Just a bunch of fools thinking they might get lucky as they drown out whatever ailments they might have with the cold burn of their liquor.”
Stopping, the turian poured another glass, content at the moment to watch cars go flying by through the wards. Not a sound of it happening, but it did managed to illuminate his face at every passing, contrasting with the strobe light of red, blue and purple out on the floor at night. Turning the bottle over again, he let it flow back down into his cup once again. Filling it before he let his head rise up again, his thoughts left him curious about how to continue with the rest of the evening, though he knew how it would go if he kept this up.
“Another glass or two after this one and I’ll probably be done,” he answered no one but himself as he stared at the empty bottle that had rolled onto the floor earlier; it was much weaker drink which he used to warm up. “Here is to you all, stupid fucking bastards.” The turian muttered again lifting up his glass and gulping down all of it as rapidly as he could. Normally, he would sit and just sip for hours, but tonight wasn’t a ‘sipping’ kind of night. Laying front of him was the handgun that the security force, C-sec, had issued to him. White-metal glinted for a moment, the M-77 Paladin….a good name considering it is used to protect those who can’t protect themselves.
Glancing at it, he found himself touching the barrel for a moment, running a single phalange down the icy-exterior of the weapon. Contemplation, debate, it raged on in him as he recalled the faces of former soldiers, friends…allies. All of them dying around him as he forged on and continued to survive. War is hell, but he was a dog that was born in it. It was all he knew, without a weapon nearby, he felt about as useless as a bathysphere in space. “Not today, spirits help me, I want to but not today. I haven’t worn myself into the ground yet and some good can still be gleaned out of me.”
Doubt filled his eyes even as he said this, uncertain if he was just telling himself a cruel lie or if he was just that terrified of pulling the trigger one last time.
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The bottle of Batarian ale by his side turned over, released the green liquid that its belly held and let it flow freely into the glass container by his side. Soon, the dim light filtering through the lower ward’s window from the passing of vehicles made a green shadow form across the table by his side. Carefully running a single finger across the lip of the cup, he began to speak casually to himself. “How long am I going to keep doing this to myself? How long will I keep searching for answers at the bottom of a glass and constantly stare myself in the eye through it?”
Even as he spoke, the Turian found himself doing just that; there was just enough light for the pale green liquid to provide a reflection. Inside of the tiny cup, he could see the eyes of a young, war-torn Turian; one mandible missing a small portion of its foremost tip. Cat-eye green eyes glanced up at him, disappoint running across the structure of his tough face; it had been a long time since he hadn’t gotten that way before taking a draft. Hefting one prolonged sigh, both of his mandibles part, sharp teeth exposing through the dark-grey of his complexion. Setting the drink back down, he folded both of his hands together, each three-fingered extension pressing against each other.
Almost numb, the thumping was all that played in his ears. Thump, thump, thump. It just grew faster the longer he sat still. Thump,thump,thump,thump,thump,thump. Finally, he was completely unable to tell the beats apart, the pounding echoing through his audio receptors while his features remained unreadable. His mind was elsewhere, lost in the storms of Invictus a planet that had robbed him of everything….a planet that he couldn’t escape and tugged at his heart-strings. Ignoring it wasn’t an option, forgetting it was impossible. Death, decay, ruin, entropy all of them were words that he immediately related to his own personal hell, Invictus.
Just outside, around the corner of the opening, was the Dark Star Lounge. Tonight it was different than normal, it was ‘Gentlemen’s night’ meaning the place for all intents and purposes had become a strip joint for the evening. It didn’t bother him, he was resigned to his little side room now, drowning out what sorrows he had as he tried to contemplate a rational way to rid himself of them. He’d fail after another hour of drinking, giving up and go outside to get a dance or two before returning to his home and falling into a heap on the bed. This routine had subconsciously been adapted for him as a coping mechanism. It didn’t work.
Grabbing his glass and drinking again, he stopped hearing his heart beating, the liquor pushing back into his throat and burning slowly before he laid the glass back down. Swallowing, he set it back down, enjoying the dull pain that was arising. Muttering for a moment, he spoke aloud knowing the music was too loud for anyone that wasn’t standing at the entrance or in the room to hear. “Lights, women and alcohol, a violate concoction that is only exasperated by the beat of synthesized music roaring out at almost triple the RBM of the human heart. Just a bunch of fools thinking they might get lucky as they drown out whatever ailments they might have with the cold burn of their liquor.”
Stopping, the turian poured another glass, content at the moment to watch cars go flying by through the wards. Not a sound of it happening, but it did managed to illuminate his face at every passing, contrasting with the strobe light of red, blue and purple out on the floor at night. Turning the bottle over again, he let it flow back down into his cup once again. Filling it before he let his head rise up again, his thoughts left him curious about how to continue with the rest of the evening, though he knew how it would go if he kept this up.
“Another glass or two after this one and I’ll probably be done,” he answered no one but himself as he stared at the empty bottle that had rolled onto the floor earlier; it was much weaker drink which he used to warm up. “Here is to you all, stupid fucking bastards.” The turian muttered again lifting up his glass and gulping down all of it as rapidly as he could. Normally, he would sit and just sip for hours, but tonight wasn’t a ‘sipping’ kind of night. Laying front of him was the handgun that the security force, C-sec, had issued to him. White-metal glinted for a moment, the M-77 Paladin….a good name considering it is used to protect those who can’t protect themselves.
Glancing at it, he found himself touching the barrel for a moment, running a single phalange down the icy-exterior of the weapon. Contemplation, debate, it raged on in him as he recalled the faces of former soldiers, friends…allies. All of them dying around him as he forged on and continued to survive. War is hell, but he was a dog that was born in it. It was all he knew, without a weapon nearby, he felt about as useless as a bathysphere in space. “Not today, spirits help me, I want to but not today. I haven’t worn myself into the ground yet and some good can still be gleaned out of me.”
Doubt filled his eyes even as he said this, uncertain if he was just telling himself a cruel lie or if he was just that terrified of pulling the trigger one last time.
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