Dᴏᴍɪɴɪǫᴜᴇ ᴅ̶ᴇ̶ Cᴏᴜʀғᴇʏʀᴀᴄ。 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
libertin) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2014-07-07 06:47 pm
libertin) wrote in thecapitol2014-07-07 06:47 pm
Entry tags:
Freedom is within you
Who| Courfeyrac & Open
What| Post-Arena life adjustments and such. Basically, Max & Cindy are both gone and his world is a bit more dim.
Where| Training room, or elsewhere if you prefer.
When| Forwarded to after Max is killed by Kevin in the Arena, but before she's come back.
Warnings/Notes| Talk of character death? Tag in whatever format you like, just specify location!
Courfeyrac felt numb. Every ounce of emotion had been drained from him, every hope was gone. He'd been almost glued to the television once it got down to the final two. Max and Kevin. Vengeance would be hers and she would win and then he could go back into the Arena knowing that she was safe at least. But fate had other ideas, and as he watched the screen helplessly, his sister was turned to a bloody, lifeless mess.
It was enough to make him sick. It was enough to drain him of every human feeling, and once he felt empty, he was quickly overcome by a second wind of unstoppable rage.
He stalked out of the common area of the District 11 suite and toward his own room, literally knocking things over in his fury as he stormed passed. Furniture was kicked over, mahogany table flipped. If there had been china or glass around, he'd have thrown it to the ground. All he could see when he closed his eyes was her body, bloodied and mangled, with Kevin looming over her like a giant. Courfeyrac hadn't been so pissed off in a long time.
But that might've been it. It could have ended there. A day or two of rage over the injustice of watching Max die and he would have gotten over it. Except the hours continued to tick by and she had yet to return. He'd expected that she would come running to him, or bound up to him and scold him for fretting, at the very least. Instead, she was gone. Vanished. No more. Just like Cinderella.
He was so close to becoming morose over it all. That happy, jovial gent was ready to retire for good and let the sullen, mournful brat replace him forever. He didn't care about anything anymore. He had nothing left. His lover was gone. His language was gone. And now, the one bright spot that he'd cherished had disappeared too. Of course, there were friends and other company, but what good were they when he'd left his dear little Max all alone to die?
He couldn't stand the guilt. So instead, he took to beating the crap out of the available training dummies. He might not get the chance to kill Kevin with his bare hands, but he'd avenge his Max somehow.
What| Post-Arena life adjustments and such. Basically, Max & Cindy are both gone and his world is a bit more dim.
Where| Training room, or elsewhere if you prefer.
When| Forwarded to after Max is killed by Kevin in the Arena, but before she's come back.
Warnings/Notes| Talk of character death? Tag in whatever format you like, just specify location!
Courfeyrac felt numb. Every ounce of emotion had been drained from him, every hope was gone. He'd been almost glued to the television once it got down to the final two. Max and Kevin. Vengeance would be hers and she would win and then he could go back into the Arena knowing that she was safe at least. But fate had other ideas, and as he watched the screen helplessly, his sister was turned to a bloody, lifeless mess.
It was enough to make him sick. It was enough to drain him of every human feeling, and once he felt empty, he was quickly overcome by a second wind of unstoppable rage.
He stalked out of the common area of the District 11 suite and toward his own room, literally knocking things over in his fury as he stormed passed. Furniture was kicked over, mahogany table flipped. If there had been china or glass around, he'd have thrown it to the ground. All he could see when he closed his eyes was her body, bloodied and mangled, with Kevin looming over her like a giant. Courfeyrac hadn't been so pissed off in a long time.
But that might've been it. It could have ended there. A day or two of rage over the injustice of watching Max die and he would have gotten over it. Except the hours continued to tick by and she had yet to return. He'd expected that she would come running to him, or bound up to him and scold him for fretting, at the very least. Instead, she was gone. Vanished. No more. Just like Cinderella.
He was so close to becoming morose over it all. That happy, jovial gent was ready to retire for good and let the sullen, mournful brat replace him forever. He didn't care about anything anymore. He had nothing left. His lover was gone. His language was gone. And now, the one bright spot that he'd cherished had disappeared too. Of course, there were friends and other company, but what good were they when he'd left his dear little Max all alone to die?
He couldn't stand the guilt. So instead, he took to beating the crap out of the available training dummies. He might not get the chance to kill Kevin with his bare hands, but he'd avenge his Max somehow.
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And then the motherfucker is all of taking his hand. The Initiate feels as though his mind's been wiped blank.
"YES. Of course, brother," says his mouth, faster than his mind. It's the first he's been asked to pray for someone, instead have just done it. He lifts the hand that courfeyrac has taken, putting it, even held still, to the flat of his opposing hand. Some gestures are, it seems, universal. His eyes close and so he prays.
"UPON DAWN'S CRUEL ASCENT, O LAUGHING LAUDED, WITNESS STILL SCOURED AND UNSCATHED YOUR FAITHFUL FAMILY. Let us wince not to the light beyond split veil, see to us, Oh Mirthful, the salvation righteous to motherfuckin be. ALLOW THINE HAND TO COVER MINE EYES AND OURS, SO THAT WE MAY NOT BE BLIND, BUT DO SO IN SUBTLETY, THAT UNLACERATED WE REMAIN BY OUR ENEMIES. Give us your holy gracing, bestow to us your guidance most grand, our souls yours and yours, as loyally, we will follow thee. GIVE US GRACE OF SAFTEY TO THE DUSK AND SO TO YOUR NAMES SHALL WE SING. Amen." His breath comes out in a heavy drop, as he looks then to Courfeyrac.
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He says, "ARE ALL US NOT SINNERS, BROTHER? We are but mortal motherfucking beings. YOU HAVE CONFESSED TO YOUR SIN AND SO MAY NOW MOVE PAST. You did tell, you were of doubt. OF FAITH FALTERING A MOTHERFUCKER WAS LIKE TO BE. But still as you claim to lack piety, you pray. PERHAPS YOU ARE NOT SO LOST AS MOTHERFUCKING THOUGHT, MOTHERFUCKER. Perhaps, if you feel you have been forgiven, you have been. I SPEAK MESSIAHS' WORDS BUT I DO NOT CHOOSE THEIR PREACH. I know my place not to put words in the maw of the Mirthful. BUT AIN'T IT STILL NOT AN EASY THING WHAT AS TO CLAIM, THAT OF FORGIVENESS, AND SO THEN COULD IT ONLY BE OF THE HOLY? Could it not be sign? COULD IT NOT BE BLESSING OF A CHANCE DONE KICKED TWICE SO? Ought use it well, you should, my brother."
He pats the hand held, before letting go. He feels like to smile. Alternia, being as it was, he did not often get to do such things as this, a guidance personal for the righteous path, showing faith. It was of his favourite of the Gods' work.
"AIN'T SO QUEER. It is a Miracle, be what."