Howard Bassem (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
iselldrugstothecommunity) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2013-09-26 03:48 pm
iselldrugstothecommunity) wrote in thecapitol2013-09-26 03:48 pm
Entry tags:
All My Instincts Have Failed Me for Once [Closed]
Who| Maximus and Howard
What| Howard meets the tiger.
When| Before the aliens plot.
Where| Max's room.
Warnings| None yet.
Graffiti's petty and Howard doesn't care. He knows full well that he won't be able to muster up the stubbornness or strength to stand up to the current Victor, who oh so casually turned Sigma and Eponine into zombie chili. He knows he's not brave enough to actually take any kind of revenge that matters.
But it's important to pretend he can, so he picks the lock to Maximus' room after visiting Eponine and lets himself in with a can of spraypaint. The room seems spartan to him, and he heads over to the bed with full intention of fucking it up. He can't do anything that can too easily be traced back to him, lest Eponine suffer for it, but celebrating the person who decapitated his girlfriend is too much for him. He can still see her in the screen, wriggling like a chicken laid on the stump.
He holds the spraycan up, then reaches for the lighter in his pocket, deciding. He didn't realize that Max got to keep the tiger.
It's only because there's a mirror in Max's room that Howard moves out of the way before Ferox sinks those gilded teeth into his neck. Howard throws himself to the side and falls as he grabs the handle of the closet door, feeling a pop in his shoulder as he wrenches the closet open, and lunges in before slamming it behind him.
Howard doesn't scream. He's used to the idea that there's no one coming if he screams, except maybe someone to pick over his corpse for loot. Instead he grabs the curtain rod in the closet and lifts his feet up, hanging on it until it bends and then snaps under the weight, and, with clothing on hanger still dangling like drying fish, shoves the rod against the door as the tiger's weight slams at it.
It's paltry protection. He looks for something else to jam the door, something to keep him from being eaten here in someone else's room. He holds his knife in his hand, despite knowing it's like trying to mop up a tidal wave with a wet wipe. So he just presses to the back corner and shakes.
What| Howard meets the tiger.
When| Before the aliens plot.
Where| Max's room.
Warnings| None yet.
Graffiti's petty and Howard doesn't care. He knows full well that he won't be able to muster up the stubbornness or strength to stand up to the current Victor, who oh so casually turned Sigma and Eponine into zombie chili. He knows he's not brave enough to actually take any kind of revenge that matters.
But it's important to pretend he can, so he picks the lock to Maximus' room after visiting Eponine and lets himself in with a can of spraypaint. The room seems spartan to him, and he heads over to the bed with full intention of fucking it up. He can't do anything that can too easily be traced back to him, lest Eponine suffer for it, but celebrating the person who decapitated his girlfriend is too much for him. He can still see her in the screen, wriggling like a chicken laid on the stump.
He holds the spraycan up, then reaches for the lighter in his pocket, deciding. He didn't realize that Max got to keep the tiger.
It's only because there's a mirror in Max's room that Howard moves out of the way before Ferox sinks those gilded teeth into his neck. Howard throws himself to the side and falls as he grabs the handle of the closet door, feeling a pop in his shoulder as he wrenches the closet open, and lunges in before slamming it behind him.
Howard doesn't scream. He's used to the idea that there's no one coming if he screams, except maybe someone to pick over his corpse for loot. Instead he grabs the curtain rod in the closet and lifts his feet up, hanging on it until it bends and then snaps under the weight, and, with clothing on hanger still dangling like drying fish, shoves the rod against the door as the tiger's weight slams at it.
It's paltry protection. He looks for something else to jam the door, something to keep him from being eaten here in someone else's room. He holds his knife in his hand, despite knowing it's like trying to mop up a tidal wave with a wet wipe. So he just presses to the back corner and shakes.