Post by Azrael on Jun 2, 2011 22:34:09 GMT -8
One of you will find this post oddly...familiar.
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As the sun slowly sank into it's grave in the distance, brilliant dark eyes stared in an almost entranced state as the golden orb disappeared beyond the horizon. Another man in a distant city sighed as his train of thought took a rather disturbing, if not altogether expected turn. This town held no more excitement for him. The people irked him, the hustle and bustle of the city made him nauseous, and worst of all there was seemingly no one who could match him in a battle of wits. Yes, he was very tired of this place. In fact...he might go as far as to say that he felt like this city was slowly driving him mad.
Jamming a hand sheathed in white cotton into a pocket sewn into a heavy-looking, very traditionally cut overcoat, he withdrew a nearly empty pack of unfiltered Lucky Strike cigarettes. Staring at the rather forlorn looking package held in his hand, he sighed as his face revealed the utter disgust that he currently felt. Grasping it just enough in his right hand, he tapped the bottom of the package against his left palm, causing one of the cigarettes to pop out of the opening in the flimsy paper packaging. Taking it in his full, slightly red lips he heaved a slight sigh as he stuffed the cigarettes rather agitatedly back into his pocket.
"I fucking hate these things..." were the sole words that left his throat. "They taste absolutely horrible..." His voice was a little hoarse, as if he had not spoken in a rather long time. The tonality of his voice was a deep, rich baritone that was a little reminiscent of a cello being bowed by an expert instrumentalist. He had a slight accent, as if he had once lived in another part of the world, but had come here in recent years. It did not sound like he was making an effort to hide his accent, but rather that his accent was being slowly taken over by the current tongue in which he spoke. With another annoyed sigh, he extracted a wooden match from the same pocket the cigarettes went into, struck it against a nearby red brick wall and lit his cigarette.
Taking a long drag, he tilted his head up and exhaled a column of smoke into the air and gave a wry little chuckle as he glanced all around him. Surrounding this mysterious man were several beaten and broken bodies. Most were dead, and a few were on the verge of death. He made sure that there would be no survivors that might go around spreading annoying rumors. The man grinned once as he extracted a long, twelve-inch blade that was currently sticking straight up in a morbid mockery of an erection from one of the bodies that surrounded him. Slipping the blade comfortably into a sheath that the man wore at his side, he strode away, kicking one of the several beaten, bloody corpses of the would-be attackers that dared to try and target him.
Tonight was not a good night.
---
As the sun slowly sank into it's grave in the distance, brilliant dark eyes stared in an almost entranced state as the golden orb disappeared beyond the horizon. Another man in a distant city sighed as his train of thought took a rather disturbing, if not altogether expected turn. This town held no more excitement for him. The people irked him, the hustle and bustle of the city made him nauseous, and worst of all there was seemingly no one who could match him in a battle of wits. Yes, he was very tired of this place. In fact...he might go as far as to say that he felt like this city was slowly driving him mad.
Jamming a hand sheathed in white cotton into a pocket sewn into a heavy-looking, very traditionally cut overcoat, he withdrew a nearly empty pack of unfiltered Lucky Strike cigarettes. Staring at the rather forlorn looking package held in his hand, he sighed as his face revealed the utter disgust that he currently felt. Grasping it just enough in his right hand, he tapped the bottom of the package against his left palm, causing one of the cigarettes to pop out of the opening in the flimsy paper packaging. Taking it in his full, slightly red lips he heaved a slight sigh as he stuffed the cigarettes rather agitatedly back into his pocket.
"I fucking hate these things..." were the sole words that left his throat. "They taste absolutely horrible..." His voice was a little hoarse, as if he had not spoken in a rather long time. The tonality of his voice was a deep, rich baritone that was a little reminiscent of a cello being bowed by an expert instrumentalist. He had a slight accent, as if he had once lived in another part of the world, but had come here in recent years. It did not sound like he was making an effort to hide his accent, but rather that his accent was being slowly taken over by the current tongue in which he spoke. With another annoyed sigh, he extracted a wooden match from the same pocket the cigarettes went into, struck it against a nearby red brick wall and lit his cigarette.
Taking a long drag, he tilted his head up and exhaled a column of smoke into the air and gave a wry little chuckle as he glanced all around him. Surrounding this mysterious man were several beaten and broken bodies. Most were dead, and a few were on the verge of death. He made sure that there would be no survivors that might go around spreading annoying rumors. The man grinned once as he extracted a long, twelve-inch blade that was currently sticking straight up in a morbid mockery of an erection from one of the bodies that surrounded him. Slipping the blade comfortably into a sheath that the man wore at his side, he strode away, kicking one of the several beaten, bloody corpses of the would-be attackers that dared to try and target him.
Tonight was not a good night.