[ It's one party after another around here, Ephemera thinks sourly. When he was younger, he used to like parties. Not like some of his teammates did - not like Rodriguez and his parade of one night stands and legendary hangovers - but enough to burn off steam and kill the bad memories after the drops went sour. Any fight you can walk away from is a good one, the captain used to say. It wasn't until later that the second, unspoken part of that saying really sank in. Any fight you can walk away from is a good one, so long as you get back up and make your enemy suffer for it.
Even in the early days, the captain had that vindictive streak. Something subtle and quiet, something that waited under the surface. A good lesson, Ephemera thinks - glaring at the crowd around him, and pulling his hood up over his face.
He's not in white. He went out because he was going stir crazy with all the noise outside and he doesn't own anything that's white. Apparently that's a problem around here. Apparently that's breaking the rules. And apparently that's not kosher, because he's backed into something resembling a ring - and that's familiar, at least. That's like being tossed back into prison when the guards started getting bored.
The oil is new, though. It soaks into his hair, into his scars, and - hatefully - starts worming its way behind his prosthetic. He got a bucket to the face when he told the organizer to go fuck themselves. And then another after the fact when he wouldn't take his clothes off. Ended up blind and sputtering for a moment while the rules were explained and haha. No.
Fuck this. Fuck this city, these people, fuck them all. He bares his teeth and when they come for him, he makes them pay for it. There's blood running thick down his throat when he's shoved into the ring, naked as fuck with all his scars and tattoos on his display. Blood running down his throat and skin in his teeth and oh, this is how they're going to play it, huh? This is how it goes?
Fuck them. Fuck them all. And then of course he sees his opponent.
Ephemera can't help but laugh. Loud and rough, too-sharp. ]
event shenanigans
Even in the early days, the captain had that vindictive streak. Something subtle and quiet, something that waited under the surface. A good lesson, Ephemera thinks - glaring at the crowd around him, and pulling his hood up over his face.
He's not in white. He went out because he was going stir crazy with all the noise outside and he doesn't own anything that's white. Apparently that's a problem around here. Apparently that's breaking the rules. And apparently that's not kosher, because he's backed into something resembling a ring - and that's familiar, at least. That's like being tossed back into prison when the guards started getting bored.
The oil is new, though. It soaks into his hair, into his scars, and - hatefully - starts worming its way behind his prosthetic. He got a bucket to the face when he told the organizer to go fuck themselves. And then another after the fact when he wouldn't take his clothes off. Ended up blind and sputtering for a moment while the rules were explained and haha. No.
Fuck this. Fuck this city, these people, fuck them all. He bares his teeth and when they come for him, he makes them pay for it. There's blood running thick down his throat when he's shoved into the ring, naked as fuck with all his scars and tattoos on his display. Blood running down his throat and skin in his teeth and oh, this is how they're going to play it, huh? This is how it goes?
Fuck them. Fuck them all. And then of course he sees his opponent.
Ephemera can't help but laugh. Loud and rough, too-sharp. ]
Of course it's fucking you.
[ His hands are twitching. ]