Sometimes shit happens. Hey, it's not always your day, it's alright. One moment you're riding high, soaring above these mud-riddled plains with the king of mercs by your side, another, you're running far away from the crater he blew himself up in. Y...
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ok enjoy and comment or i go paint the ceiling red
Ba-dumpth.
Ba-dumpth.
Ba-dumpth.
The heartbeat was rapid. The arteries were clogged by shock. They were filled with fear then quickly flushed with adrenaline. First, gray and blue spillages of utter pant-shitting panic were draining them of function – and immediately after, they were fully energized and springing to action. They were orange and burning.
Andy witnessed hell. He's seen people die, he's seen people suffer fates way worse than death. He's seen people come back, he's seen people go away time and time again. He's been here, been there, been pretty much everywhere. He has seen Kazdel at its best and worst – the former being a fish-eye view from the perspective of a dangling Kazdelian wind-chime, and the latter being a warm and inviting W-pillow nestled by his cheek. He's suffered and blissed. He's been everyone and no one.
But here?
Here, for fuck's sake?
A fork flew over his head, hooked his halo and shattered the thing to pieces. Barely even a shiver split his spine as a number of skidding dinner knives came spinning in his direction. He threw himself beneath the table with a huff and heard a few foreign bodies dropping dead all around.
"W-What the fuck do I do?!" He shouted. "What am I supposed to do?!"
"Ah." The Ghoul King calmly replied. With the Liberi carcass under one arm, the other kept itself occupied by roughly rubbing his chin area. "Perhaps reduce itself to a subject of the festival? As far as I know, that's your role here, is it not? To become a forced heir to the Crimson Throne?"
"No!" Andy yelled back, watching feet and legs trampling one another everywhere around. The roaring screams and bouts of warfare were occasionally broken by a loudly insistent barrage of rapid gunfire, courtesy of the wine delivery drones. Having dropped their nice and friendly facades, the murderous flies were now buzzing about the place with spinning rifle-barrels instead of sommelier-arms, hailing hellfire down upon the unsuspecting brawlers and bruisers. "W-Why'd you... Why h-haven't you told me?! Why the fuck is this stuff always happening to me?!"
"Tell you what?" The Ghoul King seemed surprised for once. A few drones forked over an attempt at taking his life, narrowly nosediving off-course and dying the second their hulls crossed the fifty-meter-mark of his vicinity. "... Primitives. Primitives, class-less scum. Youth, youth, youth... Toys of the future, ah..."
