| House of Horrors. [prp] | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Jul 16 2013, 02:52 PM (40 Views) | |
| Sulla | Jul 16 2013, 02:52 PM Post #1 |
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Newborn
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Prison no, but it was too close to such for comfort. Eardrums are still replaying the sound that had echoed from his phone. Giles was not coming and for once he made that clear. The gruff voice had thrown out quickly about something along lines of business, business he knows he would have been partaking in save for the fact the witch could not magically teleport his truck to the off-the-trail, little, rustic shack. Getting Sulla would be as much as a hindrance as it would be help so the boy is left behind. The powerful witch is left fending for himself, bleeding wounds now his own problem. Worry inevitable creeps into his lung about this. The vessel has a knack for getting in trouble, with his rough and raw personality exposed. Giles is past the point of being able to handle himself so worry should be far from Sulla’s mind. Concern though lingers; unneeded enemies were just that, unneeded. Fights were written in fate’s book along the path of growth, and as the adviser, the smartest man in two-man, warlock party, Sulla intends not to make any more than necessary. The singer plays the politics while the drunkard plays the power. Politics deem this all a bit more chaos than needed, putting him at unease. Giles would not be able to get his feet off the ground without Sulla’s guidance. Part of him knows worry and concern are not the only things keeping him at his fingernails. This cabin as welcoming as is it is just as unwelcoming. Giles’ name might as well be tattooed on his forward; a name that is not welcomed in this household. Beneath bitter rancor a lose handshake is strung. Infatuation embedded close at heart the eldest of the two forces the said man to follow the pack’s alphas like a boy. Not swept by loves charismatic charms, he is just clear-minded enough that Malphas knows this is what he needs. He is a general of a war unseen. Echoing in the back of his mind he still remembers quite clearly- ”Keep your eyes and ears open boy.” This is not his home. The hotel rooms are more welcoming than this place in the woods. Sleeping with the wolves has never been on his list to do, maybe on his list of things to avoid. The house is a steady home for wayward travelers, picking up some of the oddest characters they can kind around their little corner called America. As if the sisters (they seemed like sisters at least) were not interesting enough, there was a wizard as tall as Sears’ tower hunkered down here. He knew little of the strange fellow save for the fact in Giles’ spurt of rage, Zeke had been the cause. Those are not friendly memories, not to say the least. Yet something had caught his eyes in the way he had wept. Stubborn to admit it, the stoic boy can feel. Pity, sympathy, and empathy had rolled into his chest at the sight and still tug sadly at his heartstrings. Giles is unaware and is best left so. The man is fifty shades of lunatic making him much less than a relatable man. The tank was never aware what feeling was like, a trait he admitted to be feasible and low. Had he known, shame would have ridden in the pale, rough Norse cheeks. Sulla is different from his “father”; the boy can still feel beneath cold. Compared to Giles, Sulla is near seraphic. The night’s darkness drains through the cover of light. After a few minutes of attempting to read on his phone (the text swollen so large on the screen that about one or two words could fit on the phone total) he gives up, deeming it a failure. Weary from a summer’s day and concerned over his leader’s purposeless troubles he puts away the phone. Stark lips tire from giving warnings, as deadpan as they may be. Not a night goes by that he does not have to open his mouth, utter out words along the lines of telling a man to stop. Peace is a hardy task, a weary hardy task that makes him wonder how far he had fallen or how much he had pushed forward. Thoughts are doused as suddenly his nose inhales a scent. Smoke? For a moment he questions himself. Every house is equipped with smoke alarms aren’t they, shouldn’t they be going off? Curiosity though wins. He makes his way towards the familiar living room where the scent drifts to his nostrils. Steps are rushed instead of dragged, Sulla thinking nothing of it but more along the lines of what exactly could be the fire. He can feel it before he enters the room, the magic and heat of flames. Fire has always been an adversary, an instigator of turmoil pain beneath his well kempt surface. Panic threatens to override but is kept at bay. The giant that had crossed his mind a few minutes past welcomes him in his peaceful slumber with flames. Coincidence? He would rather believe so than what it could possibly be. Ages ago the culprit had been found, buried beneath Giles’ skull. He has to act before the man burns the household down to ash. One house is enough to be claimed by flames and he is not quite sure he’ll survive this one. Not frantic but determined, he forces his way into the room, towards the middle in unfamiliar grounds, no time to take his usual route of feeling his way along the walls. He will off shoot this or be close, but as the heat suddenly dies down, blurry orange disappearing from his sight, feet come down onto something. Caden is the unknowing cause. The toy goes flying out from under his feet in a blur. Sulla is sent airborne as his feet fly upwards. Gravity is quick to take his toll and as Zeke is deep in slumber, the teenager of the house comes thrashing down to earth, straight on his ass. A loud thump echoes throughout the house as he collides with hardwood flooring covered with rugs (softening his blow thankfully). His rear hits first but his back is thrown to the floor, hitting once for a final blow. If that does not wake Zeke up, nothing will. |
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2:49 AM Jul 11