No More Losers

legendary-25:

“Me?  My mornin’s been awesome, bro.”  After the first small hit of morphine for his leg pains, everything had been awesome.  The blood tests.  The X-rays.  The pain.  ”And I’m doin’ real good.  I mean, you’re actually takin’ the time to actually visit me and shit; so I guess I’m doin’ good.  How’s shit outside?  Everybody still hate me?”

At hearing the hipster’s imperious tone, he couldn’t help but grin.  Seems like so long ago, when he last heard ol’ Vinnie talking down at him.  Well, figuratively.  ”I dunno.  Thought ya might have had a change of heart, seein’ that the apocalypse is near.”  Gingerly, he accepted the gift, careful not to damage the already softened cover.  ”If it’s so important to you, then why’re you givin’ it to me?  I don’t read.”

“That’s good to hear, Charlie.  I’m glad you’re doing better.”  Better?  The guy was laying there, sick and useless, in what could be his deathbed.  They gave him something, he was sure.  No one could possibly be happy where he was now.  At his questions, he kept the truth hidden firmly behind his teeth.  The truth that everyone at school was jumping all over it.  Laughing at the constant re-tellings.  ”Everything is doing well in the land of the normal people.  Well.  A lot of them miss you.”

He smiled sadly at Charlie’s remark.  ”I’m afraid people don’t change, Charlie.  If they did, we wouldn’t even be in this mess.”  He wasn’t sure what the Army had planned for all of them, but they weren’t going to just surrender like good, little sheep.  Not him.  Not his brother.  Not even Charlie.  A silent promise made itself known in his head, one he hadn’t made in years.  He was going to stop the LB Army.  If not for his brother, then for his dying friend.  ”We both know that’s not true.  You need it more than me anyway.  It’s a parting gift.”

(via legendary-25-deactivated2013051)

legendary-25:

He scooted himself into an upright position and smiled one of his old, toothy grins as soon as he saw a familiar, pale face peeking through the gap in the door.  ”What’s up, brah?  Didn’t expect to see you here.  Or anybody, actually.  So, you came to see MacD surrounded by nurses?  Dude, I’m real flattered.”

With a knowing grin, he watched Vincent’s hand slide a small book towards him.  Typical, hipster Vinnie.  The once great quarterback was probably in his deathbed, and the best thing that white son-of-bitch could bring him was one of his old, boring books. “Bro, is that a Bible?  Naw man,  I ain’t too into that stuff.  But hey, MacD appreciates your gift.  I’ll read every word of it; I promise.”

Vincent smiled faintly at the greeting.  Same, old Charlie.  Close to death and still managed to be one of the friendliest pricks he had ever met.  ”Good morning, Charlie.”  Not, it is not a good morning.  ”Just visiting to see how you are faring.  Are- are you doing well here?”

He flipped the worn paperback over, examining the picture of a small cluster of sylvant trees and a bull.  Underneath it, the dark, broken roots of an old tree.  Good and evil.  ”I’m an atheist,” he says with a terse, condescending tone.  ”Why would I give you a Bible?  I- it’s East of Eden.  Remember that word?  Timshel?  It’s from this novel.  I thought you would appreciate it.  This book means a lot to me, especially now.”

(via legendary-25-deactivated2013051)

legendary-25:

The man in the white coat and scrubs smiles at him from the door. A sad smile.

Cardiomegaly is what he called it. Not the disorder, but a symptom of it. Or rather, an unfortunate development of the longer, crueler condition…

“Charlie.”  He barely opened the door before edging his way in and shutting it behind him.  The bedridden star quarterback didn’t want anyone seeing him like that, he was sure.  ”You probably think I abandoned you, but I rushed here as soon as I heard the news.”

The ranks had taught him not to flinch at the mere visage of suffering, death, or illness.  Even then, the sight of his once mirthful friend, now weak and useless, brought him back a little.  Not taking his eyes off the (now former) athlete, he slid a small book upon his bedside table and shook his head.  ”I- got you a present.  It isn’t much, but you need this more than I do.  You can read, right?”

(via legendary-25-deactivated2013051)

helter-skelter-assasin:

Helter´s defeated expression did not change. But his heart felt like being relieved by Vincent’s words. His eyes widened a bit. Was it real? Vincent apologizing…? Helter always thought he would be the one who had to apologize to his brother for leaving him alone for so long, for being another motherfucker assassin in secret. But he never did. And maybe he never would. Why? It was just absurd. The damage was already done, and saying sorry, would not change anything in their lifes. He doesn’t think it would make Vincent feel better anyway.  However, there was his little brother apologizing for his mistakes…

Vincent had to stop himself from drawing back from the touch.  It was just a hand on his shoulder, yet it was something that meant that his brother was trying hard to express something.  Brother wasn’t the type to pussyfoot around something; he always said what was on his mind, straight and clear.  Yet, he could not speak now, of all times.  The small gesture sent a current of fear wallowing in him.  What was his brother trying to tell him?  He was disgusted with him, maybe.  Disgusted by his outburst, his lack of emotion, his callous disregard for other human beings…

All these thoughts of flaws and failed friendships were ousted from his mind when Helter wrapped his arms around him.  Skelter squirmed uncomfortably, bewildered by the show unusual of affection.  His brother was warm, very unlike the cigar-smoking, sailor-mouthed, liquor-drinking assassin that the world knew him as.  It frightened him.  Angered him, almost.  This was not how assassins were supposed to act.  Assassins didn’t have friends or family.  They only had weapons and cold, hard money.

He considered shoving him off in a fit of disgust, but he couldn’t help but think about how they were when they were both still young and innocent.  A time when he was still happy and not this horrible, unfeeling, pretentious monster of a human being.  A time when all they had was each other.  The last time Helter held him like this was when they were forced to sleep in a park, and the brothers had to clump together for warmth.  It was cold as death, but Brother tried his best to keep him warm.  He didn’t even care about himself; he bundled him up in his jacket and just hung onto his little brother as if Death were coming to snatch him away.

Why was he thinking about this now, of all times?  They were both “grown-up”.  They no longer had to worry about getting adequate food or finding a safe place to sleep at night.  What was this he was feeling?  A deep pain?  Much worse than just physical pain, surely.  But from where?  His still-human side.  He didn’t think it was still alive, but there it was.  Weak.  But still alive.

Mouth twisted into a frown, his own arms slowly raised themselves to return the hug.  This was very much unlike them.  If the other assassins saw this, they would probably murder themselves from disgust.  Yet, he understood now what his brother was trying to tell him, even if it was through such an insignificant gesture.  Even after all that he had done, his brother was still there for him.  Even after finding out about the evil and wicked person that he was, his brother still loved him.

“I guess we must fight for something now that we’re alive.  I’m not sure what the army or whoever the fuck runs this place has in store for us, but we’ll fight it together.  I’d-  I’d rather fight for a chance to live rather than not live at all.”  What he was doing now was not living.  No.  Far from it.  It was simply surviving, just as he had done in the ranks.  “I guess we are worth fighting for.”

When his brother finally released him, Vincent broke out in an angry blush.  He adjusted himself, trying to stick that indifferent expression back onto his face.  They were probably not going to talk about this moment for a long time.  “I always keep my revolver loaded, Helter.  After all, I am an assassin.”

helter-skelter-assasin:

” What the…Do not turn a deaf ear to your responsibilities, noting that we all joined the UAA so it’s all everyone’s fault! It was you who offended a fucking depressed psycho, who reacted that way at what your mind speaks! Am I right? Or accepting it maybe offends you?” Then he sigh looking down…

“Of course I am offended, Brother.”  His brother was really bringing out the pissed-off side of him that people rarely see, yet he couldn’t help but think of their petty childhood arguments.  Only this was not childhood; this was the real world.  “I am being expected to take responsibility for murders which I did not commit.  I have every right to be offended.  Yes, I admit that I offended her.  Intentionally, too.  However, she is every bit as responsible for her own actions as I am for mine.  Your insinuation that my words pushed her into commiting those acts of violence is the same as blaming the media for school shootings.  It’s sophmoric and absurd.”

Perhaps his objectivist side was yelling out in protest.  He hadn’t been this worked up since his battle with that prick Touchdown.  “Perhaps I did offend a certain Rank Twenty-three.  I’m afraid I cannot be held accountable for her feelings, either.  Last time I checked, I’m not accountable for anyone’s emotions except my own.  It’s called choice, Brother.  She chose to lash out in such a manner.  Even if we hadn’t had that unpleasant exchange, she probably would have killed them anyway.  Besides, anger does not justify murder.  If that were so, then every woman beater and child abuser in this city would be let off the hook.”  Ironic, coming from the same person who launched a three-year killing spree to find the murderer of his brother.

Watching his prideful brother’s face twist in sadness put a stop to his harsh words.  He had never seen his brother like that, completely overtaken by despair.  It frightened him.  “I-  I’m sorry, Brother.  I should’ve-  I should’ve worded myself better.”  He was a survivor, even since they were children.  It was in his nature to become defensive when under attack - to always carry a weapon, even if the weapon is his mind.  He never thought he would have to lash out at his own brother.

“Perhaps you’re correct.”  He had carried his attitude from the ranks with him into this seemingly peaceful world.  Maybe he lost the trust he once had in mankind.  Maybe he never had it to begin with.  Still, Brother’s words were full of a kind of honesty he had never seen in him.  Who knew that the more humane of the brothers would turn out to be Helter, the rough-mannered cigar smoker?  “I-  I must be more lenient with people.  At least, for now.”

Mercy.  A concept he could not embrace as an assassin.  Yet, if they had any hope for peace in this new Santa Destroy, then they all had to have mercy.  Not only on each other but on themselves, as well.  They had to get over whatever bitchfit they had as assassins and band together.  He wasn’t sure what was happening down at the army base, but none of them would stand a chance against them alone.  Maybe it was simple intuition, but he had a feeling that future bloodshed may be necessary, if not inevitable.  “Alright.  My eyes are opened, Brother.  You have me on your side.”

bondage-cake:

She stopped right now, seeing the Skelter boy with judging eyes. The venomous vixen grabbed her forehead and frowned, negating with the head.”You don’t know anything at all…” babbled, with a strange serious tone.”Suddenly, you want to know everything about me, huh?What’s with the insultant child of the other day?Wanting to talk like an adult…?Let’s go, honey.”Cloe glared willpowered at him,enraged.This is going too far. This life of hers is twisting in ways she doesn’t like at all.

His expression did not twist at the toxic vixen’s notorious wrath. His three years in the underworld numbed whatever sense of fear he had left, yet the weight of their exchange sat heavily in his stomach. Right now was no time for snarky comments or defensive remarks. Every step they took could be on a land mine. “Alright, Cloe. Perhaps I was too quick to judge you the other day. I apologize. I should have not spoken to you in such an unpleasant manner. All I request is an explanation of sorts.”

He didn’t know much about the top-secret organization, other than the fact that they were the closest thing that Santa Destroy had to a standing military force. The citizens of Santa Destroy readily crawled towards them for leadership after Pizza Batt fell. The city rebuilt itself, destroying everything that it could not sustain. The job market increased. For once, the city was clawing its way out of a crippling financial depression. Her absolute disgust towards their new government made him raise a brow.

“Tools? What do you mean?” Barely any of them remembered how they came back to the world of the living. Most woke up in the most precarious places, no memory of how they ended up there. Yet, Cloe’s words incite a feeling of dread deep in the back of his mind. “Why do they need us? What are we to them?” It was a humbling feeling, knowing that an intellectual like him failed to catch on to the possibility of a hidden agenda. Of course. How could he have not realized it sooner? After all, what is a roleplay without some crazy, secret plot?