InsaneJournal

440 | Action

[Tyki's mood has shifted somewhat from the manic high of yesterday, the surge of emotions that resurfaced after awakening in this forsaken place again. The inescapable feeling of confinement, the hollowed husk of a man he'd become by the people who once again accompanied him here. He's full of disgust at the thought of existing here again, sick of the twisting agony that goes through him at the slightest recollection of all the days past. What has he become?

He's at the graveyard come nightfall, just as he suggested to Spike. It's nearing midnight, in fact, a dangerous time for this place as the sector stands by the guillotine waiting for the rope to be cut overhead. Perhaps that's why it's so suiting, so close to death itself that he feels comfortable roaming the gravestones with a bottle in hand. A wine bottle whose contents are dripping down the side from the lip which is crookedly capped by cork.

He sets the bottle down on a headstone, dressed in a crisp button down shirt with one sleeve rolled up and the left loose, damp and darkened with a fresh stain spreading up from the cuff. He did say he'd bring Spike something and he could think of no better link to the past than a bottle of freshly run blood. He sits down and leans against that same headstone, waiting the arrival of a good old friend.]