CΛIN (†) Λimon M. (killingfields) wrote in monte_rpg, @ 2012-07-22 18:02:00 |
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Current mood: | angry |
[A fit of rage. That's all it is, really. Perhaps it's seeing Samael around, recognizing him, having him call him 'son', something like that. He's not happy, he's not enthusiastic. He's enraged. Maybe he's been wound up for a while, letting things build up. Frustration, and insecurity, malice, irritation. Everything is irritating. People talking to him, people at his job, people around him, people breathing.
He's been trying. But fuck trying. Fuck trying to get closer to his mother. Fuck trying to make friends. Trying to make enemies. Trying to joke. It's like a blunt heat in his skull that won't go away. Everything, everything is just so- entirely, all-consumingly enraging.
And he lets it consume him. He's out drinking alone when it finally gets to him, that dull ache that lights a quick-burning fuse in his stomach. Then he's overtop of someone, their shirt caught between his fist and and their chest, and Cain is a savage again. He bloodies his hands on their face, glasses shattering, people screaming and trying to pull him off, and all he can think about is the heat and the weight of that many bodies. Someone finally thumps him over the head hard enough to nearly knock him unconcious, and as he reels, he finds himself stumbling out of the doorway, running away yet again before someone can really start to recognize him. Fucked. He's fucked. The rage is so frightening. Empowering. All kinds of things he shouldn't be feeling wrapped up into one little incident that has him incoherent. Maybe that's just the alcohol, but this is beyond drunk. He feels like a madman, and it's terrifying and enthralling and awful. His heart races, and his fingers are unsteady. He's alive, if nothing else.]
I'm not sorry. I'm not sorry. He deserved it, and I'd do it again. Fucking- bitch.
[TEXT TO JAKE]
I just tried to kill somebody. Really tried. Got hit in the head. Please tell me we have bandages.