you-make-me-thorny

[you-make-me-thorny]

the anon finds himself sliced by Kirk's blade, causing him to fall to the ground. a cry of pain echoes loudly as the other's armored boot plants itself heavily on his already injured gut to keep him down.

"Shh, shh, shh," the knight murmurs. "The sound is obscene. There is no need to make such a fuss..."

The cut had been along the person's tendon, more than enough to hobble them proper, but something would have to be done about all that noise.

The barbed blade would make a mess, and only intensify the screaming. There shouldn't be screaming. Not here. Not in this holy place. Not in his lady's chambers. It would disturb her rest. Besides - this was not a proper hunt. This was warding off vermin from the grass, mice from the walls. The pathetic thing beneath his boot wouldn't even make for a proper gift.

Instead, he fetches a dagger from a thin leather sheath situated between the thorns on his hip. The instrument is delicate and bone-white in the dim light of the cathedral.

Kirk kneels, clamping his free hand over the person's mouth as the dagger goes to swift work at their throat.

"Silence, little thing," he mutters. "Blessed quiet in this blessed place..."

[you-make-me-thorny]

is this blog still active?

[ This blog is still semi-active and can be roleplayed with by request. ]

[you-make-me-thorny]

I got away with murder, last night in the parking lot In cold blood, I have murdered parts of us that we forgot

--"nowhere fast," head automatica

[you-make-me-thorny]

The knight stirs.

Air runs its ragged river past dry lips and through cracked throat right down to his aching chest as he takes his first, heaving breath in years. His hands twitch in searching paths along the edge of his coffin, and the thorns on his gauntlets scraped against aged stone.

His very bones ache, protesting mightily as he pulls himself up to a sitting position. The tomb is cold, and mostly dark, save for a set of wax candles laid around it. He isn't sure how they are still burning; his body feels as though it hasn't known life in years.

It takes him some time to climb out of the coffin, as long disused muscles leap suddenly to action. By the time unsteady feet have found the cobbled floor, he seems more sure of himself. How long has it been?

The old knight stares out into the darkness beyond the edge of the candlelight, then takes a moment to search out - yes, there. Laid along the back of the coffin. A barbed helmet, and an equally fearsome sword.

Slipping his hand around the hilt of the weapon provides him with the same sensation a long-traveled man might discover upon crossing the threshold to his home.

"Ah," he breathes. "There I am..."

[you-make-me-thorny]

The knight stirs.

Air runs its ragged river past dry lips and through cracked throat right down to his aching chest as he takes his first, heaving breath in years. His hands twitch in searching paths along the edge of his coffin, and the thorns on his gauntlets scraped against aged stone.

His very bones ache, protesting mightily as he pulls himself up to a sitting position. The tomb is cold, and mostly dark, save for a set of wax candles laid around it. He isn't sure how they are still burning; his body feels as though it hasn't known life in years.

It takes him some time to climb out of the coffin, as long disused muscles leap suddenly to action. By the time unsteady feet have found the cobbled floor, he seems more sure of himself. How long has it been?

The old knight stares out into the darkness beyond the edge of the candlelight, then takes a moment to search out - yes, there. Laid along the back of the coffin. A barbed helmet, and an equally fearsome sword.

Slipping his hand around the hilt of the weapon provides him with the same sensation a long-traveled man might discover upon crossing the threshold to his home.

"Ah," he breathes. "There I am..."

[you-make-me-thorny]

family group chat

[you-make-me-thorny]

wraps u in bubble wrap

Pop.Pop pop pop. Pop pop pop popopopopopopopopopopopop–

[you-make-me-thorny]

✧ ░ “Join Rosaria’s Fingers.”

[you-make-me-thorny]

Would you really kill the other Fingers?

✧░ She laughs.

[you-make-me-thorny]

✧░ “Kirk pretty much lives with ants.”

[you-make-me-thorny]

if you ever feel stupid or weak or powerless, just remember that I, am not. And I am out there, very dangerous and I am looking for you. Good luck

[you-make-me-thorny]

She is just cleaning your armor to be nice and shiny of course! Make the spikes stand out more, ya know.

The knight is quiet for a moment, and then takes a step closer to the anonymous person.

“If my armor’s shiny, friend, I’ve failed to do my job,” he mutters. “Come here…”

[you-make-me-thorny]

You mean the harlot? Sitting in her own putrid squalor, helpless and weak, she is easy pickings at best and a disgusting invalid at worst. So strong and cruel, yet you stake your lot with one so pathetic? Cut my throat as you please, if only to spare me the humiliation of seeing you act the mewling child for a whore mother. How pathetic, both you and she.

“So mouthy,” breathes the knight. “So very loud. It’s alright - the anger, the fear…it’s almost over, friend…”

With the air of a longtime friend embracing their nigh-forgotten comrade, the knight draws the anonymous person against him in a tight hug - and the thorns do the beginning of his brutal work. With his arm ‘round their back, he continues drawing them closer, while his free hand finds the hilt of his sword.

He will not let go.

“It must be so lonely,” he murmurs. “To be so lost. So aimless. I was that way, once - I thought to seize hold of the life within others so that I myself might feel…satiated.”

The sword comes free; a jagged elbow finds brief purchase in the anonymous person’s bleeding torso, pushing them a step back -

- and the knight follows, driving his blade deep into their stomach, pressing and twisting where the barbs catch.

“Is she a perfect goddess? No,” he continues, as though admitting to a lover’s fault. “But in a place where all the gods are dead, mad, or both…”

There’s a horrid amalgamation of tearing and squishing sounds as he works the blade free, spilling viscera onto the floor between them both.

“…one makes do with whatever - or whoever - is at hand,” he finishes. 

[you-make-me-thorny]

gluttcny-archive:

step one: do not murder anyone

failed step one

[you-make-me-thorny]

if you ever feel safe please remember that im out there

[you-make-me-thorny]

yellowfingcr

"Hello Kirk! We're having a very intellectual conversation about the Fingers, right now."

“Nothing intellectual about it,” mutters the knight, trying - and failing - to hide the fact that the discussion puts him ill at ease. 

He draws himself up and stands a bit more rigidly, as though physically steadying himself will make his manufactured stoicism more believable. 

“What’s this about grand beauty, then?”

[you-make-me-thorny]

The knight seems a bit unsettled by the open discussion of intimacy among Rosaria’s followers. 

He has made getting close to him in any literal sense a very bad idea for a reason.