They called it a punishment.
Punishment, as if I were some small, disobedient child. But their actions bordered cruelty, and Bastian had been in a foul mood to begin with. They'd forced the wretched serum down his throat, pinching his nose and forcing him to swallow. The tar-like Midnight Oil had slid down his throat, slow as a slug and just as foul. He'd struggled, fighting the soldiers who'd held him until one had gone so far as to pinch at the nerve in the side of his neck, sending a bolt of pain through him and turning his knees to rubber. He'd slumped and his mother's guard had moved to catch him. They carried him up to his room and lef
Charlie woke without much of a start. The transition between sleep and wakefulness seemed not to exist, for one moment she was but a figment of time and space, and the next she was there. She stared at the wall against which her twin sized bed had been thrown up against, watching as little specs of light danced across the drab cream paint. She'd woken thirsty, but in the back of her mind, a thought stirred to life. It was sluggishly swatted aside as she made her way out of her room and down the steps towards the kitchens.
She'd been asleep not two hours, and somehow found herself wide awake, sitting in the kitchen while she suckled at the en
I wanted to write something inspirational.
So I sat there with my laptop, staring at a blank page for what seemed an eternity. I was tired, I was upset; I was just a mess.
I wanted to meander up the 12 steps up to the top floor to my bed, slink beneath the sheets and just drift off to sleep.
Now when I say "drift off", what I really mean is "lay there for two to four hours thinking about things until my brain finally says 'fuck this shit', and shuts down". It's quite the process.
Sometimes my thoughts will wander to places I enjoy, such as Fabled Albion, upcoming hang outs, friends, past events, books, thunderstorms, tea, rain, etc.
So
Name: Julian Coutreau
Title: Private, Albion's Royal Army, Juno Devision.
Age: 21
Height: 5' 7"
Weight: 143 lbs
Eye color: Frosty blue, silver in some lights.
Facial Features: Delicate, effeminate features. Soft complection, missing his left eye.
Makeup & Tattoos: No tattoos. Claims not to wear makeup, though will apply oils at night, and wear khol and powder during the day.
Hair color: Raven black.
Hair Length: Medium length with a longer wave at the front, hiding his left eye.
Ornamentation: None.
Markings: Missing his left eye. The area about his lid is heavilly scarred.
Flesh Tone: Very pale.
Residence: Born in Gallia (Albion
They called it a punishment.
Punishment, as if I were some small, disobedient child. But their actions bordered cruelty, and Bastian had been in a foul mood to begin with. They'd forced the wretched serum down his throat, pinching his nose and forcing him to swallow. The tar-like Midnight Oil had slid down his throat, slow as a slug and just as foul. He'd struggled, fighting the soldiers who'd held him until one had gone so far as to pinch at the nerve in the side of his neck, sending a bolt of pain through him and turning his knees to rubber. He'd slumped and his mother's guard had moved to catch him. They carried him up to his room and lef
Charlie woke without much of a start. The transition between sleep and wakefulness seemed not to exist, for one moment she was but a figment of time and space, and the next she was there. She stared at the wall against which her twin sized bed had been thrown up against, watching as little specs of light danced across the drab cream paint. She'd woken thirsty, but in the back of her mind, a thought stirred to life. It was sluggishly swatted aside as she made her way out of her room and down the steps towards the kitchens.
She'd been asleep not two hours, and somehow found herself wide awake, sitting in the kitchen while she suckled at the en
I wanted to write something inspirational.
So I sat there with my laptop, staring at a blank page for what seemed an eternity. I was tired, I was upset; I was just a mess.
I wanted to meander up the 12 steps up to the top floor to my bed, slink beneath the sheets and just drift off to sleep.
Now when I say "drift off", what I really mean is "lay there for two to four hours thinking about things until my brain finally says 'fuck this shit', and shuts down". It's quite the process.
Sometimes my thoughts will wander to places I enjoy, such as Fabled Albion, upcoming hang outs, friends, past events, books, thunderstorms, tea, rain, etc.
So
Name: Julian Coutreau
Title: Private, Albion's Royal Army, Juno Devision.
Age: 21
Height: 5' 7"
Weight: 143 lbs
Eye color: Frosty blue, silver in some lights.
Facial Features: Delicate, effeminate features. Soft complection, missing his left eye.
Makeup & Tattoos: No tattoos. Claims not to wear makeup, though will apply oils at night, and wear khol and powder during the day.
Hair color: Raven black.
Hair Length: Medium length with a longer wave at the front, hiding his left eye.
Ornamentation: None.
Markings: Missing his left eye. The area about his lid is heavilly scarred.
Flesh Tone: Very pale.
Residence: Born in Gallia (Albion
They called it a punishment.
Punishment, as if I were some small, disobedient child. But their actions bordered cruelty, and Bastian had been in a foul mood to begin with. They'd forced the wretched serum down his throat, pinching his nose and forcing him to swallow. The tar-like Midnight Oil had slid down his throat, slow as a slug and just as foul. He'd struggled, fighting the soldiers who'd held him until one had gone so far as to pinch at the nerve in the side of his neck, sending a bolt of pain through him and turning his knees to rubber. He'd slumped and his mother's guard had moved to catch him. They carried him up to his room and lef
I should be packing, but I'll be a procrastinator until the day I die. So here's one last thing before I go..
Loves you all <3 I hope I come back alive. If I turn cannibal ... well, (insert dirty joke here).
Peace, world!!