There was more than one language in which Eddie internalized his trauma and fear and frustration. Figurative swears that only had rough meanings across languages. Harsher, vague and yet clearly understood ones in his native language. All unspoken because he was above such crude language. But it ran through his head, trying to cope with what he'd just experienced. Hints of blood still remained, staining the underside of his nails even if he had wiped his hands compulsively clean.
He had hoped that it might have felt satisfying to destroy the image of his father, but the violent and base destruction only made him more afraid of why he was here. To die or to kill. He hadn't necessarily wanted to kill anyone, at the end of the day. People died at his hands (in the loosest of technicalities and however indirectly) because they deserved it. He had wanted to best and break others to show off his intellectual superiority and that was more what he'd wanted in his core.
He felt disgusting, like an animal no better than the flesh that brought him life.
The sound of singing reaches his ears through a window of a nearby building. It doesn't belong here amongst the sounds of distorted howling, insects clicking in the dark, and wind turning all these sounds into a deep and chilling moan. Despite whatever logic that would say "Avoid the sound that implies another human, possibly dangerous," he moves towards the source, finding the safest way inside and climbing in. He makes away with a few cuts and a splinter from climbing through a broken window. It's not enough to stop him from investigating further.
Despite his attempts to be mindful of his footing, a loud creak gives him away. He retreats back a few paces, around a corner for cover. Whoever was here would know of his presence now, and he had to be ready. His hand runs over his pocket and pulls out his crude shank made of steel eating utensils and wire, gripping it tightly. Just in case.
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He had hoped that it might have felt satisfying to destroy the image of his father, but the violent and base destruction only made him more afraid of why he was here. To die or to kill. He hadn't necessarily wanted to kill anyone, at the end of the day. People died at his hands (in the loosest of technicalities and however indirectly) because they deserved it. He had wanted to best and break others to show off his intellectual superiority and that was more what he'd wanted in his core.
He felt disgusting, like an animal no better than the flesh that brought him life.
The sound of singing reaches his ears through a window of a nearby building. It doesn't belong here amongst the sounds of distorted howling, insects clicking in the dark, and wind turning all these sounds into a deep and chilling moan. Despite whatever logic that would say "Avoid the sound that implies another human, possibly dangerous," he moves towards the source, finding the safest way inside and climbing in. He makes away with a few cuts and a splinter from climbing through a broken window. It's not enough to stop him from investigating further.
Despite his attempts to be mindful of his footing, a loud creak gives him away. He retreats back a few paces, around a corner for cover. Whoever was here would know of his presence now, and he had to be ready. His hand runs over his pocket and pulls out his crude shank made of steel eating utensils and wire, gripping it tightly. Just in case.