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Messages - Maverick Steele

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30-Day Challenge! / Re: Day Seven!
« on: 04/08/2015 at 00:45 »
Challenge Accepted

Posting with this account because Lysander E-L. I mean. What a guy. Breaking poor Mavs's heart. Stamping on his nationality and blood purity. Treating him like the bag carrier. Making Juni's surnames the mess they are.

Still one of my favourite characters to ever favourite. <3


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Past Workshop Prompts / Workshop Prompt II [Catatonia]
« on: 08/25/2013 at 06:56 »
The shot sounded like a tolling of a bell, long and mournful, echoing in his ears long after it had faded. He put his hands up to his ears slowly, covering them with his palms, and stood up from his seat in the front row. All around him people were screaming, like banshees in the dark; seats were overturned, paper was trampled, trees were crawled to for cover.

He saw and heard none of this. The bell had settled into a low, keening lament, curling gently in his mind like waves on the shore. With his hands still on his ears he advanced onto the stage and knelt, watching his father lie spread-eagled on the cold hard wooden planks, a gurgling noise issuing from his throat. His father's eyes twitched (did they move towards him, just for one moment, just for one infinitesimal second?) then rolled back, almost as if he was trying to look at the bullet hole in his forehead.

He watched until the chest stopped rising, and then removed his hands from his ears and moved them towards Father, gently closing the eyes. He picked up the hand, still warm, but somehow lifeless, never to move on its own again. The blood had pooled around his knees and he felt it sinking into his pants.

Mother had run away, the government people had run away, but Maverick stayed there, straight like a ramrod, standing at silent attention. Not a muscle moved in his face. He did not cry, he did not swear, he did not scream - just knelt there, eyes wide, unblinking, almost as pale as the dead man before him.

When the police and the ambulance came he refused to move. He sat with the body, still holding the hand, all the way to the hospital, held his hand on the steel table, still said nothing. Someone asked him if he wanted to change his pants, but he stared straight ahead, until they had to forcibly push him out of the operating theatre.

They drove home in silence and he went straight up to his room, scrunching his pants in his hands, and it was only then that the sobs - those ungainly, heaving sobs that coursed through his body, wracked his mind, that couldn't stop, wouldn't stop - came to wash away his pain.

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