But You Wanna Justify Ripping Someone's Head Off
May 29, 2016 8:34:08 GMT -5
Post by Black Adder on May 29, 2016 8:34:08 GMT -5
Tiffany wasn’t sure what she expected upon opening the door, but she definitely knew it wasn’t that. It had been too long since she had last heard from her sister, and that came with the side effect of Hana missing her scheduled treatments. Even in the past when Hana’s mood swung from angry to bitter she had always remembered to pop her head up for her treatments. This time was different and immediately worrying. The armchair was on its back, the couch had its cushions tossed around, the lamp was overturned and the bulb broken; but Tiffany’s eyes were drawn to the coffee table on its side and the shards of broken glass littering the floor around it. Near enough to the glass to be worried was Hana Song, complexion pale and arms scratched up.
”Jesus Christ...Hana?” Tiffany’s tone became worrying as she tried to shake her sister awake to no avail. ”You need a doctor..." Tiffany grabbed for her cellphone only to be stopped by a throaty voice.
”No...you’re my...doctor.”
Tiffany sighed and shook her head; the question of ethics was something she dealt with constantly whenever she lifted blood from the hospital for these unsanctioned treatments, but it was getting harder and harder to accept...this...all because of some stupid promise. ”We can’t keep doing this. You look like you’re dying. Hell, you might actually die and then what happens? I don’t care about the promise, I care about my sister. I care about you.”
Hana’s response was delayed and came with laborious breaths. ”I still...care...Ha..na…”
”Shhhsh, you’re talking nonsense. You’re Hana. But you might not be if you keep this up...I might not be here the next time…”
The Sisters Song said nothing more as Tiffany began to clean the cuts and prep Hana for another emergency procedure.
~
Pacing. Constant pacing. Back and forth with stomping feet. A face wearing anger but eyes wearing disappointment. Hana Song paced around the den in its undestroyed state. She paused long enough to make a tight fist, nails digging into her palm as her eyes glared towards a mounted camera, though when she spoke it was more to herself than to anyone in particular.
”The rich get richer and no one gives a shit. No one but me. They don’t understand. They think I’m bluster. They’re talking about me. I can hear them. Where’s the edge? The Venom? The Poisonous Predator turning into a Pusillanimous Pup. They think I’m weak!”
Her little rant is punctuated by hands raising a couch cushion and chucking it at a corner, causing the lamp to fall over; the second cushion is chucked towards a wall, knocking the camera onto the ground and creating a hell of a dutch angle.
”Every time I am hindered not by my ability. No. The constant third wheel. The entitled arrogant assholes not content to wait their turn. Everyone wants to jump. All the work. All the planning. The plotting. The slow burning machinations...ALL FOR WHAT? And what happens to me? ME? The supposed killer in the grass?” Hana cackles. ”They toss me a pittance. A CRIPPLE.”
The armchair is yanked to the floor in a bit of anger with an audible thud.
”I should be at the top, spitting on the lessers, and instead I’m handed a cripple on a platter like some sort of...offering. That’s what they think of me. And that won’t stand. The cripple will be lucky if he can hobble his way out of this in the end. I’m in a mood to take more than just the other leg. They think me soft now? They haven’t even seen anything.”
“Those victories the wounded man has mean little. Opponents too afraid to hurt someone we’re told to feel sympathy towards. Cowards. Hypocrites. If they think me weak now, then that will change. I’m done playing nice. Nice got me nowhere.”
“I hope you’re hearing this, Cripple, because I’m coming for you and you have no idea what that means. Before I was soft. I cared about winning. Now? All I care about is doing what feels...good. Hurting people. Making them share in my misery and agony. Hana Song, the Black Adder is dead. Long live Hana Song, Acanthopis. The Death Adder.”
“You come into my underbrush a cripple. Hope you don’t leave it a corpse. The bodies will pile up, starting with the silver platter cripple. I’ve ended careers, before I got lofty like Icarus. I think I might like to do that again. What better way to start than by crushing the dreams of a man already half broken? Then who will they be calling we...ak?” Hana stopped suddenly and collapsed forward, taking her coffee table down with her.
She lay there, still, slowly breathing, losing track of time until..
”Jesus Christ...HANA?”
”Jesus Christ...Hana?” Tiffany’s tone became worrying as she tried to shake her sister awake to no avail. ”You need a doctor..." Tiffany grabbed for her cellphone only to be stopped by a throaty voice.
”No...you’re my...doctor.”
Tiffany sighed and shook her head; the question of ethics was something she dealt with constantly whenever she lifted blood from the hospital for these unsanctioned treatments, but it was getting harder and harder to accept...this...all because of some stupid promise. ”We can’t keep doing this. You look like you’re dying. Hell, you might actually die and then what happens? I don’t care about the promise, I care about my sister. I care about you.”
Hana’s response was delayed and came with laborious breaths. ”I still...care...Ha..na…”
”Shhhsh, you’re talking nonsense. You’re Hana. But you might not be if you keep this up...I might not be here the next time…”
The Sisters Song said nothing more as Tiffany began to clean the cuts and prep Hana for another emergency procedure.
~
Pacing. Constant pacing. Back and forth with stomping feet. A face wearing anger but eyes wearing disappointment. Hana Song paced around the den in its undestroyed state. She paused long enough to make a tight fist, nails digging into her palm as her eyes glared towards a mounted camera, though when she spoke it was more to herself than to anyone in particular.
”The rich get richer and no one gives a shit. No one but me. They don’t understand. They think I’m bluster. They’re talking about me. I can hear them. Where’s the edge? The Venom? The Poisonous Predator turning into a Pusillanimous Pup. They think I’m weak!”
Her little rant is punctuated by hands raising a couch cushion and chucking it at a corner, causing the lamp to fall over; the second cushion is chucked towards a wall, knocking the camera onto the ground and creating a hell of a dutch angle.
”Every time I am hindered not by my ability. No. The constant third wheel. The entitled arrogant assholes not content to wait their turn. Everyone wants to jump. All the work. All the planning. The plotting. The slow burning machinations...ALL FOR WHAT? And what happens to me? ME? The supposed killer in the grass?” Hana cackles. ”They toss me a pittance. A CRIPPLE.”
The armchair is yanked to the floor in a bit of anger with an audible thud.
”I should be at the top, spitting on the lessers, and instead I’m handed a cripple on a platter like some sort of...offering. That’s what they think of me. And that won’t stand. The cripple will be lucky if he can hobble his way out of this in the end. I’m in a mood to take more than just the other leg. They think me soft now? They haven’t even seen anything.”
“Those victories the wounded man has mean little. Opponents too afraid to hurt someone we’re told to feel sympathy towards. Cowards. Hypocrites. If they think me weak now, then that will change. I’m done playing nice. Nice got me nowhere.”
“I hope you’re hearing this, Cripple, because I’m coming for you and you have no idea what that means. Before I was soft. I cared about winning. Now? All I care about is doing what feels...good. Hurting people. Making them share in my misery and agony. Hana Song, the Black Adder is dead. Long live Hana Song, Acanthopis. The Death Adder.”
“You come into my underbrush a cripple. Hope you don’t leave it a corpse. The bodies will pile up, starting with the silver platter cripple. I’ve ended careers, before I got lofty like Icarus. I think I might like to do that again. What better way to start than by crushing the dreams of a man already half broken? Then who will they be calling we...ak?” Hana stopped suddenly and collapsed forward, taking her coffee table down with her.
She lay there, still, slowly breathing, losing track of time until..
”Jesus Christ...HANA?”