Post by Entity on Dec 20, 2007 1:46:14 GMT -5
~Great Britain, August, 2007~
~ The bearded man doubles over in the alleyway of a city in Britain, coughing up his own blood, feeling it stain the back of his teeth, tasting that familiar taste. For a month straight, that's all he's been able to taste. He should be dead. He... swore... that he was. Had to be... Feeling his stomach, and that scar that was there... he knew he had to be. Of course, he knew the answer to his survival...
but unfortunately... he was gone now. Dead in front of him... the only warning to stop the last assault... to defend himself best he could in his crippled state. Thankfully, a gunshot saved him... much less destroyed his hiding spot in the following explosion. What, exactly was chasing him?
He didn't know... he prayed that they hadn't found him in the United Kingdom... he prayed almost hourly that they didn't. He couldn't bear another death to happen just to prolong his life... especially with the person he sought to help him. He knew he wouldn't last long. She was very tight with him... a past acquaintance that neither never left the other's mind, no matter what. He knew he could count on her... and hoped that danger didn't follow him. He couldn't live with himself if anything happened to her.
Sad. His mind had to drift from his own wife at this time. He had to live, for her. He fought daily to do so. His only memento of her, is a business card he retrieved off of his savior's body. Savior... that word is so funny to him now...
Feeling the pain pass, he pushes off of the wall, stumbling down further in the alley, keeping to the shadows. He limps heavily, pulling the hood of his coat further over his head. He doubted he was recognizable with the facial scars, the beard, and the long hair at this time. But he needed to keep to himself, especially with the slight blood coming from the corner of his mouth. He was strained. He barely made it to Britain smuggling himself on a ship. Any progress he had made had disappeared during that time, pretty much having the healing reversed with the strains he had put on himself.
But soon, he prayed, would be safety. Rest. He could only hope, leaving the limits of the city, into the British country side. Less than an hour later, he would be at his destination, the taped up fist knocking on the door, bringing him to his knees in exhaustion. The doorway to the expansive house opened, the familiar blue eyes shaded under shaggy, short, brunette hair watering up at the site in front of her. He could see the blond roots showing through as she dropped to her knees in front of him, grasping him tightly, bringing him inside to his safety and comfort, his time of healing that was much needed.
[/font]~ The bearded man doubles over in the alleyway of a city in Britain, coughing up his own blood, feeling it stain the back of his teeth, tasting that familiar taste. For a month straight, that's all he's been able to taste. He should be dead. He... swore... that he was. Had to be... Feeling his stomach, and that scar that was there... he knew he had to be. Of course, he knew the answer to his survival...
but unfortunately... he was gone now. Dead in front of him... the only warning to stop the last assault... to defend himself best he could in his crippled state. Thankfully, a gunshot saved him... much less destroyed his hiding spot in the following explosion. What, exactly was chasing him?
He didn't know... he prayed that they hadn't found him in the United Kingdom... he prayed almost hourly that they didn't. He couldn't bear another death to happen just to prolong his life... especially with the person he sought to help him. He knew he wouldn't last long. She was very tight with him... a past acquaintance that neither never left the other's mind, no matter what. He knew he could count on her... and hoped that danger didn't follow him. He couldn't live with himself if anything happened to her.
Sad. His mind had to drift from his own wife at this time. He had to live, for her. He fought daily to do so. His only memento of her, is a business card he retrieved off of his savior's body. Savior... that word is so funny to him now...
Feeling the pain pass, he pushes off of the wall, stumbling down further in the alley, keeping to the shadows. He limps heavily, pulling the hood of his coat further over his head. He doubted he was recognizable with the facial scars, the beard, and the long hair at this time. But he needed to keep to himself, especially with the slight blood coming from the corner of his mouth. He was strained. He barely made it to Britain smuggling himself on a ship. Any progress he had made had disappeared during that time, pretty much having the healing reversed with the strains he had put on himself.
But soon, he prayed, would be safety. Rest. He could only hope, leaving the limits of the city, into the British country side. Less than an hour later, he would be at his destination, the taped up fist knocking on the door, bringing him to his knees in exhaustion. The doorway to the expansive house opened, the familiar blue eyes shaded under shaggy, short, brunette hair watering up at the site in front of her. He could see the blond roots showing through as she dropped to her knees in front of him, grasping him tightly, bringing him inside to his safety and comfort, his time of healing that was much needed.