Lord Wyron
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- Old Guild Username: TwistedShadow98
- Joined: 13 yrs ago
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- Lord Wyron 6 yrs ago
- ████████████ 13 yrs ago
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Most Recent Posts
I got a post up for Marcus, putting him in the same restaurant that Vander, James, and Mason were in before they got snatched by the cops. COINCIDENCE
We try to exemplify the best traits in each other.
Marcus stopped himself in the middle of the streets of District One, looking down at his own hands in confusion. Why did they look so different, so strange? Bruises were marred across them, as well as already rapidly healing lacerations. He didn't go anywhere last night, did he? He would occasionally wake up in an unknown location, unaware of the events that had transpired previously. Was it the hallucinations? He wasn't insane, "Just a side effect of the rehabilitation." the doctors had told him.
Marcus placed a hand on the few remaining syringes in his coat pocket, sighing dejectedly. He needed something to eat. He made his way across the District, eventually entering Cafe Pinot (coincidence? Maybe) and was ushered into a small booth by a window. He looked down at his hands once more; any previous injuries were faded away. Marcus' mouth was left agape at the sight, as he flipped his hands over and over in front of him. The injuries were there just less than 10 minutes ago. Was he *really* going mad?
"What can I get for you, Sir?" Marcus jumped up in his seat as a female voice spoke to him. He looked up slowly, offering a warm, if not somewhat weak smile towards the waitress, a young dark-haired woman no older than 25. "Umm, hi, yes. I'd like a glass of Coke to drink, please. And a french toast plate, too, if you don't mind." His words, though troubled, came out as polite and friendly.
He handed his menu to the girl, who offered her own smile before walking off. Marcus looked up and around him, stopping shortly on a tall, lanky man in a thick, closed trench coat and fedora disguising his visage. Marcus couldn't help but stare at the man for some time, but was appalled when the man disappeared from site after Marcus had blinked.
He fingered for one of his syringes again but stopped himself. It had only been about 30 minutes since his last injection. An overdose could overload his brain cells and kill him in minutes.
Marcus lost himself in his own thoughts, only offering a half-hearted, distracted 'thank you' as his food arrived. He ate in silence, his hair swept in front of his face. However his head shot up as he saw three individuals arrested in the middle of the restaurant.
He recognized one of the officers leading the raid, and approached him quickly. "Harrison, what's going on here?" Marcus asked concernedly. "What? How do you know my name? Piss of, civilian, before I turn you in too." The gruff man responded.
Marcus looked more confused than ever as all three individuals, now handcuffed and escorted, were taken out and put in the squad cars. How did Marcus know that officer? Why was he getting involved? He didn't know. Sitting down slowly, Marcus returned to his food and his thoughts, completely lost for words and understanding.
Marcus placed a hand on the few remaining syringes in his coat pocket, sighing dejectedly. He needed something to eat. He made his way across the District, eventually entering Cafe Pinot (coincidence? Maybe) and was ushered into a small booth by a window. He looked down at his hands once more; any previous injuries were faded away. Marcus' mouth was left agape at the sight, as he flipped his hands over and over in front of him. The injuries were there just less than 10 minutes ago. Was he *really* going mad?
"What can I get for you, Sir?" Marcus jumped up in his seat as a female voice spoke to him. He looked up slowly, offering a warm, if not somewhat weak smile towards the waitress, a young dark-haired woman no older than 25. "Umm, hi, yes. I'd like a glass of Coke to drink, please. And a french toast plate, too, if you don't mind." His words, though troubled, came out as polite and friendly.
He handed his menu to the girl, who offered her own smile before walking off. Marcus looked up and around him, stopping shortly on a tall, lanky man in a thick, closed trench coat and fedora disguising his visage. Marcus couldn't help but stare at the man for some time, but was appalled when the man disappeared from site after Marcus had blinked.
He fingered for one of his syringes again but stopped himself. It had only been about 30 minutes since his last injection. An overdose could overload his brain cells and kill him in minutes.
Marcus lost himself in his own thoughts, only offering a half-hearted, distracted 'thank you' as his food arrived. He ate in silence, his hair swept in front of his face. However his head shot up as he saw three individuals arrested in the middle of the restaurant.
He recognized one of the officers leading the raid, and approached him quickly. "Harrison, what's going on here?" Marcus asked concernedly. "What? How do you know my name? Piss of, civilian, before I turn you in too." The gruff man responded.
Marcus looked more confused than ever as all three individuals, now handcuffed and escorted, were taken out and put in the squad cars. How did Marcus know that officer? Why was he getting involved? He didn't know. Sitting down slowly, Marcus returned to his food and his thoughts, completely lost for words and understanding.
Yes...yes she does
Yes, yes she does. Roman is practically all she talks about. You'll have a fan club and a Facebook page here in a few days.
Actually, that'll wait a bit. I'll further the plot a bit more between both characters.
I'll post a collab - with myself. Sektor will meet up with Marcus and form the A+ TEAM
Yes she agrees. Hell, she's even tempted to make an account just to lurk more .-.
Got a post up for Marcus! Also Mach, my sister now idolizes you for loving Firefly.
(The night before)
Restless. Marcus tossed and turned in his bed, tossing the covers about his well-built frame; a sheen of sweat layered him, his hair plastered against his face, which had contorted into a despairing frown.
Fractures and shards of images were there and gone through the maze of thought that was his dreams. Figures stood, shrouded in light and shadow; voices overlapped, sounds deafening, lights blinding. He couldn't take it anymore, it was too much.
Marcus cried out in fear, bolting upright in his bed. He ran a single hand through his tangled mess of hair, breathing shaky and uneven. He swallowed difficultly, attempting to regain his composure.
He turned over, looking at the holo-clock on his bedside table. "Only 2 in the morning." He said to himself in a breathy tone, chuckling weakly. He stood, throwing a simple gray t-shirt on and a black pair of sleep-pants. He left his bedroom, walking to the adjacent living room, the soft patting of bare feet on the polished floor of his home.
He hit a simple switch against the wall of the large living room, a dim glow lighting up the room. Marcus' eyes squinted as they adjusted to the introduction of light. He walked to the open kitchen/bar, beginning to pour himself a glass of wine. He frankly didn't give a damn that it was this early, he needed something to help relax his senses.
He took the glass and sauntered over to one of his tall, bleach white armchairs. He turned on the holovision, taking a few sips of wine in-between flipping through channels. One of the channels he passed by was showing reruns of 'Interstellar Attraction'. "Ugh, who watches that garbage?" Marcus asked to no-one in particular. He finally settled to stopping it on a news channel. He watched, only half-paying attention for what seemed like forever before finally losing himself to sleep once more.
He awoke uncomfortably in the chair, the half-finished glass of wine still on the coffee table where he had left it, undisturbed.
Marcus rose and stretched with a deep groan, pops sounding from his back and arms as he did so.
He left the living room and went back into his bedroom, tidying up a little bit. "Heh, maybe I should invest in one of those cleaning droids." He said to himself once more.
He walked into the bathroom that connected to his bedroom, quickly undressing and hopping into the shower. Light had peeked on through his windows and upon pressing a few buttons on a wall-mounted console in his shower, the internal speakers throughout the house began playing Weird Fishes, by Radiohead. The song would be considered a 'classic' at this time. But Marcus took a certain joy in listening to them. Perhaps something in his damn messed up brain cells that enjoyed them. He didn't know and didn't care.
Marcus got out of the shower and fixed his hair, smiling simply as he fixed it up just the way he liked it. He got dressed, putting on a knee-length leather trench coat over a black long-sleeved shirt with matching jeans and boots.
He began reaching for the holstered pistol he kept in his dresser, holding back for a moment. The whispers started again, mismatched and unintelligible. Only a small, sharp command could be heard amongst the hundreds of voices issued. "Take it..." The harsh voice spoke, its tone sounding like fissures in ice.
Marcus sighed, looking weary as he grabbed the pistol and holstered it within the confines of his coat. He left the house, locking it as he walked away. He approached his car, a sleek black car, top market.
He stopped as he began opening the door, images and voices filling his head and vision once more. He clenched his head with both hands, squeezing his eyes shut. He reached inside his coat, pulling out a small, sleek looking syringe and injecting it into his neck. The hallucinations subsided and he breathed out a sigh of relief; stepping inside his car. He turned on the ignition, LED lights lit up all over the interior and a computerized voice spoke from the center console, "Good morning Mr. Aurelius, how are you today?"
"I'm just peachy, Computer." Marcus replied sarcastically, shifting it into reverse and leaving his residence silently.
Restless. Marcus tossed and turned in his bed, tossing the covers about his well-built frame; a sheen of sweat layered him, his hair plastered against his face, which had contorted into a despairing frown.
Fractures and shards of images were there and gone through the maze of thought that was his dreams. Figures stood, shrouded in light and shadow; voices overlapped, sounds deafening, lights blinding. He couldn't take it anymore, it was too much.
Marcus cried out in fear, bolting upright in his bed. He ran a single hand through his tangled mess of hair, breathing shaky and uneven. He swallowed difficultly, attempting to regain his composure.
He turned over, looking at the holo-clock on his bedside table. "Only 2 in the morning." He said to himself in a breathy tone, chuckling weakly. He stood, throwing a simple gray t-shirt on and a black pair of sleep-pants. He left his bedroom, walking to the adjacent living room, the soft patting of bare feet on the polished floor of his home.
He hit a simple switch against the wall of the large living room, a dim glow lighting up the room. Marcus' eyes squinted as they adjusted to the introduction of light. He walked to the open kitchen/bar, beginning to pour himself a glass of wine. He frankly didn't give a damn that it was this early, he needed something to help relax his senses.
He took the glass and sauntered over to one of his tall, bleach white armchairs. He turned on the holovision, taking a few sips of wine in-between flipping through channels. One of the channels he passed by was showing reruns of 'Interstellar Attraction'. "Ugh, who watches that garbage?" Marcus asked to no-one in particular. He finally settled to stopping it on a news channel. He watched, only half-paying attention for what seemed like forever before finally losing himself to sleep once more.
He awoke uncomfortably in the chair, the half-finished glass of wine still on the coffee table where he had left it, undisturbed.
Marcus rose and stretched with a deep groan, pops sounding from his back and arms as he did so.
He left the living room and went back into his bedroom, tidying up a little bit. "Heh, maybe I should invest in one of those cleaning droids." He said to himself once more.
He walked into the bathroom that connected to his bedroom, quickly undressing and hopping into the shower. Light had peeked on through his windows and upon pressing a few buttons on a wall-mounted console in his shower, the internal speakers throughout the house began playing Weird Fishes, by Radiohead. The song would be considered a 'classic' at this time. But Marcus took a certain joy in listening to them. Perhaps something in his damn messed up brain cells that enjoyed them. He didn't know and didn't care.
Marcus got out of the shower and fixed his hair, smiling simply as he fixed it up just the way he liked it. He got dressed, putting on a knee-length leather trench coat over a black long-sleeved shirt with matching jeans and boots.
He began reaching for the holstered pistol he kept in his dresser, holding back for a moment. The whispers started again, mismatched and unintelligible. Only a small, sharp command could be heard amongst the hundreds of voices issued. "Take it..." The harsh voice spoke, its tone sounding like fissures in ice.
Marcus sighed, looking weary as he grabbed the pistol and holstered it within the confines of his coat. He left the house, locking it as he walked away. He approached his car, a sleek black car, top market.
He stopped as he began opening the door, images and voices filling his head and vision once more. He clenched his head with both hands, squeezing his eyes shut. He reached inside his coat, pulling out a small, sleek looking syringe and injecting it into his neck. The hallucinations subsided and he breathed out a sigh of relief; stepping inside his car. He turned on the ignition, LED lights lit up all over the interior and a computerized voice spoke from the center console, "Good morning Mr. Aurelius, how are you today?"
"I'm just peachy, Computer." Marcus replied sarcastically, shifting it into reverse and leaving his residence silently.
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