Post by The Blade's Shadow on Dec 3, 2013 20:44:11 GMT -5
The legs had stopped kicking a long time ago. By now the child had ceased struggling, being hauled along by a man two or three times his own size. He couldn't tell anymore and really, it didn't matter in the slightest. The thick fingers that threatened to crush his wrist with every passing second finally shifted but it was only to toss the disheveled child against the wall.
The kid felt his bones whine and creak from the sudden impact and could only very barely bring himself to glare up at the man who had inflicted it. At least he could feel the tips of his fingers again, even if all he did with them was clutch his throbbing torso. There were noises, clearly a voice yet between the pain and sound of someone- himself, he managed to divine after a moment- gasping frantically for air, he couldn't make out a word that was being said.
Another stint of words he was deaf to were clearly directed at him, his response being a bitter, tear-filled glare and a weak cough. If he could've mustered more, he definitely would have. Sprawled on the ground and nearly numb with pain as he was, the hulk of a man didn't have any resistance as he vented his irritation in the form of a foot lodged in the child's stomach.
A second sputtering gasp was wrenched from the younger male but at least he could hear again, finally cognizing the vitriol and drunkenly formed threats he was being drowned in. Something about his parents being worse than the guts he cleans. It brought a smile to the kid's face, to know at least the fat butcher could get that much right. It wasn't something the man, clad primarily in a bloody apron, wanted to see. The thick sausage fingers grabbed a handful of the lank, long, sweaty brown hair atop the boy's head and hauled him off the ground.
With his legs starting to kick again, reaching pathetically for the ground below, his vision blurred into a terrible mishmash of color as tears sprang forward once more. Apparently this wasn't lesson enough for such a sneak as he, whose dirty fingers couldn't keep out of places they didn't belong, so said the bellowing, grotesque drunk.
The diminutive thief was tossed once again, his gaunt form colliding with a stray table across the room, the ribs on his left side screeching at him in protest as they came close to folding from the strain. Even with the haze of white noise clouding his hearing, the next sound in the room was one he could make out with startling clarity. It was that of metal on leather, not unlike a blade being drawn. Coughing and hacking, he scrambled to his feet and whipped his head around to look at the man. The wavering firelight that kept him from being utterly blind shone on the butcher's blade in the man's fist.
Even a cursory glace told the child more than he needed to ever know about the steel that was about to come crashing toward him. It was nicked and used for hacking through bone. A graze wouldn't do much but perhaps inflict a superficial cut. A solid connection, especially from a man that size, would take a limb clean off.
A yelp and a pained grunt filled the quiet room as the child rolled to the side, the heavy thunk of the cleaver burying itself in the wood of the table punctuating the thief's desperate bid for life. His eyes scanned the walls and surfaces as swiftly as they could in the fractional seconds that it took the drunk to haul his weapon free of the wood's grip. Metal, blood and meat were the objects that jumped at him, the few blades around the room on tables and counters screaming his birth name as loudly as they could. Perhaps the first blow with the wall had knocked something loose in his head. Perhaps it was the primal desire to live fueling the teen's lunacy. It was a question for a later time, actions needed to be done, and done now.
The glare that had once covered the thief's face had vanished completely, replaced with nothing, a void expression, lips parted as he breathed, calm even while the beast of a man took a second swing, this time with a fist. Fluidly, the teen ducked under the blow and darted around the unbalanced man's step, fingers reaching out for the way to end this madness. Without so much as a second thought, the boy took up the boning knife that had been laying upon the counter. With it in hand, he wheeled and went at the man, not sparing himself the bravado of a battle cry.
The sharp point of the blade slid effortlessly through the man's soft neck, plunging down into his collar. Still clinging to the butcher's back as he gurgled and tried to bellow, he withdrew the blade and jumped back. Jaw tight and eyes wide as he watched the large man tumble to the floor, scratching at his neck and emitting a grotesque noise while his throat filled with blood, he knew that the man was surely going to die.
It was nothing like with Kavyn, who had simply perished. With the blood-soaked knife gripped hand enough to make his entire arm tremble, he watched, learned, analyzed every little thing that lead up to this moment.
What a weak man, he couldn't even kill a starving fourteen year old, thought the boy, expression still empty as the last vestiges of the butcher's life struggled to remain.
When the man was finally dead and gone, the thief went about collecting his spoils. Inexpertly wrapped meat was loaded into the boy's bag alongside a choice assortment of the butcher's blades, lovingly wrapped in the nicest material he could find. They were so much better than that tiny, nicked dagger that he'd left in Kavyn's throat.
With the next few days secured, the boy- his birth name feeling more and more like a misnomer every day- retreated back to the sewers of Noxus, wearing his rags like a king.
The kid felt his bones whine and creak from the sudden impact and could only very barely bring himself to glare up at the man who had inflicted it. At least he could feel the tips of his fingers again, even if all he did with them was clutch his throbbing torso. There were noises, clearly a voice yet between the pain and sound of someone- himself, he managed to divine after a moment- gasping frantically for air, he couldn't make out a word that was being said.
Another stint of words he was deaf to were clearly directed at him, his response being a bitter, tear-filled glare and a weak cough. If he could've mustered more, he definitely would have. Sprawled on the ground and nearly numb with pain as he was, the hulk of a man didn't have any resistance as he vented his irritation in the form of a foot lodged in the child's stomach.
A second sputtering gasp was wrenched from the younger male but at least he could hear again, finally cognizing the vitriol and drunkenly formed threats he was being drowned in. Something about his parents being worse than the guts he cleans. It brought a smile to the kid's face, to know at least the fat butcher could get that much right. It wasn't something the man, clad primarily in a bloody apron, wanted to see. The thick sausage fingers grabbed a handful of the lank, long, sweaty brown hair atop the boy's head and hauled him off the ground.
With his legs starting to kick again, reaching pathetically for the ground below, his vision blurred into a terrible mishmash of color as tears sprang forward once more. Apparently this wasn't lesson enough for such a sneak as he, whose dirty fingers couldn't keep out of places they didn't belong, so said the bellowing, grotesque drunk.
The diminutive thief was tossed once again, his gaunt form colliding with a stray table across the room, the ribs on his left side screeching at him in protest as they came close to folding from the strain. Even with the haze of white noise clouding his hearing, the next sound in the room was one he could make out with startling clarity. It was that of metal on leather, not unlike a blade being drawn. Coughing and hacking, he scrambled to his feet and whipped his head around to look at the man. The wavering firelight that kept him from being utterly blind shone on the butcher's blade in the man's fist.
Even a cursory glace told the child more than he needed to ever know about the steel that was about to come crashing toward him. It was nicked and used for hacking through bone. A graze wouldn't do much but perhaps inflict a superficial cut. A solid connection, especially from a man that size, would take a limb clean off.
A yelp and a pained grunt filled the quiet room as the child rolled to the side, the heavy thunk of the cleaver burying itself in the wood of the table punctuating the thief's desperate bid for life. His eyes scanned the walls and surfaces as swiftly as they could in the fractional seconds that it took the drunk to haul his weapon free of the wood's grip. Metal, blood and meat were the objects that jumped at him, the few blades around the room on tables and counters screaming his birth name as loudly as they could. Perhaps the first blow with the wall had knocked something loose in his head. Perhaps it was the primal desire to live fueling the teen's lunacy. It was a question for a later time, actions needed to be done, and done now.
The glare that had once covered the thief's face had vanished completely, replaced with nothing, a void expression, lips parted as he breathed, calm even while the beast of a man took a second swing, this time with a fist. Fluidly, the teen ducked under the blow and darted around the unbalanced man's step, fingers reaching out for the way to end this madness. Without so much as a second thought, the boy took up the boning knife that had been laying upon the counter. With it in hand, he wheeled and went at the man, not sparing himself the bravado of a battle cry.
The sharp point of the blade slid effortlessly through the man's soft neck, plunging down into his collar. Still clinging to the butcher's back as he gurgled and tried to bellow, he withdrew the blade and jumped back. Jaw tight and eyes wide as he watched the large man tumble to the floor, scratching at his neck and emitting a grotesque noise while his throat filled with blood, he knew that the man was surely going to die.
It was nothing like with Kavyn, who had simply perished. With the blood-soaked knife gripped hand enough to make his entire arm tremble, he watched, learned, analyzed every little thing that lead up to this moment.
What a weak man, he couldn't even kill a starving fourteen year old, thought the boy, expression still empty as the last vestiges of the butcher's life struggled to remain.
When the man was finally dead and gone, the thief went about collecting his spoils. Inexpertly wrapped meat was loaded into the boy's bag alongside a choice assortment of the butcher's blades, lovingly wrapped in the nicest material he could find. They were so much better than that tiny, nicked dagger that he'd left in Kavyn's throat.
With the next few days secured, the boy- his birth name feeling more and more like a misnomer every day- retreated back to the sewers of Noxus, wearing his rags like a king.
