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Separate ways~ P.4 Fun, even in warDrake moved into the training course they had set out for them, the world felt slower and strange, he was still getting used to the armor. But…He liked it, he liked it quite a lot. Inside his helmet he grinned slowly, glancing back at his team. Leo jogged a bit to catch up to him and gaze ahead, the course was large, with a rock climbing cliff, behind that a pool of water, and a running course. Drake looked at Leo's visor, Leo's shoulders shifted slightly then he said. "Race you to the top Brother…" Leo's voice was both friendly, half-daring, and half-wary. Drake detected this, and decided to put his Spartan Brother at ease. "See you there." He said smiling, and then sprinting ahead in a burst of speed. Leo laughed "Hey!" And sprinted after him, Drake chuckled between breathing. This felt so easy! He felt he could run forever!! He soon found himself laughing like a child again, before the war, before Spartan training, before the scars, before the armor… Before the pain. He felt free!
Separate ways~ P.3 - New ToysA few weeks passed Leo didn't see much of Drake in those weeks, as much as he tried to sit with him in the cafeteria, or catch him in the weight lifting room. Drake either didn't come to eat, or got up and left. Leo was fighting his own nightmares as well, and he felt slightly betrayed that Drake no longer seemed to care. He thought maybe Drake had turned bitter towards him, but Leo realized…Drake had turn bitter towards everyone. Not just Leo…Inwardly he was worried as heck and it also hurt Leo to see him like this, Drake had Changed…The scar on his face seemed more mental than physical now. People seemed to avoid looking Drake in the eye, or in his face at all. Leo could tell on the brief moments he did see Drake that this, annoyed him greatly. He could see the tenses in his jaw muscles and shoulders, and the expression on his face change. Leo was shaken out of his worry's as a voice spoke over the Intercom, ordering the Spartans of Drake's team and a few other to assemble in the Tec
LatreuophobiaI wash off sick-sweet orange lipstick in front of a mirror as dusty as gothic romances. It tastes like oblivion, that is to say, like nothing my tongue can detect.
The door opens with a creak no private restroom could emulate. Some chick with blue bobbed hair and smeared eyeliner. I looked like that once. Ten years ago.
Getting the beer out of my hair is harder. Some men just can't take it when I'd rather they not kiss my feet or call me an angel or-
“Dayum girl, you look like a goddess.”
I gulp, taste of acid.
Vanguard, Chapter 1: DuncanDuncan's Journal: Day 1288
I consider myself a good man. I respect women, elders, my equals, and the dead. I say a morning prayer, and an evening one. Hell, I even thank the gods for a meal, instead of immediately chowing down in the voracious manner as the other soldiers here do. By all logical means, I should be in paradise. No really, not just because I'm a good man, but also because I should be dead by now. So I ask myself: why, oh gods up there, have I ended up in hell?
1288 days. 1288 days of my life have been spent in this misery, and I'm beginning to lose faith in the glory I was promised. Some of the rookies still live in their ignorant bliss, but I've lived long enough to realize that there's not much glory to find here. “Sing the songs of glory and march into battle—-join The Crusade today!”. Such were the words of the posters The Crusade has spread all over The Mortal Realm. Gullible fools practically stand in line for these songs of glory that th
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