The initial surge from the high given to me by my drugs is starting to mellow a bit. I can feel all of the bruises and injuries starting to awaken with new signals to make sure I don't forget that I've been having my ass beaten for close to a bell. It's still manageable for now. Everything is manageable.
It infuriates me to look at Ty as he sits here slumped over and forward with a dumb look on his face that says 'I'm fucked.' He is everything that I am not. He's fat; his work could barely be considered art, he doesn't understand the concept of self-made; he is everything wrong with Ul'Dah. It's not a surprise that I've made it big in a city like Ul'Dah. Those who do business there do it because they inherit it. They aren't artists, and they don't enjoy their work as much as they enjoy paying people minimally to make garbage to sell with their families name on it. Some even make it a point of intentionally selling garbage for the sake of it, entirely devoid of any real desire to be a success or amount to anything more than your average nobody that filters in and out of the Quicksand daily.
An itch forms on my brow, and as I drag a thumb across to remove it I noticed my hand is trembling slightly. I'm on borrowed time; I'm amazed that I am still alive long enough to mete out my petty revenge against “ole Ty†here. As high as I am, it still hurts me to bend down in front of Ty, resting my hands on my thighs while getting level with his face. I'm straining to this point just to maintain a straight face and to appear I'm somehow still in one piece.
His eyes tell it all. He is clueless, afraid, and has quickly come to appreciate how dire his situation is when faced with Ridley wanting to kill him. There's something about being hit so hard and so fast you wake up, confused about what happened. The top scholars and minds of Ul'dah likely could never come up with an accurate way to explain just in how much shit he is in, no matter how much time you gave them. Situations like this can lay any man low.
Moving to stand beside him is excruciating, kneeling down beside him nearly kills me. It feels like glass is running through my veins, every movement becoming more painful as my initial high keeps fading. I feel tired just looking at him, normally I'm kept alive and perked when I take these drugs. The sad truth is, despite most people having a fear of crossing me, I'm not really someone who enjoys this. I'm almost compelled to kill this man out of some inane sense of duty. I can't let men enter my home, rape and murder my women, try to kill me, and leave. The insulated world of the Syndicate and other moneyed people in Ul'Dah would treat me like a leper if they ever discovered I went soft on him.
With my face level with his I gesture over to Tsubasa on the floor. My voice cracks at first, wavering and making me stop to compose myself with a deep breath. “She once told me she loved me you know. I pulled her off the streets and gave her everything to succeed in this world, and you took that from me.†I can't help but to shake my head as I sigh at him. I pull a chair from my dining table, dragging it across the floor languidly, placing it in front of him as I finally fall into it to rest and catch my breath. Looking at him eye to eye like this is refreshing, letting my head have a chance to stop swimming as I slouch low and get as comfortable as you can be after being beaten to death and back. “Why would you do that Ty, take from a fellow Monetarist? Don't you understand the implications of that?â€
Looking up to Ridley I give the slightest nod of indication to Ty, and she dutifully whips that arm back out, helping ingrain my lesson into him. I thank the Gods daily for sending Ridley to me when I see her work like this. She holds her hand in the air for just a moment before reversing, coming down hard with another one of those backhands, giving out this little squeak of effort that causes Ty's head to jerk violently to the side as he falls limp in his chair again. He's just sitting there, suspended by his bound arms to the back of the chair, jerking slightly while unconscious again as he drools blood. His face is mottled with painful look welts, angry bruises growing larger and attaining deeper shades.
Luckily she knocked him out, and I can show signs of weakness in peace as I barely manage to mutter out for her to bring me water and more of my sugar at once. I'm pitifully weak, what little life that was left in me ebbing out and I can't manage to lift my hands really right now. When Ridley brings me the glass of water, glowing faintly with a blue hue to it from an ice shard she crushed into it, I can't lift it. It takes all of what's left in me to hold the glass upright on my knee and not tremble. Ridley takes notice and wordlessly wraps her hands around mine to help lift the glass to my lips for a drink I need. She 'shhhs' me as she holds up the fresh vial to my mouth, cork off and ready to knock some for me to swallow as he uses her other arm to prop my head up. I only need just enough of a hit to get through this before I can finally succumb to my injuries, just a bit longer to handle my business. Like any other day or time, moments after swallowing the bitter sugar I start perking up, though the thousand cuts, bruises, breaks and more that I am suffering still linger in the background forming a thick noise that I have to cut through. It feels good to be alive.
Under my own power, I drink the rest of the glass and drop it to the floor when it's empty as an amazing idea crosses my mind. “Ridley...give him the rest of this†as I hand her the vial of sugar. “All of it, I want him awake no matter what you do to him.â€
It infuriates me to look at Ty as he sits here slumped over and forward with a dumb look on his face that says 'I'm fucked.' He is everything that I am not. He's fat; his work could barely be considered art, he doesn't understand the concept of self-made; he is everything wrong with Ul'Dah. It's not a surprise that I've made it big in a city like Ul'Dah. Those who do business there do it because they inherit it. They aren't artists, and they don't enjoy their work as much as they enjoy paying people minimally to make garbage to sell with their families name on it. Some even make it a point of intentionally selling garbage for the sake of it, entirely devoid of any real desire to be a success or amount to anything more than your average nobody that filters in and out of the Quicksand daily.
An itch forms on my brow, and as I drag a thumb across to remove it I noticed my hand is trembling slightly. I'm on borrowed time; I'm amazed that I am still alive long enough to mete out my petty revenge against “ole Ty†here. As high as I am, it still hurts me to bend down in front of Ty, resting my hands on my thighs while getting level with his face. I'm straining to this point just to maintain a straight face and to appear I'm somehow still in one piece.
His eyes tell it all. He is clueless, afraid, and has quickly come to appreciate how dire his situation is when faced with Ridley wanting to kill him. There's something about being hit so hard and so fast you wake up, confused about what happened. The top scholars and minds of Ul'dah likely could never come up with an accurate way to explain just in how much shit he is in, no matter how much time you gave them. Situations like this can lay any man low.
Moving to stand beside him is excruciating, kneeling down beside him nearly kills me. It feels like glass is running through my veins, every movement becoming more painful as my initial high keeps fading. I feel tired just looking at him, normally I'm kept alive and perked when I take these drugs. The sad truth is, despite most people having a fear of crossing me, I'm not really someone who enjoys this. I'm almost compelled to kill this man out of some inane sense of duty. I can't let men enter my home, rape and murder my women, try to kill me, and leave. The insulated world of the Syndicate and other moneyed people in Ul'Dah would treat me like a leper if they ever discovered I went soft on him.
With my face level with his I gesture over to Tsubasa on the floor. My voice cracks at first, wavering and making me stop to compose myself with a deep breath. “She once told me she loved me you know. I pulled her off the streets and gave her everything to succeed in this world, and you took that from me.†I can't help but to shake my head as I sigh at him. I pull a chair from my dining table, dragging it across the floor languidly, placing it in front of him as I finally fall into it to rest and catch my breath. Looking at him eye to eye like this is refreshing, letting my head have a chance to stop swimming as I slouch low and get as comfortable as you can be after being beaten to death and back. “Why would you do that Ty, take from a fellow Monetarist? Don't you understand the implications of that?â€
Looking up to Ridley I give the slightest nod of indication to Ty, and she dutifully whips that arm back out, helping ingrain my lesson into him. I thank the Gods daily for sending Ridley to me when I see her work like this. She holds her hand in the air for just a moment before reversing, coming down hard with another one of those backhands, giving out this little squeak of effort that causes Ty's head to jerk violently to the side as he falls limp in his chair again. He's just sitting there, suspended by his bound arms to the back of the chair, jerking slightly while unconscious again as he drools blood. His face is mottled with painful look welts, angry bruises growing larger and attaining deeper shades.
Luckily she knocked him out, and I can show signs of weakness in peace as I barely manage to mutter out for her to bring me water and more of my sugar at once. I'm pitifully weak, what little life that was left in me ebbing out and I can't manage to lift my hands really right now. When Ridley brings me the glass of water, glowing faintly with a blue hue to it from an ice shard she crushed into it, I can't lift it. It takes all of what's left in me to hold the glass upright on my knee and not tremble. Ridley takes notice and wordlessly wraps her hands around mine to help lift the glass to my lips for a drink I need. She 'shhhs' me as she holds up the fresh vial to my mouth, cork off and ready to knock some for me to swallow as he uses her other arm to prop my head up. I only need just enough of a hit to get through this before I can finally succumb to my injuries, just a bit longer to handle my business. Like any other day or time, moments after swallowing the bitter sugar I start perking up, though the thousand cuts, bruises, breaks and more that I am suffering still linger in the background forming a thick noise that I have to cut through. It feels good to be alive.
Under my own power, I drink the rest of the glass and drop it to the floor when it's empty as an amazing idea crosses my mind. “Ridley...give him the rest of this†as I hand her the vial of sugar. “All of it, I want him awake no matter what you do to him.â€