everyone is on their feet, clapping enthusiastically, and it only becomes more and more energized with each stab. the sound echoes all over, until even his hands are vibrating with the energy of their love and adoration of him.
(they might also be vibrating from the force of driving the blade in, but let's not focus on that.)
when, finally, what's left of his eyes are just a bloody mess, he will be left with a sense of pride and victory, because this is what he came here for. to prove, without a doubt, he was better. he deserved to win. he still does. he cannot see the audience anymore, but they can see him and his entirety. ]
Congratulations, Caelus. You won.
[ he can feel something being placed on top of his head. something draped over his shoulders. the knife is taken from him, replaced by something-- he has won enough of these to know that it's a bouquet of flowers.
but he's bleeding, and the pain is there, intense, burning. ]
[ applause that sounds as if it's coming to him through a cream-based soup but even that muffled noise is all he exists for. the knife drops from his hands, sloppy from sharp tip to past where his hand covered the hilt. the gore was plenty.
caelus doesn't want to die.
he wins. he can't see anything and he feels like he's about to lose that spinach dip all over his nice shoes. but he won. as always, he didn't hesitate to hem and haw over what he deserved, what was the right thing to do. the moral clarity he's always had took hold of the situation.
that's why he's a champion.
he falls to his knees. heavy is the crown. burdensome is the sash. yet he hugs the flowers tight to his chest, breathing in their scent with stuttering, miserable in- and ex-hales.
this makes it okay, right? what he did with his bat to that friend of his? now he can't hurt anyone again.
something heavy and continuous flows out of his mangled eye sockets. blood. tears. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cw eye stuff
everyone is on their feet, clapping enthusiastically, and it only becomes more and more energized with each stab. the sound echoes all over, until even his hands are vibrating with the energy of their love and adoration of him.
(they might also be vibrating from the force of driving the blade in, but let's not focus on that.)
when, finally, what's left of his eyes are just a bloody mess, he will be left with a sense of pride and victory, because this is what he came here for. to prove, without a doubt, he was better. he deserved to win. he still does. he cannot see the audience anymore, but they can see him and his entirety. ]
Congratulations, Caelus. You won.
[ he can feel something being placed on top of his head. something draped over his shoulders. the knife is taken from him, replaced by something-- he has won enough of these to know that it's a bouquet of flowers.
but he's bleeding, and the pain is there, intense, burning. ]
cw: eye stuff
caelus doesn't want to die.
he wins. he can't see anything and he feels like he's about to lose that spinach dip all over his nice shoes. but he won. as always, he didn't hesitate to hem and haw over what he deserved, what was the right thing to do. the moral clarity he's always had took hold of the situation.
that's why he's a champion.
he falls to his knees. heavy is the crown. burdensome is the sash. yet he hugs the flowers tight to his chest, breathing in their scent with stuttering, miserable in- and ex-hales.
this makes it okay, right? what he did with his bat to that friend of his? now he can't hurt anyone again.
something heavy and continuous flows out of his mangled eye sockets. blood. tears. ]