Post by Jimmy Claymore on Nov 14, 2009 0:20:41 GMT
It's hard to remember the pain.
The hooks, the flames, the harsh sting of sulpher on your nostrils as they regenerate enough to allow you to smell. The feel of your claws tearing through demon after demon to escape and puncturing a hole in reality, ripping off your own existence in order to escape.
It's easier to forget.
Which is probably why Jimmy Claymore (or John Barton, depending on whether you knew him properly or not) chose to ignore it most days and when asked if he believed in hell replied he was an atheist for religious reasons, normally provoking a smile. Which is probably why he felt so terrible when left on his own to think about what he'd seen and thus, subsequently, why he was plowing a field.
He didn't really want to be plowing a field, but these things just happen, you know? He was staying at old man Gregson's house for the week so he'd feel bad if he didn't occasionally help out. Although, he did wish they had a horse to pull the damn thing. Old man Gregson didn't have much of a problem with it, but that was because he was able to pull horses with one arm. Jimmy could too, if he transformed but he liked being human, it felt right, more like he was on the inside. Although, this was little comfort when trying to drag an enormous wooden frame filled with blades across an enormous patch of earth. He'd gotten about one fifth of the way through when he felt it.
There was something in town, something different from the usual. It felt... dark. He shrugged off the leather plough and rolled his shoulders, hoping the stiffness would go away before he got to town.
"Mr Gregson! Sorry, I forgot there was something I had to do today, can you handle the plough?"
"Of course, John... you just do what you have to..." Old man Gregson rumbled, watching his young lodger sprinting towards the town with the same look he would have if an iceburg was bearing down on him. Mild concern.
______________
Jimmy got into Coranth a few minutes later, reverting to his human form a few yards from town. If there was a demon in town it would have felt that, and if he mistook it for someone magical they'd never realise it was him. It was risky to change like that but he'd moved too fast to be seen, and time was of the essence. The market was in town today and Jimmy wandered in, his leather jacket hanging loosely off his shoulders and his muddy workboots blending in with everyone else's. He looked around, brown eyes blinking... who was it? Who was the one who'd drawn him here? Where was the demon?
The hooks, the flames, the harsh sting of sulpher on your nostrils as they regenerate enough to allow you to smell. The feel of your claws tearing through demon after demon to escape and puncturing a hole in reality, ripping off your own existence in order to escape.
It's easier to forget.
Which is probably why Jimmy Claymore (or John Barton, depending on whether you knew him properly or not) chose to ignore it most days and when asked if he believed in hell replied he was an atheist for religious reasons, normally provoking a smile. Which is probably why he felt so terrible when left on his own to think about what he'd seen and thus, subsequently, why he was plowing a field.
He didn't really want to be plowing a field, but these things just happen, you know? He was staying at old man Gregson's house for the week so he'd feel bad if he didn't occasionally help out. Although, he did wish they had a horse to pull the damn thing. Old man Gregson didn't have much of a problem with it, but that was because he was able to pull horses with one arm. Jimmy could too, if he transformed but he liked being human, it felt right, more like he was on the inside. Although, this was little comfort when trying to drag an enormous wooden frame filled with blades across an enormous patch of earth. He'd gotten about one fifth of the way through when he felt it.
There was something in town, something different from the usual. It felt... dark. He shrugged off the leather plough and rolled his shoulders, hoping the stiffness would go away before he got to town.
"Mr Gregson! Sorry, I forgot there was something I had to do today, can you handle the plough?"
"Of course, John... you just do what you have to..." Old man Gregson rumbled, watching his young lodger sprinting towards the town with the same look he would have if an iceburg was bearing down on him. Mild concern.
______________
Jimmy got into Coranth a few minutes later, reverting to his human form a few yards from town. If there was a demon in town it would have felt that, and if he mistook it for someone magical they'd never realise it was him. It was risky to change like that but he'd moved too fast to be seen, and time was of the essence. The market was in town today and Jimmy wandered in, his leather jacket hanging loosely off his shoulders and his muddy workboots blending in with everyone else's. He looked around, brown eyes blinking... who was it? Who was the one who'd drawn him here? Where was the demon?
