David Levin (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
generaldavideus) wrote2008-05-26 04:20 pm
generaldavideus) wrote2008-05-26 04:20 pm
[BCM] Pride
There wasn’t much David Levin was scared of anymore. It was hard to scare a guy who’d seen it all, seen people massacred right in front of him, like they were nothing but paper dolls. He’d seen people, gods, animals get eaten alive by bugs from outer space. He went to battle with the Greeks, the Vikings. He saw Fenrir, the giant wolf god of Norse legend get gunned down by machine guns. He saw the blood run down the stairs of Huitzilopoctli’s temple as he had the Vikings still beating hearts for lunch after they were defeated in battle. He saw the god himself in action—the way he broke open Olaf Ironfoot’s chest and swallowed his still beating heart—and that was all within his first two or three days of arriving in Everworld. He’d seen some of the most depraved and disgusting things he could ever imagine, and some he never could have, nor would he have wanted to.
So yeah—a bunch of “demons”? He wasn’t exactly shaking in his boots.
(A tiny voice in the back of your head suggests that maybe you should be, but you push it back, make it disappear. Now wasn’t the time for fear. Now was the time for the game face. Now was the time to prove why the soldiers backhome in Everworld call you General.)
He could smell the sulfur and blood in the air as the battle raged, something that spurred him on to fight harder, longer. He got the taste of blood and dirt in his mouth, and suddenly he was back in the zone, in his element. No one was going to bring him down—not here, not now. His sword flew like it was a part of him, fighting with the trained expertise and elegance that had taken him years to perfect, and how he didn’t stop until he had. He wasn’t David Levin, the guy who protected schmucks who’d gotten themselves into trouble for payment, or that lived in the small apartment back in Chicago, he was General Davideus, the leader of the army for Everworld, and the one who hadn’t lead them to many victories, but he and his people had fought valiantly. He was a warrior, and warriors looked adventure and danger in the eye and didn’t blink. Warriors didn’t fear death. And if David was anything, he was a warrior.
(But you do fear death, somewhere deep down. You worry that there’s really nothing after this. You’re afraid of going into the black, of returning to Hel, of going back there to the world that was destroyed. It’s why you fight so hard, isn’t it? So that you don’t have to go back there. As much as you loved it, it’s not home to you anymore.)
At the end of the battle, there are bodies across the neighborhood, of those that have been exorcised and didn’t make it, or were causalities of the demons. Blood and sulfur still hang in the air, but there’s something new added to it too. Death. It’s a musky smell that hangs heavy and low. The kind of smell that gets under your skin and is still there long after you scrub the physical evidence away. He cleans his sword on the front lawn of one of the houses, before sheathing it at his side and making his way into the survivors, to try and find his crew, his friends. The ones he was supposed to be looking after, and got lost in the heat of battle.
April is bandaging up a slice in Christopher’s arm, and David’s concerned at first, but he doesn’t say anything, just looks. Christopher eventually notices he’s there, looking up at him, before rolling his eyes and looking away. “What’re you staring at, schmuck?”
David glares slightly as he averts his eyes, moving to sit on the ground across from him. Christopher is leaning back against April’s chest, and David sent up a silent prayer that he’d missed boob jokes for the day. “Did a demon get you?”
“Nah,” Christopher shook his head. “Just some asshole who wasn’t watching where he was swinging.” He then shot a lecherous grin up at April. “But Red is being a sweetheart and nursing me back to health. Isn’t that nice of her?”
“Only in your dreams, Christopher,” she replied with a thin smile, before shifting and turning back to David. “You okay?”
“Fine,” he said with a curt nod, keeping things simple and not complicated. In situations like this, it was always better to be not complicated. “What about the objective?” He heard Christopher snort loudly at the military term, while April’s face just crumpled slightly.
“Sam just left with the body,” April said slowly, softly. “They couldn’t—” She let her voice trail off, giving the impression that she couldn’t handle the death, when David knew that was anything but the case. April was strong than she looked. In fact, back in Everworld, she had the strength to do what none of them could. But that wasn’t what he was focusing on at the moment. He’d failed. They’d failed.
(Another failure to add to the list. Another group of lives lost for nothing. You failed another army, General Davideus. You were never meant to lead an army and you know it.)
“Maybe things would have worked out better if you’d gotten the chance to give one of your great inspirational speeches, General,” Christopher said with a smirk, and for a brief flicker of a moment, David considered it, wondered for all of a second whether his words might have helped in any way. And then he remembered who he was talking to and what he meant.
“Fuck off, Christopher.”
“Yes, sir, General Davideus, sir!”
963 words
So yeah—a bunch of “demons”? He wasn’t exactly shaking in his boots.
(A tiny voice in the back of your head suggests that maybe you should be, but you push it back, make it disappear. Now wasn’t the time for fear. Now was the time for the game face. Now was the time to prove why the soldiers back
He could smell the sulfur and blood in the air as the battle raged, something that spurred him on to fight harder, longer. He got the taste of blood and dirt in his mouth, and suddenly he was back in the zone, in his element. No one was going to bring him down—not here, not now. His sword flew like it was a part of him, fighting with the trained expertise and elegance that had taken him years to perfect, and how he didn’t stop until he had. He wasn’t David Levin, the guy who protected schmucks who’d gotten themselves into trouble for payment, or that lived in the small apartment back in Chicago, he was General Davideus, the leader of the army for Everworld, and the one who hadn’t lead them to many victories, but he and his people had fought valiantly. He was a warrior, and warriors looked adventure and danger in the eye and didn’t blink. Warriors didn’t fear death. And if David was anything, he was a warrior.
(But you do fear death, somewhere deep down. You worry that there’s really nothing after this. You’re afraid of going into the black, of returning to Hel, of going back there to the world that was destroyed. It’s why you fight so hard, isn’t it? So that you don’t have to go back there. As much as you loved it, it’s not home to you anymore.)
At the end of the battle, there are bodies across the neighborhood, of those that have been exorcised and didn’t make it, or were causalities of the demons. Blood and sulfur still hang in the air, but there’s something new added to it too. Death. It’s a musky smell that hangs heavy and low. The kind of smell that gets under your skin and is still there long after you scrub the physical evidence away. He cleans his sword on the front lawn of one of the houses, before sheathing it at his side and making his way into the survivors, to try and find his crew, his friends. The ones he was supposed to be looking after, and got lost in the heat of battle.
April is bandaging up a slice in Christopher’s arm, and David’s concerned at first, but he doesn’t say anything, just looks. Christopher eventually notices he’s there, looking up at him, before rolling his eyes and looking away. “What’re you staring at, schmuck?”
David glares slightly as he averts his eyes, moving to sit on the ground across from him. Christopher is leaning back against April’s chest, and David sent up a silent prayer that he’d missed boob jokes for the day. “Did a demon get you?”
“Nah,” Christopher shook his head. “Just some asshole who wasn’t watching where he was swinging.” He then shot a lecherous grin up at April. “But Red is being a sweetheart and nursing me back to health. Isn’t that nice of her?”
“Only in your dreams, Christopher,” she replied with a thin smile, before shifting and turning back to David. “You okay?”
“Fine,” he said with a curt nod, keeping things simple and not complicated. In situations like this, it was always better to be not complicated. “What about the objective?” He heard Christopher snort loudly at the military term, while April’s face just crumpled slightly.
“Sam just left with the body,” April said slowly, softly. “They couldn’t—” She let her voice trail off, giving the impression that she couldn’t handle the death, when David knew that was anything but the case. April was strong than she looked. In fact, back in Everworld, she had the strength to do what none of them could. But that wasn’t what he was focusing on at the moment. He’d failed. They’d failed.
(Another failure to add to the list. Another group of lives lost for nothing. You failed another army, General Davideus. You were never meant to lead an army and you know it.)
“Maybe things would have worked out better if you’d gotten the chance to give one of your great inspirational speeches, General,” Christopher said with a smirk, and for a brief flicker of a moment, David considered it, wondered for all of a second whether his words might have helped in any way. And then he remembered who he was talking to and what he meant.
“Fuck off, Christopher.”
“Yes, sir, General Davideus, sir!”
963 words