((Wew lad. Keyboard derped and I’m too braindead atm to go on. I’ll just. Be a good doge and finish here. Or something.))
Whatever it may be. It keeps luring me back. Every single time I just run off into the Fringe, far away, where only the Raiders could find me, I find myself wandering back to that damned town.
Voltaire. Volt. V, Hound, Asshole, Pit Dog Head Honcho, that Howler..I’ve had many a name, maybe even one for every single thing I’ve seen on this cursed island. is it cursed? Probably. That’s the only reason I hear whispers when I try to sleep, right? Probably not.
I’m a comedian by nature. Unfortunately, I realized this..six years too late. I had already pursued art, found myself in a band, and then we come to how I fucking ended up here in the first place, when all of this started. Paranoia got the best of me. Checked up on family, the rest of the band went on. Now Matt’s dead. Nana’s fucking gone. Maven. She, she’s some sort of spectre or something. Popping in randomly then disappearing for months on end.
For each pleasant memory came a loss. Buffy. Dear, sweet, precious Buffy. Even when she kicked my ass amidst the rain when I fucked her over for the Howlers..Even when she stabbed me in the leg that one time. I managed to care about her. And I’ve lost her not once, but twice. Now who’s going to call me out for having weird canines. Or always greet me at the Dollhouse, or even the Church. She..was a precious friend. A precious friend that the Tsume took from me.
Speaking of, here’s another memory. The Pit Dogs. The camaraderie I’ve never experienced elsewhere. Drew, Dem, Ghost..Hah. I’ve saved lives just as much as I’ve taken them, it seems. When you live a life in a zombie shitstorm where everyone is a knight in shining armor acting all holier-than-thou, you can’t help but swerve off of the beaten path and just rebel a bit. Look where that got me. Hah. I went from energetic, jumping and bouncing up roofs to a brooding asshole riddled with bullet holes trying to recover still. Gods bless time. The greatest medicine to all ailments. Except that it takes so fucking long.
..Here it comes again. The whispering. Something about the Four. And a fifth? I’m getting double rainbow vibes here. What could it mean?
'V'
((Wew lad. Keyboard derped and I’m too braindead atm to go on. I’ll just. Be a good doge and finish here. Or something.))
Whatever it may be. It keeps luring me back. Every single time I just run off into the Fringe, far away, where only the Raiders could find me, I find myself wandering back to that damned town.
Voltaire. Volt. V, Hound, Asshole, Pit Dog Head Honcho, that Howler..I’ve had many a name, maybe even one for every single thing I’ve seen on this cursed island. is it cursed? Probably. That’s the only reason I hear whispers when I try to sleep, right? Probably not.
I’m a comedian by nature. Unfortunately, I realized this..six years too late. I had already pursued art, found myself in a band, and then we come to how I fucking ended up here in the first place, when all of this started. Paranoia got the best of me. Checked up on family, the rest of the band went on. Now Matt’s dead. Nana’s fucking gone. Maven. She, she’s some sort of spectre or something. Popping in randomly then disappearing for months on end.
For each pleasant memory came a loss. Buffy. Dear, sweet, precious Buffy. Even when she kicked my ass amidst the rain when I fucked her over for the Howlers..Even when she stabbed me in the leg that one time. I managed to care about her. And I’ve lost her not once, but twice. Now who’s going to call me out for having weird canines. Or always greet me at the Dollhouse, or even the Church. She..was a precious friend. A precious friend that the Tsume took from me.
Speaking of, here’s another memory. The Pit Dogs. The camaraderie I’ve never experienced elsewhere. Drew, Dem, Ghost..Hah. I’ve saved lives just as much as I’ve taken them, it seems. When you live a life in a zombie shitstorm where everyone is a knight in shining armor acting all holier-than-thou, you can’t help but swerve off of the beaten path and just rebel a bit. Look where that got me. Hah. I went from energetic, jumping and bouncing up roofs to a brooding asshole riddled with bullet holes trying to recover still. Gods bless time. The greatest medicine to all ailments. Except that it takes so fucking long.
..Here it comes again. The whispering. Something about the Four. And a fifth? I’m getting double rainbow vibes here. What could it mean?