Post by Dillon Kyne on Oct 22, 2013 2:33:55 GMT -8
(OOC: So, this is sort of a character development thread that's meant mainly for myself, but if someone would like to turn it into a social thread I'm more than willing. I know that it probably doesn't give much to respond to, but if you can think of something feel free to reply or hit me up through a PM)
The fog had swept up from the coast of the pacific ocean, surrounding the entirety of the coast and about a mile inland. Dillon found himself sitting in his apartment alone, a pipe filled with some heroine that he'd jacked from some poor sap that he found dead on the side of the road. He had been staring at the pipe for a good thirty minutes, thinking about where his path in life was leading him. He had met up with Kazuya, which was the only thing he'd been told to do, and now he was sort of lost. His life, at least for nearly eight years, had consisted of nothing but drugs, alcohol, and violence, and he was starting to get the feeling that things would be the same in the States.
It wasn't that he didn't enjoy what he did in Ireland, but he didn't want to be just another person in some criminal organization. Sure, he was the grandson of the Irish Kings' leader, but he wasn't even in the line of succession. Not only was Pierce the older of the two of them, but he also had the respect and admiration of the organization. Dillon was infamous, feared even, but he was no leader, and he knew that. At best, he'd become his brother's second-in-command, and continue doing what he did best: Torturing people. He didn't mind being known for it, but he also didn't want to simply be the shadow that did what his brother couldn't for the rest of his life.
Kazuya had said that they would be partners in whatever he had planned for the future which sounded like they were going to be equal, but he wondered for how long. He was sick of taking orders and just doing what he was told. Even with his family it go to him, so he knew that he could never just be some pawn for anyone besides them. Was he overthinking things? Most likely, but it had been nearly half a day since he did any sort of mind altering substances, so there's that. Believe it or not, he was actually more clear minded when he was fucked up than when he's sober, and he knew it.
Finally bringing the glass pipe up to his lips, he'd flick his lighter and take a big hit of the heroine smoke as it liquefied inside. Holding the hit for as long as he could, he let the calming sensation of the drug flow through his body before getting up and walking over to the window. Blowing the smoke outside, he'd gaze at the sea of fog that now flowed over the ground and ocean below him. It helped hide the sorry state that the world was in, but couldn't erase its ruined existence. No, not even all the drugs Dillon had done could do that, and he really didn't want it to disappear. This was a world where his type, the criminals and psychopaths, thrived, and deep down he rather enjoyed knowing that.
A few more minutes passed by with him not even moving an inch, just leaning out the window of his apartment enjoying the view. That is, until he heard a knock at his door. He definitely wasn't expecting company, nor did anyone know where he lived, even Kazuya. Well, no one except for his family, but they were all in Ireland. Taking one more hit from his pipe, he'd slowly shuffle over to the door and open it to find... No one... But, as he looked down at his feet, he found a rectangular package wrapped in torn paper bag and thick string. Picking it up without a second thought, or even thinking that it may be a bomb or something, he brought it into his apartment and placed it on the table near the window.
There wasn't a name, or a letter, on the outside of the of the package, so as he took one final hit he simply sat there and stared at the unknown package. Any truly sane, or cautious, man would have left it alone, or even throw it out the window. Dillon had plenty of sense, but caution wasn't even close to a descriptor of himself. And so, he pulled on the tied section of the string, throwing it off to the side and ripping off the paper that surrounded "his package". The letter that should've been on the outside was placed between the paper wrapping and what appeared to be a leather-bound journal of sorts. Opening the letter, a slight grin would spread across his lips. It was from his grandfather, and the letter read:
______________________________________________
Dear Dilly Dally,
I know I've put you through a lot since you came to Ireland, you and your brother both, but now you've got a chance to make something of yourself... For yourself. We're working on getting Pierce out of prison, but you don't worry about our problems anymore. I wanted you to meet up with the Hikari boy so that you could be your own man. You are no longer an Irish King, but don't take it as an insult. This is true freedom, one where you can make your own decisions. Not that they'll always be good, but they WILL be your own.
This journal has been passed down in the Kyne family for countless generations, but it will only open for those that have inherited the family legacy. My father, your great-grandfather, was the last one to have our legacy, and after the incident with the Clovers I'm positive that it has reawakened within you. Read the contents of this journal carefully, my boy, and when the time comes write your own story. Carve your name into this history book, and show the world what you're capable of. You're meant for greater things than the Kings, and I wish you all the luck in the world.
Your loving grandfather,
Roderick Kyne
______________________________________________
Finishing the letter, Dillon would toss it across the table with a bit of a scoff. It was like the world was actually listening to his thoughts, and mocking him with some bullshit journal. If his grandfather didn't want him back in Ireland he could've just said so. But, after the initial frustration from the letter faded, he looked back down at the leather-bound journal in front of him. A legacy? Some family journal that only certain members could open? It all had to be some kind of joke, even if the letter did seem fairly sincere. Placing his fingers on the edge of the front cover, he would slowly lift it up and to an open position.
Inside, there were multiple names written on the first page, each with two years beside them. From what he could gather, the first year was when the person gained access to the journal, and the second was either when they died or finished writing in it. Every name held one similarity: The Kyne surname, and he recognized the last name on the list as his great-grandfather, William Judas Kyne, He still believed this journal was nothing more than a parting gift from his grandfather, but as he tried to turn the page he couldn't separate a single one. It was like they were glued together, though both covers could move freely. In a brief fit of anger, he was about to throw it out the window, but a faint voice stopped him.
"Don't..."
With a single word, the barely audible voice stopped Dillon in his tracks, causing him to shake his head in order to get a hold of himself. He knew that he was pretty high, but the voice felt different than anything he'd ever experienced before, yet... Similar. Placing the journal back on the table, he'd open it and scan over the names again. It was as if he knew what he had to do, but didn't want to go through with it. He had a few pens and pencils in a cup, so he grabbed one of them and clicked it in order to use it. As the pen tip touched the paper, he once again heard the faint voice.
"Yes..."
Without even thinking anymore, Dillon found his hand inscribing his full name right below his great-grandfather's. Placing the current year behind it, he felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. A moment of hesitation came over him before his finally tried to lift the first page of the journal, and to his surprise it actually moved. Though the journal looked old and faded on the outside, the pages and writing looked as new as could be. He was at a loss for words as he began skimming through the journal, quickly reacquainting himself with the Irish language that he hadn't dealt with for months.
Minutes turned to hours, and he soon found himself lighting a number of candles so that he could continue reading. Each of his ancestors wrote about some sort of "Reptilian Heritage" that had awoken inside of them in their greatest time of need, but along with the gifts of this legacy there was also a curse. It took many shapes, from what he could read, but all of them had one thing in common: The nearly uncontrollable need, or desire, for something that they cherished. For his great-grandfather it was murder, but this was because of his attempt at rising through the ranks of the Irish Kings. Even when he became the leader, his desire to kill never waned.
Each of his ancestors left the next successor to the legacy the same warning: "Unleash your gifts with great risk, for a difficult and lonely life lies ahead for any Kyne who befriends the Serpent." And as he finished his great-grandfather's chapter of the journal, he slowly closed the journal and leaned back in his chair. The sun was now starting to set, and his mind was filled with far more questions than he or the journal had answers to. All he could do was light a pre-rolled joint and stare off at the sunset, thinking to himself about what it all meant. His "gift" had appeared once, and then faded, so was he unworthy? He pondered the question as pot smoke swayed out the window, noticing that he had left his door open. No matter...
The fog had swept up from the coast of the pacific ocean, surrounding the entirety of the coast and about a mile inland. Dillon found himself sitting in his apartment alone, a pipe filled with some heroine that he'd jacked from some poor sap that he found dead on the side of the road. He had been staring at the pipe for a good thirty minutes, thinking about where his path in life was leading him. He had met up with Kazuya, which was the only thing he'd been told to do, and now he was sort of lost. His life, at least for nearly eight years, had consisted of nothing but drugs, alcohol, and violence, and he was starting to get the feeling that things would be the same in the States.
It wasn't that he didn't enjoy what he did in Ireland, but he didn't want to be just another person in some criminal organization. Sure, he was the grandson of the Irish Kings' leader, but he wasn't even in the line of succession. Not only was Pierce the older of the two of them, but he also had the respect and admiration of the organization. Dillon was infamous, feared even, but he was no leader, and he knew that. At best, he'd become his brother's second-in-command, and continue doing what he did best: Torturing people. He didn't mind being known for it, but he also didn't want to simply be the shadow that did what his brother couldn't for the rest of his life.
Kazuya had said that they would be partners in whatever he had planned for the future which sounded like they were going to be equal, but he wondered for how long. He was sick of taking orders and just doing what he was told. Even with his family it go to him, so he knew that he could never just be some pawn for anyone besides them. Was he overthinking things? Most likely, but it had been nearly half a day since he did any sort of mind altering substances, so there's that. Believe it or not, he was actually more clear minded when he was fucked up than when he's sober, and he knew it.
Finally bringing the glass pipe up to his lips, he'd flick his lighter and take a big hit of the heroine smoke as it liquefied inside. Holding the hit for as long as he could, he let the calming sensation of the drug flow through his body before getting up and walking over to the window. Blowing the smoke outside, he'd gaze at the sea of fog that now flowed over the ground and ocean below him. It helped hide the sorry state that the world was in, but couldn't erase its ruined existence. No, not even all the drugs Dillon had done could do that, and he really didn't want it to disappear. This was a world where his type, the criminals and psychopaths, thrived, and deep down he rather enjoyed knowing that.
A few more minutes passed by with him not even moving an inch, just leaning out the window of his apartment enjoying the view. That is, until he heard a knock at his door. He definitely wasn't expecting company, nor did anyone know where he lived, even Kazuya. Well, no one except for his family, but they were all in Ireland. Taking one more hit from his pipe, he'd slowly shuffle over to the door and open it to find... No one... But, as he looked down at his feet, he found a rectangular package wrapped in torn paper bag and thick string. Picking it up without a second thought, or even thinking that it may be a bomb or something, he brought it into his apartment and placed it on the table near the window.
There wasn't a name, or a letter, on the outside of the of the package, so as he took one final hit he simply sat there and stared at the unknown package. Any truly sane, or cautious, man would have left it alone, or even throw it out the window. Dillon had plenty of sense, but caution wasn't even close to a descriptor of himself. And so, he pulled on the tied section of the string, throwing it off to the side and ripping off the paper that surrounded "his package". The letter that should've been on the outside was placed between the paper wrapping and what appeared to be a leather-bound journal of sorts. Opening the letter, a slight grin would spread across his lips. It was from his grandfather, and the letter read:
______________________________________________
Dear Dilly Dally,
I know I've put you through a lot since you came to Ireland, you and your brother both, but now you've got a chance to make something of yourself... For yourself. We're working on getting Pierce out of prison, but you don't worry about our problems anymore. I wanted you to meet up with the Hikari boy so that you could be your own man. You are no longer an Irish King, but don't take it as an insult. This is true freedom, one where you can make your own decisions. Not that they'll always be good, but they WILL be your own.
This journal has been passed down in the Kyne family for countless generations, but it will only open for those that have inherited the family legacy. My father, your great-grandfather, was the last one to have our legacy, and after the incident with the Clovers I'm positive that it has reawakened within you. Read the contents of this journal carefully, my boy, and when the time comes write your own story. Carve your name into this history book, and show the world what you're capable of. You're meant for greater things than the Kings, and I wish you all the luck in the world.
Your loving grandfather,
Roderick Kyne
______________________________________________
Finishing the letter, Dillon would toss it across the table with a bit of a scoff. It was like the world was actually listening to his thoughts, and mocking him with some bullshit journal. If his grandfather didn't want him back in Ireland he could've just said so. But, after the initial frustration from the letter faded, he looked back down at the leather-bound journal in front of him. A legacy? Some family journal that only certain members could open? It all had to be some kind of joke, even if the letter did seem fairly sincere. Placing his fingers on the edge of the front cover, he would slowly lift it up and to an open position.
Inside, there were multiple names written on the first page, each with two years beside them. From what he could gather, the first year was when the person gained access to the journal, and the second was either when they died or finished writing in it. Every name held one similarity: The Kyne surname, and he recognized the last name on the list as his great-grandfather, William Judas Kyne, He still believed this journal was nothing more than a parting gift from his grandfather, but as he tried to turn the page he couldn't separate a single one. It was like they were glued together, though both covers could move freely. In a brief fit of anger, he was about to throw it out the window, but a faint voice stopped him.
"Don't..."
With a single word, the barely audible voice stopped Dillon in his tracks, causing him to shake his head in order to get a hold of himself. He knew that he was pretty high, but the voice felt different than anything he'd ever experienced before, yet... Similar. Placing the journal back on the table, he'd open it and scan over the names again. It was as if he knew what he had to do, but didn't want to go through with it. He had a few pens and pencils in a cup, so he grabbed one of them and clicked it in order to use it. As the pen tip touched the paper, he once again heard the faint voice.
"Yes..."
Without even thinking anymore, Dillon found his hand inscribing his full name right below his great-grandfather's. Placing the current year behind it, he felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. A moment of hesitation came over him before his finally tried to lift the first page of the journal, and to his surprise it actually moved. Though the journal looked old and faded on the outside, the pages and writing looked as new as could be. He was at a loss for words as he began skimming through the journal, quickly reacquainting himself with the Irish language that he hadn't dealt with for months.
Minutes turned to hours, and he soon found himself lighting a number of candles so that he could continue reading. Each of his ancestors wrote about some sort of "Reptilian Heritage" that had awoken inside of them in their greatest time of need, but along with the gifts of this legacy there was also a curse. It took many shapes, from what he could read, but all of them had one thing in common: The nearly uncontrollable need, or desire, for something that they cherished. For his great-grandfather it was murder, but this was because of his attempt at rising through the ranks of the Irish Kings. Even when he became the leader, his desire to kill never waned.
Each of his ancestors left the next successor to the legacy the same warning: "Unleash your gifts with great risk, for a difficult and lonely life lies ahead for any Kyne who befriends the Serpent." And as he finished his great-grandfather's chapter of the journal, he slowly closed the journal and leaned back in his chair. The sun was now starting to set, and his mind was filled with far more questions than he or the journal had answers to. All he could do was light a pre-rolled joint and stare off at the sunset, thinking to himself about what it all meant. His "gift" had appeared once, and then faded, so was he unworthy? He pondered the question as pot smoke swayed out the window, noticing that he had left his door open. No matter...
)