He wasn't surprised to wake up in Hell, he was surprised Hell looked like a tacky hotel. Where was the fire and brimstone? Where was the torture? Where was the suffering? Was it Hell because he was forced to keep going even after death?
Vicious made his way down the halls leaving death in his wake, eventually ending up in the lobby; he didn't much like being bitched at by demons and someone had kindly left him his katana. It wasn't as if anything seemed to happen after the first one fell, so why not? Death hadn't awakened charity in him; he was still completely empty but for the burning hatred and pain that had been his constant companion since that night. He didn't even notice the spatters of gore that flecked his clothes thanks to the demon slaying.
He paused in the lobby and looked around, katana dripping blood softly onto the carpet, then walked up to the bar. Vicious poured himself a drink but didn't actually try it. He just stood there, watching.
Reach Up High
Killing was second nature to Vicious. He didn't hesitate when the demons started looking a little stranger than normal. Anything that got in his face was liable to be cut down, monster or person. He didn't hesitate to throw others into the path of the monsters either. Vicious didn't do nice. He didn't have anything like a moral compass anymore, and even if he had, he wouldn't have listened to it. All that mattered was getting back, or getting out. If he couldn't have his revenge, he wanted the promise of death to become a reality.
Hadn't he done enough to deserve oblivion yet?
Follow Me Down
Vicious was leaning against the far wall, glaring at the new person in the room. He didn't understand the point. Who cared if people fucked? Who cared if someone wanted to watch? Who gave a damn what people wanted to do with each other? None of it made any sense. You couldn't even fuck your way to the top, since their supposed leader didn't let himself be touched.
So why was he locked in a room with some stranger? Why him? Didn't everyone else in the hotel already fuck each other silly? What did they expect he could offer someone else couldn't? Vicious wasn't above using sex to get what he wanted, but fucking a complete stranger for no reason wasn't something he saw any value in. What kind of Hell thrived on random sex instead of pain and torture? And who the fuck wanted to see someone like him hurting a random person? He'd much rather just use his sword if that was the point of the imprisonment.
Vicious | Cowboy Bebop
He wasn't surprised to wake up in Hell, he was surprised Hell looked like a tacky hotel. Where was the fire and brimstone? Where was the torture? Where was the suffering? Was it Hell because he was forced to keep going even after death?
Vicious made his way down the halls leaving death in his wake, eventually ending up in the lobby; he didn't much like being bitched at by demons and someone had kindly left him his katana. It wasn't as if anything seemed to happen after the first one fell, so why not? Death hadn't awakened charity in him; he was still completely empty but for the burning hatred and pain that had been his constant companion since that night. He didn't even notice the spatters of gore that flecked his clothes thanks to the demon slaying.
He paused in the lobby and looked around, katana dripping blood softly onto the carpet, then walked up to the bar. Vicious poured himself a drink but didn't actually try it. He just stood there, watching.
Reach Up High
Killing was second nature to Vicious. He didn't hesitate when the demons started looking a little stranger than normal. Anything that got in his face was liable to be cut down, monster or person. He didn't hesitate to throw others into the path of the monsters either. Vicious didn't do nice. He didn't have anything like a moral compass anymore, and even if he had, he wouldn't have listened to it. All that mattered was getting back, or getting out. If he couldn't have his revenge, he wanted the promise of death to become a reality.
Hadn't he done enough to deserve oblivion yet?
Follow Me Down
Vicious was leaning against the far wall, glaring at the new person in the room. He didn't understand the point. Who cared if people fucked? Who cared if someone wanted to watch? Who gave a damn what people wanted to do with each other? None of it made any sense. You couldn't even fuck your way to the top, since their supposed leader didn't let himself be touched.
So why was he locked in a room with some stranger? Why him? Didn't everyone else in the hotel already fuck each other silly? What did they expect he could offer someone else couldn't? Vicious wasn't above using sex to get what he wanted, but fucking a complete stranger for no reason wasn't something he saw any value in. What kind of Hell thrived on random sex instead of pain and torture? And who the fuck wanted to see someone like him hurting a random person? He'd much rather just use his sword if that was the point of the imprisonment.