snapping of birdie's wings
struggles between the power of corruption · 11/05

Where he strived in playing the happy medium, there was none. All had been lost the moment his home was rocked by a Blonde that found some way near his life, in both this world and the one he left behind. Slade's fist were healing, parts of his body was falling in line, coming together after sustaining slight injuries only he knew she could commit to. Once she had, once the power that he couldn't contain for himself, gotten to her, it led the fury right at his door. He should've been more open, keen to the nonsense as it spread from one person to the next. He thought it was preposterous, obnoxious like behavior while under the influence to some greater manifestation he had little account for.

Separation was needed so was the noise of the furnace cranking just underneath his feet. Cracks moved under the floor board, his boots trusting the surface. Ears touched by his concentration until her voice stung his ears, singing by the tune of pain. In the other room he heard further than need be. Crying at a note that called to be put out of misery. Hand tightened at his side in a moment of sudden weakness to abide by it, the call that figured it's way through his his ears. Sensitive as they were, senses felt the pings working against each other with his might to ignore her, to shut out any ideas that may have surfaced for consideration.

Slade's walk stuck on its path, the one paved to find a beat that could keep him focused and unbothered by any effects corruption wanted to smother him with. Eye cracking into the red zone, he knew under the influence was bad for business. He would have enacted much worse damage than the injured could ever do. Talks of obtaining that amount of power was seductive as a kill, but his required price tags. Checks to be written past six figures. It would have to be part of a plan with a long con attached to the deceased. A lost worth all of his muscle into. It smelt so sweet, that the skip in his pace reached halt after allowing the idea to sink as far as it did. Almost, just there to the surface, wanting to run head first, sick with a thought that came from delusions and he knew better.

‎Another bone popped into its place his walk stronger than before. Another clench of his fist, admiring what mitts were capable of. Admiring that she at least had it in her to come crashing on the other side. His expansive mind began sewing together theories, then scenarios that would have played in the bird's favor than her current position. What she could've done differently if only he'd seen her first hand. What the two could've accomplished by playing it smart and relied least on a carnal edge of whatever held her in the left of the right side.

Then he heard the cry again. Tugging on the threads of a structure without any base. Tearing to let logic and the emotional component that dictated his reasoning for bringing her there to the cabin to begin with. His homes had been occupied, one torn through by her doing as he only did what was right by defending it. Reminder that this act, the one of trespassing on his property and attacking where he felt the most secure, equalled to part of a man's trust he gave to. More than anger supplemented his ways to defend it, to defend those caught in the death bird's path‎, to protect what bit of her had been untouched.

Violence begetted violence and he issued nothing less than what anyone else would only Slade stepped from the ultimate punishment. By death she should've paid and it's thought of how began to infect a bigger plan at play, causing his working legs to stop their moving, facing the door. He almost gone there with putting her out of that misery but without proper thought behind it, he would've became what took her over in its purest form. He was death personified until the factors of another man, the one who allowed the driver's seat to be taken, corrected this folly. Slade grumbled, his temper on the rise as he sought out another distinct noise to fill his ears because bearing pain was one thing but bearing the pain of hers, was another and he couldn't do it.

That was when he understood what her energy did, what even in combat did. He broke her down in hopes of building her back up to a better bird than before. Not as the one who currently was left hostage to avoid her neck from snapping in his hands. When he let the idea run amongst the others, it was when he pulled out the chair from the study's desk and fell heavily into the seat. The weight of not just his person but what had been done ‎between the two fell against him with the force of a speeding semi. He groaned with head bowed to his hands, running against his face, running into his untamed hair, just missing the patch that had been flipped up to give his dead eye relief with a rub.

It wasn't enough, nothing became enough with blocks of her crying from the other side. As much space a wall gave, the distance needed, was not enough to keep those cries from affecting him more. To bring him out of the round of thoughts that spoke of ways to kill and he wished he had a pistol on him but out of reach he was glad for. Slumping into the chair, head fell back to look up at the overhead lamp and it's light that spotlighted over him. Ephinany's happened everyday including those that catered to what right of good had been left alone. His happy medium was compromised and forced to stumble on the side of what was right thing to do even if measures were at its extreme.

Music or television wanted would drown out the whimpering. The guilt she must have had a chance to get to the bird he knew because the one that blew up what trust given, the trust he foolishly unhanded, was no one he wanted to see again. ‎After the normal life resurfaced, would his other half remember this? He would because notes were created. Security feed was in place. Plans of documenting all and everything would give the fodder needed to feed his lesser half and it was up to him to do with but Slade would creep from that shadow as he always did, watching, making sure there was something left behind of a reminder so there was no forgetting. He was roused from the depths his process of thought was running off to and sat up again.

Thinking she needed water, later food, and a whole lot of rest as he did what he promised anyone that was a cared asset. It was only that this asset, caged as intended, needed more. Out of him, to rile up his senses because concentrating was shit and the days to come would be longer than he ever took into consideration. Out of his seat and on path out the door, her cry, one that did not cripple man to his knees but crushed the only part of him that understood what would be the most difficult thing he had to do soon. Where warmness was shown, started down the path of coldness, detaching itself for the sake of himself and her wellbeing. Within his hands, as current responsibility, he had to do more than crush her wings but her heart with the truth.