Venom would have to revise his earlier prophecy of the day being a bad one. It was instead incredibly boring.
The fourth shift came and went without a repeat of last week's events, leaving the assassin struggling to comprehend the equal amounts of disappointment and relief flooding his system. He'd spent the free-time given to him in the greenhouse, more attentive to the insects there than the plants, and generally kept to himself. Once he'd relocated to his room, exhaustion and hunger finally forced his body to succumb to their will: he'd collapsed onto his bed the instant he was near it and ate that bland-tasting gruel without a word. Despite the relative amount of nothing happening, the conflicting emotions coupled with the psychical illness as a result of the military's treatment, he almost didn't hear the General's rambling.
His accent was thick. Spanish, though even that similarity did not make him sound like Master Zato. His Master was not a harsh or emotional man, and was never one for long-winded speeches about perceived righteousness and what made him better than an old leader. He would always speak calmly and confidently, not like someone always barking out orders to unruly schoolchildren. He never had to raise his voice. He was charismatic and, as a result, never had to fight tooth and nail for respect. Not like The Eagle evidently did with the patient populace. Not like Venom did with the world's populace.
Biased or colored with affection as those thoughts might have been, they only continued to wander instead of clinging to any of the words being spoken through the intercom. His fingers found his pillow and they dragged it to his chest, his other hand placing the now-empty bowl onto the drawer at his side before wrapping itself around the pillow as well. It was a bad time to be this incredibly homesick, wasn't it? How were the other members of the Guild fairing without him? Did they think he abandoned them? He hadn't been the leader for as long as Master Zato, but surely they'd known him long enough to know he would never abandon his lord's cause. Maybe they were continuing the work without him, leaving him without any reason to worry. After all, while most of them were as dead-eyed and empty as he was, there were the few that genuinely seemed to enjoy their job and the destruction they caused. It wouldn't be entirely wrong to label those few as sociopaths and, honestly, they horrified him. But they did what he told them and their energy was enough to motivate the more unwilling of the group. He could only hope that group never decided to rise in his absence. The last thing he needed was another attempt by some idiot to overthrow the leader of the Assassins' Guild.
He didn't remember closing his eyes during all that pondering, but opening them once again proved an empty, dark room and absolutely no sound coming from the hallway. ...He'd fallen asleep somehow, hadn't he? Damn it.
Regardless of the ache still reverberating through his legs, Venom pulled himself back out of his mattress, collected his belongings from the box at the foot of the bed (so they saw fit to return them today. How nice of them), redressed, and was out the door. Hopefully he hadn't been out for long.
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The fourth shift came and went without a repeat of last week's events, leaving the assassin struggling to comprehend the equal amounts of disappointment and relief flooding his system. He'd spent the free-time given to him in the greenhouse, more attentive to the insects there than the plants, and generally kept to himself. Once he'd relocated to his room, exhaustion and hunger finally forced his body to succumb to their will: he'd collapsed onto his bed the instant he was near it and ate that bland-tasting gruel without a word. Despite the relative amount of nothing happening, the conflicting emotions coupled with the psychical illness as a result of the military's treatment, he almost didn't hear the General's rambling.
His accent was thick. Spanish, though even that similarity did not make him sound like Master Zato. His Master was not a harsh or emotional man, and was never one for long-winded speeches about perceived righteousness and what made him better than an old leader. He would always speak calmly and confidently, not like someone always barking out orders to unruly schoolchildren. He never had to raise his voice. He was charismatic and, as a result, never had to fight tooth and nail for respect. Not like The Eagle evidently did with the patient populace. Not like Venom did with the world's populace.
Biased or colored with affection as those thoughts might have been, they only continued to wander instead of clinging to any of the words being spoken through the intercom. His fingers found his pillow and they dragged it to his chest, his other hand placing the now-empty bowl onto the drawer at his side before wrapping itself around the pillow as well. It was a bad time to be this incredibly homesick, wasn't it? How were the other members of the Guild fairing without him? Did they think he abandoned them? He hadn't been the leader for as long as Master Zato, but surely they'd known him long enough to know he would never abandon his lord's cause. Maybe they were continuing the work without him, leaving him without any reason to worry. After all, while most of them were as dead-eyed and empty as he was, there were the few that genuinely seemed to enjoy their job and the destruction they caused. It wouldn't be entirely wrong to label those few as sociopaths and, honestly, they horrified him. But they did what he told them and their energy was enough to motivate the more unwilling of the group. He could only hope that group never decided to rise in his absence. The last thing he needed was another attempt by some idiot to overthrow the leader of the Assassins' Guild.
He didn't remember closing his eyes during all that pondering, but opening them once again proved an empty, dark room and absolutely no sound coming from the hallway. ...He'd fallen asleep somehow, hadn't he? Damn it.
Regardless of the ache still reverberating through his legs, Venom pulled himself back out of his mattress, collected his belongings from the box at the foot of the bed (so they saw fit to return them today. How nice of them), redressed, and was out the door. Hopefully he hadn't been out for long.