Stress (Open RP)
Ark sits on the ground, growling at himself. He curses loudly and lays down, banging his head against the floor roughly. The large map that sat in front of him was covered in marks. Knives, blood, claw marks, even just simple sharpie. They covered placed where the Butchers had been attacked by The Cult of Eyes.
Ark hisses in another breath and sits up. He straightens himself up a bit but winds up screaming again. Just screaming. Ark felt nothing but anger and stress and just everything coming down on him. His Butchers were dying. They were being killed off because of him. It was all his fault. All his fucking fault that his Butchers were dying.
He runs a few fingers through his hair, panting and collapses to the floor. He covers his face with his hands, whimpering. Thomas was gone on top of that. Gone. He was never coming back. No one was. NO one cared. No one cares about nothing. No one says anything of the nothing. He whimpers again feeling that same biting feeling that he had felt for so long. The hunger was eating up inside of him.
He rubs his own face. The scars, he rubs them too. The stitches on his neck. Anything to calm himself down. He didn’t want to lose it. There were too many Butchers in the area right now. Losing it would mean that even more of them would be dead, and even worse, they would be killed by his hands. PLEASE… He begs to himself. PLEASE JUST CALM DOWN…. JUST CALM DOWN… He takes another breath.
Footsteps. Someone or something was coming. Ark looks up from his hands, stitches that were over his eyes the only thing visible of his face. He whispers another soothing word to himself and stands. He tells himself that things will be okay. He’ll go on a walk or something later and things will be okay. It can’t be that hard. It’ will be better. It has to get better. Another breath. He wait for the person to enter.