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 Alternate Future 2 - Elijah View next topic
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Jonas



Joined: 27 Nov 2007
Posts: 21

PostPosted: Mon May 26, 2008 10:56 am Reply with quoteBack to top

The handsome rebel turned his flaming blue eyes to the sea of leather and glinting metal splayed out in front of him, passion and pride surging into every fiber of his being. These were his men. His soldiers. His brothers in arms, every last one of them vulgar and nasty, ready to stand up for what was theirs, for their freedom, for their fucking balls. This was his Destiny. This was his Inheritance.

Elijah Day had started out as a dirty, useless junkie in New York. Since then he had moved to LA, cleaned himself up, and made friends with some of the most ruthless people in California. But most of all, he had become acquainted with Carl Carlson.

They met in a dirty bar one ordinary evening, one night that seemed like every other. The recovering addict drank a beer or two and spat shit to a biker who decided to listen. So he talked about the state of the fucking Union. The problems with the country, with society, with his fucking life. And Carl Carlson listened. And appreciated what he had to say.

So Elijah Day drank with the man, and got to know him. Eventually, the biker Anarch would take the purposeless New Yorker under his wing. He blood bonded Elijah, and fueled his rebellious side. He taught Elijah that there was an entirely other world, equally as corrupt as the one he had been living in his entire life. So he soaked up the knowledge and hardened his shell, learned to be tough. To hang around Carlson's crew.

Elijah could still remember his first homicide. There was a shotgun put into his hands. They were robbing a bank and burning it down. And the cop came around the corner, aiming his service sidearm. By then it was instinct. The fucking blue suits were pigs, corrupt and fascist, pawns of much darker powers at play. He raised the weapon and fired without hesitation, features set and focused in stone, a grim business that required a grim attitude. The pig fell back, shocked and done for. Elijah jumped into the van and got away with the other Lunatics, already pumping the gun and getting ready to commit some more murders.

So here he was. Embraced and at the top. With his immense charisma and ability to empathize with others, Elijah Day gained the support of the other anarchs. He had already proven his legitimacy by recruiting the gang members he had originally sold drugs to, back in his mortal days. Not only that, but he squashed the ones who wouldn't join. Elijah Day was a new man, more competent. He didn't take shit from anyone.

So he returned the grin to the sea of soldiers, a smug smirk that couldn't be wiped away by the daunting task ahead of them. The men in front of him were all misfits. It was like staring into a mirror. Except there was brotherhood here.

"We. Own. This... CITTTYYYY!!!"

He turned, a shotgun up on one shoulder, a massive sword in the other.
"THIS IS OUR FUCKING HOME."

Elijah lifted one boot-clad foot onto the front bumper of the dark purple El Camino, using it as a hold to lift his other foot up and onto the hood. In this fashion he easily stepped onto the hood of the car, his eyes focused down at his feet, though his mouth continued to speak. As the charismatic leader began, the men assembled on the beach fell quiet, ears perked for their speaker's inspiring words.

"We're not going to let a few raggedy fucking /Wine-drinking/ FASCISTS try to worm their way into the heart of the STRUGGLE."

As he yelled the last word, Elijah leapt up onto the top of the car, denting it easily with his weighed down body, strapped in leathers, metals, and kevlar.

"ALL OF YOU ARE PREPARED TO DIE. WE ARE MARTYRS OF A DIFFERENT BREED. WE HARDLY GIVE OUR LIVES TO SOMETHING AS PETTY AS A /GOD/. WE ARE HERE TO SPILL BLOOD FOR A UNIVERSAL STRUGGLE. THE PATH OF THE REBEL. THE LIFE OF THE WILD FUCKING HORSE. WE. CANNOT. BE. TAMED."

The man says, staring out at the assembly of warriors, both weapons still held in their positions as he turns his body to fully face the crowd, standing atop the sleek purple car, driven out onto the beach in anticipation of the war group.

"Only two years ago I had no purpose. Like many of you, I was a wanderer and a fucking pawn. To this shitty society we call America. But Carl Carlson gave me a purpose. Gave me a cause. And that is why we stand here now. I will personally lead the charge to drive the Camarilla from our city. To burn their building, to destroy our enemies. TO KILL THEIR ELDER PRINCE AND SPREAD HIS ASHES INTO THE OCEAN. WHO WILL STAND WITH ME? WHO WILL FOLLOW NOT BEHIND, BUT AT MY SIDES? AS BROTHERS?"

The cheer from the crowd was spine-tingling, the rush of enthusiasm, blood thirst, and brotherhood gained from the sound of a hundred able-bodied Anarchs was overwhelming, to say the least.

Elijah day hopped down from the El Camino and onto the sand, his boots pushing up little grains and denting the perfect face of the beach, shotgun still propped up on his shoulder, sword held at his side. He grinned at the silent, watchful crowd.

"Alright then. Let's fucking roll."

_________________
All I ever wanted was to pick apart the day, swallow up the pieces, and spit em' at your species.
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