oh, how the mighty have fallen

in life, there are no HEROES, only MONTERS win;

[sirxusblack]

[23rd-block]

All parents damage their children. It cannot be helped. Youth, like pristine glass, absorbs the prints of its handlers.

Mitch Albom  (via nevilleslongbottom)

[leahcomstock]

icarianezra:

Philosophical and existential questions formed a maze for Ezra. He spent sleepless nights wandering the corridors of his mind with no sense of direction, all the while steadily losing hope of escaping. He envied those who didn’t get lost within those questions, who could see beyond the haze and, if not find purpose, reconcile the past with the present. There was no reconciliation for Ezra. The fault between now and then grew wider everyday. He was losing sense of self, losing footing, and the days all melded together. It was a wonder he even had the nerve to peel himself out of bed most days. As long as thirst and hunger managed to register, it would continue to motivate him, but the futility of it would be what killed him.

“That orphan kid, right?” he asked, pushing off the bulwark of the threshold and dropping down to sit next to her. He left a lot of room to breathe - at least an arm’s length, if not more, between them. He’d lifted the bottle to his lips and was taking a deep swallow when she voiced her question. As the burning liquid ran down his throat, he looked down and gauged what was left. It was about a quarter full. “You can have three pulls if you play me another song,” he wagered, kicking his boots out in front of him, and leaning back against the wall. “Fair?”

“Yeah, that’s her.” She replied, adjusting herself as the man sat down next to her. She pondered about his proposition. Being pretty lightweight already, and having eaten very little that day, she was sure that three pulls was more than enough to make her feel bubbly, maybe even half way for her to blackout. “Well, you just got yourself a deal.” She replied, reaching back to pick up the guitar again. “You’re lucky I’m a sick guitar player, because I’m totally going to kill it even though there’s a string missing.” She yapped, with a smirk on her lips. Truth was that the instrument had actually put her in a better mood, so playing another song wasn't a sacrifice in any way.

“I’d ask if the audience has any requests, but I’m only remembering ‘Love me do’ by The Beatles, so you kinda have no choice.” She continued, stretching her fingers before she placed them on the first chords, and started playing the first notes. Her rustiness and initial awkwardness with the instrument was gone now, and the melody of the song was floating in the air more smoothly, even with a missing string, which made the smile on Leah’s face grow to a completely genuine one. “I’ll sing along if you join me.” She threw at the man in a daring tone of voice. 

[leahcomstock]

julienneberinger:

The memories about her fingers touching the ebony keys in the piano, the sound what she could make with every movement, the notes what composed a melody… Julienne missed music. The beauty in the world was disappearing slowly, more when she was in darkness. One of the reasons because she enjoyed be an apothecary was the beauty she could create with the fragrances she makes. But the beauty in music had no name for Julienne, and she missed it a lot.

In the moment she listened a guitar, Julienne was away from the tent where the sound came, but her ears could listen little details. Tomorrow. It felt as a paradox, because every single day the people of the world asked if they have a tomorrow to live. But the sound was a perfect answer to Julienne, they were alive, they were capable to create, to imagine. Inside, she had the creative spirit alive, still were all the teachings what she received in Marseille. She allowed to have a moment where she was less selfish and she thought maybe, some day, the human kind can recover for the fall and be great.

Everything until she listened a sound what made her soul feel pain: the guitar string broke without compassion of her feelings. The silence made Julienne return to reality and her other senses showed what happened: some blood, maybe a small cut. But also, something she couldn’t understand properly. The person who was playing had something, had a disease. In Fervention everybody was sick, and Julienne learned to ignore all the signs, until she wanted to put her attention.

She appeared, trying to not scare the musician, because she was sure was unnoticed until the moment. “It was beautiful.” She said with a genuine smile, something what few could see. “But do you have a small cut, right? Can you let me help you with that?” She was always prepared and had some basic herbal medicines and few bandages made from some clean fabrics she washed with her soap.

She looked up to the figure that had approached her. “Thank you.” She replied, with a dry tone of voice and an almost unnoticeable nod of her head. These days compliments were a rare thing, and while once, in what felt like another life, she had seek them and would wear them with pride, she now couldn’t help but to feel uncomfortable.

However, the woman’s smile was indeed warm and her eyes shinned with a welcoming friendliness that was rare these days. The mention of her wound made the small cut in her hand ache with a little pain. “Oh, it’s just a little scratch.” She replied. Leah was proud, and she didn’t like charity. She had heard about doctors who helped injured and sick patients out for whatever they could afford, and yet she had never visited one of them, even if that meant that she had to stitch her wounds herself. Which she thought was for the best, since that way she finally was able to give her sewing lessons some use.

Her gaze returned to the woman. For some reason, she didn’t want her to leave. Maybe it was some sort of loneliness finally settling in (because as much as Leah told herself that she was more than fine alone, deep down she knew the truth was that she wasn’t), maybe it was just because she was bored. Taking a deep breath, she forced a smile in the hopes of appearing more friendly. “So, you’re a doctor?”

[dailywomen]

[leahcomstock]

tevgreenai:

Tev didn’t know if ki had gotten what people called “a good deal” in her bartering that morning; the data she had collected on bartering so far was inconclusive, value being something that was apparently arbitrary according to the individuals involved and was furthermore prone to fluctuation according to events that ki could not determine. Certain items also had drastically different value depending on whether one was in Colorado Springs, the middle of the Wastes, or in Fervention where ki was now. The important thing to Tev wasn’t the shrewdness of the deal ki cut, though; it was what cutting those deals let kir do. Ferrying items between Colorado Springs and Fervention in exchange for goods that ki could use was a wonderful excuse for traversing between the two towns, and it kept kir fed and alive so ki could continue to enjoy life.

Ki enjoyed Fervention every time she came to the sprawling, ramshackle place. The flapping sound of the tents and tarps in the wind, the rich smell of both cooking and decaying food, the shouts and laughter and gossip and curses exchanged by the inhabitants, the eye-wateringly sharp stink of whiskey at the Legless Man, all the beautiful things tucked-away in the tent with the pretty birds and the rustling beads…it was a wonderful place. Tev loved Colorado Springs too of course – it had been kirs first exposure to the glorious chaos of human life and ki would forever think of it as “home” because of that – but Fervention was more intrinsically alive, in some ways, and ki liked that.

Fortunately it only took two or three days to travel between the two places, at least most of the time; delays happened of course, but it was never too long a trip and Tev liked the travel, too. There was always something interesting going on out in the Wastes, even if ki liked the sort of interesting that happened in the towns more. There were more people in the towns and they were more inclined to talk and laugh and argue than they were in the Wastes; mostly people out there avoided other people or tried to fight them. There was fighting in the towns too of course, but avoiding people was harder because everyone was so close together. Tev liked that; ki liked watching the people.

Ki liked listening to them too, and the sound of something unfamiliar drew kirs ear as ki walked through the dusty pathways that curled between the tents and tarps and metal sheets that made up most of the structures in Fervention. The pack on kirs back hung mostly empty now, its load of transported goods exchanged for consumable supplies and a bright band of braided beads whose use Tev didn’t know yet but whose pretty colors had caught kirs interest. It bumped against the back of kirs thigh as ki walked, its steady thump indicating that no one was trying to make-off with any of its contents with Tev’s permission. That was good because kirs hands were busy with the bowl of hot noodles and broth ki had exchanged a short knife for. Knives were good and useful tools, but hot noodles were better, especially when they were cooked with picked cabbage and spicy red peppers. Tev would pay a lot for anything lots of peppers in.

Now ki ferried the steaming food to kirs mouth in tiny finger-pinches; the vendor selling the hot noodles had offered little wooden sticks to eat the food with, but that would have cost most and Tev didn’t mind eating with kirs hands. They were dirty, true, but so was the rest of kir; why did it matter if kirs food got dirty too? It didn’t make the peppers taste any less spicy. Slurping up another handful of delicious food, Tev paused to listen to the twanging sounds that the brown-haired woman was making with the long-necked case of wood in her hands. Tev had seen other instruments before but ki didn’t know all their names yet; ki had only recently realized that they had different names but not individual ones. Ki had thought that they were like people, every one named something else, until ki had heard the same name repeated four times for different instruments of the same sort. This one looked a little bit like a ukulele, which she had learned about a few weeks ago when a woman in the Colorado Springs market had started to play one for tips, but it was a lot bigger.

One of the thin, twangy parts snapped under the woman’s fingers and she sighed with an expression on her face that Tev had learned to interpret as “sad,” but the sad didn’t last long; it melted into something that Tev had learned most people called “mind your own business,” but that wasn’t a fun thing to do; ki much preferred minding other people’s, so ki asked, “Why not? I think these noodles are very nice, and nobody stopped me having them. I just had to give the man who cooked them a knife, and he seemed to think that knife was very nice, too. I’m sure you could have nice things too if you wanted. Do you not think that that…ukulele is nice?” Tev was pretty sure it wasn’t a ukulele, but maybe it was just a big ukulele. Some people were a lot bigger than others after all, but you still called them people. “I think it looks nice. What were you doing with it?”

Looking up at the figure that had approach her, Leah couldn’t help but to let her mouth drop open a bit, as she really didn’t know how to react. Ki didn’t seem dangerous. No, not at all. In fact, kirs perfect posture and the way that ki spoke reminded Leah of some of her old friends, which almost made her feel comfortable around kir. “I was… playing music?” She answered, but from the way she spoke you could say it seemed like she wasn’t too certain about it and was expecting the other to confirm her doubts.

“This isn’t an ukulele.” She continued speaking, this time with more conviction. “Ukuleles are smaller and only have four strings. Plus, they sound completely different.” She was trying not to be too judgmental about the other’s lack of such common knowledge, after all, she herself had recently figured out that there was a lot she didn’t know about the world around her due to her sheltered and privileged upbringing. In the end, she could only assume that the dark haired figure in front of her simply had had other worries in kir life that stopped kir from ever coming across musical instruments. But overall, the stranger just seemed to have the naivety of a child, which called for Maeve’s curiosity, and made her want to keep kir close for a little while. However, a certain doubt remain in the air, could it all just be some sort of trap?

Leaning back against the wall, she watcher kir as ki ate noodles with kirs bare fingers. “Jesus, how can you eat like that? Doesn’t it burn your fingers?”

[leahcomstock]

icarianezra:

Ezra sat in the shade of The Legless Man’s wrap-around porch. It was the best seat in town; perfect to get an angle on most of the goings-on: to watch stragglers lumbering in from the wastes, traders pulling laden-carts, gruesome fights erupting in the middle of the road. His father used to call it The Theater of the Living, and always preferred a good, long bout of people-watching over anything on the television. The youngest Cooper wasn’t sure if he was getting old, or if he’d forgotten what TV was like, but he was starting to like it, himself. The spells in between the drama were peaceful (as peaceful as possible in Fervention), but if you waited long enough, you were sure to witness some trouble.

On his knee, he balanced a full jar of whiskey. The slant of light from the falling sun hit the amber liquid and cast prisms of ochre and gold on the warped wooden floorboards. It caught Ezra’s eye, and he shifted the glass, bouncing the delicate light off the sand,  a trader’s hat, then the shattered windshield of a jalopy. Then they struck a set of strings. The light that glinted back at him struck his eyes sharply for half a second, and he winced away from it. 

The woman was about 5 or 6 shanties down, and he could see she was playing a guitar, but he couldn’t hear the music over the cacophony in the tavern behind him. Music was rare these days. Sometimes traveling folk would wander in Fervention from the great Wastes and play in the tavern for a few nights before moving on, but most of their instruments were fashioned out of everyday items. A washboard, bells, wind chimes. Very seldom did you see someone with an intact guitar anymore, or any wooden, or stringed instrument. The wood warped in the sun, and the strings were hard to come by. More than that, people just traded their passions for necessity. Desperation and thirst had taken all of the beauty out of everything.

With whiskey in hand, he left the limping rocking chair he often preoccupied, and ambled toward the woman who sat drawing her hand over the guitar’s dusty strings. As he got closer, he found he recognized the song, but couldn’t quite place it. Ezra had always respected musicians, but that was mostly because he couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket to save his life. When he was a kid and tried his hand at piano lessons, he was pretty sure his tutor gave up on him even before he did. He could appreciate music, and it stirred something sleeping in him, but he wondered if he could appreciate it the way someone who actually played could. It was doubtful.

He leaned against the empty frame of a darkened door and watched as she navigated her way through the song. If she stalled or made a mistake, he wouldn’t have known the difference. A trance had taken him the moment before the string popped. His mind had wandered, watching the dust rise up from the road in seemingly significant spirals, as if enchanted by the song, and he watched her fingers move with effortlessness. A jolt rippled through him when the string popped, and the world was suddenly released from the spell. He gave a sympathetic grimace at the sight of the cut, but couldn’t help but snort at her comment.

“Nah, you can have nice things. You just can’t expect to hold on to ‘em.” He took a pull from his whiskey. “What song was that?”

She hadn’t notice the man approaching her, so she didn’t know how long he had been there listening to her. Yet, she wasn’t startled when he spoke, and simply glanced over the source of the voice. She didn’t recognize the man, but these days Leah never paid much attention to faces. Sighing at his response, she returned he gaze to the guitar next to her. “Well, tomayto, tomahto.” In all reality, she didn’t like to dwell much in those philosophical questions. To her, they always lead to the same last question, one she still was trying to find the answer to: For what am I surviving for?

“It’s just a stupid song from this old musical.” She replied to his question, her face flushing with some embarrassing. How sad was it for a full grown woman to be playing such childish song in the world that they lived in? However, she guessed that not many people would be familiar with a two-hundred-year old song, so she replied with honesty. “Annie. Ever heard of it?” She asked, as the last rays of sun hit the whiskey bottle on the man’s hand, suddenly calling Leah’s attention to it.

“Can I have some?” She questioned, pointing to the bottle.

[leahcomstock]

the sorting hat: you can go in Slytherin or Ravenclaw, which do you want?

me: which will make people trust me unquestioningly?

the sorting hat: the answer is Ravenclaw but because you asked that way you're going in Slytherin

me: that's fair.

[kazbrekkker]

[nitroboy97]

[leahcomstock]

revenvnt:

“Listen, this isn’t a fucking charity, okay? I got what you asked for, now you pay up or I’ll find someone that will.” Even with her voice lowered to keep curious passersby out of her conversation, anger was evident in her tone, frustration at being forced to listen to this man’s begging and excuses. “No, no, you listen to me. I don’t care who’s dying or going to die, it’s not my problem, alright? Now get lost, before I become your problem.”

Lucky knelt to pick up her bag, eyes off him for only a moment. As she slung it over her shoulder, something stopped her — a hand, vice-like around her wrist. His face was suddenly too close, and for a second she could smell the dried sweat and decay on the man’s skin. She lashed out quick as a whip, and he released her, stumbling backwards, hands covering his face. Blood seeped from between his fingers, and when he lowered his hands, his broken nose was smeared red down his cheek.

Pack slung over her shoulder, she turned to leave. There, at the mouth of the alleyway, stood a figure, cloaked in dust and the shadow of neighboring buildings. “You enjoy the show?” The corners of her lips twitched as she pulled her scarf up around the lower half of her face, her grip tight on the strap of her bag.

It really wasn’t unusual to see fights in the markets. Sometimes it was victims of scams getting their revenge on their scammer, others it was pickpocketers getting justice, but mostly, just violent people being violent. And while seeing people fight would have once immediately pull Leah’s attention for how rare the event was, now she usually didn’t even look twice.

Truly, the fight wasn’t all that appealing to her, and all she was doing in the alleyway was catching some shade and resting before she made her rounds around the market. From what she could tell, the punch wasn’t all that necessary, as maybe a quick and strong pull would have released his grip.

Yet, she didn’t felt like taking a punch herself, so as the woman confronted her she simply shrugged one shoulder. “Wasn’t actually paying that much attention.” She replied, and because she wanted to barterer with the woman she lifted the corner of her lip up for a friendly smirk. “I am, however, paying attention to you right now, and I’d love to see what you got.”

[memeufacturing-deactivated20161]

me *throwing bread at ducks*: do not forget this act of altruism. if i am ever in trouble i expect you and your brethren to come to my aid. Do not forget

[leahcomstock]

mercermagician:

           The sun had begun to blister Zelda’s skin even with her lab coat on. Out of desperation, she had ducked into the remnants of an old building. It had been indiscernible from the outside, but once she was inside it appeared to have once been an office building. Something clattered to the ground to her left. Zelda squealed. 

                                      “Is someone there?”

It wasn’t uncommon for Maeve to take shelter when the sun got way too hot. These days, the lack of water meant that it was better to avoid sweating as much as one could. Funnily enough, she actually used to do that before the world officially went to shit, but in those times she did it for vanity, and now she could say her life almost depended on it. Sitting against a wall, she was almost about to fall asleep, when the voice startled her.

“What are you here for?” She roared, in the most aggressive tone of voice she could.

[leahcomstock]

She could feel the skin on her face flaking off. Her body wasn’t used to be bombarded with this much radiation and dangerous sunlight, and this manifested in innumerous ways. In the beginning it was just with strong and unlivable headaches, that would cause Leah to spend hours sitting in a cold corner with her hands in her head, unable to do anything. So, in a way, she'd have to say that her biggest problem now being dry skin was actually quite an improvement.

She felt tempted to pick on the dead skin on her face, but already knew far too well that it’d only end up hurting more than it already did. To distract herself, she picked the guitar that was lying beside her. She had come across it that morning, but while it was still in perfect conditions, no one had had any interest in trading the dusty guitar for anything, so Maeve guessed that she was allowed to keep it. At least she would have some entertainment for the rest of the day.

She passed her fingers for the strings. Surprisingly, it wasn't as out of tune as she thought it would. She started tuning it, using her hearing memory as best as she could. Her teachers had always told her she a good ear, but she hadn't picked up any musical instrument in years, so she was sure she had lost some talent.

When she was done, she started playing the first song that she had learned. Tomorrow, from the musical Annie. It was a sweet song, she thought. Well, maybe now it was actually bittersweet. Not much because of the message that the song stated, but because of the memories that it brought to her. She could remember how sore her fingers were after that first lesson. How proud she was the first time she was able to play the song from beginning to end without making any mistake. Memories of music end around her middle of teens, after she lost all love for it and it became just a hobby, 

Yet, as she played in that moment, it was like she had found an old lover. The song wasn’t being played that smoothly, with Leah’s lack of practice making her take too much time transitioning from one chord to another, but she was still enjoying the moment, and that was something that she hadn’t done in quite some time.

With almost a smile on her lips, she was about to end the song, when one of guitar strings broke, leaving a small, but still hurtful, cut in her hand. Sighing, her face went back to its natural grumpy look as she put the guitar away.

“Guess you really can’t have anything nice these days.”

[fetish-funtime]

[lastexodusrp-blog]

LEAH MAEVE COMSTOCK · 24 · SCAVENGER · THE FALLEN · TAKEN

"Heroes don’t exist. And if they did, I wouldn’t be one of them.” - Brodi Ashton

ORIGIN:

Colorado Springs, Colorado

TRAITS:

+ Resourceful, Resilient, Cunning

- Apathetic, Narcissist, Pompous

BIOGRAPHY:

tw: violence, suicide

THIS IS THE WAY THE WORLD ENDS;

Leah Comstock was born with a golden last name. Comstock was a name that meant money, and it the world that she lived in, money meant power. Truly, it was a pure strike of good luck that gave them a heavy influence in Colorado Springs. A successful investment made in Biocorp sky-rocked the family into a position that they had never had before, to the point where they were able to live in their own, small, rich and privilege world, distant from all the chaos that haunted the world.

The third and last child, and also the only girl of the bunch, Leah was spoiled rotten from the moment she took her first breath. Days were spent in expensive dresses, going from ballet lessons to private tutors and of course, extravagant parties that made it seem like all the reports about resources strains weren’t true.

Once Leah grew to hear and actually understand these sort of news, nothing really changed for her. She didn’t have an epic moment of truth, or any dramatic reality check as she watched people cry in agony, embracing their dying children, or entire cities being abandoned due to lack of water. After all, what reasons did she have to lose sleep over those subjects? She knew that she stood on the top of the chain, and that she’d never face the same problems as those people. And as her mother always said, those were worries for the people who were beneath them. For the people that didn’t have what they had. Of course that eventually the state of the world did start worrying the family, but as soon as news about Civ-Belt-1 were made public, her father started getting involved with the Valeris Corporation in the hopes of saving for themselves a nice place on that ship, would they ever need it.

However, the Comstocks missed to measure their worth to some true titan like the Valeris Corporation. Months were spent clueless, wiring more and more money to the corporation, and waiting for their final response.

When they finally secured they’re place on Civ-Belt-1 , the ship was just hours away from departing.

NOT WITH A BANG, BUT A WHIMPER.

Bags packed, they all made their way to the jeeps that were waiting for them. Mrs Comstock going on about how she had forgotten her favorite pair earrings on her dresser, Leah yapping how she didn’t even have enough time to properly blow dry her hair. They all went dead silent as soon as they saw the sea of people outside their apartment. It was one thing to hear about the riots. It was another to see them with your own eyes. For the first time, Leah actually understood how truly chaotic the world she lived in was.

They started making their way to the departure zone, the security that his father had hired escorting them. However, the people were out for blood, wanting to bring down those who had spit on them their whole life. Eventually, a giant mob pressured the jeep into a dangerous route, which made it lose control and roll over.

Stuck, unable to get her seat belt off, Leah watched as the angry crowd dragged her father and beat him mercilessly. She was expecting the same faith for herself, when two security guards aimed their weapons at the mob and fired. Helping Leah and her mother out of the jeep, they started making the rest of their way on foot.

It was even more chaotic near the gates of the air base. People were trying to do everything they could to get in. Begging, threatening, bargaining, and not even the guns pointed to their heads silenced them.

She watched Civ-Belt-1 fly away, as her mother sobbed in her shoulder.

It didn’t took much time for the security guards that were helping them to leave. Leah was already expecting it; she was just naïve enough to not think they’d leave in the middle of the night with all the little food they had.

Somehow they survived on their own for a few more weeks. Mrs Comstock had a surprisingly high amount of jewelry on her handbag, which allowed them to trade for enough food to keep them going. The woman was doing far worse than Leah. Crying herself to sleep each night, not getting out of the dirty mattress of their new home in the morning. As far as Leah, her body was taken by an odd numbness after the car crash. It was the shock, she knew, the cruel reality of her being stuck on a dying earth that made her feel that way. It was almost like she was in auto-pilot mode, going by her day in a mechanical way.

Not even three months later, she came home to find her mother hanging from the roof. Truly, she had been expecting it. And in some twisted way, she allowed it would happen, since her mother was a mouth to feed, and it was already enough of a struggle to find food for herself. Taking her body down, she searched her mother for the few jewelries that she had hold on to, and covered her body with a sheet.

She got around well enough in the new wasteland. She wasn’t doing good by any means, but she was still alive. She found she was actually quite good at bartering and talking her way out of bad situations, so she started making a living by searching abandoned houses for goods that she could trade for food.

She doesn’t tell anyone her real name now. The name that was once a blessing, she now finds a curse. She saw what those men did to her father, and she knows that the same could happen to her if anyone finds out she is (or better, was) a part of the elite that fucked everyone over. She has come to the conclusion that maybe she’d deserve it, but heck, as far as she is concerned Leah Comstock is already died. She died six months ago, in a horrific car crash, alongside her mother and father.

Now there is only Maeve.

FACECLAIM:

Alicia Vikander