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tampered2006-11-06 11:09 pm
bitingnightmare.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2006-11-06 11:09 pm
Log; Complete
When; Nov. 6 (night)
Rating; R (violence)
Characters; Vincent (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
snarky_padre_v), The Corinthian (bitingnightmare)
Summary; a breath of fresh air in return for blindness, the nightmare goes for a walk and discovers the padre
Log;
After staying inside for most of the day, the Corinthian finally found a little initiative to leave the apartment in search of the magus who'd disappeared by morning, or maybe he just needed a little fresh air, away from the scene of the crime. Whatever the case, he'd locked the door and set off, wearing a new set of leathers to combat the oncoming chill of winter, or maybe just raise the collar to hide the bite marks on his neck. His sunglasses hid the second change in his eyes, the right one no longer glowing blue. Around the corner and down the street, silent, almost on cat's feet.
---
Vincent had still been trying in vain to figure out how he was supposed to make contact with the boy Xuchilbara wanted him to find out about. He knew where the man with three mouths was now, and he was not sure he wanted to meet that one...there was an undeniable air of danger. Still, Vincent had become deeply infatuated with the red god, and so he had continued to lurk around that area, hoping to find a loophole...he wasn't paying close attention to where he was going or what he was doing. A lot had gone on between himself and the Crimson One, and his mind was on that...
---
A loophole huh? Or was the man hoping the three-mouthed nightmare would let his guard down (which was rarely). He sniffed the air, tasted it with the tips of his tongues behind those glasses. A rat. He could smell it. The Corinthian lifted his gaze, left then right, noted the little spy Scarab complained about, the one Matthew had mentioned. His pace halted, waiting to see if the padre even noticed him yet.
---
But Vincent's attention was squarely rooted on, what else, himself. One of the new scars he had acquired hurt a bit, and he was rubbing at it absently. He hissed a bit, unaware he had an audience.
---
Easy pickings. He crossed the street, boots padding almost too quietly as he trailed the other. They wanted him, they wanted Daniel Hall, his Lord, that just wouldn't do. And most of all, the Corinthian hungered.
"Lose your bodyguard," he asked Vince in a cool, cool tone.
---
Vincent startled. The look of alarm on his face was no doubt priceless. There wasn't much of any lie he could tell that would sound convincing. "Oh..h-h-hi," he stammered, "I was um.. I'm lost. Trying to find the uh, the fountain. Can you tell me which way it is?" His attention now squarely on the Corinthian. Fear so palpable one could almost smell it.
---
Smell it he did. The nightmare always was good at picking up the familiar scent. The padre's stammer didn't impress him, neither did it amuse him. He reached out with both hands, one to lay a solid grip on Vince's arm, the other to grasp the back of his neck as the Corinthian moved forward a few paces. The city was full of dark secluded alleys.
"We're going for a walk, stranger." It wasn't a suggestion, it was a threat.
---
"A walk? but i-i-I don't want to..." Vincent wasn't much of a fighter, and all but squeaked when he was grabbed. His pace as they went for this walk frenzied as he half scuttled to keep up, and struggled ineffectively to break away. "I.. I'm not a stranger! I saw you before...on Hallowe'en... r-remember?" voice cracking like an adolescent. "A-anyway..my name's Vincent..."
---
"I know your name," said the nightmare with a malicious grin, a little birdie had told him.
He handled Vince callously, having no reason to treat him with kid gloves. Not even the knowledge of who took care of this padre fazed the Corinthian as he directed the man into a dead-end alleyway, narrow path darkened by shadows. He practically thrived in the sea of night. Once they were inside he gave Vince a shove forward, blocked the mouth of the alley himself.
"You've got five seconds to tell me everything."
---
"E-everything??" Vincent squeaked. The shove unbalanced him, and he landed in an ungainly sprawl on his butt. He started to get up, straightening his glasses at the same time, "I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about..."
---
"Five." The Corinthian started the countdown, reached into his pocket for his faithful sword; a balisong knife. He flipped it open on instinct, wasn't even sure if he was just going to scare the guy or cut the information out of him. "Four."
---
Vincent's eyes widened at the sight of that, and he backed up against the wall itself. But, he was not entirely without any sort of defense. The red god had performed some sort of ritual on him, and had given him power. Problem was? Vincent still had no idea how to use it; some of the wounds were still bleeding, he was so new to this.
He got an odd look in his eye; he was trying to concentrate, alter things, as he had seen others in Silent Hill do. But he was unskilled...reality wavered a bit, but the alley remained. And he had lost two more seconds in the Corinthian's countdown, to boot.
---
"Three."
Successful or not, the nightmare had felt the attempt to change reality, just like when he fought the triangle-headed jackass for Scarab's life. That angered him, brought the predator to the forefront, for vengeance, for cruelty. He reached up to remove his sunglasses, tucked them away where the knife used to be. The left eye was full of teeth, smiling as only a monster could; the right one was a mess of bloodied eyelids, as if something had been cut out. Both of them still had their tongues intact though. The right one slithered out to lick at his own lashes.
"I lied." He lunged to grab Vince by the shirt, to pin him against the wall and draw the tip of the blade across his lower lid.
---
Vincent panicked. "What are you doing? Please...I haven't done anything!" foolishly, he tried to reach up and grab the hand the Corinthian held the knife in. his gaze was riveted on The Corinthians' scary mouth-eyes. Although no doubt they led, as any mouth would, to wherever it was he digested food, it looked as though those throat cavities went on forever...
---
He shouldn't try to kill the padre, try not to give in to that hunger, an appetite that wasn't supposed to belong to him but would always be a part of him. It was wrong, similar to taking a step back. Unfortunately for them both it called for blood, wanted to lap it up like warm milk. Vince's eyes... shining and full of fear, they were lovely eyes. Oh grab at the knife did he? The Corinthian thrust the blade end towards the middle of Vince's palm.
*Liar.* His toothy eye rasped.
---
Vincent yowled, pulling back his injured hand, cupping it with the other to stop the flow of blood. After all, bloodloss was no fun when it was being caused by someone who didn't love you, was enjoying your pain. Vincent tried to get someone else involved, thinking that might work. "HELP!" he screamed loudly, "help me, please, there's a crazy man trying to--"
---
"Nuh huh," sounded the nightmare as he grabbed Vince by the collar and attempted to crack the back of his skull against the wall. If that wasn't enough he shoved him to the ground once more, face down, regardless if the padre had lost consciousness or not. The Corinthian was taller and heavier than the other; it shouldn't be much of a problem to straddle Vince's lower back would it?
---
Vincent grunted, seeing stars, and went down, hard.
The fact he had new injuries on his torso that were still healing didn't help. He twitched and squirmed accordingly, but it was clear he wasn't going to be able to pitch the Corinthian off of him, and the weight was keeping him winded enough he wasn't likely to call for help again.
He did cry out anyway, a wordless cry.
---
"Look at me," the nightmare demanded as he pulled Vince's head up by the hair, blade to his throat. His mouth eyes opened, sounding that sick hrrrsch of ravenous hunger. They wanted to taste Vince's fear, taste his guilt, and taste the darkness that tainted the man's soul. Only a saint could get away from the Corinthian's gaze. He didn't think the padre was one of those.
---
Nor would Vincent dare to claim to be. He looked back at his attacker, terrified, pained, and oh so very guilty. "What do you want?" he gasped. In spite of his fear and desperation there was a hint of his usual snark, of righteous indignance to his tone of voice. A sense of self that all but cried out, how DARE you treat ME in this manner...as if Vincent's sense of self worth surpassed his self-preservation instinct...
---
"Fuck this," concluded the dark mirror of humanity. He cared not to be doing his job now, what he was meant to do, made for. That would just serve as a beacon to his Lord anyway, and they definitely didn't want the Red God or his followers finding him. The Corinthian felt justified, felt righteous himself in daring to do what he wanted to to Vincent. He didn't care if others might see otherwise. Other people weren't here to save the padre now were they.
He pressed the man's head down to the pavement, to limit how much movement Vince's jaw could make. This was important for the next step, which involved wedging his knife into the right eye socket.
---
Vincent's entire body went rigid, and although his scream was muffled, it was definitely a scream in earnest this time. Vincent may have accepted, welcomed and even loved pain at the hands of the red god, but this was something entirely different. This was a knife in his eye. He struggled, in blind panic. Well. Almost literally. Half blind panic, anyway.
---
He worked the weapon like a professional, severing the right nerves without cutting the sphere of flesh, keeping the vitreous humors inside. The eye was less savory when destroyed. In a mere moment the white thing spilled out onto the ground. The Corinthian carefully brushed it to the side despite the muffled man beneath him. He could do so much worse; turn Vince into his own refuge for anger and fury, the hunger. No, his eyes would do. The nightmare worked on the second eye, his left one.
---
Vincent was sobbing now, his struggles crazed. He couldn't see, and somehow that was worse than the pain. He could feel the throbbing in the ruined socket when the Corinthian began in on the other. He -almost- bucked hard enough to unseat his attacker, he was so panicked to feel the sight go in the other eye, but then shock began to set in, and he lay there, only shivering and crying.
---
Sobbing? The irony was too much to resist, Vince eyeless, weeping tears and blood. The man reminded him of the boys, the boys who fought when they were cornered, and laid down when they understood the Corinthian was the big bad wolf. Even when the man bucked he remained on top, the predator. Once the second eye was out, spilling blood and other fluids from its tendons, he raised Vince's head once more, the crying man, how precious, and twisted it, almost enough to break.
"Let's see the city try to regrow that," purred the nightmare as his tongues lapped away the blood from Vince's face.
---
Vincent didn't even have any words for his attacker; he just kept crying, inconsolable sobs of pain and terror. The terror, of course, was worse...he was in the dark now. He was in the dark, & likely the dark would never end, because his eyes were gone, and he KNEW it.
---
Where was his Red God now? The man's righteous protector, the only one with The Right to harm him. No wonder the Corinthian didn't subscribe to any religion, all gods were unreliable. He would know, having taken the eyes of one before. His tongues slithered back into his mouths as he released Vince finally, tucked the knife away and gathered his eyes in his hand. His eyes.
He rose from his straddle and took a step back. "Goodnight, boy," said the nightmare, voice as low and sensuous like rumble of early thunder over a levee.
---
Vincent lifted his head, trying to figure out where the sound was coming from. The one who had done this to him was leaving. "No.." he groaned, unable to believe he was actually thinking don't leave me here…but he was. The Corinthian was certainly no friend to him- he was the one who had done this! But if he left Vincent would be all alone, and blinded. Helpless... he crawled forward a little ways, reaching across the ground as if he thought somehow he would find his eyes and miraculously stop this thing that had happened.
Ironically, his hand closed over his glasses. Out of instinct more than anything else- the lenses would do nothing to help his sockets see again- he put them back on his face as he tried, shakily, to get back to his feet...
---
"Yes," he answered. Oh he was definitely going to be leaving the man alone in the endless dark, but not without a parting gift. He struck his boot out at Vince's knee, delivering a strong kick in the reverse of its natural direction. He didn't say the padre could get up after all. Immortal to mortal (or seemingly mortal), the following acts of cruelty couldn't be justified at all, and still the nightmare didn't care. He reached for the soft glint of something long and round on the floor, a 3/4 empty bottle of Stolichnaya.
---
Vincent cried out again, and hit the pavement. The glass of one of his lenses shattered, but again, they weren't really doing him all that much good now, were they? At least it hadn't gone into his socket. He lay still, shivering, realizing that more pain was imminent.
He didn't know if it was still the Corinthian, or someone else who had found him helpless, and at this point it hardly mattered, did it? Vincent had been beaten up many times before, and he sort of knew the drill. Nothing he said or did now was going to stop what was coming. It would end when his attacker decided to end it.
---
How he wanted to take the man apart, to make him his boy... The teething drew him away from those urges, the need to enjoy the pop of his eyes and feel those fluids slick down his throats. Not here, too much had already happened here. He took the bottle in hand, looked at it, looked through its glass to the helpless man on the other side. The nightmare held it by the neck and shattered the thing on the floor, spreading sharp edges across the ground.
"Have fun," he gave Vince a smirk, rotated his eyes in his palm as he walked away.
---
Vincent heard the shattering glass, but he had no idea what it meant until he tried to crawl forward again and got some of the pieces embedded in his hand for his effort. This made getting up again that much worse. At first his weak knee gave out, and he slipped, driving the other leg forward and getting glass in that as well. By the time he managed his way shakily to his feet again he had forgotten the glass in his palms, and it was driven deeper as he felt for the wall.
"Help me, someone, please!" he struggled awkwardly along, one bloody hand against the wall. He had no idea if he was moving out of the alley or deeper in. he could only hope whoever was drawn to his cry would not hurt him further.
Rating; R (violence)
Characters; Vincent (
snarky_padre_v), The Corinthian (bitingnightmare)Summary; a breath of fresh air in return for blindness, the nightmare goes for a walk and discovers the padre
Log;
After staying inside for most of the day, the Corinthian finally found a little initiative to leave the apartment in search of the magus who'd disappeared by morning, or maybe he just needed a little fresh air, away from the scene of the crime. Whatever the case, he'd locked the door and set off, wearing a new set of leathers to combat the oncoming chill of winter, or maybe just raise the collar to hide the bite marks on his neck. His sunglasses hid the second change in his eyes, the right one no longer glowing blue. Around the corner and down the street, silent, almost on cat's feet.
---
Vincent had still been trying in vain to figure out how he was supposed to make contact with the boy Xuchilbara wanted him to find out about. He knew where the man with three mouths was now, and he was not sure he wanted to meet that one...there was an undeniable air of danger. Still, Vincent had become deeply infatuated with the red god, and so he had continued to lurk around that area, hoping to find a loophole...he wasn't paying close attention to where he was going or what he was doing. A lot had gone on between himself and the Crimson One, and his mind was on that...
---
A loophole huh? Or was the man hoping the three-mouthed nightmare would let his guard down (which was rarely). He sniffed the air, tasted it with the tips of his tongues behind those glasses. A rat. He could smell it. The Corinthian lifted his gaze, left then right, noted the little spy Scarab complained about, the one Matthew had mentioned. His pace halted, waiting to see if the padre even noticed him yet.
---
But Vincent's attention was squarely rooted on, what else, himself. One of the new scars he had acquired hurt a bit, and he was rubbing at it absently. He hissed a bit, unaware he had an audience.
---
Easy pickings. He crossed the street, boots padding almost too quietly as he trailed the other. They wanted him, they wanted Daniel Hall, his Lord, that just wouldn't do. And most of all, the Corinthian hungered.
"Lose your bodyguard," he asked Vince in a cool, cool tone.
---
Vincent startled. The look of alarm on his face was no doubt priceless. There wasn't much of any lie he could tell that would sound convincing. "Oh..h-h-hi," he stammered, "I was um.. I'm lost. Trying to find the uh, the fountain. Can you tell me which way it is?" His attention now squarely on the Corinthian. Fear so palpable one could almost smell it.
---
Smell it he did. The nightmare always was good at picking up the familiar scent. The padre's stammer didn't impress him, neither did it amuse him. He reached out with both hands, one to lay a solid grip on Vince's arm, the other to grasp the back of his neck as the Corinthian moved forward a few paces. The city was full of dark secluded alleys.
"We're going for a walk, stranger." It wasn't a suggestion, it was a threat.
---
"A walk? but i-i-I don't want to..." Vincent wasn't much of a fighter, and all but squeaked when he was grabbed. His pace as they went for this walk frenzied as he half scuttled to keep up, and struggled ineffectively to break away. "I.. I'm not a stranger! I saw you before...on Hallowe'en... r-remember?" voice cracking like an adolescent. "A-anyway..my name's Vincent..."
---
"I know your name," said the nightmare with a malicious grin, a little birdie had told him.
He handled Vince callously, having no reason to treat him with kid gloves. Not even the knowledge of who took care of this padre fazed the Corinthian as he directed the man into a dead-end alleyway, narrow path darkened by shadows. He practically thrived in the sea of night. Once they were inside he gave Vince a shove forward, blocked the mouth of the alley himself.
"You've got five seconds to tell me everything."
---
"E-everything??" Vincent squeaked. The shove unbalanced him, and he landed in an ungainly sprawl on his butt. He started to get up, straightening his glasses at the same time, "I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about..."
---
"Five." The Corinthian started the countdown, reached into his pocket for his faithful sword; a balisong knife. He flipped it open on instinct, wasn't even sure if he was just going to scare the guy or cut the information out of him. "Four."
---
Vincent's eyes widened at the sight of that, and he backed up against the wall itself. But, he was not entirely without any sort of defense. The red god had performed some sort of ritual on him, and had given him power. Problem was? Vincent still had no idea how to use it; some of the wounds were still bleeding, he was so new to this.
He got an odd look in his eye; he was trying to concentrate, alter things, as he had seen others in Silent Hill do. But he was unskilled...reality wavered a bit, but the alley remained. And he had lost two more seconds in the Corinthian's countdown, to boot.
---
"Three."
Successful or not, the nightmare had felt the attempt to change reality, just like when he fought the triangle-headed jackass for Scarab's life. That angered him, brought the predator to the forefront, for vengeance, for cruelty. He reached up to remove his sunglasses, tucked them away where the knife used to be. The left eye was full of teeth, smiling as only a monster could; the right one was a mess of bloodied eyelids, as if something had been cut out. Both of them still had their tongues intact though. The right one slithered out to lick at his own lashes.
"I lied." He lunged to grab Vince by the shirt, to pin him against the wall and draw the tip of the blade across his lower lid.
---
Vincent panicked. "What are you doing? Please...I haven't done anything!" foolishly, he tried to reach up and grab the hand the Corinthian held the knife in. his gaze was riveted on The Corinthians' scary mouth-eyes. Although no doubt they led, as any mouth would, to wherever it was he digested food, it looked as though those throat cavities went on forever...
---
He shouldn't try to kill the padre, try not to give in to that hunger, an appetite that wasn't supposed to belong to him but would always be a part of him. It was wrong, similar to taking a step back. Unfortunately for them both it called for blood, wanted to lap it up like warm milk. Vince's eyes... shining and full of fear, they were lovely eyes. Oh grab at the knife did he? The Corinthian thrust the blade end towards the middle of Vince's palm.
*Liar.* His toothy eye rasped.
---
Vincent yowled, pulling back his injured hand, cupping it with the other to stop the flow of blood. After all, bloodloss was no fun when it was being caused by someone who didn't love you, was enjoying your pain. Vincent tried to get someone else involved, thinking that might work. "HELP!" he screamed loudly, "help me, please, there's a crazy man trying to--"
---
"Nuh huh," sounded the nightmare as he grabbed Vince by the collar and attempted to crack the back of his skull against the wall. If that wasn't enough he shoved him to the ground once more, face down, regardless if the padre had lost consciousness or not. The Corinthian was taller and heavier than the other; it shouldn't be much of a problem to straddle Vince's lower back would it?
---
Vincent grunted, seeing stars, and went down, hard.
The fact he had new injuries on his torso that were still healing didn't help. He twitched and squirmed accordingly, but it was clear he wasn't going to be able to pitch the Corinthian off of him, and the weight was keeping him winded enough he wasn't likely to call for help again.
He did cry out anyway, a wordless cry.
---
"Look at me," the nightmare demanded as he pulled Vince's head up by the hair, blade to his throat. His mouth eyes opened, sounding that sick hrrrsch of ravenous hunger. They wanted to taste Vince's fear, taste his guilt, and taste the darkness that tainted the man's soul. Only a saint could get away from the Corinthian's gaze. He didn't think the padre was one of those.
---
Nor would Vincent dare to claim to be. He looked back at his attacker, terrified, pained, and oh so very guilty. "What do you want?" he gasped. In spite of his fear and desperation there was a hint of his usual snark, of righteous indignance to his tone of voice. A sense of self that all but cried out, how DARE you treat ME in this manner...as if Vincent's sense of self worth surpassed his self-preservation instinct...
---
"Fuck this," concluded the dark mirror of humanity. He cared not to be doing his job now, what he was meant to do, made for. That would just serve as a beacon to his Lord anyway, and they definitely didn't want the Red God or his followers finding him. The Corinthian felt justified, felt righteous himself in daring to do what he wanted to to Vincent. He didn't care if others might see otherwise. Other people weren't here to save the padre now were they.
He pressed the man's head down to the pavement, to limit how much movement Vince's jaw could make. This was important for the next step, which involved wedging his knife into the right eye socket.
---
Vincent's entire body went rigid, and although his scream was muffled, it was definitely a scream in earnest this time. Vincent may have accepted, welcomed and even loved pain at the hands of the red god, but this was something entirely different. This was a knife in his eye. He struggled, in blind panic. Well. Almost literally. Half blind panic, anyway.
---
He worked the weapon like a professional, severing the right nerves without cutting the sphere of flesh, keeping the vitreous humors inside. The eye was less savory when destroyed. In a mere moment the white thing spilled out onto the ground. The Corinthian carefully brushed it to the side despite the muffled man beneath him. He could do so much worse; turn Vince into his own refuge for anger and fury, the hunger. No, his eyes would do. The nightmare worked on the second eye, his left one.
---
Vincent was sobbing now, his struggles crazed. He couldn't see, and somehow that was worse than the pain. He could feel the throbbing in the ruined socket when the Corinthian began in on the other. He -almost- bucked hard enough to unseat his attacker, he was so panicked to feel the sight go in the other eye, but then shock began to set in, and he lay there, only shivering and crying.
---
Sobbing? The irony was too much to resist, Vince eyeless, weeping tears and blood. The man reminded him of the boys, the boys who fought when they were cornered, and laid down when they understood the Corinthian was the big bad wolf. Even when the man bucked he remained on top, the predator. Once the second eye was out, spilling blood and other fluids from its tendons, he raised Vince's head once more, the crying man, how precious, and twisted it, almost enough to break.
"Let's see the city try to regrow that," purred the nightmare as his tongues lapped away the blood from Vince's face.
---
Vincent didn't even have any words for his attacker; he just kept crying, inconsolable sobs of pain and terror. The terror, of course, was worse...he was in the dark now. He was in the dark, & likely the dark would never end, because his eyes were gone, and he KNEW it.
---
Where was his Red God now? The man's righteous protector, the only one with The Right to harm him. No wonder the Corinthian didn't subscribe to any religion, all gods were unreliable. He would know, having taken the eyes of one before. His tongues slithered back into his mouths as he released Vince finally, tucked the knife away and gathered his eyes in his hand. His eyes.
He rose from his straddle and took a step back. "Goodnight, boy," said the nightmare, voice as low and sensuous like rumble of early thunder over a levee.
---
Vincent lifted his head, trying to figure out where the sound was coming from. The one who had done this to him was leaving. "No.." he groaned, unable to believe he was actually thinking don't leave me here…but he was. The Corinthian was certainly no friend to him- he was the one who had done this! But if he left Vincent would be all alone, and blinded. Helpless... he crawled forward a little ways, reaching across the ground as if he thought somehow he would find his eyes and miraculously stop this thing that had happened.
Ironically, his hand closed over his glasses. Out of instinct more than anything else- the lenses would do nothing to help his sockets see again- he put them back on his face as he tried, shakily, to get back to his feet...
---
"Yes," he answered. Oh he was definitely going to be leaving the man alone in the endless dark, but not without a parting gift. He struck his boot out at Vince's knee, delivering a strong kick in the reverse of its natural direction. He didn't say the padre could get up after all. Immortal to mortal (or seemingly mortal), the following acts of cruelty couldn't be justified at all, and still the nightmare didn't care. He reached for the soft glint of something long and round on the floor, a 3/4 empty bottle of Stolichnaya.
---
Vincent cried out again, and hit the pavement. The glass of one of his lenses shattered, but again, they weren't really doing him all that much good now, were they? At least it hadn't gone into his socket. He lay still, shivering, realizing that more pain was imminent.
He didn't know if it was still the Corinthian, or someone else who had found him helpless, and at this point it hardly mattered, did it? Vincent had been beaten up many times before, and he sort of knew the drill. Nothing he said or did now was going to stop what was coming. It would end when his attacker decided to end it.
---
How he wanted to take the man apart, to make him his boy... The teething drew him away from those urges, the need to enjoy the pop of his eyes and feel those fluids slick down his throats. Not here, too much had already happened here. He took the bottle in hand, looked at it, looked through its glass to the helpless man on the other side. The nightmare held it by the neck and shattered the thing on the floor, spreading sharp edges across the ground.
"Have fun," he gave Vince a smirk, rotated his eyes in his palm as he walked away.
---
Vincent heard the shattering glass, but he had no idea what it meant until he tried to crawl forward again and got some of the pieces embedded in his hand for his effort. This made getting up again that much worse. At first his weak knee gave out, and he slipped, driving the other leg forward and getting glass in that as well. By the time he managed his way shakily to his feet again he had forgotten the glass in his palms, and it was driven deeper as he felt for the wall.
"Help me, someone, please!" he struggled awkwardly along, one bloody hand against the wall. He had no idea if he was moving out of the alley or deeper in. he could only hope whoever was drawn to his cry would not hurt him further.