Thunder Cloud

*Thor* · 02-08-2014, 02:31 PM

Heavy paws struck the terra in rapid succession, each blow landing with a rage usually reserved for an opponent. This time he had no one to fight. Far behind him somewhere was his family. He didn't know what they were doing, where they were going or what they were up to--and he didn't care. All that mattered at this moment was the powder keg of aggression that sat in his stomach. He needed something, anything to unwind him or he just might give in and bathe the grass around him in teeny tiny Thor pieces.

His stroll turned into a jog. Why couldn't they all just get along? Oh, that's right, because they were all fucked up in the head. Every last one of them had daddy issues, Thor included. Thank you daddy deary. May future generations shit upon your grave and all that meaningless jazz. Dead things didn't care. They didn't care if they left behind a legacy of pain and suffering. If they were loathed or if their death was quietly celebrated. Why? Because they were dead, duh. So why did he care so much? Why did it feel so right to picture his father getting eaten by worms?

Finally he hit an all out run and the brute threw every bit of rage he felt into pushing himself faster. The strength of the loathing was enough to tint his vision red and Thor found himself reaching deep within himself for all the things that had ever ticked him off. Feelings of helpless and of anxiety, barely concealed hatred for the one that struck terror into his heart as a child. The one who'd humiliated him and pitted him against his siblings; who frightened him into submission, terrified him into cruel acts against others until that's all he knew. Terrified him into numbness and apathy. Thor ran through every shaming, every beating and every act of cruelty, ran through every negative situation he'd ever found himself in. All of this and more fueled the fire that burned in him. He found himself hating his family so deeply that he couldn't think clearly and was consumed by the act of running and the feelings coursing through him.

The brute crested a hill and began shoving his way through the thick foliage that grew atop it like an unruly mane. Branches scratched and clawed at him, raking through his fur and stabbing at his skin. More than once he was struck in the face but he was immune to the pain; an angry god far above the physical discomfort.

When at last something--vines, maybe--reached out and wrapped around him, Thor devolved further. A howl of rage escaped his maw and he mindlessly thrashed at his restraints, biting and kicking at the vegetation that clung to him. It was then that he sensed the presence of another and was instantly thrown into wary silence. The brute stilled, eyes peering into the darkness for whatever lurked far too close for his liking, never mind that it was he who had made it that way. "Speak, phantom, or flee."

Speech

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