Helsing
Jealous Son Of Black Parade x Witch Doctor
Hated Brother of Venin, Angier, Turnstiles, Steal Corpses, The Patient, Gerrard, Knife Blood Nightmare, Monroeville, The Ghost Of You, Skylines, Piaff & Kerrang !
Basks in the bloodland of Silver Cove
Father of Gwindor
Made and Played By Arctos
Now many people mistaken the child in some ways. Sure, he could be an annoyance, but in truth it was but a window he hid behind, one which some - like his father - could see right through, but to most, he managed to pull it off, none able to see the true him. Maybe it was the way he had grown up, maybe it had been the jealousy. None could really tell what had made Helsing such a twat, but in the end, this was the result. A stallion that could never, nor want to love. He was incapable of such a thing. Anyways, even if he had wanted to, who wouldgo with him? Seriuosly. Helsing had hidden behind his mask for too long and in a way, it had molded to him, making him who he was, for he had brought up a reputation for himself, not a good one, but one he had decided to think - well fuck it, I have nothing better to do. Helsing was lonely inside, none would know it, not even his father or mother, but inside, he was still that young colt longing for his parents attention. But they would never give it, why should they? Helsing was nothing but a bug, an annoyance. He knew he was and beneath the flesh, part of his mind screamed, wanting change to make sure that he managed to live life to the full. It wanted to love but the face on top and the mouth would not follow by such petty actions. Never would. It hurt his heart so, broke it into sharp shattards which pierced his muscles everytime he saw another enjoying themselves or getting the love he had wanted. In truth, it was the jealousy. The sheer sharp pain of jealousy that his siblings managed to get all the attention he never had.
Helsing's actions were a reflection of himself, that pane of glass upon which he had stared into for god knows how long. Helsing, the black stag was finally starting to break. His body was tired with the effort. His mind was worn out with the words. His throat was torn by the pain of the many words he wished to have said but never could. The pane of glass had gotten a crack in it, a dangerous one. It toppled the child between what was right and what was wrong. Everything was mainly wrong, it was fucked up. Here he was, acting like the child he remembered to have been brought up to be. Helsing inside was really a colt, crying out for attention. Maybe if he had gone to his uncle, things would be different. Or maybe his aunt. Then he might have turned out like Jackman. Not dead neither. Thye would both be alive, probably making something of themselves. The thing that Helsing could never do. In fact, in a way, he was probably envious that Angier had been some mummy's boy and he himself had been tossed aside. Leopold, another to be angry towards. The eldest son of Black Parade had gotten the respects of his father and it made him almost sad to think that he would never deserve that.
Helsing scanned the scene before him, almost numb to the words and to the attack, so much so that he nearly let her hit him. Maybe the anger of the girl would knock some sense into him, but seeing Jackman's bloodied face staring up at him, he moved ever so slightly, and just at that moment, his father came along. Neither did he move from the black stallion's path and stood there, taking the stares and the brunt anger of his words. The awful truth of his actions and of his life. A herd, the thing he wanted so much but could never manage to have. A woman could never bring themself to love him. How could they love such a beast? Helsing stares cooly at his father for a while, black eyes exempt from emotion, just two hollow pits of lifeless energy. He glances to his brother and then to the girl who attacked him. There is a little cut upon his face which she had made before his father stepped in and he lets it bleed, lets his jealousy and anger drip out. It's still there, buried and burned into his heart, but for now, he remains so still that most would mistake him for dead. He opens his mouth and the words flow, eyes turning sharp as he says them.
How can I when no bitch'll take me? What's the point anyways? He glares at the girl for a moment. They're just a pain in the ass if they are anything like her.
Helsing's black orbs now linger upon his brother for a while. How much envy and anger he has towards the bastard and it takes a lot for him to keep all four pillars on the floor and not to take a dive for the stallion. Helsing now swings back to the girl and his father, stepping forward as to meet her in the face.
Surely someone as smart as yourself would know that equines are incapable of fucking themselves. And as for killing me, you couldn't kill a fly little girl.
He remembers her words as she had struck out at him and a name burns into his mind. Gerrard. Ah right, that kid. The one who had gotten too close for comfort and thus, Helsing had struck out. As he always did. Gwindor, his own son had been probably the biggest mistake of his life and he hated children. Despised them. Probably because they had everything he never had. He glares at Havok for a while and then stares to his father, Helsing now of the same height, no longer some petty foal.
Anyways, why are you having a big go at me when hotshot here. Helsing inclined his head towards Angier. Is wanting that little spot you happened to have in this herd?
My Life My Job My Curse
Is To Make Your Life A Living Hell
But While I'm Waiting, Carve Out Your Heart Bitch...I Want It
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