"RUSSIAN ROULETTE IS NOT THE SAME
WITHOUT A GUN,
AND, BABY, WHEN IT'S LOVE,
IF IT'S NOT ROUGH IT ISN'T FUN"
A reckless pirate and three kings find each other at a battlefield.
[breaking dawn]
[bxb]
[poly]
...
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The days had passed them by slowly, but looking back made it seem to pass far too fast, and the battle was soon to begin. It was the night before and Lawrence was buzzing, though no one could tell - no one knew him well enough to see through his careless facade. Renesmee had approached him earlier as she had been trying to do frequently since their first proper meeting. Of course, her family did not want their hybrid child anywhere near the cold blooded killer and called her away every time.
Lawrence had no issue with this, he could even say that he agreed with them. Children shouldn't talk to strangers, especially not the murderous ones. The Pirate Captain did not particularly want her around for long either, but he always attempted to be nice to her.
The hybrid child had fallen asleep in the tent with her parents and her strange heartbeat could barely be heard over the vampires in the snow who were sharing war stories around the unnecessary fire. A long haired vampire - Garrett, was his name - was playfully bantering with two Irish bloodsuckers over their wars and rebellions. Lawrence had never cared much for history unless it affected him, but he was sure that the Irish had a rebellion for every generation and had lost almost all of them rather quickly. Captain Oliver wondered if the vampire pair had taken part in any of them? Had they died in one? If they had not fought, then why were they so proud? Garrett's attitude created similar questions in his mind as he was so proud of being an American.
Lawrence frowned deeply as he sung his leg over the tree branch he had perched on. He wondered what their country had done for them in their lifetime that was so great it led them to follow it in death. As a pirate, an outcast, and the son of a whore, Lawrence had never felt much pride for place he had grown up. Picking at the bark beneath him, Lawrence's attitude swapped from feelings of loneliness and curiosity to the anger that he was too used to having clinging to heart.
He clenched his hand, smashing some of the bark on the thick branch beneath him but paying it no mind.
If a battle was to take place tomorrow, then the 'oh-so powerful'Volturi would feel his wrath, and their deaths would be violent and bloody.
***** 409 words.
I just skipped a shit ton 'cause I need my gays soon.
