Egotober Day 21- Rose-Tinted Lenses

lostcybertronian:

This didn’t quite go how I wanted it to, but have it anyway.

Tags: @caffeine-eater @authorsathenaeum @tiny-yan-an @darkstache-iplier @redraspberrycats @holyshitsnakesandspace @blue-greenstylinson @cookieface678 @bing-iplier @storm337 @sketchy-scribs-n-doods @pixelenchanter @itsjustkyss @demonnightmareangel @egosurveillance

Dark preferred to think he had none of Damien’s optimistic nature left in him. He didn’t see the world through rose-tinted lenses. He didn’t see things as better than they were.

So he knew what he’d done as soon as he regained control of his own consciousness.

    There was no escaping the blood spraying the walls, puddling on the floor, splattering his hands and messy, ripped clothes.

    No escaping the body sprawled on the floor.

    Dark clamped a hand over his mouth, staggered, reached behind him to steady himself on his desk.

    Startled when there came a knock at the door.

    “Dark? You in there?” It was Bim. He knocked again. “I came to talk to you about …”

    Whatever pointless drivel he spouted off next was lost in the rising desperation and panic.

    Bim couldn’t see him like this. No one could see him like this. Bedraggled and so far from the calm, composed leader he was supposed to be.

    There was only one person who could possibly handle it.

    “Fetch Wilford.” It came out a rasping croak. Dark cleared his throat. Tried again. “Fetch Wilford. Send him to my office.”

    “What? Dark? Are you okay?”

    *”Now!”* Dark snapped, and groaned as the sudden cracking of his shell- and the resulting spike of pain- nearly bent him double.

    “Okay, okay. Just give me a sec.” Footsteps retreating.

    Dark’s eyes remained glued to the corpse on his floor, to the mutilated face and gaping mouth. He wasn’t sure who it was, wasn’t sure what it was doing here. All he was able to recollect was blurry words and a faint memory of some form of meeting.

    “You called, Darkie?” Wilford manifested by the door in a puff of pink and the smell of cotton candy. He chuckled as he took in the state of Dark’s office and the corpse on the floor. “Geez, had some fun without me, didja?”

    “Not funny, Wilford.” Dark ground out. He closed his eyes as more pain racked his body.

    He hated losing control. Hated it. Hated it. Hated it.

    When he opened them again, Wilford was there, gently prying Dark’s hand away from his mouth, gently pressing a kiss to his lips.

    “Say,” he said brightly, “why don’t we go get you cleaned up? Maybe get somethin’ t’eat? We can let your guy have a nice nap on the floor while we’re gone. Maybe he’ll be awake by the time we get back.”

    Dark wasn’t stupid. There was absolutely no chance of the corpse on the floor ever waking up. But still, he nodded, forced a hint of a smile to his face. “Let’s do that, Wil.”

    “Great!” The madman exclaimed. He leaned in to kiss Dark again, and then they disappeared in a neon puff of pink.