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Since the mission in Russia, Tamm hadn't really been the same. He had borne witness to the slaughter of far too many people, some of them innocent and some of them not. Some of them, people he might have considered friends, or at least acquaintances. They had done good there, deep in the wilds of Russia, but it had come at a hefty price. And part of that was Tamm's sanity.
He jumped at everything now, which was hardly ideal since he lived with Deirdre and she was, even at the best of times, loud. He saw things in the shadows, and even when he felt like things might be getting better, someone would bump into the wall or drop something, and Tamm would drop and flatten himself against the floor, his heart pounding. He couldn't leave the house. He knew he was failing his semester at University, and he didn't care.
There had been people needing rescuing in China, and he hadn't cared. Spectre had needed rescuing from Romania, and he hadn't cared. He hadn't been to see Quinn when the other man was in a coma. All of it was just too much. The only thing he did manage to do, was practice with his new band.
The band was called Kiss or Kill and it was actually coming along well. It was the only thing Tamm considered an accomplishment in a long line of failures. The remaining members of Ethereal Facade had been joined by Alexei Pushkin, Leia Keitel and Roquelle Karnstein. Their sound was much more industrial than EF's had been, and a lot of the time they spent switching instruments so others could sing lead. They practiced twice a week and those hours spent in the basement studio were the only times Tamm felt, in any sense, normal.
Today wasn't a rehearsal day, and thus, Tamm was spending it in the basement where he was supposed to be fiddling with his guitar parts for their newest song. In reality, he was drinking and staring into the corner of the studio, this guitar safely in it's holder, several feet away from him. It was quiet there. No sounds sought to unnerve him...until Pierre stuck his head into the studio. "Hey, man. You want a light on?" And then Pierre flipped on the light, but Tamm had already jumped at the sound. He had vaulted himself off the chair, sending it crashing to the floor, and then he whirled around and threw his half-full beer bottle at Pierre. It smashed against the wall sending shards of glass and beer everywhere, some embedding themselves in Pierre's arm, though all of it somehow avoided the expensive recording equipment in the studio.
Pierre hissed several cursewords in French and he cradled his arm to his body quickly, his eyes flicking to Tamm, suddenly filled with fear and hurt. "What are you doing? There are children here!"
Tamm looked instantly apologetic. "You...you snuck on me," he said, sounding lame and scared.
"I spoke to you as soon as I entered the room! Merde, I'm bleeding."
"I'm sorry..." Tamm tried to take a few steps forward, but Pierre backed away from him.
"It is okay," Pierre said quickly. "I can leave you alone, though I do think Deirdre will kill you if you don't clean up the mess. Be more careful, man."
He left as quickly as he could.
Tamm sighed and he ambled across the floor. The alcohol warmed his body, though he wasn't so drunk that he couldn't gather together the shards of glass and drop them into a wastebasket. He fetched a towel from the bathroom and he returned to sop up the beer when the floor had been rid of glass. As he did so, he spotted several drops of blood on the floor. His friend's blood. Blood he had caused to spill.
Tamm closed his eyes.
Bright red blood stained the snow of the Russian plains. Tamm stepped out of the helicopter to find the bodies of their allies strewn around their icy convent. Their blood was so bright-
"Fuck," he hissed, and he mopped the blood up quickly with shaking hands, followed by the beer. When he was done, he collapsed in the corner, his knees pulled up to his chest. He let his head fall forward and his fingers worked their way into his hair. "Fuck," he whispered again.
If he could crack and throw a bottle at Pierre for saying hello, what else was he capable of. He already knew he was capable of murder. The things he had done sickened him. He was no better than a Templar. No better than a murderous demon.
"Fuck."
He jumped at everything now, which was hardly ideal since he lived with Deirdre and she was, even at the best of times, loud. He saw things in the shadows, and even when he felt like things might be getting better, someone would bump into the wall or drop something, and Tamm would drop and flatten himself against the floor, his heart pounding. He couldn't leave the house. He knew he was failing his semester at University, and he didn't care.
There had been people needing rescuing in China, and he hadn't cared. Spectre had needed rescuing from Romania, and he hadn't cared. He hadn't been to see Quinn when the other man was in a coma. All of it was just too much. The only thing he did manage to do, was practice with his new band.
The band was called Kiss or Kill and it was actually coming along well. It was the only thing Tamm considered an accomplishment in a long line of failures. The remaining members of Ethereal Facade had been joined by Alexei Pushkin, Leia Keitel and Roquelle Karnstein. Their sound was much more industrial than EF's had been, and a lot of the time they spent switching instruments so others could sing lead. They practiced twice a week and those hours spent in the basement studio were the only times Tamm felt, in any sense, normal.
Today wasn't a rehearsal day, and thus, Tamm was spending it in the basement where he was supposed to be fiddling with his guitar parts for their newest song. In reality, he was drinking and staring into the corner of the studio, this guitar safely in it's holder, several feet away from him. It was quiet there. No sounds sought to unnerve him...until Pierre stuck his head into the studio. "Hey, man. You want a light on?" And then Pierre flipped on the light, but Tamm had already jumped at the sound. He had vaulted himself off the chair, sending it crashing to the floor, and then he whirled around and threw his half-full beer bottle at Pierre. It smashed against the wall sending shards of glass and beer everywhere, some embedding themselves in Pierre's arm, though all of it somehow avoided the expensive recording equipment in the studio.
Pierre hissed several cursewords in French and he cradled his arm to his body quickly, his eyes flicking to Tamm, suddenly filled with fear and hurt. "What are you doing? There are children here!"
Tamm looked instantly apologetic. "You...you snuck on me," he said, sounding lame and scared.
"I spoke to you as soon as I entered the room! Merde, I'm bleeding."
"I'm sorry..." Tamm tried to take a few steps forward, but Pierre backed away from him.
"It is okay," Pierre said quickly. "I can leave you alone, though I do think Deirdre will kill you if you don't clean up the mess. Be more careful, man."
He left as quickly as he could.
Tamm sighed and he ambled across the floor. The alcohol warmed his body, though he wasn't so drunk that he couldn't gather together the shards of glass and drop them into a wastebasket. He fetched a towel from the bathroom and he returned to sop up the beer when the floor had been rid of glass. As he did so, he spotted several drops of blood on the floor. His friend's blood. Blood he had caused to spill.
Tamm closed his eyes.
Bright red blood stained the snow of the Russian plains. Tamm stepped out of the helicopter to find the bodies of their allies strewn around their icy convent. Their blood was so bright-
"Fuck," he hissed, and he mopped the blood up quickly with shaking hands, followed by the beer. When he was done, he collapsed in the corner, his knees pulled up to his chest. He let his head fall forward and his fingers worked their way into his hair. "Fuck," he whispered again.
If he could crack and throw a bottle at Pierre for saying hello, what else was he capable of. He already knew he was capable of murder. The things he had done sickened him. He was no better than a Templar. No better than a murderous demon.
"Fuck."
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