Living Dead

Part of this one highlights something that has over time gotten...Passed along to the side. That being that Red practices alchemy, and that he does claim to be a 'doctor'(though in reality the most medical training he's ever had is a short run-through that was meant to be enough for him to be a short-term field medic during his short stint in the military).

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Thought of after a short RP session

Red shook his head as she left. More downplaying himself. Why did he keep doing that? There was no reason to it. What had happened to all the change bull he'd told himself? Excuses, thinking on it would just lead to more excuses.

What he'd said had been true though. He hadn't died enough, and he didn't plan on changing that. That was the last true thing he had, and he wanted to hold on to it. He needed to hold on to it. That was the last bit of his identity, that was the last bit that made him, him. Emotion. Remorse, happiness, pity, sorrow, he didn't want to lose that. The little niggling voice in the back of his head that made him always question what he did? That needed to stay.

He'd made it thus far working with what he had, but he had the feeling it'd leave him with a disadvantage. He smirked, a challenge was always fine and good, he supposed. He walked in the center of the decaying bar, looking around, seeing stand in stark contrast with the one he'd been just a short while ago. He smirked, looking at his feet, moving in the two step manner he'd done earlier that day.

No, he wasn't changing in that regard. Screw anyone who thought lesser of him for feeling, actually feeling. He picked up a small glass vial, long ago holding some form of alcohol, he was sure, glancing at the wall, he wound up, almost throwing it, stopping himself, he dropped it to the ground. Why should he? It let him vent, but what was there to vent about? The only person he had to be mad at was himself. How many times today alone how he said how useless, or moronic, or weak he was?

The only person, Red finally saw, holding him back, was himself. And that was the problem. He'd always put himself down, it was his way of doing things. Criticism was all he could ever provide for himself. He searched his pockets, pulling out the antidote he'd been working on for awhiel now.

"You did this. You, thought this up, fixed it, even if you broke it." he forced himself to say. "You're the one who fixed it. No one else. You." Red stuffed the syringe back in his pocket, thinking for a moment, before sitting down, on the bare floor.

"There are people that trust you. And you don't even trust yourself." he said to himself, "Fix it. Else you're gonna regret it sooner down the line."

He sat there in silence for the longest time. "You're a good doctor, even if you say otherwise. You're a good alchemist, even if you say otherwise." he said, speaking to no one in particular. "You're too hard on yourself. Get over yourself! You do what you can, you try to progress in what exactly you 'can' do, no one can ask more of you. To anyone that does, screw them! Stand up, be a man, and quit bein' so hard on yourself." he yelled.

Redamous pushed himself off the ground, "You defy your expectations, because you have none. Get some." And with that, he shuffled out of the abandoned site. His stature was a bit straighter. And that niggling voice in the back of his head kept telling him it wouldn't last, he'd be back to it soon enough, and he knew it was probably right. But for the night? He felt good.