RandomBlobMan
That was a misclick I swear
Cordy was living an outdated fever dream.
He did not object. It was a cool one, anyway. He did not object to the life of homelessness and slaying monsters-it was what he signed up for. Before he got shot to death, anyways. After that it was all downhill, down a cliff of gloom and into a bottomless pit where things just got worse. While his knowledge learned back in Beacon taught him that negative emotions attracted grimm even more, the way things were going seemed too hard not to feel so sad.
There was no fun complaining like that, however. If he didn't keep on moving, he'd be as well under the dirt back at the ruins of the village. But when his eyes opened and the bullets fell out of their holes, he decided to stand up. So he had to move on, lest he would end up as nothing but a rotting bag of flesh waiting to start rotting again. After quickly counting the bullets in hand, Cordy stood off of the stacked rubble of concrete. The docks were a busy place, even with the grimm about in the wilderness. Hence he was hoping to get a job to partake in for some decent pay, but there was no luck so far. The weapon he carried and the general atmosphere he had seemed to easily warn people that he was one of "those bunch". Huntsmen.
Cordy found the blame going on huntsmen a petty release of emotions. Huntsmen were not soldiers- they were more, as their names say, hunters. They were not fit for massive battles of a larger than life scale. The coordination and combat skills they taught at Beacon seemed far from that of a soldier's. But that was his opinion- and he was smart enough not to say it out loud. It seemed too late to complain anyways.
Cordy stood up from the concrete chunk he rested on, slinging his rather formidably sized gun case on his shoulder. He was hoping to get some job of his suite at the docks, but so far his presence hasn't been very welcome by the people there. Just his luck, he could say.
He did not object. It was a cool one, anyway. He did not object to the life of homelessness and slaying monsters-it was what he signed up for. Before he got shot to death, anyways. After that it was all downhill, down a cliff of gloom and into a bottomless pit where things just got worse. While his knowledge learned back in Beacon taught him that negative emotions attracted grimm even more, the way things were going seemed too hard not to feel so sad.
There was no fun complaining like that, however. If he didn't keep on moving, he'd be as well under the dirt back at the ruins of the village. But when his eyes opened and the bullets fell out of their holes, he decided to stand up. So he had to move on, lest he would end up as nothing but a rotting bag of flesh waiting to start rotting again. After quickly counting the bullets in hand, Cordy stood off of the stacked rubble of concrete. The docks were a busy place, even with the grimm about in the wilderness. Hence he was hoping to get a job to partake in for some decent pay, but there was no luck so far. The weapon he carried and the general atmosphere he had seemed to easily warn people that he was one of "those bunch". Huntsmen.
Cordy found the blame going on huntsmen a petty release of emotions. Huntsmen were not soldiers- they were more, as their names say, hunters. They were not fit for massive battles of a larger than life scale. The coordination and combat skills they taught at Beacon seemed far from that of a soldier's. But that was his opinion- and he was smart enough not to say it out loud. It seemed too late to complain anyways.
Cordy stood up from the concrete chunk he rested on, slinging his rather formidably sized gun case on his shoulder. He was hoping to get some job of his suite at the docks, but so far his presence hasn't been very welcome by the people there. Just his luck, he could say.