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The distant cheers of the previous brawl practically shook the framework of the building, the star of the show taking his leave. Evidently, he had won. Victory was to be celebrated, to be rejoiced in. But perhaps even the thrill of triumph has its limitations on what it means to win. The heated buzz of the decaying building faded as the snow leopard sulked away from the center. The place was like a maze, designed to keep you in, wandering to never see the light again.The only sounds heard in the narrowing halls were a racing heart and stuttered breaths, the dark spots in his vision getting larger as he swayed on his feet. His once beautiful pink fur a dull burnt rose, mangy and dirty. The soles on his cracked paw pads ached and reddened as he finally halted, falling against the wall in an exhausted heap. It hurt to breathe. Hurt to sit. Hurt to think. He couldn't even be bothered by the maggots festering underneath him. They probably mistook him for another fresh meal, twisting that knob on death's door. If not for his barely beating heart, he would've been presumed dead by passerby. His lungs shook and rattled with every inhale, the metal collar around his throat not assuaging his state of being nor mind...It was a constant reminder of his place, his role in the grimy environment: a meager clown for the circus. Bruised knuckles and a battered skull were nothing to him, the ringing in his ears was a parasite he'd grown fond of. The silence would kill him faster than the deranged brutes in the ring. Any longer to fester in his thoughts would ruin him more than he already was. As he stared at the flickering light above him, his drained orchid irises lidded in exhaustion could never fully close. If they did, who knows if he would wake up. What sick folks would happen to do to him while he was unconscious..He scoffed as he dragged a clawed hand through his mangy hair. Such a weak vessel his body was. Even when he had learned to grow numb to the sensation, the pain still kept his nerves alert. A subconscious ability that not even God would be immune to. A body he already despised continuing to fail him once more.It did nothing for him but burn resources:Eating when it would constantly rumble for more. Sleeping when it was never tired. Fighting when it was never strong enough to do as asked. Struggling when told what to do. Why does it hesitate? Why take care of something that couldn't provide in return? An endless cycle of give and take with no real stopping point other than laying 7 feet under. All it did was fail over and over and over again. And continues to demand demand demand. Demand for what? What more could he give for it to just shut up? He couldn't tell. Nevertheless, he barely survived and he can't even rest to reward himself, his nerves burning as if exposed to the sunlight. He worked hard to live, and this is what repays him? He was shaking now. Whether of the cold, exhaustion, hunger, or pure delirium, the body he hated so greatly cried for more when he had nothing left to give. It begged for reprieve, a chance to try again. But he was tired of false promises. He hated the body he was cursed with: a tainted prize to be earned and treasured, a twisted tool for gratification, a vessel on the brink of destruction.
How long has he been a pawn? Stuck to fight his way to inconceivable freedom? A hidden desire for those who cast their eye?
Far too long he believes. But Quartz was far too stuck in this cycle to break it. His body was not his anymore, belonging to the hands that desired the most. Owned by whoever bid the highest on his downfall.His matted tail curled around his waist, fur plucked and pulled from both self antics and unfair fighters. He used to rely on it, even as a child. The softness was unmatched, no blanket could ever replicate the safety he once felt from it. He covered him while he slept, held him when he was scared, and did everything to make him smile.Whenever he was stressed, it was the first to feel it. The pain he suffered cannot be compared to his own claws digging at his fur. The desire to be in control, to take his anger out on something that can't fight back and that doesn't understand his troubles. The blood that valleys through his fingers constantly reminds him that he is still painfully alive.And now here it was: trying to earn forgiveness. It was as if it had a mind of its own, working to be loved once more. The tufted appendage was heavy in his lap, a weight heavier than his sins.It provided no warmth, yet was the closest shield he had against the world. A body he detested, still trying to comfort him despite what he puts it through... how utterly hilarious.Yet the snow leopard found himself curling in it all the same. A body he wanted nothing more than to get rid of wasn't too keen on letting him just yet. A trickle of tears fell from his eyes, unable to discern the source behind it. But for once he stopped thinking, stopped letting his mind play insidious tricks on his psyche. He was far from anyone who would mock and ridicule him. He would indulge in such weakness just this once.