Post by CASIMIR FREDERICK PAYCE on Feb 26, 2012 2:31:16 GMT -5
Casimir walked through the cemetery, flowers in hand. Many would have assumed that he was making his way to the grave of a dead wife. Those people would have been wrong, because the person Casimir was about to visit was anything but.
Jimmy Cooper had been both Casimir's best friend and worst enemy. They had fought in the First World War together, and both had faked their ages. Jimmy had been just sixteen when he had joined, full of boyish enthusiasm. Casimir had been over five thousand years and had joined in order to participate in the bloodshed. In fact, he had joined the French Foreign Legion as soon as war had broken out. It was only when America joined the war that Casimir requested a transfer.
He had been made sergeant of Jimmy's section and had taken the boy under his wing, making a man of him. Casimir had taught him how to fight, how to kill and had introduced the boy to the delights of military run brothels. A few men with filthy minds suggested that there was more to the story but everyone knew the truth, the two were simply like father and son.
Casimir had managed to keep his nature secret from his men for the entire war, but Jimmy eventually found out when he returned home. An uncle took Jimmy aside and introduced him to the family business: killing werewolves. Eager to protect his country once more, Jimmy hunted werewolves along with his uncles and cousins.
Two decades later, Casimir and Jimmy stood facing each other, guns raised. For the first time in several thousand years, Casimir felt bad about killing someone, but he didn't let that feeling get in the way of his survival. A single round, fired directly into Jimmy's brain, had ended the standoff. Casimir swore vengeance on the family, for putting Jimmy in a situation like that, and spent the next three decades slowly and methodically wiping them out.
Today was the anniversary of Jimmy's death, and so Casimir was here to pay his respects.
Kneeling down at Jimmy's grave, Casimir placed the flowers in the cement holder and pulled out a flask from an inner pocket. He unscrewed the lid and winced as the smell of cheap beer assaulted his nostrils. Jimmy had always loved that particular brand, so it seemed fitting to drink it today.
Draining the flask in a single gulp and making faces that would have had the young Jimmy in stitches, Casimir allowed the last few drops to fall on the grave. As they fell, he delivered a typically short speech.
"To old times."
Still kneeling, Casimir began to meditate and relive some of the good memories he had shared with Jimmy, something that would likely take hours. He owed that much to Jimmy.
Jimmy Cooper had been both Casimir's best friend and worst enemy. They had fought in the First World War together, and both had faked their ages. Jimmy had been just sixteen when he had joined, full of boyish enthusiasm. Casimir had been over five thousand years and had joined in order to participate in the bloodshed. In fact, he had joined the French Foreign Legion as soon as war had broken out. It was only when America joined the war that Casimir requested a transfer.
He had been made sergeant of Jimmy's section and had taken the boy under his wing, making a man of him. Casimir had taught him how to fight, how to kill and had introduced the boy to the delights of military run brothels. A few men with filthy minds suggested that there was more to the story but everyone knew the truth, the two were simply like father and son.
Casimir had managed to keep his nature secret from his men for the entire war, but Jimmy eventually found out when he returned home. An uncle took Jimmy aside and introduced him to the family business: killing werewolves. Eager to protect his country once more, Jimmy hunted werewolves along with his uncles and cousins.
Two decades later, Casimir and Jimmy stood facing each other, guns raised. For the first time in several thousand years, Casimir felt bad about killing someone, but he didn't let that feeling get in the way of his survival. A single round, fired directly into Jimmy's brain, had ended the standoff. Casimir swore vengeance on the family, for putting Jimmy in a situation like that, and spent the next three decades slowly and methodically wiping them out.
Today was the anniversary of Jimmy's death, and so Casimir was here to pay his respects.
Kneeling down at Jimmy's grave, Casimir placed the flowers in the cement holder and pulled out a flask from an inner pocket. He unscrewed the lid and winced as the smell of cheap beer assaulted his nostrils. Jimmy had always loved that particular brand, so it seemed fitting to drink it today.
Draining the flask in a single gulp and making faces that would have had the young Jimmy in stitches, Casimir allowed the last few drops to fall on the grave. As they fell, he delivered a typically short speech.
"To old times."
Still kneeling, Casimir began to meditate and relive some of the good memories he had shared with Jimmy, something that would likely take hours. He owed that much to Jimmy.
