//This is so long please dont match muse
//TRIGGER WARNING: Self harm, blood, gore, surgery maybe????
There were many things that tormented Atticus Hacksaw, especially at night when his mind was the most vulnerable, the most relaxed but the most pained.
When his lids closed over his eyes a film would be cast to watch, dreams - no, nightmares in the form of memories.
Every night was an all new form of torture, an all new memory. Sometimes he was haunted by the belt strikes received from his drunken father, sometimes it was the screams from his mother as she tried to defend her sons, sometimes it was the gunshots and blood splatters of war.
Those memories were traumatizing but the worst nights were always those that brought him back to Germany. Back into the dry barren walls of Bergen, dirt floors piled with corpses upon corpses rotting away. The living looked very much like the dead, and Attie was among them in his human life.
A young man. Only at the ripe age of twenty two, 1945 was his most eventful year, but it was the year which he died for the very first time.
One would probably think death would be his demon haunting him, but that was far from it.
Compared to the camps, death was a safe haven. So this night when the moon was being held by the blackened star flecked arms of the sky he was shifting and shaking in his rest, brows furrowed and face pulled into a pained look.
In his mind, however, he was stuck within a scene that was much more horrid.
A soldier's leather gloved hands reached around a naked man's wrist, slamming it down upon a the arm of a chair where it would be strapped down, kept in place. The German soldier would turn away to grab a little jar full of black liquid and a needle - a used one, one that had stabbed into many others flesh, one that drew blood from many men, women and children. Crimson mixed with black still upon its steel tip, the naked man shook and resisted in his seat, fighting the restraints with a desperate whine - in reality, Atticus would let out a whimper in his sleep -
The German coated in olive and an iron cross upon his collar dipped the tip of the needle into ink and woth a swift movement forward the larger man placed a hand down over his victim's arm to keep it painfully still as it shook, another steady hand moving the aim the needle above flesh at a dangerously close proximity.
"N-no, nein! I-Ich bin-" Broken German was spoken in the midst of his sleep as the needle came plunging down into his flesh, in his dream he screamed but in his bed he'd jerk violently at each and every stab.
The German soldier yelled foreign commands at his victim's way, but the language barrier rendered the words gibberish. So as numbers were being printed into flesh, the soldier moved aside to grab a baton, pulling his arm back and clashed it over the naked man's head and-
Attie woke up with a gasp and a shiver going down his spine. Raising his arm, he looked down to see the tattoo that was upon his flesh.
1809. He remembered that code all too well.
In 1945 he had woken up on the ground with that forced into his flesh, the soldiers did it while he was unconscious. He remembered getting up, body sore in ways that were incredibly uncomfortable, his sides were bruised, his ribs reddened, they must've gotten quite alot of rage out on his unconscious body. His lower abdomen ached with a sort of internal pain, a discomfort and hurt that was foreign to the man and he refused to think too much about it.
He didn't know what the soldiers did to him while he was unconscious. All he knew is that they left them with a forced design onto flesh.
In his bed, the dalmatian would stare down at his wrist with both fear and rage embedded in his olive eyes. Those men who had forced this upon his body was not worthy of owning this frame, these markings were going to be a forever reminder of what had happened, a bringer of darkened thoughts and dreams, a daily reminder of where he once was. He always had this on his skin, in his coyote form it was hidden under dense fur but now in this shape his fur was white, short and much thinner. The numbers were obvious - too obvious to himself, too obvious to strangers. He was scared that someday his children would ask about it and he'd have to lie to hide them from the truth
Oh he did not want to lie or to ever speak of the camps.
The deputy sighed deeply and crawled out of his bed to leave his chalet with a shaking body but a gaze that was fixed upon the medicine shed. Ignoring all those who could have been around himself he moved to take a dagger from the armory and then turned onwards into the medic chalet only to close the door behind himself.
He would have locked it, but these doors did not have such a thing in their designs.
Taking in a deep breath, the veteran worked silently, his attention on one thing and one thing only
He set a clean towel over the ground - black. It was hard to see blood upon black fabric.next to the area covered by the towel, the doctor had set a various area of medical supplies. A needle and thread, a container of water mixed with vodka, a small rack of herbs in alphabetical order and white gauze. He'd then take the dagger which he borrowed from the armory to wash it thoroughly, taking all the time he needed to make sure it was as clean as possible before finally he sat down on the towel and took in deep breaths to calm his pounding heart and shaking nerves.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Alright.
He took the water-alcohol mix and dunked the knife’s blade under its surface before spilling the strong-smelling liquid over the tattooed flesh upon his skin. He took the asiatic styled dagger and lowered the sharpened edge of the blade closer, closer
Come on.
He placed the blade over his skin and held his breath as he pressed onto the metal and just like that it cut through skin like scissors through paper, scarlet liquid pooling out with soon after to stain white fur red.
He let out a cry through his clenched jaw, the pain excruciating as the blade dug under a layer of skin the curve and cut underneath, but he couldn't. He pulled the bloodied blade back to let out a gasp of a cry, but he was quick to turn and wipe the steel down before continuing with a different approach.
He cut horizontal lines down his skin.
One
Two
Three
Four.
Blood covered his arms and he wiped it down before cutting vertically to connect each line into square sections, cries and whimpers escaping from his maw as he worked and then finally it came to the point he'd have to remove the layer of tattooed flesh. It was too late to back out now, he had to go with this procedure. Once again the veteran wiped the blade and plunged the steel under his skin, inching it along until finally it met to vertical incision and a chunk of inked flesh came peeling off and at the very sensation of skin being detached from his core he groaned with pain. His tolerance was incredible, but still, his reactions were very much present. His face his twisted, his white body bloodied and red, but he still had two more little sections left to peel off.
He wiped the blade off and once again began scraping under his skin again, his breath hitching up with a pained groan as tears started to form at his eyes and slip down his face.
There was so much blood.
It was hard to see what was going on but finally the second chunk of tainted skin was sliced off and set aside.
Barren raw muscle was exposed and it filled up with red, blood rushing through the openings in the skin but he couldn't stop yet there was one more section left to remove. Taking a piece of the black towel beneath him he let the fabric suck up the blood that pooled on the area before he took the dagger again and cried as he slipped it under his skin are and tore off his own flesh.
He groaned, growled, his jaw clenched until finally the final section of skin was pellet off and immediately he dropped everything yo let out a cry and a heavy sigh.
Blood stained his white arm a dark crimson and as more of the fluid leaked from his open wound it would splatter down on the ground below as gravity pulled it down.
The smell of alcohol and iron was intoxicating - this had been messier than he thought but he knew he'd survive.
He grabbed a white cloth to dunk in the water vodka mix to disinfect add pressure to the wound and almost instantly it was drenched in red. The alcohol stung incredibly painfully at the males nerves and immediately he let out a scream before looking over to grab some powdered Cayenne, dunking the whole contents over the site to help it coagulate as it mixed with the pouring blood.
Adding a poultice of yarrow and marigold over the site Attie would quickly wrap up his forearm in snowy gauze to keep everything in place. It was wrapped tightly to ensure pressure onto the wound which he had done upon himself, he kept an eye on its color - hoping that blood wouldn't seep through. For now, he rested his shocked, bloodied core, the scene horrifying.
His white cost was all red, the dagger still bloodied, the scene filled with the scent of alcohol and iron
Oh lord he hoped no one would walk in, but such a smell was difficult to mask.
[center](c)trexgirl
GENERAL:
- Atticus Hacksaw| "Attie" | Male
- Homoromantic | Demisexual
- Taken, married to Henry Hacksaw
- Medic and Deputy of Windclan
- 2 Years
- Father to many
FACTS:
-Was a medic in World War 2
-Holocaust survivor
-Mentally disturbed, many undiagnosed illnesses
-Religious, Jewish
-Former Morphine addict
PHYSICAL:
- Dalmatian| health: 80%
— An incredibly thin Dalmatian dog with pure white fur absolutely littered with black spots and freckles. Has bright green eyes and a huge black nose. Has a bob where his tail is supposed to be - it partially fell due to frostbite. He currently wears a black sash around his waist and a beige satchel over his back. His lower limbs are littered with little cuts and scars due to travelling and injuries received from such travels. Has the number '1809' tattooed on his right inner wrist. Has a gold necklace with a gold wedding ricng around his throat
Injuries- Missing tail, a few scars and cuts on legs
PERSONALITY:
-ISFP
-Neutral Good
Unpredictable, Uneasy, Paranoid, Sympathetic, Fair, Hardy, Adaptable, Self-Sufficient, Faithful, Devoted, Loyal, Guilty, Ashamed, Righteous, Defensive
INTERACTION:
- Moderate physically | Medium mentally
- Will not start fights
- Attack in underlined black
