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Black slumped forward, his nose bleeding and his face bruised. His hair drooped around his face, sweat dripping from clumped strands. His shirt was off, small cuts and bruises covering his torso and chest. His back was another story. There were deep gashes from a blade tipped whip. "I-...I'm sorry," he screamed, the volume of his voice vibrating the empty space. His body shook, every muscle in his body tense. "I'm sorry...," he choked out again.

"Man...," Black looked up at the sky and frowned, "I'm sorry White." He was in the front yard, sitting on the porch. Though his body was sore, he showed no signs of pain. And he wore a long sleeved turtle neck to hide the damage. Death had really worked him over. Never had he been punished so thoroughly, never had he felt so guilty for what he had done. Black was having trouble lately, with all of his assignments and jobs. All coming at him in between very short periods of time. He was actually beginning to miss being around the people he barely knew. And Miss Anna. He hadn't been spending much time with her, even though he really wanted to.
Running a hand through his hair, he created a small orb in the other. It began to play something, a flash back. It was White, walking around the main hall, his chest puffed out and his chin held high. Man he was a prick. So why did Black feel bad or care for that matter. Before, it didn't matter. He blamed his human form and emotions. Those he didn't poses before. And having all of this slap him in the face was scaring the shit out of him.

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(( OoC: Blah Blah Blah. Black is sad. Boohoo. ))