shooting star - joining - Printable Version

Things had certainly escalated quickly. One moment, the dealer was just standing there, taking in the situation as he waited for Rosemary or Roan to arrive. The next moment, Brandy and Rift were at each other's throats, fighting over who was actually real. However, such an argument seemed sort of ridiculous to the bobcat, whose ears just briefly flattened at the hostility. Why did it matter who had come first? It was pretty clear that both of them existed now, so who the hell cared? That wasn't to say that Michael didn't understand how disorienting it could be – he was disoriented just taking the situation in – but there was no need to fight about it. Especially while Brandy was still injured. With a heavy sigh, the thief just shook his head from side to side before he spoke to Brandy, "That certainly sounds like you... and I can remember you being there after I was lost. I believe you, but like Rosemary said... that ain't the thing to be focusing on, right now. You'll probably just make your head hurt more." Brandy was family, in a way, so Michael certainly wasn't about to just push him away. However, Riftweaver also existed.

With this in mind, the fugitive turned his gaze towards Rift, voice firm as he muttered, "He didn't steal your memories. Just like I don't think you stole his body. And trust me, I know a thing or two about stealing." The male then paused, one paw tapping lightly against his muzzle in thought. He looked towards Roxie, as if seeking out his sister's advice, before he continued, "Listen... it's pretty clear that something weird is going on here. And I can't claim to know everything about it, but the facts are that you both exist now. Considering I can't stick my paw through either of you, I'm pretty sure you're stuck with us, the both of you. Fighting about which of you is the real one isn't accomplishing anything, when you're both real. As it is, I think everybody should just calm down and keep their mouths shut while Rosemary treats Brandy." The last bit of his statement was mostly directed at Riftweaver, the dealer sending a mismatched gaze in the boy's direction. He could understand feeling confused and upset, but he was only proving to instigate things further.

Sluggish, as if moving in a dreamlike trance, Rosemary worked with the broken wrist. Blindly, she groped in her satchel for a small splint. Her four eyes split between the two not-Brandies, studying their symmetry and fractured edges. The sage grasped the the metal rods between two toe beans, her four eyes narrowing in concentration.

From muscle memory, she set the broken wrist—without remembering to warn Brandy about the pain—and bandaged it around the splints. The witch nodded with Brandy’s explanations, but failed to to react to anything else said by anyone, as the words mattered so little. The debate was an excellent example of the blind trying to lead the blind, and she cursed under her breath, unintelligibly, even to the injured Roux sitting next to her.

“All of you are making this exceedingly difficult,” she hissed.

After she finished with the splint, she turned her focus to Brandy’s head. She attempted to paw at him, gently, feeling his skull for any bruising, cracks, or swelling. “Concussion. Bed rest for twenty four hours, minimum, and you will need to see me or Roan to be cleared for anything. You’re best off resting your brain, catching some sleep, and doodling.”

“As for hibernating in the sea, don't worry about that. Your aunt, Vandal, did that at least once. Pincher did the same. Hell, even Sea disappeared in the ocean for a bit. It's practically a Roux family tradition.” She tapped near his broken wrist as she added, “And this? No weight on it at all. If the splint falls off, the pain gets worse, the bones get crooked again, see me or Roan. In fact, I’d like to keep you in the temple for a week. But I suppose it’d be fine for you to stay with Roxanne, Michael, or another relative, so long as you have periodic health checks at home and someone to monitor you.”

The witch sighed, sat up, and closed her eyes. Rubbing her brow with the back of a paw, she shook her head slightly. One of her eyelids started twitching, but she couldn’t figure out which one with all this hubbub. “Sorry. Staring at your broken souls gave me a headache. Never seen anything quite like it.”

Her forked tail flicked, and she opened her eyes again. She glanced between Riftweaver and Brandyskies, sighing heavily once again. “Look, both of you are technically half of the real Brandyskies. Brandy seems to have kept the original’s personality, while Rift has the original body. Neither stole anything, so you can stop arguing. But the two of you need therapy—individual, together, psychedelic? at least one of the three—that much is obvious.”

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RIFTWEAVER

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As Michael echoed Roxanne's warning, Riftweaver took another step back. The male bit his tongue, attempting to keep his irrational anger in check as he listened and watched. If they all believed that he was the real one, leaving Rift as a fake, what would that mean for him?

Rosemary's words stopped his thoughts in their tracks. "Look, both of you are technically half of the real Brandyskies." The words rattled about his brain, echoing so loud they drowned out the rest of what she went on to say. Half? He was half of himself? And this was supposedly the other? His eyes shifted back to Brandyskies, blank as he processed what the healer had said. After a moment, as confusion edged back into his gaze, the Roux turned his eyes back to Rosemary. "Are you sure?"

[W]isker

Roxanne had approached, and the veins in Brandy might have stopped moving blood to his brain. He turned just a bit white, ears flattening and sitting with his back straight, whilst Rosemary move and tugged at his paw. He cleared his throat, green eyes dropping to avoid her gaze. But when she looked up, the surprise he felt to know that she was yelling at Rift and not him was, well, great. His jaw dropped just a bit. The guilt he had felt, and still did feel, over Ry escaping from the beach that day caused him to avoid Roxanne the days before he left.

He cleared his throat, snapping his jaw shut as Roxanne spoke. He nodded just a bit, his brain still exploding in pain, before he responded. "I'm.. I'm sure they will. Thanks, Rox." He said, his tone evening out just a little bit. He looked at Michael, giving him a tiny nod as well. He couldn't forget Michael breaking free of the jungle and yelling for Rox. It had been a good laugh, that was for sure. Brandy's ears flattened as Rift spoke again, but Michael was quicker to respond then he was. He let a sigh out, falling silent as he let the adults speak to Rift.

The exhaustion was creeping up on his fur now, dragging him down like the freezing cold water that was still slowly dripping from his body. He grit his teeth, trying his best not to shiver. He let his eyes shift towards Rosemary, just as she set the bone. He let a cry of pain out of his mouth, heaving a breath through grit teeth, eyes focusing on her own blind ones. He let a frown cross a muzzle, but Brandy soon let it drop. It was necessary, after all.

Her drew his paw back to his body as she raised her paw towards Brandy's skull, grimacing as she brushed at the spot on his right temple. "Right. Thank you." He mumbled. Bed rest was going to suck ass, but at least this body stealing asshole wasn't going to find him in the Temple. He fell silent, however, as his mother wasn't listed in his relatives. His gaze shifted, genuinely, towards Michael then Roxanne.

But as those words crossed Rosemary's lips, he stopped. The buzzing of his soul, the aching of his head- he couldn't feel the draw towards Rift anymore, but it definitely was there. Like some unforgettable sixth sense, always aware of where he was, or what emotion he was spouting. His eyes narrowed just a bit, before his eyes closed, eyebrows drawn over his eyes and a rather concerned look painting his face. "I'm not going to therapy." Brandy muttered, pushing to his paws. He spread his wings, flicking water from them with a concerned look back towards his feathers. When he looked forward, his gaze was only settled on Roxanne.

"Where's mom?"

"SPEECH"

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RIFTWEAVER

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As Brandy asked about Goldie, Rift would flatten his ears and drop his gaze. "Mom has... amnesia. She was captured by the Coalition and held captive. We rescued her - Sea, Rox and I, although I mostly just got in the way." He grimaced at the memory, shame flushing his cheeks. Gods, he'd been so idiotic that day. What had happened? "When she awoke, she only remembered her name. Same as me when I returned. I only remembered some names... including mi- ours." He shifted his gaze away, sighing heavily. This was just too much. The male stood. "I need some air." As he spoke, his body shifted, the oranges and greens mixing into a dusty brown. The male, now in his winged lion body, shook out his fur before spreading his wings. Without another word, just a guarded glance at his.. twin, the male would take to the skies.

//sorry, rushed

[W]isker

The ocelot blinked Unlike Rift’s guileless expression, she stared into space with a muted expression. The witch rarely displayed strong emotion at any point, but these torn souls puzzled her enough to disengage her from the emotional weight of the situation. Sure, she understood the two probably didn’t like hearing how their souls had been torn into two and formed each of them, but it was so interesting to observe the fractures.

“As certain as I am that Brandy needs bedrest for his concussion.” She glanced at the leaf-maned one, eyes settling on his own half-soul, and wondered how they both could be so blind.

“Well, I can’t make you participate in therapy—neither one of you. But I would recommend you try it, if only once.” The sage blinked at the two of them, and then sighed heavily as the memory-less one flew off. That one needed his space, she supposed, but hopefully he would knock on her treehouse’s door or the temple’s, one day soon.

“Well, Rift’s right about Goldie. She doesn’t remember much. But her soul is just fine; it’s her physical body which took the damage, not her soul.”

Shaking her head, Rosemary turned to Brandy, eying his wobbly half-soul instead of his body, which caused her to stare at him in an odd place. “You trusted me, implicitly, to set your broken paw because you could see the fracture. If you could see what I am seeing, then you would do the same with your mental health.”