It was a welcome, this ghost town, the creatures here far and few in-between. Dark, dangerous- abandoned. It was a paradise, a Kingdom of silence; beyond the creak and squeak of the rats that had plagued them. Vaas took to the place like a fish to water, it was no jungle; but the creatures here were leaderless, and demanded respect. Demanded blood, in a way very few could ever hope to satisfy. They wanted might, power, control: it wasn't luck that brought the once native to this shore; it was a purpose- he just didn't know it, until he found it, hidden under the rotten boards of his turf.

The night previous had ended in celebration  as were normal. They celebrated life in a way few others did, honored it with moments of remembering the dead. Remembering the blood, the vacancy that lingered between their ranks. Moments of morning were reserved for the hangovers, and in the sound of the constant sea that banked against them- the sound of movement- whispers in comparison to the r o a r ; the sound of the sea was always demanding, hungry for sacrifice - for the return of the boy-king.

It had been years, since anyone had looked upon the scarred tiger and thought him a boy. Hardened by two winters, broken by his third summer- Vaas was a creature of habit forced to make do within strange lands. He was not native here, and thus he made it home the only way he knew how.

He carved his spot within these strangers : a spot- directly at the top.

He filled the role with purpose, he took the reigns and in turn demanded respect of his fellow group. They were still in their infancy; young, strapping- and boisterous, celebrating life, mourning the lost. Rediscovering amidst the old, crumbling ruin. Some attempting to break free of the confines of the hangover, and the few that were wise enough not to fuck with vaas' own tainted brew- simply enjoyed the quiet that such a morning allowed. But it halted with a creek, with the skuttle of rat's paws.

The jungle was once his home; and he had abandoned it. It is… freeing, a sudden movement that had been moons ago now- Vaas knew this, yet when he looked out into the sea with the boardwalk of splintering wood- rotting wood under his claws; he can’t help but the deep trenches of sand. The sea-salt baked shore that permitted through the jungle like a poison. It was the scent he was raised on, fresh jungle and sea. He was born of the land, of the jungle; he was a native taking from his home- forced from it; self-imposed isolation.

He knew the land before he knew of the typhoon. Of course; one of their own had gone off to create the clan, had hopped maybe childishly, that his native roots and his own kin would join him; but all that he had now is a crumbling lineage and a broken throne. He proved to the natives the need to remain isolated, it was a kingdom that Vaas had grown into. It was one he wished to return to; a traitorous thought, but he missed the jungle; even the sea couldn’t shake that feeling.

It was a thrum against his skull, the calling for home; the forest that cut across the southern border didn’t do it for him; it itched it scratched and it begged for his attention. Vaas numbed it, he numbed it with drugs and booze and leading: it was a thrill, it felt in a inexplicable way- right. After his family groomed him for the second command role; he had found a spot with misfits, leading them.

Sometimes he will close his eyes and wish to blink them open to the sea of green. Blinking them opened only caused a slight wrinkle onto his brow; the sea-spray of a large wave crashing against the harbor getting him across the muzzle. He snorted, tail lashing out behind him cat-like, innocuous if not for his sheer size. He shook his head slightly, and beyond it a bitter smile graced his maw. Yellowed fangs set to a rictus fix along his maw.

For the moment; he had held a quiet morning, but it was part of his rounds to look towards the border of the hyperactive little anti-clan that shared their border. He had already set a pair of dogs towards the border, but that was the night before. It was time to go round the same motions, and in the mornings, while the rest of his clan were still probably recovering from the Boss’ own housed concoctions. There was left he, to watch the border.

Along the edge of the boardwalk, where sandy beaches lifted to acend the rotting- splitting wood, was a small perch. Vaas walked towards it, ignoring the itch, the yearning that the scent of the sea and the lack of the jungle- the wrongness of it. Instead he used it to heighten his own paranoi, green eyes slitted as he stopped short of the makeshift watch tower along the boardwalk. Eyeing the edges of the land and where the sea met.

God, he needed some sort of fucking blunt after this was through.