Pincher struggled in relaxing. There was something about it that ticked him off, that he was just laying around and doing absolutely nothing. It irked him how he could practically hear the time trickle away like grains of sand inside an hourglass. It was what happened when he was driven with an ambition that had been planted inside him since the very beginnings of his life. His father had demanded hard labor from Pincher once he had been able to walk, seeking to perserve the child in a state of accomplishment and not an ounce of failure. Perhaps that was why he became so brat-like when he failed or lost, his temper exploding like a stick of dynamite. Recently, he was trying to let go of that form of thinking, hoping that it would allow him to enjoy the simple things in life such as family and the environment. He had never really been able to break through the tunnel vision that he had been trained to see, always running in a straight line to the goals that he had set himself to achieve.

One of the goals was becoming a better father, to being able to be what his father had not been for him. He had not been absent but instead, smothering but not in the way that one would view usually. It was the kind of smothering that was filled with demands and orders, barking in the ears of a child of what to think and what to do. He didn't want to do that to his own children, to force them into something they didn't want to be or desired in becoming in the future. He wanted them to have a freedom in doing what they believe they deserved without being seen as an outsider. The reason why he had created the Typhoon, why he had settled it upon the ideology of freedom even if there were flaws to it such as inner conflicts and turmoil. But he didn't fear the risk of the Typhoon drowning itself in hatred for despite the multiple rough edges everyone carried, they all cared and would defend each other through anything that decided to come their way.

The looming figure of the jaguar was sitting behind his oakwood desk, his half-lidded freezing cold blue eyes locked onto a page that held all the new members that had joined recently. The names were stacking up like pillars and it excited Pincher to see how well everyone was settling in without much trouble. Yet, the duties of leadership were increasing and the male had begun to take more time into focusing on his work in improving the clan for everyone. He raised a bone white colored paw to massage the side of his head as he felt a light prick of a growing headache tease his brain. The tattooed captain glanced down at the pack of black cigarettes that lay beside his ashtray, tempted to smoke but for now he snapped his oceanic gaze back to the pale papers that were stacked up in front of him, fictional eyebrows furrowing as he began to scribble down next meeting's notes.

[member=1504]Aita C.R.[/member]

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