dissociation. The term they were looking for dissociation. Feeling not yourself in a near out of body experience. Closely associated with feelings of anxiety or bouts of depression. Argus vaguely recalls reading the definition in a book when they were little, and a little away from them in a pit a prisoner played the violin with the strings of their heart on their wrists. bleeding out. of course argus saved them- it wouldn’t do well to have dead test subject. But that was not the point here. No the point was that a kid- a kitten thought they could bury the smell of blood with dirt on their paws.

Argus is attuned to blood, has lived in it- lived for it. Argus does not use her senses so much as she does her sixth sense of aura reading and to the extend- reading souls, but before they ever learned how to hunt- before they ever took to eating beyond creature needs Argus learned by blood. Hunting, and hurting and hurting. Getting hurt hurting others. Everything can be simplified by the fact of blood or not. Blood means danger- blood means excitement. And Argus follows it like a bloodhound.

To find it coming from a kid- a kit makes their blood boil. It makes them inexplicably angry. Although it shouldn’t- it’s happened before it happened to them when they were little and it doesn’t make argus feel any better. It makes them more angry. Bubbling broiling and a dark cauldron filled with hate that fuels something Argus cannot name that never really died. Never got rest.

Lucifer is an anchor in a way that keeps them from getting lost in the anger. It shows in the way that the white form of the deputy can be seen ducking between tall abyssal limbs like a kit trying to see the sun between the shade of their parent’s legs. Argus leans. Subtle and glancing but there all the same. he is there in the same way the kid is. Still whole and alive and not broken. Still has parents still has hope. Blood does not mean death here. It does not meant the corruption of them. 

but it could. It could and you don’t want to kn ow do y o u-

no.

stop.

and the thoughts stop as suddenly as they started. Dark red eyes looking forward- watching as the kit dug another small shallow hole. Too low for a grave, and flowers beside them, does not hide the smell but it makes a good cover. and argus breathes it all in. The blood, the dirt the sand- the flowers. And grounds themselves in the present before they allow their thoughts to drift into darker territory.

“We’ve got a herb garden somewhere in the jungle i think, but a flower garden would be a perfect addition to the clan. Don’t you think?” the deputy hums in mellow tune, low octave. A pleasant amused smile across their features.