Luca had once worn a variety of masks, some more literal than others. When he was younger he used to hide all his emotions behind an apathetic facade, although it was more subconscious than it was an attempt to seal away what he was feeling. He just hadn't been a very expressive child, and all emotions were more internal than external. However, as he grew this became less and less the truth, and his emotions slowly began seeping onto the outside. He hadn't become any more emotional than before (he was always sensitive and quick to anger) he had just gotten used to wearing his heart on his sleeve. Nowadays the only time he hid his emotions was during spy work or one of his rare regression periods, where he adopted the personality of his younger self and brooded in his house for days at a time. There was a freedom that came with being vulnerable sometimes; he preferred to be honest about what he was feeling.

One thing that he could never show openly, however, were the intrusive thoughts that haunted him every second of every day. It was always some twisted thought or another, internal commands to poison or mutilate or kill. Whether said thoughts were focused on himself or others varied, but he tried his best to fight them off with equal ferocity. For a time he had thought that it was something that came with being a demon, something that couldn't be helped, but he had learned over time that those thoughts were a very mortal condition. His deal wasn't the reason he suffered them, it was all the fault of his own stupid brain. He was sure that his goddess helped them out at least a little, though, being the cruel mistress that she was.

It was the smell of blood that freed him from his most recent thoughts, his mind breaking from fantasies of flames and smoke to focus fully on the scent. He frowned and headed towards it, for it was rare that he wasn't enticed by the familiar metallic smell. Although the scenes themselves stressed him out if there was too much yelling and running around, they were more often than not a pretty sight to see. He couldn't quite decide if blood was less or more pretty when staining the pelts of people he liked. Sure it was distressing to know they were hurting, but there was a beauty in that suffering. Pain brought people closer to divinity, after all, and divinity was the prettiest thing of all.

Perhaps that's why he was so conflicted when he finally came upon the scene of Silus on the shore. Children didn't quite need to cleanse themselves of sin, especially Silus, who had already gone though so much. There was no need for him to be in pain, for in Luca's eyes he had nothing to repent for. At least that erased the short-lived conflict that had been brewing in his chest, allowing worry to take over him fully. He rushed to the side of the striped feline, reaching a paw towards him before retracting it back, thoughts of disturbing the sage getting the better of him. "Silus? What happened!?" Luca asked, the smoke from his lungs catching in his throat and causing his voice to crackle with the subtle hiss of a fire pit. He swallowed away the accidental harshness, and his voice was its usual husky drawl when he continued. "Are you okay?" It was a stupid question, because Silus was quite obviously not okay. Perhaps something adjacent to alright, but most definitely not okay. He glanced around for a medic, but didn't want to run away to grab one if it meant leaving the kid alone.

Bakugou has a knack for remembering the strangest of things. Some words to him are simply triggers that recalled literature, music, art or something else that humans only ever learnt specifically through school. Sigmund Freud. Bakugou had always thought the man to be a complete nutcase, blabbering on about all sorts of heinous human nature. He's never liked it when people speak as though they knew humanity, understood the genetic condition they were all supposedly bound to. Fate isn't something he likes to talk about because if fate were real, then fate was a truly biased and unloving thing. But there was something that Freud talked about that Bakugou subconsciously held onto. To hold in all those emotions, thoughts and memories was a bad idea for they always sought a way out, often seeping out in strange and unusual ways. Bakugou can, reluctantly enough, agree with this idea, or at least that was what Bakugou associates with his fire. It was a beautiful display of his emotions, burning away the same way his soul did.

And as of this moment, there are embers about his emotions. He is unsure how he feels because he feels only the numbness on his paws, drugged to try and relieve the stresses of his confused and flickering body. Bakugou was like candlelight. Weak with an intangible form, shifting from one plane of existence to another. Even now he can feel the motions of his body, a great ship unable to stay still for it was the waters that dominated its gleam. At least he doesn't feel the pain, he thinks. But even now he knows that the more he tries to hold it down, the longer it will take for Bakugou to understand the roots of what is causing his agony. There is a misery about him, a dead air. Bakugou is the coals of a fire that used to be, a restless pile of ash. As of late, he hasn't been as rowdy or even passionate about anything. Only unimpressed and disinterested by the events that revolve around his bored cognition. He's become trapped within the depths of his mind, refusing to come out because he liked what he could imagine far more than what was presented before him. It...frustrates him to know and understand that, but it frustrates him even more that he can't do anything about it. Or at least...he won't do anything about it. There's no motivation, no fire to get him going.

It's then that Luca's voice catches his attention before he recognises the metallic scent of blood, too much blood for him to see when he turns around. The scarlet which dresses the sage's face, a bright contrast which leaks between cracks of fur like the stretching shadow of fingers. Pain. He can only imagine how it must have stung, burned along the bottom lip as he then turns his buzzing attention towards Luca. He can't seem to decipher what they are saying. He's paying attention but also paying too little, as if he mind can't focus as a side-effect of his cowardice to pain. Bakugou comes closer, realising the shape of stubs upon Silus' head and remembering the male had ram-like horns. Gone, discarded. The reaver winces a little at the words which envelop his brain, embracing him against his will. Bakugou feels himself shudder and become displaced once more by a sea of thoughts and words and images, all overwhelming him because his mind has become spastic, chasing all sorts of loose ends and strands of memories he doesn't want to reopen.

Caesar's voice is inaudible. His brain has pressed mute, hushing his cords when Bakugou tries to speak. The male holds himself back from trying again. It'll probably sound like a croak - a choke in the atmosphere that no one wants to hear. Bakugou's fur bristles at Goldenluxury's appearance, still unable to hear or recognise any of the words which left her lips. He sees only her mouth shaping whatever stammers she usually released, could even swear that he could read the Dealer say 'fuckin'. The words are matched with that was distaste, perhaps perfectly laced by the words which she spoke of but Bakugou failed to hear. He wonders by now if he is even there. Maybe he's in two places at once, still dreaming and only watching over a strange event that wasn't actually happening. If he opens his eyes and leaves to see Silus, he will see that the male is fine. He wants the sage to be fine, after all. It seems like their healers are suddenly in shortage, all dropping like poisoned fish that have been intoxicated by the work of mankind.

Water. Bakugou sees the way the seawater is maneuvered by the Captain, a figure that seems to have materialised into his distracted perspective. Anger, more anger directed to Caesar. He doesn't feel particularly sorry for the male but he wonders if everyone else will now turn to him when the Officer leaves or snaps back, growl and yell at him to move and find Junji. The reaver freezes. Cold hands grip at his organs, wishing to rearrange them once again that his teeth press hard against each other until his cheeks begun to bleed on the inside. He can taste his own blood, the sweetness which begins to line his mouth. Like a record, reeling back to the words before, sound suddenly comes alive. His brain rewinds on all the words, revisiting the moments he had missed after becoming prisoner of a foggy dreamscape. Junji. The angel soothsayer, the one who can control water. Medicine. Bakugou winces, he's never liked the idea of hospitals or being healed to begin with. It means he's failed at something but seeing as Caesar hasn't moved, Bakugou begins to move himself. "I'll," he can feel the words form at his throat before he's had the chance to consider them, almost scaring himself because he doesn't recognise the sound of his own voice. "I'll go get Junji."

With a heaviness about his steps, the reaver turns to go find the water bender.

[member=1660]JUNJI[/member]