Argus could not, would not go home. Not like this, unstable and rash and so, so close to shattering as it is. They couldn't handle it, couldn't handle the brutal tide of responsibility, the chilling weight of familiarity. Kind faces- kind hearts and it was all just so undeserving. They, were just so undeserving of it all. This wasn't a new thought, no matter what they like to think this was not the reason they left but just another reason to stay away, at least for another month. Until this month fades and the stability will at least normalize. But not now, not here. Argus’ mind is a battleground, and their soul has always been split- shattered and fractured at the edges like a fraying cloth worried under anxious hands. As much as people play in pretend that the month is just another, the converging lines between spirit and living has never been closer, so close to them but so, so spiralling. Even now their paws tremble with their will, the only thing keeping them from stumbling unto their feet. And the reason why is such a guarded secret, because everything about Argus always is.

There are some, that knew. Some dead and gone and well and truly silent, as the grave. Keeping the masses ignorant has nothing to do with their mortality of their nature or even what they would bring with them beyond this life, but just an instinctive habit. It's a tragedy that it will remain as such, because as much as Argus is blantedly unashamed of every painstakingly flaw on their body they have an insistant rejection to the change of their habits. They hunt at night, they do not hunt together, they have their habits, keeping secrets is not the only one. Secrets of things that will do no one good- not even themself. They will keep it for nothing else but that, if for nothing else, than these habits. Their own refusal to admit to their fear of such secrets is one if the reasons why their spirit remains a frayed hand me down of its former self.

Because they are a spirit, maybe not full shinigami or full spirit-consuming beast but a blurred outline of something trapped. Possessing the empty shell of a body carved to mimic the one that Argus once had- that whisper once had. The soul befalls the other half of them, and with the possession if the body, the consumption  of the spirit- all claimed to the beast now living under this skin. It is not immortality, but it is a near thing, a dangerous thing- they always are when reguareing argus. They've never graced the afterlife beyond sparse moments, and even then it was only the barests gaps between. Enough to cement the fact that the afterlife was real, but not enough to convince them they wanted any part in it. So they stay away, stay in the world with the living and cling to the dead all the same. Cling to this earth while the rest if their spirit cries enough, wants to be home wants to drift within that something of an afterlife, and forget the horrendous grievances of their living, waking life. But Argus was always a coward, their soul reeks of putrid fear and inaction that bleeds into their own conscious and tells them to hate, to consume.

For this month only, they allow their soul to break and well and truly shatter. If at the end it is no longer Argus in the center- in control, then at least they can be a semblance of whole again.

That does not mean Argus does not lament that fact. Despise their own cowardance for the simple matter than fear is what keeps them complacent. Keeps then away from pincher and his trust in them, in the small little snare that was once so bright gone missing because they can never hold onto what is theirs what they wants to be there for once. Will never be. There was a reason why villians were never meant to retire, and this is it, isn't it? Because the very real possibility to leave them all behind is a bit ruthless and nauseating to think about, but they have done it before- they have all done it before and where would they go? Would they one day set to stare into their comrades eyes on the other side - the wrong side of the battlefield? Rend them in two? Destroy this home they have made for themself just as easily as they used to?

It's not like they don't dream it already.

It isn't like that hasn't happened to them before- had it happened to them before.

They are not good, and the fact that they do not cry is proof of that. Proof that Argus is not kind or just, in fact she has attempted to prove otherwise many many times. They have proved it before and there will come a time to do it again, but today, tonight, there is a greater evil. It seeps under their skin like a dark familiar stranger. October is the month that it happens, the dead and living interact and as much as Argus is dead- a spirit another part seeths alive just as strong. And it cries out for blood.

It's a premonition, not necessary now but Argus wants to prepare, leave her things in places they can find it easily again and lose the things she has taken that they want to forget. So, sunhaven. The town for trade and the like, here they can sell their wares, and be out just as quick.

What once was a wolf is now a glorified lizard. Eyes swivel around distinct places along the porcalyn bone adoneing their face, a light purple cloak wraps around their small form, the size of a dog, hides the rest of their features. Only showing the belly full of scales and the tuff's if fur along their spine like a mane. A small sack grasped in their jaws as they set it on the border, pull out each item onto display and wait for someone to come browse their wares.

A few books on healing and battle strategy, a fee carved gym neckalces, dreamcatchers, small potted plants of Callas and even a catctus.

The only thing they keep their own, is the blade. This they secure around their own back, small wakashi with a similar purple hued hilt.

oof, hope you guys done't mind the muse going on ^^"///

It's ironic, isn't it? That a death God has died. That you have to die- to become one. But they are not really gods, and they are not really dead either. Messengers, Messengers the all of them. Not the result, not the cause of, nothing but animals trying to keep balance. Like dams holding the water in, eventually it has to break. Eventually the dam will fall. Like any good government does, Argus has walked this earth plane five years, and wolves generally live a great deal of time, mind you, but in this occupation so close to death the both of them, it is no wonder that they would ever grow old, a wonder that they will live past even their childhood. But here they both are, Messengers of death and still living- still here despite of it. It's a testament to their will, even the Grimm faced ones such as they, who picked up the lost souls of murders and bloodbaths of ghosts crying- realizing that no one can see them, up until the moment that few- that they can. Whisper- Argus never paid them any mind, when she was a kid, when little. Because she paid nothing mind. And sometimes, they would gravitate towards the stronger ones and maybe just itch for a little taste if that power. When she was little, she was taught to follow that pull, ambition. The kind where you killed for power, ruthlessly climbing the later- ambition, was encouraged, in her wayward home blood run near constantly and screams never ceased. Breeding enemies and ruthless child soldiers- Argus was just another into the fold. Argus had a run in with Ichigo before her death, young and observant as she was, watched him move aside as ghosts drift and knew he was the same. But they weren't, not really. One small aspect was not enough to excuse their friendship, but even then Argus had stuck close to the cougar. Close to his friends and his home and his people. It was like listening to music, without really being able to craft such a sound. Their happiness, the unabashed closeness that the group formed. Argus selfishly clung to the group- to ichigo and his friends and the aviary that they had lived in. To the warmth that argus never once found deep in the desert from where she was raised. Argus remember it vividly, training alongside them her spirit while learning how to kill- how to take jobs for higher just alongside it. Rukia and toshiro and brief glimpses of another cougar- smaller- a sister perhaps? She forgot the name but- There was history there- history that was comforting as just as it was frightening. Here in this month so far from home argus wanted to cling to it again. To grasp and pull and never let go, but the attachment to people, their attachment to the dead would always remain- just another habit of theirs- and maybe it was time to let go.

There is no deniability to it either, Ichigo's soul has always been bright to her from the seconds she could ever see it. Blue hellfire licks around the other’s form and crackle in a way that is soundless but radiant, bright despite the the murky red that seems to pool around the outline and wisps of black that fog around. It reaches out, and from here it is too tempting to just let her own control slip for a second and press deeper- let her mind crack deeper than what the aura can reveal and walk through the other’s own paws. Feel the ache in his bones and soul deep loneliness that is so alike to hers.

All ten eyes shot to the cougar, her name uttered- it wasn’t seen. Behind the curve of a bone white mask the lids of her eyes widened. Pure white tail dragging around her hind leg- a false sense of security and a first time to allow her body to move without being under control. But this month made those lines of control and controlled so very fuzzy. This month she let down the impossible barriers, let the secrets loosen around her neck and breathe. This month only, argus allowed herself to be someone else- and he had to come ruin that. It was instinctual to be angry and afraid. The shock in his voice was easy to turn either way- was he happy to see her? Was he upset, between the lilac cloak a clawed hand came to a stop just under her throat, palming where once a giant gaping hole once was. So much uncertainty shimmers underneath their form, and parts of them seethe in automatic threat that emotional turmoil use to entail. So long argus is used to shutting down that part of themselves - in their youth, in their adult years- in their entire life. Only recently- a few months had they allowed themselves to hope for something again. For a brighter future, and history took it’s sweet time to rear it’s ugly head. Few moments argus feels a smile twist onto their features that is entirely cruel and bloodthirsty that is barely seen behind the serrated edges of mask’s fragmented edges. The urge to laugh, explain with great detail their own animosity towards the cougar- towards everything that he gave her and everything that was twisted wrong. A way to make up for killing when she couldn’t stop the urges turned into a way for power- and a crack that madness took root into- was all his fault. She could blame him so easily, and for the longest time she has done nothing but blame her past and what’s she’s done on the only survivor that she cannot formulate the heart to shovel that blame onto someone else. But argus, largely unapologetic and unashamed- here and now does not flinch at her name, and when Ichigo does nothing to falter in unabashed shock all ten eyes narrow to focus on his from- his eyes his emotions one final second before she breaks the contact all together. Dismissing him unless he has some here to buy something or gods forbid- say something like sorry. If he did that argus has very little thought to showing just how unapologetic she is.

She does not turn her tumultuous thoughts into darker things. Does not attempt to think about how she has wronged the memory of this cougar before her. Does not think of Hecate and Littlestar and Kanito and Zactov. Does not think what each of these names mean to her- for her. Dark thoughts and already on a slight set of Adrenalin does not bode well for others safety, and in the light of day she would rather not go on a rampage just as quickly as their name was uttered. It was logical- just the right amount that she actually listened to it, turning away from the other god, and turned to the reward for such endeavors patience.

The stranger is a gryphon, the red of his feathers makes an instant knowledge fill- a subspecies of more hawk- than eagle it seemed. Thinner creatures of prey but just as vicious as their cousins. Does not bother to smile towards the other when it is even hard to notice they are talking with the mask in place- instead they nod slightly, letting out a low hum that sounds more like a growl with their lower pitch of voice. Satchel and something to weaponize those wings? She has a few ideas already in mind, pulling out a smaller satchel from behind the three medical books she had on acupuncture. Flipping open the bag she let what was inside shine, a few hundred silver push pin cushions.” if you are looking to weaponize those wings there, here is something that is easily concealed and just as lethal. After preaning you would spread these- point side outward in your wings and tuck them back in. When your ready to attack, simply flick the joints of your wings and they’ll fly out. Similar to like a porcupine but more lethal if you aim it right.” The dragon explains, setting the small needle along the knuckle of their joint above their claw. She flexes her wrist lightly, giving show of tensing her claw downard to point at the ground. Where the pin was settled along her knuckle suddenly shoots out and sticks onto the top book of the pile. She makes show of pulling the needle out- not deep enough into the book to become a hassle- before tucking it back into the bag.”If you make a good enough deal I’ll even throw in the anatomy book on top that’ll teach you where to hit. Hmm?” She returns to a light hum, this time inquisitive and doting like any good shopkeeper would be.

Ward is next, the smaller form of the other makes it easier to see the set frown on the merchant’s maw as they direct their attention- all ten eyes turn intensely towards them. Books and.. Spices? “color=#add8e6] I have a few herbs that add an interesting flavor to any meal, though it depends on what kind of spices you're looking for.[/color]” she pulls three small pots towards the other. Rosemary, garlic, and rosemary. Lists them in order - “ Good with meats, and herbal tea. Might smell bad but works like salt in a pinch and cures stomach aches. And this one is actually nutty- just be careful how much you use.” She nods, satisfied with the plants before she taps the same pile of books that were just subjected to becoming push pun plush. The top is acupuncture, second one down is for smithing, and the last one down is the thickest one- modern medicine mixes and herbology.

This- trading, selling bartering. Is enough to help bring her down whatever she almost would have done alone. Or rather- almost alone. Ichigo seems old and weary and just the perfect kind of prey that she wants to rip apart. But around a crowd it’s easier to distract herself with them, easier to pretend to be normal despite it all.

There is something dark and dangerous lurking under the dragons skin. But now a days, this is nothing new, there is always something wrong with everybody, wasn't there? A tragic past, and dangerous edge. Little souls filled with too much grief end up warped somehow, a little off or too dangerous, too shy, too something. Argus knows this well, too well for their own mind riddles with guilt from it- still reeling with it all. Because right now their mind buzzes with pleasant attention, animals around her are calm and mind and so very sane it feels like a dream. She can pretend that the world has not broken her four times over and that argus was her first ever name. But she will always wake from pleasantries as this- pleasant things that she doesn't deserve. And her mind kicks into gear- the constant thrum of power turns constricting- turns controlling and she wants to rip it all apart. This serenity let her mind drill deep into the stranger's all around her and peal back each one's morality until they are an impressionable- weak willed slave.

Because no matter how peaceful the world is now, hurting others is a part of her. It always has been, before this shinigami-hollow stumbled into her life. She lived in a clan of blood and enjoyed the same hobbies one that only aligned with the cruelest of non-fiction. Nursery rhymes to get little kids to behave turned real. A nightmare coming full circle, one that did not care wither you were good or bad- just that you were worth the time to kill.

Argus when little was just a little lonely, just a little hurt, and she found a comfort in hurting others, in killing others. Her first kill happened when she was 12, a long awaited revenge plot to the three thundeclanners that tortured her when she was 6 moons. When she met Ichigo, when she was  infected with the beast and  taken down herself, the remaining  sanity she had left crumbled easier. Restraint- control, were such foreign concepts to them then. When these new instincts surged she didn't resist. She followed them gladly, she lived her life the same she would have without it, and if she cling a  little deeper to her friends? If she finally had a reason to hunger battle and bloodshed more than just a mere craving to fill the empty boredom? So what? She was a monster when she first walked into camp from her birthing den, the first word she ever learned- spat like a mantra as she passed every open barred cage. Cruel faces and even crueler hearts at someone who had just lost everything. Only now she had another label to call it, only know she couldn't deny it as easily as she could before. Mother? Father? Brother? All her family, all her support crumbled under her feat, and all that was left behind was the hatred of desperate people and the shadow's of murderer's to live up in or die in the desert they were born in.

And so she lived, no, she thrived in these desperate times. Malleable and impressible, with only hate from every corner but those bloody- bloody paws offering her guidance, teacher her how to handle the flush of heat- guilt - hurt - dread i don't want to do this i never wanted to hurt anyone by bottling these emotions up and carving into the one's that mocked her harder- make their punishments more gruesome, their deaths more of a mercy than the cost of living in a world like theirs. Prove them right, then prove them wrong. Show how monstrous you can be, and how merciful it is to have an end that is neither quiet or undignified.

No, none of them lived long enough- from either sides then. All died young and beautiful and monsters or pure. All turned martyr's for their own home to rally again and thus, the cycle repeats. The killing never ceased then, did it?

Argus has lived eons in comparison to the flicker fire of her comrades. Watched such violent deaths and came out stronger for it, because of it. She knows how each name of her fallen comrades like the earth atop atlas’ spine. Alike so, It settles deep into her marrow. Names collecting dust as their bones settle out of reach and it is a festering gaping wound. These names. Names once so dear carry memories and regret and regret. Once Argus has raged for them, these precious people- fought alongside them and cried out hollowly in their passing. The red God's justice held no comparison to the once-lupine's fury, the ending wraith that still clings deep- ever deep into her soul. She waged war with the living, as if their deaths could bring one- just one -please kanato please you didn't deserve it- alive. But she has learned to live alone, for there was nothing left in the calamity of her life, in wars there are casualties. And when you make a living off of war you learn to live with the dying- the dead. Even after war in the semblance of peace, Argus still carries the scars of such a brutal upbringing. Such a brutal way of life-changing it's instinctual and habits still hold true.

She is still a killer, she is still unkind and mean and cruel.

But time has a way to whittle everyone down, even the sharpest blades can be dulled, and it was not her killing intent or her lethality that shifted but the wars, the viewpoint of them. Personalities lash and petty arguments turn into full blown genocides across borders. Animals too fearful to act out or attempt to reconcile misdeeds because-what? Because the past repeated itself. People only focus on the hurting and how to stop that hurt, the easiest way to do that- is to hurt someone else. As a pup she lived by the code that justice was just  a reason to kill for the weak willed, but now grown up, 5 years later, she knows that they will use anything as an excuse to spill blood. Anything to hurt others and in turn be hurt again. In this new age filled with hurt and pain and grief, Argus finds her own claws hesitate to do what she has always done, what she will always do in the end. Now when she raises a clawed hand she remembers the look of her own friends faces, remembers their own timely ends their just ends. Violent ending in violence. She thinks of how selfish this world has been how cruel how violent and wants something else. Five years and five times Argus has run away trying to bury the past that haunts her. Five names that every nursery rhyme knows and all those names once big enough to send shivers of fear just from utterance of it. Five distinct cracks deep into her soul cry out enough. Let this c e a s e.

But there is something living under their skin, it clicks in their ear and it slithers it's tongue to taste the beginnings of war. Pushing prodding poking writhing to feed- to eat. And my, ichigo. What a soul you have. Maybe this should be taken more private, more secluded, but the small dragon prefers the security of the crowd here, it keeps the thing at bay- the thing with a name and it howls in hunger that she dares not even think. She has always been brazen and loud and boisterous in her youth and impulsive in her latter years and her eyes burn with an emotion she cannot name. It rages in her lungs and the hollow cries out in savage dialect to destroy-

"You act like there is something left to say. What do you want from me? A conformation that i spat on your grave? That i have wronged every memory i had of you? " Argus' voice does not raise, but somehow it is worse at a monotone. "Do not apologize to me, for even when wrong do not show your throat for someone's forgiveness, or you may only know the bite of being not forgiven" An old proverb of her home, ancient like the times war used to rage, when clans were volatile and power more plentiful than now the trickling stream they seem to be. "Let us call it even." It is brash and to the untrained eye aloof, but argus holds on to her grudges with all her might that even the dead cannot escape her. To simply let go of the hurt- to offer such a chance is a gift and a challenge. A small puff of air escapes from behind the mask, and it shiners in the air like a mist in the chilly air. "I have not changed, ichigo. Just grown weary" And truly she hasn't, she is still the same, despite the name. She is still a monster and a killer but she does not let the hollow control her killing. Broken and shattered and so very warped but she is still here. A testament to the past that has yet to break her or the future that she will brace for. But there is history, a relationship that was never truly beyond acquaintances that felt partway responsible and part wrathful. Maybe this is a way of making amends.