AFRICA | open + ooc prompt

[Luca]

People called him beautiful a lot when he was younger. Back then he wasn't all too sure what it meant, but he assumed it was a good thing due to the look on their faces when they said it. Their smiles and kind eyes were completely different to the coldness he saw when they called him ditsy and slow and unusual. That last one was his least favourite, because he could never quite understand what they meant. He could tell it was bad though, he could tell from the subtle downwards twitch of their lips, the narrowing of their eyes. His papa heard the whispers too, called Luca an embarrassment and a disgrace. He didn't like the negative attention his son was bringing to the family, and after many failed attempts to 'toughen him up', disowned his youngest entirely. The good looks that Luca had inherited from his mother were all he really had going for him, the only thing he could ever take pride in. Once he went to stay in the church, however, people slowly stopped calling him beautiful. Scars appeared along his back, his wrists and ankles were always raw and bruised, and dark rings circled his dull eyes. It made him a little sad. He used to enjoy the gazes of people as they took in his lush fur and sparking eyes, but now people only looked at him fleetingly. One look at his scarred body was all it took for them to turn their eyes away. Perhaps it was the guilt; after all, the whole town knew they were complicit in their silence.

He had covered them up for a bit, but bandages seemed to upset people just as much as the raw scars. After all, people knew what was underneath. Eventually he gave up and tried to ignore the whispers, paying no attention to the way people only looked at him when they thought he wasn't paying attention. Centuries had passed since then, so Luca barely noticed it by now. He had learned all the best ways to smooth his fur over the jagged pink marks, and sometimes he could even cast a bit of magic over himself to help hide it. Most of his powers didn't seem to be working, though, and the arrival of new scars on his body made all those old feelings come back in a rush.

Luca leaned his back against a tree, bringing a paw to the huge gash on his stomach from where his body had been split. The wound was still fairly fresh and bloody, but he had grown sick of the mess and cauterised it about half an hour back. The pain was intense, sure, but that had never been too much of a problem for the masochistic hellhound. There seemed to be something off about Luca, though. His eyes were a dull blue instead of their usual pink shade, and a sullen shadow had fallen over his face. At this rate, his skin would be more scar tissue than untouched flesh. At least it was mostly temporary- only the killing wound would remain long term. All the rest would go away as long as he could suffer through it. Luca sighed, a large puff of black smoke escaping from his lungs. Perhaps he should cover them up until they were a little less noticeable. He should spare his crewmates the pain of taking in his disgusting condition.

[ARGUS]

ʜɪᴅᴅᴇɴ sᴄʀᴏʟʟɪɴɢ

As much as argus’ own history entwined with lucas own, they grew up in different times. In different universes almost. It was told in the way both of them disliked each other. Different ideals clashing heads enough times to despair Argus’ father. Argus could not tell you truly how old luca is now. They could list you clans and the rises in power- in rank the hellhound took in each, and how he fell. Could list you his strengths and his weakness in battle. Could detect the vulnerability in the way he hides the scars around his sides and notice how entirely different they were. But luca’s upbringing to them was a mystery, and it was enough apparent with how little Argus’ temper was around them. Missing puzzle pieces just pissed them off.

Because luca knows enough about them. He may not know that Argus was grown up in a clan that honored the living by killing them. May not know why or how touchy the quartermaster is when family is present- how quiet how distant how hard it is to focus beyond the jealousy burning in their vision or the spite that seethes between their teeth. But they know why they hunt at night. Why they shy away from the entrance of the typhoon’s territory and wait to meet joiners and newcomers until they are well past the empty subway/train cars that haunt them. Know why they hunt at night. Luca knows enough- and argus will not settle for knowing less than everything about someone who even knows a little about them. it frightens them. it scares them.

The differences in that missing knowledge are apparent. In the way argus prowls with lethality- they do not hide how dangerous of an animal they are. The differences between the two could not be more apparent. Two necessary evils. Both dangerous in their own right, monsters by nature.

Argus keeps an eye and an ear reserved for the demon, While Argus has no daughters in sight for him to torture and then date- there were still argus’ reservations about luca pulling the same stunt they did in their old home. Only to watch the hellish lupine seem to wither away from his own touch. Seem ashamed of the scar that he had been given. The differences are clearing up. Touches of a upbringing becoming clearer to the hollow in the way it hadn’t before.

Self-conscious had never been a part of argus’ own thought processes. Their scars were a symbol that they were still alive. and of coarse luca was different. Hims image was everything about him. It was vain. It made him weak and it was another stake to drive into him- a jibe for argus to pull. and they wanted to but...

the insult fell flat against their tongue, and in a way that was extraordinary they tried to find something to say. A light humm escaping the quartermaster’s throat as they approached. While wings curled at their sides in the way luca’s were not. scars open and showing in the way that luca seemed to want to hide his. Maybe that is where the differences are but that isn’t were the hate comes from, there is no hate- not really- not from them. Just restlessness. And there was no honnor in kicking an opponet while they were down.

“could always get some ribbons to hide the scars, if you don’t like them luca. Jacob takes to weary sweaters sometimes- although he used to live in a colder place.” It was not what they would do- argus is more attuned to showing them off than they ever would to hiding them. But they knew enough about hiding them to offer advice. Even if clothing wasn’t ever really something argus took an interest in, it was something luca could, for vanities sake.

I LEARNED THE VOICES DIED WITH ME

[THESEUS]

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 1.4;"]Theo hadn't been beautiful as a child — some sort of cute, in the way that baby rabbits were cute. He'd spent his days napping in his father's hood as he walked, and bounced around whenever they got someplace new. Age hadn't completely taken away that level of cuteness, but it had grown and changed. The lion seems overall soft, with bright colors and a gentle warmth about his face. Underneath, there's a sharp curiosity and paranoia, the rolling of sleek muscles under his skin. There had never been any comments about him being ditsy, just giggling or energetic. Bright, always bright. Maybe it's just the way he wears the cuts and bruises — Theo always looks on them with some kind of pride, and the odd glances don't matter. Even when he was worn ragged, the sheer stubbornness it had taken to survive his life kept the lion's head up. When other people didn't manage, though, it wasn't their fault.

Like Argus, Theo is proud of his scars. The pinpricks on his shoulders and the back of his neck from teeth latching into his skin, the thin lines dragging down his hips and shoulders. He hasn't carried them for centuries, or lifetimes. Theo's body is barely touching the area of three years old, though his exact birthday isn't known by anyone except his parents, who are (probably) dead. It doesn't matter too much anyway, time is something people created to make sense of the world. There's no point in trying that, it'll never fully work.

Reasons for this, reasons for that, why and how and all of those other questions people had. No point. He just rolls with whatever's in front of him. Or — well, he tries. Sometimes moving on is harder than he thought, and that's how the lion ends up walking. To clear his head, get used to the territory, meet people. He hadn't expected it to be in this kind of situation, though. Warm brown eyes fall to the scars, though there's no disgust or pity in his gaze. Maybe a quiet interest, if only because there has to be a story behind something like that. Argus's comment throws the feline out of his thoughts, turning his head to look at the strange with a tilted head. "Cover them? Why?" It's meant for Luca still, and the cinnamon lion sits down to make his intentions clear. Stay here and talk until someone chases him off. "They're cool. It's attractive." Or maybe that was just him. People who survived that sort of thing — well, whatever. He'd made his point just by saying it.