[PU] Where are They Now // Outpost Construction 1/2

[Olalla]

Olalla G. Semenov

Male— Ardent— The Pitt— Bio.— Plot

The sun beat down upon his back like a spiked whip, his nose crusted over from sickness and rubbed raw from wiping it away. His mind was like a broken record set upon an old record-player, skipping and crackling the sound of festering flies upon a rotting corpse; buzzing and crawling their way through the crevices and folds of his brain, liquidating it into mush to feed to their hellish children. The maggots that had tried to claim his birth had come to pester him once again.

Olalla's tongue rolled from the clasps of his jaws and teeth, exposed to the harsh, dry winds of the desert that caressed his body with sharp claws. His paws moved in a sluggish way, tempted by the hot sands and unstopping as the flies that attacked his face pulled him forwards. The sickened beast struggled to lift his feet, scraping them against the red sediment; Olalla's eyes were sunken, and his lower eyelids exposed just as his tongue was. His knees quivered and buckled, body falling onto the hot sand with a loud THUMP.

He laid there, lungs heaving as it drew in sharp breaths of the dry air. As embarrassing as the fall was, it brought him out of his zombie state so a bruise or two was worth it in his eyes; however dry they were. Olalla let out a whistly groan as he rose to his feet, shaking the sand out of his thin pelt and looked around. He was a mile or two away from the outskirts of the Plaza which surprised him, it felt as if he had only crawled a few feet or two. He sniffled deeply before looking to the ground around him, littered with sticks and dried grasses; it wasn't too far from the jungle. Olalla shrugged, gathering up the sticks and dried grasses. He needed to build the Outposts anyways.

The beast slammed the much larger logs into the sands, stacking up rocks of large sizes against it to keep it stable - or keep it straight enough to hold some weight until he could come back out here with mud plaster. Picking out the longer branches to build the first platform, Olalla stacked them on top of the log frame and began to tie them down, making note to slap some mud on them. He weaved the grasses underneath and over top of the platform, tugging tightly to ensure it stayed. Olalla sat underneath it to catch his breath, and to cool down; he huffed lightly, this was going to be a long day.

#psychosocial.

[JORMUNGAND Di ANGELO]

JORMUNGAND

male — the Pitt — bio — pinterest board

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OC TEXT


IC TEXT | IC opinions only

olalla looked sick. the beast looked like he was about to die and jormungand wasn't sure how he felt about that. sure, that would mean the ardent's position would be up for grabs, but that would break his daughter's heart and therein lay the conflict. he had gone out to hunt earlier, luck had struck and allowed him a feast and to bring back a few little animals. some that he now held in his jaws to approach the resting animal. he dropped it at olalla's paws and sat down a safe distance away from him. not to get sick and not to intrude. "olalla, you look terrible. in the nicest way possible. you need to rest." the italian's voice was firm but the words were meant with well intent, concern laced his gaze. "you cannot push on if you are sick, it would pain my daughter to see you get worse." it might be risky bringing up kold to the animal but he really didn't want olalla to break his daughter's heart by being stupid and making himself even worse. "eat the food and go back to rest, i will go work on the outpost now." he rose to his paws with a small sigh and a nod. "please."

#psychosocial.