DO YOU FEEL THE HUNGER? // RETURN

[GABRIEL]

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-size: 9.4pt; line-height: 1.4;"]Something felt off. Well, more than usual, and what pissed him off was how fine everything else had gone. He had important information from the The Typhoon, his wing had nearly healed, he had his ticket to freedom- fine, right? Maybe. He still had to worry about what kind of reception he'd get. Would it be the, "I missed you, you bastard," reunion or, "Get the hell out of here," kind? Gabe wouldn't blame them for that. He was gone for a while, possibly long enough for the shits to forget about him, and a part of the hybrid was...concerned for how things might have changed in his absence. Surely they had. He didn't expect The Ascendants to be sunshine and rainbows, or for them all to sit down with tea and cakes.

More than that, though, was the very faint, nearly imperceptible degree of feeling off-kilter. Like when staring at a portrait on a wall and thinking it had to be oblique, except everyone else saw no issue with it. He hated it, and it made walking back from The Typhoon more of an annoyance, every step spent scratching at an invisible itch. Maybe it was some disguised guilt over leaving after Des had just showed his face, because he was a good kid, better than he thought he was, and Gabe hadn't managed to remain unattached.

Or maybe he needed to get laid. Equally possible, that.

Either way, he was here, staring down a familiar expanse of grass. Had Laz returned, or did he stay back in the desert Gabe'd visited him in? He wanted to see him again. He wanted to see so many people again: Moon, Suiteheart, her impossibly nice wife Margaery, Versailles, Peri- hell, even Bast, despite knowing maybe a teaspoon about the guy. Without his permission -as per fucking usual- they'd become important to him. Though he wouldn't be surprised if Moon gave him the longest cold shoulder in this history of cold shoulders. Ice Age length cold shoulder.

He'd deserve it.

Resisting the urge to tear his fur out -bird-brain- Gabe rolled his shoulders, adjusting his good wing. "Where's my red carpet? I called ahead and everything."
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[ONISION.]

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ASCENDANTS
- FIREBALL
7 MONTHS OLD

PHYSICALLY varies
EMOTIONALLY hard
MENTALLY easy

DEMIHOMOSEXUAL
HOMOROMANTIC

TSUNDERE ASSHOLE
SHORT-TEMPERED
WERE-VAMPIRISM
TAGS

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♦ -
What the fuck was a red carpet? Onision didn't like assholes who thought they were all that and a bag of chips, and by the way he walked over at the announced presence of Gabriel, it was obvious that he didn't like him from the start.

You see, Onision didn't like a lot of people. He didn't get along well with people, either. His attitude usually got him to the top of the shit list, and Bast had already scolded him multiple times for it.

"What the fuck is a red carpet? Who are you?" Oni snapped impatiently, ears lying flat against his head as he stared towards the male with a single cold blue eye, the hue narrowed in suspicion, but he soon dropped his attitude, dipping his head forcefully in a begrudged greeting.

"Ugh.. My name is Onision Mikaelson-Folie, a Fireball of the Ascendants. Name and Business?" He corrected himself, ear twitching in annoyance.

[align=center]YOU'RE HARD TO HUG

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ONISION MIKAELSON-FOLIE
tough to talk to, and i never fall asleep!

© ceilidh

[MOONMADE]

[size=9pt]"Shut the fuck up, Oni."

There was no cold shoulder. Actually, as Moon scolded Onision as he always did, there was a slight, sloppy grin sitting on his maw. No real bite to his words or any care at all for the kitten. Instead, he stared straight past the boy as if he wasn't even there and to the hybrid that stood at the border. It took him a moment; his left eye was still foggy from those pirate bastards and he was becoming more short sighted with each passing day, but all it took was a step or two closer to know it was Gabriel. That classic fucking attitude gave it away, anyway.

"Thought your kind only walk planks." He said, head quirked to the side. There was no cold shoulder, yes, and his tone was playful if anything, but perhaps there was an ounce of bitterness, too. A little tiny feeling of betrayal that sat at the back of his mind. But he knew himself well enough to pay no attention to it. It would only show itself in passing remarks that had more truth to them than they seemed, veiled with loose grins and joking tones. Moon, caring? Moon, getting more attached to someone than he'd admit and not knowing how to deal with it? What a ridiculous concept. "Get tired of playing Pirates of the Caribbean, Feathers?" A pause, but he wasn't letting Gabe get away with this easily. He wasn't getting no 'Welcome back's, no glorious reunion just yet, because maybe Onision was right in his question. Maybe Moon wanted to hear the asshole say it. "You heard the man. What's your name and business, Typhooner?"

— TAGS

[LAZARUS]

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 1.4;letter-spacing:.1px"]His fever cleared up slowly. It was a hazy process, one aided by whatever people had managed to shove in his mouth and then sleep. So much sleep. He hadn't woken up for what felt like weeks, at least not for anything more than a bite of food and enough water to make him feel sick. Hazy daydreams that morphed into nightmares — familiar shapes kept disappearing, like the way Gabe would fall through his shoulders except these people fell through reality. Disappear entirely into the shadows, wispy and dying. He could never really explain it, an' he'd never really tried. It reminds him of the fever dreams he'd had when he was younger, sleeping in the alley with infected injuries that felt red hot. Half-asleep and being too scared to touch things because they might pop like bubbles, or sitting there with a racing heart as the world turned upside down around him. He got less of them now, probably since he knows how to take better care of himself. (Just less. They're not done with him yet.)

Still, the Cane Corso looks better than he did back in the desert. Less sweat, that's for sure. Healed injuries, just more things to his list of scars. And like Moon, the dog's got some kind of grin on his face. Or he will, in a second — first, green eyes narrow at Onision as he growls just faintly, and second, he makes some huffing noise at the lion that really expresses what he feels about that question (Gabe deserves to be here as much as anyone else). "Cállate, carajo. ¿Te vas a quedar, viejo?" There's almost something excited about the way he says it, and the way cropped ears perk up. He's still awkward, still out of place, but — the hybrid had always been there to help him learn. It just takes some patience and elbow grease.

[BASTILLEPAW]

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BASTILLEPRISONER AURELIUS

BY THE GRACE OF THE FIRE AND THE FLAMES

Gabe was one of those weird ones who managed to orbit into Bastille's sphere at a time when Bastille was barely in his sphere. He was fairly certain those were some of the days in which he'd been in a relative fog, every thing an idle daze as his souls cluttered his airways and their thoughts bled into his; days when he'd only been able to see the past, creeping over his own vision, making everything that was here and now feel distant. He knew Gabe, vaguely, briefly, but had never actually made a real connection to him even as those around him had, it would seem. He knew Gabe was someone they felt attached to, someone vaguely worthy of mourning the absence of, but that was about it. He was curious about Gabe, really, knowing more of him. Curious about someone who Moon actually seemed to miss.

He came idly ambling up after the lion, pale blue stare flickering first over Lazarus and Moon as they greeted Gabriel before he offered a lazy half-grin. [b]"What, get tired of Pincher's shit? Don't know how you lasted so long over there with that fucker," he drawled, evidently not too fond of the pirate still. He was a jackass, after all, and a relatively shitty enemy at that. Maybe Bast should burn their stupid ship now that Gabe was off it. Well, he'd have to get Cleo and Aita off too, he supposed. Hm.

[B]ASTRAL SERAPH — THE ASCENDANTS — [color=#e2e2e2]TAGS — [color=#e2e2e2]MOODBOARD — [color=#e2e2e2]PLAYLIST

[GABRIEL]

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-size: 9.4pt; line-height: 1.4;"]Excellent. Another boy angry at the world, at himself, at everything- now why did that sound familiar? Gabe must be some kind of magnet for the shits, though he meant that fondly. For the most part. Just because he could understand issues didn't mean his patience was infinite, especially when there was important information to communicate. So when the boy approached, all vitriol and aggression, the hybrid merely cast his gaze skyward, asking for strength from any deity he could think of. Either they didn't exist or they didn't give a shit -did it matter?- because he felt no more patient than he did when he first saw the kid. "I'll break it down for you. Red's a color. Carpet's carpet. Simple. I can draw you a picture." Dark eyes settled on the boy, flat as the rest of his facial features. Distrust Gabe could understand, but there was a screw loose if a person's first reaction to a stranger was hoisting the "raging dickhead" flag up high. Where the hell was Margaery to show him manners?

Maybe he'd be more interested in fixing the screw if he didn't have more pressing things on his mind. He wouldn't indulge himself in taking a hammer to the screw either, so he didn't make the very tempting comment on his "Fireball" status. Moon's arrival made rejecting the urge easier, while simultaneously complicating everything by virtue of being there. For all his own apprehension, it was still good to see him, especially upright and mostly recovered from the shit done to him in The Typhoon.

"Think they're the ones with the pointy stick jabbing whoever's on the plank." His stare was even, and for once, he was thankful for his low range of expressions. It made it easier to keep his cool and stay put, when he wanted to do anything but. It was...almost worse that Moon didn't snap at him, or toss anything stronger than faint bitterness his way, though if the kid really was that disaffected- maybe that was for the best. It'd have been better for him if he didn't care. "Get tired of crying yourself to sleep over li'l ol' me?" Really? Was he going to have to do the whole process? Fucking hell, he had information with an expiration date- this was a waste of his time.

Gabe was fully prepared to just walk over and find the boss-man, but seeing Laz -looking better than before- gave the hybrid pause. "¿Y porqué debo quedarme?" By the glint in his eyes, it was clearly a joke, and Gabe slipped past Moon, good wing intentionally twitching to thwack his leg as he did. He stood before the canine, and then, similar to their talk in the desert, hefted up on his back legs to gently cradle a broad face with his talons. "Por supuesto que me quedaré, mijo." A small nip to the bridge of his nose and Gabe dropped down, ignoring how the motion jarred his still healing wing. It was worth it.

Bast's arrival was a swift reminder of what news he carried, and yeah, he was relieved to see a guy in charge who wasn't Pincher, but that was for later. He could rejoice in everything he missed once he made certain those things wouldn't be permanently missed. "I had my reasons. Good ones, and I come bearing fruit. But I'd rather not share it here. Fruit attracts flies, and whatnot." A very pointed, "let's speak privately." Bast needed to hear what Gabe had to say, and Gabe needed to say it.
[align=right][i]——INFO