08-23-2018, 05:48 PM
[align=center][div style="borderwidth=0px; width: 55%; line-height:115%; text-align: justify;font-family: calibri;"]South had never been much of a team worker. They were fully capable of intermingling, of talking, or pretending like they cared about others to any degree beyond aiding their own selfish intentions. They were the exact opposite of their brother; Des had a way of putting everything and everyone before himself, trying to redeem himself despite the fact that South saw no reason for it. Life owed them nothing. He had picked up a dangerous habit that put his survival at stake... and, seeing weakness where it was, South left him without thinking twice of it.
That wasn't to say they didn't care about Des. Despite everything, he was still their brother, the only individual who knew exactly who South was and accepted all their nuances in ways others simply couldn't. He had never wanted to indulge in the lifestyle they were comfortable with, but that never meant that their respect for him had ever lessened. They still hoped he could be redeemed, could abandon his hilarious notion of redemption and embrace what they were meant to become: creatures made for destruction and chaos, powerful entities who could murder anyone they felt like at a whim, who could manipulate and twist everything and everyone to their will because they could. Des always talked about responsibility, as if things like them were bound by such a notion.
It seemed like who he was was starting to catch up to the man... and South couldn't have been any prouder.
It was a shame that he decided to move homes, although it gave them ample space to settle down in the Typhoon in his place, if only to eventually welcome him back if he ever chose to return. The Rosebloods weren't working for them, and South doubted their brother was ready to see them so soon, especially in his newly found, far more volatile state. They were willing to bet that he wouldn't take too kindly to their appearance, knowing very well that he was... sketchy when it came to their relationship, but they hoped that eventually enough time would have passed for them both to reclaim what was meant to be theirs... together.
But that would be a long, long time. There were many other things that South had to tend to, namely their untimely departure from the Rosebloods and the totally coincidental ambush that happened to meet them just before the railroad to the Typhoon. It had been a bloody, tiring mess, leaving the canine far more injured than they would have cared to admit... but at least they took the fuckers down with them, whoever they were a part of. They weren't inexperienced with such occurrences, although it seemed their senses had become dulled between then and now, for they had dealt with more than one scuffle in their lifetime when things between the groups both they and Des stayed in got heated.
Their strength was waning the closer they got to what was most likely the border of the Typhoon, the large gateway sticking out like a sore thumb among nothing else but god damn water. Perhaps it would have been better to stay still, to remain where they were and chance being found... but they didn't quite feel like dying yet, not too eager to follow after Des' mistakes. So they pushed on, muttering low curses in a mix of languages when one wasn't enough to explain the pain.
Des was always the better fighter, seemingly capable of taking down entire god damn armies without so much as a scratch... South could hold their own, but most of their expertise was in the mental portion of their little game. They dealt with business; Des stepped in when things went awry.
[ injuries = gash in throat that just barely avoided hitting anything vital, a bunch of deep wounds on right side, twisted left paw ]
That wasn't to say they didn't care about Des. Despite everything, he was still their brother, the only individual who knew exactly who South was and accepted all their nuances in ways others simply couldn't. He had never wanted to indulge in the lifestyle they were comfortable with, but that never meant that their respect for him had ever lessened. They still hoped he could be redeemed, could abandon his hilarious notion of redemption and embrace what they were meant to become: creatures made for destruction and chaos, powerful entities who could murder anyone they felt like at a whim, who could manipulate and twist everything and everyone to their will because they could. Des always talked about responsibility, as if things like them were bound by such a notion.
It seemed like who he was was starting to catch up to the man... and South couldn't have been any prouder.
It was a shame that he decided to move homes, although it gave them ample space to settle down in the Typhoon in his place, if only to eventually welcome him back if he ever chose to return. The Rosebloods weren't working for them, and South doubted their brother was ready to see them so soon, especially in his newly found, far more volatile state. They were willing to bet that he wouldn't take too kindly to their appearance, knowing very well that he was... sketchy when it came to their relationship, but they hoped that eventually enough time would have passed for them both to reclaim what was meant to be theirs... together.
But that would be a long, long time. There were many other things that South had to tend to, namely their untimely departure from the Rosebloods and the totally coincidental ambush that happened to meet them just before the railroad to the Typhoon. It had been a bloody, tiring mess, leaving the canine far more injured than they would have cared to admit... but at least they took the fuckers down with them, whoever they were a part of. They weren't inexperienced with such occurrences, although it seemed their senses had become dulled between then and now, for they had dealt with more than one scuffle in their lifetime when things between the groups both they and Des stayed in got heated.
Their strength was waning the closer they got to what was most likely the border of the Typhoon, the large gateway sticking out like a sore thumb among nothing else but god damn water. Perhaps it would have been better to stay still, to remain where they were and chance being found... but they didn't quite feel like dying yet, not too eager to follow after Des' mistakes. So they pushed on, muttering low curses in a mix of languages when one wasn't enough to explain the pain.
Des was always the better fighter, seemingly capable of taking down entire god damn armies without so much as a scratch... South could hold their own, but most of their expertise was in the mental portion of their little game. They dealt with business; Des stepped in when things went awry.
[ injuries = gash in throat that just barely avoided hitting anything vital, a bunch of deep wounds on right side, twisted left paw ]
♔ — I want brimstone in my garden
