08-26-2018, 03:00 PM
[align=center][div style="borderwidth=0px; width: 55%; line-height:115%; text-align: justify;font-family: calibri;"]His name and body weren't his own, and, by extension, that meant that no matter where he traveled he could never truly connect. Some places lasted longer than others in convincing the man to stay, drawing him in and lulling him into a sense of comfort that was hard to escape. He always did, however. In the end, there was nothing left for him to stay for, as he watched people talk, laugh, cry... and forget about him as his presence became less pronounced and he withdrew for both his own and their safety. It was a never ending cycle, and whereas at first it hurt... now it only ached to leave behind places he had hoped he would grow to call home.
This time the home he was leaving behind was the Pitt, one of the few he was glad to be abandoning. It had proven to be a good hideout for him if only because he felt that he wouldn't regret killing anyone there lest he lose control. It was a constant fear of his, one that was not unbiased given just how many times before he had held innocent blood on his paws because he simply couldn't manage his own self... but among demons and murderers he could care less who he murdered in cold blood when the part of him he despised took over. It would be one less in the world, and, maybe if he was lucky, he'd be gone by the end as well, killed by those seeking revenge.
So far that hadn't happened, but Des knew better than to hope. His luck had a funny way of running out at the worst times.
And so he set out to find another home to call his own, the thought of returning to the Typhoon briefly crossing his mind but not long enough to transform it into action. He already knew he wouldn't be remembered, and the only individual he figured would be worth seeing would be Gabriel... but it was best for both of them that he was forgotten by the man as well. It would save both of them the pain when things turned to shit for him once again and he couldn't tell friend from foe.
He didn't want to be the death of one of the only people he had formed some sort of tentative bond with, but worse than that, he didn't want to see the disappointment in his face that he had seen a thousand times over on faces who had trusted him as well. There was never any anger, no sadness... just disappointment and understanding that made his insides twist and the guilt build up until it wrenched him out of his violent state, pulling him back into the presence only to drown him in the pain.
Was he so visibly broken as to warrant such an expression? Did it take nothing more than a single glance for people to realize that he was plagued by nightmares each evening, that the cigarette was a vice formed out of necessity to keep him sane, that no matter how hard he tried to keep both himself and everything else around him together it had yet to work out thus far?
For now he was calm, although the bags underneath the lion's eyes told stories that words couldn't. He hadn't slept for the past three days, long enough for hallucinations to start seeping into his vision during the day as well. For now he would ignore the need for rest until he needed it more than water, fearing what would be in his head when he closed his eyes more than what he could barely make out while they were open. The smoke in his eyes kept them open, pouring steadily out of the cigarette clenched tightly between his jaws as strong paws carried him through the land. At first glance it wouldn't seem he was exhausted beyond sanity, carrying himself as effortlessly as he ever did... but the closer one got the more it would become obvious that Des simply wasn't well. It was hidden in the nuances of his movements; the frantic way his gaze darted around, glancing at things that others didn't see; the tense strain in his muscles that made it obvious he was one step away from killing something lest he be surprised; the scars that marred his entire body, the slight limp to his walk.
He was broken... but he had a good way of pretending he was fine. It was an art he had mastered at this point, an easy grin already tugging on his lips as he paused just short of the border, waiting for someone to address him. He just hoped that his scent wouldn't put anyone off - he had tried his best to rub as much of the stench of the Pitt from off of his fur as he could, but he couldn't get rid of the smell of death and decay enough.
[ this is shitty and half assed, im sorry,,, take it before I second guess myself and delete it all //wheezes ]
This time the home he was leaving behind was the Pitt, one of the few he was glad to be abandoning. It had proven to be a good hideout for him if only because he felt that he wouldn't regret killing anyone there lest he lose control. It was a constant fear of his, one that was not unbiased given just how many times before he had held innocent blood on his paws because he simply couldn't manage his own self... but among demons and murderers he could care less who he murdered in cold blood when the part of him he despised took over. It would be one less in the world, and, maybe if he was lucky, he'd be gone by the end as well, killed by those seeking revenge.
So far that hadn't happened, but Des knew better than to hope. His luck had a funny way of running out at the worst times.
And so he set out to find another home to call his own, the thought of returning to the Typhoon briefly crossing his mind but not long enough to transform it into action. He already knew he wouldn't be remembered, and the only individual he figured would be worth seeing would be Gabriel... but it was best for both of them that he was forgotten by the man as well. It would save both of them the pain when things turned to shit for him once again and he couldn't tell friend from foe.
He didn't want to be the death of one of the only people he had formed some sort of tentative bond with, but worse than that, he didn't want to see the disappointment in his face that he had seen a thousand times over on faces who had trusted him as well. There was never any anger, no sadness... just disappointment and understanding that made his insides twist and the guilt build up until it wrenched him out of his violent state, pulling him back into the presence only to drown him in the pain.
Was he so visibly broken as to warrant such an expression? Did it take nothing more than a single glance for people to realize that he was plagued by nightmares each evening, that the cigarette was a vice formed out of necessity to keep him sane, that no matter how hard he tried to keep both himself and everything else around him together it had yet to work out thus far?
For now he was calm, although the bags underneath the lion's eyes told stories that words couldn't. He hadn't slept for the past three days, long enough for hallucinations to start seeping into his vision during the day as well. For now he would ignore the need for rest until he needed it more than water, fearing what would be in his head when he closed his eyes more than what he could barely make out while they were open. The smoke in his eyes kept them open, pouring steadily out of the cigarette clenched tightly between his jaws as strong paws carried him through the land. At first glance it wouldn't seem he was exhausted beyond sanity, carrying himself as effortlessly as he ever did... but the closer one got the more it would become obvious that Des simply wasn't well. It was hidden in the nuances of his movements; the frantic way his gaze darted around, glancing at things that others didn't see; the tense strain in his muscles that made it obvious he was one step away from killing something lest he be surprised; the scars that marred his entire body, the slight limp to his walk.
He was broken... but he had a good way of pretending he was fine. It was an art he had mastered at this point, an easy grin already tugging on his lips as he paused just short of the border, waiting for someone to address him. He just hoped that his scent wouldn't put anyone off - he had tried his best to rub as much of the stench of the Pitt from off of his fur as he could, but he couldn't get rid of the smell of death and decay enough.
[ this is shitty and half assed, im sorry,,, take it before I second guess myself and delete it all //wheezes ]
♔ — I want brimstone in my garden
