THE DEVIL'S FIRE // MURDER

[GABRIEL]

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-size: 9.4pt; line-height: 1.4;"]/please wait for Laz!

It was a problem.

The dog. It was too close to the front's mind, a stubborn burr Reaper needed gone before he could continue. Inconsequential to the plan itself but a potential threat to it. If the dog interfered or became involved, Reaper would not risk the weak-willed face of this operation to wilt and jeopardize the entire objective, and what better way to knock a piece off the board than coax the others into doing it for him? Death riled them so easily, was a tool Reaper could wield with finesse.

Direct injury of it was ill-advised, would result in destabilization as well as a ruination of the plan, but he was nothing if not capable of twisting the tables in his favor, in rooting out the loopholes and seizing them for his benefit. He did not need to harm the antlered dog directly when, again, he had his instruments wandering the territory, unknowingly caught in a web he needed only to strum.

And play a tune he did, with the desperate cries of another mutt on fire, whose mind flashed with images of a dark Cane Corso. Around its body, he planted paw-prints, his own intangible, and he arranged them in the pattern of a scuffle. A smattering of torn rabbit decorated the area, as though it had been torn between two forces. A bit of the gray fur was in the mutt's mouth, singed by flame but visible. Once it reached a certain point of jerking thrashes, he leaned down, muzzle shifting to something squarer and more canine, and he tore the throat. It was not clean. It was meant to be a frenzy, and Reaper allowed himself a taste, shuddering with the hunger.

It was nothing the target hadn't done before.

He stepped back from the scene. It smelled of blood, smoke, and fear, and below it was the scent of the dog, spread by use of the blanket it slept with. That was back in the dog's room. More incriminating was the sign his disguise had created for the dog many weeks ago, the rope torn as though frayed in a struggle.

Lazarus would be by soon. It liked this spot.

With one last glance cast about, the lion disappeared.

/uh yes so basically NotGabe has framed Laz for murder
[align=right][i]——INFO

[ONISION.]

Tracking!

[LAZARUS]

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 1.4;letter-spacing:.1px"]If there was one thing Lazarus had learned in his life before The Ascendants, before Gabe, it was that in the end, he was alone. Nobody had his back. So he had learned not to expect it, but to relish in it when he could. There was no point in feeling bitter over something's loss — if it never meant anything, it would never hurt. In action, that mentality had fostered a sort of ruthlessness in the dog. Gabriel had picked him up off of a street corner because of his own failure to kill the hybrid, and before that he survived through his own force of will. He wanted to live more than the others, he was more capable of living than the others. So why not? Why not take what he needed or wanted or just — thought of? Why not? Dark thoughts had been fostered by darker people, and in saving him, Gabe had rid the world of creatures worse than him. (Were they? Worse, that is. He's trying; it's not enough.)

Over the months, though, the dog had softened. Piece by piece, bit by bit. Memories of rotting food and bared teeth faded slowly as they were replaced with the way that light bounced off of their Starpool. He read better, he talked better, he didn't feel so terribly distant from everyone around him. The medics seemed to care about him, the way that they care for everyone, and when Gabe had been off on his mission, Lazarus had... adjusted. First to the guilt — before that, he had never known what it felt like to regret his actions — and then to the people. With time, he hadn't hated the world so fiercely. That doesn't mean that he doesn't remember it.

Anger still burns underneath his skin like a smoldering fire, ready to ignite again at the slightest change in the breeze. Now it comes literally. People brush too close to him, say something to sharp, and red wreathes around him, lights up the slick black of his fur. And it feels like — he feels like a lost cause, an' he feels like everyone knows it. He knows there's at least someone out there that wouldn't agree, but the feeling still has the canine leaving the Observatory more often than usual, which was saying something. He had spent most of his day so far lazing at the edge of the forest or the Starpool, rotating between the two whenever things got noisy or he just needed a change of scenery. Now, with his stomach full and hunger sated, is a great time for one of those shifts. What he had hoped would be a peaceful nap near the water is suddenly anything but. The familiar scents of death and fire draw Lazarus in with a wrinkled nose, head cocked in confusion until he stands right in the midst of it.

A hundred things click into place at once. Green eyes widen and his stomach drops to the dirt. (Your fault? It's not your fault. You didn't do this.) Despite his own assurances, hindered by his own fear, Laz isn't entirely sure if he believes his mantra.

[BABY —]

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PINK RIBBON SCARS

THAT NEVER FORGET. I'VE TRIED SO HARD TO C L E A N S E THESE REGRETS.

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// rushed so please lmk if i misread anything!

Getting better. That was what Titan was constantly striving for. No, not on terms of physical wellness, but in terms of mind. In terms of morality. He had told himself that he was no longer who he once was, and there was no way in hell that he would give in once more to his bloodstained tendencies. He had come to the Ascendants and was learning how to properly—normally—socialize with other beings. Titan didn't have to be what someone else wanted to be any longer. He was free to be his true self — and that was much more difficult than he could have imagined. But then again, it was hard transitioning from being a simple pawn in a wicked game to being an i n d i v i d u a l .

The lion was found standing there, directly in the back from the Cane Corso. He didn't say anything, not at first. His amber visionaries narrowed into slits as they darted back-and-forth between the scene of the crime. A body, blood, strewn entrails. This sight did not put Titan off; it was nothing he wasn't accustomed to already. His expression remained neutral, unmoving, unaffected. Titan's eyes locked onto the patches of gray fur that were gracelessly trailing out of the victim's muzzle, and he could easily put two-and-two together.

"What happened?" Questioned the observer, his tone borderline demanding of the younger Ascendant. He stood firm, noticeably a little tense and ready to move quickly should Lazarus react in aggression.

[MOONMADE]

[size=9pt]What the fuck was going on.

It was a headspin. The whole thing. Between Sunhaven, Harland being captured, and still trying to get his grasp on leadership, Moon was falling to bits quicker than a drunk game of Jenga. He'd watched the sun fall and rise that day and hadn't gotten a wink of sleep in between either. His mind was racing like a Thoroughbred on steroids and he couldn't fucking sit still, so he'd decided to go for a walk. Because walks are what everyone claims is the fix. But ten minutes in he comes across Lazarus, Titan, and a mauled corpse on the ground, and he realizes that was a fucking lie and walks only make shit worse. Had he stayed locked up in The Control Room, he would have never stumbled upon this colossal mess.

He stays silent for a few moment. Hazy eyes track the tear of skin at the body's lips, where its face is mangled and gruesome, and it's only Titan's voice that wakes him from whatever trance he falls into. 'What happened?' says the other lion, and, almost on instinct, Moon's voice bites, "Titan." The look the Seraph casts him is a warning, bordering on a reprimanding. Titan is entirely justified in his tone, but Moon is a ridiculously loyal creature and the strange sense of fondness he'd grown for the Gabe's aloof companion had started early. He wasn't about to let it go, after all this time.

Uncharacteristically still, almost painfully controlled in his movements, Moon steps forward and subconsciously places himself between the two. He sets the canine with a gaze that's so far from accusatory it should be laughable - but there's a dead body on the floor, so it's not. The look he does give him is something exhausted, patient. "Laz." He says, steady. "Did you do this?"

[azazel.]

In hindsight, maybe Azazel taking a walk had been a bad idea. He hadn't wanted to stumble across anything that would upset him. But what else was he to do? He could move his right wing with just a twinge of pain, and while his leg still brought pain it was quickly beginning to fade as well. His unnatural healing rate was still a mystery, but it was a welcome one if it brought him from whatever pain he had suffered when he first fell.  He had just wanted to explore the territory, now that the pain had almost disappeared.

So walking the territory had been what he was doing until he smelt it. A scent that almost made him gag, one that almost made him back away. But others were moving forwards, and, despite what he wanted to do, Azazel followed. The sight that greeted him was quick to make him stop in his tracks, however. A bloody mess of a canine, and the much larger one sitting in the midst of it. Despite instinct telling him to stop, to leave the victim alone, Azazel stumbled forwards.

Pressing against the canine's torn throat, he nudged at it weakly, wincing as he realized the crimson staining his paws. He didn't know, he didn't understand. He had a feeling that something was bad, that it was wrong. That the canine shouldn't be so cold. "Why won't they move?"

♡♡♡
tags

[ONISION.]

[table]
[tr]
[td]

ONISION M.F.

— WHEN WE'RE IN YOUR BED

[size=8pt]tags - plotting - reference

the ascendants
- lunar lieutenant
8 months old

physically varies
emotionally hard
mentally easy

demihomosexual
homoromantic

tsundere asshole
dating alexander

were-vampirism
known to shift into aloysius

[/td][td]

"The fucker killed 'em, kid." Onision muttered out as he walked over, nearly drooling at the sight of a dead body. Blood, he could drink from this corpse, but Oni made no move to do so. He could deal with this, he could calm himself down. He didn't know who killed the guy, but the chocolate felidae was sure it was Lazarus. No its ands or buts, He wasn't one to just give someone the benefit of the doubt. If they looked like they did it, Oni blamed them. Maybe that was his fault, he'd probably need that corrected later on in his life, but for now, he felt it was justified.

Cold, stern. His single blue eye held no warm emotion in it as he watched the whole shabam go down, his tail whisking over the ground as he tried to shoo away the smell of blood, of soon rotting flesh. He could go hunt after this, he could go feed then.

all you give me is a heartbeat —

[/td][/tr][/table]

[W]isker

[LAZARUS]

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 1.4;letter-spacing:.1px"]Lazarus won't realize until later just how damning his immediate reaction is. Titan approaches him and he whirls, chest lower to the ground and his ears pinned to his head. White teeth flash under dark gums as he opens his mouth in a growl. He looks every bit like the cornered beast he is — just for a moment, but it's enough. Maybe not enough for Moon, because out of this entire crowd, he's the only one who knows that he'd tear someone apart for walking too close, but that he was working on it. Desperate green eyes flicker from Titan to the lion and then back again, the edges of his face slowly, slowly softening. "I don't know." Which question is he answering? Who is he talking to? Titan, Moon, Azazel. I don't know I don't know I don't know. The scene in front of him looks every bit like something he would have done. Scorched earth and fur, and the throat — Lazarus swallows, searching for the taste of blood in his mouth that doesn't come from his lunch. How could he tell them apart?

He wants to push Azazel away from the corpse, but he takes a step forward and realizes that his paws are still bloody (lunch lunch lunch, not this). So he doesn't walk closer, just in case. Just in case this is his fault. The fire doesn't flare up, even though his skin starts to prickle. Desperation. Fear. The Cane Corso's pulse races and he shakes. His posture hasn't changed from the defensive shift he'd picked up as soon as Titan showed up, his weight shifted downwards. Onision's comment stops him from straightening up any, his eyes now a little wider. "I didn't kill anyone," he insists with an audible snap of his teeth. Did he? He has before. (Just like that one. Not this one.)

/ oops it's almost midnight hopefully this makes sense

[GABRIEL]

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-size: 9.4pt; line-height: 1.4;"]This was...shit. Everything was shit lately, and Gabe was so tired, but the headache, the exhaustion, the constant concern of waking up to yet another Sunhaven member standing in the corridor- none of it mattered right now, with Lazarus surrounded by people, standing in the middle of a murder scene, looking so like he had when Gabriel first found him: terrified, cornered, and prepared to fight to the death. He ached for him. Moon Gabe could trust, but the other two -and the poor, bewildered child- did not know Lazarus as well. Naturally, Gabe knew him best, but the worst aspect of this was the accuracy, the similarities. The fire. The struggle over food. The way the victim's throat was torn, like there'd been taste involved rather than pure, single-minded murder, because living on the streets was hard, even harder when the big dogs on the block would feed them to each other for entertainment. Laz did what he had to for survival, and he was improving, Gabe knew it, but it was surreal to see this for what it was.

"Mijo, todo va estar bien. Te creo." If Lazarus said he didn't, then he didn't. Simple as that. "Ven aquí. Déjame ayudarte."

//of course it makes sense you dingus

[align=right][i]——INFO

[LAZARUS]

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 1.4;letter-spacing:.1px"]Everything had been shit long before this single incident. Laz was aware of what was going on — never a part of it, never a part of anything — but his own fight started long before this place's war. In a way, he's glad for the violence. Easier to fade into the background when people have things going on. But when they'd showed up here, Gabe settled on his back and nipping at his ear, had he expected this? The slow deterioration, the burning. He can't help but feel that the effort Gabe put into him to get him this far was a waste. They've gone full circle, nothing's changed. Short-cropped ears are pinned to his head and his teeth are bared. Get out of here as soon as you can, kid. He hadn't listened then, doesn't know to how at this point, but finds himself wanting to heed that childhood knowledge more than he ever has before. He wants to run, live his life in a quiet hole in the ground. Lazarus had never learned how to do anything cleanly, and he can't win in a world that now demands something soft.

But at his appearance, he relaxes. Just enough to straighten up, his weight now far away from the crowd surrounding him. Although the Cane Corso doesn't look at him, green eyes instead flitting between everyone else, that in itself is a sign of trust. The one person here that he knows won't leave him to the vultures. Hearing him talk, something cracks open in his chest. Regret, fear, relief, everything he doesn't know comes pouring out despite the crowd. "No sé qué pasó," he begs — promise you believe me, please please please. Maybe he was going crazy, losing his mind.

/ pbbbllttt you're a dingus