patient is the night | group of joiners

[Blazic]

[alaric g.]

    Why was it that no heavenly satellite was capable of illuminating the swamp? Perhaps it was not the most astute observation, but it was true regardless. The mire seemed to only grow progressively more dim the farther one ventured in, so much so that even navigating in the daytime was inherently difficult. That didn't even take into account the off-putting stench and the muddy, boggy earth that characterized every place in the swamp that wasn't aquatic.

    Even still, new joiners seemed to crop up every day. It was to be marveled at, really, at how much Tanglewood had grown since he had joined, which really wasn't all that long ago. Whether it be through bearing children or good, old-fashioned joining, Tanglewood had surely exploded. That was not debatable.

    At the moment, Alaric found himself out in the swamp on yet another midnight walk. It stunk, as always, but he was growing used to it. Slowly. At some point, a foreign scent invaded his senses. A strong scent, at that. Its potency suggested that more than one animal with the same stench had gathered somewhere. What was that? Alaric had to know. With that, he made for smell's place of origin.

    It didn't take quite as long as he thought it would to find the source, which was apparently a six-man crew of... well, they were just a crew, it seemed. None of the creatures' bodies were remotely the same, with sizes and species ranging from a viper to a bear of all things. There was a certain tension to the air, too, although he would make an attempt to suppress the effects that the tension had on his body. After having eavesdropped for a few moments—long enough to take in some of the conversation—he emerged from the underbrush, freely chiming in. "It would be best if we didn't instigate hostility, yes?" came the tabby's low voice. His words had no specific audience, but it was clear that they were intended mostly for Aurum and Snarl.

♔ don't do love, don't do friends

[Grimm]

[align=center][div style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11px; width: 60%; text-align: justify; line-height:120%"]Churned sediment grown into a thickened slurry of cloying earth overladen by moisture over top, rich the layered hues of soil rooted within brittle strands. Loose assemblance, scattered the delicate speckling of darkened freckles laid as though stones within the sluggish tide of gurgling creek. Yet it was of other loose focal points of shifting interest that depths of soft ebon found, at once cruel and fascinating the markings of time wrought upon false flesh.

Peeled back from the discoloured curl of enamel of odd shading the ragged ribbon of parted skin, the frozen imagery of permanent youth marred. Bisected the dark speckling of furrowed brow, the tepid light of honey spiked brown grown fervent beneath the crackling spark of accumulating rage, fine the veil about tempered threat. Indeed, of note the bridging of widened abyss, gentle the budding sensation of familiarity drawn about the stilted progression of spiralling thought. Once more did lips of earthen hued scale part, the lingering press of query silenced beneath the shrill loft of hoarse utterance.

How do you know Beck.

Of numerous occasions prior to that forged about a poor beginning fraught with short flares sparking beneath lifted match ponderance of such had occurred, though worn beneath the ceaseless beat of gathered centuries the few memories held in grief stricken recollection. Selfish, such most of it, a quiet parsing of static woven scenes seeking a manner to silence the cloying voices of disheartened rage, seeking a singular thread among that amassed that may lay to fitful rest an over burdened soul. But was not deserved it, a poorly treasured memento of a time her own blind faith had turned upon her with venom soaked fangs.

Too long had transpired, near enough to palpable the heavy gloom obscuring atmosphere laced with the pale light of bleeding moon. "We do not mean any har-"

Cruel the intention of wandering hands plucking along their strings, the resonance of intrusive entrance silencing the soft placation drawn across the forked extension of flicking tongue. Had not been the gentle light of soul encased in the prison of fallible flesh been that of heavenly origin well placed the titilage of angel, wreathed in the silver hued flame the wings of smelted gold, a transfixing sight. Harsh that which settled upon gilded marble countenance, planes joined by barely softened edging, arresting the sapphire inset settled against the oddity of covered partner. Had been she of a more sound mind possibly question such, yet of sense none did she bear beneath the scrutiny of angelic rage.

Tepid the familiar song of whiskey laced tone, placating beneath the offering of formal title. Vein the budding growth of delicate hope rooted about her ribs, forth drawn she as his voice faded upon final syllable, yet impeded her progression. Thoughtful the manner within which forth did the broad paws bearing the course gathering of ebony shift, apparent the manner marked her own halted progression in the relative safety of his undercarriage. Well among their numerous number the inclination to that of stubborn protection, of no matter his own well-being within the issue of compromised safety.

"Ambrose," gentle her voice as forth did she creep once more, loose the encirclement of thick wrist. Among brittle strands did head press for moments brief but quick in their passing, at once familiar and sorrow inducing the actions performed with a lack of assisting thought. "Be calm. Anger shall only hinder us."

Another. Fretful apparition crafted from creaking bone laced with close pressed skin, adorned with a coat of monotone hues. A vessel bearing upon shoulders layered with scraggly coat and overflowing cascade of lifted mohawk following the ridge of curled spine the heat of gathered rage, a mere mutt bearing the tattered remains of once constricting muzzle and chains, given a fretful freedom upon which fill had been taken. Had been she gifted that which may shutter dark depths at half mast would have the narrowed vision settled upon rank beast of unquenchable fervour, yet she had not been. Settled, instead, was she for looking upon her with the drawn out note of a hiss dancing upon exposed tips of hollow fangs.

Cruel, if of a short life, the dark warning dying on tongue, of a more sullen disposition figure next to insert self within gathering throng. Of a multitude beyond reasonable tally that which clustered about family, indeed, an oddity that for of no apparent bond they which acted with heated passion, singular seemed the voice of reason. Soothed the flared temper sullying her own disquieted thought, relief a gentle brush encircling slowing circuit. "I apologise for our reception… We did not expect such hostility." Had been such upon thoughts it may well have been similar the outcome, mere matter of perspective offering what past might only guess at. From where she had encircled the extremity of towering ursidae disentangled the viper to permit her chance to bridge that which separated the two gathered assemblies, yet within the empty land between did her progression halt.

"Please, allow me to start this on a better note. I am Florence Finch, we did not come with intent to harm Beck, and if he wishes us to depart we shall do so-" apparent the direction of vision as the words fell from scaled lips, though back did it shift, imparted a clear message. They would not linger any longer than they were welcome, elsewhere their search may be conducted. "We are not of this land and do not know your ways, we merely wish to know if our brother is present."

[deimos]

The face that poked through the undergrowth of the swamp, originally, was one that made the falcon wince a bit. The scarred cheek of his, exposing teeth, was one that the falcon could say she was glad she didn't have. However, it wasn't long before she sensed another presence, her talons shifting a bit in Ambrose's thick fur, tensing her body up. The lion that approached looked lovely, don't get her wrong, lion symbolism was pretty big where she came from- but it was angry. An angry soul, one that made Bridget shift a bit.

When Ambrose stepped forward she shifted herself a bit, coming to the ground of the swamp, her talons shifting a bit and her wings tucking neatly against her side. She let her siblings speak to the lion, her eyes instead turning towards Beck instead, some kind of pity there, but she turned her eyes away again. "It seems this place is less friendly then I hoped." She chirped softly, her talons gripping the moss beneath her. She sighed, almost thickly, as another unwelcome face approached.

A hyena.

Her head tilted crudely, clicking her beak together, as the hyena herself regarded the situation with hostility. Not far behind her was the tabby, and her feathers fluffy up a bit. She sighed, hanging her head for a moment, before lifting her beak and speaking just after Florence finished her piece. "That thought is for him to decide. Or the leader of this place, and judging by your speech, I have a feeling the hierarchy doesn't lay with you." When Bridget spoke to Snarl, of course, none of her words were hostile, just tense. She then shifted a bit, and introduced herself as Flo had.

"My name is Bridget Finch."

"SPEECH"

code by spacexual

[Margery]

An audible release of breath puffed from the collie's mouth as the first Tangler made his appearance. The conviction that this first stranger was their little brother so strong it stole the air from the 15th century spirit's lungs. Margery's eyes, two pinpoints of golden hazel, brightened at the sight, giving her muddied form a sense of vitality. How do you know Beck? He said, giving ample reason to doubt her fierce conviction, but Margery already tripped and had fallen deep into her fantastical idealism.

Seven years, they claimed, was the age of reason. Margery was seven years old when Beck disappeared. She knew something was missing then, and she was certain she would know when her heart became whole once more. There were not six of them, there were seven. Seven was a holy number. Seven symbolized the wholeness and perfection. There could be no mistake.

Not much time had elapsed before a new and towering figure touched down to the earth, carrying the same sort of wariness as Beck did, though she was confused to as of why. Margery, for all her purposes and appearances, resembled a common street mutt and mongrel, hardly anything to be frightened by — though she understood that Tobias was frightened by canine animals, and this troubled her deeply.

Margery listened thoughtfully to her brothers as they reasserted their stance. Her elbows bent slightly to assume a humble stance once Snarl made her appearance. The dog understood no borders, as the concept of a nation-state had not been developed in her human life, and she had spent the last half-century wandering like a dog, transcending borders. This she realized, was a civilization of sorts. The next member made less menacing moves, but she wondered what good it would do against the two larger animals.

Her sisters took their turn to speak, but Margery notably stayed taciturn. Her eyes betrayed a certain and peculiar sorrow. Decades of not using her human tongue had rendered her to an almost mute-like state. The fate of joining up with her siblings again was thrust upon her, and she was slowly starting to relearn once more thanks to that. This is why some of the words went over her head. It was also why she did not introduce herself. Someone would have to do it for her, or perhaps she would gather the tongue to speak it. But Margery didn't seem to mind too much. She read their faces instead. Actions speak so much louder than words, of course.

As if acting by some will that was not her own, Margery stepped forward, one delicate white paw sinking into the mud with a strange squelching sound. She was close enough to perhaps brush past Ambrose as she slowly exposed herself. She took another step, in Beck's direction. Her eyes blinked slowly, eyelashes speckled with mud fluttering. The freckles spread across the bridge of her nose was apparent. She said nothing, of course, and by no means her gaze was meant to be taken as one who is evaluating or examining. He was a person, not a threat or a freak of nature. If his rat-like form or missing cheek unnerved her, Margery betrayed no outward emotion of it. Because it just simply didn't. And she loved him.

[beck.]

[align=center]

    He wasn't sure what he expected. The words that stumbled from their wary accented tongues hit him like a truck-- no, a train, skidding sideways and sparking down its derailed tracks while he stood frozen, a deer gawking at headlights as a whistle screeched the ear-piercing truth. At that moment, his world spiraled off its orbit while his paws remained sunken in the mire, grass brushing his ankles as his joints locked. No, this wasn't right-- this wasn't supposed to happen. Was it? Dumbfounded, the poltergeist took to silence, falling back on his rear as his legs buckled with his mouth parted slightly and face blank. What was he supposed to do? Could he do anything? Since when had he ever been in control?

    The train refused to pause its momentum for him to process anything spoken, crushing him against the rails and continuing on down the tunnel, its passengers trying to reason with the patrol surrounding. He swallowed dryly, all purpose of his prior stroll lost. Voices of others muffled by the haze, he stared numbly up toward the sheepdog stepping forward. His shoulders slumped. Beck grit his crooked teeth, undersized chest inflating with a wheezy breath. "...I'm Beck," he finally admitted, his name sticking oddly to his tongue like a foreign paste, dripping and oozing sickly as his stomach plummeted. The seventhborn, the unwanted, the orphan.

    His reaction lagged behind the impact. For a couple of moments, the boy watched the others vacantly, honey-brown eyes glazed by shock. Then all at once, his lip began to quiver, his eyes began to water, and his breathing began to hitch. His face scrunched as an overwhelming surge of emotion walloped him, knocking all dignity and pride from him as a wretched sob broke his silence.

    Funnily enough, not much had changed since his family had last seen him. He was still a pathetic, blubbering crybaby.

[MERGED]

[align=center][div style="text-align:justify;width:50%;font-family:verdana"]im beck. tobias didn't remember much about beck. he remembered a few things, like how he vaguely looked, a drawing he'd made in the dirt days before he disappeared, years later when his siblings could hardly say his name anymore, the way it brought tears to their eye. he briefly wondered if that's what happened when he went missing, if they were like that years after his death- but quickly pushed his thoughts to the back of his head. this wasn't something he should be thinking about when they had found their long lost little brother.

"well.. looks like you at least got the deer genes from someone.. you look like you got caught by a hunter-" he breathed, looking to flo and ambrose, wondering how they might react. should he be crying? was that how he should be reacting in this situation? he could feel stevens slightering forward on his head to get a better look at beck, so he lowered his head a bit, which also seemed to give him a slightly better look at beck. "i.. i didn't know you well, but i'm really glad we found you.." and now beck was crying. oh, shit.

[selby roux !]

[align=center][div style="width: 51%; text-align: justify; font-size: 10pt; letter-spacing: -1px; font-family: georgia;"]A commotion lulled Selby from a lazy stroll, and he quickly made his way over. An excessive amount of noise was never a good thing, especially not in Tanglewood. A lot of people were congregated here, Beck one of them. He watched for a moment as his son broke down in tears, concern stirring him to come over and wrap an arm gently around his shoulders. He pulls him closer and leans forward to tenderly murmur, “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

Now for the sources of the tears.

A gaggle of strangers stood before them, and it wasn’t hard to see that they were the reasons for his sudden sadness. His eyes narrowed a bit, taking in each and every one of them. Despite the differing species, it wasn’t difficult to spot a familial similarity between themselves and the weeping ghost in his grasp.

Selby had supposed that it was likely that Beck had had siblings in his life. However, not much thought had been dedicated to the idea. It had been centuries ago, and in those hundreds of years, not one of them had shown themselves. Why now? he couldn’t help but think bitterly. They’d been dead too. They seemed to remember him. Surely if they had looked... He quickly turned from these bitter thoughts. It was important to give the benefit of the doubt. He didn’t know the story.

“Hello,” he says to the group, again looking them all over. “My name is Selby. I’m Beck’s father.” Dropping the ‘adopted’ from the title was deliberate. It only served to separate the ghost from his biological children, when indeed there was none in his mind. Beck was truly one of his own.

[wormwood.]

☆ HUNG PICTURES OF PATRON SAINTS UP ON MY WALL TO REMIND ME THAT I AM A FOOL. TELL ME WHERE I CAME FROM, WHAT I WILL ALWAYS BE: JUST A SPOILED LITTLE KID WHO WENT TO CATHOLIC SCHOOL —

Family. Siblings. Apparently, this ragtag band of animals was a group composed entirely of Beck's siblings. The notion would've seemed absolutely nonsensical to Aurum, if he didn't know about the practices of shapeshifting and possession – not to mention the intricacies of spirits. Still, the revelation didn't exactly put the proxy at ease, per se. He supposed it made sense that Beck would have siblings of some kind, but where had they been, and why were they here now? Had they simply been searching, or was it just that now there was something about finding Beck that could be used to their advantage? The same feeling of unease that had come with Poetking's return settled heavy in Aurum's chest, even if these were not his siblings. He still allowed his fur to lie flat, however. He forced himself to calm, not wanting to terrify or run the boy's siblings off when this was possibly the first time in centuries that he had seen them all – that is, if they were who they said they were. Swallowing back the unpleasant taste of suspicions in his mouth, the lion rumbled with a dip of his head, "My apologies for the hostility... but Tanglewood is not exactly a group unused to conflict, and you can understand my worry when a large group of strangers shows up asking for one of our members." Perhaps they couldn't understand. Either way, the fact was that he didn't feel wrong for exhibiting a healthy amount of caution.

It was odd, seeing Beck cry with such emotion. The angel had seen the boy cry before, such as when he had been wailing in panic and sorrow after the houseboat fire. Aside from that, however, Aurum had not been around for most of the feline's most vulnerable and emotional moments. He averted his gaze from the male when the sobbing started, figuring that Beck wouldn't want everyone staring at him while he cried. He was grateful when Selby came over, watching as the sawbone acted as a caring father to his adopted son. It was sweet to see, and since Selby saw fit to turn his attention to introducing himself to the newcomers, Aurum decided he might as well too. Stepping back a bit so that he didn't seem as hostile and intimidating, the lion muttered warmly to the gathered group, "...I suppose I'm glad that family has been reunited today. Welcome to Tanglewood. My name is Aurum, and I'm the second in command around here, hence my worry. I... I suppose I'm also technically Beck's uncle, on some level." He knew that Beck would never deign to admit such a thing, but considering Selby and Moth had adopted the boy, they technically had hardly relation between them. It only seemed fair to tell the spirit's siblings as well. Giving them one last once over, he continued, "Seeing as you have a lot to catch up on... are all of you interested in joining? Or have you simply come to visit Beck?" He hated to bring up the technicalities of their visit, but if the lot of them all joined... well, they'd have plenty of time to speak after Beck calmed down.

[div style="text-align: right; text-transform: uppercase; text-shadow: 0px 0px 2px #1B1B2F; font-size: 24px;"][color=#44437F]— AURUM

#psychosocial.

[Margery]

It was Beck. Margery allowed herself to smile.

Her own heartstrings were painfully yanked as the poltergeist burst into tears. She was naturally emphatic, but this moved her much deeper than most things. It was no ordinary occasion to suddenly be reunited with a family after half a millennium. Her shoulder bones shifted, but meekly kept her ground when Selby came forth, immediately recognizing Selby's great status in regards to Beck. She knew, quite obviously, that Selby was not his biological father, but father was a title that was given by merit and not blood.

She averted her eyes, gazing down at her speckled white forepaws, remembering her own father with an empty sight. She did not know what Beck went through while they were gone, she did not know what any of her siblings did after she married and moved. Margery could taste the unease of the air, especially the narrowing stare of Selby, made her feel that they were being judged. Margery had not met with any of her siblings after her death until now. But she wasn't going to justify herself, she saw no reason to.

For Margery's case, Aurum was right in thinking she wouldn't understand. To some degree at least. His explanation did little to soothe her feeling of not being accepted. Preconceived notions were natural, she didn't need someone to explain it to her. Margery only nodded faintly to show that she had listened to him and wagged her in greeting to Selby.

Now, she didn't come here to join a community. Margery had never thought of tying her loyalties down to one place. She was a bit nervous about it and fidgeted in the mud, unable to say anything. If her brothers and sisters wanted to, then perhaps she would follow. If this was the only way to reconnect with Beck, then so be it.