DEAD MOM ; visitor

[T. ROUX]

Well, it had been a long time.

The boy had made his trip from the Pitt to the Typhoon with a scowl on his face for the most part, Gael had told him how someone from his family had wanted him to visit. Why couldn't they just forget him? He was destructive and only ever hurt those around him yet... Here he was anyways with both of his tufted ears pressed flat against his skull, his pupils narrowed into dangerous slits. A soft huff leaving him as his tail flicked back and forth thinking about possibly leaving without anyone realizing it... They'd never know he had been there if he turned around now. The draconic jaguar felt hesitance but the moment his paw met the warm sands did he close his eyes slowly feeling that small sense of homesickness pricking at him ever so slightly "It has been quite some time... Huh," A rare smile found itself present on his maw but it didn't last long as he picked up a rock about ready to throw it at the bell until he realized the head that was hanging on the gate, he took a few steps back.

"Well, you're quite the sight... God damn. Never knew that mom was into this kind of decor." He mumbled underneath his breath, he felt almost bad but he drew closer to the decapitated head noticing how something had been done to it making it somewhat preserved. He tapped one of the eyes realizing that they were marbles before grimacing "You poor son of a bitch. Finally, got what was coming to ya," Stepping back, the jaguar threw the rock at the bell listening to the loud clang before it sang out to alert everyone of his presence. A soft sigh leaving him as he sat there waiting for someone to arrive. He was still covered in some bandages, his wings having been healing over that time, and he had a few new scars scattered on his body. But he was still the same ol' Trygve Roux.

[aine.]

[align=center][table][tr][td]

AINE NÍ BROIN
FLESHWEAVER
FAE DRUID
INFORMATION

[/td][td]

[div style="max-width: 360px; font-family: palatino; color: #2e8b57; text-align: left; padding-top: 8px; padding-left: 10px"]HOW DO YOU RUN FROM Y[color=#5d8e93]OUR OWN MIND?

[div style="max-width: 380px; font-family: palatino; color: #C1CFE1; font-size: 11px; text-align: justify; padding-left: 10px; padding-right: 10px; line-height: 110%; max-height: 180px; overflow: auto"]Quietly, the petite deer-fox trotted after her... Friend.  Boyfriend?  Boyfriend... Ears perked.  Wings pressed to her side.  Steady.  Proud even... Just a little.  Of how she felt less uneasy than she used to.  If just a little...

Hazel hues gleamed.  Idly musing over her first visit.  The first time she padded across the railroad tracks.  Intent on an apology.  On checking in on a injured boy who became her best friend.

Aine breathed out softly, offering Ry a bright, albeit shy grin.  Knew he was hesitant.  But this was where he was born.  His family was here.  It was good to visit.  She was glad her father brought it up.  Glad he let her go with him.

She stumbled away a little at the sight of Stryker.  Or... Stryker's head.  Stomach twisting.  The hate that burned in her heart... It still lived but... She was never one for morbid displays.  Her ears twitched back.  Four... Seven... Eight... Breathe.  Well.  He deserved it.  He was dead.

The druid focused on the bell instead, watching as Ry struck it with a rock.  Listened to the sharp ring, reverberating across the island beyond.  She crept closer to her friend's side, smile softer.  Shier.  Time to say hello.[/td][/tr][/table]

[michael t.]

ALL I FOUND THE SPACE BETWEEN THE SPACES
STANDING IN THE NOTHING, AND TIME RECLAIMS YOU

Trygve. It was impossible to overstate how much Michael had missed him, even though the dealer knew Ry would probably never believe it. It was the truth, though. Ever since things had calmed down following Stryker's death, the bobcat had been wondering how Trygve was doing. Hell, he hadn't even really been sure his nephew was alive until he asked Gael about the other. It had hurt a lot, having Ry go so long without visiting... so, Michael had taken things into his own hands. Or paws, rather.

It seemed as though his request to Gael had been successful. As he approached the ringing of the bell that day, the thief found himself frozen when he noticed the scent of The Pitt on the air. It was entirely possible it could be some other Pittian, but... Michael still allowed himself to hope. He picked up the pace, practically rushing over towards the scent of the other. It wasn't long until Ry came into view, and a crooked grin came onto the dealer's muzzle. The bobcat barely waited a moment for saying hello, instead throwing his darkly colored form directly into Trygve's chest. He moved to try and wrap the other up in his arms. Although if he were successful, it would really be more like he was burying himself in Ry's chest, thanks to the size difference between the two of them.

Once he pulled back a bit, Michael immediately spoke after a disgruntled huff, "It took you long enough to get around and visit us again! Christ, I barely even knew that you were alive! Plus, you've missed so damn much..." Despite the frustration dripping off of his words, it was clear that the male was still happy to see the other. Sure enough, Michael's mismatched gaze moved back to Ry as he continued, "Still... I'm glad that you're okay. I missed you, you dumbass..." He glanced towards the bandages and various scars, smile falling momentarily as he questioned, "You haven't been causing too much trouble for that medic girl, right? You need to stop getting yourself so damn beaten up..." The thief had been so caught up by Ry finally visiting, that he had hardly noticed that the "medic girl" he had mentioned was standing right nearby.

Eventually, though, Michael did look over at Aine. He returned her shy little smile, tail flicking back and forth as he spoke up, "Ah... you're Aine, right? I remember you... Gael said something about you taking care of Ry, too." He then muttered, gaze drifting in the direction of The Pitt's territory, "You guys are doing alright over there, right? I remember hearing about some kind of storm..." The snowstorm... that had been a while ago though, right? Surely they had managed to bounce back from that, at this point. The desert was supposed to be hot, after all. The snow had to have melted.

— Reggan