05-16-2018, 10:57 AM
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★ WHEN MY HEART IS MADE FROM GOLD AND FORGIVENESS SEEMS TOO BOLD
Alcohol. Hazel knew very well what the concentrated drinks were, and what they did. Mother would come home drunk from time to time, tripping over her own paws and stumbling into things and muttering to herself. Sometimes she would go straight to bed and sleep straight through the day; but that was only if Hazel was absolutely silent and didn’t make a sound. Other times, Hazel wasn’t so lucky. Mother would come home in the middle of the afternoon and catch Hazel in the kitchen, searching for something to eat. There would be one second where neither of them moved: Hazel frozen to the spot with terror, and Mother swaying where she stood in the doorway. Then she would stalk towards Hazel, spitting curses and lamenting how much better - how much more useful - her other children would have been. Hazel would be lucky to escape to her room with minimal scratches at that point.
Her last night in her old clan had been when Mother was drunk and yelling. Hazel could remember the sour stench of alcohol that permeated the room, and the rage that had filled Mother’s eyes. She remembered every hurtful word Mother slurred at her, every bitter complaint, every awful thing that made Hazel feel like she was worth less than the dirt under her paws. So when she saw her opening, she took it: leaping out the front door and hitting the ground in a tumble of legs and tail. It hurt, but it was nothing compared to what she would have endured had she stayed. So Hazel ran.
So when Hazel approached the growing group, she couldn’t say alcohol was unfamiliar. No - it was just a trigger, and it pulled her walls and nerves up once more. She sat, apprehensive and quiet, feeling the scar under her bandana prickle uncomfortably as she absently rubbed over it with her tail.
To say she blamed Margy was incorrect; Margy had no idea of Hazel’s past. In fact, Hazel was well aware that most adults used this coping mechanism. It just so happened that she...had a negative experience with it. Suite’s own quiet manner didn’t help her apprehension, either. Hazel only got the feeling that this wasn’t irregular, and immediately hoped the opposite. She didn’t want her past getting in the way of her opinion of Margaery - the chocolate point didn’t deserve it.
Still, Hazel could appreciate what Margy was saying wasn’t negative at all, but instead lovely things about Suite. That certainly flipped Hazel’s experience on its head, and the smallest of smiles appeared from where she sat.
Her last night in her old clan had been when Mother was drunk and yelling. Hazel could remember the sour stench of alcohol that permeated the room, and the rage that had filled Mother’s eyes. She remembered every hurtful word Mother slurred at her, every bitter complaint, every awful thing that made Hazel feel like she was worth less than the dirt under her paws. So when she saw her opening, she took it: leaping out the front door and hitting the ground in a tumble of legs and tail. It hurt, but it was nothing compared to what she would have endured had she stayed. So Hazel ran.
So when Hazel approached the growing group, she couldn’t say alcohol was unfamiliar. No - it was just a trigger, and it pulled her walls and nerves up once more. She sat, apprehensive and quiet, feeling the scar under her bandana prickle uncomfortably as she absently rubbed over it with her tail.
To say she blamed Margy was incorrect; Margy had no idea of Hazel’s past. In fact, Hazel was well aware that most adults used this coping mechanism. It just so happened that she...had a negative experience with it. Suite’s own quiet manner didn’t help her apprehension, either. Hazel only got the feeling that this wasn’t irregular, and immediately hoped the opposite. She didn’t want her past getting in the way of her opinion of Margaery - the chocolate point didn’t deserve it.
Still, Hazel could appreciate what Margy was saying wasn’t negative at all, but instead lovely things about Suite. That certainly flipped Hazel’s experience on its head, and the smallest of smiles appeared from where she sat.
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WITH EVERY HEARTBEAT I HAVE LEFT
i will defend your every breath; i'll do better