07-11-2018, 02:21 PM
[div style="width: 45%; line-height: 14px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 13px;"]Generally Zjarr was known, almost notorious for not giving a solitary shit about the emotions of others. He would stand beside others and defend them when a blade or a barrel was pointed at their backs, but outside of the battlefield? He was uncaring, stern, exceptionally cold. He refused to take anybody's shit, but it seemed that he forced others to take his own whenever he opened his massive fucking mouth. When it was nice and shut, he was...okay. Couldn't provoke anyone, couldn't hurt a sentient soul. Did whatever duties he was assigned and stepped off.
Now, part of the reason Pele's words stabbed into his stony heart so damn hard was because he had an excruciating desire to protect her. One that he didn't even expect to have. When he had his children in whatever other universe, often he didn't care about the ones that didn't go to him. They weren't his problem, they were someone else's headache. But there was a very distinct difference here, fueled and driven by his desire for a massive reformation in himself. Zjarr was alerted of there being four: two for the mother, two for himself. As it turns out, there were only two, both going to the mother. And then, he came along, and there was but one standing with no biological mother tending and an absent father, adopted by the group that adored her so much. He wished that he was there for it. But a dangerous alcoholic as himself was only going to hurt a child and the surrounding members. He had reformed in terms of his addiction. It would be safe for him to go near her, because Lord knows what he could have done under the influence.
Just as his own sorrow seemed to pause, another's began...or at least he could now clearly hear it being manifested into a physical expression. It was his daughter, somewhere nearby. A sharp pang in his chest took him aback, making him audibly distressed as a groan escaped past his lips. Physical, mental, and emotional pain. Nice.
Finally the cyborg wolf retreated from the confined gloomy darkness of his quarters, stepping outside and making his way down the hall until he stopped at the feline's room, where his lips pursed together tightly as he looked inside to see his mess of a daughter sobbing and surrounded by the comforts of a mountain of pillows and blankets.
Look at this. Look at what you've fucking done. You made her, you left her. And you came back and thought it was al-fucking-right. All you fucking do is lie around and do whatever the fuck you want and you hurt people with that. You're a deceiving, useless motherfucker. Your daughter will never love you. She'll call someone else Daddy and look down at you for the rest of your motherfucking life. She probably already did.
You shouldn't have come back, you son of a bit—
A soft clear of his throat. "P-Pele...may I come in?" His natural eye was bloodshot and still gleaming wet, and his voice expressed nothing but weariness and defeat, lacking all of its confidence and proud, snarky drawl. It was solemn, somber, melancholy. "...Pl-l-ease."
Now, part of the reason Pele's words stabbed into his stony heart so damn hard was because he had an excruciating desire to protect her. One that he didn't even expect to have. When he had his children in whatever other universe, often he didn't care about the ones that didn't go to him. They weren't his problem, they were someone else's headache. But there was a very distinct difference here, fueled and driven by his desire for a massive reformation in himself. Zjarr was alerted of there being four: two for the mother, two for himself. As it turns out, there were only two, both going to the mother. And then, he came along, and there was but one standing with no biological mother tending and an absent father, adopted by the group that adored her so much. He wished that he was there for it. But a dangerous alcoholic as himself was only going to hurt a child and the surrounding members. He had reformed in terms of his addiction. It would be safe for him to go near her, because Lord knows what he could have done under the influence.
Just as his own sorrow seemed to pause, another's began...or at least he could now clearly hear it being manifested into a physical expression. It was his daughter, somewhere nearby. A sharp pang in his chest took him aback, making him audibly distressed as a groan escaped past his lips. Physical, mental, and emotional pain. Nice.
Finally the cyborg wolf retreated from the confined gloomy darkness of his quarters, stepping outside and making his way down the hall until he stopped at the feline's room, where his lips pursed together tightly as he looked inside to see his mess of a daughter sobbing and surrounded by the comforts of a mountain of pillows and blankets.
Look at this. Look at what you've fucking done. You made her, you left her. And you came back and thought it was al-fucking-right. All you fucking do is lie around and do whatever the fuck you want and you hurt people with that. You're a deceiving, useless motherfucker. Your daughter will never love you. She'll call someone else Daddy and look down at you for the rest of your motherfucking life. She probably already did.
You shouldn't have come back, you son of a bit—
A soft clear of his throat. "P-Pele...may I come in?" His natural eye was bloodshot and still gleaming wet, and his voice expressed nothing but weariness and defeat, lacking all of its confidence and proud, snarky drawl. It was solemn, somber, melancholy. "...Pl-l-ease."
[glow=#f24b00,2,300]how'd it get so scandalous?[/glow] — ☼
✰ — I'M JUST A SOUL WHOSE INTENTIONS ARE GOOD
zjarr ignibus / tanglewood / hellcat / weapons dealer / plot