07-15-2018, 08:26 PM
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DOES THE BLANK STARE-
SCARE YOU MORE THAN THE FROWN?
[W]iskerDOES THE BLANK STARE-
SCARE YOU MORE THAN THE FROWN?
[div style="background-color:#BG COLOR;width:90%; overflow: stretch;text-align: justify; font-size: 8pt;color: #E0EEEE;"] //I'm in love with all this muse oml + Welcome to the typhoon c://
Argus was aware of the weary- tense set in the stranger's shoulders, the bags that rest under his eyes and the never quite unaware twitch of his body. If there was one thing Argus was aware of it was dissecting people- dangerous people. They lived with them for the longest time- as a kid, as an aspiring hopeful. Learning their place in the world and making a name for them self by a kill count and a iconic figure of someone to kill on sight for most other groups.
They didn't need a family to make mistakes, didn't have a mother who would tell them right from wrong or a father to teach them to hunt and defend themselves. They learned everything they knew by their own merit. In a time that they could still remember the exact shade of brown their mother's eyes were- or the apathetic or disdainful aura that seems to claok their father they had learned how to take care of themselves. How to hunt, kill, thrive- survive. Their mother game them the only thing they would ever need- a chance. And their father gave them all the reason in the world- to prove him wrong.
They were bubbly as a kid, open and free-spirited: until they weren't. When everyone else went home inside the rusted chained doors of the asylum Argus had returned to the hollowed fox den big enough to fit her small little frame, sat down before a giant pit with blood staining the sandstone- and learned. They did not need stability to be smart- did not need friends to live- did not need a family- to make a name for them self. They only needed a clan, a ladder to climb up and a book- to keep count. Greedily ruthlessly killing. It was easy to bury the guilt to murder of faces you couldn't even remember. It was easy to not be guilty when you knew nothing of who you killed beside the word enemy. It made them cold, it made them unstable- but it did not take family to break them or pressure them to become something entirely monstrous in it's own right.
Even now- they do not feel shame or guilt for killing. It was a way of life- it was a hard cruel way of life. But it was still living. Argus was still alive, if that made them a monster than there would be no changing it after all, no redemption to something a beast can not bring them self to feel sorry for.
No, Guilt comes from killing people they knew. Family friends- sisters- kids-lovers. It comes from destroying everything they touch. It comes from their inability to learn- their inability to change and the instability that they cannot do away with. Sure Argus could blame the lack of family for this. Could blame the mother that was never there and the father who's name now eludes them- but they have been dead since she was was learning what it meant to be a parent them self. But this is where the guilt came from- blaming themselves. Their inability to change and their cowardliness to even keep the name- the names of the one that they had forsaken.
Argus does not wish to return to who they used to be. One was a pup mourning the meaning of family, another was one mourning the life they built for themselves and the other.... was a mindless beast. At least there was some difference in who they were now- who they were becoming- a animal made new by it's name. Argus - the watcher. Not the parent mourning their kids, not the kid mourning their family, not the mindless beast. For them there was no innocence- no looking back. To devolve into one of their older names- into one of their others would mean forgetting all they lost- forsaking the ghosts that lead them here and the memories made here.
That did not mean they still weren't a monster- because Argus only saw themselves as the worst aspects of them self. Saw the way each scar on their form glittered black instead of red, the large gaping whole under her chin, and her eyes- wine red instead of blue- light pale innocent blue.
They were pure white now, near angelic- but it was nothing but a clever little ruse similar to a mask, to the name they wore now. Not entirely them- but not false either. Just an aspect to a multi-dimensional object. a face.
But a wolf of the mind non the less. Of course, spending time hurting others- you learn how to break people and to spot someone who was already broken. While Each mind was different the ways for twisting them were simple- you show them nothing but hurt and pain- you offer them an out to take it out on someone else- and then you watch the cycle repeat. You keep hurting and see if it makes it easier to live with the broken parts of yourself. You breath and live in spite of everyone who tried to make it otherwise.
You live for the dead, and die for the living.
"Hn, we're mostly a lazy bunch." The wolf responded with- picking up the sound of soft strides, not looking to turn around and instead feeling out the aura getting closer. Quick to add in the offer. "You're welcome to stay if you like." Ah, pincher then, though the deputy did note the newer body for the captain, not making any comment about it for the moment. "We live on an island Pinch, the border is pretty cut and dry." Or, they really hoped that clanmates didn't go pissing on the beach just to make the border. Though the railroad system would make sense- they stayed pretty clear from the entrance for... personal reasons most of the time.
Of course, when Chain spoke up about joining, the lupine could not hide the warmth in their own voice at welcoming a newer member to the crew. " Welcome home then, chain."
Argus was aware of the weary- tense set in the stranger's shoulders, the bags that rest under his eyes and the never quite unaware twitch of his body. If there was one thing Argus was aware of it was dissecting people- dangerous people. They lived with them for the longest time- as a kid, as an aspiring hopeful. Learning their place in the world and making a name for them self by a kill count and a iconic figure of someone to kill on sight for most other groups.
They didn't need a family to make mistakes, didn't have a mother who would tell them right from wrong or a father to teach them to hunt and defend themselves. They learned everything they knew by their own merit. In a time that they could still remember the exact shade of brown their mother's eyes were- or the apathetic or disdainful aura that seems to claok their father they had learned how to take care of themselves. How to hunt, kill, thrive- survive. Their mother game them the only thing they would ever need- a chance. And their father gave them all the reason in the world- to prove him wrong.
They were bubbly as a kid, open and free-spirited: until they weren't. When everyone else went home inside the rusted chained doors of the asylum Argus had returned to the hollowed fox den big enough to fit her small little frame, sat down before a giant pit with blood staining the sandstone- and learned. They did not need stability to be smart- did not need friends to live- did not need a family- to make a name for them self. They only needed a clan, a ladder to climb up and a book- to keep count. Greedily ruthlessly killing. It was easy to bury the guilt to murder of faces you couldn't even remember. It was easy to not be guilty when you knew nothing of who you killed beside the word enemy. It made them cold, it made them unstable- but it did not take family to break them or pressure them to become something entirely monstrous in it's own right.
Even now- they do not feel shame or guilt for killing. It was a way of life- it was a hard cruel way of life. But it was still living. Argus was still alive, if that made them a monster than there would be no changing it after all, no redemption to something a beast can not bring them self to feel sorry for.
No, Guilt comes from killing people they knew. Family friends- sisters- kids-lovers. It comes from destroying everything they touch. It comes from their inability to learn- their inability to change and the instability that they cannot do away with. Sure Argus could blame the lack of family for this. Could blame the mother that was never there and the father who's name now eludes them- but they have been dead since she was was learning what it meant to be a parent them self. But this is where the guilt came from- blaming themselves. Their inability to change and their cowardliness to even keep the name- the names of the one that they had forsaken.
Argus does not wish to return to who they used to be. One was a pup mourning the meaning of family, another was one mourning the life they built for themselves and the other.... was a mindless beast. At least there was some difference in who they were now- who they were becoming- a animal made new by it's name. Argus - the watcher. Not the parent mourning their kids, not the kid mourning their family, not the mindless beast. For them there was no innocence- no looking back. To devolve into one of their older names- into one of their others would mean forgetting all they lost- forsaking the ghosts that lead them here and the memories made here.
That did not mean they still weren't a monster- because Argus only saw themselves as the worst aspects of them self. Saw the way each scar on their form glittered black instead of red, the large gaping whole under her chin, and her eyes- wine red instead of blue- light pale innocent blue.
They were pure white now, near angelic- but it was nothing but a clever little ruse similar to a mask, to the name they wore now. Not entirely them- but not false either. Just an aspect to a multi-dimensional object. a face.
But a wolf of the mind non the less. Of course, spending time hurting others- you learn how to break people and to spot someone who was already broken. While Each mind was different the ways for twisting them were simple- you show them nothing but hurt and pain- you offer them an out to take it out on someone else- and then you watch the cycle repeat. You keep hurting and see if it makes it easier to live with the broken parts of yourself. You breath and live in spite of everyone who tried to make it otherwise.
You live for the dead, and die for the living.
"Hn, we're mostly a lazy bunch." The wolf responded with- picking up the sound of soft strides, not looking to turn around and instead feeling out the aura getting closer. Quick to add in the offer. "You're welcome to stay if you like." Ah, pincher then, though the deputy did note the newer body for the captain, not making any comment about it for the moment. "We live on an island Pinch, the border is pretty cut and dry." Or, they really hoped that clanmates didn't go pissing on the beach just to make the border. Though the railroad system would make sense- they stayed pretty clear from the entrance for... personal reasons most of the time.
Of course, when Chain spoke up about joining, the lupine could not hide the warmth in their own voice at welcoming a newer member to the crew. " Welcome home then, chain."