08-05-2018, 09:22 PM
[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 1.4;"]/ local emo thinks of nothing but angst all day
The realization that feelings have places is an odd one. Anger is hot in his chest and guilt is low in his stomach. They mix somewhere in between, the way that river water meets the ocean. Battling for hours and then slowly merging, submitting to the other. It ends with a hot, heavy weight throughout his entire body, and today he finds out that his word for it is defeat. He feels like he's lost, and it's not entirely wrong to say that he has. It goes without saying that when you end up sending off the one person who gave a shit about you (he didn't mean it, he didn't mean it), you feel alone. People had tried to talk to him as he sat at the water and the most Laz could do was bare his teeth. Socialization had always burned like putting water on an oil fire, but after Gabe left, he'd just lacked — everything. The tether that kept him here, the nips of his beak to keep him in line. Before the hybrid, there'd been someone else holding his chain. Then there'd been gentle nudges. Now he finds himself entirely without a direction.
It's not a pleasant feeling.
The Cane Corso still spent his time at the edges of their territory, though green eyes hesitantly turn towards the observatory, debating whether or not he would allow himself to explore it fully this time. The answer was inevitably no, and the canine would curl up in the grass underneath the stars. Normally it's not unpleasant, but last night had been one of the worst ones of his life. The older cuts on his body pulse a hot red, tender to the touch. He's well aware of what that means, but still can't force himself to do something about it. He's sweated out fevers before, this is nothing new. He takes his rather awful condition in stride, though remains away from physical activity. Lazarus sits near the observatory with a piece of wood, of all things, his claws slowly carving out a messy shape in the softened material. His expression is twisted to some sort of frown, though it's hard to tell with how he ducks his head. (Loneliness is felt mostly in his throat, like a rock that he can't spit out.)
The realization that feelings have places is an odd one. Anger is hot in his chest and guilt is low in his stomach. They mix somewhere in between, the way that river water meets the ocean. Battling for hours and then slowly merging, submitting to the other. It ends with a hot, heavy weight throughout his entire body, and today he finds out that his word for it is defeat. He feels like he's lost, and it's not entirely wrong to say that he has. It goes without saying that when you end up sending off the one person who gave a shit about you (he didn't mean it, he didn't mean it), you feel alone. People had tried to talk to him as he sat at the water and the most Laz could do was bare his teeth. Socialization had always burned like putting water on an oil fire, but after Gabe left, he'd just lacked — everything. The tether that kept him here, the nips of his beak to keep him in line. Before the hybrid, there'd been someone else holding his chain. Then there'd been gentle nudges. Now he finds himself entirely without a direction.
It's not a pleasant feeling.
The Cane Corso still spent his time at the edges of their territory, though green eyes hesitantly turn towards the observatory, debating whether or not he would allow himself to explore it fully this time. The answer was inevitably no, and the canine would curl up in the grass underneath the stars. Normally it's not unpleasant, but last night had been one of the worst ones of his life. The older cuts on his body pulse a hot red, tender to the touch. He's well aware of what that means, but still can't force himself to do something about it. He's sweated out fevers before, this is nothing new. He takes his rather awful condition in stride, though remains away from physical activity. Lazarus sits near the observatory with a piece of wood, of all things, his claws slowly carving out a messy shape in the softened material. His expression is twisted to some sort of frown, though it's hard to tell with how he ducks his head. (Loneliness is felt mostly in his throat, like a rock that he can't spit out.)
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｢ GRAVE DIGGER, GRAVE DIGGER. [url=https://beastsofbeyond.com/index.php?topic=7333.msg48711#msg48711]INFO. ｣