08-06-2018, 12:46 PM
[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 1.4;"]If they were going to compare families, Laz supposes that they at least have that much in common. His memories of family — blood family, born family — begin and end with other warm bodies fighting for food at the stomach of a mother who didn't seem all that interested in them. As soon as he'd been old enough for real memories, Lazarus had been on his own. Gabe had first found him when he was three months old, fighting over a bone and leaving another child bloody on the ground. He didn't know it at the time, that the dog who told him to get out was the same hybrid who'd dragged him out of there bloody when he didn't walk away on his own, but it wouldn't've changed much if he did. All he'd ever known was a fight, and Gabriel had brought him here for opportunities that the dog really just didn't know how to touch. Because yeah, he looks at these people and feels out of place, feels some choking, burning jealousy when they sing (he knew little of music before that point) and laugh out nicknames that aren't Devil or Mutt. They take care of each other. He hates it.
So really, it's his own damn fault that people here don't pay attention. He doesn't let them. Actively avoids them whenever he can, gets awkward when he can't. Like when Moon approaches him and Laz is already pinning his ears, a warning growl building as a low rumble in his throat before the lion stops. Moon was right: he doesn't want to talk about what he's up to. But he remembers the reproachful nips about behaving himself, and the hybrid had always liked Moon, so — he feels like he owes it to him, kinda. He shuts himself up mid-growl and his expression switches to something childishly annoyed, almost petulant, as he stares at the wood between his paws. "No. Para de molestar." Laz moodily shoves the piece of wood away from him, sending it skittering over the dirt until it lands with the half-carved, rather owlish face face down a few feet away. "Don't you have something better to do?"
So really, it's his own damn fault that people here don't pay attention. He doesn't let them. Actively avoids them whenever he can, gets awkward when he can't. Like when Moon approaches him and Laz is already pinning his ears, a warning growl building as a low rumble in his throat before the lion stops. Moon was right: he doesn't want to talk about what he's up to. But he remembers the reproachful nips about behaving himself, and the hybrid had always liked Moon, so — he feels like he owes it to him, kinda. He shuts himself up mid-growl and his expression switches to something childishly annoyed, almost petulant, as he stares at the wood between his paws. "No. Para de molestar." Laz moodily shoves the piece of wood away from him, sending it skittering over the dirt until it lands with the half-carved, rather owlish face face down a few feet away. "Don't you have something better to do?"
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｢ GRAVE DIGGER, GRAVE DIGGER. [url=https://beastsofbeyond.com/index.php?topic=7333.msg48711#msg48711]INFO. ｣