TIRED OF FAKING IT / open

[Zjarr]

[div style="width: 45%; line-height: 14px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 13px;"]In the midst of him wallowing in his own sorrows and filth, Zjarr seemingly failed to realize that there were many out there that shared his bitter emotions and internal strife, though no precisely for the same situation. To run from his struggles and those he assumed despised him, he kept himself almost locked into his bare quarters and a forge, comforted by the embers that spewed by his creations, the flames that he created and raised himself when his fiery children and family were absent and preferred not to be in his presence. It kept himself occupied at the cost of social interaction and learning about those around him. People he could become friends and sympathize with. People he could help. People that didn't hate him.

The demon presumed that little cared for his disappearance to his room, yet he resolved to change things around the second his black nose poked from the entrance to his quarters for the first time in what seemed like eons. There were people around him that he had to become acquainted with. His old homes were full of Clanmates that he could appreciate, but here he felt...alone. Why was that? It wasn't anyone's fault. Only his own. In his old homes, he spoke to his comrades. Here he spoke to the walls.

And so the wolf sought out the voice of Playerone, a fellow observer he had introduced himself to some time ago but didn't quite get acquainted with all too well. Perhaps things would change this time around. He wasn't exactly in dire need of a..."cuddle buddy," but rather some usual companionship and—

Wait, she meant the stuffed animals. Fuck.

Well, it wouldn't hurt to check out the inventory and see what was being offered. "Show me what'cha got," the canine drawled as he padded over, dipping his head to the hybrid in a silent greeting.

[glow=#f24b00,2,300]how'd it get so scandalous?[/glow] — ☼