08-17-2018, 09:29 PM
[ ooc ] thank you so much for saving my post <33
Becoming part of a backdrop was something Bakugou, strangely enough, was good at doing. He was as easy to momentarily forget as he was memorable. As much as the ragdoll was busy shouting and picking fights with the other crewmates, he was also quiet and antisocial. Most days, the male was hesitant in even approaching others to see what activities in The Typhoon were bubbling away. He may even feel overwhelmed by influxes of joinings or new faces, more names and voices that he will need to memorise. He's realised just how easy it is to become overshadowed by simply choosing to slow down. Closing his eyes makes it feel as if time speeds ahead of him, sprinting past his long fur and disappearing into a faraway distance that he doesn't even dare to chase after. It is those moments he becomes afraid of, the feeling of losing his grip of time and letting sand sift faster than he can even process. Even when he was healing from his injuries, Bakugou still found himself busier than ever. He begun exploring the traditions and customs of The Typhoon rather than go rogue and stalk the forests himself. It left him exhausted, the same way he felt after hours of training to the brink of his strength.
Although he was mostly healed by now, still only mildly inconvenienced by a few annoyingly positioned bandages around his limbs, the striker still finds himself lurking about the Barracuda Bay. His eyes, predatory, frequent themselves in flicking back and forth passing members. It therefore doesn't take long for his ears to rise, perking from a powerful sneeze. His fur that is usually resting against the back of his neck is standing. Bakugou says nothing at first when he then witnesses how the source, a king cheetah, recollects his bearings and walk into the sand only to begin hacking coughs and struggling to breathe. He can't help but feel a wave of annoyance at the male, not understanding why the pirate was even bothering to move. Tch. He supposes this only further supports that just because someone is older than another, doesn't mean they are wiser. The cheetah was reminding him an animated but uncoordinated zombie, a corpse struggling to come to turns that it was in fact not alive.
Upon seeing Marcellus (of whom he has yet to know the name of) begin to take a drink, his own legs start to carry Bakugou towards him. He imagines his own aura clashing against the Typhooner: the striker's aura being one of dreadful, black smoke and angst, while the other's aura radiating what must have been a putrid manifestation of a plague. It's as if he can see illness wound the air, tainting the atmosphere in a sickly tone, and dance a fatal waltz. Maybe it is Bakugou being paranoid. He isn't sure how his immune system will hold up considering he has only been in this world for a month or so. The ragdoll has no plans in becoming sick and stationed here against his will. He likes his freedom, his choice to explore. And so, like any other annoying teenager would do, he decides to speak his concerns: "If your gonna carry the bloody plague, at least take it to an enemy clan than pound your strands of sickness into every grain of sand on this fuckin' beach." But, to prove that he 'cares so deeply' for the well being of The Typhoon rather than to suggest that he is afraid of getting ill himself, he also adds a small greeting. "Name's Bakugou."
Becoming part of a backdrop was something Bakugou, strangely enough, was good at doing. He was as easy to momentarily forget as he was memorable. As much as the ragdoll was busy shouting and picking fights with the other crewmates, he was also quiet and antisocial. Most days, the male was hesitant in even approaching others to see what activities in The Typhoon were bubbling away. He may even feel overwhelmed by influxes of joinings or new faces, more names and voices that he will need to memorise. He's realised just how easy it is to become overshadowed by simply choosing to slow down. Closing his eyes makes it feel as if time speeds ahead of him, sprinting past his long fur and disappearing into a faraway distance that he doesn't even dare to chase after. It is those moments he becomes afraid of, the feeling of losing his grip of time and letting sand sift faster than he can even process. Even when he was healing from his injuries, Bakugou still found himself busier than ever. He begun exploring the traditions and customs of The Typhoon rather than go rogue and stalk the forests himself. It left him exhausted, the same way he felt after hours of training to the brink of his strength.
Although he was mostly healed by now, still only mildly inconvenienced by a few annoyingly positioned bandages around his limbs, the striker still finds himself lurking about the Barracuda Bay. His eyes, predatory, frequent themselves in flicking back and forth passing members. It therefore doesn't take long for his ears to rise, perking from a powerful sneeze. His fur that is usually resting against the back of his neck is standing. Bakugou says nothing at first when he then witnesses how the source, a king cheetah, recollects his bearings and walk into the sand only to begin hacking coughs and struggling to breathe. He can't help but feel a wave of annoyance at the male, not understanding why the pirate was even bothering to move. Tch. He supposes this only further supports that just because someone is older than another, doesn't mean they are wiser. The cheetah was reminding him an animated but uncoordinated zombie, a corpse struggling to come to turns that it was in fact not alive.
Upon seeing Marcellus (of whom he has yet to know the name of) begin to take a drink, his own legs start to carry Bakugou towards him. He imagines his own aura clashing against the Typhooner: the striker's aura being one of dreadful, black smoke and angst, while the other's aura radiating what must have been a putrid manifestation of a plague. It's as if he can see illness wound the air, tainting the atmosphere in a sickly tone, and dance a fatal waltz. Maybe it is Bakugou being paranoid. He isn't sure how his immune system will hold up considering he has only been in this world for a month or so. The ragdoll has no plans in becoming sick and stationed here against his will. He likes his freedom, his choice to explore. And so, like any other annoying teenager would do, he decides to speak his concerns: "If your gonna carry the bloody plague, at least take it to an enemy clan than pound your strands of sickness into every grain of sand on this fuckin' beach." But, to prove that he 'cares so deeply' for the well being of The Typhoon rather than to suggest that he is afraid of getting ill himself, he also adds a small greeting. "Name's Bakugou."