08-19-2018, 01:56 AM
[align=center][div style="width:400px; font-size:8pt;line-height:1.1;color:#000;font-family:arial;margin-top:3px;margin-bottom:3px;letter-spacing:0px;margin-left:0px;text-align:justify;"]Death. There had been a time when the word seemed almost revered, touched a murmured breath exhaled through the teeth, given the respect such a state was due. But time had a way of reducing things, striping from it any ounce of worth. Rather than gossamer spun between nimble fingers, golden sheers simply waiting to close and cut it from the rest, it had become a web, entangled and sticky, beginning and end wound around each other for neither seemed to truly ever stop. It had become a cycle, the first breath touching lungs new to this world only to still with the chill of death, finding warmth and life once more some time later, be it minutes or even years, always was the possibility lingering around the corner.
And what of they, who had been risen to a position centred around keeping at bay the reaper, giving his victims a second chance to breath once more. They were expected to tend to those injured within combat or who had found themself brought low by sickness, the last line between those who stood within this world and that which lay beyond the border of reality, where only the dead may tread. But then what of their work to honour those who had departed, funerals given care and attention, each tailored to the individual. They were both in a way, a foot placed upon the sandy shores tying them to the living and yet one had sunk into the wet soil of the dead, found a perch where skeletal hands might grab at them, left behind for they had been too late.
They knew not of Desperado's passing, each subject they were taught had been rooted in healing and ways to prevent, in the poison and venom coursing through some life, not the ways in which to prepare and honour the dead just yet. All the same it was hard to miss the veil of mourning, a darkness lingering about the edges of thought and action, though they had not cared to ask, knowing death was a temporary situation for some. It seemed Aita had been correct in their thinking this had been little more than a roadblock, if not the deceased had never wished to scale, looking upon the canine with unfamiliar eyes.
Though they knew of alcohol, hard to miss for they had lived within the rooms above the Capricon for a few days before the move to the tree house they now resided in had been completed, they had never tried it themself no matter how easy it might have been. Something about it had disgusted the child, the hoppy smell of most leaving them to never want to taste the drink, and so they had never dared try. Cigarettes in themself were a different matter, blue smoke heavy within the submarine when the Captain was present, one ever hanging from his mouth, seemingly a lifeline he refused to give up. They knew the smell of the smoke and despised it, heavy as it filled their nose, but it didn't temper their curiosity about it, wondering what made their father so inclined to indulge.
Taking up a slow pace Aita moved a little closer, never thinking to question Des on his well being, their duties were for those physically or mentally injured not those who sought to indulge some during their own time, and so they had no reason to ask him. The voice is what alerted them to the presence of another, dark eyes rising to touch upon the hybrid, once more a stranger though one they seemed more interested in than the canine. Though his head bore horns they held their own, if small things only beginning to curl about their ears, and beyond such Des seemed similar to most, heavily scarred from a life which looked upon him with unkind eyes. But Gabe, he was an oddity. Briefly they wondered upon asking to touch, see where feather became fur, thinking better of it as they approached him now, his posture not one inviting to such inquiry.
No words parted their dark lips and instead Aita turned once more to Desperado, their own fictional brow raising as they awaited an answer, wondering as to how these two knew each other. Indeed the hybrid seemed out but not entirely out of place amongst so many others with oddities their own, many raising to mind with features all the more strange then those he bore.
And what of they, who had been risen to a position centred around keeping at bay the reaper, giving his victims a second chance to breath once more. They were expected to tend to those injured within combat or who had found themself brought low by sickness, the last line between those who stood within this world and that which lay beyond the border of reality, where only the dead may tread. But then what of their work to honour those who had departed, funerals given care and attention, each tailored to the individual. They were both in a way, a foot placed upon the sandy shores tying them to the living and yet one had sunk into the wet soil of the dead, found a perch where skeletal hands might grab at them, left behind for they had been too late.
They knew not of Desperado's passing, each subject they were taught had been rooted in healing and ways to prevent, in the poison and venom coursing through some life, not the ways in which to prepare and honour the dead just yet. All the same it was hard to miss the veil of mourning, a darkness lingering about the edges of thought and action, though they had not cared to ask, knowing death was a temporary situation for some. It seemed Aita had been correct in their thinking this had been little more than a roadblock, if not the deceased had never wished to scale, looking upon the canine with unfamiliar eyes.
Though they knew of alcohol, hard to miss for they had lived within the rooms above the Capricon for a few days before the move to the tree house they now resided in had been completed, they had never tried it themself no matter how easy it might have been. Something about it had disgusted the child, the hoppy smell of most leaving them to never want to taste the drink, and so they had never dared try. Cigarettes in themself were a different matter, blue smoke heavy within the submarine when the Captain was present, one ever hanging from his mouth, seemingly a lifeline he refused to give up. They knew the smell of the smoke and despised it, heavy as it filled their nose, but it didn't temper their curiosity about it, wondering what made their father so inclined to indulge.
Taking up a slow pace Aita moved a little closer, never thinking to question Des on his well being, their duties were for those physically or mentally injured not those who sought to indulge some during their own time, and so they had no reason to ask him. The voice is what alerted them to the presence of another, dark eyes rising to touch upon the hybrid, once more a stranger though one they seemed more interested in than the canine. Though his head bore horns they held their own, if small things only beginning to curl about their ears, and beyond such Des seemed similar to most, heavily scarred from a life which looked upon him with unkind eyes. But Gabe, he was an oddity. Briefly they wondered upon asking to touch, see where feather became fur, thinking better of it as they approached him now, his posture not one inviting to such inquiry.
No words parted their dark lips and instead Aita turned once more to Desperado, their own fictional brow raising as they awaited an answer, wondering as to how these two knew each other. Indeed the hybrid seemed out but not entirely out of place amongst so many others with oddities their own, many raising to mind with features all the more strange then those he bore.