&& BLOOD CLEARING - NEW BEGINNINGS!
It was funny what death did to you as a person. While some clever and lucky immortals (Then again, when is immortality ever really seen as lucky?) that healed much too quickly, too fast to ever truly experience death. It was especially macabre and special that was able. Argus personally, has lost count of exactly how many times she had died, though ironically enough it never was naturally. Never once had she had a peaceful death, never once had she died peacefully- content with her actions. It was always violently, even when it was her own actions that drew here there. Dying her blood with Oil? Not the smartest idea, but hey- she was the leader of a demon cult at the time, it was either ink or straight up infusing her blood with booze, she just took the one with the cooler after effects.
Funny how atheism worked. How Mortals went about calling themselves gods when they had a shred of power. But she wasn't a believer, even the world that she saw, the plane after this one she could no longer walk to freely- she had seen it with her own eyes. She has heard hushed words of hell from other shinigami before, and she still thought that hell, was here. Was walking this earth and never able to die. Maybe hell was a punishment for others, but hell would be a vacation from here.
There was no divinity in immortality, no luck or other forces giving you the ability. There was a way, a step process to immortality, and it all started when a small wolf was sad enough to end her own life. It was waking up again and experiencing the same hell, it was learning to live and wanting to die. It was dying and wanting to rest. It was watching the world with open eyes and breathing in the desperate, the vile, and the current through bloodied teeth. Immortality was not divine, it was not good, it was a curse. A burden. It was lonely.
But Life, Argus remembers what it is to live just as she does to breathe. She remembers what it was like to have the same fragility as mortals, the fear of death. Remembering promising forever to a friend and praying that it could b forever, that they would both live forever and be friends. But what a fairy tale that was. What a sham, Life like that was a dream. It was an innocence that Argus can never quite mimic, can't quite understand anymore.
She was too raised to kill. From a young age, she learned how to hunt for herself, learned how to suck the positions from her own bitten leg and take the small fickle flesh of whatever rodent crossed her path. She learned to kill to understand, then killing had been a status. A number to flaunt like age. Bloodclan was crucial, but it taught you that life was precious, that if you wanted to live, you will take others before they took yours. Everything about bloodclan was desperate. Take rather than taken. Kill, rather than be killed. Live, and live in spite of your enemies. Argus was six when she was first tortured, taken hostage by thunderclan- the "good guys" as four members relentlessly beat her, hurt her. No one had come to save her, no one had cared. Bloodclan thought her weak, and yet- she was the only one alive from that time now. Now she watches as their daughters and sons do the same to their kids, and thinks what irony it'll be. Who will be cursed similarly as she?
Scars that littered her form were hard to spot, most pale fractures in her skin. Marks to show her immortality-mortality. To show the world that she could die, but but never truly rest. That she would rise again no matter what no matter the wound. She did not see her scars and see her deaths. She looks at them like art, reminders of a curse but so very ironic. Irony was something to marvel, that living was a marvel. When she had been young she had marveled at other’s survivability by their scars. It showed character, as odd as it sound, showed how good of a fighter the to her was, and someone that looked scarless would always be a coward, no matter where they stood on the ladder of power nor what clan they held. It was only one scar, one wound that she hid away from the world. It was near white and so very hard to see now. Just under her chin, the very first.
It was a sign of her immortality, even if to strangers it was a curious little thing. While the world has grown accustomed to change, to beings with elementals at the edge of their fingertips, she still remembers the fear that revealed through the normal one’s everytime one like her showed up. One who would wake up from death like a nap. Remembers the fear and how she reveled in it before. Now it was a part of her clever facade, Argus, insane and crazy but mortal. A killable monster and therefore a normal, in the minds of this world and its inhabitants.
She could walk onto a battlefield and relish in the blood, in the chaos of a cycle repeating, of two sides fed up enough to tear eachother apart. To create hate, and orphans. It took two parties to start a war, and argus has spent many on one side, sometimes war for her had been the fruit of her labors, manipulation was a fickle thing, and war was just a side effect.
Argus snorted at the comment. A laugh startled out of her at the other’s bland remark, but she had been thinking something similarly if a little more on the opposite spectrum. She had debated whether to respond to his later comment and while yes- Argus had seen something similar of a joiner, she also knew that trust went a long way, and if you were looking to join someplace then you would readily prove yourself to the place. Killulas own brazen show of power and immediate disregard for authority was interesting, if nothing else.
It was only because Argus was watching the other converse, knowing him from their short instances before that she knew how out of character it was to catch him off guard. From there it was slowly going down hill, crystalline blue eyes taking on a familiar emotion that Argus had seen many a times, when your enemy had outwitted you, when you were caught in it’s snares. It was a victorious to be able to cause that, a glorious feeling to see on an enemy's face. To laugh and commit such a look to memory.
But now, it was a hollow emotion. Some petty remark and very similar in trying to get the last laugh. She felt her own smile drop at the other’s demand. Dark eyes flaring with trepidation.Argus' instinct scream at her. Not to run but to press, and she has always been sensitive to emotions such as this,Knows the look that settles on Killula’s expression and knows that it was the wrong move if she thought it would clear the air around them.
She shakes her head softly. Not speaking for a moment, pushing back only to sit down for a moment. A subtle way to try and seem smaller- she wasn’t afraid she was just apologetic. Because Killula in all her years was someone she respected. For once in her life, she wanted something other than fear to settle on someone’s expression. “Maa, there are not children of mine for you to kill anymore. At least, none for you to deliver to me again.” She has little reason why she is explaining this, if only to try and soothe whatever intentions he thinks she has at this point. Finally, she answered his demand, voice quite: it does not quiver like she thought it would, she does not cry- because she has cried enough for the dead and he living both. “Gunstar is dead, and i took my revenge on your mentor. Riverclan says hello, by the way.”
Funny how atheism worked. How Mortals went about calling themselves gods when they had a shred of power. But she wasn't a believer, even the world that she saw, the plane after this one she could no longer walk to freely- she had seen it with her own eyes. She has heard hushed words of hell from other shinigami before, and she still thought that hell, was here. Was walking this earth and never able to die. Maybe hell was a punishment for others, but hell would be a vacation from here.
There was no divinity in immortality, no luck or other forces giving you the ability. There was a way, a step process to immortality, and it all started when a small wolf was sad enough to end her own life. It was waking up again and experiencing the same hell, it was learning to live and wanting to die. It was dying and wanting to rest. It was watching the world with open eyes and breathing in the desperate, the vile, and the current through bloodied teeth. Immortality was not divine, it was not good, it was a curse. A burden. It was lonely.
But Life, Argus remembers what it is to live just as she does to breathe. She remembers what it was like to have the same fragility as mortals, the fear of death. Remembering promising forever to a friend and praying that it could b forever, that they would both live forever and be friends. But what a fairy tale that was. What a sham, Life like that was a dream. It was an innocence that Argus can never quite mimic, can't quite understand anymore.
She was too raised to kill. From a young age, she learned how to hunt for herself, learned how to suck the positions from her own bitten leg and take the small fickle flesh of whatever rodent crossed her path. She learned to kill to understand, then killing had been a status. A number to flaunt like age. Bloodclan was crucial, but it taught you that life was precious, that if you wanted to live, you will take others before they took yours. Everything about bloodclan was desperate. Take rather than taken. Kill, rather than be killed. Live, and live in spite of your enemies. Argus was six when she was first tortured, taken hostage by thunderclan- the "good guys" as four members relentlessly beat her, hurt her. No one had come to save her, no one had cared. Bloodclan thought her weak, and yet- she was the only one alive from that time now. Now she watches as their daughters and sons do the same to their kids, and thinks what irony it'll be. Who will be cursed similarly as she?
Scars that littered her form were hard to spot, most pale fractures in her skin. Marks to show her immortality-mortality. To show the world that she could die, but but never truly rest. That she would rise again no matter what no matter the wound. She did not see her scars and see her deaths. She looks at them like art, reminders of a curse but so very ironic. Irony was something to marvel, that living was a marvel. When she had been young she had marveled at other’s survivability by their scars. It showed character, as odd as it sound, showed how good of a fighter the to her was, and someone that looked scarless would always be a coward, no matter where they stood on the ladder of power nor what clan they held. It was only one scar, one wound that she hid away from the world. It was near white and so very hard to see now. Just under her chin, the very first.
It was a sign of her immortality, even if to strangers it was a curious little thing. While the world has grown accustomed to change, to beings with elementals at the edge of their fingertips, she still remembers the fear that revealed through the normal one’s everytime one like her showed up. One who would wake up from death like a nap. Remembers the fear and how she reveled in it before. Now it was a part of her clever facade, Argus, insane and crazy but mortal. A killable monster and therefore a normal, in the minds of this world and its inhabitants.
She could walk onto a battlefield and relish in the blood, in the chaos of a cycle repeating, of two sides fed up enough to tear eachother apart. To create hate, and orphans. It took two parties to start a war, and argus has spent many on one side, sometimes war for her had been the fruit of her labors, manipulation was a fickle thing, and war was just a side effect.
Argus snorted at the comment. A laugh startled out of her at the other’s bland remark, but she had been thinking something similarly if a little more on the opposite spectrum. She had debated whether to respond to his later comment and while yes- Argus had seen something similar of a joiner, she also knew that trust went a long way, and if you were looking to join someplace then you would readily prove yourself to the place. Killulas own brazen show of power and immediate disregard for authority was interesting, if nothing else.
It was only because Argus was watching the other converse, knowing him from their short instances before that she knew how out of character it was to catch him off guard. From there it was slowly going down hill, crystalline blue eyes taking on a familiar emotion that Argus had seen many a times, when your enemy had outwitted you, when you were caught in it’s snares. It was a victorious to be able to cause that, a glorious feeling to see on an enemy's face. To laugh and commit such a look to memory.
But now, it was a hollow emotion. Some petty remark and very similar in trying to get the last laugh. She felt her own smile drop at the other’s demand. Dark eyes flaring with trepidation.Argus' instinct scream at her. Not to run but to press, and she has always been sensitive to emotions such as this,Knows the look that settles on Killula’s expression and knows that it was the wrong move if she thought it would clear the air around them.
She shakes her head softly. Not speaking for a moment, pushing back only to sit down for a moment. A subtle way to try and seem smaller- she wasn’t afraid she was just apologetic. Because Killula in all her years was someone she respected. For once in her life, she wanted something other than fear to settle on someone’s expression. “Maa, there are not children of mine for you to kill anymore. At least, none for you to deliver to me again.” She has little reason why she is explaining this, if only to try and soothe whatever intentions he thinks she has at this point. Finally, she answered his demand, voice quite: it does not quiver like she thought it would, she does not cry- because she has cried enough for the dead and he living both. “Gunstar is dead, and i took my revenge on your mentor. Riverclan says hello, by the way.”