09-03-2018, 01:01 AM
retro
The little ghost had never been certain of who or what to believe. Childhood during the rough European seas clashing against each other in a battle for the dominant religion alongside a pagan mother raised him into a tangled mess of dormant faith -- As if ya had any 'faith' in the first place. "Shut up." Where was he? Oh, right. Beck never know whose preaching to listen to; he ignored their holy ramblings to focus on his top priority of surviving as a street rat until at least adolescence. Maybe then he could have sought out work, he could have provided for himself without stealing, he could have found someone to love -- he was getting off-track. His mouth was partially the reason for a bounty on his head, never afraid to babble to fellow orphans and outcasts about how an omnipotent god that was supposed to care for every living being couldn't exist since they themselves had been rejected by God's own followers. He never thought much of religion beyond spite, yet his ignorance was enough to label him as a heretic. A pest, a low-life thief, a murderer, and a heretic. He supposed he deserved an execution in the end, huh?
Two glassy eyes stared from the divide between trees and shore, never blinking as Beck tilted his head to the right in curiosity. No concern winced across his youthful features as he stared beyond the divine creature groveling in the pale sand. Hackles bristled for a nonexistent beat, lifeless eyes narrowing in unwanted jealousy as feathery stubs sprouted from the stranger's spine before engulfing his pristine figure. Why was he so... perfect? The scars crisscrossing his grimy body seemed to burn with embarrassment as he admired someone else's fortunate beauty, even after he snapped from his trance and stalked from his hideout. It was always challenging to notice his approach, considering his eerie lack of audible footsteps and occasional forgotten habit of breathing. Years of hiding from pursuers and lurking in houses molded a silent entity, save for when he gathered the nerve to blurt out to join a conversation. Wordlessly, he halted just behind Junji, inky nose flaring as he picked up on the scent of herbs and vanilla -- he even smelled nice, this wasn't fair. Beck finally announced his presence with a rasping giggle, a frigid paw beginning to twirl a gold-dipped feather in an attempt to fight the urge to pluck it out for himself. "I ain't never seen someone just -- poof, wings!" the boy croaked, holding his paws up with pads faced outwards in a silly gesture before quickly dropping them back on the ground, hoping Junji didn't glimpse the blistered burn marring his right palm. Visibly gnawing on his intact cheek thought the window of his disfigured snout, Beck's dark eyes shifted back to the sage's wings as he mumbled something incoherent before daring to ask aloud: "Ya think I can have one of 'em? Of course, his honey-grown glare had locked itself onto one feather, in particular, one that looked soft and downy and all he knew was that he needed it.
[align=center]»――➤The little ghost had never been certain of who or what to believe. Childhood during the rough European seas clashing against each other in a battle for the dominant religion alongside a pagan mother raised him into a tangled mess of dormant faith -- As if ya had any 'faith' in the first place. "Shut up." Where was he? Oh, right. Beck never know whose preaching to listen to; he ignored their holy ramblings to focus on his top priority of surviving as a street rat until at least adolescence. Maybe then he could have sought out work, he could have provided for himself without stealing, he could have found someone to love -- he was getting off-track. His mouth was partially the reason for a bounty on his head, never afraid to babble to fellow orphans and outcasts about how an omnipotent god that was supposed to care for every living being couldn't exist since they themselves had been rejected by God's own followers. He never thought much of religion beyond spite, yet his ignorance was enough to label him as a heretic. A pest, a low-life thief, a murderer, and a heretic. He supposed he deserved an execution in the end, huh?
Two glassy eyes stared from the divide between trees and shore, never blinking as Beck tilted his head to the right in curiosity. No concern winced across his youthful features as he stared beyond the divine creature groveling in the pale sand. Hackles bristled for a nonexistent beat, lifeless eyes narrowing in unwanted jealousy as feathery stubs sprouted from the stranger's spine before engulfing his pristine figure. Why was he so... perfect? The scars crisscrossing his grimy body seemed to burn with embarrassment as he admired someone else's fortunate beauty, even after he snapped from his trance and stalked from his hideout. It was always challenging to notice his approach, considering his eerie lack of audible footsteps and occasional forgotten habit of breathing. Years of hiding from pursuers and lurking in houses molded a silent entity, save for when he gathered the nerve to blurt out to join a conversation. Wordlessly, he halted just behind Junji, inky nose flaring as he picked up on the scent of herbs and vanilla -- he even smelled nice, this wasn't fair. Beck finally announced his presence with a rasping giggle, a frigid paw beginning to twirl a gold-dipped feather in an attempt to fight the urge to pluck it out for himself. "I ain't never seen someone just -- poof, wings!" the boy croaked, holding his paws up with pads faced outwards in a silly gesture before quickly dropping them back on the ground, hoping Junji didn't glimpse the blistered burn marring his right palm. Visibly gnawing on his intact cheek thought the window of his disfigured snout, Beck's dark eyes shifted back to the sage's wings as he mumbled something incoherent before daring to ask aloud: "Ya think I can have one of 'em? Of course, his honey-grown glare had locked itself onto one feather, in particular, one that looked soft and downy and all he knew was that he needed it.