09-16-2018, 09:15 AM
[align=center][div style="width:400px; font-size:8.4pt;line-height:1.1;color:#000;font-family:arial;margin-top:3px;margin-bottom:3px;letter-spacing:0px;margin-left:0px;text-align:justify;"]Ligma. The word had rolled from his tongue easily, riding upon a huff of breath barely containing traces of laughter, yet easy was it to tell something was wrong. Gentle was the touch of mirth, tones unmistakable as his joy overrode the composure he tried to keep to, barely veiled for what use was there when he knew not the gentle prodding of the one he spoke to. It had taken a few seconds, time slow to tick over, the trickle of surface thoughts sorted through easily enough though pained sought to settle upon dark features, never quite taking hold before he spoke himself.
What is ligma? A snort, laughter harder to hold as paw pressed to muzzle, true answer held back for there was no enjoyment in spoiling it too soon. The cheetah had made attempts to keep himself from speaking out of line, enough words passing through the barely sustained conversation to arise curiosity, a want to delve in this subject he spoke of as though it truly were something of import. A disease, he had called it a disease but had not elaborated further. It might simply have been lazy planning, just allowing it to begin and fester was enough, or it might simply have been the best course of action, the more simplistic approach enough to leave him wanting to learn more.
It had been with a dismissive wave he had silenced further words, uttering faint words to make Marcel leave him be, unsure on how to go about things. A day had passed him, hours dragging as though it held nothing better to do than torment him, the word lingering in his mind, swirling about it until it proved the focal point. It seemed not to matter what task he sought to accomplish, how minimal or extensive the work behind it, each falling away in minutes, attention diverted. Quickly he had gathered about himself various books, dry medical texts he had skimmed through, never truly reading but more glancing through each. The word was missing upon each and about his hut the books were left, piled rather badly, some stacks prepared to tumble over.
“Da fuck was 'e on about...” Claws skimmed the surface of the page, lingering over each line of ink, eyes following behind. With a snap the book was closed, annoyance drawn across dark features. He had grown tired of this ceaseless searching, seeking out that infernal word in each book that covered the walls of his hut, left behind a mess to speak of his progress. With this he had nothing left to look through and it left only one avenue, the faint hope he might not need to turn to such flickering out, a dying light left nothing more than embers.
Raising to his paws short, shuffling steps drew him towards the door, creaking softly beneath his push, permitting a flood of sunlight in. Moving out onto the sand he cast dark gaze about, seeking sign of life. “Fucker,” muttering beneath his breath Silus began to walk, a slow trek drawing him towards the tavern, knowing well the midday was one of the busiest times for the establishment. “Marcel! Get ya fuckin ass ova 'ere.”
[member=1489]MARCELLUS[/member]
What is ligma? A snort, laughter harder to hold as paw pressed to muzzle, true answer held back for there was no enjoyment in spoiling it too soon. The cheetah had made attempts to keep himself from speaking out of line, enough words passing through the barely sustained conversation to arise curiosity, a want to delve in this subject he spoke of as though it truly were something of import. A disease, he had called it a disease but had not elaborated further. It might simply have been lazy planning, just allowing it to begin and fester was enough, or it might simply have been the best course of action, the more simplistic approach enough to leave him wanting to learn more.
It had been with a dismissive wave he had silenced further words, uttering faint words to make Marcel leave him be, unsure on how to go about things. A day had passed him, hours dragging as though it held nothing better to do than torment him, the word lingering in his mind, swirling about it until it proved the focal point. It seemed not to matter what task he sought to accomplish, how minimal or extensive the work behind it, each falling away in minutes, attention diverted. Quickly he had gathered about himself various books, dry medical texts he had skimmed through, never truly reading but more glancing through each. The word was missing upon each and about his hut the books were left, piled rather badly, some stacks prepared to tumble over.
“Da fuck was 'e on about...” Claws skimmed the surface of the page, lingering over each line of ink, eyes following behind. With a snap the book was closed, annoyance drawn across dark features. He had grown tired of this ceaseless searching, seeking out that infernal word in each book that covered the walls of his hut, left behind a mess to speak of his progress. With this he had nothing left to look through and it left only one avenue, the faint hope he might not need to turn to such flickering out, a dying light left nothing more than embers.
Raising to his paws short, shuffling steps drew him towards the door, creaking softly beneath his push, permitting a flood of sunlight in. Moving out onto the sand he cast dark gaze about, seeking sign of life. “Fucker,” muttering beneath his breath Silus began to walk, a slow trek drawing him towards the tavern, knowing well the midday was one of the busiest times for the establishment. “Marcel! Get ya fuckin ass ova 'ere.”
[member=1489]MARCELLUS[/member]