09-18-2018, 09:04 AM
Sound. The humming of every cell - vibrating, shaking against their confines of reality, pushing and pulling like tides. If he closes his eyes, lets his mind shut off, his ears begin to try and compensate for his loss of sight. Suddenly, everything becomes a roar, screaming noise. He can hear the shuffling of his own heart beat, crawling and trying to spread wings, take flight and become another. Sound. He can't remember anything calming about sound. Even silence is haunting. Silence is like an ocean without life, painted with a palette of monochrome. There is death within it, a sensation of being underwater with muffled noise. Somehow, sound is scarier than fear. Perhaps it is because the mind likes to fill in blanks, assume and talk big. Threats are suddenly intensified, given a heartbeat to listen to. If only Bakugou's heart would function like a normal heart. Not too long ago it had wanted to be his liver and his liver, well, wanted to be his throat. It made his gag. More blood, more blood to clean up. The reaver is far too busy to want to care about his physical state but day after day it continues to gnaw at the back of his head, chewing between his cells.
He wouldn't have noticed the bat either but he supposes, if he had been paying enough attention, he would have noticed the way the creature's maw stretched into a smile as she landed. He should have seen the way she walked, the sentience that flickered within her eyes. He huffs, amused by the way the faerie handled the foreigner so simply, so civilly. Normally the tragedy of a stranger's experience in joining The Typhoon is guided by Bakugou - Bakugou who finds a way to blow up any situation, swearing in almost any sentence he could muster. It wasn't his fault he felt 'passionate' about his words, his opinions and ideas. His nostrils flare, smoke dissipating into the atmosphere as he glances at Caesar and Owen. There is no particular aggression from the reaver but an attempt to blow off some steam. He thought he had mastered his fire elementals but with his recent pains, his body temperature is difficult to control again. He is hot to touch, like a boiling kettle. Bakugou merely sits down, twitching an ear at the indominus rex's shadow but saying nothing. The ragdoll has made it clear enough that he hates his form but he doesn't mind if Owen interprets it to Bakugou disliking the male. He hates the male for bringing those damn utahraptors over to begin with.
He wouldn't have noticed the bat either but he supposes, if he had been paying enough attention, he would have noticed the way the creature's maw stretched into a smile as she landed. He should have seen the way she walked, the sentience that flickered within her eyes. He huffs, amused by the way the faerie handled the foreigner so simply, so civilly. Normally the tragedy of a stranger's experience in joining The Typhoon is guided by Bakugou - Bakugou who finds a way to blow up any situation, swearing in almost any sentence he could muster. It wasn't his fault he felt 'passionate' about his words, his opinions and ideas. His nostrils flare, smoke dissipating into the atmosphere as he glances at Caesar and Owen. There is no particular aggression from the reaver but an attempt to blow off some steam. He thought he had mastered his fire elementals but with his recent pains, his body temperature is difficult to control again. He is hot to touch, like a boiling kettle. Bakugou merely sits down, twitching an ear at the indominus rex's shadow but saying nothing. The ragdoll has made it clear enough that he hates his form but he doesn't mind if Owen interprets it to Bakugou disliking the male. He hates the male for bringing those damn utahraptors over to begin with.