LA DEVOTEE — o, dead body

[PINCHER]

the devil's backbone

DENIZ "PINCHER" ROUX — MALE — THE TYPHOON — CAPTAIN — DOBERMAN

Pincher had never suffered such a fate that others such as Argus or Amaranth had experienced and perhaps still do. There was no mocking voice clinging to the edges of his mind, dark and holding malicious intent. Pincher was pretty sane, his mentality luckily never shattered to the point of being able to be corrupted by mocking voices that somehow controlled him. He had endured pain of being forced to become a puppet for someone else's enjoyment and reasons, specifically his father's. That bastard had forced him to become something he had never desired to be. The dreams of a naive child had been what he had desired, to be able to map out the world and go on long adventures to unknown lands and oceans. But that was a dream, not reality. Reality was cruel and brutal, unfiltered truth impacting anyone that lived and breathed on this damned floating rock in space. So instead of running off and becoming what that childhood dream he had desired for himself, Pinch had stayed put in the crew. All the disorder and chaos, the turmoil between his father and himself that lead to the point of murdering him, the son of a pirate became the Captain with only one sane voice. Had he heard anything when he had killed his father? All he remembered hearing was the splattering of blood of his father tainting his form and the roaring of adrenaline coursing through his veins. Maybe he would have been better off with a voice in his head, one that would warn him of all the foolish previous actions that had decided to come back and bite him in the ass. One that would warn him to not fall in love, to not allow himself to become weak, to not let his mind become clouded with foolish hope of living his own life that was away from everything he had been forced to grow up in. Perhaps then, Pincher would be a better version of who he was now. More intelligent, cynical, manipulative. For now, he was that but not the perfect embodiment of those traits that his father had sought inside of him so much.

The leader of the Typhoon had decided to take a step out of his submarine to enjoy a smoke, the well-built figure of the icy eyed male let out a soft yawn escape his jaws as he kicked the door shut of his home. Everything seemed to be normal as usual, some members were arguing while others joked about. He briefly caught the sight of one member preparing to pounce on a slumbering crewmate that was snoring up a storm in one of the beach hammocks. A faint ghost of a smirk traced his coffee brown muzzle as he lowered his skull to sink his teeth into the cigarette that was strapped to his front leg by a thin black band. He was tired of going about searching for his cigs so he had decided to just bring them along with him. He was about to light it when a burning scent caused his attention to snap towards the direction of where it was coming from. His vibrant oceanic blue eyes narrowed with confusion as he noticed the faint trails of smoke that floated up in the sky before disappearing. At fist Pincher guessed it was just someone lighting up a fire but wanting to make sure nothing was out of hand, the tall doberman trotted towards where Argus and Amaranth were. His long limbs easily carried him to the others, his pointed long ears pricking with surprise when he noticed the charred form of a stranger. Was that...? He blinked twice as the scarred Captain turned his head to lock his gaze onto the figure of Amaranth, azure eyes searching for an answer on her face though she looked puzzled as well to what had happened.

"Oi, Ammy, are you alright? Did this fucker do somethin' to ya?" He questioned as he halted beside the ivory figure of Argus, his light brown paws gently sinking into the wet sand as the waves lapped at his feet but he didn't pay much heed to it, simply trying to figure out what the hell had happened and why Amaranth was in the same area that held a charred form.
"SPEECH"

#psychosocial.